#vexie writes fanfic

[vexie-chan]

Greetings: I don't know if I've asked this before. You are the person who wrote Algernon's Bouquet on AO3, correct?

If so, I was wondering if you would allow the creation of a semi sequel. I have a concept of Amelia, Caboose's fiance, trying to find him, and I was wondering if you would allow this to be posted. I can share with you what I have so far, I wanted your permission before I proceeded any further. Thanks, have a good day!

Go for it! Just link back to the original!

It's so wild that you have that concept...that's actually where that fic started, but didn't quite work out right.

Happy writing!

[vex-bittys]

Bittybones Chapter 8: Organics and Botanicals (part 3)

I hopped out of bed the next morning with all the vigor of a person who has just woken up and hasn't yet had a chance for circumstance (such as the chaos of getting seven bittys dressed for the day) to crush all of their energy and motivation. That vigor diminished when Red and Brassy both decided to protest pants for some reason (viva la nudity!), and Berry the Yanberry rolled out of bed spewing a string of, admittedly impressive, swear words and phrases. The potty-mouthed bastard could probably beat me at Scrabble without using a single appropriate word.

Triple points if I say “oh my God” while looking the term up on Urban Dictionary, and no, I'm not going to ask him to use it in a sentence.

Fortunately, my miniscule assistant, Corvus the Kara bitty, had a handle on his adopted nestlings. He and Buttons were fully dressed though the newly named Egg the Softbones still wore his comfy pajamas, which was par for the course with his bitty type. Phantom had picked out an outfit for himself though he noticeably lacked a shirt and obviously thought the look suited him. Of course a grumpy Brassy and still-pantsless Red heckled him to "put some damn clothes on.” (fuckin’ showoff)

It felt like time to accept that “good enough” would be my mantra from now on if I wanted to get anything done. I escorted my bitty brigade into the kitchen for breakfast where I discovered round 2 of energy-sapping problems. Buttons already had a specific dietary guideline: no meat, and Red still maintained his allergy to shrimp as long as they weren't shrimp from my plate (it's a fickle allergy). Would my new bittys have special dietary requests too?

First, I divided the seven boys into herbivores and carnivores. Kara kooed that he would join Buttons as a vegetarian, and Egg the Softbones gave a thumbs-up of agreement from where he dozed facedown on the counter when Kara prompted him. Berry and Phantom opted to participate in the mysterious Meat Club (you're not supposed to talk about it)(And that shirtless asshole ain't invited!) that Red and Brassy had started. Being the sweetheart that he is, Buttons suggested that the vegetarians eat in the living room so that us carnivores weren't relegated to the “garage of shame” (bold of him to assume that i feel shame).

Next, I asked Corvus if he minded eating eggs since I planned to make a vegetable omelet for breakfast. I worried that he might find egg consumption offensive considering his bird-like appearance. Instead, he kooed out a laugh and ruffled his wing feathers. Apparently my question amused him, but he reassured me that eggs were fine with him. I took it as a good sign that we'd all be eating breakfast together and got the entire crew gathered at the table so I could start cooking.

Omelets don't take long to make, even if I needed to chop a few mushrooms, peppers, and onions. Even that short amount of time was far too long for me to expect my bitty boys to behave themselves.

The problem started when Phantom made a flirty comment while I prepped ingredients. A scuffle ensued, but by the time I turned to scold my bittys at knifepoint, they stared back at me with perfect innocence and strangely disheveled clothing (he started it)(Nothing happened). This weird occurrence kept weirdly occurring every few seconds until I plopped a warm, fluffy omelet onto the table and began portioning tiny servings onto bitty-sized plates. Seven teensy skeletons settled down to their meals.

The reactions varied. Kara kooed happily, and Egg actually sat up to eat. Buttons declared the food to be delicious, a sentiment that Berry echoed with an unnecessary amount of expletives that had probably never been used to describe an omelet before. Brassy shoveled down his plateful so fast that I doubted he tasted it at all, but he opened his mouth to comment anyway only to be interrupted by Phantom tossing another flirtatious compliment my way. 

There was a single beat of silence.

Then breakfast devolved into pandemonium.

Corvus escorted Egg, Buttons, and Berry away from the explosive fray, each bitty taking his breakfast with him. Red had double handfuls of omelet and appeared to be trying to shove them into Phantom's eye sockets (yup). Phantom easily fended him off with his superior reach, though Brassy threw him off balance with a wild leg tackle. Pieces of omelet flew everywhere as I separated the three bittys who stubbornly continued to throw both insults and breakfast at each other.

I grounded Red (unfair) and Brassy (We were defending your honor!) to their respective bitty houses. Phantom, Corvus, Egg, Buttons, and Berry were relocated to the living room to finish their breakfast in front of the TV. I turned on a reality show to drown out Red's enraged (rightfully!) screeching and the sound of him slamming around anything he could find that he hadn't already destroyed, which turned out to be not much after last night's destructive tantrum.

I cleaned up the kitchen table then brought my own meal into the living room. I spent more time pondering than eating, and by the time I figured out a solution to the jealousy conundrum, my once steaming eggs had become cold gelatinous blobs on my plate. I refused to get rid of Phantom (boo), but I knew a surefire way to make Red and Brassy behave:

Bribery.

(i can be bought)

I am definitely not above bribing my bittybones for a little peace and quiet. It's time to implement Good Boy Points!

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[wedonotblastoff-arch]

Heads up to all... Thank you SO much for being so excited for me bringing this Gio back! (makes me smile so much) I will slowly post longer starters and replies once I get more situated Playing Gio. (To be honest It is rare that I play canon muses) But writing as him will simi help me write Madison’s story so Here am I. And on that note the main verse on this blog is intertwined with said story. However if you would NOT like the fanfic verse just say so and I can switch to an alternate verse that isn’t the fanfic one. Thank you! (Yes that means there will be references to Vexis @leadthemissing and to @pathtothemissing (Especially with Madison) )

[leadthemissing]

Why did you write Vexis to have such close connections with Gio?

(I take it you referring to his fanfiction verse)

/HOnestly it was an Idea i joked about at first, but the more stuff that got added to the joke the more I started to enjoy their dynamic.and it stuck.On top of that it opened up a huge door way because eventually Madison does get inspired to be a trainer because of Gio.... (still don’t know how that’s gonna happen but i’ll work it out some how)

Quick not: this is all form their  fanfic verse so please no one think i’m forcing it on you >.

[vex-bittys]

Bittybones Chapter 8: Organics and Botanicals (part 5)

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The Good Boy Points yielded mixed but expected results. Corvus the Kara bitty, Egg the Softbones, Buttons, and Phantom racked up the Points like famous sports athletes playing the sport that they are famous athletes for (that was terrible). Berry the Profanity Machine, Red the Destroyer, and Brassyberry the Pervert failed to earn the Good Boy Points like I fail to make good sports analogies (hey we're not that bad). I had to start awarding the Points on a curve or poor Red wouldn't have any G except the stolen ones (hey!), which I allowed the thieving duo to keep.

Today, I stopped by Gigi's bitty shop to pick up items that Phantom and Berry the Yanberry had chosen to redeem their Good Boy Points for: cigarettes for Phantom, with the promise that I would leave a window cracked open so he could smoke them and some bitty-sized art supplies for Berry to express his creativity in a way that isn't swearing… not that it stopped him from swearing. My other bitties wandered around the shop, browsing while Gigi and Buttons chatted, but none of them found anything to spend their G on. I also had to stop Red from shoplifting (buying on credit!) several times.

Next we made a stop at one of those scented lotion stores. I wanted some fancy body wash and lotion, and Corvus became interested in the bubble bath selection. Red, perched on my shoulder in his appointed position of seeing-eye bitty, complained loudly about the “stink” (it smelled all flowery n’ shit). Brassy, on my other shoulder, agreed just as loudly. No Good Boy Points for them. Berry, and Buttons ask to sniff some of the soaps and lotions, Egg slept, and Phantom flirted with a salesperson (traitor)(At least it wasn't Momma).

Corvus finally picked out a bubble bath scented with “calming lavender,” and I couldn't resist getting a bottle for myself too. With a bitty family like ours, we were going to need it. 

Our last stop for the day was a bitty-friendly grocery store. The carts had baskets in the top seat with a nice soft lining for bittys to ride in safely. Of course Red and Brassberry refused the basket (of course). Red wanted to be my seeing-eye bitty again and yell at people (i'm helping!) and Brassy wanted to ride in my cleavage (I like hearing her heartbeat). Phantom kept a watchful eyelight on Berry and Buttons, who were practically climbing the sides of the basket to browse the shelves.

Corvus had his hands full making sure Egg didn't get lost. Softbones bittys have a habit of falling asleep in strange places, which isn't a problem at home or in the smaller shops we visited earlier. In fact, when I paid for our purchases at Gigi's shop, she'd opened the till to find him dozing inside. This grocery store was bustling, though. Egg could end up in someone's purse or missing in the huge maze of aisles or bins of produce. Thankfully, Corvus was on the case!

We entered the candy aisle, and my two young bittys cheered. They had plans for their Good Boy Points, and those plans involved copious amounts of sugary treats! I also needed to restock my supply of jelly beans for Red, which I mercifully did not charge him any G for (it's a dietary requirement). I warned all three of my little candy addicts that I would be limiting their sugar intake. I learned from experience with Red that too many sweets can make a bitty violently ill (stop telling people about that!).

With our pile of unhealthy food in the bottom of the cart, we perused the other aisles, picking up staples like pancake mix and cheese puffs. Everyone except Egg voiced their opinion in the produce aisle (vegetables are gross and the world must know!)(Yeah, no veggies!), but I only needed a few items. Since it's summer time, I liked to head to the Farmer's Market on the weekends for local fruits and vegetables. I don't care how much a certain Edgy Bitty complains; he's going to eat a balanced diet!

(we’ll see about that!)

On our way to the checkout lanes, Brassberry asked if we could go to the meat department to get a steak. Since adopting Buttons, I've been having all of our meat products delivered, but Brassy liked to pick out his own like a mighty hunter singling out his prey. I prepared to remind him that a certain family member might become anxious at the sight of flesh when the family member in question spoke up.

“If you want to go, I'll be OK, Momma,” Buttons said, reassuring me several more times when I questioned the decision. 

Crossing the basket, Buttons stood next to Corvus, who beamed at him. Corvus wrapped a dark wing around him, and Egg woke up to hug Buttons around the middle. I felt a tug on my hair; Red demanded to be placed in the basket, where he took up a protective position behind Buttons, one itsy bitsy hand on the young bitty's shoulder.

(it ain't like that! i just wanted some of the attention or whatever…)

Apparently, in addition to helping Buttons with his nightmares and his eye socket injuries, Egg and Corvus have been talking him through his residual fears from the trauma he experienced in his original home. Even Berry strolled over to stand beside his friend.

“Let's go to the meat section and fuck shit up,” the baby-faced potty-mouth cheered.

So we're on our way to the meat section, possibly to fuck shit up (yay!) and maybe also get a steak for Brassy I guess (Yay!).

Why can't we ever just have a normal shopping trip?

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[vex-bittys]

Bittybones Chapter 8: Organics and Botanicals (part 1)

The phrase "the more, the merrier" clearly does not extend to bittybone adoption, a fact which I learned on the drive home from the bitty convention. First I had to politely ask Phantom not to smoke in enclosed spaces when he took out a pack of bitty sized cigarettes. Who even makes teeny, tiny cigarettes anyway? Next, I chastised my jealous little Edgy and Brassberry bittys because their combined glower power was well over 9000 and aimed directly at Phantom.

(he deserved it)

That's when the swearing started. The source of the swearing? One adorable, innocent-looking Yanberry with an impressive vocabulary of wildly inappropriate language.

(enough to make an edgy proud)

Little Buttons the Blank bitty stared, sockets wide with admiration as the freckle-faced gremlin described everything as an [adjective] ass [noun], used f-bombs in a grammatically correct format for almost every single word in a sentence, and loudly suggested that an aggressive driver should do things that were both physically impossible and legally frowned upon with graphic detail. Now, I myself am known to use an occasional ass expletive to tell some fucker what they can do with their own genitalia and mother (go momma!), but I knew I would have to have a conversation with Yanberry about reining it in… a lot. 

The last thing I want is for sweet, innocent Buttons to start talking like a sailor at a swearing competition. 

Gigi covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle her laughter as I explained that Yanberry would have to censor his language. The deceptively cute little bastard then proceeded to go through his entire repertoire of vulgarity, asking me one at a time and alphabetically if each individual word or phrase was acceptable. It took every scrap of patience that I had, plus a 30 year, high interest patience loan to deal with the utter and unrivaled sass. Maybe I should have adopted several more Edgy bittys instead.

(she looked like she might explode. it was great.)

Red and Brassberry cackled like hyenas at Yanberry's antics until Phantom decided to give me a comforting kiss on the back of my hand. Suddenly my two jelly skellies decided that a round of no-holds barred, every bitty for himself wrestling death match would be a fun travel activity (it was!). I quickly put a stop to it (boo) just as we pulled up in front of the house.

Yanberry, Buttons, Jealous 1 (me!), Jealous 2 (Why can't I be Jealous 1?), and Phantom all opted to ride in my infinity scarf for the best vantage point going into the house. After getting them somewhat situated, I gathered my shopping bags and peeked into the basket carrier to check on my last two bittys.

Corvus the Kara bitty gave a sleepy "koo~" before snuggling back down into the nest he'd made from the soft blankets inside. I spotted two itsy, bitsy slipper-clad feet sticking out from under the nest.

Apparently Corvus thought little Softbones was some sort of egg in need of incubation. Cute! I lifted the basket into my arms and headed into the house. We were fine. Everything was just fine. Nothing to see here, especially if I deliberately choose not to see it.

I pretended that Red hadn't just shoved his little hands in Brassy's face. 

I pretended that Brassy didn’t bite one of the offending hands.

I pretended not to hear an already-long-suffering sigh from Phantom.

I pretended that Yanberry didn't let out a string of creative curses about his "awesome ass new home."

I pretended that Buttons didn't quietly repeat one of the words in a tone of wonderment.

We were all going to be one big happy family.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

…

…

What have I gotten myself into?

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[vexie-chan]

"“Caleb wants to lie. To tell Essek that it will be all right. That it gets better. That he’s forgiven and loved, and everything is going to be just fine. If he could use his grasp on Essek’s arm to pull him out of the darkness he’s in, he would do so in a heartbeat.

But he can’t lie. Not about this. And not to Essek.”

Scene expansion focusing on a few of those Essek and Caleb moments.

**SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 124"

-ahem- I did a shadowgast scene expansion doodle. I just have a lot of sadboy feelings, okay?

[vexie-chan]

“Summary: "Jester, I can’t see very many colors,” Caleb admits quietly. “I’m…colorblind.” Jester sits back in her chair. Color…blind? She tries to imagine a world without color. He had said he didn’t have a favorite color…no wonder! He doesn’t have any of them! Jester finds out Caleb is colorblind and doesn't handle it super well. A world without color isn't really a world Jester is okay with.”

Hey guys! Remember that time that I headcanoned Caleb as colorblind? I finally wrote a fic for it. :D 

[vexie-chan]

“When Sasha kisses Jamie, it's about control. When Cameron kisses Jamie, it's about searching for something. But Aff is different. They're just kissing Jamie. That's all. That's enough. That's more than enough.

Jamie reflects on Aff and how the idea of Aff connects to their idea of self...and how Aff kind of turns that upside down by being an adorable, lovable cinnamon roll.“

I wrote a thing because I loved Cinderbrush and I’ve lost control of my life? 

Mind the TWs for some slurs and bullying in Jamie’s flashback. As Matt said, keep yourself safe. 

[vexie-chan]

““He’d been asked, teased, seduced, bullied, threatened…all of these, and never had he faltered. None of it was worth what his vow meant to him. The helmet was his clean slate. To walk through life with no name and no face relieved the burden of carrying everything that had ever happened to him outside of his own control on his shoulders. Everything from the moment he slid that helmet over his eyes was of his own making.”

Mando reflects on his decision to conceal his face, and his more recent one to reveal it.“

Hey guys look! I wrote fanfic for something besides Critical Role :D 

I’ve had some big feelings about the Mandalorian S2 finale for OTHER REASONS, so have a thoughtful fic about faces. 

Also, please note that I had to go find a picture of Pedro Pascal smiling for this fic and it was really cute and derailed me for a good 5 minutes. 

[vexie-chan]

Not Made to Last

Widojest drabble? Widojest drabble. I wanted to write something about the moment when Caleb draws the Jester Angel in the snow. May write more later but I’m living 3 lives right now and I wanted to doodle this like Caleb’s lil’ Jester Angel while it’s still relevant <3 

* * * 

               In Caleb’s mind, everything had been decided already. They are going back to Roshana where Caleb will go speak with the Vollstrecker in the dungeon again. He tunes the group’s chatter out as soon as he has a goal in mind. He takes out his chalk and begins drawing the teleportation circle, part of his mind already dedicated to planning what he’s going to say to her. As if he hasn’t been thinking about this since the moment they’d left the first time. (After he’d failed so completely to control himself—his old master would be so disappointed in him. His interrogation skills are so rusty now, his mind so easily distracted.)  He stops before adding the final few lines, looking up at the rest of the Nein. He takes the breath to ask whether they’re ready to go, but stops, the question falling dead on his lips.

               The group is standing around laughing. Nothing unusual about that. But it’s Jester who catches his eye. Jester is dancing as snow falls around her, glittering in the early morning sunlight. Tiny diamonds of snow are stuck in her hair and to her dark emerald cloak like thousands of tiny decorations. Her eyes are glittering like the snowflakes and she’s laughing—real laughter that reaches her whole face and every line of her body. She falls backward, sweeping her arms up and down in wide motions, her trailing sleeves making the design in the snow a little more chaotic than it usually would be. Caleb searches for the word for this activity in Common. Schneeengel. Snow Angel. Memories tug at Caleb’s mind—old memories from that forbidden time before.

               “Like this, Bren!” Una makes the motions, standing above him. Bren waves his arms and legs through the snow like a wild starfish. He doesn’t quite have the dexterity for the coordinated jumping-jack motion et. The snow manages to find its way down the back of his coat, leaving tingling paths down his neck and back.  

               “It’s cold, Mama!” he giggles. “Is it done?”  

               “Let’s see! Give me your hands so you don’t step in it,” Una says, leaning forward and reaching toward him. Bren reaches up and puts his small hands in hers. She swings him up and out of the dent he’d made in the snow, swaying him in the air a few times before setting him down next to her.

               “Good job! Look!” Una points, kneeling next to him. Bren follows her finger obediently. There is a small shape in the snow, as tall as a four-year-old boy, with a wide bell-shaped bottom and big wings out to each side.  

               “What is it, Mama?” Bren asks.

               “It’s your snow angel. Look, there are the wings and the dress as she floats through the air,” Una says, showing him. Bren wrinkles his nose.  

               “Why is it a girl angel? I’m a boy,” he says. “I should have a boy angel.”

               “Maybe it’s a robe, then,” Una amends.

               “Should I give him a halo?” Bren asks. “Don’t angels need halos?”  

               “Not always, but you can give him one if you’d like,” Una says.

               Bren carefully walks around the angel and draws a line over its head with his finger. He thinks for a moment, then leans forward and puts two dots for eyes on the face, and a wide, open mouth.

               “He’s happy because it’s snowing,” Bren explains.

               Una laughs. Bren runs back over to her, lifting his knees high to maneuver through the soft snow.

               “Now you make one!” Bren says. “Right next to mine!”

               Una agrees. She falls backward into the snow, laughing as she moves her arms and legs. She lets Bren draw the face and halo on her angel, too. They step back and admire the two angels, big and small.

               “What do snow angels do, mama?” Bren asks.

               “They’re windows so our guardian angels can watch over us. They can peek through and we can peek back. This way we can feel a little closer to them,” Una says.

               “Does everybody have a guardian angel?” Bren asks.

               “Of course. As long as you’re very good, your guardian angel will always watch over you,” Una says, hugging him.

               For the next few days, Bren goes out to talk to his angel. Just to make sure his angel knows all about him. He even introduces his angel to Frumpkin, who is less than pleased with the encounter, dashing off into the woods as quickly as possible.

               One morning, Bren wakes up to find a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. The snow angels are gone, erased by the new snowfall. Una finds him sitting in the window, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

               “What’s wrong, my heart?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the windowsill next to him.

               “My angel is gone. Now I can’t talk to him anymore,” Bren sniffles, looking up at her. Una frowns, confused, until she glances out the window to see the freshly fallen snow. She smiles and pulls her boy into her lap, wrapping her arms around him.

               “Just because you can’t see him anymore doesn’t mean he’s not there. Papa’s not gone forever when he’s on patrol, is he?” Una asks.

               “No, he’s busy protecting us,” Bren says, wiping at his eyes.  

               “That’s right! And just like Papa will come home soon, we can go out after breakfast and make new angels in the snow,” Una say soothingly. “Snow angels aren’t made to last. They always vanish, but we can always make them again.”

               “What if the snow melts and it never snows again?” Bren asks. Una brushes his curly hair away from his forehead and plants a kiss there.

               “Then you’ll have to believe your angel is still there anyway, and remember all the fun you had together this winter,” she says. “Just because things only last a little while doesn’t make them any less grand.”

               Bren makes many snow angels that winter. He makes his mother make them with him as often as he can. It becomes his favorite winter activity that year.

               Caleb blinks several times, a hand over his heart. He’d forgotten. He’d been so very young when he’d made snow angels with his mother. It had been a fleeting belief, but for that one winter, he’d dreamt of shining angels singing and protecting him and his family every night. By the next winter, he was big enough to ride a sled on his own and snow angels were all but forgotten. He looks at Jester again, laughing as she makes angel after angel, connecting them as if they’re holding hands. His mother’s voice echoes in his mind, rich with laughter as they’d played together in the snow.

               As long as you’re very good, your guardian angel will always watch over you.

               If that is truly the case, Caleb’s angel is long gone. No one is there to watch over him but himself. Not that he believes in such things anymore. He has not made a snow angel in a very long time.

               Watching Jester, Caleb almost wants to make one now. She has that effect on him—on everyone around her, really. She has the most peculiar power to make everyone stop and see the fun and wonder in the world. How many times has she stopped their travels to point out the shape of a tree or a rock? How many times has she traced out entire stories in the stars during late night watches, making up her own constellations, even after Caleb had offered to teach her the widely accepted ones? Everyone in the party has become so attuned to this that “Dick Cloud” is now an unspoken traveling game. They don’t even have to say it anymore—someone will point and everyone else looks automatically. Jester has taught them to see things everywhere, to laugh at everything.

               Because of Jester, they—no, he has learned to see things in the world again. He sees fun things. He sees pretty things. He has learned to laugh again. It still surprises him when it happens, but it gets a little easier every day.

               He hadn’t thought it were possible. But more and more he finds himself laughing when she tells jokes. He smiles at the little drawings and messages she leaves him if he leaves his books on the table. Sometimes he leaves his books out just to tempt her, leaving a note on the page along the vein of “I hope Jester does not mark on this page” for her to find only to be rewarded with an answer of “Jester would never ever do that! She is too good and cute!” with a little Jester cartoon blowing him a kiss or doing something equally as silly. He treasures all of them. Jester’s doodles in his books have gotten him through many drudging nights of study.

               Caleb may not have a guardian angel anymore, but he does have a little blue tiefling watching over him, smiling and inviting him to come and play.

               He starts to stand but stops. Jester is still laughing and playing in the snow, but for the first time, Caleb notices where the snow is coming from. Fjord is summoning his sword, brandishing it in a huge arc to throw snow out over the ground and sending it away in another gust of snow. He’s laughing too, an open, relieved laugh. His eyes never leave Jester. He aims the arcs of fresh, clean snow in the easiest place for Jester to fall next. He’s making a winter wonderland for her, his face warm and gentle as he works.

               Caleb sits back on his heels. He may have Jester, but Jester has Fjord watching over her. Not him. He is glad for her, he supposes. Those days on the sea were hard for her, with Fjord growing cold and distant (with and without Avantika). There had been times where Caleb had wanted to shake him for what he was doing to Jester. Had he been a different kind of man, he likely would have. Instead, he let Jester play with Frumpkin and tell him her woes, quietly seething in the belly of their ship. Lately, though, Fjord and Jester’s relationship seems to have improved. It’s good for the both of them, Caleb thinks, watching the soft smile on Fjord’s face. Fjord needs someone loving like Jester, and Jester needs someone heroic like Fjord. It’s very good.  

                Then why does it feel so wrong? A small, rebellious part of him asks. A part he tries to ignore. Seeing Fjord and Jester playing together like this makes his heart sink. He hates it. He hates knowing what it means. At least with Fjord and Jester’s relationship improving, he doesn’t have to worry about all the what ifs that have been plaguing him lately. For just a moment, he’d dared to dream a little bit. No matter whether he should, he couldn’t help it. He’d closed his eyes and thought of a future full of blue skin and violet eyes. But now, he can put his what-ifs away. It’s better that way. She’ll be happier with Fjord and that’s all Caleb wants for her. So long as she’s happy…

               Caleb’s eyes stray back to Jester. He picks up a piece of his chalk and draws a little blue angel on the stone near the teleportation circle—not near enough to confuse the magic. He’s no artist—not like her. But his hand is steady and precise—it has to be for the magic symbols he’s learned. He draws her like a snow angel with a little triangle body and big arcing wings. He doesn’t give her a halo like the one in his memory. Instead, he draws little curlicue horns on either side of her head and a little tail peeking out from behind the bell-shaped dress. But her mouth is still wide and laughing just like all those years ago. Maybe he’d had a premonition, when he was a boy, that the one looking out for him would be laughing like that.

               “Hmm.” The noise makes him jump. Caleb looks up guiltily. Beau glances down at the drawing at up at Caleb. She raises her eyebrows in a silent question. He can almost hear her—

               You wanna talk about it?

               Caleb shakes his head quickly, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks. He tries to erase the chalk drawing, but only manages to smudge it a little. Beau’s smirk widens, though her face isn’t unkind. He knows her well enough by now to know the difference. He shoots her a glare.

               Don’t say anything.

               Beau tilts her head to one side in confusion, though her eyes dance with mischief. Caleb had never had a younger sister, but he imagines that this is what it would have been like. He tries to glare harder. Beau holds her stare for a moment longer, then gives him a tiny nod, turning her attention back to the group.

               A few minutes later, they’re ready to go. Caleb finishes the last few lines on his transportation circle and herds the group through. If he rushes them quicker than usual so they don’t have time to notice his little drawing, they don’t seem to notice.  

               He glances at the hillside one last time, where dozens of Jester-angels are left in the snow. Just before he steps through, a light snowfall begins, soon to erase them all. After all her work and all of the fun and joy they’d brought, they’ll have gone without a trace, hidden under the snow. No one will ever see them. And no one will ever see the small blue angel, drawn in a crude, mathematically trained hand on the stone.

               Caleb steps through the circle and the snow angels are gone.

[vexie-chan]

“"Look after each other," Bren's mother had told them. Eodwulf had done his best. He'd taken care of little Bren until he couldn't anymore. When he'd stopped visiting Bren in the Sanitarium, Eodwulf had never thought he'd see him again.Bren doesn't need Eodwulf to look after him anymore.-Rewrite of the scene in the Sanitarium during episode 88, from Eodwulf's perspective-“

I wrote some Eodwulf fic! Check it out! 

[vexie-chan]

“ "I know my faith hasn’t been as strong as it should be lately, Traveler. And I don’t ever want to waver again. I want to be strong enough to take care of my friends, and succeed where I failed," Jester prays.

Jester got her magic tattoo to make her stronger and to remember her god's power. She didn't expect to have to use it to save her family again and again. They don't see how it diminishes little by little. But it's worth it. Her family is worth more than some silly magic tattoo.”

Based on an idea originally posted by @fivegoldpieces after episode 84. Thank you for the inspiration! 

[vexie-chan]

Mortal Choice

Cadceus Clay has prayed for his friends before. The Wildmother listens. 

Spoilers for ep65

Her Clay is cold and wet and miserable. But that is only the first part of his prayer. The Wildmother cannot help but smile as she listens to him murmuring over the vegetables he’s chopping for a nice, hot soup.

              “It doesn’t seem to be a very good relationship,” Caduceus says, shaking his head. “This Uko’toa person seems like a tough customer. I know…I know you all have different relationships with your followers. But this can’t be right, can it? Everything about these temples seems unnatural.”

              Young Caduceus’s mind’s eye recounts images of the horrible drowned things he’d faced below the sea. The Wildmother watches thoughtfully. It’s true, Uko’toa is not one of her favorite beings. After all, he’d been locked up for a reason. If it was meant to be that he was freed, so be it, but it would mean the scales would tip toward death and destruction for a while. Enough of that is occurring with the wars and sicknesses in the lands at present.

              Still, it is not her place to intervene.

              Caduceus sighs, laying down his spoon for a moment. He closes his eyes as if he feels the same resignation she does.

              “I guess this isn’t really any of your business,” he says. The Wildmother smiles.

              “You’ve looked out for me—even though it’s been…it’s been pretty bad, I know you’re there. That’s why I’m still here, I think,” Caduceus continues, his voice becoming unsure.

              My sweet boy, the Wildmother thinks. It’s been good for him to leave the Blooming Grove. He has things she would like him to accomplish, but she also wants him to learn more about the world and the things in it. It’s good for him to question his faith—Caduceus has always been an unquestioning follower when he should really question things more. It pleases the Wildmother that he is asking questions and having doubts. The youngest Clay is growing up.

              “I don’t know if it’s something in your purview or not, but if it is, could you keep an eye on Fjord? He’s…he’s a good guy. I don’t think his patron is treating him very well. I don’t know much about any of this stuff about pacts and agreements, but I do know this isn’t a very healthy relationship. If there’s anything you can do, I think he’s going to be a good person in the end, if he could just get away from this Uko’toa character,” Caduceus says.

              This surprises the Wildmother. The Clay family have been faithful worshippers of hers for generations, but never evangelical. That is not how she wants her worshippers to be. They do their part and tend to her gardens and defend the balance between life and death. The Clays respect the worship and custom of all the other gods. They are well studied and well versed in those that require specific burial rituals or other death rites. Young Caduceus is the first in many generations to question the worship of another being.

              The Wildmother reaches out curiously. His heart is full of concern for his friend. He has truly come to care for these people.  

              I will watch and see, the Wildmother thinks. Caduceus smiles into his soup, relief tinging the edges of his aura. He felt her, then. He always was a sensitive boy. Her Clay.

                She watches, acquiescing to Caduceus’s prayer. For a short time, the Wildmother thinks Uko’toa has let Fjord go. The Mighty Nein make their way to the shore and travel further and further inland. The Wildmother watches, but they seem to be safe.

              It’s late one night—her attentions are mostly elsewhere—when she sees black tentacles reach for Fjord’s consciousness. She sees them writhing from the corner of her eye. As she turns to watch, a chill shudders through her celestial self. The tentacles wrap themselves around Fjord’s sleeping mind, filling his aura with fear and dread.

              The Wildmother hesitates. It is not her place to intervene, but she recalls how Caduceus was concerned about this relationship. He was right—it does not look healthy or natural. Uko’toa’s dark tentacles drip with a sickly green power as he threatens his chosen vessel. He isn’t strong enough to do very much yet, but mortals are weak and Fjord is not left undamaged.

              This will not do. Yet…what can be done? The boy entered into a pact with that unsightly being. It is not the Wildmother’s place to intervene. The rules are very strict. The gods should not fight over each others’ followers, but accept their coming and going with grace. Once, they fought for the worship of certain mortals. They destroyed each other and the mortals in the process. No more.

              The Wildmother watches Fjord wake up terrified with a frown on her face. She never did like Uko’toa.

                Caduceus’s second prayer for Fjord comes at the request of his friend Caleb. The Wildmother, of course, had seen the things that transpired between Fjord and his patron. She likes their relationship less and less. Her heart went out to the half-orc as he stumbled into the rain, clutching his lifeless sword, reaching for a power that had been rescinded.

              This is wrong, the Wildmother thinks, anger boiling in her like a geyser ready to blow. She’s become fond of her Clay’s friends. They’ve taken good care of him. Misguided as these Mighty Nein are, they do the best they can. She doesn’t like seeing one of them tortured by the being he’d trusted for so long. Nor does she approve of a higher being treating his mortals so poorly.

              The human wizard had watched carefully, feigning sleep. He watched Fjord through his eyelashes, eyes mostly closed. Fjord had been too frightened to notice. Caleb watched him fail to send his sword away, fail to cast. He watched as Fjord slipped out of the room, then sent his fey creature to watch as he tried to reach for that missing magic in the streets.

              Caleb woke early to find Caduceus, always an early riser. Now, they face each other over a cup of tea.

              “You…you have roomed with Fjord often on our journeys,” Caleb says hesitantly.

              “I have. Why?” Caduceus says.

              Caleb leans in, dropping his voice to ensure no one is listening.

              “Have you noticed whether he is getting more dreams from…from his patron?” he asks.

              Caduceus frowns.

              “I wouldn’t say more, but he seems unhappy when he gets one, now, doesn’t he?” he replies thoughtfully.

              “I think he is being punished for walking away before he could free him,” Caleb says. “He woke last night unable to cast. His falchion was still laying on the bed this morning. I don’t think he can send it back to wherever it is usually kept.”

              Caduceus lets out a sigh that might be a partial growl. He shakes his head.

              “I don’t like that Uko’toa,” he says. “He’s bad news, Mr. Caleb.”

              “You are…a man of the cloth. Is there any way to get Fjord away from his god? Can he break his geass? Can your Wildmother protect him?” Caleb asks.

              The Wildmother smiles at that. Caleb, the broken, faithless boy is always willing to support the faith of others. He believes in nothing, but knows enough to understand that his beliefs have nothing to do with anyone else’s.

              “I’ve asked. I don’t really know how all that works…I don’t know if she’s allowed to interfere with what other gods are doing,” Caduceus says. “It won’t hurt to let her know what’s going on, though. Maybe she can do something for him. ”

              “I hope so,” Caleb says. His aura is always gloomy and worried, but his concern spikes a bit for the sake of his friend. “I do not think it will bode well for any of us if that fiend comes for vengeance. Especially not Fjord”

              “No, I think you’re right,” Caduceus agrees. “I’ll see what I can do.”

              “Danke,” Caleb says.

              Caduceus asks for her help later that day.

              “I don’t know what you can do, or what you’re allowed to do, or if you’re even interested,” Caduceus says. “But you’ve taken care of me, more than I deserve. If there is anything you can do for Fjord, please do it. This thing…it’s not good. And we need him. He’s part of our team, and he’s a good friend.”

              The Wildmother sets a part of herself to look at the geass keeping Fjord bound to Uko’toa, and keeping Uko’toa bound in his prison. For days, she studies both.

              “You know, you do have options, sister.”

              The Wildmother turns to find the Raven Queen smirking at her.

              “I’d like to crush him in the deep waters he loves so much,” she replies.

              “And perhaps you will get that chance. For the time being, why not take the boy under your wing? If it’s bothering you so much,” the Raven Queen says.

              “I’m not about to steal someone else’s chosen as my own. I don’t play that kind of game,” The Wildmother says sharply.

“Who said anything about stealing? Don’t underestimate the power of mortal choice. You can always ask nicely…if the boy chooses you over his eldritch beast, it’s all fair game,” the Raven Queen says with a shrug. “Mortals change their hearts on faith as quickly as the weather changes. That’s hardly your fault.”

              “You make it sound so easy,” The Wildmother says with a shake of her head. “The balance—”

              “It is easy. Choice is as natural as it gets, sister. All you need to do is open a door. Whether he walks through it is up to him. You’ve disrupted no balance. But Uko’toa will if he breaks free again,” The Raven Queen says. She turns to leave. “Think about it, sister.”

              The Wildmother frowns, watching her go.

              A choice…

                Her Clay is angry with her. He does not like to be told no. He does not like being told that some problems are too big for him to fix. She loves him none the less for it, staying near as he closes his communication with her like a child slamming the door.

              Perhaps if she had not been so close anyway, she would have missed the black tentacles reaching for Fjord.

              Open a door.

              The Wildmother touches the consciousness of the half-orc. The cracking of Uko’toa against his binding is muted as she opens a door, filling it with as much light and love and life as she can.

              Fjord’s eyes widen as her emerald light touches his face. He leans into the light as if it were a caress.

              “Come with me, child.” She can’t help but whisper the words to him, reaching out.

              He’s mesmerized. At a glance, she sees the child-Fjord’s dreams of a mother’s plea just like hers, longing to be called to a place he can call home, longing to be loved by a mother. He moves toward her, arms outstretched.

              Uko’toa pulls back, but Fjord breaks free. The Wildmother pulls him into her embrace, letting vines sap the water from him, warming his clammy skin in her arms.

              “This womb I grant, but withers without faith. His wielder shall find you again,” she warns. She can protect him so long as he chooses her, but Uko’toa won’t let go that easily. Even now, the beast rages against her, fighting to pull Fjord back to him. Behind bars, he’s not strong enough to strike her down, but the walls encasing him are becoming thin.

              Fjord doesn’t reply, but stares at her in awe and admiration. The Wildmother looks down at him and smiles gently, flooding him with feelings of warmth and safety.

              “His will shall find you again, but until it does, rest,” she murmurs, embracing his small, mortal form.

              The relief on the half-orc’s face as he falls into a restful sleep makes her heart ache. How long has it been since he had found peaceful rest? She should have offered this to him sooner.

              When he awakes, the WIldmother watches as he fights with renewed strength and confidence. He marvels at the warmth of his magic now that she is watching over him.

              Don’t underestimate the power of mortal choice, the Raven Queen had said.

              “I will protect you as long as I can,” the Wildmother promises, knowing he can’t hear her. “My orphan boy.”

[vexie-chan]

Fire Proven

-does the Jester-open-the-door dance- It’s another scene re-write fic! 

Scene rewrite of Caleb and Nott’s conversation at the beach, from Caleb’s POV. TW for slight images of  character death and burning people. Spoiler warning for episode 71, clearly. 

Don’t know how I feel about the title. Will likely revise if I do an Ao3 revision. 

                Caleb watches the Brenatto family walk hand-in-hand-in-hand down toward the beach. The small boy who had seemed so frightened and unresponsive in Felderwind is now bouncing happily between his parents, pulling their arms and talking excitedly about the tricks he’s going to teach Nugget. Luc is a completely different child than the one they met unsuspectingly in that ruined town. A child who has been reunited with his family, who feels safe in this tropical haven. Memories of the scary woman from Soltryce and the day his father was taken away are barely recalled under the bright Menagerie Coast sun.

              It’s bittersweet. It bothers the old wound where he is the child from the ruined home. He is the boy who will never hug his mother and father again. Caleb is used to pushing those thoughts aside. Nott-Veth has everything she has been looking for. Caleb has not missed the warm looks she exchanges with her husband. The way the two of them move together when they are at the Xhorhaus. Their conversations are fast and low. Though they speak common, they almost have their own language of references and inside jokes that cause both of them to laugh while the rest of the room is lost. What they have is special. And Caleb could not miss her expression when Luc came running into her arms. Veth’s whole world was returned to her today, as she stood embracing her husband and her child in the warm morning light. And yet...

              As if summoned by his thoughts, Nott slides away from her husband and son to stand by Caleb. She looks at them nervously, then up at Caleb. The look on her unfamiliar halfling face is very familiar—an uncertainty and nervousness he’s seen on Nott’s goblin face a million times.

              “Can I…talk to you?” she asks, tilting her head to indicate that they should step away.

              “Of course,” Caleb says.

              Here it comes, he thinks. Time to say goodbye.

              She’s going to tell him she’s decided to stay with her family. Caleb has been dreading this moment since he saw how much Yeza still loves her. Why would she choose to stay with Caleb when she has someone as wonderful and pure and loving as him opening his arms for her. Nott takes a deep breath.

              “This is…this is great, isn’t it?” she says hesitantly. Caleb follows her gaze down to the shore where her son plays under the watchful eye of her husband. Her family.

              She’s going to dance around the topic, Caleb realizes, glancing down at her troubled face. She’s been tip-toeing around the topic for days...ever since they rescued Yeza, really. 

              Let her go, you selfish bastard, Caleb instructs himself.

              “Why would you ever come back with us?” he asks, gesturing toward her family.

Nott’s eyes fill with tears as she laughs.

              “I don’t know!” she cries, her voice full of the relief that he brought it up for her. “I have no idea…”

              Patches of green start to spread across her tanned halfling skin, the soft hands lengthening to the deft goblin claws. Nott’s eyes, flashing to golden, widen. She quickly recasts the spell, reversing the spread of green and restoring her halfling guise.

              “Except…I only have four hours of this before I…before I turn back into a goblin,” Nott’s voice falters, she hangs her head.

              “Does he know everything? Your son, I mean?” Caleb asks, knowing the answer.

              “That I’m a goblin? No,” Nott shivers, looking horrified at the thought.

              “But your husband accepts you,” Caleb presses. It’s still you, right? Yeza had said, stating that Veth being Veth was all that mattered to him. Caleb had watched him that first night. He would not have stood for any prejudice toward Nott. But though he was exhausted and overwhelmed, Yeza had never looked at Nott with anything other than awe and pure adoration. An open, unafraid love that made Caleb’s chest ache.

              “He hasn’t thrown rocks at me, anyway,” Nott says, crossing her arms over her chest. “But there’s a distance there.”

              Caleb frowns. If anything, Nott had been the one keeping her distance. Yeza was always right there next to her, smiling at her, touching her. When they sat at dinner, his arm brushed hers constantly. If they stood in a room, his fingers hovered right next to hers, or touching her elbow. When Caleb had peered into their room early that first morning, Yeza was curled next to Nott on the floor, his arm tightly around her.

              “There was no distance when you were hugging,” he says carefully, not letting Nott know how closely he’s been watching her.

              “Hugging, sure. But we haven’t…y’know,” she holds out both hands, then refolds them awkwardly. Her spell doesn’t let her blush, but Caleb imagines the dark green flush across her goblin face. His ears also heat up a bit, catching her embarrassment secondhand.

              “Oh,” he says, not knowing what else to say. He raises his eyebrows. “So just because of that, you’re going to come back with us?”

              Nott shakes her head, frustrated.

              “No, listen.” She puts both hands up into her hair in a familiar, frustrated gesture. “I don’t know if I can leave them. I haven’t seen…I haven’t been together with them in years. This is all I wanted. And they’re happy and we’re safe. It’s…it’s everything I wanted. But it’s not…it’s not real…right?”

              Her voice is small. Caleb is reminded of that day—it seems so long ago now. Now that we’re out of that prison, you want me to leave, don’t you? He takes a breath, but the words are tumbling out now.

              “I mean, I’m lying to them. I don’t even look like this….I’m a goblin…”

              “Do you think,” Caleb interjects, keeping his voice steady, “that you could find the courage to show them? Because you are real.”

              He doesn’t say that to him, Nott the Goblin feels more real than Veth the Halfling…than Veth the stranger. That to him and the Nein, Nott the Goblin is who they grew to love so dearly, and that her family will love her, too.

              “Maybe…” Nott says, wiping a hand across her eyes, catching the tears that have leaked out.

              “Would you care for him? Would you be a mother to him?” Caleb asks, already knowing the answer. Her actions toward her son in Felderwind and here, today showed him just how much she loves her boy. She would give him the moon if she could, just so he knew a fraction of how much she loved him.

              Bittersweet.

              “Of course I would,” Nott says, looking up at him in surprise, stunned that he would even have to ask.

              “I’d care for him for twenty-five years, and then I’ll be dead,” she continues, her face hardening.

              Caleb stops, the comforting words he was about to say frozen. Dead. Of course. Goblins have such a short life span compared to halflings, who outlive humans. He had been so focused on whether her family would accept her as he’s accepted her, he hadn’t even considered the biological implications.

              “Maybe I could convince him to accept me. But something’s still not right. This isn’t my body. People liking you is nice. And people accepting you is nice. But if…if you don’t feel right in your own skin then…then you can’t be a good mother or a good wife, or a good anything, really,” Nott continues.

              Caleb looks down. He notices for the first time how her round halfling feet don’t match the long, crooked-toed footprints in the sand leading to where they stand. It’s not real. To live as something you’re not every day isn’t easy. And to do so with no way of escape, even with everything you want so close at hand must be unbearable.

              “Well…” he begins hesitantly. He’s not ready to talk about this yet. He’s been studying all he can since Felderwind, but this is a new subject. “What if we found a way…”

              “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Nott says, looking up at him. Her face is a mixture of hope and shame. “I’ve been reluctant to talk to you before, because you’ve been  on your own path and I don’t want to distract you from it. But I’ve been…well, not lying, but concealing—when we first met we were, well, we were there to keep each other alive and protect each other of course, but we had our other motives, too.”

              Caleb waits out the storm of her confession, already knowing what she’ll say. He was trained to read between the lines, to find out what people want. From the moment Veth’s story had come out, he had connected the dots—all those times Nott had proclaimed that she would help him become powerful, that she wanted to see him get strong. She’s been hoping he can transform her. From the moment he conjured Frumpkin to comfort her in that jail cell, Nott realized he could potentially help her.

              He doesn’t hold it against her. Everyone has a motive. Everyone wants something. And this is a worthy cause. The same night she had revealed what had been done to her, he had begun poring over his notes and everything he had read about transmutation, trying to find a way to help her. He has been focusing on learning to transform one thing into another, changing his own form into an eagle or a gorilla to lay the groundwork for more permanent transformations. He has a long way to go, but he’s made a start.

              “For me, part of the reason I instantly wanted to hang out with you is because you had these amazing magical abilities and you know—I care for you deeply now and I wouldn’t leave your side for anything and I mean…I love you,” Nott continues. “But back then, and even now I hope you’ll become strong enough to one day do me a great service. And I haven’t been explicit with you about that but I’ve seen you do amazing things and change things into other things.”

              Nott, I would do anything for you, Caleb almost interrupts. He can’t express how she saves his life with her love almost every day. How much he’s missed her as she’s distanced herself from him in preparation for this decision. But he holds his tongue as her expression changes. Where she had looked sad and nervous, she looks afraid and desperate, somehow. He waits.

              “And…and I’ve also seen you be ruthless when you need to be,” Nott says, her voice growing serious. “You know how I became this way. They drowned me in water and turned me into a another body. But I’ve been…praying that one day, when you learn the spell or find the book or whatever it is, that you’ll be strong enough to kill me with fire and change my body like they did.”

              Time comes to a stop.

              Caleb can’t hear the ocean, or Luc’s delighted giggles, or Nugget’s barks. He can’t hear the buzz of his friends talking and laughing. He can’t hear the seagulls or the wind.

              It’s almost silent, except for the distant sound of flames and voices screaming his old name. Caleb looks past Nott to see a familiar cottage. He sees flames engulfing the house. A blackened, disfigured hand presses to the window, then disappears into the flames. He sees Nott’s tiny, burned goblin body as Beau rushes her out of the lava bed. He sees her broken form as he holds her gently in his arms, fear coursing through his bloodstream.

              Could he do it? He imagines her standing before him. He smells the sulfur as he pulls it from his pouch. He feels the delicious warmth of the fire forming in his chest and running through his arms, pouring from his fingertips to engulf her. He imagines her screams—would she scream his name or call for her husband? Would she scream her own son’s name, like Caleb’s mother had? (Was she screaming for help or accusing him? He’s never been able to decide) Or would she stare at him with the same determination she has now, embracing the flames that eat her goblin body in the hopes that he could restore her to her halfling form.

              The sound of her body giving out, that tiny thump against the ground amid the crackling flames almost brings him to his knees. It’s not real. It’s just his mind. It’s a vision he’s seen many times before in his nightmares, especially since the mind control incident. But this time…

              Could he do it?

              Nott, I would do anything for you, but please do not ask me to do this, he thinks desperately, his heart thundering in his ears, his stomach twisting.

              Nott is looking up at him, fear replaced with a strong hope, the desperation clear as day.

              “I think you could do it. You’re very powerful,” she says, and he knows she believes it.

              He wants to laugh, though there would be nothing humorous about it. If power alone were the only thing, perhaps it would be possible. But to ask this thing of him…knowing what he’s done. Could he truly do it?

              “Well,” he says, forcing the word out, forcing himself to speak to her. “The fact of the matter is, I owe you everything. I would not be here. I would be dead in a field outside Alfield without you. And many times over.”

              But do not ask me to do this. Please.

“Ja. Anything is possible,” Caleb says, keeping his voice reassuring. 

              Nott grabs his hand.

              “But is it though? I kind of need to know. I want to tell my child something and I don’t want to lie. If I tell him I will be back, I want to know that it is truly possible. Is that something you can do for me?” Nott demands, goblin fingertips digging into his palm through the disguise.

              Caleb doesn’t have an answer.  Not wholly. Not like she’s looking for. He’s been looking, been starting to study, but to truly change her is outside of his reach. And the thing she is asking…if he can find a way around it, he will.

              “Not now,” he says softly. “But I am on the edges of such things.”

              Nott’s grip loosens a fraction. She stares at him hard. He can almost see her gold cat-eyes through the illusion.

              “You could…kill me?” she asks.

              A shiver of fear works its way through Caleb’s spine. No, he thinks. Then, in another voice, the ever-present voice that taunts him whispers yes. It would not be the first time he killed someone he loved dearly. Why not return to his true nature? This is what he does, is it not? He could kill any one of them. It would be easy. Fire has always come so easily to him. He could burn all of them if he wanted to. If the need arose. He could set the Xhorhaus on fire as they slept, returning full circle.

              Caleb swallows hard. He cannot answer.

              “And bring me back,” Nott continues.

              “You want to be you,” Caleb grabs her hand back, kneeling down to look her in the eye.

              “Yes,” Nott says. All of the fear and loneliness and exhaustion and hate she feels is wrapped in that little word.

              “We can find a way to make you you,” Caleb says firmly. A way where he doesn’t have to burn her. Already, he’s running calculations and thinking to every book he’s ever read. “But nothing comes without risk or hard work, and I can’t do it tomorrow. I need books.”

              He emphasizes the last word, forcing a small smile onto his face. How many times have they entered a town and he immediately searches for a bookshop? By now, the Nein all keep eyes out for him without his even needing to ask.

              Caleb’s small joke works. Nott returns his smile. It’s small and watery, but it’s there.

              “But if you’re asking me if I will help you…of course I will help you,” Caleb says, taking her other hand. Of course. Because he loves her. He can’t say it. It isn’t allowed, but it’s true. He would do anything in his power to make her happy and safe. He tries to put all of that feeling into his words. He will be useful to her—he will do whatever she needs him to do.

              “This is…a spell you know? Or have heard about or read about? You know it’s possible?” Nott asks.

              What she speaks of sounds like necromanctic magic. Nothing he has ever touched. He has begun to study transformation, but nothing so far is as full of a transformation as she is seeking. He can change forms or cause others to change forms, but it is always temporary. To truly change someone…he has not yet discovered a way. But with hard work and study, there is always a way. There is always some path. If transmutation does not have the answers he seeks, perhaps he can find something in dunamancy. He thinks of Waccoh’s library and sets himself with grim determination. He will study in that library, if he has to kill the Laughing Hand himself to prove his worthiness.

              He looks down into Nott’s waiting face and steels himself. And if he cannot find what he needs, he will make it himself. He will find a way to restore her to her true form. To make her happy and whole again. He owes her that much and more. He finds the lines of his familiar goblin companion in the face of her halfling self. They’re not as dissimilar as she thinks—or perhaps it is just how familiar she has become to him. He would recognize her expressions even if she were a slime.

              Caleb squeezes her hands.

              “I do not want to burn you,” he says softly. Her face starts to fall. “But if we follow the road long enough, I think I can return you,” he promises. I will return you, he thinks.

              “I’m sure you can do anything,” Nott says, a bit of her old insistent adoration returning. She glances toward her family. “But…how long do you think that road is? Is it…hypothetical or real?”

              Caleb shakes his head.

              “Veth, I do not know,” he says. Nott’s face falls again. Caleb shakes his head. “I do not know if we will be alive two weeks from now. This is a very personal choice. Maybe you would prefer to have twenty years with your boy, or you can struggle into the unknown for a while and see what it gets you. Maybe you’d die sooner. I don’t know. All I can give you is my, um…”

              My love. Caleb’s mind insists fiercely. The word sticks in his chest. He tries to force it out but it won’t go.

              “My loyalty,” he finishes, wincing.  It will do, for now. “And I have great loyalty for you.”

              I will follow you anywhere. I will risk myself for you. I will help you with anything I can. I love you. He doesn’t say these things. How can he? The words are pinned to his chest by the pieces of his broken, damaged soul. There is not enough left of him to give like that. He should never even feel these things, but he does. But his loyalty, that he can give. That, he was trained to give. Those words were practiced, were expected.

              Bren thought he meant them. Loyalty to his nation, to his emperor, to his order, to his master. He had felt the pride and weight sitting comfortably in his chest like a glowing ember. His loyalty encouraged and justified his every move.

              This is not like that.

              This is not loyalty based on lies. This is not loyalty practiced and required of him—he had been more than happy to give it of course, but it had been asked of him. Required of him. Burned into his skin and mind.

              Caleb’s loyalty to Nott comes unasked for. It does not come with practiced oaths or recited promises. It does not require proof or action. Nott chose Caleb, even when she didn’t have to. Even after he told her she could walk away. Even when she should have walked away from him. She stayed. So he stays. She had every right to leave him for dead in that field. She had every right to let him walk away from the group and leave her behind. She had every right to walk away from him when she learned what he was and what he’s done. But she never did. She’s never faltered. And he will choose her, always.

              She has asked nothing of him, until now, and he will give her all he can. He tries to feed this information through his lame, meager words, through the touch of his hand.

              “All right,” Nott says. She’s looking back toward Yeza and Luc.

              Caleb follows her gaze. His heart sinks. Why would she ever choose to risk losing this life instead of spending every precious moment she can with her wonderful family? If Caleb were in her shoes, it would not even be a question. If he could have one surefire day with his family again, he would choose that over every risk.

              Losing his family was not worth the promised prize.

              Losing Nott would be almost as bad, he realizes.

              “And,” he hears himself say softly, before he can stop himself. “I would hate to see you go. But that is being selfish.”

              Nott turns back to him, her eyes not leaving her family until the last moment.

              “Well…thank you for your honesty. I’ll think about it,” she says.

              “I promise I’ll do all I can for you. If you want me to,” Caleb says, voice just above a whisper.

              “Thank you,” Nott says. She moves as if she’s going to hug him, the way she used to, but she stops herself. “Thank you,” she says again. She pauses, then turns and walks back toward the water.

              Caleb watches her go, his heart sitting in the pit of his stomach like lead.

              I want you to kill me with fire and bring me back.

              I have everything I want…I don’t know if I can leave them.

              Caleb watches Nott—Veth cheer her son on as he smashes a crab with the grappling hook, laughing as Yeza drops his head into his hands. Yeza soon relents, smiling, taking her hand.

              You have my loyalty. You have my love.

              Caleb begins preparing for the goodbye that will come in the morning now. How could she choose to stay with him when she has this? It won’t stop him from finding a way to help her. He will come back for her. He will help her, just as he’s promised. She doesn’t need to stay with him for that. She’s done enough.

              He will carry the rest.