#and then Cantrip would like grin at her and the second they got like back in the Winnebago

[moominpopzz]

Ashe would’ve had the most egregious platonic crush on Cantrip EVER btw,,, they deserved to meet

[mithrilwren]

I really, really wanted to contribute something to Essek Week​, but unfortunately with two essays and a novel chapter due by Monday, I didn’t have the time or mental energy to write anything new. Cue me remembering that I’d actually started working on an Essek-centric shadowgast Pirate!AU last summer, that never saw the light of day! Though I did a whole bunch of research for it, summer ended before I could get farther than the first couple chapters. Still, I’m very fond of the premise, and I’d like to finish it one day. I can’t guarantee I will (life’s too busy to commit myself to another Big Fic Project atm) but in the meantime, here’s a little taste in the form of the first chapter.

-------------------

For @essek-week Day 7: AU

Courts of Silk (Chapter 1)

Essek startled from his trance to the crackle of blistering thunder overhead.

Mind bled of all drowsiness in an instant, he unfolded his legs and slid off the berth, drifting to the center of the room and tilting his ear towards the boards above. 

A storm…  but the skies were meant to be clear for days, and he trusted Avus to know it. Could the weather have turned so–

Boom.

Essek’s eyebrows flew up as the deck visibly lurched below his feet. 

Not thunder.

Cannon fire.

More sounds now, hurried ones – an erratic tempo of feet pounding through the corridor outside his little room, the floorboards creaking dully under the weight of the crew scrambling over the deck above. He flinched as a louder noise pierced through the commotion: the rattling of a heavy fist falling against the door of his cabin, hard enough to shake the wooden frame. 

“We’ve been boarded!” Zel’ra’s guttural shout startled him out of his confused stupor, and he flew to the door and flung it open. The quartermaster stood outside, her snarling jaw dripping with whitish battle foam, the kind that bugbears of Rosohna so seldom have occasion to sport within city walls. “Come on, magic boy, time for you to earn your– Shit!”

Then she was gone, and Essek was left staring dumbly at the empty corridor, as Zel’ra raced back the way she came. A moment later, there was a yelp, and the grisly crack of metal hitting bone. Then there was no sound at all, save the rocking of the ocean’s pulse against the hull, and the thump of confident, unfamiliar footsteps, coming closer and closer to his open door.

He had only a few moments to make his decision. The fight might still be going on above deck, but if intruders had already made it below, there was little hope of a favorable outcome for the crew of the Barren Bow. He hadn’t thought the Empire would be brazen enough to attack a diplomatic ship in open waters, but there were soldiers of all ilks on the open sea, and no government to hold them to account so far from land. He would not put it past a Dwendalian crew to sight a Dynasty flag on the horizon and decide to take the matter of revenge in their own hands. If so, there was no telling what treatment they might expect at the hands of their attackers. Rage was rarely tamed by abstract rules of engagement, and he doubted anyone would care to ask what the nature of their mission was, once the killing began.

But perhaps…

Quickly, Essek drew aside his sleeve and materialized the leather–bound contents of his wristpocket into his hands. His spellbook lay beside precious components in their embroidered fold, and there, at the bottom of the pile: the folio. He whispered a quiet word and the paper folded apart, revealing its damning – and perhaps, in the right hands, lifesaving – contents. 

The letters. 

If the tides were so unfavorable that he could not fight, perhaps that might be enough to–

He vanished the whole affair back into the ether as two shadows fell across the door. 

From the darkness of the hallway, two figures stepped over the threshold. In front was a young woman: human, with swarthy skin made darker still by the weathering burn of long days at sea. Her hands were tucked beneath bare arms and her hip turned out to an unconcerned jaunt, adorned by a sash of deep blue. Behind her, and looming so tall that she had to hunch to fit through the frame of the door, was a giant of a woman. Taller even than Zel’ra, her bare shoulders glistening with rippling muscles and sweat, pale as moonlight – or as the steely glint of the broadsword at her back. The younger woman swept him over with piercing eyes, her confident grin not quite masking the focused gaze beneath. Though she bore no weapons, Essek could feel the stain of threat in every taut sinew of her body. He held still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Her eyes finally paused, centered on the floor beneath his feet, and her grin dropped into something more like a startled ‘oh’. Too late, he realized his mistake – that his levitation, as natural and instinctive as standing on his own two feet, had just given him away. 

“Mage!” she sputtered, and her hand was gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back before he even realized she’d moved. Essek dropped the levitation spell, hoping to get enough leverage from the sudden height difference to slip out of her grasp, but before he could so much as shuffle to the left, the taller woman was at his right, clutching his other arm with a grip strong enough to break bone. 

“Shit,” the first woman spat as she stepped back, allowing the second to take both of his arms into custody. “Who the fuck did we just board?”

Essek kept silent, staring at her, searching for any sign of weakness and finding less than nothing. If he had just had his hands free for a moment longer… but that didn’t matter now. There weren’t many spells without a somatic component at his disposal, and cantrips wouldn’t save his neck, should the giantess move quicker to snap it than he could speak. 

Without a means of immediate escape, he looked next for any way to identify his captors. They were human, but their loose, subdued dress – for the younger woman, a vest of blue cotton, the other, a braided grey tunic, and frayed ribbons in both their hair – was nothing like the silver and crimson finery of the Righteous Brand. 

If not from the Empire, who were these people? Hired thugs? Mercenaries?

“Are there more of you skulking down here?” 

He didn’t ask the woman to clarify, though he wasn’t sure exactly what she was asking. More drow? Yes, but he was not about to reveal the nature of the delegation travelling under his protection to her. More mages? No. As always, he had convinced the Bright Queen that his effort alone would be sufficient. For the first time in a very long time, he wished he’d been a little more conservative in estimating his own skills. Given the current situation, someone else’s power at his back might actually be welcome, rather than distracting. 

Her burning gaze made it clear that he had to say something, and soon, but for once, the right words did not come. The truth did not matter: he knew that any unfavorable answer would be taken as a lie.

Still, Essek would not panic. The only way to regain control of the situation was by carefully gathering information, finding something that he could use to shift the balance of power at a more advantageous moment. That was his particular specialty. 

“I do not know,” he answered coolly. “For I do not know who is above and below deck at all hours of the day. I can only speak for myself.”

“Beau! Fjor– fuck– Captain Tusktooth wants you on deck!” A new voice, its timbre high and grating, like glass against cold iron, echoed from around the corner. The woman – Beau, he filed away – turned her head and shouted back out the door. 

“Just a second, we’ve got one more!” Then, “Tell him to get Caleb over here, we’ve got a goddamn mage to deal with!” 

The giantess at his back leaned down, so close that her dreaded locks nestled amidst the silver chains that hung from tip to base of his pointed ear. “You aren’t going to give us any trouble, are you?” she murmured, and despite every ounce of training he’d undergone for exactly this sort of intimidation, he still couldn’t help the way he shivered at her dark tone. There was a deep quality to her voice that sung of violence, for violence’s sake, and though he wasn’t yet truly afraid, he had no wish to provoke her.

“How could I?” Essek gently flexed his arms in her grasp: not enough to challenge, but enough to reassure her of his helplessness.

Her lips curled back, and… yes. There was a little fear gathering there, in the back of his throat. A good kind of fear – the prudent kind. It would keep him alert, and focused, and ready to strike back when the moment was right. 

When she started pushing him forward, he followed her lead willingly, and the two of them shadowed Beau into the corridor and up the steps that led back above deck. Essek winced as the bright noonday sun slipped into view, already anticipating the stinging burn that was sure to follow. He’d managed to avoid the deck for most of the voyage, much to the chagrin of the Assarian crew. He was not born into a body made for manning rigging, and certainly not under an unrepentant sky determined to scorch his face and hands and neck and leave him itching and miserable for days without relief. His better use was below deck, planning for the engagement ahead, and his hours of fresh air better taken in the evening, when the gentler light of the moons was merely a prickle beneath his skin, rather than a flame. 

Everywhere he looked, he saw mismatched bodies. Though Essek hadn’t met the entire complement of the Barren Bow’s crew, he had to assume most of the scattered orcs, goblins, and bugbears belonged to their side. Most of the ones on their feet were being held in the shallow recess at the centre of the deck, where great cannons might have been lodged on a more modern ship. A handful of unremarkable humans, each equipped with a rapier – or, in one man’s case, a salt-encrusted retort – stood above them, keeping watch. Amidst all that humanity stood a wild–eyed goblin in a blaring yellow dress, hefting a crossbow composed of whirring gears and levers of an intricate make that rivaled Waccoh’s own craftsmanship. She was currently in the process of shouting threats down across the heads of his cowed compatriots. Some were clutching broken arms or wiping blood from contusions and burnt welts. Lying at the center of the group was an unconscious Zel’ra, the goose egg at the back of her skull already angry and red. 

Finally, he spied the remainder of the drow contingent clustered by the ship’s rail. Diplomats, all of them, bound for a parley at sea and not trained for conflict beyond what it took to hold a dagger right-way up. He was the only one among them battle-tested, and even then, his means leaned more towards subterfuge than outright combat. Theoretically, the Assarian crew was meant to be their main line of defence in case of attack. Clearly they had not proven up to the task. 

Essek would be filing a very unfavorable report with their commanders upon his return, if any of them survived the day. 

“Captain!” Beau shouted, and a tall half-orc stepped away from the railing, his wide-brimmed hat only partially disguising the many scars that littered his face. 

“Weather’s turning,” he said, casting his eyes towards the – as far as Essek could tell – clear horizon. Those same yellow eyes flickered up, above Essek’s head, and for a moment seemed to narrow before turning back to Beau. “You finished clearing the hold yet?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Beau jerked her head, and Essek was thrust into the sunlight all at once. The glare was blinding, and apparently not just to him. The giantess’s hands jerked around his arms, like they wanted to fly up and shield her eyes as well. That was all the opportunity he needed. 

With one quick motion, he jerked his arms from her grasp and drew his hands together, tracing familiar glyphs out of nothing but muscle memory as his mouth uttered an incantation, and the world exploded around him. The giantess was flung back against the doorframe, wood splintering beneath her weight, and both Beau and the half-orc slammed into the deck and began to hurtle towards the side of the boat. Forcing his eyes to stay focused amidst the chaos and the harsh light, Essek caught the glitter of a cutlass skittering along the boards as he took stock of his position on the newly reborn battlefield.

Nearly all of the boarders were in a concentrated area in front of him, and the rest of the Assarian crew were protected by the lip of the recess in the deck. The terrain could not be more advantageous. Essek allowed himself a small smirk as he raised his hand and prepared a vacuum blast that would level the whole of the upper deck, and deliver them all to safety in one swift stroke. 

How arrogant, that this petty group of mercenaries thought they could capture–

“Counterspell.”

The magic sizzled and died in his hand, and Essek whirled, searching for whoever had spoken behind him. Thugs he could handle, but it was always best to deal with a mage first, when they could do such infuriating things as what had just occurred. But once he turned, he found himself facing an empty doorway, and an empty deck above that. No trace of whoever had cast the counterspell. 

The giantess was gone as well.

He heard the click before he could parse what cold and heavy thing was tugging on his wrist, but he was horribly aware of what was happening by the time his other wrist was wrenched behind his back and small hands clasped the second iron band shut. A stomach-churning wave of exhaustion passed through him from scalp to toe, and he staggered, only barely holding on to consciousness. Head lolling towards the floor, he saw two soft-soled boots landing lightly on the deck in front of him.

With great effort, he managed to drag his head up from his chest, and found himself staring into blue eyes and dusty freckles, lips pressed into a thin line, all framed by tangles of copper-red hair. 

“Good work, Nott,” the man said. His accent was one Essek had only heard once before, though through the mire of exhaustion he could not remember where.

Behind Essek, the half-orc groaned and pushed himself up off the deck. “Next time you have a brilliant plan for subduing the prisoner, maybe let’s try not putting us all in the line of fire, hm?” 

The man ignored the sarcasm, still looking all too carefully at Essek.

“Are you finished?” he murmured, and though his body was lithe, his soft voice sung of as much violence as the giantess’s darker growl. 

With a sigh, Essek let his shoulders drop. He could still feel the pulses of magic coursing through the iron bands around his wrists. Even if he got his arms free again, the cuffs would not be easily slipped, or broken. These people, whoever they were, came equipped to handle wizards like himself. Was that what they were, then? Assassins in disguise? Privateers? The blunt instrument of some government or another?

Not that it made much difference now. Whoever they were, he was at their mercy. 

“Spin him around.”

Essek felt himself being maneuvered away from the man’s incisive gaze. Through bleary eyes he caught the looks of frustrated disbelief from the four drow delegates, lamenting their crushed hope in silent, huddled unity. He was meant to be their protection. Now that Essek was taken, what else could save them? Not one of them was brave enough to attempt it themselves. A shiver of disgust ran through Essek, as heady as the self-recrimination it concealed at having allowed himself to be captured so easily.

The half-orc strode up to Essek, the sword in his hand now replaced, though Essek hadn’t seen the man move to retrieve it. It was a silver cutlass, fine enough to cleave a person clean through and leave one half still propped up on the other. Too rich a prize by far for a simple mercenary – he must have come by it dishonestly, or been given it as boon or bribe. Neither prospect boded well. 

The hand that gripped the sword told an equally foreboding story, for only the thumb was composed of green flesh. The rest of the fingers were severed at the third knuckle, and replaced by metal imitations fixed to the wrist by a harness of leather cords. Still, he held the hilt with all the confidence of a trained fighter, and the surety of his grasp left Essek little doubt as to its effectiveness, mechanical augmentation or no.

“My name,” said the half-orc, “is Captain Tusktooth.” A hint of bright teeth flashed from below the wide brim of the hat. “And this ship is mine now. Its cargo, mine too.”

The answer about the identity of his captors, at last, became clear, for what little good it did him.

Pirates.

“By whose authority?” Essek shot a harsh look at the foolish dignitary who had chosen this moment to find their courage, but Tusktooth only grinned harder.

“By my own.” Behind Essek’s back, Nott and Beau slipped back through the splintered doorframe and down into the depths of the ship once more. “Now, my crew is going to finish taking a look through your cargo. I trust that your captain has been honest about the contents of your hold. Are there any other surprises I should be warning my people of? Anybody else looking to make trouble?”

Would that there were. “You will find little of value to take. We travelled light.” He spoke the truth, having no more useful lie at his disposal. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and another wave of exhaustion teased at the edges of his mind. He fought it with all the strength he had – which was growing less and less by the minute.

“So your captain told me. But that wasn’t my question.” Tusktooth’s voice grew as keen as the blade in his hand as he lifted it and placed the edge to the shallow of Essek’s throat. “Are there others like you aboard?”

He did not flinch. Torment and torture were old friends: his own cherished instruments. He did not fear what this man would do to him, any more than he feared death itself. At least, that is what he told his errant heart, as sweat began to bead at the nape of his neck.

“No.”

Tusktooth stared him down for a minute longer, and Essek held his gaze as best he could with the sun still searing his eyes. But at last, the sword withdrew, and Essek’s breath came a little easier. “Then let’s call this an exercise in… mutual trust.” He smiled once more, and Essek returned the expression with a vague twitch of lips.

The tense exchange was followed by ten excruciating minutes of silence, during which Essek did his best not to fidget in his heavy robes, even when his exposed skin grew so heated he felt liable to burst into flames. As they waited, the redheaded man pulled Tusktooth aside for a private conversation, and Essek sweated, and watched, and tried to formulate a plan.

The pirates would find nothing of value to steal. The Barren Bow had provisions for the voyage, but anything else aboard was the purview of the Assarian crew, who had planned to head back towards the shores of Igrathad as soon as the parley concluded. There were no scheduled stops for trade, and thus, no trade goods in their hold. There weren’t even guns to offer. Essek would never dare to admit it aloud, but the Dynasty lagged sorely behind the rest of Wildemount in outfitting its fleet with the relatively new technology of cannonry, at least of the type that lacked a magical component. Firearms had only entered the sphere of weaponmaking some thirty years prior, and with Xhorhas primarily landlocked, the navy hadn’t been high on the priority list for refurbishment. 

His best hope was that some of the crew had hidden stashes of coin in their quarters. Otherwise, there would be nothing for the pirates to take, and without anything to satisfy them, well… he did not want to be in manacles when that news was delivered to a man who’d already put a sword to his throat. 

If only to convince himself he was not totally beaten yet, Essek watched Tusktooth and the redhead carefully, seeing what he could glean from body language alone. Their conversation was hushed but tense, and every few moments the redhead would turn his eyes towards the drow delegation, and then to Essek himself. He made sure to drop his own eyes before they could meet again, not wanting to spark another confrontation by appearing insolent. As for the pirate captain… there was confidence, yes, but the unwavering edge of confidence seemed to drop away from his shoulders as he spoke to the other man. His arms moved more wildly; his words were more rapid, and at a higher pitch. Perhaps his earlier confidence was not so unshakeable as it at first appeared.

At last, Beau and the goblin re-emerged from the staircase. “We got shit all,” Beau said, tossing down a half-empty sack by Essek’s feet. He winced as a few bruised tubers rolled out across the warped deck.

“...Shit.” Tusktooth ran a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Nothing?”

“Nott and I checked every inch of that hold, the crew quarters, everything. No money, no timber, no – fuck, I don’t know – fine silks or–”

“No cannons,” Nott added mournfully. “No black powder.”

“We went through all this for nothing?”

“Maybe someone’s holding out on us,” Nott said, brandishing her crossbow. “I could make ‘em talk for you, Captain. Make them squeal–”

“Oh–kay, Nott,” Tusktooth said, “let’s take it down a notch.” But despite his placating tone, his look was thoughtful. Again, he turned to Essek. “You never never did say what you all were doing out here, so far from home. You don’t look like a sailor to me.”

“Yes, friend,” said the redhead, stepping up to Essek from Tusktooth’s other side, alarmingly calm, and placing altogether too much emphasis on the second word to be trusted, “what is it you do here?” Essek took a half-step back, not liking the feeling of being pressed in from all angles, and walked himself straight into the chest of the giantess. 

Nowhere to hide. And with his hands bound behind his back, no way to levitate up to a level where he didn’t feel every inch of height his captors had over him. Which, at his firmly average height for a drow, was many.

Focus, Thelyss. Focus.

“Why should I answer your questions,” he sneered, “when you have not done me the same courtesy? Who are you, to board a vessel commissioned lawfully by the Bright Queen herself?” It was a dangerous ploy, but a considered one – a hastily calculated risk. If the pirates could not be convinced there was nothing of value to be found, they might decide to punish the crew for concealing their rightful prize, and when even a beating couldn’t drive his compatriots to forfeit non-existent gold, the pirates might well scuttle the ship and leave them all to drown at sea. He doubted simple brigands would care much for the particulars of a diplomatic mission if there was no treasure involved, so there was little harm in broaching a subject that might be far more dangerous to discuss with more educated captors.

But apparently, some aspect of Essek’s logic had failed him again, because the redhead immediately shot a wide-eyed look at Tusktooth, before looking back to Essek. “The Bright Queen?”

Essek gave a little bow. His head swam as he dipped back up – the handcuffs, no doubt, though it could just as easily be the beginnings of heatstroke – and he had to swallow twice to find the fortitude to speak without slurring. “Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty and ambassador of the realm.” The last part was an… embellishment, and if he chanced a glance over at the true ambassadors, he imagined there would be many offended looks. But thankfully, all attention was solely focused on him. “I assure you, you won’t find the prize you’re looking for on a diplomatic vessel, gentleman. Your friends have already given you proof – we carry nothing beyond our own provision. Unless you have a particular taste for the delicacies of Xhorhasian fashion, I’m afraid we have little to offer you.”

Nott snarled, but the redhead put up a hand. “Captain,” he said slowly, looking at Tusktooth. “Might I… make a suggestion?” 

“You may.”

“It’s not something I’d usually propose, but times being what they are…” Tusktooth nodded grimly.

“We haven’t got many options left.”

“Precisely. I believe that our friend Mr. Thelyss here has lied to us.” He could laugh for the irony of it all; this was the most truthful Essek had been in years. “There is indeed something very valuable aboard this ship.” His blue eyes pierced through Essek, and it was only his determination to keep the – now violently pitching – contents of his stomach where they belonged, that stopped him from speaking up in his own defense.

“And that is...?”

“Himself.”

[theassthatquits]

@blupjeansweek2021 Day 1 - Magic

This was the first time they had lost someone early in a cycle. Granted, it was only the third one, and there was only a couple weeks until the reset (they hoped, this whole situation was unprecedented) but it was still devastating. Especially for Lup. Losing her twin was like losing herself. Worse, she thought.

Lup spent her days either wandering around the ship in a daze like a ghost or out in the fields blowing up anything she could without hurting anyone. The hunger was coming soon, anyway. The crew tried to cheer her up and keep her distracted. Magnus would invite her to go on treasure hunts to find something cool for Taako when he regenerated, Merle would follow her around on the ship telling crazy stories about his life before the IPRE. Davenport thought maybe if she did some work she would feel better, so he sent orders for her to help him repair the ship. She never came. The biggest surprise was when Lucrecia hinted at a previous relationship, something Lup would have usually leaped at to discuss, but all she got was a “oh, wow”.

The only person who didn’t try to coddle her or distract her was Barry, and that’s because he was almost as devastated as she was.

Taako and Barry had been together on a hike scouting for the light. It was pretty routine, they weren’t far away from the ship and everything should have been fine. The two of them weren’t paying close attention, having gotten into a discussion about Barry’s cooking habits (he made his quesadillas in the microwave!) and didn’t notice the quicksand in front of them. Taako walked right into it and Barry leaped out of the way just in time, scrambling to try and grab him but it was too late. Taako was gone.

And Barry was to blame.

Lup didn’t think this, she was too distracted by the emptiness in her chest to place blame on anyone, and she knew deep down it wasn’t his fault. Plus, there was nothing she could say to him that would be worse than what he was saying to himself.

Before Taako died, he had been spending quite a lot of time with Barry, who wanted to improve his magic skills. After he was gone, Barry threw himself into his studies and magic. He would spend hours in the lab or in the field trying to make some sense of it all and then when had reached his limit he would go outside and tirelessly practice the cantrips and spells Taako had taught him. The thing is, Barry hadn’t been able to cast a single spell since Taako died.

Hours and hours he spent under their usual practice tree and Barry would try to mage hand sticks and rocks on the ground, or cast a simple prestidigitation, but nothing happened. This happened for days before he let out a desperate, frustrated yell.

“Why am I so fucking useless?” Lup heard from across the way. She was on her nightly midnight walk when she heard Barry’s cries in distress. She briefly thought about pretending she heard nothing, he couldn’t see her, after all. But no, she couldn’t do that to Taako’s friend.

“Hey, Barry?” She called softly, approaching him. When her eyes adjusted, she saw him collapsed on the ground. He looked up at her, terrified and humiliated, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Oh, hey Lup. I’m just practicing and got a little frustrated, nothing to worry about.” The crack in his voice betrayed him. She knelt on the ground next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. This happens to the best of us. You just need to focus. Here,” she stood up and reached out her hand. He stared at it for a second before taking it and letting her help him up. She situated himself behind him and adjusted his stance. “Relax your shoulders, spread your feet shoulder width apart, it helps if you’re grounded. Breathe, Barry, you’re not going to get anywhere holding your breath in. Steady, that’s it. In and out.”

He had no idea how he was able to keep his breathing in control with her pressed up against him. They had never been this close before. Sure they worked together pretty regularly, but they didn't talk or hang out much outside of their work. He did notice her, though. It was hard not to. Lup was easily the smartest one out of all of them and she was drop-dead gorgeous. He considered every second with her a gift. But she didn't need to know that.

With her quiet, soothing guidance he was able to cast mage hand for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t for very long, but it was something.

Cheering in triumph, he turned to her and grinned, and she smiled in return. It had been so long it felt foreign to her. “You’re not so bad at this, Bluejeans. Keep practicing and you’ll be the third best caster on the ship, right after me and Taako, of course.” Barry’s smile faltered and a sharp pain thumped in her chest. They hadn’t talked about him since the incident, but she didn’t hate it. In fact, it kind of felt...right to talk about him with Barry.

“Lup,” Barry stepped forward, his face contorted in a mix of pity and devastation.

“Barry,” she echoed. “It sucks that he’s gone. It really does.” She took a step towards him. “But not talking about it won’t bring him back, for either of us. He’ll be back and I’ll make sure your magical education doesn’t falter in his absence.” Lup closed the distance between them, threading her arm around his and began leading him back to the ship.

“In fact, you traded up. I’m a much better caster than that fool, anyway.”

Barry laughed and then got quiet. “Lup, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond at first, just rested her head against his shoulder as they continued walking.

“Me too.”

[bogariel-frogariel]

A Wish for a Better World Part 6: What Good is Magic?

Part 6 of my Ruby time travel fic: we get to see a pretty spell

Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747657/chapters/63040006

Ruby stood by her twin's side as they sailed towards the sorcerer's lair. A powerful artifact held on the flagship of the Frosted Fleet dispelled the magical fog that surrounded the island of burnt, frozen food held together by yogurt cultures and layers upon layers of dark enchantments.

 A purple taffy steel sword was strapped at her hip across from the longest of Sapphria's dagger. The shortbow she had been practicing with was slung around her back alongside a quiver of arrows that matched her sword. Strapped underneath the long sleeves of the thick, bright red tunic she was wearing to ward off the cold were her other two daggers, ready to fall into her hands with a flick of her wrist.

  She'd spent much of the last two days ensuring that she'd completely memorised the spell, practising runes and chants over and over until she could do them almost without needing to thin. All she had to do was make sure she stayed by Jet's side.

 She'd been having troubled dreams for the last few nights. Usually her visions dwelled on the past, but this time she saw hundreds upon hundreds of different futures, all of them awful. She hadn't wanted to see Jet die once, let alone a hundred times, and on top of it there was all the others, dying again and again on repeat, each in slightly different ways. One moment Jet would have an arrow through her throat, then her father would have been beheaded, then Saccharina was strangled by ropes, Theo was dragged down into the depths of the ocean as he was caught in a ship wreck, Lapin was stabbed through the heart and then Jet went down again, struck by lightning. Over and over again until Ruby was screaming for it to stop. She'd woken in a cold sweat, panting heavily and her heart racing. The nightmares had left her jumpy and vaguely nauseous.

 From her shoulder, Yak cooed quietly and nuzzled into her cheek. Ruby reached up and petted him.

 "You'll watch over the battle, won't you?" she whispered. "Make sure no one tries any funny business."

 Yak cawed in agreement and then took flight, quickly climbing into the clouds where he could watch the battle below, completely unseen.

 Jet grabbed her hand and squeezed in comfortingly. "We'll be alright."

 Ruby nodded absentmindedly but was interrupted before she could speak by a strong vibration from her breast pocket. Ruby pulled the black sugarglass mirror out of her pocket, seeing it emit a faint indigo glow. Ruby tapped the surface and saw Frostel light blue face fill the image.

 "Princess!" she greeted, in a whisper. "We found it, we found the proof."

 "Really?" Ruby asked, her voice hushed even as Jet shifted closer to her.

 Frostel grinned and moved the mirror so Ruby could see one purple and one bright pink bubble-gum square. "Hubert Bubba and Streya Bubbles snatched the letters right from his office. They reveal how he got the Meatlander arrows to cover up General Roccocoa's murder and the fact that he got his orders from Ceresia."

 "Do we know who in Ceresia?" Ruby asked.

 Frostel grimaced. "Apologies, my princess."

 Ruby tightened her free hand into a fist but said, "Don't apologise, you have all done very well. You will all be given rewards upon my return to Candia. I will appeal directly to the king and queen."

 Frostel's eyes widened and then the mirror tilted as she bowed deeply, the background behind her head rushing. "Thank you, princess."

 The other two behind her chimed in with their own gratitude and Ruby smiled. "Bring the evidence to Castle Candy and ask for Mr Sarone. He'll make sure you're taken care of until my return. I will forever be grateful to you."

 There was another bow and then there was another round of gratitude and then the call ended.

 Jet and Ruby exchanged a wide eyed glance. However, before they could say anything, there was the call of a battle horn from the flagship, and they were surging into battle.

 This time, Jet stuck to what she was told. Neither of them left the ship.

 That wasn't to say they didn't get any action. In less than two minutes, their ship was swarmed. Many of the nights stayed on the ship, protecting their princesses, as Jet and Ruby attempted to stay as close to the mast as possible, their backs almost up against the wood.

 Theo never strayed further than ten metres away from them throughout the fight as slashed through seemingly endless waves of opponents, trusting their father and their sister to get into the temple and destroy the magic orb that was working as the source of the sorcerer's power. Ruby tore through sorcerers and shot down their human acolytes, who couldn't cast magic but were incredibly well trained fighters, and dispelled as many spirits as she could with her radiant power from the Bulb, pausing every so often to send a healing spell at whatever ally she could see that was most injured.

 It was gruelling work and Ruby found her energy flagging, the magic steadily becoming harder summon. However, she could tell they were making headway. None of the knights that Ruby could see had fallen, and if they did go down, they were quickly dragged away or protected by their brothers at arms.

 At one point, Ruby saw Gooey and Swifty make their way up to the helm of the ship to protect the Candian maple syrup sailor that was holding the wheel steady. Both she and Jet spied the gigantic storm spirit, crackling with lighting, creep up behind them as they were preoccupied fending off the last few acolytes that were remaining on the ship, since the sorcerers were retreating to attempt to shore up their temple, which had been penetrated by the Candian and Frosted forces.

 Ruby hesitated and Jet nudged her.

 "Go!" her sister yelled. "I know you've been practicing for something like this."

 Ruby glanced back at them, seeing the storm spirit creep across the deck silently.

 "Now!" Jet insisted in Twinspeak. "You'll regret it if you don't."

 Ruby grimaced but jumped up and grabbed one of the rigging ropes that were being blown around the ship in the storm. She used her momentum to swing forward and around so that she could smoothly land on the deck, right in front of the huge storm spirit just as it was about to envelop Swifty and Gooey. She hit the spirit with the most powerful dispel magic she could manage, hoping that the golden light cantrip she'd cast on herself would be enough for people to ignore the small purple sparks that materialised around her fingertips and that the slight chocolatey and caramelly scent would be overlooked in the heat of battle.

 Both Swifty and Gooey turned at the dying screech of the spirit. Their eyes widened briefly before they nodded at her.

 Ruby was about the return the gesture when she was distracted by a battle cry. She turned her head to see a wave of spirits led by a team of acolytes surge onto the ship as the sorcerers retreated towards their temple. Within the second, they had overtaken half the ship, surrounding the knights and warriors standing there.

 Jet spun to face the new attackers but was almost immediately knocked off her feet as spirits and acolytes converged on her, sweeping her and Theo too far apart for Swirlwarden to help. Ruby let out a cry as Jet went down, feeling a too familiar pulse on her chest as her locket grew brighter.

 Suddenly, something inside Ruby snapped.

 Her screech was inhuman as she lunged towards Jet, seeming to teleport as she found herself in front of her bleeding sister. Before any of the attackers could even touch Ruby, they were ripped back, shadows lashing out and tearing her away from them. More opponents lurched towards her and Ruby yelled, a shockwave of shadows exploding out of her, immediately tearing through all the spirits and flinging the acolytes back, many of them going overboard.

 Ruby fell to her knees at her sister's side. A huge stab wound through Jet's chest was bleeding sluggishly and the Locket of the Sweetest was beating slower and slower against her chest. It felt almost like Ruby's heart was slowing down with it.

 She was out of healing spells, having used her last to seal over one of her sister's arrow wounds a few minutes ago.

 However, she didn't allow herself to wallow, grabbing Jet's hand.

 "I will not watch my sister die again," she snarled.

 She threw the golden light off of her and up so that it was glowing down on them and illuminating her sister's rapidly dying body.

 She reached inside herself, knowing what she should do as Yak swooped down and shifted into Cerridwen and started to pace around them. Ruby managed to grasp the energy inside her, sucking in the magic that was dancing in the air.

 Ruby dipped a finger into one of Jet's open wounds, combining it with it with some of the blood from one of her own many cuts before she spread the mixture across her sister's skin as she drew the many intricate runes that she'd memorised, chanting the long incantations over and over again, focusing on perfectly articulating the ancient dialect of Candian.

 She sunk further and further into the ritual, quickly losing herself to the magic in herself and in the air as her Hungry One shadows kept away any attackers and her Bulb magic covered them in a general layer of protective light.

 -----

 Theo was knocked back twice in the space of ten seconds. The first time, by the barrage of storm spirits that took him off guard, which swept him away from Princess Jet and the second by the wave of shadows that burst from Princess Ruby, who had somehow made it to Princess Jet's body in almost no time at all. He stumbled backwards along with everyone else on the ship as the storm spirits were immediately ripped apart.

 A few of the acolytes were knocked clear off the ship and swept away by the currents, though a few tried to lunge towards their attacker, only to be skewered by roiling tentacles of shadows, appearing out of the corners of the ship or cast by the light that appeared in the sky against their bodies.

 Their section of the battlefield went deadly silent, as the two sorcerers' ships that had been flanking the Candian battleship were also affected by the wave of shadows, which had been so powerful that it had knocked over the masts on those two ships. The marauders, sailors and Candians alike all came to a standstill as Princess Ruby began drawing symbols over her sister's skin in blood and started chanting an ancient dialect of Candian that Theo couldn't understand but recognised from his days squiring under the Archmage Lazuli.

 Dancing streams of light in shades of silver and purple sparked to life around the princesses and a scent, sweet and warm, filled the air. The light got brighter and brighter until Theo had to look away.

 When he managed to blink the stars out of his vision, Theo saw that Ruby had pulled back and was kneeling up as she gazed down at the still unmoving form of her sister.

 "Come on," the princess murmured as she leant back. "Work! Dammit."

 She leant forward and placed her ear on her sister's chest. A few moments later she pushed herself back up on her knees and hit the ground.

 "No!" she screamed, her shoulders beginning to shape. "Please!"

 She bent over and pressed her forehead to her thighs as sobs began to shake her frame. Before he could even think, Theo was moving forward, only registering his mistake when the other knights called out for him to stop. However, he was not skewered by the shadows, which seemed to have settled sometime during the spell.

 He reached Princess Ruby's side at the same time as the Chancellor. Theo felt his stomach clench at the sight of the Primogen. This couldn't be brushed off as simply an advanced bit of magic. This was distinctly magical, and certainly not of the Bulb. However, the Chancellor didn't say anything about the crimes he just witnessed, instead he knelt down on Ruby's other side and gently pulled her back.

 "No!" Ruby yelled, pulling away from him, only to bang into Theo's armour. She recoiled, wrapping her arms around herself as her chest heaved with sobs.

 "Princess-" Theo began only to be cut off.

 "I can't watch her die again! I won't do it!"

 Theo's voice was stolen from him as a shard of ice skewered his heart.

 "The spell was meant to protect her! It was meant to keep her alive."

 The chancellor's ears drooped and he reached out with his paw in an aborted move to touch the princess's shoulder.

 "I was better this time! I found the right spell! What good is magic if it can't bring her back?"

 Theo swallowed, his voice sticking in his throat. There was nothing he could say to that.

 Suddenly, something in the air shifted. Where previously, it had been charged with energy, magic palpable in every breath and sparking across Theo's skin, now it had gone completely still, as if all the energy had been sucked away. The shift was so fast that it left goosebumps across Theo's skin, and caused a weird pressure in his ears.

 Theo sucked in a breath and watched as Ruby's head snapped towards her sister. Theo followed her gaze to see that Jet's body was glowing. The runes on her skin, which had previously disappeared, were glowing a mixture of purple, silver and pale gold.

 Ruby stared, her hands scrunched the fabric of her thick, crimson pants.

 All three of them watched as the light was slowly overtaken by a dark magenta and rosy red. The Princess Ruby sucked in a sharp breath a moment before Theo felt four distinct pulses of energy and four lights formed around Princess Jet's body, one a pale yellow, another a midnight blue, the third a lighter, paler blue and the last a mixture deep bronze and shining copper.

 The spheres of light elongated and features started to form as the shapes sharpened. Theo stared, transfixed as between one blink and the next, the familiar figures of the four Rocks sisters appeared in front of him. As one, they all knelt down and put their hands on the Princess Jet, who's eyes snapped open as soon as they touched her.

 The black liquorice took in a shuddering gasp, the gaping hole in her chest slowly sealing over as she sat straight up. Princess Jet's gaze swung around to look at her aunts before it rested on her sister.

 "Ruby…" she whispered.

 "You're alive," the red-skinned girl whispered back. She lunged forward and threw her arms around her sister, who hugged her back as they shared a tight embrace.

 Ruby pulled back. "I-I did it… I saved you."

 "You sure did, kid," the Princess Sapphria said, grinning at the girl. The four spectres had stood up again and were watching their nieces.

 Ruby blinked at her for a few seconds before she burst into hysterical tears.

 Jet leant forward and wrapped her arms around her sister again. "Ruby! It's alright. I'm okay."

 "You were dead!" Ruby exclaimed between heaving breaths. "You were gone! And I wasn't. And I can't - I can't do that again. I can't be alone. Not again."

 Jet rubbed her back. "I'm here. You're not alone."

 The words only made Ruby sob harder. After a few moments, General Rocococa knelt down, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm sorry, girls, but the battle is dying down now. We need to be going now. You both did very well."

 Jet pulled her head out of Ruby's shoulder and grinned up at her aunt. "Thank you."

 The general smiled back. "Keep at it, soldier."

 Lazuli looked to Theo and both he and the Chancellor scrambled hastily to their feet, bowing deeply.

 "You've done well, young Theobald," she said.

 "I-I failed," Theo stammered back. "Princess Jet got hurt. You died."

 Lazuli smiled sadly. "You have done the best that you could. What happened here today was out of your control. And you could not have stopped me. Everything is falling into place.

 Then she looked down at Princess Ruby. "That was a fine piece of spellwork, young one. You will be a credit to Candia, and one of its most powerful protectors when you are older."

 The Saint Citrina stepped forward, extending a hand towards Ruby and a hand towards the Chancellor. "You are both truly blessed by the Bulb. It is an honour to see you continue the practice of the Faith."

 Princess Sapphria snorted. "Alright, let's get this show on the road here. We need to be going if we don't want literally everyone on this battlefield to know what happened. Too many have seen us already."

 General Rococoa nodded. "We will see you both soon."

 "Yeah! I'm excited to fight alongside the three Rocks sisters! I did not get to kick enough ass when I was alive."

 Citrina sighed. "Sapphria..."

 "What? Don't pretend like you don't agree with me. We both had to be nice all the time."

 General Rococoa put her hands on her hips. "Enough. We are going."

 And, with that, they all disappeared."

 The three ships were left in silence as the noises of battle indeed started to fade, their little island of interlocked ships floating slightly apart from the mess of decks that the others were locked in. At some point in the commotion, King Amethar and Princess Saccharina must have completed their objectives as all the storm and sea spirits had completely disappeared, leaving the sorcerers and acolytes as easy pickings, unable to use their power now that the source of it had been destroyed.

 It was the Chancellor who broke the silence by crossing his arms and looking down at Princess Ruby.

 "That was about the least subtle display of magic you could have managed," he observed flatly. "There's pretty much no way that that could be anything other than arcane blasphemy."

 Ruby huffed out a laugh as her and Jet tried to shakily get to their feet. "My apologies, Chancellor."

 The Chancellor sighed, but Theo thought he could see a small smile on the rabbit's face. "I suppose it was unavoidable."

 Ruby smiled and went to take a step forward but swayed violently, paling rapidly. Theo barely lunged forward in time to catch her from hitting the deck ad Sprinkle gave a squeak of warning a second before the Chancellor caught the other fainting princess.

 -----

 Ruby woke up to find Theo standing beside her bed, and Lapin sitting on a chair a few feet away from him as he read a book. She blinked and raised her head, feeling a shift beside her and glancing over to find Jet sitting up in bed, a mug of some steaming liquid in her hand and a tray of food on her lap.

 Jet glanced over at her as Cerridwen shifted from her legs to Ruby's lap and grinned. "Ruby! You're awake."

 The conversation that had filled the room immediately sputtered out as both Saccharina and her father strode over to stand at the foot of the bed that Jet and Ruby had been placed in.

 Ruby groaned, feeling a dull ache in her head. "How long…?"

 "You've been out for five days," her father informed her. "Jet's only been up for about half an hour."

 Ruby frowned. "Five days."

 Saccharina nodded. "Yes, it seems doing a miracle of that magnitude took a lot out of both of you."

 Ruby furrowed her eyebrows. "A miracle… what?"

 Lapin cleared his throat. "Yes, Princess. It seems you are blessed beyond what we previously hoped for."

 Ruby glanced at him, and then looked wildly around the room, spying several of the knights that had been on the ship, as well as Gooey and Swifty, leaning in the corner of the room.

 "What?"

 Theo straightened. "The Knights of North Gumbar are first and foremost protectors of Candia. Many of us follow different spiritual paths but we all do it with the understanding that our duty is to protect the realm. And, it is in the interest of the realm that we observed the princess perform a perfectly holy miracle."

 Ruby looked to Sir Toby, who was standing at the wall. "Even you?"

 The blue gummy bear inclined his head. "I may be a devout Bulbian, but my loyalty is with Candia. Besides, I have seen the golden light that surrounds you when you heal and the radiance of your attacks and your studying of the Book. From my perspective, your magic is of the Bulb, your highness."

 Ruby blinked and then glanced at Gooey and Swifty.

 Gooey shrugged. "I don't know anything about magic. All I saw was some pretty golden lights."

 "Yeah," Swifty added. "We ain't no snitches. Besides, we owe you."

 Ruby took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, careful not to jostle her familiar. "Alright."

 Lapin poured a cup of what Ruby realised was tea from a steaming pot, adding sugar and milk before he handed it to her.

 "What are we doing now?"

 Her father drew himself up and glanced slightly at Saccharina.

 "The Dairy Isles have agreed to receive us on our way back home."

 Ruby nodded. That was good. "It will be good to visit our closest allies and for Saccharina to…"

 She trailed off, not quite finding the right words, but Saccharina smiled warmly at her all the same.

 Her father smirked. "Your mother said the same thing in the letter she sent this morning."

 His expression turned more serious as he pulled out another envelope of lolly paper, sealed with the royal crest.

 "Actually, there was another letter addressed to you girls as well as me. I thought it be best to wait for you to wake up before I read it."

 Ruby shifted in anticipation alongside her sister.

 "Well, dad, read it!" Jet urged. "I want to see what Mum found out!"

 Her father slipped the glasses that Ruby had found for him out of his pocket. They had been in a sealed box in the secret compartment that Ruby had found the Barbarian book in. Lazuli had enchanted them to give to Ruby's dad on his Saint's Day to help him with reading, but had never gotten the chance to give them to him.

 He scanned the document, his fingers clenching around the paper as his eyes moved down the page.

 Everyone in the room felt his mood shift.

 When he was done, he dropped his hands, looking down at his feet.  

"What did it say?" Jet asked.

 Their father lightly tossed the paper into Ruby's lap.

 "Documents arrived from Muffinfield, evidence which proves that Calroy Cruller is in contact with Ceresia and was responsible for the murder of Rococoa."

 His voice was thick with rage. "The formal recommendation from the queen is immediate execution."

------

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[chelsfic]

Moonbeam - Firbolg x Reader -TAZ fanfic (Part Two)

Part One

A/N: Holy shit. This is, without a doubt, the cutest frickin’ thing I’ve ever written. 

Warnings: Fluff overload, irresponsible spellcasting

The firbolg lets out a mighty grumble and buries his fists into his wild mane of hair as he considers the answer.

“C’mon, big guy,” you encourage him, swinging your feet up onto the edge of the table between you. A distinctly soporific throat-clearing from the stacks catches your attention and you drop your feet back onto the floor at a glare from the librarian, Sabour. You flash a sheepish smile in his direction before returning your attention to the open text book in your lap.

“Liquidity Ratio,” you repeat.

“Li-qui-di-ty….ratio!” he echoes in a voice that sounds borderline-pained. “This is the ratio of a firm’s liquid assets to their...li-a-bil-i-ties! It measures the ability of a company to fulfill its...financial...obligations.”

You let out a delighted whoop that has Sabour shushing you again, but you don’t care. You reach across the table and grab the firbolg’s hands, your face lit up with a dopey grin.

“Yes! You got it!” you cry, slamming the book shut with finality. “No more studying! Tonight your name is...One Who is Going to Ace His Accounting Exam!”

“Is...a bit of a mouthful,” the firbolg jokes and it feels like he’s conjured a warming flame in your chest. 

You squeeze his forearms with your slender fingers, looking up (up, way up--gosh, your friend is tall) and meeting his eyes with a smile that dimples your cheeks.

“Well, then, I’ll call you, Makes Me Smile.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as soon as the words leave your lips but the firbolg’s eyes crinkle with his own grin as he responds, “Is nice...to have friends. You. Fitzroy. Argo. I...feel like... I have found a new clan.”

His words send another wave of warm affection to your heart. Even if he only ever thinks of you as a friend...even if there’s no chance of him ever returning your secret feelings...it’s worth it to make him smile.

---

“Well...it doesn’t compare to the luxury vintages I’m accustomed to--The Maplecourt Estate boasts a truly magnificent vineyard, have I ever mentioned?--but it is...potent. I’ll give you that,” Fitzroy eyes the amber liquid in his cup, the fizzing bubbles of the champagne glowing in the firelight.

“Aye, it’s good stuff!” Argo pipes in from across the fire, downing the last few drops from his own cup and leaning over for a refill from the leather skein.

“Well, we needed something worthy of the celebration!” you exclaim, sipping from your own cup and shyly leaning into the bulk of your study partner as you cast a happy, prideful glance up at him. “We passed!”

The firbolg smiles down at you from his place beside you on the fallen log. You’re in your spot--a clearing on the edge of the Unknown Forest where the four of you have taken to meeting on the weekends when you’re not out on real-world assignments. The champagne bubbles fizz merrily in your stomach and you feel the pleasant, giddy lightness of alcohol diminishing your inhibitions. You let your head fall against his arm, angling your body toward him and snuggling into his warmth.

He ducks his head to catch your gaze with an inquisitive grumble from deep in his chest.

You take a long gulp of your drink before explaining, “It’s a little chilly.”

The firbolg turns to look at the roaring fire in the middle of the clearing with a quizzical expression. He catches Fitzroy’s knowing, smirky gaze from across the flames. 

“The lady has a chill, Bud! Don’t be ungallant--put your arm around her!” Fitzroy winks at you and you might burn up at being so transparent. Apparently everyone can see right through you. Everyone except...him, of course. 

You lean away a bit as he shifts, wrapping one, massive arm around you and gently resting it over your shoulders.

“Like...this…?” he mutters, eyes flicking from you to Fitzroy to Argo, seeking guidance. Your friend has learned so much about living with those outside his own kind...but he still has moments of wobbly uncertainty. He leans down to speak into your ear in an approximation of a whisper that is--actually--perfectly audible to everyone in the clearing, “Is this...okay?”

For a few seconds you’re incapable of speech. His face is an inch away from yours, your breath mingles and if you were to lean forward just a tiny bit your lips would touch. His eyes--the same muddled bluish-grey as his skin--flick over your face as he awaits your answer.

You clear your throat and offer him a shy smile, “Yeah, this is okay.”

“K-I-S-S-I-N--Hey!!” Argo’s teasing singsong is interrupted when Fitzroy launches a fireball that misses hitting him in the face by mere inches.

“Aaargh!--sorry, my man, that was supposed to be a snowball. I’m still--um--centering myself within my magic, as Festo says.”

Argo gives him a mutinous glare, muttering under his breath, “Wasn’t the crab supposed to take care of that?”

“It’s a JOURNEY!!” Fitzroy shouts with a dramatic swish of his velvet cloak. 

You snort into your cup, dissolving into giggles that you try to muffle by finishing off your drink. Fitzroy rolls his eyes and lets out an aggrieved huff.

You cut the tension before this can devolve into one of Fitzroy’s hissy fits, “Hey, I get it, Fitzroy. Everyone knows I suck at magic. I can’t even focus a cantrip let alone rip out an awesome fireball like that!”

The noble barbarian preens at your praise and--feeling charitable--gestures towards your mountainous companion, “If you want to see something impressive you should ask Bud, here, to cast Moonbeam! He took out two floors of imps with that little beauty.”

You feel the rumble of the firbolg’s laughter before any sound falls from his lips, “Mmm...you are...flattering me, Fitzroy.”

It’s not long before the three of you are chanting in sync, “Moon-beam! Moon-beam! Moon-beam!”

The firbolg finally stands, moving to the edge of the clearing with a groan of assent. 

“In...corrigible!” he calls back to you. 

You watch as the lumbering giant kin turns inward, bowing his head and holding his hands before him, palms upward. There’s a moment of utter stillness. Even the fire’s flames seem to freeze for a split second as the air around the firbolg quickens with the promise of magical energy. Pale blue sparks appear floating above his palms and in the next second a silvery cylinder of pure moonlight appears in the air in front of him. He raises his head, meeting your gaze with the smallest hint of a smile on his lips when he catches the look of wonder on your face.

Fitzroy and Argo clap their hands and yell praise, but you’re struck silent by the beauty of the firbolg’s magic. You stand, walking over to his side without taking your eyes off the silver light. 

“It’s beautiful!” you remark, reaching out a hand and tracing the air around the cylinder. 

The firbolg grabs your wrist, his meaty fingers wrapping around your forearm easily. He pulls you back against him and away from the beam of light.

“Beautiful,” he rumbles over your head, tucking you into his chest protectively, “but dangerous.”

You turn in his arms, leaning back to catch his gaze. His eyes reflect the moonbeam’s illumination as he looks back at you. 

“Moonlit Eyes,” you murmur, taking a breath for courage before reaching up to trace his rounded cheek with the tips of your fingers. He leans into the touch, nuzzling his face against your small palm.

“Mmm?” he questions, closing his eyes to your touch.

“That’s your name tonight,” you answer, tugging at the collar of his homespun tunic until he bends down to your level. “Moonlit Eyes.”

You’d thought that maybe a firbolg’s kiss would be rough and overwhelming, judging by the intimidating bulk of your dear one. You should have known, though. Bud, Moonlit Eyes, Makes Me Smile, One Who Comforts Pegasi...his kiss could only ever be as soft and gentle as true moonlight.

Distantly, you catch the buzzing laughter of Fitz and Argo from the other side of the clearing.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!!”

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@aliveandkickingsstuff​

[songbrook]

Seconds...

*music* Part 1 Kiss the Rain Part 2 The Assassin Part 3 Shelter From the Storm Tagging @gloamingdawn​​ - You’re it. @ouroandar​​, @trisandrah​​, @saltsparkle​​ As Raerys stood over Ouro, gun in hand, tears and rain blurring her vision she caught motion down the walkway. The barrel of her revolver swung to meet it, sight set and her hands steadying. She blinked several times, forcing saline and rain through her lashes, trying to visually lock on the target. Just as she feared there had been more than one, and Ouro was unconscious, leaving the last comer to her. 

Lightning illuminated the yard, exposing her quarry. A blurry figure running at full tilt, hands raised as if holding a gun, a gun that Raerys didn’t see. Just that quick the visual was gone, now only the shiny wet ripples of the figure’s clothing caught the too-soft light spreading from the porch lights and the opened front door. “Just a few more steps…” Raerys thought, waiting, waiting for the figure to come clear in the ambient glow of the stoop. His sacrifice would not be in vain however, she drew back the hammer with her thumb, and slowed her breathing. Whoever these people were, they had no idea who they were dealing with when it came to her. She felt ice-cold resolve in her veins, thoughts of Olivia foremost now, even as Ouro lay bleeding to death at her feet.  She would give no warning, only shoot, once she could see them clearly enough to make sure her bullet found its true home, deep in their brain. She had never shot another sentient being, but that wouldn't preclude her doing it now. Her daughter was inside and she'd vowed a long time ago to snuff the life of anyone who dared come for her or Olivia. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Fiddle,” Trisandrah sighed as she approached the far end of Dawning Lane. Though there was no rain here, the bubble of Silvermoon extending over the old ruins enough to protect it from the elements, she could smell the ozone of lightning and see the heavy clouds above obscuring the stars of the night sky. The temperature here was chill and the air damp, indicating that once she passed through the gate there was a full on gale out there. She paused for a moment, considering waiting it out. She had her heavy laden cart full of boxes, paper bags and little this-and-thats which decorated her table at Menagerie. As she stood, weighing her options she spied a young courier who burst through the gate, soaked to the bone and making haste. “You there! Hallooo! Would you like to make a bit of extra side coin?” She asked, slowing the youth: a boy of indeterminate age in the unmistakable livery of Falthrien Academy. He came up short, looking at her through rain traced lashes, nodding. “Sure, Lady… what you got? And where is it going?” Tris wriggled the handle of her cart, giving him a winning smile. One of those sly and flirty smiles she was so good at, the entrapment smile as Raerys liked to name it. The one no one seemed able to say no to. “Oh, just this little cart here… if you could just take it up the way to the inn and leave it with Miss Delaniel with a word that Miss Emberstrom will be along in the morning to pick it up, I’d be ever so grateful.” The youth’s momentary dazzlement at Trisandrah’s wayward grin melted as she gave the specifics. The cart would certainly slow him down and all he wanted just now was to make it to the Spire and then find a warm dry place to get a late super. A credulous eyebrow was his response, while his body fidgeted - ready to get back at it. “I’ll make it worth your while…” Tris dipped into her purse, withdrawing three gold coins. She splay them like cards in her dexterous fingers and tried the grin again. The boy softened for a second at her expression and then squared his shoulders and pursed his lips. “Hrm… not quite it I see. Howsabout…?” Tris turned and rifled through the cart, bringing up the box of rose creams she’d saved aside for Raerys. “You can take this as well, and if they’re not to your taste you could gift them to your girl?” It must have been adequate, for he extended a wet and dripping arm, hand palm up for the coin. “Alright, I’ll do it.” Tris dropped the coins into his extended hand and then handed over the box. The youth, tucked the candy box under his arm and pocketed the change. Tris turned slightly offering the cart and the boy leapt forward and grabbed the handle from her. Without another word he bolted down the golden-cobbled street.The cart bounced and rattled with the motion, seeming to complain at the speed, but before Tris could offer a caution about it tipping, he was already too far away to bother. With that bit of business concluded, she wrinkled her nose and cast a quick cantrip to provide some shelter from the rain. Above her head and down to her shoulders a shimmering arcane dome appeared, looking something like a carnival glass umbrella. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Out into the wind and wet she ventured, feet picking up a swift track. The promise of warmth and shelter at Raerys, with little Olivia and a roaring fire sounded just perfect as a cap for her evening. Through the gusts of wind, which carried heavy drops of rain she persisted, her fine leather shoes soon soft as mush but for their spiked heels. “Oh, Fiddle…” she said, yet again. She was almost to their lane, when she decided to stop and slip off her now destroyed shoes, preferring at this point the comfort and safety of bare soles. Just as she slid out of the left one, the right already in her hands she heard a sharp crack of electricity. The sky lightened, turning the inky landscape into a black and white photograph all around her. She thought, perhaps she’d heard a yelp, but then it was whisked away by the thunder that followed the lightning strike. Looking down toward the little house with blue shutters she saw one of the aspen in the yard glowed, a seam of fire running down its paper-white bark. “Gracious! That’s close…” She fretted a moment, then headed off again, picking up her pace as much as bare-feet would allow. The closer she got the more attention the front facade of the house took. During the brief flashes of light, she thought she saw two figures in the yard, very close to Raerys’ stoop. They appeared to be clashing, but as the darkness filled the void of momentary light, she chocked it up to Raerys’ hydrangea bushes out front being ravaged by the howling coastal wind. And then just before she let out a soft sigh, glad to be within the slight glow of the little house with the blue shutters, she heard a scream. A masculine scream of agony. Something had happened, was happening! The little chocolatier broke into a run, bare feet pounding down the path to the house, splashing through puddles that soaked the hem of her dress. As she ran, she squinted into the night, trying to make out what slowly came clear the closer she got. A crumpled form on the doorstep, another swaying in the wind just beside it and the growing sound of gurgling and sobbing. She lifted her hands on instinct, the words and gestures of a spell coming without effort as she leapt over the little garden gate. The scene went bright, as if another strike of lightning had landed amidst it, but it held steady and only then did Tris see Raerys’ figure backlit by the lights in the house and framed in the open door. Raerys had her pistol and Tris could make out the swaying form was Ouro. Blood, lots of blood ran through with rainwater seemed to flood the stoop and roll down the face of that little stone step. Was it Ouro’s or the other man’s? Questions, a billion of them suddenly crowded her mind, but they were all eclipsed as she heard the hammer of Raerys’ revolver click and realized she was staring down its barrel. She would not be able to stop the spell now, no… she could feel the fire singing her fingertips, smell the rank odor of infernal magics as they crackled about her aura. She did the only thing she could, she screamed and swung her hands left, forcing the magma like-ball of fire she’d accumulated out over the side-yard. “RAE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tris' sodden features grew steadily closer, running full tilt toward the house. Tris was likewise poised, her hands and fingers curved into arcane forms, her mouth already muttering against the howling wind a spell of fiery destruction. Raerys leaned into the shot, head tilting just a little to fix her gaze down the sight, her hands re-gripping the weapon as she prepared to unload the contents of the pearl-handled revolver into the second assassin. In the haze of wrath and terror, Raerys didn’t make out Tris’s face, nor the soaked frilly frock that clung to Tris’s legs as she ran toward the house. All she saw was the figure advancing and the churning pyroclastic mass that was forming in its fingers. She knew in a moment, she, Ouro and the house would be on fire, a fire that even the wet of this storm would not quell. It was now or never, her finger slowly curled, pushing its soft pad to the trigger. And then the second scream, Tris’s voice, Tris calling to her, and then Tris’s horror-widened eyes burning from the rushing figure. Raerys dropped her arm, shaking so hard that she thought she too may end up a lump on the stoop, next to Ouro’s dying body and that of the now dead assailant. Sobs, heavy and all encompassing surged through her, as she tilted and then sagged forward, catching her shoulder on the blood smeared pillar of the porch. The stench of demonic magic filled the air as the pyroclastic mass shot out like a cannonball, followed by a fiery tail that arched out and over the garden, headed for the garden gazebo that Raerys had labored so long to erect. But it mattered not a wit, for it would not take a life or burn down a home. There was no time for shock, no time for questions or recriminations or anything else extraneous in that moment. The two women locked eyes, one bend and winded with exertion, hovering over the bleeding figures of two men and the other bent and sobbing, leaned against a bloody post. “Fiddle, fiddle, FIDDLE FUCK!” Tris finally exclaimed, pushing herself up to standing as she surveyed the mess. “Exactly that… ok, I think Ouro is still alive… we got to get him inside.” Raerys un-cocked the revolver and tucked it into the waistband of her pants, naturally sliding the safety on as she did so. “You grab his feet and I’ll get his shoulders, hurry and then we need to get Lyne on the com and check on Olivia… ohmyfuckingsun…” Tris nodded, quick to scoop up Ouro’s feet and long legs as Raerys slid her hands under his arms, securing him about their pits and began to drag/lift him over the threshold and into the little house with blue shutters. He felt like a sack of flour, lifeless and limp, heavy and awkward but the two managed with a few sworn words and a near slip of Tris’s feet as she stepped wrong in the puddle of viscous blood on the stoop. Breaching the threshold they were bathed in warm light, the quaint little house suddenly christened with blood and violence felt different, its hard edges in sudden relief. Laboring together Raerys and Trisandrah managed him to the couch, a fine silken thing with hand painted blue and green finery. The trail of blood behind them was troubling, doubly so as they lay Ouro down on the silk and the blue turned to purple and the green to a muddy brown. “Fuck.. ok, I’ll get Olivia, you call Lyne.” Before Tris could contest, Raerys was gone, running down the hall toward the bathroom. Trisandrah dug into her purse and found her comm and with a touch she made the connection. It was Lyne’s private code, direct line to their friend and healer. Tris relayed what she knew, which wasn’t much, that Ouro lay bleeding badly on the couch and they were in dire need of Lyne’s gifts. And while the conversation took place, Raerys found Olivia, blessedly asleep, having had a full belly and the warmth of her blanket lulling the infant into the land of dreams. She looked so peaceful, swaddled up and eyes closed that for a moment, Raerys froze. The air in her lungs gone in that instant, her heart in her throat and beating in her ears. “Livi…?” Raerys whispered, terror coloring what should have been relief with uncertainty. Bending down to scoop up the infant as she spoke, her unspoken fear melted away as a soft curl of lips resulted from the caress of the child’s name, uttered by her mother’s lips. She didn’t wake, but stretched and kicked lightly before nuzzling into Raerys’ arms. The breath Raerys didn’t know she’d stifled slid out, her shoulders suddenly sagging as that primal fear and tension slid out of her. She wanted very much to take Livi to her room, to sit in their rocking chair and fall asleep. Everything felt heavy, her limbs and lids, her heart and mind, but she could not. Ouro was dying. Gathering herself, Raerys tightened her grip on Olivia and joined Tris in the Living Room, wide eyed at the amount of blood that continued to seep from Ouro’s wounded body into her silken couch. “We need to um… bandages or something…” Panic returned, reedy and awful in her voice. “I’ve got a little something to tide him over until Lyne arrives.” Tris took charge now, like a switch had flicked inside her. A steady calm came over her as she made her way to the couch, in her hands a small vial of a healing draught the sort they passed out to soldiers. “It won’t heal him totally, but it will buy us time.” Kneeling beside Ouro, Tris tilted his head gently, then with her teeth pulled free the cork in the vial. She poured slowly, making sure not to choke him, letting the glowing red liquid flow over his tongue. He coughed once, both potion and blood spattering his lips, but then he swallowed and swallowed again as Tris emptied the vial into his mouth. Tris nodded as she leaned back, seeing the color rise once more to Ouro’s ashen-skinned face. “Alright, the first aid kit is where we agreed yes?” Raerys nodded, looking back over her shoulder toward the bathroom. “Uhhuh… should be just to the left on the top shelf.” She would muse later on the cool, almost cold detachment in Trisandrah’s manner, the methodical and calm surety of her actions. But not now. Shock had come to visit and burrowed itself into her bones. Tris went off, and when she returned she held some linen bandages which she quickly wrapped into a pressure bandage. Setting them on the couch arm, Tris leaned over the Gunman and tore open what remained of his shirt, exposing the ugly dark stab-wound in his gut. Raerys winced, her head shaking as she watched his vitae dribble from it and saw the ugly growing stain under his skin where blood pooled in his flesh. The chocolatier took the wad of linen padding and placed it over the wound, then wrapped Ouro’s midsection tightly with the tails of the bandage, lifting him easily and working carefully to make sure it was good and tight. “Might help, might not… I guess we’ll see.” Her voice was almost mechanical, devoid of true feeling and it lent a cold crispness to the air of the house. All Raerys could do was mutely nod her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. She felt useless, utterly powerless in the face of this. About Olivia’s little body she tightened her grip, lifting the sleeping infant to her cheeks and lips, where she could draw in that precious scent of life and love. “Daddy is going to be ok, Livi… he is, I… promise…”

[gideonthefirst]

Naddpod fic suggestion: what no one tells you about saving the world

So this has turned into a three chapter exploration, the first chapter of which is now up here! Here it is, featuring Ulfgar and Hardwon:

They emerge from Hell triumphant. But it doesn’t feel triumphant, is the thing. Ulfgar Trueaxe walks with a limp, Thiala too spent to fully heal the leg that leaves bloody footsteps behind them, and he and Alanis are supporting her between them. He can feel Thiala’s hands shaking as she clutches onto both of their shoulders. They need to rest. Moradin above, they need to rest, but they’ve been in hell so long that Ulfgar’s lost track of the days and the sudden impact of sunlight is so startling that they stop moving, for a second, and look up into it.

“Pelor’s still watching us,” Alanis says, turning her head to Thiala, and Thiala lets out a noncommittal sigh, barely a response. She’s tired. It makes sense.

(read on AO3)

They keep walking until they find a cave by a lake so large Ulfgar can’t see the other side. Alanis can, probably, but he doesn’t ask. The cave will protect their backs and the lake will protect their fronts and Alanis doesn’t sleep these days, anyway, and Ulfgar and Thiala awaken to the slightest of sounds. Not that Ulfgar would ever admit it, but if this is what being a legendary hero is, he doesn’t fucking want it.

Alanis and Ulfgar lay Thiala down as gently as they can on the ground of the cave, but Ulfgar’s leg gives out as he bends down and he falls to his knee, barely able to support her. There’s something necrotic in the wound, and it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt. He notices Alanis looking at him, brow furrowed in concern, and shakes his head. Thiala’s got it worse, used all of her healing on him and Alanis and none on herself.

Thiala falls asleep almost immediately, and Ulfgar and Alanis retreat to the back of the cave, light a fire, heat up the last of their rations. They don’t speak more than necessary. They’ve both got two levels of exhaustion, at least, and making too much noise would mean they couldn’t hear Thiala’s quiet, quiet breathing as it stops, coughs, starts again, repeats. Eight hours. She just has to make it eight hours and then she can Heal the fuck out of all of them and Alanis can Teleport them home and he can just hang around and be useless, he guesses. There’s nothing he can do outside of a fight, and if he ever sees another fight again it’ll be an eternity too soon.

They eat. He sleeps, in the back of the cave where it’s darkest, and Alanis trances, towards the mouth where she can hear the rhythm of the lake lapping against its shores. When they awaken, it’s dark.

Thiala is still unsteady, but she Greater Restorations, Heals, Cures Wounds. Alanis sets up wards, and Ulfgar doesn’t know shit about magic, has never had any interest in learning, but he knows that you don’t ward a cave in the middle of nowhere that you’re planning on Teleporting away from.

“What are you doing?” he asks, as Alanis walks back towards him and Thiala, and Alanis blows a puff of smoke into the air, looking for all the world like it’s just another day. She’s always been the strongest of them, but Ulfgar knows walls when he sees them.

“What do you mean?”

“The…magic shit. Wards.”

“If this is going to be our base while we recover, it’s gotta be well protected. Woulda done it last night if I’d had anything more than a cantrip.”

Thiala looks up from her seat on the ground, leaning against a stalagmite. “Thanks, Alanis.” She sounds like she knows what Alanis is talking about.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We did it. We killed Asmodeus. We’re done. Let’s just go home. No one will ever know.” It was true.They’d killed Asmodeus, and they’d all made it out alive, which was more than could be said for anyone who’d come before them.

“Ilsed’s still down there,” Thiala says, and Ulfgar can’t tell if the strain in her voice is from pain or from anger. He goes to glance at her amulet for reassurance, as he always does, and doesn’t see it. Must be under her shirt or something. Whatever. Not the important thing right now.

“And someone else can deal with Ilsed! We made it out alive. Thiala barely made it out alive. Why is it our responsibility again?” Thiala pushes herself up into a sitting-up position, and Ulfgar lets out a harsh laugh. “Look at her! She’s blown most of her higher-level spells already this morning, and still can barely sit up. We’re in no shape to do anything!”

“I’ll be fine,” Thiala responds, but even Alanis looks skeptical.

“We’re the heroes, Ulfgar.” But Alanis has stopped her ritual casting, which is a win in his book. “Who’s going to do it if not us?”

“Someone else,” he says, and his leg gives out again, even though Thiala’s done all she can to heal it. From the ground, again – “Someone else.”

Hardwon Surefoot doesn’t give a shit about saving the world. It’s never been particularly kind to him, and it’s never treated anyone he cares about well, either. He knows this is ridiculous. He knows that, technically, the people he cares about are part of the world, but he doesn’t see why he can’t just save them, and not the rest of it. His mother, dead. His father, dead and probably a piece of shit. The only girl he’d ever loved, dead. His childhood hero, mind-controlled for years. It’s a litany of suffering that seems to target everyone around him. And –

He watches Moonshine trance, on the other side of the one big bed, Bev in between them and Balnor snoring on his chair. He knows he should sleep, but he’s still not used to his new body, to the way it feels when it’s dark and quiet and there’s nothing else to focus on. Bev is curled up next to him, one tiny hand on his chest, and Moonshine looks much more tired than she ever does when they’re awake. Her lips are pursed tight together and he can see the way her brow furrows, the way her shoulders tense. When they’re awake, she’s full of love and energy, always laughing, talking, flirting. Hardwon thinks his walls are strong, but he’s got nothing on Moonshine.

A strand of hair jumps up and down over her mouth as she breathes in and out, and Hardwon can’t help himself, he reaches out, careful not to wake Bev, and tucks it behind her ear as gently as he can. Before he can pull away again, Moonshine grabs his hand tight and presses it to her chest, her shoulders relaxing for a second before she releases it.

In the morning, before they head out, he and Bev do their squats. Hardwon does his best not to think about how different his body feels, and claps Bev on the back, says, “You’re getting there, kid!” The grin that splits Bev’s face in response seems almost improbable. After, when they’re sweaty and worn out (not that Hardwon would admit it), they sit side by side and Bev pulls out Ulfgar Goes Punch. Hardwon has it memorized by now, but he doesn’t say anything.

“This is an A, remember?” Bev says. “It sounds like ahh.”

Hardwon traces it with his finger absentmindedly as he looks across the tent at Moonshine listening in and Balnor packing the bag. “And this one?” he asks, even though he knows he’s asked a thousand times. Bev doesn’t get frustrated.

“That’s an H. The first letter of Hardwon.” Right. He knows that one. He knows that one.

“What about this?”

“That’s an E. The first letter of Elias.” Bev is so small leaning against him, patiently trying to teach him something he should have learned decades ago, and the acknowledgement of both of his names is so small, so unimportant, but who else has ever done that, besides these three? Who else has ever bothered to acknowledge him for long enough to learn one of his names, let alone two?

So, yeah, Hardwon Surefoot doesn’t give a shit about saving the world. But if that’s what they want to do, he’ll do it. Because he will die the death of a forgotten hero before he allows himself to let them down.

[midnigtartist]

Happy V Day pls enjoy this, the only widomauk fic you will ever need

The first indication that something was off, the first thing that spark Jester’s detective intuition, was when Caleb was late coming down for breakfast.

It about ten in the morning and Nott, Beau, Fjord, Caduceus, Yasha and herself are sitting in the common room of the cutest little inn ever, each of them with plate of breakfast in front of them. Nott has two, one for herself and one for Caleb whenever he comes downstairs to join them and Jester can tell that she’s trying really really hard not to eat all of the sausage off of it.

“Where’s Caleb?” she asks, offering Nott some of her bacon, which she happily accepts.

Nott shrugs. “Still sleeping I guess.” she devours the bacon with her ragged teeth. Its really cute.

Jester rest her cheek against her fist. “Did he liiiike, stay up too late doing magic stuff and now he’s sleeping in?”

Caleb is usually up pretty early, if he doesn’t stay up all night bringing Frumpy back. But Frumpkin is nestled comfortably against Nott’s shoulders right now, and as far as Jester knows, nothing bad happened to him yesterday.

“I-I don’t know. I didn’t sleep in our room last night.” Nott says.

That gets a reaction from the whole group, and gives Jester her second clue. Everyone turns to look at her, surprised and curious.

“Why didn’t you sleep in your room last night, Nott?” Jester asks.

“Caleb said he wanted some privacy.” Nott says. The table stares at her. She fidgets under the scrutiny. “What?”

“It’s just - ya know, you two are basically joined at the hip.” Beau says. “Kinda weird he would ask you to fuck off for the night.”

“Caleb and I are very close.” Nott says with a curt nod. “But that doesn’t mean we have to spend every single second together all the time.”

“But ya kinda do.” Beau replies.

Nott huffs, folding spindly little arms over her chest. “Caleb is fully grown adult. He’s entitled to some- some privacy if he wants it. He doesn’t need to be watched at all hours of the day and night.”

“We weren’t meaning to imply that he needs a babysitter.” Fjord interjects. It's obvious that he’s curious too, that little, adorable crease between his eyebrows. “It’s just- strange that y’all didn’t share a room last night like you usually, that’s all.”

“I bet Caleb was studying his cantrips last night, if you know what I mean.” Jester says, waggling her eyebrows with vigor. Beau snorts, Fjord buries his face in his hands. She leans up and whispers, rather loudly into Caduceus’ ear. “That means he was masturbating.”

“You know, I think I could have guess that one.” the furbolg says.

“Aw- come on Jes. It’s not funny if ya gotta explain it!” Says Beau. She turns her attention back to Nott “Wait, where the hell’d you sleep then? Did you go through our shit?”

“No.” Nott says matter of factly. “I don’t steal from you all--- anymore. I stayed with Yasha.”

“Yasha doesn’t have a room though.” Jester points out.

They all turn to look at Yasha, who shrugs. “I’m really big and warm.” she tells them simply.

“Should I send Caleb a message?” Nott asks.

“Why would you send me a message?”

Caleb makes his way down the stairs and over to their table. His hair is tangled and ratty, which is normal, and he’s dressed for the day, coat hanging limply off his shoulders and his scarf loose around his neck. He looks tired, but not like shitty tired. He looks like that type of tired where you’ve just woken up from a really nice nap and you’re not totally awake yet but you feel rested and maybe like you want to go back to sleep. So sleepy maybe. Caleb looks sleepy, but rested. He looks all soft and relaxed. Jester files that away as evidence as well. Caleb never looks relaxed, or even happy most of the time. Now he looks both, even though he’s trying to hid it under his furrowed brow.

Caleb sits himself down at the table. Nott pushes her other plate towards him.

“I saved you some meats” Nott says. “You look like you could use some sausage”

Caleb takes the offered plate. “Danke.” He ruffled her hair a bit and Nott bats his hand away.

“Welcome to the land of the living, man.” Beau says, giving him a once over.

“Oh, ja, guten Morgen.” Caleb nods quickly to the table, and grabs his fork

“You sleep well?” she asks, a crooked grin twitches at the corner of her mouth.

“What- ahh- what is that suppose to mean?”

Beau shrugs “Nothing. Just you never sleep in like that. Late night?”

Caleb make a non committal noise in the back of his throat, not looking up from his food. “Ja, something like that.”

“You did sleep in like, super late this morning Caleb.” Jester adds “We were starting to think that maybe you like died or something.”

“You get in a fight last night?” Beau asks.

Caleb looks up from where he’s leaned over his plate, shoveling eggs into his mouth. He looks like a little kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. “,,, No,,” he says slowly. He’s watching Beau now, wary.

Beau looks likes she’s struggling to keep her grin at bay at this point. “Ahh- I only ask because you’ve kinda got bruises on your neck there.” she says, sounding smug.

Caleb’s fork clatters down onto his plate as he rushes to pull his scarf up tight around his throat. But not before Jester catches a glimpse of fresh looking, purple bruises and, are those teeth marks??, along his neck. Another clue.

The rest of the table is staring at him now to. Caleb watches them watching him, and swallows. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Then it clicks in her head. Of course. Jester clasps her hands over her chest. “Caleb! Did you - herh herh herh - last night??”

Caleb blinks at her. ‘“What is -herh herh he- oh, you are talking about sex.”

Planting both her hand on the table top, Jester leans over so that she’s as close to Caleb’s face as she can get. She lifts a super suggestive brow at him. “Did you have sex last night, Caleb?”

Immediately his face goes bright red. He locks his gaze past her left ear. “,,,, yes,,,”

The table explodes into a cacophony of noise. Jester shrieks, collapsing back into her seat with her hand pressed over her mouth. She’s the greatest detective ever!! Nott is hollering, Beau has her head thrown back and is cackling. She hears Fjord’s squeek of “o o oh sh hi hit”

“Caleb!” Jester coos.

“Get it man!”

“WHO?!”

“Be quite, be quite!” Caleb shouts over them, Jester can’t remember the last time she seen him so scarlet.

“Caleb you had sex last night!” she says, once the other have started to settle down.

“I know, I know, but you do not have to shout about. The whole inn does not need to know, so can you all please keep your voices down.” Caleb hisses out between his teeth.

“Congrats man.” Beau slaps a hand down on his shoulder and he jumps. “Who’s the lucky girl- guy?- person? They’ll still around?”

A smile twitches at the corner of Caleb mouth, but only for a moment. Gone so fast that Jester almost misses it. He runs a hand over his beard. “,,, he was still sleeping, upstairs, when I left,,” he admits coyly.

Beau lets out a long, low whistle. “Bought ‘em back to your place and everything. Ya know that’s a big commitment.”

“Is it love Caleb?” Jester asks, leaning her face into her hands. This is just all so romantic and sweet. “Did you let him stay the night because you love him?”

Caleb goes, impossibly, a darker shade of red, Jester’s worried that he might pass out. He stares down at his hands in his lap. “I would not say- love but uhh, you know I do enjoy his company a lot and-”

“Who is this ‘Him’ ?” Nott asks pointedly.

“Yeah! Are you gonna introduce us, loverboy?” asks Beau.

“Is it someone that we know?” Asks Jester.

Caleb open his mouth.

“There you all are!” Molly comes bounding down the stairs before Caleb can get a word out, positively beaming ear to ear.

If Caleb looks rested and relaxed, Molly looks totally satisfied.

His hair is sleep mused and tangled around his horns as he strides over to the table, wearing nothing but his patterned pants and a sleepy, half lidded grin. Chest bared for the word to see, Jester counts at least a dozen or more blooming bruises down his neck and chest. He swaggers up to the group, tail swaying lazily behind him.

“Good morning everyone!” He drops a kiss to the back of Yasha’s head, then one to Fjord’s, who sitting next to her. He bats him away and Molly giggles.

“Oh Molly!” Jester says, bouncing in her seat. “Did you have sex last night?”

“I did!” Molly kisses the top of her head to as he makes his way around the table.

“What a coincidence! We’re just talking about how Caleb had sex last night too.”

He kisses Caduceus on the top of the head. “Really? What are the odds?! Guess the Moonweaver was smiling down on us last night.” he goes to plant a kiss to Beau’s head. She ducks out of the way, he kisses her cheek instead. “Anybody else get lucky? Or just us two?”

“Just you two I think.” Jester says.

Molly hums. Coming around to Caleb, he lays his hands on his shoulders before leaning down to kiss the crown of his head.

Caleb flushes pink. He brings a hand up to pat Molly’s fingers resting against his shoulder. “Guten Morgen Molly.” he says, softly.

“Mmmm, Morning dear.” he moves on to Nott, who’s no more excited to receive her kiss then Fjord was.

Once he’s gotten everyone, Molly claps his hands together. “Right. Breakfast?”

“We already ate.” Fjord tells him, stiffly. All the talk about sex is probably making him really uncomfortable.  Jester reaches over to pat his hand. “It's almost ten thirty, asshole.” Beau says.

“Right, screw you, first of all.” Molly says, pointing at Beau. “Second, I’m going to go get myself something to eat. Did anybody need anything?” the question is for the table, but he looks right at Caleb when he asks it.

Caleb shrugs, pointing to his half eaten, probably cold by this point, breakfast. Molly nods.

“Right, well- be back in a moment.” and he turns and makes his way over to the bar.

“He’s in a good fuckin mood.” Fjord says. He's got his arms cross right over his chest.

“Well you know, it seemed like he enjoyed himself last night, so,,”  and Caleb stuffs a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

Beau’s head whips around towards him, and Jester cocks her head to the side. Fjord blinks

In the silence, Caleb glances up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand “,,, what?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’” Beau says.

“That was,, fuckin weird, man.” Adds Fjord.

Jester squints at Caleb. “How do you know Molly had a good time last night?”

Caleb looks at each of them in turn, like he’s confused. “,,,, because Mollymauk and I had sex last night.” a deathly silence follows his words. “Was- was that not obvious,,,?”

For the second time that morning, the table erupts.

Jester leaps from her seat, slamming her hands down on the table top “CALEB! You and Molly had sex last night??!”

A resounding clatter rings out from behind the group, the sound of dishware hitting the floor. Jester whips around. Molly is standing at the bar with a mess of broken dishes and spilled breakfast at his feet, staring at them wide eyed and slack jawed. She turns back to Caleb.

He looks started, like a little bunny. His blue eyes are round with surprise. “Ja, we did”

“Like, together?” Beau asks

“Yes?! I don’t understand-?”

Nott leaps up onto her chair. “How?”

Caleb is at a lost. His head is spinning trying to keep up with every individual comment being shouted at him, and he’s absolutely scarlet again. It looks really horrible against his ginger hair. He raises his hands, either in surrender or to try and placate them, Jester’s not sure which. “What do you mean ‘how’? You are making a scene. Please do not shout-”

Jester pushes back from the table, her chair screeching against the hardwood as she pushes it away. She marches over Molly, who’s picking up bits of shattered plate and apologizing profusely to the barkeep. She loops her arm around his and pulls him upright. Swagger gone, he’s flushed a shining magenta high in his cheeks and looks slightly mortified.

“Molly, can you come back to the table now, we need to talk to you.” Jester says, so sweetly, giving him her biggest and best grin.

Molly flounders. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, eyes darting from her face, to the table, then to the broken plate pieces he’s still holding.

“Oi!” the barkeep calls. “Yer devil friend made a mess’a my inn!” she yells.

Jester fixes her with a look. “I know, and he’s like, really really sorry about that but we need to have like, a super important conversation over there with the rest of our friends, so I’m just going to steal him really quick- okay, byeeeeeee.” and she starts dragging a still stunned Mollymauk back over to their table.

Beau stands, allowing Jester to push Molly down into the seat next to Caleb’s. They both look mildly terrified about what’s coming next, eyes darting from face to face as the rest of the Nein closes in on them, namely herself, Beau, and Nott. Jester sits herself back down in her chair on the other side of the table.

“So-” she leans forward on her elbows, flashing the pair of them a toothy smile. “- I want to know exactly what happened. Tell me everything!”

She’s about to crack this case wide open.

[dirtyblupjeans]

Phone sex - Kinktober day 1

“You’ve gotta learn how to cheat the draw,” Lup told him. “I feel like we’ve only had about three minutes alone together.”

“How do you cheat at drawing straws?” Barry asked, grinning. 

“You just… you…” Lup let out a huff of air and shrugged. “I don’t know, you just don’t draw the short straw and get sent on light duty.” She tucked her fingers into Barry’s front jeans pockets, a hand pressed into each side, and pulled his hips towards her. “Our song was like… a week ago. I deserve more time alone with you.”

“I know,” Barry agreed, kindly not pointing out it had been more like four weeks. He didn’t want to go anymore than she wanted him to go. “But they don’t have elves or dwarves or gnomes here so it’s up to the humans to do the representing for everyone. Lucretia got the lucky straw so it’s me and Magnus this time.”

“I know,” Lup answered, barely containing the whine that threatened to come out in her voice. “But I don’t have to like it.” Leaning into his chest she tucked her head against his neck and asked, “How am I supposed to handle that bed all by myself? First you get me hooked on having a giant teddy bear to cuddle, then on sleeping, and now you’re gonna abandon me?”

“I promise to call you tonight,” he told her. “I’ll snore over our stones if that will help.”

Pulling one hand out of his pocket, she reached up and worked her fingers up into his hair, yanking lightly. “You best do better than snore, Barold. Your girl is gonna be lonely and probably wide awake.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he promised. His arms wrapped around her and tugged her tightly to him. 

“Then don’t -”

“Except not go,” he interrupted. “You know I don’t really have a choice.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” she told him.

“I hope so,” he whispered, ghosting his mouth over the side of her neck. “I hope you do.”

-----

Barry had just climbed into his tent when his stone of farspeech chimed from his pocket. He zipped the canvas door closed and kicked off his boots while he dug for the stone.

“Hey, babe,” he answered, already grinning just from the pleasure of calling her that. “Was gonna call you in just a second.”

“Couldn’t wait anymore,” Lup replied. “Thought you fell asleep on me.”

“Never,” he answered, cradling the stone between his shoulder and cheek as he spread out his sleeping bag. “Just took longer than expected talking to everyone in that town and we decided to start the hike to the next spot instead of staying at an inn.”

“No luck then?”

“No one there seemed to know what we were talking about but this next place gets more travelers, supposedly. Hopefully someone there will have something.”

“So a few more days?” she asked, disappointed. “Why couldn’t they have had the light there and handed it over? You could have been back tonight.”

“I know,” he agreed. He stretched out on the sleeping bag, propping the pillow under his head and holding the stone to his ear. Staring up, he didn’t see the thick brown canvas of his tent overhead. He was too busy picturing his beautiful girlfriend back on the ship.

“Are you in our room?” he asked. She’d bribed Taako to switch with him. Now the slightly larger room that had been assigned to the twins was theirs. It hadn’t taken much coercing after Taako realized he’d be putting three more walls between himself and the new couple if he took Barry’s room.

“Mmhmm,” she answered. “Lucretia and Taako were playing cards and drinking, trying to come up with more obscure rules than the ones for that game Dav and Merle play. I ducked out to call you.”

Barry smiled. The image of Lup laying in their bed was even better. “Whatcha wearing?”

“Why, Barold,” Lup answered, her voice teasingly innocent, “whyever do you ask?”

“Just trying to imagine the view I’m missing.”

“Well, as it happens, my boyfriend left me here all by myself. Isn’t that awful?”

“Terrible.”

“So I stole one of his shirts, one of the button up ones. Right now I have it tied shut and the sleeves rolled up. It still smells like him.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. 

“Mmm hmm. Kept annoying Taako all afternoon ‘cause I kept pulling the cuffs down over my hands and sniffing them.”

“Really?” he asked again.

“Really.”

“What else?” 

“Those leggings I had on when you left. But I’m thinking about taking them off.”

“I like that idea.”

“What are you wearing, babe? You tucked into your sleeping bag in your boxers?”

“Not yet. Just got in the tent and now I’m laying here thinking about you,” he answered. After a pause, he added, “Thinking about you taking off those leggings and you just wearing my shirt.”

“Would you like me to do that?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna take something off for me?”

“What would you like me to take off?” he asked, hesitation sliding into his voice.

“Hey,” she told him, catching the hint of worry. “It’s just you and me, babe. And I’d like you to take off your shirt. I like seeing you just in your jeans.” She laughed. “I like you not in your jeans, too. But this is a good start.”

“Hold on,” he answered, setting aside the stone to pull his shirt over his head. When his voice returned to the magical connection, it sounded roughened. In the weeks they’d been together, he’d begun to realize she liked touching him as much as he liked touching her. But the idea of her liking looking at him was unexpected. “Okay, just, uh, just jeans and boxers now.”

“Mmm, I like it,” she answered. “I’ve just got your shirt and my panties now.”

Barry squeezed the stone between his cheek and shoulder again as his hands undid the button and fly on his jeans. “That sounds really nice,” he told her.

“You sound muffled,” was her response. “What are you getting up to over there?”

His face went hot. “I… uh, well, I undid my pants.”

“Barry Bluejeans, taking some initiative,” she teased. “You got some plans I should know about?”

“D-do you?” he asked, his words stammering only a little.

“I think you know I do,” she told him. She let out a long slow breath that he could hear through their connection. 

“Gods, Lup,” he told her, “I wish I was there.”

“What would you do right now?”

“I’d, uh,” he stopped and swallowed. He tried to push out the awkwardness of talking to her like this and instead concentrated on the image of her, of the way his blood seemed to catch fire when he touched her. “First I’d untie that shirt and push it open so I can see you.”

“Okay,” Lup answered. There was a rustling and then she said, “I did it for you. Now what?”

His fingers dipped under the band of his boxers and rested against the curve of his belly. Thinking of her untying the shirt because he’d said so was erotic in a different way than picturing what he’d do if he were there. 

“Should I take off the panties?” she asked.

“Mmm mmm,” he said. “No, I want you to keep those on for now.” He swallowed again and imagined her hand sliding down under the silky material. “But I want you to touch yourself.”

She hummed lightly in response, clearly enjoying him getting more into it. “You do, huh? So I should just…” she paused and then made a soft sound. “Slip my hand down into the panties and…” another sweet breath of noise from her, “put my fingers down there?”

“Ye-yeah.” Fuck, he’d started getting hard the moment she said she’d been wearing his shirt but now his dick was straining against his clothes.

“You gonna touch yourself for me, too?” she asked.

“Do you want me to?” he asked. His hand hovered half tucked into his boxers, waiting for her direction.

“Yes. I want you to wrap your fingers around your cock. Are you hard?”

“Yeah,” he answered as he pushed the jeans and boxers down. “Yeah, I really am.”

“Good. You know what I would do if I were there?”

“What?”

“I’d use my mouth on you.”

Instantly all he could think of was her mouth wrapping around him, the velvety feel of her tongue, the way she looked up at him and it wasn’t just sex it was… it was everything.

He groaned and mumbled something.

She caught the sound and laughed. “You cantriping some lube over there, babe?”

“Ye-yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”

“Good. Now tell me what to do with my hand.”

His hand slid over his erection, the lube perfectly warm. It wasn’t as good as her mouth, though. It wasn’t as good as having her here with him. 

“I want you to use your fingers like they’re my tongue. Like… L-like I’m…” His words stumbled, caught between being embarrassed to be talking to her like this and being so turned on he couldn’t speak.

“Like you’re here going down on me?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Mmm hmm, I can definitely do that.”

Barry clutched the stone closer to his ear, relishing those soft noises she made as she moved her hand the way he wanted. His other hand kept stroking his cock, struggling to keep the motion slow and make it last.

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, the word coming out as a low breath of sound. “You always make me feel good.”

He was moving faster now, unable to hold back as he pictured her, legs spread, breasts bare with his shirt loose, the way it would look - rumpled and white against her skin - and her hand buried in her panties, touching herself because he asked her to, thinking of him. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Lup…”

“Barry,” she answered between breaths. 

There were more of those sweet, soft moans that he couldn’t get enough of from her. They came faster and his hand matched the pace of the sounds. 

There were images from two films running simultaneously in his head. One was her in their bed, using her hand to fuck herself for him. The other was her kneeling over him, mouth hot and wet around him while she looked up at him with those wide, dark eyes, watching him as she sucked him off.

He came to the sound of her orgasm. He bit his lip rather than make his own noise that would cover the sound of her climaxing cry of his name. 

She sighed and he echoed it. In tandem, they muttered their cantrips to clear each of their messes. 

Barry slid his boxers back into place and curled onto his side, cradling the stone against his ear. 

They both just listened to each other as their breathing slowed back to normal.

“Tell me again about how to cheat the draw.”

She laughed. “Just don’t draw the short straw,” she explained unhelpfully. 

He smiled, picturing the way she looked curled beside him. He could practically feel the tickle of her hair on his arm.

“I wish I were there.”

“I wish you were, too,” she said.

“Call you tomorrow night?” 

“I’d rather you show up in person but I’ll settle if I have to.”

“Love you, Lup.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

[pickle-inspector]

Fictober Day 3 | original fiction | 1335 words cw: violence - vaguely described but technically present

“Now? Now you listen to me?” Chrysa shouted over the rushing wind. Her wings pumped furiously against the turbulence of the storm around them.

“I’ve never been the smartest person,” Belxari shouted back as she clung desperately to the slick scales of her friend’s back. The rain and wind were doing their best to keep her from staying there. She ached horribly, even as her wounds slowly began to heal themselves. “And it sounded like you knew what you were doing.” 

Chrysa dropped suddenly, nearly leaving Belxari behind as she ducked beneath a bolt of lightning. Belxari scrambled to regain her hold, then turned around to see the source of the lightning. For a moment she could not see the very large, very angry blue dragon amid the black clouds, but the lingering traces of lightning at the edges of its mouth and eyes glowed ominously through the gloom.

“There you are,” she whispered grimly to herself. She released her grip with one hand and aimed backwards towards their pursuer, magic crackling at her fingertips.

She immediately began sliding down the length of her friend’s back, and, with a cry of alarm, she hastily changed spells. Her descent was arrested almost instantly as the magic took hold. She breathed a quick sigh of relief, then looked back.

The dragon was already much closer, causing Belxari to curse softly beneath her breath. No longer concerned about sliding into the waiting jaws of an angry dragon, she slowly rose to a kneeling position. She extended both hands and once again began to focus her magic. Five golden beams shot from the fingertips of one hand, surging through the air. Two flew harmlessly beneath it, but the remaining three of them slammed into the dragon, causing it to tumble backwards through the air. It righted itself almost immediately and resumed the chase.

Continuing her assault on the blue dragon, Belxari worked her way back to her place near Chrysa’s neck, struggling to consistently hit the moving target as her own dragon continued to dodge and weave bolts of lightning, both natural and dragon-made. Upon her return, she discovered that Chrysa was still yelling.

“--a salamander before I was ready!”

“Have you been yelling this whole time?” Belxari demanded, sparing a glance in the general direction of Chrysa’s head. She straddled her companion’s neck now, facing backwards to better aim at their enemy. “We can just think our thoughts at each other, you know!”

“The yelling is cathartic!” Chrysa practically screamed at her, easily the angriest she had been so far.

“But not conducive to dodging angry lightning!” Belxari yelled back, returning her focus behind them.

“Stop treating me like I’m six!”

“You’re a dragon; you practically are six!”

“You’re a god; you’re practically an infant!”

“Just focus on flying, you dummy!”

“You’re the dummy!” Chrysa returned, but she did indeed turn her focus to flying, her powerful muscles hurtling them forwards.

Belxari hissed and angrily shoved her soaked hair out of her face. It was promptly back in her way, lashing angrily in the winds. For a moment the urge to just cut it all off consumed her, but she shoved the thought aside. Belxari was growing frustrated. The low visibility in the storm and the constantly shifting positions of both dragons was making it very difficult for her to actually hit her target, which meant he was gaining on them. She had not expected to fight such a powerful foe, so was running low on the magic that would easily turn the tides of the situation. She could continue chipping away at it, but Chrysa could not maintain their flight long enough.

“Can’t fight another day if you don’t live to see it,” she muttered, channeling magic through herself and preparing to unleash it upon her foe.

Her foe decided to blast them with lightning before she could. Belxari screamed Chrysa’s name in warning, but it was not soon enough. The bolt struck them, bright light blinding Belxari and electricity surging painfully through her body. She lost her grip on the spell that was holding her in place, and was instantly flung into the air by the wind.

As she tumbled through the air, she considered briefly, not for the first time, wearing trousers instead of skirts.

Up and down were lost to her, as were Chrysa and the blue dragon. Her ears were ringing too, which was more an nuisance than a real problem, but irritating nonetheless. “Screw this!” she shouted at nobody in particular.

Magic coursed through her being and enveloped her as she cast her spell. There was something wonderful and exhilarating about the experience of casting such powerful magic. It was not entirely dissimilar to defeating powerful enemies with a cantrip, but the feeling was more primal and genuine, fueled by the energies of the world instead of spite.

But spite was also good, she decided with a roar as her wings unfurled.

She rocketed upwards, determined to catch up to the two dragons, and was delighted to find that her task would be simple. The blue had flown past her without realizing the tiefling had been knocked into the air, but Chrysa noticed immediately and circled around to retrieve her friend. They both spotted her at the same time, and their wildly different responses amused Belxari greatly.

The blue dragon halted, uncertain suddenly of his chances. The silver, meanwhile, suddenly became quite certain of her chances and changed course, her new target the blue.

Chrysa and Belxari slammed into the blue together, teeth and claws ripping into his hide. Ice and fire joined the lightning, and in moments the fight had ended.

The storm had calmed to a gentle rain as they landed on the ground. The corpse of the blue was at the center of a crater in the mud nearby. Chrysa examined the body for a moment, then looked up at the enormous golden dragon that stood over her, tasteful red and white accents in places a gold dragon simply shouldn’t be red and white.

“You couldn’t have done that back at his lair?” she panted, frustrated.

“Where would have been the fun in that?”

“That lightning hurt, Belxari.”

The enormous golden dragon stopped smiling, and looked down at her friend. With a breath, she released the spell, and returned to the form of a tiefling. She placed a hand on her friend’s arm with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I--”

She was reminded forcefully that beneath those scales was a lot of muscle. She hit the ground hard, many feet away from where she had been standing seconds before, the air wooshing out of her lungs - it hadn’t needed to be there in the first place, but she had formed a habit of breathing and kept it after becoming a god.

“If you’re going to take a joke suggestion seriously, then at least wait for me to be ready!” Chrysa shouted, her form shrinking down into the form of a dragon-winged young humanoid as she approached the tiefling.

Belxari staggered to her feet and magicked away all the mud that now coated her. She looked apologetically at her friend. “Yeah.... Sorry. I... I got excited. And angry. I’m sorry.”

Chrysa wrapped her arms around Belxari, her draconic strength only somewhat less likely to crush her while in this form. Belxari hesitantly returned the hug. Even after three decades, she was still confused by them when they happened unexpectedly.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she breathed into Belxari’s soaking hair. “You’re not indestructible, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Belxari murmured back. The two stood silently in the rain for a moment before Belxari asked, “Hey, you wanna help me pick apart that dragon? I need some more materials to work with.”

Chrysa rolled her eyes and heaved the biggest sigh, and Belxari grinned at her as she walked over to the crater. The young dragon just shook her head and smiled to herself as she turned to follow.

[ladywritesthings]

(i was) meant to be yours, ch1

AO3

---

The final dire wolf fell with a choked sort of gurgle, the feral light in its eyes fading as the crossbow bolt buried itself deep into the pelt of its neck. It stumbled once, jaws snapping sluggishly as it tried to howl, before collapsing finally in a growing pool of its own blood. It let out one last gasp as its lungs collapsed, and lay still.

Fjord attempted to wipe the gore from his face, only succeeding in smearing it around a little. “I hate those things,” he grumbled.

Nott began picking through the carnage, salvaging which bolts she could as Jester sheathed her handaxe, feeling the sweat dripping down her back as she stretched languidly. “Hey, Caleb,” she called. “Do some of your fancy wizard magic and clean us up, yeah?”

Caleb, carefully skirting deeper into the cave from his safe vantage point further down the short tunnel, blinked at her. “And what magic is that?”

“You know, that little cleaning cantrip, present-a-digitum—”

“Prestidigitation,” he corrected automatically.

“Yeah, that one. We’re all sticky.”

He stepped gingerly around a bloodied mound of fur and bones. “I do not know it,” he said.

She huffed. “Why not?”

He paused a moment to shrug at her. “I haven’t needed it before,” he said.

She opened her mouth to respond but Beau’s voice cut across the cavern instead. “Give it up, Jess,” she said grumpily, brushing a sweat-slicked strand of hair from her face with the back of her arm. “Does he look like the kinda guy who would know Prestidigitation?”

“He’s a wizard.”

“A wizard constantly smearing shit all over his face. On purpose.”

“A wizard who happens to be standing right here,” interjected Fjord pointedly.

“You should learn that one next, though,” said Jester, slightly peeved at the scolding. “It’s easy to get dirty again later.”

Caleb made a non-committal noise that could have been mistaken for agreement if she hadn’t been listening.

Fjord sighed. “Hey, Beau, help me with this guy, willya? We need a place to sleep.”

“Here?” said Nott with disgust, pausing elbow-deep in dire wolf guts as Beau shuffled around her to help Fjord lift one of the larger corpses.

“You got a better idea? Look, we did our thing, we trekked up here, we killed shit, now it’s getting dark out and it’s at least three, maybe four hours’ walk to another decent camping space.” He shrugged. “It’s cleared out, it’s enclosed, and there’s only one entrance. I’d rather stay here than do any more hiking today, that’s for damn sure.”

“Oh, for — fine,” she grumbled, and that was that.

The bodies were easily removed — a bit of heaving and grunting and sweating had them all piled neatly in a distant corner; what useful, salvageable body parts left behind were easily harvested, and the rest greedily given to their slavering moorbounders, finally brought inside when the carnage was complete — the blood, less so. It was eventually decided, after much debate, that Jester would use her last spell to create a modest tidal wave Fjord then used to wash away the viscera. It wasn’t perfect, and it was definitely wet, but the lack of gore was a definite improvement.

Jester dreaded the thought of going to bed spattered in blood, but the ache of her muscles was rapidly drowning out the discomfort of some temporary stickiness. Besides, a sleeping Jester wouldn’t notice the difference anyway. Caleb was muttering indistinctly, pacing slightly back and forth as tiny sparks of arcane energy swirled around his fingers. She leaned lightly on Beau as they watched him work, and moments later the bubble appeared, delicately placed in one of the drier corners of the cavern. He’d made it a dark gray this time, to blend in with the stone walls. The exhaustion was finally catching up to her as the adrenaline from the fight faded, she realized, as Beau moved off and she found herself without the temporary headrest of her shoulder — she couldn’t wait to sit down.

“Nice work, Caleb.” Fjord clapped him on the shoulder as he stepped past and vanished from view. The rest of them followed, and Jester let out a soft sigh as the atmosphere went from uncomfortably cool to pleasant and dry. “Alright, who’s taking first watch? Might as well play it safe, just in case that wasn’t the whole pack.”

“I can take it,” offered Caleb.

“Are you sure?” said Nott concernedly. “You look tired.”

He waved her off. “I am mostly unhurt,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“Then I’ll stay up with you, so you won’t be alone.”

“I have some reading to do,” he said. “It won’t be terribly interesting.”

“I can do it,” said Jester. “I want to tell the Traveler about what we’ve been doing lately, anyway.”

Nott opened her mouth as if to protest, then seemed to decide against it. “Oh, all right,” she said.

“I guess I can take next watch,” said Beau. “Fjord?”

“Alright,” he said. “Y’all can wake us up in a few hours.”

The Hut settled into a comfortable, tired silence as they arranged themselves within the confines of the Hut. Jester let the haversack fall from her shoulders and dropped down beside it. A part of her regretted suddenly offering to stay up at the sight of most everyone else pulling out blankets and bedrolls and curling up around her — her arms ached from hacking apart the remains of the dire wolves, and depleting her stores of magic always left her feeling drained — but it had been a few days since she’d updated the Traveler on her adventures, after all. A few more hours was worth the trouble.

Caleb quickly pulled out a book, settling down in a far corner, and was soon engrossed in his own little world. From the way he flipped through the pages, she had a feeling he probably would have been staying up anyway, regardless of whether there was going to be a watch or not. Figures. Then again, he was a really fast reader. She almost asked him what was so fascinating, but, no, it was probably really stuffy and boring, and he didn’t look like he’d hear her anyway. She dug through the haversack instead and pulled out her sketchbook and ink.

Time to get to work.

The first hour or two passed without incident, the only sounds being the deep, steady breathing of their companions and the gentle rustling of paper, and Jester soon lost herself in sketching the nearest dire wolf in its final moments for the Traveler. Brush and ink flowing over paper; smooth lines, disconnected at first, coming together to form a coherent image; the distant yet comforting sense of amusement and approval from her ever-present deity — it was all very relaxing. With a few quick strokes she feathered out something resembling a tail and paused to consider her handiwork. Her stock of colored inks was running a bit low at the moment, but as soon as they got back to a proper shop she decided to go back to the picture. Spend some extra time on the blood.

Something nudged her shoulder as she put the final flourish on the shattering skull and she jumped, nearly jittering ink across the entire page. “Geeze, Caleb!” she said, quickly capping the ink bottle before she upset it. “You scared me.” He was so quiet, she hadn’t even noticed him crossing the Hut to stand next to her. He was so tall from her position on the ground she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Jester, I didn’t—” He paused, cocking his head as he leaned over her shoulder to inspect the drawing. “Oh, that’s very good,” he commented.

She brightened instantly at the compliment. “Thank you!”

“I especially enjoy the pattern in the exploding brain matter.”

She held the book up a little to better admire it. “It is good, isn’t it?”

“Are those—?”

“Dicks?” She beamed. “I’m so glad you noticed.”

“How could I not?” He shifted slightly, pulling something out of his coat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your drawing, I just thought you might be interested…”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “What’s this?”

Instead of answering he simply held the book out to her. She took the battered tome gently, the faded gold embossing of the title winking weakly at her in the low light.

“‘Scorching Embrace,’” she read aloud. Her gaze flicked up to meet his, but his face betrayed nothing. “This is smut,” she said in a mock-scandalized tone.

“There’s a particularly saucy encounter on page 59,” he said in response.

“For me?” She clutched the book to her chest and batted her eyes. “Aww, you shouldn’t have!” It came out teasing, but a part of her was genuinely touched. As much as she adored Tusk Love, she was beginning to realize that, after rereading the same passages fifty times in a row, the prose could become a bit stale.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I just finished it,” he said, by way of explanation. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

She admired her new treasure, water spots ironically distorting the image of the male fire genasi on the cover, locked in a passionate embrace with his sultry elven mistress. “Thank you, Caleb,” she said, and hesitated slightly before handing it back to him. He looked mildly surprised.

“You don’t want it?” he said.

“Read it to me.”

He blinked.

“Read it,” she said again, feeling a wicked grin curling across her face. “Out loud. To me.”

There was a pause, in which his eyes traveled from her face down to the book between them and very slowly back again.

The grin turned coy. “Are you shy?” she said.

She could have sworn a corner of his mouth twitched upwards under the shadow of his beard. “I am considerate,” he corrected, gesturing vaguely to the sleeping bodies surrounding them. “We wouldn’t want to wake them.”

She leaned forward and looked up at him through her lashes, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I can be quiet,” she said, and batted her eyes.

For a split second she worried her teasing might have gone too far, but then his hand stretched out and plucked the book from her grasp, fingers lightly brushing her knuckles in the process. His hands were warm. “Okay,” he said, and lowered himself into a cross-legged position beside her.

She clapped her hands delightedly as he thumbed through the pages. “Pick something really dirty,” she said.

There was a strange gleam in his eyes, a mischievous one he so rarely let slip, and she quietly relished in it. “You don’t want me to start at the beginning?” he said.

“Don’t be silly, they never put the good bits right at the start,” she said. She scooted closer and rested her chin in her fists, watching him expectantly. “Well?” she prompted after a few moments of silence.

He gave her a look. Cleared his throat. “‘There, in the freezing rain, he held her tightly,’” he began in a low voice, “‘but his arms were hotter than the Nine Hells themselves—’” He paused. “What?”

“I-it’s just…” Already she couldn’t stop laughing. Quietly, of course. “Do you think it means ‘sexy’? Or, like, actually hot? Are the Nine Hells even hot?”

“Some of them are, I suppose. And he is a fire genasi.”

“If they are,” she continued, “wouldn’t they be, like, super-hot? Like, super-duper-hot? Not sexy, though, probably. And he’s hotter than that.” She snickered again. “If he really was, she’d be melting.”

There was that glint again. “That wouldn’t be very erotic,” he pointed out.

“What if—” She bit her lip as the image waltzed across her mind, “—what if he touched her and the flesh just kinda…” She gestured wildly. “Melted off her bones, and then she was just a skeleton. And then he fucked the skeleton.”

The deadpan look on his face didn’t shift, but now his eyes were dancing. “‘Scorching Embrace,’ indeed,” he said.

She waved him on, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“‘Her heaving bosoms—’ What now?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, muffled through clenched fingers. “That phrase always gets me, you know? Bosoms don’t heave.”

“You know, we won’t get very far if you keep interrupting me,” he said.

“Go on, then,” she said, biting her tongue very hard inside her mouth. Beau shifted in her sleep at the sound, a little bit of drool slipping down her chin.

He continued in that low, gentle voice, all about heaving bosoms and passionate embraces, as the love-struck couple stumbled out of the rain into a nearby barn and began, predictably, to tear each other’s clothes off. Her tongue was going to bruise by tomorrow, surely, by all the laughter she was admirably keeping in check so far. There was something absurd about it all — trashy prose notwithstanding. Caleb Widogast, overwhelmingly stoic at the best of times, his lilting Zemnian accent describing to her in detail the way steam roiled off the chiseled musculature of a fire elemental, with barely a twitch in his expression, making everything funnier, somehow. The situation was nearly enough to undo her in and of itself, really, if she stopped listening long enough to think about it. Her and Caleb, reading porn together, surrounded by their blissfully unaware friends.

Her fragile façade finally reached a breaking point, bursting into a fit of giggles she tried desperately to smother beneath clamped hands over her mouth.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Something funny, Jester?” he said. He was teasing.

“Wha-what did you just say?” she choked out.

There. There was the smile. Half of one, anyway. “I said,” he replied smoothly, readjusting his hold on the book, “‘her nimble fingers made quick work of the lacing on his breeches, and there, in all its glory, his throbbing love-wand rose to—‘”

She dissolved again. “Throbbing,” she wheezed, “l-love wand.”

“Would you like me to continue?” he said innocently. “I believe the phrase ‘the passion-moistened depths of her private Bag of Holding’ is coming up…”

Jester shook silently, a stitch in her sides as she swiped at a tear making its way steadily down her face. “It does not,” she managed.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he said. Compared to his usual somber demeanor, he looked positively gleeful. He pointed at the passage, tilting the book so she could see. “Right there,” he said. “Right next to the description of the dimensional shackles…”

She had to shove her entire fist in her mouth to avoid waking the entire countryside.

It took her nearly a full minute to recover from her fit, and as she gasped for breath he at last let out a chuckle, a low, throaty sound that made him smile, really smile, for the first time through it all. It wasn’t a big smile, exactly, but happy. Genuine. It made his eyes a little brighter, crinkled a little at the corners, but somehow that made him look younger. Healthier, somewhere under the beard and grime, like a weight had been temporarily lifted from his shoulders. Through her tears, she found herself admiring the slight curve of his Cupid’s bow, and the way the tilt of his head emphasized the height of his cheekbones.

Somewhere behind the stitch in her side she felt… something. A small something, an odd warmth, fluttering so slightly she couldn’t quite place it. Air filled her lungs in halting spurts, and for some reason she couldn’t figure out if it was easier or harder to breathe now.

Well, it was a ridiculous book. Slowly, with difficulty, she regained her composure. “How,” she demanded in a low voice, “do you do that?”

“Read smutty literature?”

“Read that with a straight face,” she said, wiping tear residue from her cheeks. “To another person. Out loud, You barely even smiled through the whole thing! You heard what you were reading, right?”

“Ah.” His gaze skittered for a moment, the smile faltering for only a fraction of a second. “I’ve had some… practice,” he said. “Keeping a straight face.”

Oh. Oh. With the Cerberus Assembly. The torture. Right. She could have kicked herself. “Well,” she said breezily, her ears going hot, “that was really good.”

“As good for you as it was for me?” he deadpanned. She shoved him at that, a little harder than she meant to, and he nearly fell over on top of Nott.

“Gross,” she said, although she couldn’t quite explain why her voice went all breathy just now. “You’re gross, Caleb.”

He was laughing quietly again as he righted himself. “Perhaps I should learn Prestedigitation, then,” he said, eyes dancing. She almost lost it again.

“But,” she conceded as she composed herself, patting the abused shoulder, absently adjusting the hem of his ratty coat, “you have a really nice voice.”

“Do I?” he said. He sounded… surprised. And a little amused.

She nodded emphatically. “It’s really soothing, you know? It’s nice.” She paused a moment. “I like your accent,” she said. “I don’t know if I ever told you that before.”

His face softened slightly. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn his cheeks went just a tinge pinker just then. “Thank you, Jester,” he said quietly. He looked down for a moment, at the book between them; at her hand, still on his shoulder. She was still touching him? There was a brief stutter in her mind, as she hesitated just a fraction of a second too long — ‘…Even through his coat, he’s so warm…’ — but then his eyes were on her again. “I like yours too,” he offered as an afterthought.

Something seemed to pass between them for a moment, although what kind of something she wasn’t entirely sure — all she knew for sure was that she felt very self-conscious for some reason and it was suddenly a little hard to look him directly in the eye. She retracted her hand with the abrupt, halting jitter of someone caught doing something they shouldn’t, and swallowed with some difficulty. Why did her chest feel so tight all of a sudden?

“You should smile more often,” she heard herself say. It was a blunt statement, one she couldn’t remember deciding to say, but it came out soft somehow.

“Oh?” His voice was soft now too, a little embarrassed, even, and she found herself nodding.

“You look much better when you smile,” she said lamely, and mentally kicked herself.

He quirked an eyebrow at that.

“I-I mean,” she said, and wanted to punch herself for the sudden stammer out of nowhere, “you look happier, is all, and you don’t really seem very happy most of the time, and it’s just nice, you know? Seeing you happy, I mean. You should be happy.” The words fell out of her in a rush, like she was nervous or something, but that was silly. Of course she wasn’t nervous. It was Caleb. Just Caleb, that’s all.

He looked away quickly, and now his cheeks were definitely pink as he let out an embarrassed cough. “I… ah,” he said awkwardly, and stopped.

There was that silence again, and she looked down to see her hands worrying at the hem of her dress. She forced them to still, forced a deep breath into her lungs as she smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could. Oh, but Traveler she felt strange, a bundle of directionless energy; giddy and a little lightheaded, like her blood had been replaced with electricity. Or ants. Electric ants. “What — um, what time is it?” she managed at last, and found herself confused at her own breathlessness.

He coughed again. “Ah, a bit past midnight,” he said. His face was a normal color now, his features rearranged into a more neutral expression, and a part of her felt a little sad the moment had passed.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We should probably try to wake people up,” she said, forcing her voice into a lighter tone. “Who had the next watch?”

He closed the book slowly, his long fingers absently tracing the faded title. “Beau and Fjord, I believe,” he said.

“I’ll get Beau,” she said, and paused. “Hey, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“This was really fun.”

The ghost of a smile traced his lips. “Ja,” he said. “It was.”

There was a pause again as neither of them moved.

“Well,” she said eventually.

“Well,” he agreed, and rose to once again tower over her. Hesitated a moment, then reached out a hand.

Her breath caught briefly in her throat — ‘What is going on?’ — but she shook it off, letting him help her to her feet. He extended the book to her, but she pushed it back to his chest gently. “Keep it,” she said.

“Not to your liking after all?” he said.

“Well, how are you going to read it to me if I have it?”

He blinked slowly, and the corner of his mouth twitched again. “I see,” he said. “Alright.”

“You should do voices next time, though,” she added. “Accents, you know, really get into it.”

His expression turned pained. “Jester, you know I’m terrible with accents,” he said.

“Well, yeah,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “That’s what’ll make it funnier.”

He rolled his eyes a little, but he was still smiling. “Good night, Jester,” he said, and it wasn’t until he had released her to walk away that she realized he'd been holding her hand that whole time. 

Her chest tightened again and she shook herself. Boy, she must have been even more tired than she thought. She stepped gingerly through the sea of bodies and squatted down beside Beau, gently prodding her shoulder.

“Wazzat?” Beau jerked awake with a sharp inhale, blinking up at her blearily. “Wha — what time is it?”

“Midnight,” whispered Jester. “You’re drooling, by the way.”

Beau swiped at her chin, pulling herself awkwardly into a sitting position. “Already?” She yawned, stretching her arms high above her head. “God, I had the weirdest fuckin’ dream.”

“Oh?” Jester shuffled around her to dig for her own bedroll, shaking the blankets.

“Yeah…” Beau shook her head, raking fingers through her hair. “I was hitting on some girl in a tavern, and she was getting really into it, and then…” She shook her head again. “She turned into a Bag of Holding. On fire.”

Jester froze in the middle of spreading her blankets out, biting down on her tongue hard. Her gaze flicked automatically over in Caleb’s direction, currently rousing Fjord, and in that moment he met her eyes. Oh, he’d heard, alright. He looked positively delighted.

“Huh,” she said, forcing her face into a neutral expression so as not to burst out laughing again. “That’s really weird.” Her voice almost cracked, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths to calm down.

“Anyway,” said Beau, apparently completely oblivious to Jester’s internal struggle. “’Night.”

“Good night,” said Jester carefully. “Good night, Fjord.”

Fjord nodded slightly, still bleary-eyed as he shook himself awake.

“Good night, Caleb,” she added.

“Sweet dreams,” he said innocently as she rolled over. She wanted to scream.

Lying there, in the low light of the Hut, she tried closing her eyes, but on the inside she still felt jittery, restless. Caleb was so funny. She knew that of course. In a dry sort of way, when he wanted to be. She just wished he wanted to be more often. It must be so miserable, looking over your shoulder every waking moment, terrified of being discovered. Being caught. Her finger found a loose thread in her blanket and she picked at it absently. It was really nice, seeing him smiling like that.

‘Maybe he should read aloud to everyone on the way back to town tomorrow,’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’d smile again, and I wouldn’t have to be so quiet.’ But at the same time, a part of her rejected the idea. Part of the fun was the keeping quiet, the risk of discovery, and besides, what if the others thought it was weird? It was a little weird, when she thought about it. The cleric and the wizard, bonding over trashy porn in the dead of night. It was a side of him that she didn’t see very often, though, if at all, and it was nice. Nott might think it was fun, and Beau, probably, and, okay, maybe it would make Fjord laugh once or twice, but Caduceus and Yasha would probably think it was really weird.

Was it weirder, though, not telling the others? Maybe, she supposed. And maybe it was selfish of her, but a small part of her wanted to keep it that way; kind of like a secret, just a fun thing between the two of them.

And, really, what was wrong with wanting to keep something to herself? Just a private something she and Caleb shared. They didn’t have many of those. She rolled over again and drifted.

She wasn’t sure, exactly, when she fell asleep, only that when she did she dreamed ridiculously of giant, veiny dicks shooting fireballs and her own enchanted haversack dripping with unmentionable fluids — and then she wasn’t sleeping anymore, because of the screaming.

She shot up before she realized she was awake, chest heaving with the sudden shock. “Wh-what’s going on?” she said to no-one, mostly because no-one was listening. The screaming had stopped but the echoes had not, and Caleb’s voice rang out faintly through the cavern as formerly sleeping party members snapped to various stages of consciousness, searching for signs of a threat. Because it was Caleb who had been screaming, with his blankets tangled around his knees, fingers strained and digging into the cavern floor, breathing hard.

“Caleb!” shouted Nott. She’d sprung to her feet in a split second, waving her crossbow around wildly. “Caleb, what happened? Are you alright?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, staring at nothing, apparently not listening to her. Even from across the Hut, Jester could see the slick sheen of sweat across his brow, and his skin was pale white. “Es war nicht echt,” he was muttering to himself, and his voice was rough and trembling as he rocked slowly where he sat, limbs curling in on themselves like a dying spider. “Götter verzeihen mir, es war nicht echt…”

Jester scrambled to her feet and hurried over, kneeling by his side as the rest of them hovered uncertainly. Nott clutched at her arm. “What’s wrong with him?” she demanded. “Caleb, what’s wrong?” She reached out to touch him, to shake him, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t blink.

“Sie hat sie getötet,” he rasped at no-one. “Wir haben sie alle getötet…” He was staring at his hands, dirty and bloody and shaking, and pressed his nails into his arms, scratching, eyes glazed. “Ihr Blut ist an meinen Händen…” Sweat poured down his ashen skin.

“Caleb!” said Jester desperately, and grabbed his face. He didn’t stop rocking, didn’t stop muttering, didn’t stop staring, so she did the first thing she could think of.

She slapped him.

The resounding crack rang out nearly as loud as the screams in the relative silence and several people winced. Her palm stung from the impact, the mark on his cheek an angry red that honestly might be bad enough to bruise, and she’d definitely feel bad about that in the morning, but right now all she cared about was that it seemed to have worked. He was still now, blinking slowly. His eyes focused and landed on her. “Jester?” he whispered.

She only realized she was still holding his face when his fingers brushed hers on the way to touch his damaged cheek and she pulled away immediately, pulse hammering uncomfortably hard in her ears. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She’d been so scared, she realized. But he was there, and he was okay. Except his face was definitely going to bruise. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically.

“You... Blood,” he said faintly. “So much... blood.”

She scrubbed at her face, self-conscious in spite of herself. “We fought dire wolves,” she said. “Remember?”

Nott pushed past her roughly, flinging her arms around him. “Are you alright?” she demanded. “What happened? You scared us half to death.”

“Yeah, man, are you… like, okay?” said Beau concernedly, hands still clutched defensively around her staff. “No offence, but you look like shit.”

He didn’t respond immediately, hand rubbing his face as he flexed his jaw experimentally. “Scheisse,” he said. “I think you cracked a tooth.” He was still looking at her like she was a ghost.

Jester felt her face heat up, embarrassment finally catching up to her properly. “Yeah, well, you were all weird and wouldn’t snap out of it,” she said defensively.

She hadn’t noticed Caduceus come to kneel beside her. “Let me get that,” he said, and with a wave of his fingers and a muttered prayer, the flaming imprint of her hand faded from Caleb’s skin in a dull shimmer of divine energy.

Caleb blinked again, suddenly seeming to notice there were other people around — including a goblin clinging to his arm — and flushed, looking ashamed. “Danke,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Bad dream?” said Caduceus gently.

Caleb’s face twitched, fingers digging harder into the meat of his forearms. “Ja, something like that,” he said.

Fjord let out a low whistle and released the falchion into the ether. “Some dream,” he commented.

“You were gone, man,” said Beau, laying down her staff. “Completely out of it.”

“You were saying something in Zemnian,” said Nott. She was fussing with his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You sounded so scared… What did you see?”

He flinched as though she, not Jester, had struck him, and shrugged out of her grasp. “It was nothing,” he said roughly. “It wasn’t real.” He swallowed with some difficulty, wrapping his arms even tighter around himself. “It wasn’t real,” he muttered again.

Fjord and Beau exchanged glances as he shook himself, looking sorrowfully around at all of them. “I am sorry,” he said again. Out of the corner of her eye, Jester saw his fingers picking at one of the exposed scars on his arm. “I did not mean to wake you all.”

There was a scraping noise from behind them as Yasha sheathed the Magician’s Judge. “I know something of bad dreams,” she said quietly. She touched his shoulder gently, once, and turned back to her bedroll.

Jester shifted uncomfortably on her heels, raised her hand to — what? Touch him? Comfort him? Lowered it again. “Well,” she said slowly in the awkward silence. “As long as you’re okay, I guess.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but his gaze flicked up to her face briefly, at least. “I’m sorry to have scared you,” he said again in a low voice. “I am... I am fine now. Thank you, Jester.”

“I’ll take next watch,” said Nott.

“You sure?” said Beau. “We still have a couple hours left—”

“I’ll take it,” repeated Nott firmly.

“I’ll stay up a bit longer too,” said Caduceus. He patted Jester’s arm reassuringly, and she hadn’t realized she’d been shaking until she stopped. “You guys go back to bed. We’re alright here.”

A part of her didn’t want to leave, not when Caleb still looked so pale, and Beau looked nearly as reluctant as she felt, but they backed away slowly under Caduceus’s calm gaze and she had no choice but to turn back and crawl to bed again. She glanced over her shoulder as her companions shuffled back to their own bedrolls; at Caduceus sitting cross-legged on the ground, at Nott fussing and fretting over Caleb, ignoring his protests and tucking him in like a child. He looked so haunted now, so pale and sweaty and still afraid, even as his breathing had evened out and whatever horrors he’d seen been proven imaginary. She caught the slight shaking of his hands as he tried to fend off Nott’s mothering, and her heart twisted inside her.

Gone was the Caleb of a scant few hours ago, the one who laughed with her about love-wands and bosoms, and in his place was — and here her chest ached again — the Caleb of so many months ago. The one who never smiled, who avoided questions and eyes and rubbed so much dirt and grime on himself to avoid recognition she’d thought he was a brunette for the first two weeks of knowing him.

The Caleb they had first met in Trostenwald the night of the carnival.

The thought almost made her want to cry.

She stared up at the ceiling, twisting and turning for the longest time, even as the rest of the party settled into their bedrolls and sleep picked them off one by one. She caught herself glancing over at Caduceus’s form more than once, the only one of the trio visible past the sleeping bodies surrounding her, but that couldn’t tell her if Caleb had calmed down. She eventually had to roll over, so she had nothing to look at but the rocky walls surrounding them. That helped, but didn’t stop her mind from racing.

What had he seen that was so terrible? A part of her wanted to ask — it wasn’t healthy, keeping things locked up inside your head, it couldn’t be — but she didn’t want to pry, either. Whatever it was had to have been horrible beyond description, anyway; what else could have made him scream like that? Was it a monster? A memory? He was so vague about his past, but they’d all seen his arms. Seen the scars. He’d told them about Trent. Maybe there were horrors in his past he had shoved down so far they only resurfaced in dreams?

She wished she could have understood him as he babbled in his native tongue. Wished she could have said something to comfort him. Done something. She hated seeing him like that.

‘Traveler,’ she prayed silently, ‘I know he’s not a worshipper — not yet, anyway, I know, I’m still working on it — but Caleb’s my friend and he’s really hurting right now, and it would really mean a lot if you could… I don’t know. Could you help him? I think he needs it, like, a lot of it, but I don’t think he’d ask for it and I don’t know what to do.’

Her deity was silent.

She couldn’t fall asleep again for a long time.

[sockablock]

If it's not too late for prompts, I really need some M9 caring for Caleb in my life. Anything from like, them making sure he eats or like he gets sick on the road or isn't sleeping because he got a new book. Or any other ideas you get from this.

(my FRIEND this prompt went PLACES (and also i might have played around with the Mending Cantrip, full disclosure: poetic license))

————————-

“—just been so down, lately, and we should do something to cheer him up!”

“Like, what, Jes?” Beau sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the headboard. “Caleb’s never happy, that’s why we like him.”  

“That’s not why I like him,” Nott said. “I like him ‘cause he’s smart, and funny, and—”

Beau waved an impatient hand, cutting her off. “Sure, sure, got it. He’s great. Whatever.”

“Nott, what do you think we could do to cheer him up?” Jester asked. “Since you’re the Caleb-expert.”

She rubbed her chin, considered this.

“We could buy him paper? He always needs that.”

Beau shook her head. “Too expensive,” she said. “Plus, we’re in a random Podunk town right now, not Zadash.”

“We could get him bread?” Jester tried. “He likes that, right?”

Nott raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but I don’t think that would really help cheer him up. No, what we need is…is a magical artifact, or a new spell, or…or we could do something nice for him, like…like feed his cat, or, well, Frumpkin doesn’t actually need feeding…”

“Hey, why don’t we fix his coat, or something?” Beau suggested.

Two pairs of eyes swiveled towards her.

“Yeah,” Beau shrugged. “He refuses to get rid of that thing, even though it’s seriously fallen apart since we met. I mean, I don’t think the lining is supposed to be that color, anymore.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Nott said, tilting her head to the side, “but how are we supposed to do that? It’s not like we’re seamstr—”

Jester leapt up onto the bedside table, wobbled only slightly, before punching a fist into the air and shouting, “I HAVE MENDING!”   

“There you go,” Beau said. “She’s got mending. Can you get the coat?”

Nott scoffed. “Can I get the coat? Can I get the coat? Sit right there, I’ll be back before you can say ‘Wow, Nott’s the best.’”

“I wasn’t gonna say—”

She scuttled out of the room in a blur of green and mottled grey.

———

“Hang on to your butts,” Jester said, waggling her fingers. “This is going to look so cool.”

Beau and Nott were both sitting on the bed across from her now, watching Jester pat the faded coat in her lap. She was biting her lip, gazing at the fabric with an air of intense concentration.

“This also might take a bit,” she admitted, “since Caleb really made a mess of this poor thing.”

“Go for it.” Beau examined her fingernails. “We’ve got all day.”

“Technically, we don’t,” Nott said with mild concern, “he could come back any second.”

Jester grinned. “Then let’s get started, right?”

With that, blue sparks of magic began to bloom from her hand. She guided her palm over old stains, frayed tears, a button re-aligned itself and part of a sleeve re-attached. 

Jester hummed happily as she worked, as Beau looked on with muted appreciation, Nott in utter amazement. Then she made one more pass around the fabric, murmured the incantation one more time, and as her fingertips coasted over the left breast pocket, they watched as a series of tiny, near-invisible tears suddenly burst open, filled with a glowing, golden thread. 

Jester pulled back in alarm, but the magic continued on. The thread quickly wove across the pocket, diving in and out, until it vanished beneath the folds and lay still, in the pattern of strange, eight-sided star. 

It glittered against the faded brown.

Beau and Nott stared. Jester sheepishly nudged the coat away from her.

“Um…guys? Do you think that maybe that’s not supposed to be there?”

Beau prodded the star. It didn’t move. “I don’t know if it’s not supposed to be there,” she said slowly, “but something gives me the idea that we weren’t supposed to see it.”

“What do we do?” Nott murmured. “Should we take it out?”

“Take what out?” Caleb asked. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. “Please, I would very much like to know.”

Beau stared at the jacket. She looked up at Caleb’s expectant, stone-faced expression. Then she sighed, and waved him in. “Come on,” she said. “We haven’t told the truth in a while, I’m sure we could use the practice.”

— — —

“I am not angry.”

“Are you sure?” Nott asked.

“You can be, if you want,” Jester said.

“But if you don’t, that’s way easier for me,” Beau added.

Caleb sighed. The coat was in his hands now, he traced the golden thread with his fingers. 

“You had good intentions, I suppose,” he said. “And I do sort of appreciate that you did not try to replace this coat.”

“I already tried that, remember?” Jester grinned. “I never saw you move so fast.”

Caleb snorted. “Of course. How could I forget?”

“What does that star mean?” Beau asked, cutting through the noise. “Is it important to you?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. His gaze briefly skimmed over Nott, hesitated on Jester, locked back onto Beau.

“It is…” He sighed again. “it is the symbol of the Academy,” he said eventually. “My…my father put it in the pocket for me, after I was accepted.”

“You went to the Academy?” Jester demanded instantly. Her eyes had gone wide, she was leaning forward over the mattress. “Wait, what? When?”

“A long time ago,” Caleb said quietly. “I would prefer not to speak of it now.”

Nott put a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned back. “Sure, Caleb,” she said. “If, uh…okay.”

“We can take it back out,” Nott said helpfully. “We can cut it back out.”

Caleb stared at the thread. Then the corners of his mouth quirked upwards. “Actually,” he said slowly, “actually…do any of you know how to sew? Embroider, specifically?”

“I do,” Beau said. When the others looked surprised, she narrowed her eyes and said, “It’s a useful craft. I’ll beat all of you except Jester if you disagree.”

“That’s just me and Caleb—” Nott began, but Caleb raised a hand and she paused.

“Jester, do you still have those little designs you made, a long time ago, when we first became a group?”

“Designs?” she repeated. “Designs…wait, do you mean…?”

He nodded. “Ja, if you do not mind, I would like to ask Nott to pick one.”

— — —

“Aw, that’s fun,” Caduceus said as they stood to the side, watching their stronger teammates load the cart for a morning’s travel. “Nice to see you’ve got yourself a bit of flair, now.”

Caleb smiled faintly. “Thank you,” he said. “I had some help doing it.”

“What is it?” Caduceus asked. “Looks like…are those mountains?”

Caleb laughed, and pointed to his pocket. “That is an ‘M,’ he said. The one inside is an ‘N.’ It is…a reminder.”

“Really? Of what?”

He traced a finger over the letters. “A reminder that now, there is someone on your side.”

Caduceus grinned, crossed his arms. “That sounds like a good message.”

‘Thank you,” Caleb nodded. Then his gaze softened and his smile grew. “Also,” he added, “also, it is a reminder that in this group, with these people, I should probably keep a better eye on my belongings.”

————————-

💜☕ ☕ 💜

[internutter]

Can we see what would have happened if Lup has stayed with Taako during his cooking show??? Like, she sees Sazed being mean to Taako and leading him on and eventually she does something bout it? Thanx!!!

It was the Conjoined Twin Act without the special shoe and the bespoke leggings. And more swearing and bickering, which always drew a laugh. Taako did the sparkles and the showy shit. Lup did the pyrotechnics. They both made fucking excellent food.

Taking it on the road was a stroke of genius. It meant that they would never be run out of town. They could run themselves out whenever the atmosphere turned bad. Not that there was much sign of that. The crowds absolutely loved them.

Lup couldn’t exactly remember who sponsored the Stage Coach or the merchandise deal, but they were moving so fast that neither of them could keep up with the demand for autographs. Lup grinned at her brother, who grinned back. They knew better than to say it, but this was it. This was them finally getting out of the gutter. This was their path to better things.

“Hello, again, gorgeous,” cooed Taako. “This is your third show. Like what you see?”

Lup sized him up in a cold second. Doughy boy. As far from gorgeous as he could get. No doubt Taako was attracted to the insurance that he would survive a winter or two and the fact that he would be less likely to run away.

“Uh. Uh. Are you the girl one?”

Okay. That lost him some points. More than a few, in fact. “I’m the girl one,” she iced. “So what?”

He blushed. “Uhm. You... look... really identical.”

Taako sensed the inherent problems at last and said, “Yeah we were born identical, but Lup decided to make a few improvements.”

There it was. That uncertain look. The once over. The sudden dawning of abject fear. Taako saw it too. This loser went from plausible companion to absolute nope in the tiniest moment.

“What’s your name, handsome?” said Taako, now completely feigning interest.

“Uhm. Sazed. Baker. I’m Sazed Baker.”

“Fuck off, Sazed Baker,” they said in unison.

They didn’t think about him again for their entire six-year tour of Faerun. They didn’t even recognise him when he turned up in Glamour Springs.

They knew who he was when he sabotaged the show, though. Using a simple cantrip to foul the food and give forty people food poisoning. Sure, he burned for it, but the Taaco & Taaco show was burned with him.

They never got to keep anything nice.

Back on the run. Back on the road. Back to the fucking gutters. Again. With luck, in three years or so, nobody would know who they were and they could start over.

“We can deal with this,” she insisted, huddled in a burrow. “Just a few years out of sight. No big. We’ll be back up on top.”

“Sure,” Taako lied. “Back on top. Easy.”

Lup rolled her eyes. Most of her time would get eaten by propping his pessimistic ass up for the duration.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 4]

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]

[sunshinycc]

Secret Santa for @that-cheer-up-anon! I hope you like some Lucretia + IPRE bonding time!

Lucretia was not a very extroverted woman. She was a writer, and she was only along on this crazy mission to document their travels. The others, however–

“MAGNUS!”

Taako shrieked and there was a thud from the small but cozy living area. Lucretia looked up from her journal as the sounds of incoherent yelling, flying cantrips, and running feet thundered down the hallway between their rooms. A door slammed and she heard Taako shouting outside it–Magnus must have escaped.

Back in the living area, Lup was cackling. Lucretia pictured her, her head thrown back, shrieking with glee as she watched her twin brother fruitlessly try to attack their friend and brother-figure. She scribbled this scene in her journal.

Barry’s voice soon joined the cacophony, shouting something about keeping it down, they were disturbing his very important work, do you want to know anything about the Hunger?

Lucretia smiled and wrote this down too.

Normally, about this time, the team would be out exploring the plane and gathering information. However, Cycle 20’s plane was a molten expanse of volcanoes and fire–white-hot and deadly to the touch. So the group was forced to stay indoors, confined to the metal walls of their silver ship, restless. Bored.

Taako’s screaming reached a crescendo. Lucretia picked out phrases, like, “Get out here right now Burnsides so I can kick it into a volcano” and “I’m gonna magic missile you so hard you enter a different plane”.

But then Magnus’s voice rang down the hall too, volume loud but his tone placating and soothing. “Taako, calm down, it was just a prank! I’ll do the dishes for the entire next cycle if you let me out.”

Taako stopped shouting.

Lucretia heard a door open, then shut, and then there was the sound of casual conversation as Magnus and Taako walked together through the hallway and back into the living area. Lup asked a question, and Taako answered, and Lucretia pictured Taako and Magnus joining Lup on the sofa, Taako leaning his back against Magnus’s soft, broad chest and stretching his legs across his sister’s lap. She sketched the scene in her mind out onto the journal page, paying careful attention to where the twins were identical and where they were different. Subtle differences like Taako’s expressions, Lup’s eyes, the placement of their freckles, their scars, their lines and their soft folds.

All was peaceful for a moment.

And Lucretia was sad.

Lucretia was an introvert, but–even introverts get lonely.

Did the group just forget she existed? They seemed like the kind of people who would get so caught up with their siblings and their friends and themselves that they’d forget about the lonely journalkeeper shut up in her room.

Lucretia sighed. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better to just not get attached to anyone. That way, when any of them inevitably died, she would not be broken by grief like Taako was when Lup died that first time.

Her door opened. She startled so hard she dropped her pen and, looking around (and slightly down), she saw Merle Highchurch standing there. “Hey, uh, kid,” he said. “I brought you some tea. In case. You know. You wanted some.” He sighed. “Okay, Pan definitely told me you needed some company. What’s goin’ on?”

Lucretia was more than a little shocked as she accepted the mug he held. Of all the people to come and make conversation with her, Merle was probably the least likely candidate of all. She stared at him for a moment. Then, collecting herself, she said, “Nothing’s wrong, Merle. Thank you, though, for the tea.” She gave him a little smile. She hoped it was convincing.

“Listen, Lucretia,” Merle said, sitting down on the floor next to her chair, “if Pan tells me something’s wrong, then something is wrong.” He studied her. “Come on, you can tell ol’ Merle.”

She chuckled a little. “Thank you, Merle.” A pause, where she collected her thoughts. “I’m just–you know. I’m a little lonely.”

“Then come out of your room and talk to us!” He smiled. “We won’t bite.”

She gave him a look.

“Alright,” Merle amended. “Maybe Taako would bite you a little bit. But not hard!” He sighed. “My point is. We’re gonna be stuck on this crazy mission for Pan knows how long. We might as well all get to know each other. Come on out and talk to someone.”

Then he stood and patted her hand and left her room. Soon his voice joined the comfortable banter in the living area, and then she heard Barry’s door open and his voice joined, and then even Davenport came in from wherever he had been and he entered the conversation, too, and the tone sounded–expectant? Because there were six voices in the room and they needed a seventh, Lucretia thought.

Alright, then. She’d give them what they wanted.

She closed her journal with a decisive snap and stood, gripping her mug of tea with one hand. With the other she opened her door and, with only a split second’s hesitation, she stepped out into the hallway. Looking to her right, she saw directly into the living area. And everyone was looking back at her.

“Hey, Lu!” Magnus called. “You gonna join us in debating whether or not dogs should vote?”

She smiled. “Of course they should vote,” she said, stepping into the living area and taking a seat in a cozy armchair next to the sofa. She tucked her feet up under her and continued. “Dogs are very intelligent beings. They can stand up and shake hands and say ‘hello’ just like politicians, and if politicians can have power, than so can dogs.”

“See?” Magnus said, turning to Taako with a triumphant expression. “The smartest person on the ship agrees with me!”

“Hey!” Barry objected.

“It’s true,” Taako said. “She can write with both hands, at the same time. Can you do that, Barold? I didn’t think so. Don’t claim titles you haven’t earned.”

Lucretia grinned. “I didn’t know everyone thought I was the smartest.”

“Me, either,” Barry grumbled.

“It’s okay, Barold,” Lup said, reaching out to pat his shoulder (Lucretia watched him blush). “I still think you’re super smart.”

After the initial conversation, Lucretia expected to just sit and listen to the banter. However, she was dragged into more discussions and engaged in more banter, and soon she was laughing with the rest of them over some quip Taako made when he got up to make dinner.

She actually ate dinner with the team and they continued their lively conversations across the table from each other, Lucretia joining in on a debate on whether or not the viola was actually a real instrument, and the argument turning into a food fight between the twins and Magnus, and Lucretia and Davenport ducking under the table while Merle joined Magnus’s side and Barry tried desperately to get them to stop.

And it was a good time, Lucretia thought, when the burning sun ducked below the molten planet’s horizon and the ship grew dark. When the team headed off for bed, mumbling sleepy “Goodnight”s and closing their doors.

When the ship went quiet and everyone went to sleep.

When the nightmares started.

It was awful–in her mind’s eye she saw her parents, her family, screaming in terror as they were consumed by the Hunger. In her dream Lucretia watched as her family and friends died and she could do nothing to save them.

Lucretia woke up in a cold sweat to a pointy-eared face looking down at her. “Hey,” Lup said, “thought you’d want to join in the cuddle pile that’s currently going on in Magnus’s room.”

“No, thank you,” Lucretia said weakly, “I don’t want to impose–”

“Nah, nah, it’s no big deal,” the elf insisted, “come on!”

She grabbed Lucretia’s wrist and dragged her from her room, down the hall to Magnus’s room. “I brought Lu,” Lup said with a grin. She snuggled down beside her brother, head resting on Magnus’s broad chest.

Lucretia stood awkwardly, staring at the tangle of people piled on top of each other, until Taako (of all people!) said, “Are you gonna join us or not?”

“Well,” she started, then considered her options. She could stay here and feel safe and be surrounded by people who probably liked her, or she could go back to her room by herself.

She sighed. “Alright.” Taking a breath, she walked over to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, tucking herself into the pile of people. Instantly they molded around her, reshaping themselves into a new position so everyone fit together seamlessly. It was warm, she discovered, and soft, and safe. And before she quite knew what was happening, she was asleep again.

Her dreams were soft, hazy, warm–visions of old Candlenights celebrations and family reunions. And when she woke up again to hear the twins bickering in the kitchen and Merle whistling to his plants and Magnus singing in the shower, she thought maybe she had the beginnings of a new family.

And Lucretia smiled.

[skaikruswan]

Feel the wonder inside of us

Fandom: Uprooted 

Summary:  “Why in the world are you here?” the dragon hisses with the voice of the wizard and I feel as if my world just has turned upside down, more than it already had.

“Why are you an actual dragon?” I ask, no, scream, gesturing towards him with my hands.

After rescuing Kasia from the wood, Agnieszka sees a side of the wizard she hadn’t seen or thought possible.

AO3 

Notes:  Sup, I got this idea stuck in my mind and I just had to write something. This takes place in chapter 11, after they saved Kasia and before Marek and his crew arrive. Fun fact: I was so unsure whether to use first or third person, past or present tense. I changed more than once. Still not entirely sure. I think it fits the theme of change rather well. Tell me what you think of the fic :)

I search for the Dragon, but I just can’t find him. At first it didn’t surprise me. Of course, there would be rooms he hadn’t shown me, secrets he and his tower would hide from me. Still, I have started to worry. I feel weary, the exhaustion of the Summoning still in my bones. Tending Kasia also takes its toll on me: I’m constantly running around in the tower and I’ve been sleeping poorly. Kasia is getting better, as far as anyone who had experienced the horror she had been through, can be. She is resting, hiding under the blankets, occasionally whimpering in her sleep.

I have looked in every room I had been before. I have even screamed for him, loud enough to be heard, but no too loud so I wouldn’t wake Kasia. My throat is dry and I feel a little tired, but still no success in finding the wizard.

“Where could he be?” I ask myself, leaning against a smooth, cool pillar. Suddenly an idea forms in my head and I put my hand on its surface, connecting myself with the tower. Pokaż mi, I start to sing, first a mere whisper, then slowly letting it grow so me voice echoes through the tower, allowing my magic to unfold. Show me. It reminds me of a game I used to play, running around blindfold in the meadow, trying to catch Kasia or my siblings. I’m closing me eyes, letting my other senses and my magic guide me and only open them when I feel the air shift, becoming cold and dusty. I’m now standing in a narrow hallway, with only a stairway as possible road. Turning around, I realize that I have never been here before. Determined to explore and to find him, I walk up the worn-down stairs and ends up in front of a massive iron door. Grabbing the handle, the door swings open to reveal a big, round room. The room doesn’t faze me much at the first quick glance, until my eyes settle on the one thing that occupies it.

A dragon. A big dragon. A big dragon who could easily kill me and eat me, making me feel like a mouse in front of a snake. I feel my blood turn to ice and I can only stare at the sleeping beast, agape. It’s curled up like a cat, the long tail tugged under its chin. Curls of smoke are filling the air, giving the impression as if the dragon is snoring. Graceful wings are resting on its hindlegs, leading my gaze towards the spikes covering the dragon’s spine. In a bizarre way, the dragon reminds me of a stormy night sky. The scales of the dragon reach from misty grey to onyx and I feel the crazy urge to touch the scales and find out how they would feel like under my fingertips. With a shake of my head, I try to focus myself to the most logic task. Run away. But before I can do anything, the dragon opens his eyes, golden slits focusing on me.

“Why in the world are you here?” the dragon hisses with the voice of the wizard and I feel as if my world just has turned upside down, more than it already had.

“Why are you an actual dragon?” I ask, no, scream, gesturing towards him with my hands.

“You wouldn’t understand.” he snaps back. His tail is twitching, no longer tugged under his chin and his claws are scraping against the stone floor. He’s agitated, I conclude.

“Then try to explain.” When did my life start to involve arguing with dragons, real dragons? He lets out a low growl but I only cross my arms and raise my eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

“My magic can be different, difficult even. It took me decades to comprehend and master it.” He stops for a moment, and his gaze turns sorrowful for a moment, the fragments of a lonely childhood passing by, before he focuses again on me. “Sometimes when I drain myself too much, the rest of my magic channels my title and I take that form to rest and regain my strength.”

I can’t help but raise my eyebrows, but somehow, that explanation doesn’t seem so absurd. I tilt my head and regard him more carefully, trying to find similarities to his human form.

“Stop gawking and make yourself useful.” he orders and I startle, having been lost in thought. The room seems to be made for this purpose alone. There isn’t any furniture and the Dragon takes up most of the space. No chimney either, but I don’t feel cold, since he’s radiating heat.

“What do you want me to do? Maybe get some food?” I imagine that he must eat, no matter how he looks like.

“Why, are you offering?” The chicken-hearted part of me flinches and I stare at him, wide-eyed, before I realize he’s only joking (at least I think he does).

“Bossy dragon.” I say under my breath and hurry back towards the kitchen before he can scold me for my comment. Because I’m curious about his current state and still a little tired from roaming the tower all day long, I take the meal I’ve prepared for myself and Kasia and throw a Lirintalem at it. The result is pretty decent. I now have my favorite stew made of chicken meat, carrots and mushrooms, and for the Dragon a juicy piece of pork and beef surrounded by potatoes. I pick a second set of cutleries for him, so he can’t nag at me for forgetting it, and because I want to see his reaction to it. Setting everything on a dinner tray, I make my way back to the Dragon.

He’s still lying (although, what else could he do?) and doesn’t move when I come back but only opens his eyes.

“Dinner’s ready.” I say cheerfully, bringing him his plate and putting it in front of it. He eyes it with arrogant caution, sniffing at it, before opening his mouth and devouring the meal in two quick bites. He licks his leathery lips with his forked tongue before making a weird noise which I think is a dragon clearing its throat.

I can’t help but giggle, causing him to scowl at me. How it must pain him, he who loves order and tidiness, to be bound to this form. No books he can read, no letters he can write, no mess he can clean.

“Let’s continue trying to get spells into that thick head of yours.” he says, his usual wit and sarcasm lacing the words.

“This means you can do magic, even like that?” The question slips out before I can do anything and now he glares at me.

“Of course I can, daft girl.” I’ve grown used to his insults. Hesitantly, I let my magic flower out and reach out for his. It’s weird: I know how his magic feels like: it’s like him, proper, precise, sharp if it has to be. Right now, it feels different, but somehow the same, as if I’m seeing his magic from a different point of view. I would define it as primal or more unbound than usual. Still, I feel his power.

As his current form proves, he’s not yet ready to perform more sophisticated magic, and I’m not feeling ready either. No usual nagging from him, so I assume that he wants me to begin. Maybe he wants me to prove to him that I don’t need his guidance, or he’s just too lazy or uninterested to do anything. I shrug, close my eyes and prepare myself for the magic. After the strenuous effort of rescuing Kasia, I long for some easy spells and the cantrips he so desperately wanted me to learn come into my mind.

I almost laugh when I remember how hard they used to be for me. But now, since I no longer have to follow his methods, I perform them without any trouble. The tedious walks in the dark that had been my initial magical experience have now become pleasant strolls. The last spell I perform ought to clean remove the dust from the room but I kind of overshoot the mark, making the dust vanish in an explosion.  

“Sloppy but effective, what one can say about you and your magic.” he comments drily, and I grin. Only he can insult and compliment somebody at the same time. Still, a little bit of dust covers me, and I try not to sneeze. “It draws away the attention from your hideous dress.” He gives me an exasperated look.

I wipe my hands off and realize that my dress really has seen better days. Looking at his form and considering his slight obsession with my clothes, I have an idea. Vanastalem I say, loud and clear. No simple dress appears, but something out of a fairytale. Layers of silk and velvet cover me, the skyblue color complimenting my fair skin and my gray eyes. A silver hairband tames my hair. I surely look like a different person.

“Who are you and what have you done with my apprentice?”

“A poor princess, trapped by a horrible dragon.” I say, using my best whiny-rich-countess voice, while raising my hand to my forehead. He snorts, clouds of smoke rising, and I grin. Yet his eyes stay fixed on me and I try not to blush. Joking around allows me to unwind and to forget the crazy world I’m living in, if only for now.

“How’s your friend?” he asks, trying to sound casual, and I startle. Given his initial opinion on Kasia, I didn’t think he would care.

“She tries to rest, to regain her strength, but she can’t.” Seeing her in pain feels like a stab right into my heart. I’ve tried to help her, but even the spells from Baba Yaga don’t help.

“It will take time. You being with her will surely help.” I understand his hint and leave him to rush towards Kasia, trying not to fall in my dress. She’s awake, her eyes glassy and unfocused, the blankets around her seem more suffocating than comforting.

“Kasia, I’m here.” When she hears me, she looks at me and lets out a sob. I make myself comfortable next to her and hold her. She wraps her arms around me and I try not to flinch, the memories of her choking me still fresh. Time seems to fly, and I only let go of her when her breathing has become regular, a sign that she’s finally sleeping.

When I return to him, nothing seems to have changed, he’s still lying around.

“This really must be boring.” I say. All he seems to do is lying around. I would have gone crazy.

“What else could I do?” he hisses. “Fly around?”

“Have you? Did you ever leave the tower once like this?”

“Of course not.” he says indignantly and opens his wings, letting me see them unfolded for one moment, before closing them again. This must be uncomfortable for him too. He surely wants to move.

“Did any of the other girls ever see you like that?” While I doubt it, since that would have been a big revelation, I can’t help but wonder.

“No, only you. You change everything.” he drawls.

“You could do so much while you’re like this.” I imagine him flying around, breathing fire and burning this wretched forest. Legends of an actual dragon would keep our enemies at bay.

“No!” he roars, and I admit, it took a lot of me to not take a few steps back. “This is the main reason why the wood can never have me.” he urges me, his words now having a deeper meaning. I remember the horrified look on his face when the wolf had scratched and corrupted him. It all makes sense now. I see him as a weapon of the wood, a forest dragon, leaves and moss covering his shiny scales, branches between his horns, an instrument of doom, bringing only death and horror to the valley. The picture in my mind makes me shiver.

“I understand.” We seem to have an unspoken conversation between us. I understand that the wood must never have him, even if this means that I must kill him, or worse, us.

“Nieszka.” he says with a sigh and I feel my heart skip a beat. Girl, lunatic, creature, catastrophe: that’s how he likes to call me. Not my name and especially not… this. Nieszka is how my family and how Kasia call me. It’s used by people who truly care about me. “Try to get some rest too. I feel as if the worst is still ahead of us.”

“I’m sure that tomorrow you’ll be fine again.” I say optimistically, trying to change the subject. He only snorts in disdain. His empty plate is still standing in front of him and I decide to take it to the kitchen. Before grabbing it, I put my hand on one of his claws, touching the rough, and yet, sleek scales. I know that this is the equivalent of touching his hand, but my curiosity is stronger than my embarrassment or common etiquette. I withdraw and break the wondrous moment between us.

When I turn around to leave (or flee), I see that his tail is lying in front of the door, blocking my path.

“The terrible dragon allows the princess to leave.” he says, shifting his tail. One last glance at him and I see that he’s smirking, as far as dragons can do that. I smile at him, while trying to drop a curtsy. He inclines his head. On my way down, I wonder if being in this form makes him easier to get along with. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Somehow, our relationship has changed. I enjoyed his presence today, and I know he enjoyed mine too.

To everyone’s surprise, tomorrow he’s still a dragon.

[chelsari]

Zephi :- D&D Backstories

Living a quiet life in a small town, Zephi was a Hero to many. In a corrupt world where the rich flourished and the poor perished, Zephi did everything in her power to bring justice to those in need.

As a young tielfing to human parents, her life was never easy. Even though she compensated those in need, she still had prejudice against her. Tieflings were always seen as evil and no gooders, just because of their heritage.

For most of her life, she worked on a small farm with her parents, tending to the animals and taking care of the crops. During her days off she would fed the homeless, find homes for abandoned animals and give her hard earned money to the poor. No matter what she did or how nice of a gesture she made, there were always eyes on her, like actions were fake or of malicious intent.

During a recession, the town became more and more corrupt as the tyrant of the town began cutting back on expenses for the lower class citizens,making the rich even richer and digging deeper graves for everyone else. This made Zephi extremely unhappy and set out to take back what was theirs.

She began stealing from corrupt merchants to give back to those who needed it more. Zephi became a Hero to the people, being their savior and their ally. She was helping the homeless off the streets, paying for children to attend school, and bringing hope and joy back into the eyes of her people. However, even still, there were sniggers and glares, rumors and lies. 

As time went on, it only got worse. People started to refuse her money, they walked away when she tried to speak with them and gave her horrible looks when she walked through the streets. The town Tyrant was aware of her stealing from his merchants and paid for her capture, dead or alive. He was turning the people against her, punishing her for her crimes against their rule.

One day while attempting to pickpocket a shady merchant, she was suspicious as to how quiet the streets were. As she approached a fruit stall, she asked he merchant for a bag of his finest apples for her parents. Zephi held out a shiny silver coin.  Instead of taking the money, the merchant grabbed her wrist. “THE DEMON IS HERE!” he yelled into the streets, as people ran to his aid. He tried wrapping his arms around Zephi to restrain her but she butted her horns into his face, causing him to fall to the ground. Zephi began sprinting into the woods.They chased after her, belting her with rotten food and empty bottles.

Eventually she was far enough ahead to lose the chasers, she fell to her knees beside a small stream. Zephi began to cry, tears streaming her cheeks. An anger built up inside her, she would get her revenge on the people that did her wrong. She couldnt believe the betrayal, all she wanted was to help and they spit back in her face. The tyrant wanted her killed and the people would stop at nothing to get their hands on her.

She fell forward onto her elbows and wept into the soft earth beneath her. The forest fell dead silent before it was interrupted by a small bell chiming. “Ting-a-ling”.

Zephi suddenly snapped her head up and looked around for the source of the noise. “Ting-a-ling” The bell rang out again, this time behind her, she quickly refocused her gaze, squinting into the distance, curious at to what was out there.

A small, bird-like rabbit ran by her feet, carrying the bell sound with each hop. It was wispy and almost transparent, as if it were an illusion. It’s feet seemed to float ever so slightly off the ground, but it was still very quick and the bell continued to chime as it ran across the river.

Amazed by this mysterious creature, Zephi followed, trudging her way across the small river and weaving her way through the branches to catch the small creature. Seeing it sneak under a large bristled bush with a small wisp of air, Zephi had to push her way through the thick and tough branches to get to where the creature was leading her.

It suddenly lead into a large opening, flanked by cherry blossom trees and a shimmering silver lake right in front of her. At the other end of the lake was a large throne and a shadowy blue and silver figure sat with his arms and legs folded neatly.

The figure lifted his left arm, held it in the air for a second and clicked his fingers. The small click seemed to echo loudly around the glade. A rumbling grew around the edges of the trees and  hundreds of the small rabbit-like creatures errupted from the ground. They all ran to the right side of the throne, hopping one on top of the other. They started to mold and shift into another form. The tiny creatures became one giant stag, it was wispy and transparent and seemed to glow with a feint blue light. It raised up on its hind legs and let out a hundred bell chimes, overlapping and harmonising as it fell back down to the ground.

The figure stood up and gracefully crossed the river, approaching Zephi slowly. Still in awe by everything that happened, she watched as he moved in front of her, lifting his hand up to hold her chin up. “Aren’t you a pretty one” he snarled, showing off his canine teeth in a smirky grin. “I’ve been watching you, young tielfing, and I have a proposition for you”

Zephi could feel the cold from his touch and his icy breath on her face. He stood at least 6ft tall, with long, white hair and eyes and sky blue skin. His black armor only covering his bottom half and shoulders, dusted with ice and frost. This tall figure was devastatingly beautiful, Zephi had never seen anyone like this before. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“W-what do you w-want?” she muttered, before he turned around and began skating lightly over the river. A low laugh bellowed from deep in his chest. He stopped in the middle of the now ice covered river and turned to face her again.

“ I see how they treat you” His expression now empathising. “I know what it’s like to be an outsider, for people to treat you differently because of how you look”.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have to go” Zephi turned to run away but he was suddenly right in front of her. “They call you demon” he continued, “they tease you, demean you, watch their pockets around you...and why?”. He threw his hands up,“ Because you’re different?”. He held Zephi’s face in his hands, the cold caressing her skin.

She closed her eyes and began to whimper softly. “I’m not evil...I’m NOT a demon”, her eyes filling with tears. “I can help you” he whispered “ I can free you from this surface world, I can give you power that you could never imagine” He showed off his sharp teeth again with his grin. 

“Isn’t that what you want?, wouldn’t you like to leave all those who hurt you behind and in turn gain power?”. Still in awe by this gorgeous being in front of her, all she could do was nod, tears still in her eyes. He Grabbed her hand and led her to the throne where he sat her down.

“Who are you?” Zephi whimpered. He chucked to himself, “I, my dear, am the Prince of Frost, an Archfey, If you will” He bowed before her. “Us Archfey...”, he continued “...we like to make deals” A large scroll appeared in his hands. 

“What kind of deal?” Zephi questioned, she began to get very nervous. “ It’s nothing major, I promise” The prince pulled a blue quill out of his armor. “ You do a favour for me and I do a favour for you, it’s really simple, but I need to know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain” The scroll and quill slowly floated over in front of Zephi’s face.

“What sort of favour?” She stood up from the throne, “what if I don’t wish to do it?” She tried to intimidate him by using her thaumatergy to make her eyes blood red.

“Don’t be silly” He waved his hand over her face and removed her cantrip. “Simply put, I sense a disturbance, an extremely powerful disturbance on this material plane, and I need you to find out what it is”

“And what do I get in return?” she spat back at him. “Like I promised before, unimaginable power and freedom from this surface world, and all you have to do, is this small favour for me” He sat her back down and moved the scroll and quill in front of her again, beckoning her to sign.

Zephi became hesitant and kept looking around for somewhere to run. The Prince was becoming impatient. “Don’t you wish the sterotypes would stop? Aren’t you sick of people treating you like shit?. Think of everyone that hurt you, that put you down, that wanted to believe that you couldn’t ever be anything other than evil” His voice boomed around the glade. 

He could see that she was becoming emotional “I can make it all go away, you’ll never have to worry again” his voice now soft and soothing. “Do me this favour, and I can help you”

Zephi lifted up her hand and reached out for the quill. She took the scroll in her other hand. The writing on the scroll was unintelligible, but she signed anyway. The scroll and quill poofed into a small mist and a loud laughter erupted from the Prince. “THE PACT IS SIGNED”, he announced into the glade, as the giant stag burst into the hundreds of small rabbit-like creatures once more.

Zephi was lifted a few inches into the air and the creatures one by one entered her body. The small bell like chimes filled the glade with beautiful music as they dispersed into her small body, one by one.

“You now have your powers, as promised” he grinned “But you still owe me your side of the bargain, which you signed for” The scroll now appearing in his hand. “Good luck on your travels.....Zephi”. A massive bright flash shot in front of Zephi’s face and the glade and everything in it and surrounding it were gone. Zephi was back in the forest, It was even darker than she’d thought. She ran back out of the forest, tripping over rocks and sticks in her panic.

A few days later, after getting the hang of some of her powers, she stumbled upon a small entrance in the forest where she originally found the glade. 

Except this time, it wasn’t a glade, but a small cave opening of some sort. Standing at the side of the opening was the Prince, still as handsome as ever, playing with a shard of ice.

Before Zephi could speak, a massive sharp pain shot  up her left leg. She looked down to see a long poisonous arrow. Her vision blurred and she blacked out.

When Zephi came to, she was inside a jail cell. Cold and dark, she would have to find her way out.