#its essek saying this is the first time caleb's ever looked defeated and just...

[dent-de-leon]

Caleb returning the forehead kiss and combing back Molly's hair when he's gone is just so gutting, because Molly was always the very tactile and openly affectionate one. Because early in the campaign Caleb was always so touch-starved, very hesitant to both accept and initiate any sort of physical intimacy. And then by the end, he gives it to Molly so freely. A last moment of warmth and comfort and tenderness, and Mollymauk can't even feel it.

Is it for Molly, or is it for him? "And as the light fades, the body is restored. The wounds are cleaned...but the spirit did not return." "He's lifeless." "He is." But Caleb still tries to comfort him anyway, after all his magic just isn't enough, after his Transmuter's Stone is shattered and all he can do is choke back tears and tell Yasha, "I-I tried..." He still wants to give him a kiss goodbye.

[rockinsappho]

Last Words of a Shooting Star

Hey! first time ever uhhh posting any kinda writing hahaha but here u go! (Was gonna post on ao3 but I forgot my login nooo)

Notes: CONTAINS SPOILERS for ep 139! Check tags. Set during ep 139 during/right after the feast. Mostly canon compliant? Caleb has physical anxiety tells and essek is trans w chronic pain: this felt important to include as I love to project myself into my interpretation of who these characters are, anyways. Perhaps Ill write another similar fic focused on Beauyasha??

Tags: fluff, a bit of angst, we-might-die-tomorrow-angst, talk of death, discussing feelings, accidental telepathy but its all consensual dw, anxiety tics (like finger picking mentioned), first kiss, no beta we die like lucien, 

(ALSO if there is something else I should have tagged, please let me know. I want to be conscious of others so I will def update it if there is something u feel is missing.)

----

“This could be our goodbye... Is there… anything we want to say to each other? Any warm words of encouragement, or things that we don't want to leave unsaid?”

Veth’s words hang heavy, silence filling the air. Sat around a campfire, Yasha looks toward Beau with sad eyes, and Jester leans on Fjord's shoulder. This is the Mighty Neins last night before the storm, before the whole world could change.

Caleb, however, was busy picking at his fingernails, acutely focused on anything but the others. It was too soon to say goodbye to the Nein. His friends, his… family. So he looked for minute distractions.

“I have lots of things I want to say; after we defeat Lucien,” Beau says, as the others chuckle softly. There is a strange tension in the air. As if even with Veth's words, there were still things not spoken aloud. Too many eyes watching them still. Even more-so with them now branded on their bodies.

“Cayyyleb,” Jester's voice rang out “Any confessions you need to get off your chest? Looove confessions? You are always so secretive.”

He smiled slightly as he brushed the loose strands of hair out of his face and looked up towards his friends, attempting to straighten his posture.

“Errm… there is not… particularly anything I would like to say, no,” Caleb replied. Taking a chance, he eyed Essek, who was also keeping quietly to himself. Always so serene and proper, draped in his mantle and robes. Sensing his gaze, Essek met his amber eyes. It was as if every moment they connected: time slowed. One moment lasted for hours, stretching millennials until there was nothing but the two of them-- together against time.

But there was no time. And there were not the two of them. There had been no conversations together of the constant pull they felt towards one another.

“We need more time.” 

At that, Essek furrowed his brows, hearing Caleb's voice ring in his head. This was not the first time Caleb has accidentally sent his thoughts over to Esseks mind. With the eyes and their close proximity to one another, it only makes sense that there would be slip-ups. But it has become more and more frequent. Especially since Essek himself has branded an eye, he has noticed Caleb being a bit more… attentive to him. Not to say that Essek did not secretly appreciate such attention.

It does not help that Essek had sustained pretty serious injuries from the last battle, and was having a hard time staying on his feet. The floating, of course, helps to relieve the constant pain through his legs, but he has just been so exhausted. And Caleb noticed.

Oh, sweet Caleb, worrying for this traitor to the Dynasty-- this drow he barely knows. And yet, there is some unspoken connection between the two of them-- Essek could feel it in his bones.

And if they were going to die tomorrow, now would be the better time than any to tell Caleb how he truly feels. After all, if Caleb rejects him, he’ll be too dead to care. Now, Essek. Just tell him now.

“Ahem,” Essek clears his throat and stands. “I will ah- be back in a moment.”

The Mighty Nein turned to each other, confused at the sudden movement.

“Was it something I said?” Jester asked.

“Of course not Jester,” “Absolutely!” Fjord and Veth said at the same time.

Caleb's eyes held on to Esseks back as he floated towards the next room over, silk robes drifting softly through this strange astral sea.

“Caleb. Come, follow. I must discuss something of great importance that I do not wish to share with the group. “

A heartbeat skipped as Caleb heard his fellow wizard's voice in his head. He appreciated this sense of telepathy they both shared. Simultaneously though, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, as he was the one who dragged Essek into this in the first place. And now, branded with a red eye they know little about, he felt a new sense of responsibility for his dear mages safety.

-

When Caleb finally found some excuse to leave their camp to go find Essek, he had a lump in his throat. Fidgeting and picking at his hands, he approached Essek. He was sitting with his back against the wall, legs bent in front of him, and tending to his wounds gained in battle. Next to him was an open medicine pack and his spellbook turned to a simple cantrip, light, which he was using to illuminate the space around him to better see his wounds.

“Essek--” Caleb starts, suddenly unsure of his words. “Let me help you,” his voice is soft and tender as he knelt in front of his friend.

The drow looked up and smiled softly. “Thank you.” They held eye contact for a beat and then looked towards Esseks knees, still bruised and burned. “I ran out of bandages, I was hoping you carried some in your bags.”

Caleb let out a quick laugh, and lifted his hands, turning them around a little.

“Ja, I carried them for a long time. To cover these... Also, because of the constant fighting we find ourselves in. I’m not exactly err… strong.”

Essek smiled at that. “Me neither. Can you help me wrap them?”

“Ja. Of course.” His slightly shaking hands took the bandages from his pack and started to unroll some of the cloth. Caleb took a deep breath, filling his lungs to attempt to calm his nerves. “Was this, uh, what you called me over to talk about? You know Caduceus or Jester know better how to tend to wounds than I do.” He let out a nervous laugh again and started wrapping the cloth around his leg.

“Ah-” Essek scrunched up his face and winced at the pain, looking to the side. Caleb’s hands immediately stopped, save for the slight tremor still present.

He looked up at Essek’s face with worry. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah..” Essek began calmly, clenching and unclenching his hands. “I am used to pain. And-- no this was not what I wanted to talk about although, I do appreciate your help. Sincerely.” He looked over to meet Caleb’s eyes. A beat.

“Scheisse, you are beautiful.”

Essek looked down as he heard the other’s voice ring through his ears. Do it now.

“Caleb, I don’t- If we- If I die tomorrow, I want to die knowing that I have aired all of my grievances. My sins. My… thoughts. I want to die with everyone-- with you knowing everything about me possible. I don’t want to just disappear in the memories of you all--”

Caleb stops wrapping his legs and interrupts “Liebling, what are you going on about? I will never forget you, Essek. And we both have sins we have yet to atone. You know your sins are not of importance to me. The only thing of importance to me is how you have treated me, the Nein, all of us--”

“The only thing of importance to me is you!”

Time slowed again. It was either Dunamancy or the butterflies in his stomach. Essek’s eyes went wide as he realized what slipped through his lips. He had said it with such conviction, he did not even realize how quickly it came out. He had spent hours thinking of how to eloquently profess his complex feelings towards the other wizard. And now…

Essek started to remove Caleb's hand’s from his knees, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting towards one another. “I’m sorry Caleb, I-”

Caleb quickly set his hands on top of Essek’s to still them, looking back into his icy blue eyes, mouth unmoving.

“You are the most important to me as well.”

“Did you mean to send that message this time?” Essek asks softly, careful of his next moves.

“Ja. And the other ones too.” There was a slow moment where Essek could have sworn Caleb's eyes drifted from his own to his lips.

“Caleb. I don’t want to die before I’ve kissed you.”

“Then don’t.”

Caleb lifted a trembling hand to cup Essek’s face, running his thumb across his cheek. Flushed, Essek closed the distance and finally embraced in a kiss. It was an awkward angle at first, as Caleb was leaning over his injuries, careful not to touch any part of him that would cause further pain. But Essek was seeing stars, it had been everything he had ever dreamed of. All of the euphoria he had ever felt from the social power he had gained through treachery-- he would throw it all away for just ten more seconds with Caleb-- no, five, no three seconds. He would give away his all for a single moment more.

Gently they pulled back from another. Overwhelmed in emotion, the human laughed and rested his forehead on Essek’s.

“It has been a long time since--” Caleb begins.

“Me too. We will learn together, as we have in the past, like we always do.” Essek quickly kissed Caleb on the nose. “That tower of yours sounds awfully nice tonight. A warm room, warm bed. Perhaps it will be a good night of sleep for all of us after all.”

Caleb nestled his face into Essek’s neck, sighing. “We should probably get back to the group. They will wonder why we have been gone so long. One more kiss before we go?”

Essek smiled and grabbed his face in his hands, pulling him close.

“We have all the time in the world.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

One of the major issues with the M9 refusing to ever take or maintain a nemesis for any amount of time is that defining arcs the way we did in Campaign 1--based on the enemy Vox Machina was fighting--doesn’t quite work the same way.  Y’all know how I love me some arcs, though, and I think I’ve got a pretty strong sense for how I’d split them up given the chance, at least from where we’re standing now, so hey, why not write it down so I can reference back to it in thirty episodes when I’ve been proven wrong about where the story’s going all over again?

Arc 1: Getting to know you (OR: Okay, I’m with these assholes.  Why am I with these assholes?)  Episodes 1-25. 

Once upon a time when I was young and very cocky, I wrote an enormous overview of this particular arc, and I think most or all of what I said still stands.  ‘Nuff said.

Arc 2:  Things fall apart (OR: Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.  What am I willing to lose?)  Episodes 26-30.

It is barely four episodes, it is barely an arc, and if I were trying to divide up the series to talk about it in an end-of-campaign episode I’d include these in the previous set, but narratively, this is its own story.

Arc 3:  The cure for everything is salt water (OR: I love them and we’re not talking about it or anything else that matters.  What is required of me?)  Episodes 31-48, give or take.

I very much consider the pirates arc to be the emotional avoidance and recovery arc.  After just barely surviving Shady Creek Run, the team flees the empire entirely and puts to sea.  Plot-wise the story is about U’kotoa and snake cults and piracy, but emotionally it’s all about the characters figuring out, individually and collectively, how to try to be okay and how to begin to step away from the people they thought they were in order to take care of each other.  I do want to rewatch and write an analysis for this one day, about Jester learning the difference between romance novels and real life and Nott spending two months at sea and Beau learning to wait, and Fjord for maybe the first time in his life learning to say no.

(Interestingly, the arc is where the group really starts to resolve the questions from Arc 1.  They’re together because of friendship, and loyalty, and love.  Friendship and loyalty and love are worth a lot.)

Arc 4:  Xhorhas (OR: Now that the shit has hit the fan it’s time to step up and deal.  What do I actually want?)  I call this episodes 49-69, again give or take, because there is such a sharp break when they lose Yasha.

These are the episodes when they stop avoiding the world that was going to shit behind them, and discover they have to actually make decisions about it.  They confront the idea that Xhorhas might be okay and war is complicated.  For the very first time the Mighty Nein has to consider taking sides.  This arc starts with the group alone and helpless in Felderwin, moves through their ascendancy as heroes of the Dynasty, and ends with the Nein using their strength and power just carelessly enough to free something horrific.  Episode 56 in the Bright Queen’s throne room neither begins nor ends this arc, but it does define it: the entire story here is about the M9 coming face to face with the fact that they actually do have power in the world, and they can do something with it--and maybe they have to.

(Again--they haven’t quite settled anything lingering from Arc 3, but they’re starting to make a pretty good dent on answering the questions of Arc 2.  They always knew they weren’t willing to lose each other, but now they’re finding out, for sure, what they are and are not willing to sacrifice on behalf of the rest of the world.  They don’t know for sure what their yeses are, but they’re figuring out their nos)

Arc 5: The aasimar in irons (OR: We are desperate and we cannot stop but we have to be stronger now.  What can we actually do?)  Episodes 70-86. 

Just like the Iron Shepherds, this is a desperation arc, but these episodes specifically weren’t about the M9 coming to terms with just how desperate they could get.  They already know just how desperate they can get.  This arc, following on the discovery in Arc 4 that they have power, is now all about dealing with the consequences and limits of it.  They cannot defeat Obann in open battle but they can complete a step in Caduceus’s personal quest, they can face dragons, they can rescue an archmage.  Beau is an Expositor and Fjord is a paladin, and they are not always strong but they are not slaves, and at the very very end, Yasha isn’t either.

(I’m the weakest on this one because, following the pattern of the story finally resolving major questions about two arcs after they’re first really essential, we haven’t answered this one yet.  It is very, very good at bringing back the question ‘what is required of me?’, though, and presenting us with a team that knows how to take care of each other, that will bury Fjord in magical items and hunt Yasha to the ends of Exandria, that no longer needs to ask what their responsibilities are before they set forth to stop the Angel of Irons.  They already know.)

Arc 6:  How we live now (OR: So this is who we are, after all that.  How do we move forward with ourselves?)  Episodes 87-present.  (My guess: this arc ends between episode 105 and 110.  They’re averaging just under 20 episodes each, so we’ll see.  I suspect episode 97 may have been the climax of a lot of things.)

We’re still in the middle of this arc, but here’s what I’m seeing: an entire party confronting the fact that they have changed so very much in the past 90-odd episodes, and now somehow have to figure out who these new selves are and how to keep going.  Nott is Veth and desperate to leave, to stay, both and neither.  Beau is terrified and self-sabotaging.  Caduceus’s family is going home, but he isn’t, not yet.  Jester is a devoted acolyte and the founder of a cult and so utterly torn.  Fjord still isn’t sure what being a paladin quite means.  Yasha is throwing pit fights and eating seafood and struggling through the aftermath of the entire last arc.  Caleb has admitted to love.   The question here is, has to be, what have I become and what do I even do about it?

(They haven’t entirely resolved what do I want yet, but on the other hand--yes, they have, haven’t they?  They want peace, and they’re going to fucking get it.  They want each other so badly.  They want Essek alive and redeemed and they want Trent Ikithon dead.  They want so many, sometimes-contradictory things, but--they know what those things are, now.  They’re admitting to them out loud.  They just don’t know how to get them yet.)

I don’t think there’s any predicting what major arc might come next, or what big questions it will ask of the characters, but I do think we can start to guess at what questions it might answer.  I expect the next five or ten episodes to be full of characters wanting things and not sure what to do about them.  I expect the twenty or so episodes after that to be a marathon of outward competence as the party struggles in some brand new direction I can’t even imagine just yet.  I expect arc 8 to have real plans for whatever the future actually looks like when all the adventuring is done.  I expect to be dead wrong about all of it.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Five

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Shower Scene, Nonsexual Nudity, Touch Starvation, Dissociation

This fic now contains spoilers up to Episode 97: The Fancy and the Fooled

— — —

For a blink of the eyes, the world fell away.

The sensation of stone under his knees became cold tile. Mollymauk didn’t know how they’d gotten there, one moment in the market and the next here, but he couldn’t dwell on it. A chill was settling under his skin, offset only by the heat of his wounds, the pressure of Essek’s vice-grip on his arm.

That grip vanished as soon as he registered it. Mollymauk slumped without its support, a whine leaving his throat, panic crawling behind it. Somehow he knew what came after this, and he did not want to be alone for it. He wasn’t the first time, he wasn’t the second, but the third was cold and e m p t y and

He was on the ground, now, panting. Black dots flickered in his vision. He saw the hem of Essek’s clothing dragging along the floor, saw a line of red that streaked from where he laid to where Essek stood. There was a rattling, something fell to the floor and clattered and rolled. The image doubled and then blurred beyond recognition.

And then he was upright, and the rush of it nearly made him vomit. Something was pressed to his lips, Essek’s voice in his ear, rough and breathless. He couldn’t respond, eyes rolling in his skull. There was something he was supposed to do. Something important, something easy, but his brain wouldn’t keep up.

A snarl sounded, making him flinch as Essek seized his jaw and squeezed. Molly’s teeth parted, and a bitter flavor drenched his tongue. He gagged, and a hand clasped tight over his mouth before he could spit it out. He retched, air and liquid expelling between Essek’s fingers but not fast enough. So Molly swallowed.

Essek let go to wrap his arm around Molly’s side instead, keeping him upright as he choked. It dissolved into heaving breaths, all his weight leaned into Essek. He didn’t get a chance to catch his breath before Essek pulled him along, Molly staggering with each step.

The drink — the potion, he realized — had been thick and lacked temperature, but now he could feel a warming sensation spreading from his belly and chasing away the ice under his skin. His wounds crawled and then cooled, the labored beating of his heart eased. By the time Essek lowered him into a seat, Mollymauk’s head had stopped spinning.

He blinked, eyes refocusing as Essek knelt down in front of him. The drow was a mess: his hair stuck out of place, his clothes were torn and sopped with blood. His hands, too, were slick with it, skin drenched red with what was probably Molly’s own blood.

And he was speaking, lips moving and brow furrowed. Molly only caught the tail end of a question, forgetting the words a second later. His mouth opened, tongue rolling out over his lips and not even wincing when he tasted iron.

“We just took a bath,” was what Mollymauk said.

The dumbfounded look on Essek’s face made him giggle, a high-pitched noise that began to slip to hysterics.

“Did you hit your head?” Essek started, only for Molly to laugh harder.

“Maybe,” he wheezed, “because I have no idea how we got here .” He nearly hit Essek in the head as he gesticulated about the room. It was all white tile, an opaque glass door on each side of the room. Circles of runes were etched and painted into the wall, and the floor had a shallow slant to a drain in its middle, letting the blood ooze down. “I think I blacked out on the way.”

“Ah,” Essek said. “No, that would be the teleportation. If we had traveled any other way, you would have expired long before we got any help.”

He reached up, pushing Mollymauk’s coat from his shoulders. Molly let it fall.

“This room functions as an emergency shower,” Essek continued. “You should get cleaned up.”

“What about you?” Molly asked, the words slurring together. He went to lift his shirt over his head, hissed as the muscles pulled at a wound. The potion had stopped his bleeding, and was clearing his head, but the damage remained.

“I can wait.” Essek’s hand shifted towards him, then paused and drew back again.

“That’s…” He failed to find a good word. “Dumb. What you said was really dumb.” Realizing what he’d been doing, Molly gave him a defeated smile and asked, “Mind helping me outta this?”

Elven ears were fun, he noted. They twitched, folding closer to the sides of Essek’s head, where his hair was buzzed short. Did the stubble tickle his ears when he was surprised? Or was that not surprise but something else — acknowledgement, maybe even interest? Probably not, but Molly could dream.

Essek cleared his throat and stood. His feet were on the ground, Molly noted. He himself was startled when Essek did lean in, head tilting up automatically, eyes finding lips before the pale pupils that didn’t meet his gaze. Essek’s hands were warm, brushing his sides as he took the hem of Molly’s shirt and lifted. Molly raised his arms, practically holding his breath as Essek slid his shirt over his head, feeling the slow draw of fingers over his skin, tracing a burning line up his ribs before the material was lifted over his head and away.

“Is that why you wear such wide collars?” Essek asked.

Molly blinked, looking up at him. His ears felt hot. “Uh — huh?”

“Your horns.” Again, Essek looked like he was going to touch one, but pulled back a moment later. “A shirt with a tight collar wouldn’t fit around them.”

“Oh, yeah. No, if it’s got a tight collar it needs buttons. Your tailor friend made note of that, no worries there.” Molly stood as well. Even with Essek touching the floor, Molly was only at eye level with his throat. It wasn’t a terrible angle, looking up at him. And with Essek looking down — a grin toyed at his lips. “Do you pay attention to the cut of my shirt?”

Essek only sighed. Molly watched the swell of his chest, the slump of his shoulders. He didn’t know a lot about anything, not about the world he’d been tossed in, not about the people he was chasing, not even about himself. But he knew things he liked, he knew what was good. Making people smile was good. People were good. And there were a few different ways to enjoy people, and at least one of them involved pressing his mouth up to Essek’s neck and feeling that sigh against his lips.

Bloodloss did funny things to his brain, it turned out. Molly swallowed, dragged his gaze up to find Essek staring back at him. Essek wasn’t shy, nor bold. He couldn’t pin Essek down as much of anything, and that was as disconcerting as it was intriguing. It made Molly want to put his hands everywhere they didn’t belong, search until he could find the chink in the armor and peel it away, piece by piece. What did Essek look like when he wasn’t wearing a mask? He would also settle for learning what he looked like when he wasn’t wearing clothes. Wishful thinking, again.

“We got off topic,” Molly drawled. “Get undressed. We’ll just shower together, this is a big room. Why do you even have a room like this?”

“Arcane materials are dangerous,” Essek said, voice clipped. “If an experimental potion begins eating through your flesh, you’ll want to wash it off expediently.”

“Fair enough.” He snorted. “You could afford to make it look nice, at least! If you’re going to have a giant shower you might as well lean into the luxury and live a little.”

“I have my own casual bathing facilities,” Essek sighed. And that was a treat if Molly had ever heard one. Essek had been holding out on him.

Molly took a step forward, intending to hunt for whatever mechanism turned the water on. Instead his knees buckled. Essek threw an arm around him, Molly clinging to keep his balance. He wheezed out a breath, laughing, “I may — shit, I may actually need your help just to shower. I swear this isn’t a ploy.”

“I didn’t think it was until you said that. Can you stand?”

“I’ll find out.”

“Sit on the ground if you must.”

That was what Molly did, sitting on the cool tile and wriggling out of his pants, tossing his remaining garments aside. Undressed, his body was a mess of scabs and dry blood. More scars to add to his collection, but at least he had the story for these ones.

He watched Essek approach one of the doors, touching a crystal embedded in the nearby wall. Where the rune circles were carved into tile, streams of water began to pour down. “Tell me when the temperature is comfortable,” Essek called.

Molly stuck a hand under the water, feeling it slowly warm. He waited until it was just on the edge of too hot to say, “Good!”

He scooted himself under the stream, finding a pleasant pressure behind the water. It ran a rusty brown, blood chipping away from his skin and running down the drain. Essek was shuffling out of his clothes where he stood, and Molly averted his gaze. He wouldn’t step further than he was allowed, and try as he might, he couldn’t get a beat off of Essek.

It surprised him to find Essek approaching. He had a towel in hand, sat down beside Molly and lifted it in an offer. When he nodded, Essek began to draw the towel over his skin, delicate passes of soft material.

Too delicate, really. It made shivers wrack along his spine, his chest feeling too tight for his lungs. If this were just for some heavy petting, he’d be happy to lean into it and purr, but that wasn’t the case. “You don’t like touching people much, do you?” Molly drawled, letting his eyelids droop.

The motion paused. “I don’t dislike it.”

“Then put a fuckin’ hand on me. I won’t bite unless you want me to, and you’re not getting anywhere treating me like those fancy plates you’ve got.”

More readily than he’d expected, a hand clasped on his uninjured shoulder. His skin buzzed under Essek’s touch, the drag of the towel growing more firm, making him hiss through his teeth. He tried to focus on the hand over the pain, how it slid down to lift his arm, how the pads of his fingers weighed on the back of his neck as Essek examined a ragged bite.

When it was done, and Essek pulled away, he mourned the loss. “You want me to get yours?” Molly offered, catching Essek’s gaze in the corner of his own. “At least the ones you can’t reach.”

He watched Essek weigh that in his mind. Something about the way he calculated things in his silence pinged a memory, someone else who was stuck in his own head, curled in on himself rather than open up to the world. The memory was there, in his grasp, and then it was gone.

“That’s reasonable,” Essek murmured at last. Molly watched the stains on the towel clean themselves before Essek handed it over, and turned so his back was to Molly. And again there was that thought of just bending down and kissing the skin where the water ran over his shoulder blade, and maybe parting his lips and seeing if Essek would like him to bite after all.

Then he set his hand at Essek’s unmarked hip, and he watched his shoulders jump and the breath freeze in his chest.

“You alright, there?” Mollymauk checked, not removing his hand but ready to.

“Fine,” Essek said, in that clipped voice again. So Molly began to wash the dry blood from his skin, abandoning the towel nearly at once to just work with his hands. It ran down Essek’s leg, and he murmured a soft ‘ excuse me’ as his fingers drew down to the back of his thigh, working quickly and brusquely to return to a spot that Essek’s arm had hidden.

Hands came up into his hair, where flecks of dry blood stood out against white. Essek made a noise, then, the muscles of his back winding tight but head seeming to tilt into his touch. The sound replayed in Molly’s head as he teased his fingers over locks of hair, dragged nails along stubble. Short and throaty, shaking into a sigh — it was a good sound.

He was massaging his thumb along the crease of a rib when he realized Essek was shaking. His breaths sucked in too quick and too deep, shuddering on the exhale. Molly’s hand froze in place. “Are you —”

“I am fine, Mollymauk.” The words were jagged things, broken and sharp. Essek yanked away, clambering to his feet. “I will take care of the rest myself, thank you. There are towels through there.” He pointed, hand quivering, to the first door in the room.

Mollymauk was silent as he stood and took his leave.

Towels were located in a cabinet as promised, alongside too-long robes. When Essek emerged, Mollymauk had donned one, black material bound around the waist, hanging open in the front. The drow did not so much as meet his eyes, the towel they’d used now clean and dry and wrapped around his hips for modesty.

Molly caught Essek’s movements in the edge of his vision. They were jerky and rough, reminded him of something — of a construct of metal and blades, of a prison and children in need and friends, one was an orphan like these children and one was like him and one was like Essek and there was a child with seven voices and black feathers and a knife in one hand and Welcome to the —

“Mollymauk.”

He nearly flinched, but held himself steady. Essek had already moved to the other door, levitating now in a robe that fell to the floor, covering himself completely. When he was bare, when skin was on skin with no layers in between, he shook and he cracked like glass struck so many times.

Molly followed without a word.

Essek made himself scarce, after. The day passed, and morning rose. No elven mage was there to literally hover over Molly’s shoulder, nor to show him about the city nor treat him to a day at the spa nor even cook breakfast.

That last number was just fine in Molly’s book. Essek’s cooking implied he usually didn’t cook in the first place.

The house — though it was more of a tower, round and tall instead of a box — was large and stunningly empty for something so elaborately furnished. Of half a dozen bedrooms, only Molly’s saw use. Without Essek around, he had an entire vacant home to snoop through.

The first hour was dedicated to finding the most comfortable couch in the building and the one after that to lounging on it naked. Fifteen minutes following that was the hunt for Essek’s bedroom, another five scrounging around for some hairpins, and then longer than he cared to admit spent on his knees trying to pick the lock before he realized it was magically sealed.

“Fucking wizards,” he growled, and left it at that.

Lunch was burning the most expensive cut of meat he found in the kitchen and then spotting a basket of strawberries for dessert. He wandered the house with sticky fingers, scanning over bookshelves and pulling one title off before realizing he didn’t care much for reading. A study yielded good, thick paper and pencils and pens that Molly scooped up to carry to the dining room table, uncertain what his hands wanted to do with them but willing to find out.

An image of a raven etched itself onto the page. It was crude, abstracted. Turned one way, the bird was falling, feet scraping the air to catch the branch that snapped under its weight. Turned the other, it ascended.

Death, he scratched on one end. Then he spun it around and wrote atop the other: Revival.

The raven had too many eyes. A sick feeling rose in his throat and he crumpled the page in a hand.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, hand locked around paper, staring into the table. When his mind returned to him, the clock on the wall sat at a different angle. His skin felt like cotton, sand filled his head. It weighed too heavily to the side, feeling that if he let it droop too far his insides would come dripping out his ear.

Molly slouched in his chair, realizing distantly that his muscles ached.

What was he doing?

He should stand up.

Mollymauk stared at the paper. He should stand up, he told himself. That wasn’t working. He should move his leg, then. It didn’t move. His head tipped just faintly, making his brains swim in his skull. He could hear his vertebrae creak with the motion. A finger, next, the knuckles smoothing out, index finger flexing. Middle, ring, pinky, and thumb followed, and he found himself able to let the paper go, to push himself mechanically away from the table, walk five paces and sink to the ground there.

He laid there, and then he started shaking, and then he started sobbing.

He didn’t know why he was sobbing. The tears poured off his nose and the breaths left his chest quicker than they came, until he was dizzy and shaking and wheezing into the rug. He couldn’t feel his own skin, he was empty inside, he was empty, he was — he was —

And then his breath was steady again and he was just lying still, wracked with sudden bouts of tremors for a stretch of uncounted time, until the tremors became less frequent and stopped altogether and his body went lax again.

Eventually, he would stand, and the clock had inched even further along.

Molly moved back into the kitchen, craving stew and not knowing why. Something about the idea felt like being surrounded by friendly faces. They didn’t have enough but they made do with what they had. That’s what he told her , the big one, his favorite, his heart.

Faces poured into his mind, faces and feelings, colors and music and days rolling by.

Stew was a meal meant to be shared, so when he thought it was almost done, Molly went to find Essek.

A set of three towers made up Essek’s property, surrounded by a garden Molly knew he didn’t tend to himself. There was a plot of loose earth hidden behind the tower that made up Essek’s actual living space, the shortest of the trio. All three towers were connected by bridges.

Mollymauk paused halfway across one walkway, the cold night air sweeping through his coat. He leaned over its edge, elbows braced on the thin rail to gaze out at the city sprawling around them. In the distance, he could see that house, the one with the glittering tree, the place he’d blindly crawled to and found empty.

The clouds opened up at night, here, allowing the moon’s glow to bathe the rooftops, the stars matching Rosohna’s lights.

His ear twitched at the sound of a door opening. He turned, seeing Essek drifting from the tallest tower, the one Molly had been approaching. As the drow locked the door with an arcane word, he turned his head, pausing when their gazes met.

Molly gave a smile, a faint wave. His voice felt stuck in his throat.

“Mollymauk,” Essek observed. He moved across the bridge, coming to hover a few feet from Molly’s side. His eyes seemed to catch the moonlight, pupils glinting white. “What are you doing here?”

It took a conscious effort to form words. “Made dinner. Have y’eaten?” He had to clip his own voice, wincing at how unnatural it sounded, like he grated each sound between his teeth before letting it out.

“... Not yet, no,” Essek said, meaning he’d likely skipped lunch and breakfast, too. Molly just gave a chuckle, raspy, and swatted his leg with his tail. He reached for Essek’s arm — wanting contact, needing to ground himself — to pull him back to the first tower.

He leaned into Essek, walking slowly to drag out the time he could spend close to another person. The material of Essek’s mantle was surprisingly comfortable, like silk. Molly would happily nuzzle a cheek into it if he didn’t know that would be crossing a line. If he could get skin contact right now, that would be worth the world. But Essek wasn’t offering a hand, he was letting Molly cling to his arm, indulging whatever he thought this was.

As they passed back into the first tower, the scent of cooking meat and spices filled the air. Essek’s stomach rumbled on cue, and Molly laughed. “Glad to have me now, aren’t ya?” He rasped.

Essek gave him a single laugh. It was better than nothing, he thought, until Essek turned that calculating gaze on him. “Did something happen?”

Molly made a vague noise, finally letting go of Essek to move into the kitchen. “Get some bowls down for me, would ya? You keep them in the worst place.”

Essek let the question drop. Molly took each bowl from a mage hand, filling each one nearly to the brim. Everything was cut in thick chunks, beef and vegetables in a rich gravy. He stuck a slice of bread in each and passed a bowl to Essek on his way to the table. It wasn’t pretty, but it was everything a meal needed to be: hot and filling and delicious.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Essek said, as he sat across from Mollymauk.

“Turns out I lived with a carnival,” Molly shrugged. “Learned that today.” Essek looked like he was going to dismiss the comment, and then gazed at Molly for a bit and seemed to concede. Molly snickered, then said, “Anyway, things like this are easy to make and can fill a lot of bellies. And when you have spices like what’s in your cabinet, it’s better than the ten-gold meals down the street.”

He watched, chin in his hands, as Essek gave his bowl a dubious look. “It does smell good,” he said, picking up his spoon and lifting it to his mouth. The ears and eyebrows went up, and before he was even done chewing Essek had another spoonful.

“Y’see?” Molly grinned. “I’m a pleasure to have.”

Essek only smiled down at his bowl. It was a good look on him.

They ate in a comfortable silence, broken only for Molly to tease Essek about the dainty way he ate his bread, for Essek to scrunch his nose at him when Molly licked his fingers instead of using a napkin. He got gravy on them on purpose after that, just to watch Essek’s displeasure as he licked them clean. He had to wonder if there wasn’t an interest in the fork of his tongue.

“You are repulsive right now,” Essek stated.

Molly clutched his chest in mock pain. “Oh! How could you say that.” He leaned an elbow on the table, grinning as he said, “And why don’t you just use your mage hand, huh? Then you never have to get so much as a spot on your beautiful hands.” He paused in his heckling, then gave a delighted grin. “That started as a joke but I actually need to see this, now.”

“See what?” Essek tore a small piece of bread and dipped it ever so slightly into his bowl, maintaining eye contact as he lifted it to his mouth. His fingers didn’t touch so much as his own lips, and Molly made an affronted noise.

“If you won’t get your hands dirty, use your magic hand.” Molly wagged his own hand at him. “The thing you got the bowls with.”

“Why would I do that.” Essek’s voice was flat.

The answer was easy: “To prove you can.”

He knew he’d won, at that point. Essek sighed, lifting his hands as though in surrender. A swirl of purple magic formed into a third, spectral hand, and Molly rapped his hooves on the ground in anticipation.

“This is inane,” Essek sighed.

“This is entertainment,” Molly corrected.

They both watched as the hand tore a chunk of bread, dipped it in the stew. When the hand lifted up to Essek’s face, looming closer to his half-open mouth — Essek’s will broke. His face pinched, a breathy sound hissing from his lips before he turned his head away. He laughed through his nose, eyes shut and lips spread around a smile, a series of quick exhalations as his shoulders shook.

“You can’t!” Molly crowed, smacking a palm on the table. The hand dissipated as Essek sputtered, covering his face with his own hand. “You call yourself a wizard!”

“What was the point of that,” Essek rattled out, losing the fight to hide his smile.

“Purely for my enjoyment.” His cheeks hurt, he was smiling far too broadly. There was something genuine at last, and it was a smile and laughter and the red tinge to the tips of Essek’s ears. Watching him fight to gather his composure felt like he’d finally gotten a peek under the mask.

He didn’t even care when he was caught staring, Essek spotting him with his chin propped on his knuckles and a smile on his face. For a long moment, they were both just smiling at one another, the warmth of laughter softening the air.

Then Molly asked, “Why are you doing this, anyway?”

Essek’s smile waned at the question. He finally seemed to pull himself in order, straightening up in his chair. “What are you referring to?”

“Just. This.” He gestured about, and then to himself. “Me. Keeping me in your house, getting mauled, dumping your potions on me. No offense, my friend, but I know you’re not just a charitable soul.” He recalled the bodies pulled into Essek’s magic, crumpled and broken, killed by the man sitting across from him without an ounce of remorse.

Essek inhaled slowly, as Mollymauk picked up his own bowl and walked to the sink. “That would be an… accurate assessment,” he said, and fell silent. When Molly had washed and dried the bowl, and was setting it on the counter, Essek spoke again.

“I owe the Mighty Nein a great deal,” he said. Molly turned, and found him hunched over the table. He gave a breathy laugh, said, “Technically, they owe me quite a few favors. But I do not think I will ever claim them. Not how I originally intended to.”

The silence stretched, and then Essek shook his head, a slow and delayed motion. “In any case. They are… my friends. I care for them. And with the weight of what I owe them, returning someone that they love to their sides feels like I may finally be able to alleviate some of that weight.”

He lifted his head, giving Molly a thin, somber smile. “So, no, I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I am simply, blindly hoping to weigh the scales in my favor. I apologize for that.”

And to his credit, there was a flash of guilt.

Molly only shrugged, giving him an easy smile. “Listen. My carnival memories are still fuzzy as a lamb, but from what I can make out… you find your family, and you live and die for those people. The rest are just… the rest.” He holds up a finger, adds, “And that doesn’t mean you get to go fuckin’ everyone over along the way. Everything I did, I was doing for those people and for myself. I’ve lied and I’ve cheated and I’ve cut a few throats when I needed to. But I tried to at least put a smile on the faces of the saps I was scamming.”

He walked to Essek, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Kindness is kindness. As long as you’re not gonna stab me at the end of this, I can appreciate that.”

Essek was still and quiet under his hand. His head bowed low. Molly ran his fingers through short, white hair. He nearly leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head before he pulled away.

“Mollymauk.”

He paused half in the doorway, looking over his shoulder to where Essek had spun in his chair, gazing back at him. “Yeah?”

Essek pulled in a breath. Let it out, slouching into the back of the chair. “Just… goodnight, Mollymauk.”

A smile graced his lips. “Goodnight, Mister Thelyss.”

[esmeravde]

The One Time 2

Lana sat in her usual spot by the door in a comfortable chair. The store had been busier than normal. Suddenly, despite the war going on for months, people were interested in Xhorhas and its history. Lana didn’t know the reason for the sudden interest. However, she found it amusing and made a note to restock her shelves. The business of the day had distracted her from the mystery that was Caleb. She had almost forgotten the invitation she had extended to him, but a moment of quiet at the end of the day kept him in her thoughts.

The sun was just disappearing past the city’s skyline and Lana had just locked her door, when a soft knock caught her attention. On the other side of the door stood Caleb alone, looking no different than he did earlier.

“I am sorry I’m so late, we were busy.” Caleb said.

“No problem.” Lana glanced over his shoulder to see him unaccompanied. “None of your friends with you this time?”

“No.” He replied. Lana wasn’t sure if she believed him considering the conversation she overheard that morning. Ultimately, she didn’t really care, he had come, which was the first step.

“Come in.” Lana held the door open for him as he entered. “What I have to show you is in my private chambers.” She locked the front door behind them and lead Caleb to her small home that was attached to the bookstore. The small sitting room had walls of books and some comfortable seating in the centre permanent arcane lines formed at teleportation circle.

“You have a teleportation circle in your home?” Caleb questioned.

“Yes,” Lana smiled gesturing for him to take a seat. “I use it to gather the rarest of books from my friends across Exandria and occasionally visit different climates.”

“Who did you ask about me?” Caleb asked as he sat. Lana realized he wasn’t a man to keep his questions left unasked.

“My friend Essek,” Lana replied while moving around the room, selecting various books from her shelves. “I believe you know him.”

Caleb frowned.

“The Dynasty touches even here,” Lana continued. “But that isn’t all that extraordinary. After all we are in a time of war, it makes sense, both sides would have people in the capitals.I am not a spy, but my friends are all over. Essek and I knew each other long before this war started and hopefully will long after.” She placed a pile of books beside the chair Caleb had settled in. “What is extraordinary, however, is a vollstrecher is working to help the Dynasty.”

Caleb immediately stiffened in his seat. “I am not a vollstrecher.”

“But your arms say otherwise and Essek said you were affiliated,” Lana observed.

Caleb was silent. His eyes grew distant.

“I’m sorry,” Lana stuttered while sitting across from him. “I let my curiosity get the better of me. The story is yours to tell and I will not pry it from you. Know this Mr. Widogast, if I believed you were anything like the Scourgers I have met or heard of I would have never invited you here.” She paused for a moment, then gestured towards the books. “I have brought you all that I thought would be helpful for you and your friends. The top book is all accounts of the Luxon, many are rumour but perhaps some of the rumours will line up with something you already know or will learn.” Gesturing to the second book, Lana continued. “Then, there is a book on the Assembly and the manner in which they have fortified themselves. I understand you must know some of this but perhaps it will help. Underneath is some of my rarer books on magic. Also, if you have any need of spells let me know what you are specifically looking for as I may have it.”

Lana stopped, realizing she should leave Caleb to go over the books and collect his thoughts. She stood in order to leave him to his study and proceeded to go back into the bookshop.

“Danken,” Caleb said quietly. “I should not take long.”

“You may stay as long as you like.” Lana replied before leaving him.

Once back into the peaceful isles of the storefront, Lana mentally chastised herself. It was foolish of her to question Caleb like that. He was clearly well guarded and bringing up what she assumed to be a difficult subject was unwise.

As she mindlessly moved through the aisles adjusting books and making notes on what to restock, she recalled the pain and guilt that was evident on his face when she had asked about his association with the Assembly. It was as obvious as the red hair on his head or his intoxicating blue eyes. She wondered what he could have done to cause that guilt. If what she knew about the vollstrechers was true, well then there were many things.

She pitied the man who read in her sitting room. In her life she had known only ordinary amounts of pain, loss and shame. The loss of her mother was the most extreme pain she had ever felt. She tried to imagine what he could have gone through but felt lost. Whatever it was, she could never understand.

There was only one way she could feel what he felt at any specific moment. She had a scroll that could project the user’s emotions onto someone else. It was particularly useful when telling stories but Caleb would have to be willing to use it and to tell her his story, which, she realised was unlikely. She let out a soft sight of defeat and continued down her aisles of books.

Trying to avoid her own thoughts, Lana made a stronger effort to organize her shelves. After hours of categorizing and rearranging, a floorboard creaked from the other side of the room putting Lana on edge. No one should’ve been in the store that late in the evening. Quietly, while listening for another sound Lana place another book on the shelf.

“It was…” A voice came from behind her.

With a quick motion Lana had her hand outstretched toward the intruder.

“...kind of you to allow me access to some of your treasured books.” Caleb said as he came around one of the shelves. He was greeted by Lana whose hands had burst into flame. “Ah!.” He exclaimed instantly backing up, his voice wavering.

“It’s you.” Lana let the magic dissipate with a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t paying attention, lost in thought or avoiding it, and forgot you were here.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Ja, the books have been helpful.” Caleb paused. “You practice the arcane?”

“Oh,” Lana chuckled nervously, rubbing her hands together. “Yes, I have had the ability for a time. Essek and others helped me understand some of it.”

“Essek taught me some things as well.”

Lana nodded, “He is a good teacher.” There was a moment of silence.

“Thank you again.” Caleb said while turning towards the door.

“You are very welcome.” Lana smiled at his back. “Good night Mr. Widogast.”

“Good Night.” Caleb said as he walked through the door, which Lana held open.

Lana watched the wizard disappear down the street and leaned against the door frame for a moment. She was pleased he had come but wasn’t impressed with her own behaviour. She had never been so forward and unobservant. If he came back, she resolved to be aware of her guest and herself. With feeling of defeat, she closed the door and headed towards her bedroom.

On her way to bed, after extinguishing every flame, Lana felt the sudden need to pray. She wasn’t an overly religious person but did believe and occasionally worship Ioun. The Knowing Mistress was a part of her childhood. Her parents always said knowledge was power, so they would pray and study, study and pray. For the first time in years, Lana felt the need to ask for help. For the first time in a long while she didn’t know the answers and didn’t know how to find them. Normally, she could read people easily, like how the best captain could read the ocean. Each wave, each crease a story.

As she sat on her bed, she wondered if she truly did understand people or had she been making it up as she went along. After all, anyone can be right some of the time. How could one man cause so much doubt in her mind? Caleb Widogast had made her whole focus change. At first, she only wanted to help out of curiosity and loyalty to Essek, but having spent the evening with the soft spoken wizard she genuinely wanted to help. Her inability to understand him made everything harder, a scourger, vollstrecher, wizard. She was lost. How could she help him effectively?

In desperation and frustration Lana reached out and grasp the symbol of Ioun that sat on her bedside table. She laid back and focused her thoughts outward towards the Knowing Mistress. She allowed herself to envision a vast library full of scrolls and books.

Lana wandered through the endless rows of books, all without labels or titles. Everyone book a mystery to be learned, a history to be rediscovered. A tinge of excitement filled her and she wondered what each book contained.

A gradual staircase climbed upward in a steady spiral. Slowly, she made her way upward, slowed by her need to wander aimlessly through the aisles. Every time she went down new aisle, she let her fingers running along the spines of endless stories, hoping to gain some new knowledge.

After turning down another aisle a figure stood in her way. She was older with waves of silver that fell down her back. Her robes were blue and white and seemed to tumble to the ground like unrolled parchment. When she turned to look at Lana, purple eyes smiled at her. In her hands was a small book. The figure held it out towards Lana.

Taking a step forward Lana took the book in her hands. Her eyes left the unique woman and gazed at the book. It was small, like one of the books that contained ancient myths. The dark leather seemed new, except for one corner which had been burnt slightly. When Lana looked up again, she found herself alone the female presence, gone. Her attention was drawn back to the book in her hands. Carefully, she opened the cover and started to read.

Lana felt herself pulled, like traveling through a teleportation circle, to a small house. There a small boy with fiery red hair studied. His hands moving in the familiar patterns, drawing a spell in the air and in front of him an orange kitten appeared. His eyes filled with joy.

Once again, Lana found herself in a different place, but with the same boy but slightly older standing outside of the Soltryce Academy with his parents. They spoke to their son in Zemnian, tears of joy, pride and sorrow in their eyes.

Then, she was with him again, but this time he was with two others, following a man away from the Academy and out of Rexxentrum. Again a shift to darkness and all Lana could feel was pain, sharp piercing pain in her arms like knives. After a moment in the darkness the pain faded but was replaced by the voices of the parents, Zemnian that transitioned into Common. They spoke of betrayal, revolution, rebellion.

Out of the darkness came fire, flames and incredible heat. She was with the boy again but he had turned into more of a man. From where she stood, behind his shoulder, she could see the flames engulfing a small house. The heat was on her face and fire in her eyes, but the screams came, doubt overwhelming doubt. They were his parents.

Lana’s vision shifted one more time. They were in an asylum her hands on his face, Lana felt the energy flow through her. A heavy film that covered Caleb’s eyes lifted, the radiant blue irises shining full of anger and pain.