circaetuscorax

[circaetuscorax]

Night watch

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oh my god they were roommates

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leapfrog!

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“even though we’ve made some mistakes, and we’ll probably continue to, it feels like we’re a little bit better when we’re together.”

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[since it is mentioned here in cr the goddesses of civilization (erathis) and nature (melora) are 1. Lesbians 3. Married in Matt’s worldbuilding]

She may be fallen but she is still an angel, for heavenly and divine is the touch of all women, and Beauregard does nothing but work her mouth in holy silent prayers at the notion. Oh how perfect is the curve of the moon tonight, in the same round outline as her breasts, soft and cold in the early hours of the morning before the sun would rise again. It is no wonder the goddesses of civilization and nature wind themselves around each other in matrimony, in love, to form the axis for all other life to exist. Without their union the world would be nothing, and it is with that fact and a little sweet talking that lead Yasha and Beauregard to forgo their usual nightly shift of awkward flirting in favor of this.

They are both strong women but are surprisingly soft with each other, careful, drawling slowly across each other in part to savor it and in part to be careful not to wake the rest of their sleeping friends only a handful of feet away.

It is one thing to see each other naked—the whole group was no stranger to each other in shared bathhouses and bathed in misshapen ponds when on the road. And here they are clothed—or mostly at least, unfastening, pulling, adjusting so access may be given to each other without sacrificing the ability to place things back quickly if someone awoke early.

And a close call—as Beauregard arched backwards Yasha caught her and pulled her close so she wouldn’t run into the invisible barrier of Caleb’s alarm, lifting her and throwing her down on the ground away from the tripwire and silencing Beauregard’s groan of shock with a fierce kiss.

As dawn broke they cleaned themselves up and wiped their lips clean of each other, pretending like nothing had happened, and while nearly everyone awoke without batting an eye Mollymauk took one look at them and a grin spread across his face, winking in their direction before humming a playful tune.

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You're a stranger til she whispers you can stay.

You're a stranger til she whispers that your journey's over.

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🔥 🌊 !!

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Scanned and edited my recent Molly pic ;3

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The warmth of his lips is pleasant but unexpected, soft and they drag over his rough chapped ones and send tingles down the back of his neck. It is a powerful experience to lie with another person and Mollymauk, while he may have a soul of someone young and foolish, has certainly played in this space more than him and feels welcome to slide his hands down Fjord’s shirt and rub against his thigh without hesitation. It is welcome but startling to Fjord for someone to be this forward and he feels himself crumple in the hands of someone much more skilled at loving.

There is a whisper, a shiver of anticipation, and the slow discarding of Fjord’s clothes—Mollymauk feels no need to hide himself, sleeping naked as it is to begin with in the comfort of an inn, but Fjord lies behind layer and layer of figurative and imaginative coverings and it has been a work in progress for Mollymauk to dig his nails into the seams and pull him apart gradually.

But look how beautiful it is, to trust, to be your full self, here, with me. He coos it into Fjord’s ear and bites it, playfully, while parting Fjord’s legs with his hands, eager and hungry.

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human mollymauk (◡‿◡✿)

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“this is how you see yourself, right?” “i think it’s… how i’d like to see myself.”

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An old gem from Talks Machina

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She is always beautiful but especially when she stands in fields, wreathed in wildflowers, as their late summer bloom lights meadows with their color. Yasha is so pale and dark but when she is dwarfed by nature’s bounty she smiles and feels so small. The fields of the empire are unknown to her but she seems so at home here, in places like this, where she is nothing but gentle and curious.

Today, she picked flowers and pressed them into her journal, one by one, for hours as the group settled down to camp for the night, on her knees among the green stalks and the only hint of her existence her dark crown of hair interrupting the colorful chaos.

Beauregard thought about joining her but she hesitated, thinking, first plucking a flower off the meadow’s edge and twirling it in her finger, smirking and hiding it behind her back.

“Yasha!” she called out, bellowing, waving, catching her attention before bounding up to meet her. “Do you have this one?”

“Ah, I do,” Yasha smiled, taking it anyway. “But it is such a pretty flower... a pair would maybe be nice in my book.”

“You like it?” she said, brushing the sweat off her brow, with the same stuttered and uneven tone as an unexperienced teen. “I really don’t know anything about flowers, my mom tried to get me into gardening and flower arranging and I hated it. Would just trash everything to spite her. I mean—not that it is not cool or anything, because you are cool, so by proxy everything you do is cool, yeah it’s cool, and I—“

“Thank you Beau,” she said, plucking one of the nearby plants and handing her a long green stem without a flower on it. “Maybe this will suit you better?”

“Yasha, this is grass.”

“Is this wrong?” she cocked her head. “Did I do something rude?”

“No, I-I love grass!”

“Oh, then!” Yasha nodded, pulling up handfuls more in her meaty hands.”

“I don’t—okay.” She accepted it and jammed it into her pockets.

“And I know you don’t like flowers,” Yasha averted her gaze, “but this one reminds me of you,” and she extended a simple blue flower, with slender petals and a spiny cone in the center.

Beauregard took it, looking at it resting gently in her dark palm, and after a moment tucked it behind her ear. They locked eyes, murmuring compliments and thanks under their breath.

The two blushed, in silence, Beauregard kicking the dirt and Yasha stroking the vegetation nearby with her fingertips.

“Alright, great talk,” Beauregard finally said, turning on her heel and walking away with her face feeling hot and her heart jittering with electricity. Yasha watched her go, not turning her head away until she was out of view.

As Beauregard walked back to camp she locked eyes with Caleb, who stared at her and her new flower hairpiece with blank confusion and curiosity.

“Caleb I swear to the gods of you say anything I will pummel you into the ground until you blend into the dirt.”

The wizard quickly snapped his eyes away.

“Ja, okay.”

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im on ep 21 of my cr rewatch and i thought this moment was funny

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that bathouse scene was a direct attack on me as a person thank you

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I don’t think i’m gonna color this but…. the boys; Caleb and Caduceus… let them sleep. 

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Mollymauk once mentioned in passing that they were not so different, merely a different reflection of the same experience, whispering his words into the dark as they bedded down together for the night. They were both wanderers, with Mollymauk taking journeys over land in a roving flock of colorful characters while Fjord took to flight over the sea, on ships, to be lost in the vastness of the rolling waves and the dark and forbidden depths. They are both homeless in that they have no dwelling to call their own and they are orphans in that they have lost the only family they had ever known, clinging to the driftwood rafts and hitching rides with other waywards to make their way.

“I try to be like my namesake,” Mollymauk grins. “A small and wandering albatross, light as air and soaring to who knows where. The world is open for the taking and I want to know every drop of water and every patch of dirt for as long as I am alive.”

And while Mollymauk has never seen an albatross, let alone the ocean, Fjord feels he is dead on. He tries to explain, as best he can, conjuring illusions with his powers and showing Mollymauk on their shared bed the flight of the seabirds on the open ocean, and he can’t help but wax poetic, trying in vain to give an explanation of what the waterways of the world mean to him. He is honest, maybe a little too honest, and he recoils, and he’s teased by the tiefling briefly about his sudden unwillingness to share, wiping his hand to dismiss the illusion.

“Don’t be like that,” Mollymauk sighs, pulling the sheets over his body and giving Fjord a nudge. “How are we going to become close if you don’t tell your roommate everything.”

“Maybe later, Molly,” and he feints sudden exhaustion, “when I feel up to it.”

“It’s a date, then!”

“I... okay,” Fjord buries his head into his pillow, muffling himself. “A date, then.”