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a-tired-narwhal · 3 years

Note

Tell me more about your feelings about the details of Caleb's backstory!

Okay listen anon. LISTEN. This is going to be LONG. Did I immediately rewatch/go back through the entire wrap up to take notes? YES I DID. Anon I'm sorry this is so late, I didn't see your ask until after the stream. I hope this finds you (*＾3＾)/～♡

----

Caleb fucking Widogast. Liam O'Brien always creates/portrays characters that CAPTURE ME. And it is purely the undertow of SUFFERING that I crave.

As a survivor of an abusive childhood, specifically with manipulation, neglect, and physical trauma, and having a controlling abuser in a position of power over you - I was surprised and delighted by Liam's playing of Caleb, and I'm sure that I'm probably not the only one, but Caleb's backstory just had me nodding along. Was not surprised at all by what was revealed about the blumentrio's relationship being trauma-bonding and probably why I'll never be an avid shipper of them. Nothing about Caleb's backstory left me gasping - because it's a relatively common abuse survivor story, except it's in the world of dungeons and dragons with high fantasy and magic and more common place murdering than today in places where most Critters presumably live.

Let's break it down.

Caleb was born as Bren to a less than well off family, who wanted their child to have a better life than them. Bren is a gifted child, and this will immediately put a bullseye's target on a child's back, make no mistake, for abusive persons. Now, I don't know if it's a pretty obvious that parents would trust in a teaching figure to take their child for that child's betterment, because I don't have parents who wish for my betterment ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, but I like to think that Bren's parents handed him off hoping for his brightest future.

Trent is basically the textbook example of a Cult Leader. Beyond the experimentation he did on his students; everything he put the Blumentrio through is how you beat down and brainwash people, especially children/adolescents. Textbook. TEXTBOOK. It was the dnd equivalent of the Hilter Youth. Now my personal experience featured the tool of isolation, so I didn't have two childhood friends to pour myself into and have threesome's with, but that's actually smart of Ickythong, because when you're left alone with your whirling brain for too long, and there's no one to hold over your head - we start thinking those rebellious thoughts, and at some point we decide we have nothing to lose, and we will do ANYTHING to shake that control. No, he left them in that abandoned tower together so they would be forced to bond with each other, as well as allowing them not to die of exposure alone.

Trauma-bonding CAN be a manipulation and used against you. Now. We have three adolescents trying not to freeze to death by being as close as physically possible. For those that don't know; sharing body heat works best skin to skin - ya get naked and THEN you wrap up together to stay insulated. Awkward groping is going to happen, and it's more than likely accidental. But when you add raging hormones to the mix, yo it's not going to stay accidental for very long (that in no way indicates non consent, it can be either way), and the feelings can catch hard when you're young and physical and EVERY HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP YOU HAD HAS BEEN TAKEN FROM YOU, IF YOU EVEN EVER HAD ONE. (I do not know Eadwulf or Astrid's home lives so your guess is as good as mine. We should probably ask Liam)

So you've got horny teenagers, with above average intelligence, being systematically abused... Bam. Trauma-bonded Blumentrio.

BUT HERE'S THE THING. Trauma-bonding can only get you so far. And they are children, actively being raised to NOT HAVE THEIR OWN THOUGHTS AND IDENTITIES. The relationship they built, the romantic and sexual, are based off of a shared hostile environment and survival needs. And when those circumstances are no longer there, the relationship tends to fall apart.

I love that Matt talked about Astrid for a bit, sad we didn't get more on Eadwulf - but Matt didn't really spend a lot of time roleplaying Wulf compared to Astrid, so he'd have more insight into her. I also find it interesting that the Blumentrio took 3 very different, but again SO COMMON, paths in dealing with their abuse. But that's a different rant.

Focus with me now on what Matt said about Astrid. She was actively seeking power throughout the campaign, looking always to climb that ladder to the top, for her own purposes which were not stated, and was willing to do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get that power. Was it a burden to her? Yeah I think so. Did it weigh on her? Again I personally think it did. But she was goal-oriented and she wasn't going to let anything stop her, not even herself, and she hated Trent. Matt implies that all three of the Blumentrio did/do. Astrid, Wulf, and Caleb were wildly different people - I don't think they would have stayed together even if Bren had stayed Bren instead of becoming Caleb.

I know A LOT of people were miffed over how Liam and Matt showed Caleb's and Essek's love for each other; and I am SO glad that Liam touched on this; Essek reminded Caleb too much of Astrid and Eadwulf. Now I know we love to joke that that Redhead Dirt Wizard has a Type (smart, ambitious, vaguely amoral), and believe me I LOVE THE JOKE, but Caleb pumping to brakes on Hot Boi makes THE MOST LOGICAL SENSE AND I WAS SO DELIGHTED WHEN LIAM PLAYED IT THAT WAY. Caleb was still trying to heal himself; WHY THE HELL WOULD HE JUMP INTO A MESS CALLED ESSEK? That's some mf UNHEALTHY, TOXIC romance trope ya got there. People fix themselves, not each other. THAT'S WHY CANON SHADOWGAST IS SO GOOD. THEY ARE WORKING TO IMPROVE THEMSELVES FIRST. THAT'S SO HOT.

Ahem.

So the Blumentrio hangout in Astrid's room to sex and study, in threes and twos (I have weird polyam questions, Liam). Now, I'm foggy on the exact timeframe that was together at Academy > kill your parents > Bren is chucked into the Sanitarium; but it's clear that after the murdering of parents, Bren is tagged as the "weakest link" - maybe he broke because he actually loved his family/had a loving family, maybe the manipulation spell from Ickythong didn't sit on him as well as Astrid and Wulf, maybe boi wasn't made for killing (a lie, the boi is a total killer, you have to be in most dnd campaigns), who knows. But he broke, and Astrid and Wulf handed him over - it would be dangerous for them if they tried too hard to protect him.

Because in that environment, in those circumstances, in that set up; you do what you have to, to survive. You hurt people you love, you hurt people you don't know, you even hurt yourself if it means improving your own odds. It's instinct. It's not your fault. You are doing the best you can with what you have available.

I don't hate Astrid and Eadwulf; I just have more emotional attachment and investment in Caleb, and prefer the color purple on him.

Which is actually a great segue into THE WOMAN AT THE SANITARIUM WHO FREED HIS MIND; Matt Mercer you beautiful man, thank you for giving us a Moonweaver connection, my lil widomauk heart was sent aflutter! So, here's the thing. Places like that, sanitariums, psych wards, etc - if you are not certifiably insane before you go in, you will be eventually. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest is not a fucking joke. But the thought of some forgotten Moonweaver Cleric recognizing Bren's torment and just, poof, dissolving that spell? *Chef's kiss* glorious, wonderful, everything I needed.

Anon, I don't know if this is what you wanted or expected - but here it is, my sincerest apologies 🐳

#critical role #cr spoilers #caleb widogast #cr liveblog #campaign wrap up #Narwhal talks cr #child abuse #tw abuse #tw cult #tw self harm #abuse survivor #apologies to all the blumentrio fans #shadowgast

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toraashi · 2 years

Note

ahem. i present to you: zuzu's song rec list.

trivia love - bts (i had a whole character arc through this song, okay.)

the kids aren't alright - fall out boy (idk why this song brings me so much peace but it does)

chicken wings - samm henshaw (i got a thing for horns, i guess? fuckin' love samm's music though, please do explore his discography!)

freezing - bren joy (MEWWWWZIKKKK, DO YOU HEAR ME)

死ぬのがいいわ - fuiji kaze (smth about this one.. yeah)

heaven is a place in my head - bad suns (so much serotonin, not enough time)

cemetery - coin (these songs in this album remind me of the modern!xiao i conjured in my head.. ugh <3)

okay i'll stop, i'm annoying enough as is 🧍🏽

- zuzu('s love language is music, sorry)

ZUZU okay okay don't even apologize you could never be annoying and i love sharing music like this and i just ascend when people send me music recs so lemme take some time to go through these

it’s kinda long so like... hopefully i wasn’t the one being annoying this time 😭 i love music so much too so i just kinda went all in

1. okay i love this song so much. i heard it when it came out but it's probably my favorite of the "trivia" solos the rap line did in that era 😭. the piano has a death grip on my heart it's just so romantic and so like happy ugh i will be throwing myself at namjoon's feet

2. i was obsessed with fall out boy and this entire album when i was 15, but this song has just been so timeless to me especially as an adult now. I love the pre-chorus and the bridge so fucking much especially the line "i just wanna sit around and gaze at my shoes, and let your dirty sadness fill me up just like a balloon," patrick stump just goes in on that line and it just ends me everytime

3. okay first impression i love the fullness of the singer's voice and the dynamics in the song! like you can hear tires skidding and then that break between the verse and chorus with the dialogue -- it just has so much character and is so easy to listen to like i have a whole image in my mind about the setting and the colors- ugh this is def going into one of my (89) playlists

4. okay so i haven't heard this song before, but i am listening to it now, and i am obsessed with the vocals + the lyrics. the extended metaphor with the water is just *chef's kiss*. it's so peppy but in such a catchy way! i love the piano from the beginning hiding in the background of the song too. thank you for giving me a gem to listen to on the way to work!

5. I’m absolutely seeing a theme with the piano base with r&b vibes and i’m loving it so much and i’m loving that i can see what type of music you’ve been listening to lately through these songs. My favorite part after the beat is just the vocal inflections like it’s just so intricate and melodic i love it! there’s also this one repeating part where it just like starts low and goes up (i don’t know enough about singing to tell you exactly which part 😭) but it’s sooo addictive!

6. i only know a few songs by bad suns (my fav is maybe we’re meant to be alone), but i’ve always loved the like super high energy peppy rock/pop mix. it’s hard to describe but the vocals are very reminiscent of 80s rock and i love that trend in 10s alternative music. This songs gives me just an image of driving down a super flat road in the summer just like sun on your skin, breeze in your hair like just laughing and happiness. but overall i love it and the concept makes me want to write about wonderfully bittersweet things LMAO

7. okay so i listened to this a few times and i’m obsessed with the bridge i love the melody of it. i don’t know a ton of coin songs, but the ones i do know would literally be so cute with modern!xiao (who i’m obsessed with like xiao actually being able to be happy just 🥺🥺 i want to squish him and make him laugh) but anyway i really enjoyed how this song sounded a little more minimalistic compared to the other coin songs i’ve heard and i liked the concept of the song. existentialism in music is just always so good lmaoo

ANYWAY i hope that wasn’t too much 😭💕 i loved your music but my favorite from the ones i hadn’t heard was probably the chicken wings one! i usually listen to music that’s a little more chill/easy listening and i just liked how dynamic and individualistic that song felt especially with all the spontaneous noises that really created the imagery in my head idk! send more music recs whenever you want i love them 😭💕

#moots — zuzu #i feel inspired rn #the bad suns one made me a little sad bc it reminded me of sad things in my past but #the writing ideas it gave me can't be ignored!!#also piano is just... so tasteful when it like actively shows up in songs imo

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nothisis-ridiculous · 3 years

Text

I wrote a drabble because I'm going through something.

I took dialogue liberties.

KOTOR spoilers.

Carth x Revan

Brenwen loved the Ebon Hawk.

Just not so much when she needed privacy.

Between Sir Talks-A-Lot-Get-To-The-Point, Not Kid, Angry Carpet, and the Groupie it was a fraught and perilous journey to the female appointed cabin. Luckily, and to the betterment of her growing temper, Mission was busy attempting to teach Zaalbar Pizaak. That meant the chamber would be empty.

Using the stealth belt was a bit of an overkill, but it was enough to bypass the force sensitives of the group. Bless the little droid for silently following her movement with a swivel of its head, their attention returning to whatever droids did with downtime. Mando hardly glanced up while Murderbot toyed with his new rifle. Luckily Preachy wouldn't bother her with more... preaching. But in that lay half the problem. Bastilla was with Malak now- the bond they shared sensitive enough to know she was still alive. Just not where.

Leaving Brenwen alone with life-altering questions.

Revan.

The name alone drifted through her thoughts with sludge, slowing and twisting everything around it. How could that evil creature be her? She didn't have their memories. Did Brenwen even have her own? Brenwen tried to be good. Tried to placate the anger that pushed at the fringes of her mind. Tried to resolve the sadness that gripped her heart. Tried to subdue the guilt that weighed her shoulders.

Flyboy must hate her.

Unintended, but it was another betrayal. He told her so, accused her of horrible things. But Carth wasn't out of line doing so; a part of her had done those things. That must be the reason for his taut expression. Not her extended silence or cold demeanor.

Listening to Jolee was foolish. Allowing herself to the thought of even loving someone was... asinine. The Jedi wisely spoke against this kind of love. She felt shattered as the banter and off-handed quips suddenly stalled, revealing her attachment. It was hollowing, that space threatening to fill with despair. Brenwen couldn't allow grief as it paired with the anger that simmered just beneath the surface of her control. She wasn't proud of how her control had slipped over the past weeks. Blaming the sith influence of Korriban would only let her resolve fall further.

Forcing the blaster door to seal behind her, she attempted to meditate.

Slow breathing only amounted to further irritation as her mind proved unyielding. She was returning to a deep-set sadness within her soul—loss tearing at her heart with a disturbing physicality.

The door thumped, but still she pushed.

Eventually, the blaster door screeched open, but at this point the guise of a meditative stance was spiteful.

"Brenwen, is-" the husy voice stopped.

Now Brewnwen was committed, retaining her balanced levitation from the ground.

While functionally blind, the subtle scent of ambergris mixed with oiled leather and metal filled the room. Baiting her eyes to open, to take in the man awkwardly posing in the entryway. Instead, a cold emptiness caught her first. She had a retort: Lost? Or just hoping to get a peek? I could help with both. He would have laughed, blushed even.

Carth settled in front of her with a hearty crack of his knees, "if you're ready to talk, then... so am I."

She didn't focus long on how peculiarly heavy the hollowness in her chest grew.

"I tried to hate you. I tried... I wanted to hold you responsible for all the things you've done. For my...my wife, Telos... for Dustil," his head shook, holding back a tone that was anything but sincere. But what was he meant to do when this woman remained focused on blocking him out? Could she hear him? Still, he pushed, "but I can't. I got the revenge I wanted when Saul died, but it hasn't brought me the peace I thought it would."

"Bren-," Carth's husky timbre reached a softness unfamiliar to them both. A calloused thumb ran over her knuckles, bringing her back to the ground. To her eyes opening, soon followed the unconscious recoil on Brenwen's part, disconnecting them, "I'd understand if you're angry. I accused you of some... unfair things in front of the crew. I was so blinded by my anger that I failed to think of the shock you were going through."

"You always were a little moody," it wasn't Bren's whole heart behind the teasing, but he would take it.

"You got me. But you didn't make it easy to talk." Avoiding him, suddenly not taking him along on missions. It was frustrating trying to get an edge on her. Especially when everyone else counseled giving her space while she infiltrated the sith, not that he needed it, he could tell something was wrong by her chilly demeanor. Forcing her to visit the academy the first time to 'rescue' his son had done enough damage. Requiring them to obtain the Star Map on a separate trip. Fate was cruel to make her return after learning what she was.

An intense flash of anger narrowed her pupils, but her tone came out at a controlled neutral, "I wasn't going to push you, Carth."

"That's- that's not the obnoxiously persistent woman I know," he retorted. Not so controlled.

"Because you weren't whinging about some trust issue I had nothing to do with," she replied harshly, "I had absolutely nothing to do with Telos. Revan or otherwise."

"I know," he replied honestly, this time taking her hand without a sudden recoil, "All I can think of now is the promise that I made to protect you from what's going to come. It's given me a reason to look past... everything. Despite whatever part of Revan is inside you, the... the darkness that must surely be there, it isn't who you are. That's why I can't hate you. You don't have to be Revan."

"I'm not that monster! I'm not Revan," for as angry as the Jedi liked to act, it sounded like a plea.

"You can be so much more. Whatever the Jedi did to you, they gave you that chance. You have this huge destiny waiting for you, and I just fear that if you're alone, it could swallow you whole," Carth stumbled, redness pushing at the tips of his cheeks, "I mean, is there room in there for me? Will you let me help you?"

"I don't want you hurt protecting me," she looked down, meekly attempting to pull away from him, "Carth, if I-"

"I think I would be hurt worse if I didn't try," he urged solemnly, "whatever's happened up to this point, there's going to come a time very soon where you're going to have to make a choice. And there won't be any turning back. I want you to make the right choice. I want to give you a reason to."

"Are you calling me a child, Flyboy?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, but-" his jovial tone faded, back into a softer monologue, "you gave me a future. I want to give you a future too...with me."

Brenwen didn't have a response; this entire conversation she had imagined going in a completely different direction. She had catastrophized that they were done, over- no more flirting or indomitable giddiness with his attention. It was a fair boundary to have, considering what she was.

"Really?"

Enough of her disbelief came through that he pulled her into him tightly, just holding her there. He was shaking, and she was shaking; they were a matching pair.

Carth broke the silence again, "I think I could love you, if you give me the chance."

Brenwen grinned foolishly. If they were going to do this whole confession thing, she wanted to test something first. Boldly she pushed back the tendrils of hair that always fell away from the rest of its brethren; withdrawing her hand, they followed it back. Letting her hand rest on his chest, she decided on trusting him back, "I think I could love you too."

#kotor fic #revan x carth #carth onasi #kotor spoilers #is it really a spoiler if the game is almost 20?

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io-kj-cr · 3 years

Text

Decisions

Now on ao3 and has a companion piece from m9's perspective by amateurwordbender here !

So I had a line bouncing around in my head and the only way I could sleep was to write it down, and the only way for it to make sense was to write some fic around it, so this happened. I don’t have an end to it. I’m just here for the angst and Blumentrio. AU for 128

---

It had been the only way.

Caleb knew that. The other ways out were too dangerous, he had to make the decision that would keep his friends and their families safe.

Walking out of the Tidepeak tower- alone, unarmed, his spellbooks left behind with Veth to keep what he learned hidden- he saw him. He looked as he always had. Tall. Thin. Frail. But the power Trent Ikithon radiated didn’t rely on physical presence.

“Bren,” his voice caressed the name, making the hairs on the back of Caleb’s neck stand, “so good of you to come back to us. You know you can always talk with me. I simply want to help. Now let’s set this unpleasantness behind us.” His smile was too stretched, too wide, too false, but what could Caleb do.

“My friends...I am here and will go with you...willingly... but my friends...they do not need to be involved. Let them be.” Caleb made himself look his nightmare in the face as he spoke, keeping the exhaustion and fear out of his monotone voice. “They will stay and I will come with you.”

“Why of course,” Ikithon crooned, “You know you only need to ask, I’m happy to see you’re back to your senses. It was so painful to sit beside you all those years you were unwell. As for your...friends...if that is what you wish, we’re happy to accommodate.

Isn’t that so, children?” He turned to Astrid and Eadwulf who had come up beside him. Neither had looked directly at Caleb yet, looking instead to somewhere in the air between the two wizards.

“Bren.” Eadwulf’s solid voice came as he nodded a short greeting.

“It is good to see you” Astrid’s voice was softer as she finally met his eyes.

“Yes, it is good to have you all back together again.” Ikithon’s voice cut into the small moment, “But now let us return to Rexxentrum. I’m sure we have much to catch Bren up on, as he has much to share with us.” He turned to Caleb, “I’ll leave you in their capable hands for the night and we’ll reconvene in the morning to discuss your return to the empire’s service, and how we can best use your new talents. You’ve show some impressive skills, I’m eager to see what you’ve learned in your time away.

But I’ve other matters to attend to now that we’ve reached this understanding, and I’m sure your old friends can reacquaint you with our service. See children, am I not generous to give you this time to yourselves?”

“Yes Master Ikithon,” came Eadwulf’s quick reply, “Thank you, we’ll return to our tower with Bren and be ready to meet with you in the morning.”

Nodding, he and Astrid stepped up to Caleb’s side and waited as Ikithon cast a final eye over him, before turning and disappearing.

---

Caleb, or was he Bren now? Had he ever really been Caleb? Bren was who Astrid and Eadwulf knew. Bren was who studied with Master Ikithon. If this was the decision he had made, to throw Caleb away to save the rest of the Mighty Nein, did he deserve to be anyone other than Bren?

Bren looked to Astrid and Eadwulf and nodded as they took his hands in theirs to step through the portal Eadwulf created. They appeared in a simple tower entryway.

Astrid and Eadwulf dropped his hands and stepped back slightly, looking at him with concealed expressions, to see how he would react now that Ikithon was gone.

They needn’t have worried.

Bren looked around before asking “is this yours?”

“Yes,” Astrid sounded slightly relieved, although her expression never wavered, “Eadwulf and I were given this tower some years back. We aren’t here much of the time, but it’s a small sort of home.”

“Come, let us show you.” Eadwulf’s deeper voice cut in as he walked towards the stairs.

The decorations were beautiful, the furniture expensive, but most of the tower had a faint unlived in air to it. There were few personal touches to the rooms. The library had seen the most use, here there were books piled on the shelves and tables, the chairs were comfortable and worn, and the thin layer of dust over some of the other rooms was markedly absent.

Not so in the next area they stopped at.

Eadwulf pushed open the door to a set of rooms off of the hallway on the next floor up. “These are your rooms.” He said quietly. “We always hoped you would, well, you would get better and come back. We wanted you to have a place to come home to.”

The rooms were plain with the necessary furnishings, and some small pieces of art on the wall that showed an idyllic farm scene.

“My rooms are through there,” Astrid gestured to the door to the left of Bren’s room, “and Eadwulf’s are there to the right.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted this to go, or how we hoped you would come back, but we’re happy that you’re here, Bren. It’s been so long, and we’ve missed you.” Her face now showed the sincerity behind her words, as well as some of the fears she held.

Eadwulf’s face was strained as well. They’d lost their friend some time ago, and now he was back, but not how they’d imagined.

Caleb knew a bit of how that felt. Losing Mollymauk and then having Lucien show up had thrown them all. It was odd to see a stranger wear the face of someone you’d cared about. And he had only known Molly for a short time. Bren, Astrid, and Eadwulf had grown up together. How much more did this hurt them to not know if the man standing before them was their long lost partner, or just another enemy.

The silence between them stretched out as he stared into the room. Caleb wanted nothing more than to run and shut the door behind him. Shut the door and cry or scream or bleed the emotions out of himself. But he couldn’t be Caleb anymore. Caleb was part of the Mighty Nein, and he was here in Rexxentrum. Here with Astrid and Eadwulf.

Bren turned back to the pair. “Please. Stay.” he said in Zemnian as he leaned back into his room. He didn’t want to be alone right now. He couldn’t be. And despite the years of fear and shame and loneliness, Bren was happy to be back with Astrid and Eadwulf. It felt right. As nothing else in this situation did.

Tomorrow he would deal with whatever tomorrow brought. Tonight he wanted to feel some of the comfort the trio had brought each other throughout the years.

He was glad to see the small flicker of joy in Astrid’s eyes as he spoke, the softening of Eadwulf’s face, as they followed him in.

---

In the morning, he woke with Eadwulf’s arm over his chest, Astrid’s hair in his face, and Jester’s voice in his ear.

“Caleb! Are you alright? Where are you? Are you hurt? Are you in Rexxentrum? I’m sorry I had to wait until today to send to” the message cut off mid sentence.

Cale- no Bren. He was Bren. And what could Bren say to Jester Lavorre? What could he say that wouldn’t cause more pain than he had already brought? He buried his face in Astrid’s hair and let the silence stretch on, until he felt the spell fade.

In his arms, Astrid stirred, then rolled over to look at him.

“Good morning Jester. Bren is well and unharmed. He is here with us and under no restraints or compulsion. He is home now.” She let the spell end as she looked him in the eyes from inches away. There was a sadness and understanding there, and pity, which hurt more than he cared to think about.

It was his turn now to roll over, turning to face Eadwulf. There was no pity in his eyes. Merely a sort of resignation to the pain he could see Bren was going through. Eadwulf laid his hand along Bren’s face in a gentle benediction, as Jester’s voice came back.

“Please, tell me something, tell me anything, tell me you’re fine, or dead, but please we need to hear from you, we need to plan-”

Bren remained silent.

“I’ll keep messaging you, please Caleb we’re scared and worried, please tell us where you are, we can fix this, we can get you back.”

Bren closed his eyes under Eadwulf’s steady gaze. “I am well Jester, returning was my decision and I am unharmed. I need you all to stay away. Stay safe. I am sorry.”

#critical role #caleb widogast #astrid #eadwulf #eodwulf #blumentrio #ikithon #angst #fic #text #caleb

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readbythestarlight · 3 years

Text

c2e141 (part 1)

Okay this is so long I’m splitting it into 2 parts pre and post break so I don’t just end up with something horribly long that clogs up the dash

I’m already emotional just over the intro you guys i’M GONNA MISS THEM SO MUCH

"Skin cradle idk what to call it" how about NOT THAT MATT

[[MORE]]

Home!!

AWWWW

Clarabell!!!

I’m so glad his family is all there and safe

Awwww that’s so sweet, showing him the cards <3

"Hey Molly! Go fuck yourself!"

M: :D

Poor Essek is so lost

A night’s rest yes that would be good for ALL of you

Also it’s time to fake his death

"And will you face the consequences of your actions, or run?"

"I need a night’s sleep first, if you don’t mind."

That’s fair

I’m worried tho

Cad

Cad this isn’t allowed to be goodbye

Not yet

Not this early into the episode

Don’t do this to me

Okay, if they’re all gonna stay that’s okay that’s fine

I mean yes go see

Oh no wait

This

We can’t split up this early y’all I can’t handle it

Yes good bring them here don’t split up

So many HUGS

Oh no

Plz don’t

Please choose to stay, Frumpkin!!

Stay??

No!!

COME BAAAAACK

godDAMMIT

30 minutes and I’m already crying

At least Marisha is crying too I’m not alone

"I needed him when I needed him. That time has passed."

Please adopt all the stray cats

"The last couple of years" baby it’s been less than a year canon time

"YOURE a good person"

"I could be"

"You are"

"There’s just a little more to do"

"She’s not wrong. Trust me, I know a few bad people, you’re not one of them." ESSEK

I’m gonna cry AGAIN

"I think you’re a good person" THAT’S IT IM GONE

Aww Molly bringing them flowers

They have a valid point though, like is this Molly anymore?

Jester curling up next to Fjord I cry they’re so cute

"Hey Fjord? I love you"

AKDLALSKAKA YALL

ITS SO CUTE

I can’t handle them

Veth going swimming?? Willingly??

SAM

The DM will remember that and Sam’s character will be the first to die next campaign

"There’s not even any bugs? That’s not meat"

Fjord is describing my entire week rn

Clarabelle is the sweetest

I’m gonna miss Jester’s messages xD

Jester omg I can’t breathe

Yeza is gonna be so worried

"Okay… ‘honey’. I think I know who this is but I take it as good news" I LOVE HIM

Mollyyyyyy?

MOLLYYYYY??

Woman?? In a red?? Coat?

Sad angel okay yeah

Y’all need to give him some TIME you can’t just fix this super fast

Awww he remembers Yasha a little that’s good

Poor Molly

What woman??

WHAT WOMAN??

Is it his goddess?? The moonweaver?

He’s gonna change his name to King Tealeaf lol

Why don’t y’all chill and let him pick his own stuff and figure his own stuff out

He wants a parasol lol

Travis like what even is a parasol lol

So like

We’re not actually getting Molly back in the end huh

Oh boy temporary splitting up

lol Yasha with the "I can definitely message you"

Y’all can’t just bamf into places like that lol

Oh dear please don’t walk in on your parents

Dad aaaaaaaaand? Is mom there? Momma? Are you theeere?

AYYYYYYYY

NICE

MARION AND THE GENTLEMAAAAAN

THE PARENT TRAP WAS A SUCCESS

I’m so delighted

Y’all had better get married by the end

They’re so sweet I love Marion and Jester bless Laura and Matt for giving us a healthy parent/child relationship

LUC lol

Poor Yeza is probably going prematurely gray dealing with this lol

"I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, it was—it was mostly flesh" I almost shot tea out my nose

"Dad I won’t sink to the fucking bottom"

Oh dear

That was the most accurate child thing Matt has ever done

Marion is the queen of this place she doesn’t need your cemetery Jester lol

I love the way things turned out with the Gentleman it’s so soft

Jester sweetie you literally told him NOT to say anything back

I’m emotional y’all

Fjord like Jester babe NO

FUCKING HELL

I’m going to stab this bitch myself

YOURE a tragedy

Fuck you Ikathon the answer is NO

Oh my god okay are we doing this

We’re doing this

HES HERE??

HOW??

How did he know they were there???

And Veth just brought her family there too

That MOTHER FUCKER

I can’t believe I’m getting my wish for them to fuck up Trent after all

Fuck fuck fuck how many people can he transport out??

Also you can’t burn down Cad’s home!!

Oh god Essek is going to have to face him too

There’s too much going on here I’m STRESSED

Does he have dunemancy magic?? Is that what that is?

"We had issues larger than your ambitions" OOOO BURN

Suck a dick Trent

"Erase these errors, so I don’t have to look at it" FUCK YOU

What is happening holy shit

What is this????

Run Luc and Yeza run!!

Poor things :(

Poor Caliope

Poor Clays

Essek booiiii

Oh my god I looked at the stats on this spell and it’s BAD

THE COLLAR

What

Wilting what what what

Counterspell

Thank god

NOOO

53?!

IN ONE HIT??

AND HES SPOILING THE FOREST TOO

NO NOT AT JESTER

FUUUUUCK

Oh my god he rolled BAD thank god

I was just saying thank god he’s alone at least but NOPE

Astrid had better not wait in the shadows to see who looks like they’re going to win and then only joining the winning side

Caleb protecting his maaaaaan

FUCKING STOP

DID HE COUNTERSPELL

THAT BITCH

THAT FUCKING BITCH

NO NO NO

they’re so FUCKED

Thank fucking god

COUNTERSPELL PLEASE WORK

YESSSSS

I don’t care what Astrid’s game is I’m tired of it and she needs to die along with Trent

And so does Wulf if he’s gonna play the same game

Come onnnn Wulf do the right thing

Mood, Fjord, mood

MARISHA xD

Ooooooh nice!

“Caleb’s produce flame” her one wizard spell is a Caleb spell omg

FLUFFERNUTTERRRRRR

Nice SHOT Veth

WHAT

Come ON

Why can’t they hit him??

Come onnnn Essek do something baby

Oooooo! So what does that mean?

Does that mean when one takes damage the other does too?? That’s amazing

Caleb noooooo

Thank god

Hits??

COME ONNNNN

Ouch

Okay but the stars haven’t done as much damage as they COULD yet which is good

STOP calling him Bren

Fucking HELL come on

WORK?? WOOOORK???

DID IT

YESSSSS

YEAAHHHH CALEB

Oh thank God

Too little too late bitch

Wulf is gonna die though I can feel it

A second shield UGH

No you stay AWAY from Caleb

Come ooooon Jester!

YEAH

Nice!

“Come ooooon!” Boy you’re tethered either way

I have a feeling we have too much time left until break for the collar to work but GOD I hope it works

E: “Caleb! I’m scared!”

I shouldn’t be laughing but I am

VETH NOW

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

PLEEEEEASE

God god god

Godddds

come onnnnnn

IT WORKED

IT WORKED IT WORKED IT WORKED

ITS ON HIM

ACTIVATE IT

A C T I V A T E I T

NO NOPE NOPE NOPE

COUNTERSPELL IT FJORD

DO IT

YAAAAAS

Good Wulf smart man

Ouch oh shit Caleb no

Oh NO

Caleb!!

Wulf, Astrid, soembody DO

CADUCEUS MY MAN THANK YOU

What does Caduceus say to the god of death? NOT TODAY (respectfully)

70 HP niiiiice!

Hot DAMN Veth nice call I love it

Oh come ON

Activate it!!

I still hate Astrid but fine

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #critical role #emi watches critical role

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spoiler1001 · 3 years

Note

Another prompt: "Keep those hands away, Mr. Caleb." "You aren't ticklish, are you?"

Caleb thought he was doing better. After confronting Trent, the sanatorium, Lucien… Caleb should be doing better. He got Molly back. He won. For once in his life, Caleb did good with very little backsplash. His hands shook with the stress of what had happened. Trent wouldn’t fall to Caleb’s spells. Trent kept making his way towards Caleb. He wouldn’t stop. Trent wouldn’t die-

Caleb woke up suddenly and harshly. He was covered in sweat. Frumpkin was laying on his chest, staring at him. There was soft purring in the air, somehow managing to be louder than the fireplace and his own pulse.

Things were just… so much. Caleb needed to breathe. He needed to run; to move.

It was like he was back in the sanitarium. Caleb could still feel Trent’s grip on his mind, almost feeling Trent’s breaths on him. The magic that built the tower seemed to make him sick. Trent’s influence seemed to make him sick to his stomach. It was toxic, corrupting him.

Caleb used to wonder how Mollymauk could use his magic when it hurt him, drawn from his own life. Caleb no longer asked himself that question. Everything came at a cost. Mollymauk was just more honest than Caleb about that and so much more.

Caleb stood up and took a deep breath. Did he even know what he wanted? Did he know what he needed? Well the answer to that was no. He doesn’t know what will be good for him. What he needed and wanted were so disconnected, they bordered on contradictory.

Caleb started a bath and let his hair down. Caduceus had left him a bag of herbs for a bath for more relaxation. Caleb wondered if this was grown from the graves of people who were buried lovingly. Caduceus did good work. He did honorable work. Caduceus would have buried Molly in the way he deserved, and it would have prevented Lucien from coming back. If he had stood closer Molly at that battle with the Iron Shepherds, He could have saved Molly in the first place. Caleb sat in the tub, the heat from the water working at his tense muscles.

“Well this is a sad scene. I will not allow it.” A familiar voice rang out behind him.

Caleb sank down into the water to avoid looking at the Tiefling that brought out his every emotion. Currently, shame rose to the surface.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to look at me. Just know that I’m here.” Mollymauk took a deep breath. “I know you’re hurting.” Mollymauk placed a kiss on the back of Caleb’s head. “You are allowed to hurt.”

“I should have done better.” Caleb whispered. That was the root of this. He should have done so much.

“You’re putting too much weight on yourself.” Molly hummed.

“I-” Caleb took a deep breath, and tears fell down his face. The dam broke. He cried about failing Molly, not just about letting him die, but with going back to the sanitorium, he became Bren again. He had died in that building, at least for a while. He had broken his promise to Molly. He became what Trent wanted him to make.

Molly ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair. There was soft purring coming from him.

“How can you still look at me?” Caleb finally turned to face him. His eyes were red and his beard was wet from more than the bath water.

“Because I see what I’ve always seen. Someone who was hurt in unspeakable ways, who needs someone to show unconditional kindness.” Molly brushed the hair out of his face.

“It’s so lonely.” Caleb admitted. He grabbed Molly's wrist, feeling the pulse with his thumb. Caleb rubbed his calloused thumb over the vein. Molly sucked in a breath.

Caleb let Molly go. He looked away from Molly and seemed to shrink into himself.

"Caleb. You didn't hurt me. It's just, while I know I'm one of a kind, there are similarities to other people. Like there are some areas that it would be best to keep those hands away, Mr. Caleb."

Caleb took in that information and took a deep breath. "You aren't ticklish, are you?"

Molly’s answer was in his silence. Caleb had no idea what to do with that information.

“Oh.” Caleb finally said.

“Now don’t worry about that.” Molly whispered, placing a kiss on Caleb’s temple. “Focus on breathing.”

Caleb closed his eyes and leaned into it. “How did you get in here?” He whispered, his voice dropping to a rasp.

“Your cat was worried about you. I was awake.” Molly sat down, his back against the tub.

“Have you been sleeping?” Caleb asked after a while. Fear crept into his heart for a split second.

“Caleb, breathe. I’m here. I’m me. I just...I’m so used to rooming with someone else that it’s intense being in a room alone.” Molly looked over to Caleb. “It looks beautiful though.”

“It’s made from magic Trent taught me.” Caleb shrugged.

“No. It’s made from magic you taught yourself. You taught yourself this. You did this. No one else.” Molly stood up to grab a towel. “You are more than what he did to you and you are clever.” Molly helped Caleb out of the tub and wrapped him in the towel. Caleb leaned into Molly, hooking his chin over Molly’s shoulder, pulling him closer when his arms were wrapped in a towel.

Molly just hugged Caleb.

“Everything is just so much.” Caleb nuzzled Molly’s neck, enjoying the feel of Molly’s pulse.

“It can be, darling. Just breath.” Molly hummed.

Caleb nodded and took a step back.

“Dry off.” Molly spoke quietly. “I’ll prepare the bed.”

Caleb blinked in confusion. Why would Molly-

Caleb got his answer when he got dressed again and went to the main sleeping area.

Molly had straightened the sheets on the bed, had fluffed the pillows. He laid under the pillows, clothes folded on a chair nearby. Caleb stared at the pile and blushed. Oh. yup. This was Molly. This was def-

“It’s cold and lonely here.” one of Molly’s eyes opened. Caleb couldn’t look away.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to..” Caleb shrugged.

Molly cut him off by lifting the blanket up and opening his arms.

It was hopeless to fight that temptation and time seemed to blur together as he burrowed his way into Molly’s arms.

“Isn’t this better?” Molly hummed.

Caleb nodded.

“Caleb, It’s going to be ok.” Molly promised. “We will get through this.”

#widomauk #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #cr spoilers #tw self destruction #prompt

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critical-ramblings · 4 years

Text

Hunger Games AU

It has to be a Quarter Quell, because there's too much trauma in these assholes to be fresh to the Games. Instead, each of them are victors of their different years.

None of them expected it to be Bren. He was maybe the smartest of them, but the softest too. In the 64th Hunger Games, Bren Ermendrud won with a fire-trap that worked too well. He netted the highest kill-count in that game, with six tributes caught in the blaze. Including his teammates, which everyone in the Capitol assumes was on purpose.

Fjord is from the same district as Finnick (4), and honestly won his Games the same way. He was always popular in the Capitol, with a talented stylist that made his unusual skin condition a feature rather than a flaw. They would always say his patron was Uk'otoa, though, a reclusive millionaire who appears only at events with Fjord on his arm.

Yasha is a Victor from District 9, which we don't know much about except that it produces most of Panem's grain. (Wide open spaces and green-tinted storms are her life blood). She was always big and, in her Games, brutal, but often claims not to remember much of it. She is one of the most reclusive of the Victors, rarely making appearances and even more rarely escaping them without bloodshed. Capitol parties learned not to make invitations that couldn't be refused--not if they wanted the building to be standing afterwards.

The one exception to this was always Obann, who bought her the greatsword she used to dismember a great many tributes in the arena. He delights in using that debt to make her behave, but even he knows not to do it very often.

I'm not quite sure what to do with Molly. I mean, it was Lucien who won the Games. And Lucien was a trickster, who won by poisoning the last two other tributes who thought they had him outnumbered. Molly has only existed for two years, and the whispers in the Capitol are that he's even more reckless than his last self. Originally from District 8 (the textile district), he is not open about what led to his adopting the Mollymauk persona. The only clue is in his total absence from Capitol gossip for several months...

Nott won her Games by dying. Or, almost. She was caught by a Pack of Careers, all of them laughing as they each took a wrist or ankle and held her down in the water. She claims it wasn't her who set off the Gamemaker trap that turned the water to acid--but the truth is somehow she didn't die of it, and the Pack did. Requiring one of the most extensive reconstructions the Capitol is capable of, they did not consult her on....any of the choices they made. Trapped in what the Capitol thought of as a body worthy of a Victor, she shuns public appearances and even mentoring later tributes from her district (11).

Caduceus won his Games like all the rest of them. He's got just as much blood on his hands--and it's not that he won't admit it. He just took a different relationship to death than most. Originally from District 12, he lost his family in a mine collapse and only swore he'd follow them. He was 18 when he was chosen for the Games, almost clear. Almost in the clear.

He was never angry at the other tributes. It was what set him apart, in all the videos. A cold calm when he beat someone over the head with a long stick, a hum almost like a lullaby when he came across a tribute already dying.

He doesn't make many appearances, and frankly makes for bad viewing by Capitol standards. Mostly they leave him alone now, him and his garden alone in Victor's Village. That is, until Beau comes along.

Beau is the closest to the Mockingjay as you can get. She's scraping herself out of a bad homelife in the townie part of District 12, her family well off but just as shitty as canon. She's more than ready to die in the Games, if only it wouldn't make TJ sad. He's a little older here, she knows him a little more. Even knowing what he is--her replacement, an actual son--she sneaks him cookies when no one's looking and is in general a terrible influence.

She and Jester are in the same Games. They're not from the same district, but they're just as star-crossed as any canon couple.

The boy tribute from her district is Bryce. They shrug when Beau might have asked if a mistake was made, because Bryce had always been stuck on kid-watching duty like her.

They both know better than to get attached.

Jester is a pampered daughter from District 1, her only public appearance being the Reaping once a year. And even then she's usually lost in the crowd. Until the year she plays that prank on Mr. Sharpe, who might not be a Gamemaker himself, but he knows people. And when her name gets drawn, she's still not afraid, because District 1 is full of people who want to go to the Hunger Games. Who want all that blood and glory.

but the stands are silent. She doesn't even stand up at first, just looks around waiting to see who'll volunteer.

A Peacekeeper in sparkling white has to come down to her row and hold out a hand, beckoning her forward, before it starts to sink in. Jester spins around to look for her mother, up in a box with a good view like always. Marion is holding a handkerchief over her mouth, one hand clutching the railing like she's about to leap over. but she doesn't.

Slowly, amidst the growing whispers and snickers, Jester gets to her feet. She looks around at the other girls, separated into age-groups by tiers. All of them are staring at her. Some of them are hungry, some are pitying. Some are sneering, scoffing at her hesitation.

Jester swallows. Twice. Then she straightens her shoulders, smiles up at her Mama, and takes the Peacekeeper's hand with all the grace of a princess.

Lorenzo is the male tribute from her district.

#cr #critical role #hunger games au #beaujester #beaujester sequel post coming soon #long post

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Stay Safe Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: You kids ready for a firefight? I'm talkin' Yojimbo, bringing a knife to a gun fight levels of firefight. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @renegademustelid @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @absurdthirst @kylolover96 @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @lukesrighthand @hoodedbirdie @lackofhonor @thyestean-feast @oh-no-who-am-i

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

You walked through the night and on into the next day, only stopping briefly for short breaks or to halfheartedly gnaw at a tasteless ration bar. You hadn't actually meant to go for so long without a proper rest, but it was as though your legs had a mind of their own. You just kept putting one foot in front of the other, studiously avoiding the thoughts that threatened your fragile emotional state.

When you finally arrived at the city gates as the sun was setting, you were momentarily confused to see two stormtroopers posted there. Oh, right. That message mentioned something like this.

"Chain code." One of them ordered as you approached, his scanner already out.

"Uh." Your voice rasped dryly and you winced, clearing your throat. "Um, let me…" You wearily dug through several of your pouches before you finally located the battered card, holding it out to the trooper. He scanned it silently, held it up to the light, and then handed it back with a nod.

"Don't cause any trouble, drifter." His modulated voice sent a sad little tremor of familiarity through your body. You trudged past the sentries, feeling exhaustion burn at your eyes. Maker, you could use a nap. What time was it?

Slogging your way through the sand, you waved to a few people you did recognize, well on your way to sleeping wherever you stopped next. The sheer number of stormtroopers around was something that you knew you ought to find concerning, but at the moment you couldn't muster up the ability to care.

Aside from that, this was normal. This was what you knew, comfortable in its familiarity. The clunky droids, the sand in your boots, the whirring grind of hoverskiff engines.

Normal.

You finally landed beneath a rare unoccupied overhang in an alley, your small pack clutched to your chest as you curled up on your side in the sand.

Normal.

This was what you had wanted to return to when all of this started out, you reminded yourself sternly while you wrapped up in your cloak. Stability. Safety. Work.

Why did your chest ache so much?

Your shoulders heaved as you sucked in a breath, the pack you held seeming too heavy. The child hadn't been heavy at all. Negligible, even. You wondered where they would go after all of this was sorted out, whether the Mandalorian would come back regularly once the Guild was reinstated and his record was expunged.

The galaxy would keep on spinning, despite your weary ruminations.

I'll never see him again, will I? Him or the child.

Overhead, the stars began to reveal themselves one after another as night descended upon the small city, and you slowly lost the fight with the tears that you had been holding back since you left the cockpit.

This is the Way.

...

A dull rumble roused you from your uneasy slumber, and you briefly feared that there was a storm coming. The beaming sunlight seemed to contraindicate that notion, though. You squinted upwards, trying to gauge the time. It would appear that you had slept through the night; if you had to guess, you would say it was nearly noon.

Your stomach growled and you sat up slowly, digging around in your pack for the bar that you had forsaken the day prior.

A black ship roared by overhead and your eyes widened, certain that--

What the hell was that?! You pinched the skin of your inner arm, then swore loudly at the pain. Several more rumbles echoed through the streets, and now you could dimly pick up the rattle of automatic blaster fire. Armed conflicts were not unheard of, but never on a scale like this. It sounded like a full-blown invasion!

You scrambled to your feet, your pack abandoned on the ground. After a moment of hesitation where you thought better of whatever it was that you planned on doing, you set off running towards the commotion.

The ruckus seemed to be moving steadily in the direction of the town cantina. Your own path took you parallel to the main thoroughfare and after a few moments, you caught a fleeting glimpse of the IG unit zipping past.

What?

You skidded to a stop, then changed direction to emerge out onto the main road. It was IG-11, the spindly droid astride a speeder bike taking out stormtroopers left and right. "IG!" You yelled, waving your arms to get its attention.

The droid didn't pause in its fire even as it greeted you, eyes rotating to catch any and all encroaching threats. "There has been a change in the plan." IG-11 said calmly. "Kuiil has been terminated. I would advise you to pick up a weapon and assist me in defending the child."

Kuiil has been terminated. Your heart broke, but you barely had time to register the grief. "You have the baby?!" You gasped, noticing the pack around the droid's torso as you did.

"Of course. I have been programmed to protect."

You rushed to yank free one of the plastoid armor sections from a fallen stormtrooper, ending up with the whole sleeve shucked off in your hands. It was no beskar, but hopefully it would help. You had seen the Mandalorian defend his head by simply shifting his shoulder. If you used that same technique, you might be able to get away with lugging less armor along.

You pulled the armor up over your shoulder, the black body-sleeve gripping your bare arm tightly. A standard-issue blaster settled into your hands, clunky and unfamiliar but you would make it work. You had no real choice in the matter. You nodded stiffly up at the IG unit, who revved the speeder bike. "I cannot wait for you. It is imperative that I make my way forward with haste." The droid informed you.

"I get it. You go on, I'll follow." You replied, reaching out for one indulgent second to cup the baby's cheek. They were simply watching silently from the satchel, those huge eyes looking slightly dazed. A bruise darkened the skin over their left eye. "Take care of them. Please."

"Of course." IG-11 sped off in a cloud of dust and you squared your shoulders.

Well. You couldn't say that a plan not going properly was anything new.

You trailed along after the capable droid, striding across the sandy streets with renewed purpose. Few stormtroopers escaped IG-11's blaster shots and if they did, your own soon finished them off. Every pull of the trigger was pragmatic, removed from you but still holding weight. You refused to dwell on the carnage at this moment. Later, there would be time. Just like for Kuiil. Time to grieve, time to process...

You checked your ammunition and kept moving, your eyes scanning the sand clouds ahead. You were approaching the town square, the locale of the cantina which served as the hub for the Guild on Nevarro. Blaster shots lit up the dust, red lines crisscrossing again and again. It sounded like the fighting was at its thickest here.

You forced your legs to keep carrying you forward when an explosion rippled through the air like thunder, refusing to be immobilized by your fear (no matter how much you wished you could be!). Your shaky fingers shoved a new canister of blaster gas into your pilfered rifle as you peered around the corner of the closest structure, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene in front of you through the haze of dust and smoke.

Stormtroopers scattered to and fro, their ranks disjointed. You kept to the edge of the square, doing your best to avoid the fray that raged in the center. Not exactly a difficult task, seeing as the only person everyone had it out for was an achingly familiar, deafeningly loud instrument of death clad in highly-reflective armor.

The Mandalorian had an entire E-web gun in his hands, holding it like some kind of battering ram. How he even managed to lift it was a mystery in and of itself! The stand for it stood nearby, forlorn and empty. The old cantina looked like it had taken the brunt of the assault from the weapon before it had been...commandeered.

The armored man widened his stance and you were just close enough to hear him scream, "Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu!", his voice raw with fury. The E-web repeater spun up like a gatling gun, chewing through the stormtroopers with a vengeance. The Mandalorian didn't stop shouting in Mando'a, beskar plate sending out spark showers from all the haphazard shots aimed his way. His boots stomped rhythmically against the ground, shoulders squared and head tilted downwards as he swung the gun in a wide semi-circle.

You caught a brief glimpse of Cara in the cantina doorway, her borrowed Bren drum-fed blaster pounding away at the stormtroopers. Over her head was an older man dual-wielding a set of pistols, his deadly accurate shots booming loudly through the automatic rattle.

You raised your own rifle, settling the stock against your shoulder and carefully leading your targets. If there had been one thing you learned on Sorgan, it was to be cautiously aggressive. You aimed for knees, exploiting the weakest area in the trooper armor to topple them quickly and leave them floundering in the sand.

So thorough was your focus, you nearly missed the man swathed in black.

His cape billowed out behind him, a void in the sandy chaos. He was clearly a leader of some sort, the way he carried himself and the fact that he moved through the battlefield with no helmet enough to give you pause. You lined your rifle up almost on instinct to take a shot at his unprotected head, flinching when he stopped moving and you lost your bead on him. By the time you had relocated your target, a stormtrooper had posted up alongside him. You swore, about to adjust downwards to deal with the trooper first.

Your attention was snagged on the way by the commander's service blaster raising. You followed the line of his shot with your eyes, realizing where it was headed a second before he fired.

Your mind scrambled for a solution and you cried, "Aru'e!", though you knew there was no way he could even hear you. Enemy ahead!

You saw the Mandalorian's helmet jerk up at the word and he stopped dead, staring directly at you while the E-web chewed uselessly through a section of masonry off to the left. You could feel it, even through the glossy black of his visor; he heard you, he saw you. He knew you were there.

His shoulders slumped, defeated.

"Nari!" You screamed, making a shoving gesture, move! But he didn't. It was like he was rooted in place.

The commander's bolt cracked into the Mandalorian's helmet at close range, the ringing blow staggering the beskar-wearing man instead of dispersing over the armor.

And as the Mandalorian struggled to turn, slicing a wide and clumsy circle back with the E-web, the commander lowered his blaster to aim for the power supply still attached to the vacant tripod.

With a simple pull of the trigger the entire tripod exploded forcefully, black shrapnel flying outwards in a deadly haze. You couldn't help your distressed cry as the Mandalorian was pitched violently back from the fiery blast.

Once he hit the ground, he didn't move.

Get up, you begged mentally. Please get up. Please don't be dead. Please. Your vision blurred with tears, grief threatening to swallow you whole as he continued to just...lay there, his flight suit smoking slightly. Then…

Then, you gritted your teeth.

"Cara!" You yelled, straining to be heard over the cacophony of gunfire. The woman started visibly, glancing around until her eyes landed on you. "Cover me!" You requested, drawing your old knife.

She tapped her ear and nodded to indicate that she understood. Then, she let out a war whoop, her auto rifle throwing slugs over your head to take out your pursuers. Meanwhile, you took the path of most resistance and least distance.

Dodge. Jump. Roll. Onto stomach. Back up. Kick shin. Knife, knife, done. Keep moving!

Several blaster bolts whined by your face, throwing up clouds of sand to your left with a loud pank! You hurriedly raised your shielded arm to protect your head.

Off the barrel. Good! Jump. Knife to the neck. Too close. Behind the crate! Rifle to the head, pull one two, done. Keep moving!

You weren't sure if you were imagining Cara coaching you through these skirmishes, but you could hear her voice yelling instructions and suggesting movements all the same just like on Sorgan, pick up your fucking feet rookie!

A stormtrooper's plastoid was made for taking blaster energy. It was not made for the blunt force trauma you inflicted with the spine of your heavy old knife or the stock of the rifle. White shards flew every time you struck, and every strike was a new opening for Cara to take advantage of.

Two shots grazed your shielded arm, distributing over the plastoid with a crackle of wasted effort. You barely noticed, your eyes fixed on the shimmering beskar of the Mandalorian. It gleamed and twinkled in the desert sun like a mirage; the sheer volume of the material alone was worth a king's ransom, but the real prize you were after was the man wearing it.

I'm going to save you.

Something clipped your side and your stride faltered, the impact making you stumble and almost fall. You didn't have time for pain at that point, shoving it down to deal with later, the adrenaline will hold the pain! Your heated advance had clearly been noted, but now the IG unit was also running interference for you, tipping the odds even further in your favor. You slung your blaster around by its tote strap and gathered yourself for one last burst of speed, your legs burning as you forced yourself to outrun the scattered gunfire trained on you.

I have to make it.

Skidding to a halt beside the Mandalorian's body, you hurriedly sheathed your knife, dug your fists in beneath his shoulders and ripped him backwards with all your might. His cape aided you in your adrenaline-fueled struggle, ensuring that the edges of his beskar wouldn't catch on the sand. You stayed half-crouched, using his armor as a shield while you slowly, slowly dragged him back to the cantina.

You hadn't had the time to ruminate on whether he was alive or not, so hellbent to just get him off the battlefield that you almost missed him slamming his gauntlet against his hip like he was chambering a round.

Flames poured out of the thrower on his forearm, engulfing two troopers that you hadn't spotted on your left. "Thanks!" You gasped.

"W-What are you--" His speech was labored, barely-there. "T-T-old y-y' to st-stay s--afe..."

"As you can see I'm doing great at listening to you!" You nearly lost your grip, straining to move him quicker before screaming in frustrated panic, "Why the fuck do you wear so much fucking armor?!"

"Please--j-just..."

"Be quiet!" You yelled, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Cara was suddenly beside you, the shadowy doorway of the cantina a looming sanctuary over your head. The shock trooper grabbed one of the Mandalorian's arms, taking some of his weight to help you haul him deeper into the cantina.

"Stay with me buddy!" Dune encouraged him, "We're gonna' get you out of here!"

"This is our only path out, can you clear it?" That older man asked the IG unit, gesturing frantically at one of the ventilation grates. You recognized his voice from the message you had heard, the one that had sent the Mandalorian into a silent fury, but you were drawing a blank on his name. Karga, possibly?

"Certainly." The droid replied cordially, bending down in front of the indicated grate. A small cutting torch flared to life in its hand and it began what promised to be the somewhat arduous process of searing through the thick grating.

"And you! I don't know what the hell you were thinking, running out there like that!" The older man turned to scold you. "Nobody's worth that loyalty, you hear me?!" He paused, then continued, "aside from...well, maybe one or two people." He stuck his hand out. "Greef Karga, chairman of the Bounty Hunter's Guild on Nevarro."

You clumsily shook the pro-offered hand, still moving the Mandalorian. "Wish we could have met under better circumstances."

"Too true!" He agreed, shaking his head. "What a mess you made of things, Mando. You and that baby are a menace."

"I'm n-not gonna' make it," the Mandalorian coughed when you and Cara managed to prop him up against a ruined table. "Go-"

"Shut up, you'll be fine! You just got your bell...rung." Dune's sure tone faded and when you looked over, you realized her hand was brick red with blood from where she had cupped the back of his neck. Glancing down, you found out to your horror that your own palms were liberally streaked with the substance as well. Fear raked its claws down your spine and you saw your hands start to tremble even harder.

"Leave m-e." The armored man pleaded, his voice rasping.

"I'm gonna' need to take this thing off." Cara reached urgently for the side of his helmet.

His gauntlet slammed shut on her wrist, hard enough that she winced visibly. "No. Y' leave me. Y' make sure the child is safe." He fumbled at his neck, tearing loose a small pendant that was shaped like the skull of a strange beast. "H-Here. When you get to the Mandalorian covert, you show them th--at."

Your confusion was probably plastered on your face (Mandalorian covert?), but Cara nodded like she understood.

"You tell 'em…" He paused, wheezing stridor rattling loudly in his chest. "Y' tell 'em it's fr-from...D-Din Djarin..." His name, his name. You felt sick with the realization, your eyes going wide in shock. "You tell 'em the Foundling was in my pr-protection, and they'll help you." He instructed, pressing the pendant into your hand.

"We can make it." Cara assured him, glancing worriedly at you for confirmation.

You were already moving to haul his arm up over your shoulder again. "C'mon, let's go!" You encouraged, his dead weight dragging hard at your back.

"I'm not gonna' m-ake it, n' you know it." The Mandalorian wheezed. His hand covered your own, rolling your fingers into a fist around the pendant.

Flames abruptly poured through the cantina door, forcing both you and Cara to duck down against the armored man. When you raised your head again, the cantina was ablaze. "They're trying to burn us out, Imp fucks!" Cara snarled, her hand clenching down on one of the Mandalorian's pauldrons. "Can't that droid cut through the grate any faster?!" She shouted at Karga.

"You're more than welcome to assist it, with the torch that you don't have!" Greef retorted.

"Y' protect the child. I can h-hold them back long enough to help you escape," the Mandalorian panted. "Let me die a w--arrior's death."

"We're not leaving you!" Cara insisted.

You echoed her sentiment softer, pushing your forehead against his. "Can you see me?" You whispered, staring through his visor.

"Y-Yeah." He gasped after a momentary pause.

"I'm not leaving you alone in the dark." You heard his breath hitch with a sob and you bit your lip, quelling your own tears. "I'm right here with you." You drew your thumb down your chest, and then tapped your chin. I promise. "I'm here."

A second gout of fire roared into the cantina, nearer this time. Bottles of liquor began to explode nearby from the heat, various amber browns and neon blue spotchka feeding the flames. "Why won't y'...you're going t'...p-lease-"

"I said, I'm with you." You shook your head, trying vainly to imbue your next words with some sort of apologetic tone, "this is the Way."

"This i-is the W-ay." He echoed brokenly. His hand grasped at your arm, clinging for dear life despite imploring you to leave.

There was the sharp clatter of durasteel. You heard Cara start swearing a blue streak, which prompted you to glance behind you. The horrifying sight of a flame trooper was what met your eyes, the stripes on their armor turned blood red in the smokey haze of the cantina. They leveled their flamethrower and you realized that the child, the child was between you and the stormtrooper.

You lunged for them just as the trooper pressed down on the trigger, knowing in your mind that there was no plausible way you would be able to save them. Hell, even yourself, or Cara, or the Mandalorian. You were all in the blast zone.

It was futile. But you still moved.

Your hands outstretched to pick up the child. The heat alone stole your breath. Maybe you could toss them, get them out of harm's way--

The flamethrower blast roiled and seethed forward, but then...it just stopped in midair. Hovering, a massive fireball, a miniature sun. When you saw the child's arms extended out in front of it, somehow you knew that they were what held it at bay.

Their tiny hand made a gesture, a simple motion of the wrist and the fireball soared backwards, engulfing the unsuspecting flametrooper. With a blast of backdraft, the trooper's fuel tank exploded and rocketed the body back out through the cantina door.

The child sat down heavily, then slumped to the side, their eyes rolling shut.

A loud clang echoed through the boiling room. It appeared that the IG unit had managed to get through the grate, the robot finally kicking it out of the way.

"We're through! Come on, let's go!" Karga urged.

IG-11 clattered forwards over the flaming debris, carefully scooping up the child's limp form before you could shake off your shock. "Escape and protect the child. I will administer aid to the Mandalorian, and they shall assist me." The IG unit instructed calmly, metal pincers safely depositing the unconscious baby in Cara's waiting arms.

You tugged free the piece of fabric she appeared to have been using to cover her tattoo, rushing to tie it around your head. "Keep them safe, please." You implored her, running a hand over the unconscious child's head. You tucked the Mandalorian's pendant into their robes as an afterthought.

Cara's eyes went steely and she leaned in, forehead hitting yours as she demanded in her best trooper voice, "promise me you'll bring him. Drag him if you have to."

"You have my word." The IG unit answered for the both of you. You nodded in agreement, watching Cara and Greef flee through the destroyed grate before you pulled the cloth down over your eyes. Effectively blinded, you knelt in the sand and groped forward until you found the beskar-wearing man's arm.

"Y' have to go." The Mandalorian begged desperately, weakly shoving at your chest in an attempt to push you towards the grate. "P-lease…"

"We must remove his helmet if we are to save him." IG-11 stated.

You heard the sound of a blaster priming. "Try it n' I'll kill you. Blow your goddamn neural harness to Endor. I-It is. Forbidden." The armored man seethed through his teeth. "No living thing has seen me without this helmet si-since I--" He had to stop, a wet cough interrupting his speech. "-since I swore the Cr--eed."

"I am not a living thing." The robot pointed out pragmatically. "And they have covered their eyes. Out of respect for your traditions, I hypothesize."

"We need to take care of you. Please." You found the hand that held the blaster and you wrapped your shaking fingers around it tightly. Now that your audience was gone the panic surged through your body, threatening to send you into hysterics at any moment while you clung to the last shreds of your composure. "Please." You begged frantically. I don't want you to die. "The kid needs you."

I need you. I love you. I'm so sorry.

You felt him yield at the same time that you heard IG-11 move, the reformed bounty droid tugging at the beskar helmet. "I require assistance." It stated after a momentary struggle. "The surface is deceptively smooth."

You ran your hands over the Mandalorian's arm, working your way up to the base of his neck and resting just beneath the edge of his helm. You knew you were running out of time. Even now the flames grew hotter and hotter on your back, the air around you becoming unbearable with smoke. "Here, put your fingers on the edges instead. I can't actually be the one to take it off, so hold it like this."

You guided IG's less-certain metal claws to a better spot to grab, making sure that it wouldn't slip. The Mandalorian's shoulders tensed weakly, like he was waiting to be attacked.

With a firm tug and that muffled hiss of air, the helmet came off. In the moment, it was no thing of gravitas. Clinical need overrode even the Creed he kept so close to his heart and here you were, blind and all business while you fended off your terror.

He reached up shakily to brush his knuckles against the cloth you had covered your eyes with, a silent admission of trust. "You cryin'?" His voice still sounded so foreign without the modulator, husky but clear, soft.

"Don't worry about that right now." You moved on autopilot to support the back of his head, grimacing when you felt your fingers card through matted hair and immediately grow slick with blood. "Maker, okay, alright." You muttered, nausea making your stomach pitch as you gingerly maneuvered his head to the side so IG-11 could perform whatever interventions it had in mind.

"Can't really feel my legs." The man admitted hoarsely. "Fingers are...tingling. What I can feel hurts like a--h-ah, dammit." He struggled to inhale, another wet cough choking him.

There was a soft ping. "This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours." IG-11 informed him.

You felt the armored man flinch when the bacta hit the open wound on the side of his head, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

"You have suffered damage to your central processing unit." The IG said bluntly.

"You...mean my brain." The Mandalorian murmured slowly after a beat.

"That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

In spite of the peril that loomed, you were thrilled to hear a pained snort of amusement. Leather-clad fingers twined with your own. "Helmet." He pleaded.

"Can we put his helmet back on? Are we all set?" You asked IG-11, squeezing the Mandalorian's hand in an attempt to comfort him.

"Better to do so. These open flames will not aid in the bacta absorption or ease of respiration." The robot replied.

You felt around for the helm, burning your fingertips on the contoured surface before you managed to get it over the Mandalorian's face once again. You were startled when he clumsily cupped your jaw and pressed his helm to the cloth that covered your eyes. "I could kiss you, little mudhorn." He rasped through his modulator, clearly delirious on a combination of pain and strong drugs.

"I would advise that you attempt such activities at a later time." The IG unit intoned.

The Mandalorian then allowed you and the bounty droid to haul him upright, his fingers fighting with the cloth over your eyes before you helped him shove it up out of the way. His heated armor seared at your skin even through your clothes, but the pain was a background worry compared to your relief.

He was alive. Staggering, stumbling, most of his weight resting on either you or the spindly droid, but alive.

As you made your way through the tunnels beneath the city, his steps became more sure. "Damn, that bacta's got some kick to it." He remarked, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders out. "Hits like a blurrg to the gut."

"I would advise against strenuous activities while you heal." The droid droned.

"I'd love to oblige you," The Mandalorian retorted sarcastically, "but I don't think I'll have the luxury." His hand rested on the top of your head, fingers buried in your hair.

When you finally caught up with Cara and Greef, the former soldier met the three of you with a grin of relief. "They'll have to try harder than that to keep you down!" She crowed, thumping a fist into the Mandalorian's shoulder.

The Mandalorian's response was a wry, "I'd rather they didn't."

...

Now reunited, the group of you traversed ahead. Despite being a little turned around, the Mandalorian quickly latched onto the correct path to the aforementioned covert. Progress grew more expedient as his body absorbed the bacta properly, the hunter soon able to walk unaided.

Your rushed exodus came to an abrupt halt, however, when you stumbled upon a pile of beskar armor.

The Mandalorian stopped dead in his tracks, and then sank to one knee. Shaking hands reached out and plucked a helmet from the pile, his thumb rubbing against the black sharding left over from where the visor had shattered.

Everyone huddled together in silence, not really wanting to interrupt the clearly-grieving man, but knowing too well that the Imperials would be overrunning the tunnels shortly.

"We should go." Cara finally murmured. You put a gentle hand on his shoulder between his cowling and pauldron, squeezing to let him know that you were there.

"You go. Take the ship." The armored man replied brokenly. "I...I can't leave it this way." You felt his shoulder tense up under your touch and you instinctively braced for impact. "Did you know about this?" He breathed, the inquiry directed at Karga. "Is this the work of your bounty hunters?" The title sounded like a curse, dripping with hatred.

"Of course not!" Greef protested. "When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended. The hunters just...melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries, not zealots!"

"Did you do this?!" The Mandalorian raged, shaking your hand off as he lunged upright and turned on the Guild leader. "Did you?!"

"It was not his fault." said a stern female voice. Another Mandalorian emerged from a side tunnel, her majestic bronze helm adorned with small horn-like protrusions. She wore a cuirass beneath her armor that had a luxurious pelt around the neck (possibly nexu?), giving her the illusion of sporting a thick mane.

You did your best not to gawk, though you had the feeling you were unsuccessful. She carried herself almost like Cara, but more refined, almost regal.

"We revealed ourselves. We knew what would happen if we left the covert." Leather-gloved hands reached into the pile and reverently picked up a breastplate, which she proceeded to deposit onto an already-loaded hoverskiff. "The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter." She gestured down at the armor. "This...is what resulted." Her voice was soft with grief.

"Did any survive?" The Mandalorian rasped desperately.

"I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

The Mandalorian looked down at the pile and then jerked his helmet back up. "Come with us." He implored.

"No." She replied disdainfully, almost as if she was scolding him for even daring to suggest such a thing. "I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains." She then turned on her heel, beckoning for the group to follow her into the side room.

As the others trailed along behind her, you dallied just outside the doorway. With a hand pressed to your side, you took a shaky inhale. It was beginning to hurt to breathe, but only just. Like the adrenaline was dulling the pain. You didn't want to actually look at the wound for fear that it was worse than you thought, so you carefully shifted your cloak to hang over your side.

There. Out of sight, out of mind.

Part Nine

256 notes · View notes

apropensityforcharm · 4 years

Note

Widojest for 1

(Also for anon who asked for Widojest <3 )

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when I started shipping it if I did

I first sat up and took notice of their dynamic back in episode 42, during their talk at Darktow - I just absolutely love how Caleb was so kind and patient with her and gave her the space to talk about how she felt about Fjord without any judgement or demands of his own. And then Jester returns with her own poking and teasing, and instead of getting annoyed, he just finds it amusing and sweet. <3

The first time I properly considered them as a romantic pairing was all the way forward to episode 77, i.e. the I’ll Tell You Later Episode. I mean. Look at Caleb. Look at the way he looks at her. It was so plain that he felt something for her at that point, and I realised that I really liked the idea of them as a romantic pairing.

my thoughts:

I don’t know if this is a specific question or what, but my hot take of the day is that Jester is developing or already has a crush on Caleb in canon. In this house we wear our clown shoes PROUDLY.

What makes me happy about them:

They really look out for one another. The both of them tend to use a lot of masks - Jester’s brightness and optimism hiding her uncertainty and sadness, Caleb’s self-loathing as shield to explain why people ‘shouldn’t’ want to be close to him - but they are able to see past those masks and see who the other is at their heart. And more than that, they reach out to those true selves; they’re not content to accept the fronts that the other puts on. They push past those fronts, and make it clear that love and accept each other for who they really are, not who they think they should be.

For the both of them, there’s nothing selfish about how they love each other. They simply do, because they think the other person is worth that love - not because they think they’re owed anything in return.

What makes me sad about them:

I don’t think they’re going to end up canon lol.

More seriously, I think that neither of them think they deserve more than what they already have, and that’s a major part of what gets in the way of them, like. Talking to one another. And being open about how Caleb, at least, feels.

things done in fanfic that annoys me:

idk, I suppose bad characterisation is a bit of a sticking point for me. It’s not anything specific to Widojest, but it is one of the few things that guarantees I’ll close out of the fic almost as fast as I open it.

things I look for in fanfic:

I’m typically a bit of an angst monster when it comes to fic. Widojest has a very specific flavour of angst called Two Idiots Pine Without Any Expectation of Reciprocation. The best part is that it’s canon, babey.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Ehhhh, I mean, if not each other then I’d prefer for them to end up alone honestly.

But if I had to pick, Jester/Yasha is the only other Jester pairing I like at all, and as for Caleb... I like Widofjord, but that doesn’t have a chance in hell of being canon lmao. I’m also completely soft for Bren/Astrid but hoo boy do those two have a lot to work through before it could be anything other than horrifically unhealthy.

My happily ever after for them:

Give them a little cottage by the seaside and let them be happy!!!

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

They switch! Depending on who is feeling more vulnerable or in need of comfort that day. But I like to think that their preference for sleeping is just sprawling on top of one another like puppies; I think the both of them like to feel their partner’s heartbeat under their head as they drift off into sleep.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

POLYMORPH. SHENANIGANS.

#critical role #widojest #thank you ani my love <3

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enkelimagnus · 3 years

Text

Words We Stole from the Night

A Caleb/Astrid story, a roleplaying thread between @brunetta6 and I

4849 words, Rated M, Warnings for Abuse, Murder Plotting and everything that comes with Trent Ikithon and the Volstrucker.

Read on AO3

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

The house across from Claykeep Prison was as decrepit as ever.

The paint of the door was even more chipped than she remembered. Signs of the time that had passed were scarred deep into the walls, into the roof, into everything Astrid saw. Vigil’s Circle was always bustling and passing people and the passing war had clawed and burned its marks into the sanctuary.

She hadn’t been there in a while. The last time had been when she’d first heard the Mighty Nein were in Rexxentrum. She’d stood on the roof where she’d spent so many hours and nights staring at the prison, and she’d waited. He hadn’t come. She really hadn’t expected him to, but she’d waited, just in case.

It felt ridiculous now, watching the sun come up on the major places of law and judgement of the Empire, now that she knew what it was like to be executioner for a corrupted judge and no jury. It felt ridiculous to stare at it the way she had in secret as a child.

And now she was back. She climbed up the side of the house, feet finding where she’d scaled many times before. She was steadier than before. Shakier too. But differently, she guessed.

She sat on the edge of the roof and waited. The night was dark, but Rexxentrum was alight. No one would see her here. No one who didn’t know what to look for.

Then, a soft, accented voice called out — just barely loud enough for Astrid to hear.

“It’s hard to forget this place,” Caleb murmured.

Astrid turned instinctually to see a familiar face. His deep-set eyes were obscured with shadow, that light of brilliance and hunger the only thing that survived the dark. His red hair was loose and dirty, falling around his shoulders, and a dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. If some unwitting peasant had seen him, they might have mistaken him as some kind of spirit.

It was, as always, hard to see him.

Astrid always forgot that over a decade had passed. Her mind kept bringing up the image of the Bren she'd known. And then, their paths crossed for a moment, and she saw him, and she remembered that he wasn't Bren, that he was Caleb, that they were 30, that they were broken, that there was a wall the size of a mountain between them and that it was unscalable.

"You're here," she said softly. "You really are?" She hadn't wanted for it to come out as a question, but it was, and she was so tired. So she didn't hide it.

“I was about to ask you the same question...” Caleb whispered hoarsely.

Astrid huffed lightly, humorless.

He watched her for a long moment. For anything. A twitch of movement. Something to show him she was real.

Caleb bowed his head, swallowed thickly, and turned his eyes back to the prison.

There was a lot to say. Years apart, and then the last few months and what it had brought. Him back to her. And... her plans changing, shoved out of their course by eyes too blue and too familiar and too haunting. She reached up to her neck. The burns had long past healed. It had been over 15 years.

"I'm here," she nodded. She looked up at him briefly, before turning back to the view of the prison. "I've seen the inside of it many times now. Claykeep." She pointed out. "It's nothing like we used to wonder.”

“I suppose you will be visiting me there soon,” Caleb murmured, his voice rough and wasted. “At some point.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, looking up at him again. "Are you planning to give yourself in?" She asked quietly.

“No,” Caleb murmured. “But I am not foolish enough to believe I can run from him forever. Or from you... Not anymore.”

Astrid shook her head. "Prison is never going to be for you. Not this one anyway." She didn't hide the bitterness in her voice.

“No. No, it will not...” Caleb whispered, eyes locked on the distant building. “But it would make a brilliant torch, would it not? Standing against the sky this way, as it does...”

Astrid closed her eyes for a second. "Burn it all to the ground. It's already covered in ash anyway." She exhaled. "Why are you in Rexxentrum, Br... Caleb?"

She was happy to see him. Happier than she'd been in for so long. It was almost overwhelming. She didn’t know how to express it exactly.

“We did what we needed to do in the wastes of Eiselcross,” Caleb explained. “The others are safe. I told them I needed a break... so we agreed. Split up. Meet again.”

Astrid nodded at that. "And you came here, of all places." She pointed out. "On this roof, at this time."

Had he hoped she would be there? Or did he just want to reminisce about the past and stare at the future, or some iteration of it?

"I'm glad they're safe."

“Are you?”

"You love them," Astrid shrugged. "They love you." She didn't want him to be alone. He had a family now. She didn't want them to leave him.

Caleb took an unsteady breath, eyes wavering, his own sore heart threatening to crack. Do you? he wanted to ask. But he couldn’t ask. He wasn’t sure if he could survive the answer, one way or another.

They sat and stood there for a long time, watching the lines of the prison stand resolutely.

Finally, Caleb broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking,” he murmured quietly. “About if I were in your position, and you in mine.”

It was hard to imagine being in Caleb's position. Being free. Having a family. Loving people. Astrid would rather not try to think of it. It was too hard. Too difficult. It made something hard and suffocating wrap around her chest.

"And what did that thinking lead to?"

“It made me hope a little more... that I might convince you to come with me. To leave your dark purpose behind.”

Astrid looked up at him with wide eyes. "My dark purpose?" She watched him, a little bewildered. "What do you think that is, exactly?"

“A self-inflicted destiny,” Caleb whispered, still not looking at her. Those eyes were burning, smoldering with redirected hate towards the distant Candles. “A desire for power that you were born with, but caged by him . Told that you’re only good for one thing. Supplanting him feels like the only answer, but it’s not, Astrid.”

"Then what else is there?" Astrid snapped, sudden anger rising inside of her. He thought he understood but he didn't. He'd escaped. "Someone has to do it. Someone has to supplant him. I'm perfect for it. I'm the only one who can do it properly."

“He will never choose you, Astrid.”

"You're foolish if you think I'm giving him a choice." She snarled back.

Caleb finally looked at her, but the hatred was gone. His shoulders were heavy with sheer exhaustion. “And what will you ‘do properly?’” he asked hollowly. “What will change?”

Astrid hummed. "I've never been good enough for him. He doesn't consider me even capable of having thoughts for myself, let alone anything more complex than that." She muttered. "I've spent the last.... fifteen years with weekly reminders that I was nothing compared to what you were. The longer it went on, the clearer it became that he didn't see me... And he gave me to the Academy, and to the recruits and to.... When he's dead, I will protect these fucking kids."

“You’re better than me in many ways, Astrid.”

"I'm not," Astrid shook her head. "I'm not. But... Two years ago, there was this kid... Brand new recruit. Wide-eyed, fresh out of the middle of fucking nowhere... And I'd been... asking the questions. You know the ones. Where are you from, do you have family. Will anyone fucking miss you if you disappear." She swallowed. "And there... this girl. Red haired, brown eyed, full of freckles. With eyes like she wanted to gulp down everything she could. Like you. I asked her the questions. And she said..." Astrid closed her eyes. "Blumenthal."

Caleb closed his eyes too. Bowed his head, as if praying at a funeral.

“...And what happened to her?”

Astrid looked down at the ground for a moment, letting vertigo take her.

"The report in her Academy file says she's unsuited for the specialized study courses."

“What. Happened.”

"I lied on the report." Astrid whispered, knowing the admission could be her end. "She's safe."

“Good,” Caleb hissed. Burning blue eyes locked on her. “That is step one. But what happens now?”

"For her?" Astrid hummed. "She's studying. She's brilliant, but she's made friends now. She's integrated. She's out of his reach." She explained. "I'm keeping an eye on her, but I can't... I can't be close. Ever."

“And nothing has changed,” Caleb whispered, softer now. “You lied for one girl. But you cannot do that forever. He will expect things of you. If you take his seat, they will expect things of you, Astrid. The pressure will not vanish when you become an Archmage. They kept him on for a reason. They will expect an elite force to keep the peace. How will you satiate that need when he is gone? You cannot take volunteers— there is no protection. No safety. Only illusion. You have to see that, don’t you...?”

"And what then? I will not do nothing. If I can save one, it's already that. Two. Maybe more if I'm smart enough, if I'm strong enough, if I stay the pathetic, not good enough girl he thinks I am," Astrid shrugged. "I can't lie for them all, and I can't undo a lot, and I know they will desire results but I'd rather be fighting them for the rest of my life, no matter how short, than do nothing. I'm tired of that."

She sighed deeply. "She's 17 now," she explained. "But then... when she started, she was only 15. And she was from Blumenthal. And I almost, almost asked her what our names meant now. What had happened to the names Beck, Ermendrud and Grieve."

“But you did not want to know. Did you.”

"It doesn't matter," Astrid shook her head. "Beck will die with me. Ermendrud is already dead... Grieve is agonizing." She shrugged. "And I didn't want to hear about how tragic it was. How sad everyone was. How they remembered them and their kids fondly. And they hoped we were doing okay in Rexxentrum, being mages and all. And I didn't want her to know what I was."

“I am surprised that there are still children from Blumenthal willing to come to the capital after us...” Caleb took a hollow, shallow breath. “But then again... knowing us, perhaps I should not be. There will always be hunger in humanity. A fascination with the arcane...”

The middle-aged man — that was what he was now — rested his back against the chimney stack.

“I was thinking of finally going to find out for myself. I could not do it with my friends, but... maybe alone.”

"As far as I know... Trent made sure that there was no enemy for us out there. No one who could remember our faces. As far as I know, they think we all died too, perhaps even in the fire." Astrid reached for her neck again. "You can go. Find out. But... whatever you find, I don't want to know." She felt so heavy now. So empty, at the same time, like a gaping hole in her chest that was swallowing everything down and taking her with it. "I have work to do here. Solutions to find. People to kill."

“Come with me,” Caleb pleaded softly.

Astrid turned to look at him for a moment, sad and tender. "Why?"

“Because I want you to...?” he whispered, gazing at her with all the weight and bittersweet love in the world. “I know that— I’m sure that my desire means little to you after all this time, but...”

He licked his dry, cracked lips and sighed, closing his eyes.

“I have never believed in fate,” he confessed weakly. “But this is such a coincidence... I feel that I must try. Perhaps you are— perhaps we are standing on a precipice and don’t even know it. I don’t want to step off alone. Not again. Perhaps it is selfish, I don’t know, but I never professed to be an unselfish being...”

Astrid picked up her feet and stood, walking towards him.

"Caleb..." She whispered.

She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be selfish and say yes and leave and forget the world and fuck the consequences, for her or for others. She wanted to run to the ends of the world and wait for Trent there, content and happy and warm for once.

"I want to be selfish. But I have already been, for so long..." She leaned against the chimney next to him, watching him. "I want to be loved, and I want to be free. But I'm pretty sure... When we dropped you off at the sanatorium, I knew then and there, when the door was closing on you and he was holding my arm.... I cannot be loved and I cannot be free, and I would... I deserve to die trying to right it all, or else I will have accomplished nothing worthwhile. Magic and power and knowledge, what are those worth to me when I stand there alone and broken and missing people I can never have?"

A hard lump rose in Caleb’s throat. He took an unsteady, shaky breath.

“Come with me...” he pleaded with her. “Be selfish, Astrid. I may be a worthless bastard, but... I will do all I can for you. I will right the wrongs that I can. I will profess to you truth . I am so... sick of lying to you, walking on eggshells around you. We spent our youth together. We... We gave ourselves to one another... Physically and... in all the ways that matter. I know that it’s not going to be the same, not at first, but— if you are willing to try, so am I...!”

It would be so easy to kill him right now. He was standing there so close, so vulnerable, and he wouldn't even fight back, wouldn't he? She could just... do it, and throw his body away and walk home and wait until Trent's rage took physical form and he realized what she'd done and he came for her and killed her too, and then she'd go to where worthless things like her go.

Astrid reached up to touch his face. "You should see all the kids, Caleb," she whispered. "You would love them as much as I do." She nodded. There was stubble under her thumb. "Gods... You've only gotten more beautiful with time..." She was more shy than ever under his gaze. "What will your family say?"

That startled a cough of amusement out of Caleb. “They will be suspicious of you, for good reason,” he admitted quietly. “You will likely go through a few talks with them. There will be distrust at first... but all trust requires risk. And you’re worth the fucking risk...”

Astrid took a deep breath. "I... I want it," she muttered. "I want that. The... risks and all, I just..." She turned away, looking back to the Candles, back to the high walls of the Academy. "What about them? When I'm gone, who do they have left?" She asked quietly. "If I could take them all with me... I would."

“There will be other teachers,” Caleb whispered. “Take a sabbatical. Take some time overseas... do research in Marquet. Go north. Guide your own expedition to Eiselcross. I have artifacts that you can bring back, as a cover. You don’t have to go forever... I just... Let me steal you away. Just for a time...”

Astrid bit her lip. It could work. For a time, she could... forget. She could be free for a moment. She would get stronger, she would think through plans. She would find out as much as she could about everything she needed...

"I have... I have an idea." She muttered. "You will have to trust me. Blindly."

Caleb’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth uncertainly... then sighed heavily, eyes narrowed.

It’s worth the risk. The worst that could happen is that I die. And that’s not so bad.

She’s worth the risk. This is worth the risk. On my own, this is worth the risk.

“...All right...”

Astrid looked at him. "I need to tell him I'm leaving with you," she muttered. "He needs to think... that I am doing my work correctly.”

Caleb took a deep breath... and let it go.

“What will he think we are doing?” he asked softly.

"That... that's not important," Astrid shrugged. "He needs to know I'm with you, and with your friends. And I... will feed regular information." She explained.

“You won’t be with my friends,” Caleb murmured. “Just me. I’m not... willing to share you just yet...”

"If I am to stay with you, it needs to be useful for him," Astrid explained. "He won't let me go to Marquet or Eiselcross just because I want to. I'm a teacher, yes, but I am a Volstrucker. I am his. He needs to think he's gaining something by letting me out of his sphere of influence. He knows about our history, so it will be... it will make sense for me to seduce my way back into your life for him."

“Then it is better for me to be alone, no?” Caleb murmured, searching her eyes. “My friends would keep me on a short leash. But if I am alone...”

His gaze flickered subconsciously down to her lips and quickly away. “If I am alone, it is easier for you to pull me off track.”

Astrid nodded. "Yes, yes. But I will need to bring something from them too. They are a big point of interest for him." She smiled a little. "I need you to trust me. I will give him the kind of things he wants to hear. Things that are hard to disprove. Things that are close to the truth. I need you... to be open with me. And I will be open with you, in exchange." She looked at him for a moment. "And it won't be hard to be close to you, anyway. You always had such a magnetic effect on me. It has only... heightened with time."

Caleb coughed softly in amusement, shaking his head. “No need to stroke my ego. Really...” he murmured, rubbing his face. “I know I am not much to look at. My face is too long. My features are too cruel. I am... wrinkled. Gott , to return to a time when we never thought we would have bags under our eyes and lines around our mouths, hm...?”

"Look at me. All scarred and marked and... used," Astrid had a small laugh. "We were so arrogant and confident in our own bodies," she chuckled. "Thought time would never get to us." She reached to run her fingers over his face, over his features. "You're still beautiful to me. Still magnetic. It's not about your face, it's about... everything else." She muttered.

Caleb couldn’t help but close his eyes, leaning into her palm. It felt like dangling over a precipice of immense size... but while he was alone, it was worth the risk to feel her touch again.

“I have... um... something...” Caleb whispered. “For you. If you want it.”

Astrid watched him for a moment, taking time now that his eyes were closed and she could let herself drink in everything he was now. Caleb Widogast. She liked the name. A lot.

"What is it?" She asked softly.

“It is not physical...” Caleb told her quietly. “And... it might not be wise to give it to you right now, if you do want it at all. But...”

He took a breath and opened his eyes, but his lashes were still lowered. He gazed down at the curve of her arm. The dark fabric of her cloak.

“I can take your years away,” he whispered. “At least thirteen of them. It won’t extend your life, but... if you wish.”

Astrid looked up at him for a moment. "I..."

It was one hell of a thing. 13 years less. The weight of everything that had happened in the last thirteen years. Missions and pains and murders and two marriages, neither good in any way. 13 years of Trent. 13 years of nightmares.

"I'm okay," she whispered. "I don't need it." She muttered. "Not now. It wouldn't make much of a difference..."

Caleb nodded silently. “I wanted to offer,” he murmured. “I’ll— I’ll be here. When you’re ready to go.”

Astrid looked at him. "Thank you. I..." She looked over at the Candles. "Give me... a week. Maybe two. Get my affairs in orders at the Academy. Take care of everything. Tell Trent." She nodded. "You can stay at my house, if you want. It's... unscryable." She muttered. "Safe."

Caleb rubbed softly at his temples. “...Alright. I will,” he mumbled. “What about your servant? The halfling man?”

Astrid shrugged. "He'll be quiet." She said simply. "He's been with me since I got the house." That said enough, hopefully. Caleb knew what she did.

None of her staff would dare to talk about what happened inside of her house. Not if they wanted to live another day. And they were very aware of it.

Caleb closed his eyes and nodded. “I need a shower...” he mumbled unhappily.

"You do," Astrid chuckled. He looked dirty, probably from trying to make himself invisible. "There's also probably some clothing that you could wear." She muttered. "And we'll have a nice meal."

Caleb nodded again, his mind shutting down in preparation for the next week. Blind trust did not come easy, especially not to him. Certainly not in the shadow of Trent Ikithon’s tower...

Worth the risk. Worth the risk.

“...I will come in the afternoon, while you are away,” Caleb told her softly. “Will you— Will you tell Wulf?”

"Do you want me to tell Wulf?" Astrid tilted her head to the side for a moment. "I... I don't know where his loyalties lie. I haven't for a while. He's... different."

“Different...?”

"He's devoted," Astrid explained. "And not only in his worship, which he found relatively recently but... He's not like me. I've always been a bit... shadier. More gritted teeth and tight-lipped smiles. I don't know if he's an amazing actor or if he really worships Trent as much as his goddess."

She didn’t know where Wulf stood anymore, and it was the worst part of her life.

“I would hope not...” Caleb whispered. “I wish I could talk to him without barriers.”

Astrid could understand why. But she didn’t know if it was possible anymore. "Wulf... He's in the field a lot. Never spends long in Rexxentrum. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even have his own place." She explained. "He's been... very useful as a ranged weapon for Trent."

Caleb’s eyes darkened. He looked at her sternly. “Useful,” he repeated. “Astrid, he can’t feel right about this... Can he...?”

Astrid looked down. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know. He's..."

She crossed her arms, trying to shut out the impossible guilt and shame she felt at what had happened to her best and only friend.

"15 years since you left us,” she started, both an explanation and a bit of a criticism. “And it hasn't stopped for us. Especially not for him. I'm lucky, I don't... do as much of the dirty work. Or at least my work is different. more poison, less dagger." She muttered. "I don't know. I just know I can't trust him."

Caleb sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair. He hated it. Hated that he had abandoned them to this fate. Abandoned Astrid. Abandoned Wulf.

But he was back now.

Caleb exhaled shakily. “If there is hope for Wulf,” he murmured steadily, gazing emptily through the skyline of Rexxentrum, “it will be in the future. When... we can talk, and protect him, without risk of Herr Ikithon finding out. I despise this... but we must leave him be for now.”

Astrid didn't want to tell him she'd given up on helping Wulf a long time ago.

He stayed at her house when he was in town, in the guest room that was just his room now. And they crossed each other, and sometimes, she saw in his eyes her best friend, but that was so rare she'd stopped hoping. Most of her time she let him be quiet and go through the motions and didn’t even try to rage against his coldness anymore. She wasn’t sure he cared enough not to report her to Trent if she disobeyed to help him.

Not that she'd been in a much better state until the girl from Blumenthal. That had woken her up, but before that... she was as much of a zombie as he'd been. Empty. Deadly.

"The Matron will keep him," she whispered. More of a desperate hope than anything else.

The gods have never helped us. Why should they now? That was what Caleb wanted to say. What his deeply bitter and angry soul wanted to snarl into the shadows. But he couldn’t say that, not when such sadness and quiet desperation permeated Astrid’s voice.

He rubbed at his eyes, brows furrowed. “I am sure she will...”

The anguish at what had become of Eadwulf threatened to overtake her for a moment. Astrid gently reached an arm around Caleb to pull him closer to her. Hold me. Remind me you're real. She wouldn't say it though. She needed his comfort. She needed to be close, now that she’d let herself say yes to an impossible plan to taste freedom.

"If you have questions over the past years, I can answer them," Astrid muttered. She had never told anyone anything. Even Wulf. She couldn't add to his weight. Maybe Caleb could help. Maybe he would let her tell him all the things that haunted her at night.

Caleb hesitated... but he wrapped his arms around her; after a moment of hesitation, he pulled her into his lap and held her there.

“...You’ve always been small...” he whispered, burying his face in her shoulder.

Astrid hummed and snuggled into him, closing her eyes for a moment. "You're taller than I remember," she pointed out. "Stronger."

“I am still a very skinny man.”

Astrid nodded. "Hmm. Can feel that," she muttered. "Still a very skinny woman." Everything was... so nice for a moment. "Still. You're different." His hair was much longer, he had a light beard and he was taller and stronger, somehow, than he was in her memories. Maybe it wasn’t physical strength as much as it was the steadiness of his mind.

“So are you...” Caleb hesitated... then he rested his hand against the side of her throat. Feeling the warped, smooth, rippling sensation of those old, faded burn scars.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “So sorry...”

Astrid closed her eyes a little harder. "You weren't in your right mind," she muttered. "It's okay. it's fine." She repeated. "it's been a really long time." 15 fucking years and counting. The burn was long healed. The memory of it was not as fuzzy as it should have been, however. She wished she could forget the state he’d been in, his despair and his anger. She wished she could forget the pain.

“...I should go.” Before I do something stupid.

Caleb took a breath, stroking her hair and forcing himself to let her go. “I will see you tonight, Astrid...”

Astrid didn't want this to end. She wanted to stay there for the rest of her life, on this roof, in this night, with Caleb.

"Don't change your mind about me," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come." She didn’t know if she would be able to take a defection like this one.

Caleb’s heart ached at her whisper. He swallowed thickly, and finally met her eyes. He cupped her cheek — his face crumpled with conflicting desire — and rested his forehead to hers.

“Ich verspreche dir, dass ich kommen werde.” I promise you that I will come.

Astrid exhaled. "Danke." She whispered.

She wasn't alone anymore. She dared to hope for this to last for a while, so she could soak it up like a sponge.

“Gern geschehen, Schatz...” You’re welcome, sweetheart...

Caleb faltered, wondering if he had gone too far... then huffed and gently forced himself away. He hurried down the stairs, out of sight.

Astrid watched him go, swallowing.

"Ich liebe dich", she whispered to the night, once he was out of sight.

Forbidden words. Almost forgotten words. Words she was afraid of.

#caleb widogast #astrid beck #caleb/astrid #critical role #mighty nein

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cranesofibycus · 4 years

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We're slowly approaching the end of CR's holiday break and I've been going through the many excellent meta posts about episode 89. Mostly I've been writing walls of tags in response, but some thoughts about that episode were a little bit more independent, so this is my attempt at condensing them down into one post. If this seems a little incoherent it's because I'm still not quite sure what to think of what we got to witness in that episode. Save to say there was a lot to unpack, and I don't feel like we've seen the full extent of both Yasha's and Caleb's recent developments yet. Anyway, here are some thoughts on the glimpses we did see of Caleb's development in episode 89 (I'll do a separate post for Yasha). Content warning for discussions of abuse and familial abuse dynamics:

- The confrontation with both Trent and Astrid has confirmed something that I've been thinking for a while now. Caleb's family abused him. Not his real parents, of course, but his first chosen family. The way he was so quick to say that he still feels like he failed somehow, like he wasn't good enough and therefore may have deserved what happened to him screams familial abuse to me. It's a very common thing for the abused person to make excuses and look for reasons for the abuse in their own behavior long before ever accusing their abuser(s). And even now - so long after everything that has happened Caleb is still doing that. He will always blame himself for what he did to his parents, but he also blames himself for the abuse (the crystals, the mental and physical torture they were put through - there's a part of him that still thinks he deserved that).

- BUT he has come so far. He is able to view that abuse from the outside now. He is able to see the situation for what it is and was, even if he can't escape the lingering dynamics of familial abused/abuser entirely. Maybe it was even good that he got to witness what became of both Astrid and Eodwulf - I don't think he would want to be in their positions for a second, even if it meant never breaking and never going to the asylum. It would also mean living the lie of the abuse and accepting his actions as necessary for the greater good (a term that I feel and fear means a great deal to followers of Trent Ikithon - there is so much evil you can excuse by invoking it.)

- I keep wondering how this conversation would've gone mere months earlier. Something tells me it wouldn't have gone down at all. Caleb would've broken, again. He had lost so much faith in himself and faith in the truth he had found about himself that I think both Trent and Astrid would've found it very easy to break him with words alone. They didn't manage it this time though. And I do think that his new found family has a lot to do with that. There's something incredibly valuable about being armed with more than just your own perception of yourself, but also have the knowledge of how your friends see you. Caleb knows that he is a capable wizard - capable not just of great magic, but of empathy and kindness and love; things that don't seem to carry much importance beyond their manipulative value for members of the Assembly.

- The moment when he lingered before leaving... ugh. First of all, Liam is an insanely good actor. What a MOMENT!! But I loved seeing that the lines - as so often in this campaign - aren't clear. Rogue hobo wizard and indoctrinated wizard assassin aren't two opposing identities; they aren't exclusive, but are blurred and layered and difficult to break out of. I'm not saying that Caleb wanted to go back to 'his old life' in that moment, but something about Astrid and being in Rexxentrum must feel so weirdly familiar to him. And I'm sure there are parts of his identity that could still be that same wizard he had trained to become. How confusing it must be for him to be in that city, with the people from his past (who arguably know parts of him better than the M9 ever will - Astrid was there when he killed his parents; she was there when he broke... that kind of connection can never be severed; for good or for ill), but to view that life from a different vantage point now.

- Just in general I really appreciate how Matt has constructed Astrid as a very complex character. Trent seemed evil and gross from the first moment, but Astrid is something else entirely. I can see what Bren fell in love with. I can see why he wanted to stay. Could she have been faking all her concern and pity for Caleb? Absolutely. Could it have been sincere? For sure. She isn't just a brainwashed minion - she has her own motives and desires, and she's certainly not unemotional.

- In the end, their conversation was so, so horribly sad. Two survivors of abuse, unable to connect over it because their ways of compartmentalizing and dealing with that abuse lie on different ends of the spectrum. The thought of that innocent, youthful love between them being drenched in all that blood and regret... it's just so sad. I agree with Caleb in that regard. I mourn the loss of their childhood.

#critical role #cr meta #astrid #caleb widogast #abuse cw

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ncvcmbcrflush · 3 years

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《 luke newberry. genderfluid, he/they, epilogue by keaton henson 》 oh my, there goes BRENNAN SWANN. the 20/28 year old WENDIGO is currently working at HUBBARD APOTHOCARY. they’ve been in salem, ma for 28 YEARS. they are known around town as THE FORLORN. i have a feeling they ARE aware of what’s going on in town, and they are NEUTRAL. hopefully, because they are known to be GENTLE and ENCOURAGING while also being REBELLIOUS and DEFENSIVE, they will survive. i guess only time will tell.

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Brennan Samuel Swann

Nickname(s): Bren, but honestly you could call them anything and as long as you clarified that you were actually talking to them they’d be happy.

Date of Birth: July 4th, 1993

Age: 20/28

Gender + Pronouns: Genderfluid, he/they

Place of birth: Salem, MA

Parents: Carl and Janice Swann

Siblings: None

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): None to speak of, they’re an only child of divorced parents who were more focused on their new relationships then their current child. Both moved away to different parts of the country after Brennan’s missing persons case went cold. They haven’t bothered to reach out the either of them since returning.

Pets: none, but adopts any sad looking stray or forest dweller out of a sense of kindred spirits.

PHYSICAL:

Height: 6′

Build: Slender and willowy

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Distinguishing Facial Features: Big doe eyes, dimples on the rare occasion they smile wide enough to appear, stupid long eyelashes

Hair Color: strawberry blonde

Usual Hair Style: shorter on the sides then at the top, long enough to see it’s wild and curly nature

Eye Color: Dark brown, very nearly black

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks, scars): Pale skin, freckles like whoa, anytime the sun touches their skin more crop up

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): Depression

What do they consider their best feature?: There is not a single thing they like about themselves, but gun to head, probably their eyes, just because that’s the default answer everyone gives.

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: Getting chewed on by a forest monster man thing didn’t feel great.

APPEARANCE:

Favorite outfit: Style is constantly changing but they gravitate towards like, a pastel punk sort of aesthetic? Like a nice tye dye sweater, lightwash skinny jeans, and some ridiculous sort of combat boot. Has been known to rock a flowercrown unironically. Everything 2014 tumblr wanted, fashion wise.

Glasses? Contacts?: neither.

Personal Hygiene: average- showers regularly and does not use three in one body wash, but rewears clothes religiously because fuck laundry, and there’s always some sort of paint, or ink, or some other kind of Art Dirt on them.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: loves a good choker, and has several piercings. Had plans for tattoos but isn’t sure now.

What does their voice sound like?: Very quiet, slow speech with lots of pausing and restarting.

Accent?: none, just AMERICA

Unique mannerisms/physical habits: tugs at their hair when nervous or stressed.

Left handed or right?: left handed

Do they work out/exercise?: entirely too gangly and awkward for that.

BELIEFS & INTELLECT:

Known Languages: English, some ASL leftover from speech therapy as a kid

Zodiac: Cancer

Gifts/talents: Very artistically inclined- painting, sketching, sculpture, they’ve tried and loved it all. They’re not confident about much, but their art skills is a big source of pride.

Religious stance: Raised very religious and considers himself Christian, but has trouble reconciling their religion with now not only their sexual and gender identity, but their existence as a Wendigo.

Pet peeves: Nothing really gets to them, but the people who click their pens are on thin fucking ice.

Optimist or pessimist: optimist with depressive tendencies

Extrovert or introvert: introvert

INTIMACY & RELATIONSHPS:

Relationship status: single as a pringle

Sexual orientation: pansexual

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: someone who will see them and not be left wanting.

Ever been in love?: no.

What’s their love language?: quality time, physical touch

Most important person in their life?: Bren doesn’t really have anyone besides himself

VOCATION:

Level of education: High school graduate, has a couple semesters of an art history degree under their belt.

Profession: cashier at Hubbard Apothecary

Past occupations: Elf at Santa’s Village at the mall

Passions: art

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?: doing something they love.

SECRETS:

Phobias: public speaking, eye contact

Life goals: don’t hurt people and maybe make a friend or two.

Greatest fears: being alone

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: every single social interaction they have ever had haunts them in their sleep.

Something they’ve never told anyone: tbd.

PREFERENCES:

Hobbies: nature walks, really into flowers as well

Favorite color: lavender

Favorite smell: Wet dirt

Favorite food: french toast

Favorite book: They Both Die At The End

Favorite movie: Dead Poet’s Society

Favorite song: Somebody To Love- Queen

Coffee or tea?: Tea

Favorite type of weather: cloudy but dry

Most used word or phrase?: "Excuse me”

#each night i pray to you;brennan #salem.intro

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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 4 years

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Names are such funny things, Jester is discovering.

She knew from an early age that people held names close to their chests—when everyone from outside the Lavish Chateau called Mama the Ruby of the Sea, but everyone inside could say Marion Lavorre when the others were gone. And Jester, all alone in her room, could call her Mama when she read stories to her late at night with a tired but happy voice and kissed her hair.

Jester's name, too, held its own special place. No one except the Chateau's staff even knew she existed for so many years, much less her name. It was only spoken when Marion's could be. For a long time, she was nameless to all except her mother, Bluud, and the servants she got to see.

No surprise, then, that Genevieve never really caught on for Jester. It meant little else to her besides hiding.

But Mama told her about a tiefling tradition when she was really young. A tradition where you got to choose your own name when you were older based on a virtue—whatever you wanted to be, really.

"And Marion was who you wanted to be?" she said, scrunching her tiny child nose.

Mama laughed. "No, my love. It was the name my own parents gave me. I kept it."

Jester (Genevieve then) snuggled in closer to the crook of Mama's arm. "What name would you choose, then?"

"Hm. Well, I suppose I did choose my own name after a fashion."

"The Ruby." A hushed, dramatic whisper.

"Yes." Mama stroked Jester's blue locks, and she could hear the smile in her words. "A bright gem to awe people from every sea."

The memory of that tradition stuck with Jester. And a decade later, it was not Genevieve secreted away in a corner of the Chateau and from the lips of everyone who bought Mama's time, but Jester.

The choice was almost easy. When the Traveler came (another who kept his name close), everything about her life changed. He brought her so much joy in the days when they were both children—when Jester really began to figure out what loneliness was. When she grew older, he was still there for her. So it only made sense to embody the greatest gift her god gave her.

She wanted to help people smile like the court jesters did in the fairy tales she read. She wanted Mama to laugh, to erase those lines of weariness and strain on her face every night that she snuck into Jester's room.

And now, being outside the Lavish Chateau...

She's found that so many people need a Jester. And somehow, she's ended up with the best group of traveling companions she could've asked for—and every one of them, too, seem to know how funny names are.

Fjord's only other name before the Mighty Nein was something the orphanage made up for him, with no meaning to him at all, at least until they all found out that it happened to be the name of one of Caduceus's three families—his three closest names. Nott the Brave, Nott liked to joke, has no comma in it; she's not the brave, not the beautiful, not the impressive. For Veth, names can hurt.

Beau's name was supposed to be for a boy, she said. A son. Unfulfilled wishes to burden her. Yasha, so haunted by the ties that Orphan Maker gives her to the tribe who killed her wife and the cult that forced her to murder so many people. Molly with his own ghosts, and the accident of empty.

And Caleb...

"You don't know how Caleb feels about his name, do you?" Jester asks Frumpkin.

Frumpkin peers at her from his tucked-up position on her bed. He sauntered in a few minutes ago as she was settling in for the night. Jester is perched on the edge now, legs crossed under her, as she slowly strokes his back.

"He hasn't talked about it to us, you know," she says. "Like... we know his real name is Bren. But we all still call him Caleb. Do you think he doesn't like his old name?"

Frumpkin's tail lashes once, twice.

"No, I don't think so, either." Jester flops forward to drop her chin on her hand, her elbow propped on her knee. "He seems to miss it a lot, right? I see him look so sad whenever we talk about something close to his past. Well, even more sad than he normally looks, anyway."

She wants Caleb to be happier. More than anything else, that's what she wants for him. But she doesn't know if who she is, even with the name Jester, is enough to do that. She suspects she's right. Whatever is making Caleb so unhappy—not just his pain or his fear, she thinks he can't let go of something she can't see—that isn't something she can fix with a joke no matter how hard she tries. Or with a different name.

"I hope he's not hiding it if the name Caleb makes him uncomfortable," she tells Frumpkin. "You should let him know, okay? That if he wants us to call him Bren instead, that's fine. Names change all the time. I changed mine, you know."

Frumpkin lets out a little mrrp. It's out of interest in the conversation for sure, he's not a normal cat after all (not because Jester is giving him a good scritch under the chin).

"It used to be Genevieve, that's what my mama named me. But I didn't really like it, so I changed it. That's a thing tieflings do."

There is silence, because cats can't talk. Or at least Frumpkin can't really talk to Jester.

She pets him for another minute while staring at the wall with her chin still on the heel of her hand, then eventually she sighs and falls over onto the bed to splay out. It's not as comfortable as her bed back home, but she's used to that now.

"I wonder where your name came from," Jester says aloud. "Frumpkin. It's so squishy-sounding. Like you're a normal cat."

There's the soft sound of paw pads on fabric. Frumpkin appears by her face and sniffs her nose curiously before placing a paw onto her chest. She holds her breath as he climbs up fully and settles down, a warm and heavy weight atop her. Holding her breath probably wasn't a good idea. Now it's going to be harder to breathe, and she can't even sit up.

Jester smiles anyway and starts scratching Frumpkin around the ears. Gently, she can feel him begin to purr. "You're a good kitty. I hope you make Caleb happier."

#critical role #cr #cr2 #widojest #jester lavorre #marion lavorre #frumpkin #caleb widogast #widojest hiatus prompts #readmore #link #prim post #prim writes

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klcthebookworm · 3 years

Text

2020 My Year In Fic

2020 Fiction Word Count:

86691 / 126531 words. 69% done!

Insights To Not Forget:

So I had a beautiful plan that I was going to reset and hit the ground running for 2021. See Year Zero is Reset Year.

Covid-19 was officially found in my state March 9, 2020, and life found unforeseen territory.

March 24th, I had to adjust to working at home. June 1st, back to working in the office and commuting daily. November 30th, we're back on a modified work from home/office plan (day at home, next day commuting in). I haven't gotten sick and I haven't passed on covid-19 to anyone else. For 2020, that is the biggest win anyone can have. 1.83 million people (to date) didn't get that win.

Would I have forgotten about my buckle down and reset plans without a global pandemic distracting me? Quite likely, I tend to forget all my plans every year. In fact, the writing business plan that I made to cover the year (I use it below for all the goals of the year), the printed version is on my filing cabinet and covered with so many other notes, I can't read the plan. (Removed the notes). This is for 2019. I never printed out 2020's?

And you can see by the total words written, I came under what I wanted to write. Let's see what I accomplished this year.

Stories I Posted:

Star Wars: Sororal Lineality: Aftermath: Word count = 3309. The Fic Whining Circle was getting stories ready for May the Fourth. I decided that this story would be perfectly short to get it up and started writing on May 2nd. I didn't get it finished for May the Fourth, but put it up on Revenge of the Fifth. And then it turned out to be the only story I posted in 2020.

Stories I Finished:

Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences: Word count = 126,607 (31,008 written previously + 49,572 written in 2019 + 46,027). The first draft was finished on July 28th, and it took the rest of the year to get my first edits polished to a second draft for my beta to go over. Now I need to go prod her so I can start posting in 2021.

Star Wars: Sororal Lineality: MJ-0002: Word count = 5664 (387 written in 2019 + 5277). I finished this short story as planned after I finished Unexpected Consequences and before I picked up the next novel. I hope to post it after Unexpected Consequences, but I may need to use it for a May the Fourth story.

Stories I Didn't Finish:

Strix: Forget the Sun: Word count = 31,146 (26,588 written previously + 4279 written in 2019 + 279 written in January) I took a very tiny stab at this novel in January and promptly lost it to work on other things.

Star Wars: Looking For Home Future Timeline: Word count = 7598. So at the end of February, I got stuck on giving the Sequel Trilogy Trio better movie(s) and started writing detailed notes on a future story that will probably never been written. I had already put Rey and Poe Dameron in the sketchy future of the Looking For Home so I needed to figure out how to add Finn. I got stuck with the Third Act, and probably need to declare it has to be a trilogy to get the resolutions I want. Maybe I need a Death Star.

Star Wars: Everybody Lives But Maul: Another plot bunny developed during the year. Mara Jade was given to Darth Vader to annoy him so he would eventually murder her, but he bonds with her instead. So Palpatine orchestrates that Lady Vader's path crosses Maul's on Tatooine. Only Luke Skywalker and Biggs Darklighter ruin the planned outcomes, and Mara remains on Tatooine for her safety. I really don't know if it will be a novel or something else yet.

Star Wars: Everybody Lives But Maul: Prologue: Word count = 1385. So far all I have written in this AU is the scene of the adoption of Lady Vader. I don't know where this scene will end up in the finished work.

Star Wars: Rescue the Farmboy: Mission on Mimban: Word count = 22,882 (8093 written in 2019 + 14,789). After writing "MJ-0002," I came back to Mission on Mimban from the beginning. Still working on it.

What I Think About My Stories:

My favorite story this year: Star Wars: Unexpected Consequence. I can't wait to turn this one lose on the readers.

Story most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Star Wars: Looking For Home: Future Timeline. I really need to spend some more brain time on this one if just to find a conclusion that makes me happy.

Most fun story: Everybody Lives But Maul. I really wasn't expecting to write it accept the idea would not leave the muse alone and then this happened:

KLCtheBookWorm: I really don't know what to do with Vader and Leia... unless he goes into her cell deactivates the IO droid and "Now Princess can we discuss waging war against Palpatine? Because he orchestrated my first family's death, has tried to kill my daughter, and your rebellion has made her flee her safe haven so he will potential see her again. He will not have her or my grandson." Sithspit, why does the muse want to rewrite OT constantly? JediMordsith: lolol Hmmm.... that could be interesting. Or he could go to Bail. "I will give you your daughter back if you help me get mine back." KLCtheBookWorm: YOU GAVE ME MORE PEOPLE TO HELP LIVE! JediMordsith: Bail convinces the rest of the Rebel leaders to work with Vader to take down the Emperor because he knows what a father's love is. KLCtheBookWorm: I always consider Alderaan's destruction a fixed point in time But the conversation between Bail and Mon Mothma. "You wanna do what now?"

Yeah, at that point I will write it.

Stories I wrote that I never thought I'd write: Star Wars: Everybody Lives But Maul. Technically I haven't really started the narrative, but really, Muse, was not expecting yet another rewrite of the OT. This one is the third, after Rescue the Farmboy and Sororal Lineality.

Hardest story to write: Star Wars: Looking For Home Future Timeline. I have never gotten stuck in which I couldn't finish off an outline. And this is so stuck.

Biggest disappointment: Strix: Forget the Sun. I did not even try for NaNo during the pandemic. (Huge props to everyone who did). I'm considering to do NaNo in April instead in 2021 to finish this novel.

Biggest surprise: I only posted ONE THING! I'm not beating myself up for any of the results of 2020 because it was garbage year, but I honestly didn't plan to leave my readers hanging so hard. On the plus side, they will have at least 30 weeks of new content to read in 2021.

What's your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year? From Star Wars: Sororal Lineality: Aftermath.

Luke opened his eyes to Leia’s suspicious face. “She was arguing with Threepio. I went the other way.” “So she couldn’t put you back in the medbunk.” Leia bounced to her feet and helped leverage him out of his seat. “You are going right back to it and staying in it until we reach the Fleet, Commander.” “Aye, aye, Colonel,” Luke replied with less than the banter he normally did. He leaned heavily on Leia, more than he should. Lando finished locking down the controls and followed behind them. “Colonel? Not a General?” “Not a General yet,” Luke responded with a wheezy laugh.

It took a while to figure out what Leia's military actual rank is based of costumes and plot actions in Empire Strikes Back. Major Bren Derlin didn't get a yes from Leia because she loves the two men out in the cold, but because she out ranks him.

What's your favorite piece of description or narration you wrote this year? From Star Wars: Soroal Lineality: MJ-0002.

The last one she dared to open was a recording. Her memory replayed on the screen: a child’s best dress colored green as the recorder tilted down, followed by looking back at the sad adults in the shadows of the shuttle’s lights. She heard the woman’s quavering voice, “Please, don’t take my baby.” Then the gnarled hand extended from the sleeve of the black robe and a tiny hand took it, and the recorder turned to the lit hatch at the top of the ramp. Mara's surroundings registered in waves after that. Her glutes were tingling as she shifted from sitting in a collapsed position on the floor. The floor was cold stone. The recording was playing on a loop above her head. She hadn’t fainted because she wasn’t flat on her back. She climbed up to her feet and shut off the playback. Now the title of the file burned into her retinas, Primary Memory Imprint for Murdering Judges Clone Line.

I can't wait to share this story with readers.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would, less, or about what you predicted? Oh I came in under what I had aimed for, only writing to 69% of my goal that I set from what I wrote in 2019. But 2020 was a garbage year so I'm not beating myself up over word count results. As I went through the year though, I noticed that August and September were totally spent on just editing and no new words. That means I need to watch the schedule in 2021.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I have officially started the write a series of short stories and keep them under 7500 words. I need more practice writing short, which is why I plotted Sororal Lineality this way.

Did you meet last year's goals?

That's a no, and boy, how is it a no. 2021 Goal is to not have Leeloo laugh at me.

The goals from my unprinted 2020 one-page business plan are:

Use Ali Luke's Two Year Novel Plan to finish the Strix series

January - May 2020: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's first draft = Nope, not done yet.

June - October 2020: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's second draft = Nope.

Writing Star Wars AU fanfics

Finish Unexpected Consequences' first draft = Done

Start writing Sororal Lineality = Two stories done out of 28

Finish Rescue the Farmboy: Mission on Mimban's first draft = Nope, but I am currently writing it.

Send Unexpected Consequences to beta reader = Done

Send Sororal Lineality stories to beta reader = Done

Edit Unexpected Consequences = In Progress

Edit Sororal Lineality stories = Done

Post regularly to Intentionally Left Blank, Dreamwidth, Discipline Under Fire, Tumblr Random Thoughts, Pillowfort = Do once a week on Saturdays = I haven't been doing this at all. Tumblr posts happen when I'm home but usually reposting and not anything I have written.

BookWorm's Library website maintenance = Work on once a week on Sundays = Really need to do this

Make sure the software is up to date once a month

Add any files that need adding

Add Media Center to BookWorm's Library = Work on once a week on Sundays = Hasn't happened yet

Create section

Make artwork

Code section

Upload files

Add more fanfics to AO3

Upload Zackverse in story order = Nope, not yet

Upload Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences when edited on Ao3 = In Progress

Upload Sororal Lineality stories when edited = In Progress

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: Liberation to FF.net and the Library when finished = Oops, forgot about this

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: One More Service to FF.net and the Library when finished = Oops, forgot about this

Post Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences to FF.net = In Progress

Post Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences to Library = In Progress

My daily writing plans to help the above list of goals get done:

Write 600 daily words. Can be split among the projects. I'm making the yearly goal to reach whatever number I actually reach on December 31st.

Write and edit every day.

Schedule website updates and fanmix work on the weekends.

Work in meditation time with Brain FM.

Use my Kanban Flow checklist consistently.

Don't let chores pile up now that you have two jobs plus writing to do.

Reward myself when goals are reached throughout my Reset Year.

Do you have any goals for the coming year? The goals from my 2021 one-page business plan are:

Use Ali Luke's Two Year Novel Plan to finish the Strix series

April - August 2021: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's first draft (I'm going to push myself to get it done in by treating April as NaNo, but more time is available if I need it)

Sept. - Dec. 2021: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's second draft

Writing Star Wars AU fanfics

Finish Unexpected Consequences' third draft

Finish Rescue the Farmboy: Mission on Mimban's first draft

Edit Rescue the Farm: Mission on Mimban to second draft

Send Rescue the Farm: Mission on Mimban to beta reader

Finish Rescue the Farm: Mission on Mimban third draft/li>

Finish Sororal Lineality: Miha first draft

Edit Sororal Lineality: Miha to second draft

Send Sororal Lineality: Miha to beta reader

Finish Sororal Lineality: Miha third draft

Writing Zackverse

Work on Hyrueliana's overhaul

Post regularly to Intentionally Left Blank, Dreamwidth, Discipline Under Fire, and Tumblr Random Thoughts = Do once a week

BookWorm's Library website maintenance = Work on once a week on Sundays

Make sure the software is up to date once a month

Add any files that need adding

Add Media Center to BookWorm's Library = Work on once a week on Sundays

Create section

Make artwork

Code section

Upload files

Add more fanfics to AO3

Upload Zackverse in story order

Upload Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences when edited on Ao3

Upload Sororal Lineality: MJ-0002 on Ao3 on May 4th

Reload Sororal Lineality: Aftermath on Ao3

Upload Soroal Lineality: Miha to Ao3

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: Liberation to the Library

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: One More Service to the Library

Post Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences to Library

Upload Looking For Home: My Home Is You to the Library

Upload Looking For Home: Outcast to Library

Upload Sororal Lineality: MJ-0002 to the Library

Upload Sororal Lineality: Aftermath to the Library

Upload Sororal Lineality: Miha

Update FF.net profile of where newer stories are now

My daily writing plans to help the above list of goals get done:

Write 600 daily words. Can be split among the projects. I'm making the yearly goal to reach whatever number I actually reach on December 31st.

Write and edit every day.

Schedule website updates and fanmix work on the weekends.

Work in meditation time with Brain FM.

Use my Kanban Flow checklist consistently.

Don't let chores pile up now that you have two jobs plus writing to do.

Here's to 2021. We'll get through it together.

#fic life #2020 goals #2021 goals #my year in fanfic

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