#also I LOVE leaning into the fact Frumpkin is a fey familiar so fuckin much. yes hes a cat. hes also Not Calebs Frumpkin. and yet! and yet!

[blorbologist]

Trick or treat! Could you do an Artagan or Luc & Frumpkin interaction of some sort?

Fluff, of a sort! Wrote this while playing fetch with my cat <33

--

He has worn and stolen many names in his time.

On this night, not in the Feywild but Wildemount, he goes by Frumpkin.

He is proud to, mind, and happy to bear the title at the exclusion of all his many. For this Caleb Widogast is a fascinating thing, his friends almost moreso, and the roads they travel fascinating, and the many forms and deaths he takes quite fun, figure. He’s never before been eaten, what an odd treat that had been!

Frumpkin (his other names? Pah, not for you!) likes this agreement. Very much so.

And this is why he waits until his person is in sound and leaden (read: quiet and deathly heavy) sleep to ooze from his arms, as cats are wont to do. On delightful soft paws he stalks around the encampment, unnoticed by their singular watch - the little green one, Nott who is not what she seems. Finding the plush nest with a head of blue hair, he goes still, watching.

And he whacks the crimson ferret nestled next to her, hard.

“They are mine,” Frumpkin seethes as it - whoever it is, it is no it - wakes. “They are mine, and mine alone, and I am and was first fey to be bound to them. Go!”

The weasel writhes, wiggles. Clearly can’t escape the grasp of the Jester, and so settles for looking at Frumpkin from upside-down, impolite even by standards of their kin.

Looks, truly looks.

Every filament of this body stands straight, arches, tenses, does all it can to get away from - from this, yet finding itself unable to move. 

“Mmm, calling dibs are we?” hums the fey. His voice makes a mockery of how sound works, here - in the Feywild it would be a song and a story and a subtle thrum of Frumpkin’s heart. “That’s not nice.”

“Apologies,” says Frumpkin. “Apologies plenty, Archfey. Never did I intend-”

The weasel’s one free paw dismisses this with a wave. “Oh, hush, you. Keeping my nature concealed for everyone’s benefit. Just wanted to be along for the ride, you know?”

Frumpkin forces his fur to lie flat. Home were he and his heart would have ran out his mouth, or sprouted flowers. “An amusement?”

Dark eyes crease. Fond? Regretful? He settles into the locks of curly hair, preens at some near his muzzle. “No. A… well. It’s a lot to get into, really. But she needs me. So she’ll have me.” There are too many lights in those eyes as they flit back to the familiar. “It’s… not a game, anymore.”

He flicks an ear. “As mine will have me,” he says. 

(What power is his that he holds to an Archfey? The power to soothe every nightmare, to be comfort to touch, to be eyes and whiskers for one with such feeble senses. To be something lost, found again. To play his part. As Frumpkin. For Caleb.)

The mouths of little predators are not made for smiles. They cannot be made into ones, either, not as form might fit fancy in the Feywild. Frumpkin stares into a grin of needle-teeth and blade-molars all the same.

“I like you!” declares the archfey. “Now, just keep this to yourself, alright dear?”

Frumpkin nods, tail swaying. “Of course. For them.”

“It was a pleasure.”

And then:

“Name’s Artagan,” says the weasel.

Oh. Oh.

He knows this one. No fey know a stranger’s name, unless they do not mind whose mouth it finds itself in. Easy, powerful.

“Frumpkin,” replies the cat. 

He, wisely, keeps his actual names to himself.

🎃Trick or Treat! Send me an ask and you'll get a trick (angst) or treat (fluff) ficlet in return! 🎃

[itcameuponamidnightqueer]

beau wakes up calm.

it’s a feeling so pervasive that she’s almost unsettled by it. their lives aren’t calm right now, between eiselcross and vess de rogna and now these eyes that keep popping up all over her and caleb. any calm she feels is usually immediately overshadowed by guilt for feeling it.

but beau can’t find it in her to feel guilty right now, not when the tower is quiet and there is a large, warm arm thrown protectively over her stomach. not when beau can feel the tickle of hot air at the back of her neck as yasha breathes, steady and restful in a way she doesn’t get to be when she’s awake. beau considers learning magic just so she can stop time and give yasha all the rest she deserves.

for now, she slowly rolls onto her back, taking care not to jostle yasha or slip out from under her secure embrace. she rolls over and doesn’t open her eyes until she’s on her back, the mirror directly above her, waiting.

it’s a sex mirror. of course it’s that, because caleb said as much when he told her about it, and god, does she owe him a week’s worth of uninterrupted research or whatever nerdy thing he wants in return. it’s a sex mirror and she and yasha have checked that off their list already, at least for the first time. second, fourth, something--they have definitely checked that off their list for a quantifiable number of times, it’s just that beau doesn’t quite know the number.

it’s a sex mirror but it’s also not because it’s more, because beau opens her eyes and can see the two of them as they are now--wrapped together, heavy and sticky in the illusory sunlight, sheets draped carelessly across their legs. they look good together. it isn’t the first time beau’s thought that, and with any luck (and a lot of hard work), it won’t be the last. but this is the first time that beau’s had the chance to really sink into that feeling, to see the reality of it and commit it to memory.

beau takes her time looking, glances over her own familiar body and the way it melts against one she can’t wait to know better. she should be a little cold perhaps, given that the sheets don’t go any higher than her hips and she hasn’t been wearing clothes for a good couple of hours. but yasha is so very there, so wide and curled around her in a way that seeks comfort as much as gives it. she’s on her side, the parts of her that aren’t touching beau sprawled greedily across the expanse of the bed. beau could spend hours looking at this reflection of them, of yasha and the curve of her muscles; the way her skin actually seems to create a glare in the early morning light. it’s so bright normally, even brighter now for the nearness of beau. time is fleeting and the tower will disappear soon and so beau is greedy--she looks at the angle of yasha’s legs, the way she twitches her toes on the one foot that hangs over the edge of the bed. beau looks at yasha’s back, the slope and strength of it; she remembers how solid and warm it felt under her fingers just a few hours ago. beau has known how sturdy yasha is since they met--has lusted over it since then, to be honest--but to feel it within her grasp, to be pressed against it and to have it soften and yield at her touch…

beau would learn magic to give yasha the peace she needs. she would learn art to memorialize this moment and the way they look together.

she watches yasha sleep, clocks the way her nose is pressed into the crook of beau’s neck. she almost cries at the drape of yasha’s arm across her chest--a few inches down and she’d have a handful of boob. as it is, beau’s heart is beating a rhythm right into yasha’s palm. 

beau turns her head away from yasha and clears her throat. “hey.” she clears it again when it becomes clear just how ragged it’s gotten. “dachsies, can you hear me? or do i have to yell.” she waits, straining to listen for the soft clink of a tiny bell or two. “frumpkin?” she tries again.

there is a faint ‘mrrp’ and the door to her bedroom opens slightly, just wide enough for a lithe fey cat to slip through. she can’t see frumpkin as he enters the room, but he’s there all of a sudden, jumping noiselessly and weightlessly on top of the bed.

he stares at her expectantly and beau wishes very much that caleb isn’t snooping, too.

frumpkin walks forward and sits next to her, the not-quite-fur of his tail swishing against her side. beau can’t help reaching out with the hand that isn’t trapped by yasha’s body and giving him a few scratches under his chin. he preens, closes his eyes tilts up to give her a better angle, and settles right back into his serious face when she pulls away.

“can you get the hot tub going again,” beau murmurs, “with some nice shampoos and shit? and maybe start working on a few dozen pancakes; i’m sure the others are gonna barge in here soon. make sure there’s a stack of spider ones for me and yash.”

frumpkin chirps again, butts his head against her chest as he jumps off the bed. beau reaches out to affectionately grab his tail, chuckling as it slips through her hands.

yasha is awake when beau turns back to look at her.

“hello,” yasha whispers. “good morning.” beau cuts her off with a kiss. “i love you.”

beau smiles at that, rolls over and presses herself firmly into yasha. she repositions yasha’s arm to wrap around her back, laughs when yasha drifts downward and squeezes her ass. beau kisses her again and again, slow and firm, catching any inch of lips or neck that she might have missed before. her hands roam without any destination, traipsing over the plane of yasha’s stomach, tickling at the dimples in her shoulders underneath which her wings sprout. beau knows how sensitive those spots are now, and she presses her fingers against them, syncs that up with another determined kiss. she doesn’t miss the way yasha’s tongue stutters against her own, the brief loss of contact she sacrifices to gasp, just a little.

yasha’s nails turn inwards and dig into beau’s hips, and beau returns the favor. 

beau reaches upward and grips yasha’s chin, marveling at the fact that her thumb seems to fit perfectly over the line of black beneath yasha’s lip. she pulls away and tickles the skin there, can’t resist one more kiss, especially when it elicits that special, breathy kind of laugh from yasha.

she makes sure yasha’s eyes are open and looking at her before she speaks.

“i love you, too,” beau says, her voice deeper and hoarser than usual, even for the morning. “last night was...i won’t ever forget it, yash.”

“me either.”

“might have been the best night of my life.”

“not if i have anything to say about it,” yasha winks. “i wish we didn’t have to leave.”

“yeah,” beau sighs--breathes, really, and she falls a little more in love with the way yasha doesn’t turn her face away from what is definitely a bad case of morning breath. “we’ve still got some time before we have to, though. the dogs are setting up the hot tub right now.”

yasha laughs, deep and rumbly and beau feels it in her chest. “before all of you i never would have understood that sentence.”

“right?”

“mhm. it is--a very fun thing to think about.”

yasha gently lifts a strand of hair from beau’s face and tucks it behind her ear. beau watches the entire time, so entranced by the size and safety of yasha’s hands, so determined to follow their path with a kiss, that she misses yasha’s other hand coming up to rest behind her legs, and beau lets out a very uncool yelp as yasha lifts her from the bed.

yasha drags them across the mattress, stands and gets herself situated, and it isn’t until they’re halfway to the floating pad that beau clocks exactly how she’s being carried.

yasha’s arms are confident beneath her shoulders and legs, and beau has looped her arms around yasha’s neck instinctually, and tears start to well up in this moment of realization.

“yasha…”

yasha stops walking, leans down and kisses her, and it isn’t because they’re naked that beau is glad no one can see them right now.

beau flutters through her feelings and rests her head against yasha’s chest, silently, as they float gently down to the hot tub. 

everything seems more muted in the daytime--the lionesses aren’t as imposing, the slides aren’t as tempting. but the steam and smells are just as inviting, and beau lets herself be carried into the water, settling into the warmth as yasha reaches for the soaps.

they both slip under the water; beau shakes her head and scratches at her scalp while she lingers, getting out the last of her restless energy. she pops back above the surface and drifts over to yasha, who has settled into the corner, her arms resting elegantly atop the stone edges. beau drops into yasha’s lap without a word, humming, content, as yasha’s arms slip back into the water and wrap around her body. yasha snakes her legs over the parts of beau that her arms can’t reach until beau is completely covered, completely enveloped in her love.

beau has always been attracted to women who could break her--big, strong women whose bigness and strength almost always equated to a good, long time in the bedroom. and yasha has that in spades--probably invented it--but it sure is fuckin’ something else to know that breaking is only half of it, that the flip side is that beau can be fully contained and sheltered in yasha’s arms. bigness is a comfort as much as it is a challenge. yasha uses her size to hold and cherish just as much as she uses it to fight.

beau sinks down so that her nose is just above the surface of the water, and tries her very best to pretend she isn’t crying. the effort is abandoned when she gets out of her head and realizes yasha is very carefully and very thoughtfully soaping up her hair with thick, gentle fingers.

beau sits up a bit and spits some water from her lips. “how come you’re so good at that?”

yasha takes a moment to think, tilts beau’s head back so she can rinse the shampoo out. “zuala and i didn’t have as much time together as i wanted,” she answers, “but we made sure to treasure every moment we were allowed.” she rubs her hands together, presumably spreading conditioner over them; beau can hear the slickness of it echo through the air. “i am able to follow a god because i had a wife once,” she says, quiet and matter-of-fact, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

god.

“well, fuck.” beau closes her eyes and tries to relax her shoulders as yasha’s hands knead through her hair again. “did you--i mean, i don’t want to overstep but--it was like this? all the time?”

yasha is quiet again, patient with her feelings and beau and the combination of the two. she slows her ministrations and rests her hands on the sides of beau’s face, her thumbs tickling at beau’s ears.

“the only similarity between the love i feel for zuala and the love i feel for you is that it is coming from me,” yasha finally says. “it was like this, yes--and it wasn’t like this at all. it was different because it was her. the whole world was different because it was her, you know?”

beau nods. “hope so,” she replies. “trying to, at least.”

yasha squeezes her cheeks, presses a kiss to the top of her soapy head. she gently pushes beau underwater and scrubs her hair clean with a little more force this time. beau lays back and watches, smiles as yasha scoops a hand underwater and brushes it over her lips.

beau sits back up feeling more refreshed and loved than she ever has in her whole life.

she swirls around to face yasha, lets the water guide her back to yasha’s lap. beau hooks her legs around yasha’s torso, lets the water hold her up as she drapes yasha’s hair over her shoulders.

“your braids could use a little touch-up,” she murmurs.

yasha, so sensitive and careful about her hair, simply nods and watches as beau lets it out, making tidy piles with the ties and ribbons on the ledge. yasha’s hair billows out once the last bunch is free; in the water, she looks beautiful and serene.

beau rests her hands on either side of yasha’s face, swipes her thumbs under yasha’s eyes as they kiss. “thank you,” she says, softly, “for loving me.”

yasha sighs and kisses her again. “you make it easy, beau. you don’t have to thank me.”

“i do,” beau insists. “for now, i do.”

she directs yasha away from the wall, takes her place in the shampoo corner. it’s a little different this time--beau can’t surround yasha quite as fully, and she has to wrap her legs around yasha and float to get a good angle to wash her hair. but yasha doesn’t complain, and she rests her arms on beau’s thighs and slides her hands over her legs, soothing and present. the water never cools off and the dogs are somewhere else, and for a few quiet moments, nothing in the world exists except this tub in this tower, hidden in a smelly, dirty tavern.

/

they’re clean and laughing in the kitchen by the time the rest of the party trickles in. beau can hear jester and veth speaking at cartoonishly loud volumes, announcing themselves just in case beau and yasha are doing anything worth being interrupted.

beau smiles, grabs a spider-less bite of pancake, and squeezes yasha’s hand.

“oh, here they are,” caduceus says as they file in. he takes a deep breath and smiles at the spread of food. “what a feast.”

he disappears, probably to make some tea, and beau looks at yasha for just a moment longer before the energy is too much to ignore.

she turns and almost bursts out laughing at the sight of everyone, lined up in front of the table, watching the two of them intently. veth’s eyes are as big as saucers and jester’s are shimmering, her hands clamped over her mouth. next to her, fjord is blushing and even caleb is sporting a smile, reluctant though it may look.

“hey,” beau says. she smiles casually and she means it.

“you’re so cute!!” jester shouts, flinging her hands away from her face. “oh my god, you guys, you have to tell me everything; i’m so happy for you even though we had to sleep in that super stinky room. please tell me it was worth it.”

beau laughs, winks as she tickles yasha’s hand. “totally worth it, jes,” she promises. she gets up from the table, kisses yasha’s knuckles as she does, and gestures for jester to take her seat. “talk to yasha for a sec, okay? i left you some spider-cakes.”

beau is too focused on grabbing caleb to notice the way jester scrunches her nose.

she doesn’t catch fjord’s eye as she leads caleb out of the room and she definitely doesn’t look anywhere near veth. she just drags her cranky wizard to a corner out of eyesight of any window in the kitchen and crosses her arms.

“if you’re about to tell me everything,” caleb says, “please don’t be offended when i say that i would be happier not to hear it.”

“what? no, gross. i mean, not gross-gross, but because--you, gross, right?” beau clears her throat, gently punches caleb’s shoulder to center herself. “i don’t...wanna tell you stuff. i just wanted to do this away from everyone else.”

caleb narrows his eyes. “do what?”

beau steps forward and hugs him. there’s no hesitation or coaching this time, just a strong press of her arms, and she stays there as long as it takes for him to hug back and mean it.

“thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “this was….very special to me.”

“of course,” caleb mutters. “you need only ask, beauregard.”

“yeah, you say that, but it’s like--i know it, now.” to her horror, beau sniffles.

“i am glad you had a good time.”

“the best.”

“you smell very nice. thank you for bathing before hugging me.”

“i got you, dude.”

“can you let go of me now?”

“yeah, sure.” beau steps back and gives him one last shoulder squeeze. 

caleb nods and squeezes back. he snaps his fingers and frumpkin is there, leaping onto his shoulder as they walk back toward the kitchen,