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munsons-mutiny · 1 year

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I’ve had this headcanon forever and it’s just never come up anywhere, so I figured it’s time to write about it.

Caleb’s spell that he makes for Veth, Widogast’s Transmorigification, has major implications for Exandria’s trans population! This could be the magical equivalent of top or bottom surgery only it’s down to a biological level! I’m sure they’ve had their own procedures, but a body that you can personally design does seem like an upgrade from whatever technology/magic they have available!

I like to believe that Caleb doesn’t think about the spell in that context at first, why would he? It was designed for someone with a different type of body dysphoria, and he doesn’t interact with too many trans people (at least that he knows, I have no clue if he knows about Yussa, and they haven’t seen Bryce in ages).

But once he starts teaching, and establishes himself as a safe space for queer kids (you can’t tell me the empire is super open minded, especially their most prestigious traditional institution) the application becomes obvious. The first time his favorite student, a small purple tiefling named Aza who reminds him so much of Molly it hurts, comes to him mid-breakdown because of how bad the dysphoria is the solution just immediately pops into his head. He could fix this for her, give her the body she should’ve been born in.

He comforts her the best he can and then calls a meeting of the lgbt club he has set up (it’s run under the radar to make it safe even for students who aren’t out to their peers yet). Where he gives a presentation on the spell, and it’s capabilities, even has Veth come in to show the results and have her talk about her experience and if there had been any side effects.

A couple students in the room cry at the possibility, some remain uninterested, but many are enraptured with the idea.

In what seems like the blink of an eye Caleb has suddenly become an underground queer hero, he starts performing the spell free of cost to anyone who wants it and is above the legal age (you just have to help dig up the clay if you can). Ends up having a whole medical procedure to the spell, where he takes them to the blooming grove (which I imagine has plenty of clays heheh) where it’s peaceful and they can talk everything over with caduceus before and after. Who can guide them through their feelings much better than Caleb though he always tries his best. He always offer the option to go back as well (though they have to wait a year, which is of course stated beforehand) if it isn’t the solution they were hoping for.

(Totally off track but I fully believe Caduceus ends up super involved in Caleb’s queer club, there’s so little aro ace rep and seeing someone whose so confident in it would be so helpful for them, and I think it would be so comforting for Caddy to see others like him and to know he’s not alone in that)

They keep the whole operation quiet, but it spreads silently throughout the queer community, Astrid even stepping in a time or two to keep it off the Assembly’s radar (She may be straight, but she’s poly with a bi partner, and I believe she’ll use her powers for causes she believes in for better or worse. Thankfully this is one of them).

There’s still discrimination against the queer community, but this quiet movement starts to spread to the point that almost every member of the nein is involved. Beau uses her connections at the Soul to get new documentation for people with proper names and pronouns. Yasha starts running Rexxentrum’s first self-sustainable lgbt safehouse for kids with nowhere to go (the garden is incredible). Jester and Fjord turn Fjord’s old orphanage into a second lgbt safehouse after he gets it shut down. Veth adds lgbt education to her camps curriculum, and is an advocate for same sex healthcare in the Nicodranas school system. She has a tunic that says proud mother of a bisexual wizard that she wears a little too often much to Caleb’s chagrin. Even Kingsley (illegal pirate king that he may be, my beloved) ends up becoming as involved as possible in Caleb’s group. Loves learning more about gender identity, and becomes the first Plank King to be openly gender fluid (probably who knows, I don’t know much about Darktows history but I def didn’t get super queer vibes). Makes sure Dark-Tow is accepting of all who turn to piracy, and imposes harsh laws against discrimination.

Essek looks on all of this with pride, so proud of Caleb and even the small role that he got to play in the spells creation. It’s the first time he gets to see something he helped with create good in the world. With Caleb’s permission he ends up sneaking back into the dynasty and leaving a copy of the finished spell on the Bright Queens desk, with a big created by Caleb Widogast across it (with whatever the wizard equivalent of copyright is). In a culture that centers around rebirth in different bodies, the idea that you could choose to have your original body back is a big deal. Dysphoria after consecuted individuals get their magic back is a huge problem within the dynasty, and it does Essek a lot of good to know that he’s done something actually helpful for his country.

Basically this got super long winded and out of hand, and I know Matt has largely cut homophobia, transphobia, and non-fantasy racism from Exandria but this idea would just not leave me alone!! And either way the spells implications for a gender affirming procedure are still super relevant.

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stardusted-bookworm · 7 months

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It'd been so long since he'd felt warm.

Sure, he'd felt the warmth of the sun. Of fire. Of lava. But external heat rarely thawed internal frost. And he had been cold for so, so long.

He had felt a brief warmth in the company of his two friends, only to be snuffed out by the one they'd called teacher.

After that? Eleven years of numbing frost had crawled through his insides, shutting off everything but the bare minimum.

He thought he'd never feel the warmth again. Had made himself content with the frost, for that would be all he'd know for the rest of his life.

Until it wasn't. Until the frost cracked and broke, shaking off little by little.

As he met a little goblin girl as filthy as he was. His loyal companion who did not belong to the skin she had been forced into.

As he met a blue tiefling girl with her love for pastries and unwavering devotion, a handsome half-orc with a loyalty that ran as deep as the oceans he dreamed about, and a brusque human woman who was running from her past with the same fervor as he was.

As he met a giant aasimar woman whose fearsome countenance was belied by her gentle nature.

As he met a beautiful lavender tiefling who sparkled brightly in order to bring joy to everyone around them. Their brilliance was so strong, he could not help but be drawn to them.

When they lost the lavender tiefling to powerful enemies.... Well, he had thought the frost would come back to stay. Felt the edges of a familiar coldness return and prepared for the worst.

Then, a wise firbolg taught him that death is not the end, that there are many, many ways to honor those who have passed.

He felt the last of the frost thaw completely, and he finally allowed himself to mourn. Allowed himself to trust. Allowed himself to love again.

And oh, how he loved.

He loved his friends, his family, the way a well-fed fire burns: brightly and unceasingly warm.

He loved his partner, his beautiful and intelligent and flawed partner, the way the stars shine: luminously and without end. For as long as they should live.

And as he lays here, on his deathbed, Caleb Widogast cannot help but think how lucky he is to be able to love and to be loved. How lucky to have known and seen as much as he did. How lucky he is to be filled with a warmth that so many spend their whole lives searching for.

I have lived my life well, he thinks, heartbeat slowing. I have no regrets.

And as he exhales his last breath, he smiles. I have so many stories to tell you, Mutter und Vater.

#critical role #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #nott the brave #veth brenatto #jester lavorre #fjord stone #yasha nydoorin #mollymauk tealeaf #caduceus clay #essek thelyss #brief mention of shadowgast #but this is more about caleb's growth and love for his friends #i'm so normal about the dirt wizard i swear #ace writes

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demigoddessqueens · 1 year

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Could you write something with a reader who is really awkward and shy about touching their s/o? Maybe the first time they brush their hand against their s/o for the very first time and how they would react? Please make this one about percy, vax, molly, yasha and beau if you can? im just in love with them lately 💕

This is so cute 🥹! Also Mighty Nein my beloveds!!

Percy

He’s not as used to such open affection but he’s coming around to it. Percy knows it’s not your strong suit but he’s EXTREMELY patient with you and welcomes the gentle touches. Complete with the shy flushed smile he fails to hide

Vax’ildan

Thinks it’s the most precious thing about you, and gives you as much time and space that you need. Even if you are feeling bold on particular days, he can’t help but place a small kiss on your hand/along your fingers.

Mollymauk

Used to being the loud and center of attention, your shyness is a complement to the tiefling’s behavior. Still, he has soft praises to offer along with cheeky compliments. And he can’t help but wrap that tail around you with a purr.

Beau

She is more of the bold type and can��t help but tease you a little in the shyness. Sure she may try to hold your hand as a “next step” but she respects your boundaries, and still wants to see that other smile on your face.

Yasha

Your hand unknowingly brushed hers and through rapid apologies you see her expressions soften. Her story is not lost on you, and eventually you relent and ease into holding her hand.

A soothing voice of “it’s ok, I know.” puts you at ease and soon your grip tightens day by day around hers.

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spottedenchants · 22 days

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Relationship: Essek Thelyss & Yasha

Additional Tags: POV Yasha, Touch-Averse & Touch-Starved Essek, Platonic Kissing, Character Study, BG Beau/Yasha, BG Essek ~ Caleb, Past Molly & Yasha, Past Yasha/Zuala

Words: 1.3k

Summary:

Yasha has asked before if Essek is in love with her, and he has given her a pretty definite no. He has his thing about touching, though, and that’s what this was about. A test, is what he’d asked kind of shyly. They have learned it’s apparently not hurting him to hold her right now, and she keeps her hands to herself even so.

But he’s been staring. At her mouth. For minutes.

She finally teases, sure it will make him laugh instead of leave.

“You look like you want to kiss me.”

AKA Yasha gets to be Essek’s study buddy

Read on AO3

#yasha nydoorin #essek thelyss #xhorhas kids #chanse writing #surprise fic! by which i mean i am surprised it exists #but hey it's words #also yasha coming out of left field with the #'my best friend is happy in a relationship that i encouraged and now things feel different in a way I don't like' feels #surprise all around #this may or may not end up in TS main at a later date #we shall see

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fearnesbells · 4 months

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oh HIIIIIII

jackie also writes fic sometimes

when i should have said something true | beauyasha | 4k

read it on ao3!!

Summary:

She shifts slightly where she sits, and her face comes alive with a sharp wince of pain. A single tear, lit by the fire, slips down her cheek.

It’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking right at her—if you could trust that if you looked away, she’d still be there.

Which Beau can’t. So she sees it.

Beau can’t look away. Yasha can’t hide anymore. So maybe some codes and creeds can be left behind in the meantime.

*****

Every time Yasha comes back, her features are never quite like what Beau remembers.

Her eyes are impossibly gray—more gray than a feeble human mind could ever conjure up. Her jaw is sharper than memory serves, her cheekbones more carved.

The shadows seem to collect over her expression like they’re drawn there. They find dark harbor in the hollows of her face.

Beau tries her best to commit these things to memory, every time she’s around, holding every dynamic part of her as still as she can in the noise of her mind—it never quite works.

“What are you looking at?” Nott asks over her shoulder, the complete opposite of discreet. Beau shoves her away with no real force, instantly feeling her face flush. She never used to be this absentminded.

“Nothing,” she mutters gruffly. “Just thinking.”

They’re all packed close around their dying fire for the night, having just eaten, pallets and canopies set up to rest for when the moon has risen higher.

They’re not in any immediate danger, and it’s a nice feeling. A rare feeling, she realizes, nowadays.

In their peace, no one else seems to have noticed Beau’s wandering attention. Caleb is poring over one of his texts with a devouring gaze. Jester is sitting flush against Fjord on a log. Molly is flicking cards at Nott’s head, which is hovering over Beau’s shoulder.

And Yasha is sitting directly across from Beau, staring blank-eyed at the horizon, mysterious shadows playing over her face like always.

She shifts slightly where she sits, and her face comes alive with a sharp wince of pain. A single tear, lit by the fire, slips down her cheek.

It’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking right at her—if you could trust that if you looked away, she’d still be there.

Which Beau can’t. So she sees it.

Beau is a hurt person. She has made camp with other hurt people before. She knows the old dance.

Tread lightly. Handle carefully.

Keep everything held inside of you until you inevitably tear open, embarrassingly, and then gather it all up to be stitched back inside yourself by your own shaking hand.

She knows the dance, she’s done this before. When Yasha winces, she should look the other way and pretend she saw nothing. Let her hurt be hers.

“You alright?” she blurts instead, thick-headed with ale from earlier and just general, trademark Beauregard idiocy. She bites down hard on her tongue like it can take the words back.

Yasha blinks, likely unmoored from the breach of protocol. Tread lightly, handle carefully.

My hurt is mine. Your hurt is yours.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She stands up then, less gracefully than normal, and lumbers back into the woods somewhere without another word.

“I think it was something you said,” Nott says sagely, now sitting at Beau’s side, and Beau thumps her hard on the head with her staff in lieu of a reply, eyes on the spot in the trees where Yasha disappeared to.

Guilt chews at her stomach, an unrelenting thing with too many teeth. Wasn’t her business, whatever was causing Yasha pain. She should’ve just left well enough alone.

Furious with herself, she stands up too, her own anger rendering her unable to stay still.

“Going for a walk,” she bites out, and heads into the woods in the opposite direction from Yasha.

She hears chatter immediately start up when she stands, protests from Jester and a low question from Caleb and some kind of concern from Fjord, but she listens to none of it as she storms off.

Her discomfort is a somatic thing, full-bodied and weighty, infecting her whole person.

She feels heavily restless and densely stupid and tearful.

She is so fucked. How did this happen—how did she become this weak?

Everything is changing, shifting beneath her very feet, it feels like. She never believed in the gods, even when she was young, but at least she could rely on herself, lean on her own fists and staff and unwavering soul to be her guide.

Now she’s losing herself in gazes off to nowhere and becoming a sentimental fool in front of someone she respects. She doesn’t know who she is anymore. She has nothing left to rely on.

Her eyes burn as tears well in them, unbidden and unwanted, and she gnashes her teeth.

“This isn’t who I am,” she hisses, takes her staff in both hands and slams it against a boulder. She’s found herself on a clearing that looks out at the horizon, now, and it seems to whirl around her in her anger and fear and disorientation.

Her staff spins through her fingers, moves with the jerking twists of her wrist as she whales on every tree in her line of sight, her staff making the flat sound of wood on wood with every hit.

The trees become old ghosts, old enemies, thugs from alleys long ago that left her bleeding and broken.

Beauregard, what will you have to show for yourself?

“I am not weak!” she shouts at the memory, voice gone reedy with tears. “I am as I have always been—I have made something of myself—I have—”

With every assertion, she’s bringing her staff down as hard as she can on the biggest tree overlooking the cliff.

On the last word, her staff snaps.

Her eyes fly wide. The terrible, tearful anger leaves her body like she’s been hit with a spell, and she sinks to the forest floor, unable to hold herself up anymore.

This is all Beauregard, firstborn should-be son of the Lionetts, has to show for herself. Two broken pieces of wood, in her two shaking hands, the product of her own thoughtless loss of control.

A hand touches her shoulder.

“Beau.”

Startled, Beau grabs for her staff, which isn’t there. Before she can brace with her fists, though, the voice registers as familiar, and the fight goes out of her.

At the moment that she should have something to say, nothing comes. For once, her mind feels silent where it is normally packed full of noise.

Yasha sits down carefully on the ground next to Beau, leans all the way back and props herself up with her elbows before angling her body towards the monk.

This is one of the things Beau forgets. Yasha is always more angular than Beau remembers, every time.

All angles, all tuned towards the thing she cares about for the moment with the utmost precision and clarity. Right now, that thing is Beau.

It is intoxicating to be the central, geometrical point on which all of Yasha’s angles focus. It’s making Beau’s head spin.

“This is a nice spot,” she says casually, as if mentioning the weather. She speaks as if there aren’t wet tear tracks on Beau’s face and fresh wounds on all the trees around them.

Beau’s throat tightens. Yasha is honoring the code, the same code that Beau so stupidly stepped all over before.

“I am sorry about earlier,” she continues quietly.

Or maybe not.

She says nothing further, though, just sits there, huge and unmoving and silent. A mountain of a person. Beau, by contrast, feels something like a pebble. Eroded and ground down into a smooth shell of her jagged old self.

In the core of her, though, the grain of sand around which the layers of stone form, she feels a truth ebbing, stringing itself together into words. She locks her gaze on the moonlit horizon like it can save her from herself.

“I’m sorry, too,” she responds, just as quiet. It feels clunky when she says it. She hasn’t apologized to anyone in longer than she’d care to admit.

“No,” Yasha says. Beau flinches at the harshness in her tone, especially when no other words follow it, and she pulls her knees up to her chest in a sort of unconscious defense. “I mean—no. Do not be sorry, not for what you said. No.”

Beau chances a look away from the horizon and finds bright silver eyes, twin moons staring at her. Yasha’s gaze is almost too much to bear with its intensity, but not painful. Never painful. Beau just can’t help but feel laid bare before it, a sensation she is unused to. It cuts right to the core of her pebble self.

The always-falterless gaze falters for a moment, though, and flickers with that same pain from before.

This time, with clear intention, Yasha holds Beau’s eyes, and she does not run.

Beau does not understand Yasha. She cannot remember her features when she is away for too long. There are things she will never know—that none of them will—about the barbarian that sits at her side.

But right now, overlooking the tree line, Beau understands that Yasha is asking her for help as much as she is able to. And Beau will give it to her. Beau will give her anything that she needs. She wants to give her everything.

“What’s wrong?” Beau whispers, and with the slightest movement, Yasha’s eyes look down to her chest, to her ribs. Even in the shadows, Beau can see how her chest isn’t rising and falling as it should, how her breath is stuttering on its way out and in.

“Aw, gods,” Beau huffs, maybe a little tactlessly. “Why didn’t you tell Jester? She loves to heal. Fucking thrives off it.”

Yasha doesn’t answer. Beau didn’t entirely expect her to.

“Sit up,” she commands. This is familiar. This she can do. “I have some bandages on me, some salve. I can make something to hold your ribs so you don’t pop a fuckin’ lung later.”

“Do you need my shirt off?”

The question is phrased in the same tone, flat and businesslike, but when Beau looks up Yasha is smirking a little bit.

“Asshole,” she mutters through a grin, and lobs the salve at Yasha to catch before she remembers that it probably isn’t a good idea to make the woman with the busted ribs try and reach for anything when Yasha winces at the catch. “Sorry,” she tacks on as an afterthought. Casual apologies. She’s getting this. “You were right before, though. Strip.”

Yasha’s smirk grows, and she arches an eyebrow. “Mm. All right.”

“Not like—I’m not—”

Beauregard Lionett, the monk who eats pussy for breakfast, does not stutter like this. Good gods above.

“Just take your shirt off,” she mumbles, blushing hard. “Apply the salve where it hurts worst. I’ll bandage you up.”

Yasha starts to pull at the hem of her shirt, and as Beau is rifling through her belt for the pouch she hears the familiar sound of a hiss of pain forced through teeth.

Once the bandages are in hand, Beau gets to her feet and brushes her knuckles lightly at Yasha’s elbow as a notification of her presence.

“Don’t kill yourself,” she admonishes, gently as her abrasive voice is able, and once Yasha relaxes her tensed body Beau is able to slip the shirt the rest of the way off.

Her pale skin is spotted with burns, sliced through with scars, mottled over with bruises from the day. An especially ugly one purples and darkens at the edge of the wrapping around her chest.

“Do they feel broken?” Beau asks quietly, kneeling carefully at Yasha’s side, folding the shirt beside her. She ghosts her fingertips over the worst of the bruising, and Yasha hisses again.

“I don’t know,” she responds.

“I’ll wrap it for tonight. Then tomorrow, you’re talking to Jester first thing before we get moving, soon as she can cast again. I’ll march you to her tent myself.”

Yasha smiles slightly over at her. It’s something Beau prides herself on, being able to tell when the other woman is smiling.

Nott likes to go on and on about how she can’t tell, whine about how the barbarian never cracks a grin, but Beau knows the secret. You can’t look at the mouth; you’ve got to watch the eyes.

When Yasha smiles, her eyes dance.

“Okay,” she acquiesces now, and her eyes set to dancing.

Something light and warm settles in Beau’s chest at that. She gets to work, then, unrolling the bandages and twisting them tightly around Yasha’s midsection, careful to wrap firmly, but with gentle hands. Allowing some flexion for later healing is important, she remembers.

“The last time I did this, the other person was unconscious, and we were in the back of a moving cart,” she tells Yasha without thinking. She doesn’t expect any response, but after a beat Yasha nudges her with her shoulder.

“Hey!” Beau yelps, since the movement messed up her wrapping and she has to go back and fix it. She scowls (without any real anger) up at Yasha, who is looking at her with an open and curious expression.

“What happened?” she asks, brow quirked.

Beau grins, a little surprised at the interest. “We were running away from some bootleggers in town once—we’d been taking their barrels from their stock and reselling them before they could, and they were pissed—and Tori decided it would be a good idea to jump from the bridge onto a cart below as an escape plan.”

“Tori?”

Beau feels her mouth twist, and is grateful for the fact that Yasha can’t see her expression now.

“An ex-girlfriend,” she says simply. She’s cutting a lot out. My first girlfriend, actually. She’s dead now, probably, but I’ll never really know. I look for her in every city I’m in.

“Ah.”

“She was a lot smarter than me, if you can believe it,” Beau jokes, concentrating intently on the wrapping.

“Smarter than you?”

Beau looks up. She’s smirking again.

“If your ribs weren’t fucking broken, I’d punch you right now,” Beau mumbles, smiling back. “Anyway. She jumped, I jumped after her. She landed hard in the back of this guy’s cart, and I landed on top of her and felt something kind of… I felt bone break under me. And then I sat up, right, all in a panic—” she sits back on her heels for a minute and tries to do an impression of her blind, young fear—“and I notice that she’s out cold. She had hit her head on something when she landed. We scared the shit out of the horse leading the cart, so it took off sprinting over the cobblestones. I had to set her ribs while all this was happening.”

“Did it work?” Yasha asks.

“Yeah, yeah, it worked,” Beau replies, nodding. “She was fine.”

“What happened? With her?”

“We got thrown in jail and I never saw her again,” Beau says shortly, and ties off the bandage. “I think I’m done. How does it feel?”

“Secure,” Yasha says with a nod. “I… thank you. You did not have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did,” Beau says offhandedly, shrugs. “No big.”

“I’m also sorry. About Tori.”

Beau nods. This time, she swallows hard as she stands up. “Yeah. Me too.”

She offers Yasha a hand to stand up, which she takes graciously, even though she does most of the actual work of standing up on her own. She takes a few steps, a few deep breaths, and her winces aren’t quite as piercing this time.

Her skin glows under the moon.

“Thank you,” she says again. “This was very good of you to do. You did not have to do it,” she repeats. She’s standing a few feet ahead of Beau, with her back turned to her.

“Gods, Yasha, stop saying—”

“What you saw at the fire was not because of… of this, though,” she continues, gesturing to Beau’s careful wrapping. “I was not thinking about this. Or it was not what made me cry.”

Beau stands there, hands useless at her sides. Her tongue feels overlarge and clumsy in her mouth, so she does not speak.

“Zuala died on this day.”

The silence returns, grows, until it has yawned too wide for too long—Yasha will not volunteer more without urging, and Beau cannot make her voice work to ask the question that will have her continue.

When Yasha finally cuts her moon-gaze back on Beau, it is filled with the unfamiliar shine of tears while also holding a painfully familiar yearning.

It’s the same look as before. When the need for help becomes so basal, so desperate, that it can’t be vocalized. When all you can do is look and hope that the other person can see.

Beau holds her gaze as she walks over to her, closer to the lip of the bluff, and bravely, stupidly, she takes the hand of the mountain at her side.

“Tell me,” she says, feeling scars under the skin she rubs a thumb over. This is not the prompting question she meant to ask. This is something else. This is permission, trust, given with the whole of herself.

Yasha looks at their joined hands, and a few tears that have been gathering in her eyes slip free to the shadows of her cheeks.

“She was my wife,” she says softly. “Zuala.”

A name, spoken as a prayer.

“Zuala,” Beau echoes. It isn’t cold, but a chill freezes its way over the back of her neck at speaking the name aloud.

“We were children together,” Yasha murmurs. “Both rescued from death by the clan. We trained side by side, took sacraments together, were sent into battle at each other’s side.”

A memory of Tori’s smile, aimed at Beau from across a tavern, rumbles in a low flash across her mind like heat lightning at Yasha’s words.

“She was calculated. And strong. And far braver than I ever was or can ever hope to be. We got married, in defiance of the Dolorav ways, and because of me, we were caught,” Yasha continues. Her words are becoming heavier as she goes on. “We went back. I wanted—the woman who raised me, I thought—I wanted her blessing,” she says, listless. “Stupid. Ill-calculated. Zuala knew it, too, but she followed me despite.”

“They killed her?”

“Yes.” That one word seems to hold what feels like all the pain in the realms. “So I killed them all.”

Without meaning to, Beau grasps at Yasha’s hand tighter. She has this unfounded fear that the woman will be sucked into the earth below them with all of this weight she carries.

“How many years has she been gone?”

“Too many. Not enough.”

Beau swallows.

“Grief is not good,” Yasha says inelegantly. “It has made me do bad things in her absence. So when this day comes, I do not just remember her. I remember what I have done—the terrible crimes I have committed—in her name.” Her massive, mountainous shoulders begin to quake. “Beau, she would be so ashamed of me.”

Beau stifles the instant no that rises in response. Who is she, to decide someone’s guilt? She knows that a dark past gnashes at your heels like an enormous direwolf. Some empty denial will do nothing to dull the sharpness of its teeth.

Instead of speaking, then, she moves so that she can stand facing Yasha, and takes her other hand in her own unoccupied one.

Owls warble in the trees.

“Everything is changing,” she tells her, quiet. “Including me. I’ve been trying like hell to pretend I’m not, but maybe I should let myself change.”

“I like you as you are,” Yasha says strongly, and the moment is still achingly serious but that makes Beau smile a little.

“I’m trying to say that nothing is permanent. For better, for worse, yeah? If you want to change for the better, to be someone that Zuala would be proud of, you can. Maybe you already are. It feels like you change every time I see you.”

Those eyes, again. Right to the core of her.

Yasha leans down, and touches her forehead to Beau’s.

It would be easy to close the gap—to fall into the heat of kissing her hard and melt away all of this heaviness—which is why Beau thinks she doesn’t do it.

She wants to do this right, for once in her goddamned life.

So she holds Yasha’s eyes, inches from her own, and just rests her forehead against the other woman’s, holds her hands in hers.

“You broke your staff,” Yasha whispers. Her breath is cold, like fog.

“Yeah,” Beau says roughly, and closes her eyes to stem the flow of memory that comes with all her old anger, the same old anger that snapped her staff in two. Tori’s face goes across her mind again, followed by the incensed features of her father.

The Lionett name and legacy is really just historical, ancestral anger, corked in a barrel of Lionett ale.

“What happened?”

“Grief is not good,” Beau murmurs, parroting Yasha’s turn of phrase with a humorless smile. “I’ve also done things I’m not proud of. And many people are ashamed of me.”

“Things are changing,” Yasha responds. “Someone wise told me that everything is.”

She steps away from the moment, slowly, like she’s giving Beau time to adjust to the loss, and picks up the two halves of the staff. They look tiny in her hands.

“Step back,” she commands, the power returned to her voice. It is objectively incredibly hot.

She stands closer to the edge of the cliff, stares into the clouds that cling to the edge of the moon. She slams the two pieces of the staff together, and a bolt of impossible lightning finds the barbarian’s body like it’s been called there.

White heat, white light, the pure sense of ozone that makes Beau’s teeth hot in her jaw, and when it fades Yasha holds out Beau’s staff, re-fused into one weapon.

“How in the seven hells—”

“I change every time you see me, you said,” Yasha tells her with the beginning of a smile. “Didn’t want to leave you without something new.”

Beau takes the staff with awe, but her ears catch on part of Yasha’s sentence.

“So you’re leaving again?”

“I must,” she says, not without regret. “It is part of the changing. Part of my atonement.” She must see the shift in Beau’s posture. “But I will not leave tonight.”

She takes Beau’s free hand again, and leftover lighting seems to crackle between them.

“Head back?” Beau asks, clearing her throat.

Yasha nods, and keeps holding her hand as they make their way up the outcropping back to the rest of the Nein.

My hurt is mine. My hurt is also yours.

A new code. A new creed.

Everything is changing, including the woman at Beau’s side, but they have torn themselves open in front of one another and trusted the other to stitch them back up.

Beau trusts now that if she looks away, Yasha will still be there when her glance returns. Often, the barbarian is looking right back.

Beauregard, what will you have to show for yourself?

Her father’s old words, spoken to her in that jail cell so long ago, rise into her mind again, always there no matter what she does, but they are quieter than they were before.

I have made something of myself, Beau thinks again, without the rage and desperation of earlier. She looks around the fire to her friends and feels a similar warmth in her chest, cranes her neck to see the full moon and thinks of dancing eyes.

I have made something of myself.

I am making something new.

#critical role #beauyasha #beau x yasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #critical role fanfiction #cr spoilers #cr fanfic #cr fanfiction #critical role fic #jackie loves the lesbians #jackie writes #STORM BUTCH BLUES

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after-witch · 2 years

Text

Infirmity [Yandere Sesshomaru x Reader]

Title: Infirmity [Yandere Sesshomaru x Reader]

Synopsis: Sesshomaru doesn’t know why he doesn’t just put you out of his misery.

Word Count: 1298

notes: yandere, (previously) kidnapped reader, some violence and gore

You are a nuisance. Always requiring more time and care, food and shelter and protection, than he should ever deign to give anyone, much less a human. Your very weakness proves his inherent superiority to your species, and every time he sees you stumble during his travels, every time you require rest and nourishment, he reminds himself of that fact.

Yet he cannot think of that now, despite the situation he’s found you in. All he can think of is red. The dark red of your blood congealing on the ground, staining the grass and dirt. The bright red coating your stomach in harsh red gashes which ooze with green poison. The poison stinks even from several feet away.

The red of his own eyes as he feels a dark blood lust envelope his body with sickening warmth. He can feel himself giving into it even as he wonders why he should be this upset at all. Should he not simply strike the demon down with coldness, and deal with you--alive or dead--as it comes? But there’s anger within him, unexpected, burdensome, and he can feel it pushing him fast and hard to act more rashly.

You’d been taken. He had left you in a makeshift camp in order to take care of business that you had no part in, trusting Jaken to watch over you. Yet he’d returned to find Jaken unconscious and you nowhere to be found. There had been the brief thought that you’d managed to knock his servant out before escaping, but the thought was wiped by the pungent stink of some lesser demon, left behind in clear trails that gave him an instant picture of what had occurred.

True, the demon in front of him is nothing… to Sesshomaru. He will kill it in seconds, he knows. Yet to you, this demon is a death sentence--or close to it. Your skin, fragile and soft, was clearly no match for even the lightest cut from its claws. Even without the poison inside them, Sesshomaru is sure that you would have bled to death, if he hadn’t found you.

You might still die. And it’s this thought that makes him strike out with his sword, red hot.

The demon is cut down with a single swipe--cut in half, but Sesshomaru takes no satisfaction in the guts that spill out, in the frozen look of horror on the demon’s face as it dies. He only sees you, lying on the ground, free from the demon’s grip but not the wounds it inflicted.

Your chest rises and falls; you should be heaving, but your body barely moves.

Sesshomaru is at your side in moments, dead demon forgotten. He crouches down, paying no mind to the blood seeping through his clothing.

The wounds are deep. Blood is everywhere--all yours, except for the fresh streak let loose by the arch of his sword through the demon’s midsection--and the harsh metallic smell tickles his nose. Without thinking, he tears off a piece of his clothing and wraps it tightly around your midsection. It won’t stem the flow completely, but perhaps it will keep until he decides what to do.

It’s the poison that worries him the most. He’s familiar with this type of poison, and while it can be healed, it’s only with much difficulty. He would be stuck watching over you for days, likely weeks. He would have to bring you home to his manor, a place whose threshold he never intended you to cross--it was not a place for a lowly human. The thought alone should make him put you out of your misery, nuisance that you are, and yet…

The way your face turns toward him, eyes barely opening, gives him the strangest pause.

“My… my lord?” You ask, voice feeble. It had taken months for your pride to ebb away enough to call him that. He remembers the prim satisfaction that came with you acquiescing to the title. But it’s not pride that fills him now, but something else. Fear? No, not exactly. Worry, maybe--or concern. Concern over you and your fate. It’s a strange feeling, one he is wholly unaccustomed to feeling.

“You saved me?”

“You’re injured,” he says simply. “Don’t try to move.” Although he doesn’t think you could move if you wanted to.

Your mouth twists into a helpless frown, and your eyes seem clouded as you try to meet his gaze.

“Am I dying?” You sound so desperately sad and pathetic.

Again, he knows that putting you out of your misery is the most sensible option. You were no good to him as a servant like this, were you? And that is surely why he took you, when your village offered you up as a sacrifice. A woman, even a human one, would be far better equipped for certain tasks than Jaken was.

And then your eyes look not at him, but beyond him. Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth moves, but the words that come out make little sense to him. “I don’t want to… mother says we’re not meant to go in those woods… I saw him once, but he didn’t see me… will you bring the lanterns in?”

You’re delusional. It’s to be expected. Your wounds are severe and perhaps you won’t make it after all…

Your hand reaches out for his, clutching his fingers in a weakened grip. You’re trying to say something, but nothing comes out. You’re too weak for it.

On instinct, his hand hovers for the Tensaiga. But you were not dead. The Tensaiga could return someone from death, but it could not heal the wounds of the living. There is nothing to be done, on that end.

No, you would have to be healed with medicine and time and care. He looks down at your feeble body and imagines himself doing it, imagines giving the orders for his servants to prepare the right medicines.

He thinks of how you would heal slowly, under his orders. And then an image comes to him, muddy but strong: your guilty face as he admonishes you for trying to perform your normal duties--mending and cooking and cleaning--once you felt a little better. You might bite your lower lip and apologize, calling him my lord in a way that had begun to give him pleasure.

The way his stomach twisted at that vision almost makes him recoil from you entirely. Who are you, truly, to cause such reactions in a demon lord?

Many things. You are many things.

You are a nuisance, a thorn in his shoes; he doesn’t know why he can’t simply rip you out and let the wound heal, forgetting you along the way.

You slow him down and require him to correct your behavior, as if you’re some novice apprentice without any experience or care in the world. You talk too much, musing on this or that in your travels. You breach the lines of propriety, though he can usually count on Jaken to admonish you for daring to ask personal questions of your lord.

You are all these things, and yet there’s something more; it’s this more which makes him push away the idea of letting you go. Death won’t reach you, not now, in any case. You are not just a nuisance, not just a thorn: you are his.

And with that thought, he reaches down and scoops you up, mindful of the wounds on your stomach.

He walks past Jaken, watching the scene from the vantage point Sesshomaru placed him at earlier.

“Let’s go, Jaken. I’m taking them home for recovery.”

For once, his staff-wielding servant is too shocked to offer an incredulous answer in reply.

In his arms, you breathe against him. Weak and clinging to life--but you breathe.

It’s enough.

#yandere sesshomaru #yandere sesshoumaru #sesshomaru x reader #yandere inu yasha #yandere #afterwitch writes

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budgie-city · 8 months

Text

Character introduction: YASHA

Occupation: Handicraft

Color variation: sky blue normal

A traveler from distant forests. Since his childhood, he dreamed of getting away from his tiny village (consisting mainly of his numerous younger sisters) to a big city and staying there to live. In the place where he lived, Budgie City was treated more like a beautiful legend than a real place. But he believed in it. And reached his dream.

He achieved this dream by himself, but his arrival got really badly timed, so instead of a bright city life full of new friends and possibilities, he started getting wild and not very pleasant adventures...

Hyperactive, clingy, fiercely sociable and does not really understand why everyone around is so tense. Gesha finds him annoying, Gosha tries to cope, but fails miserably.

#budgie city #character design #character introduction #original writing #original character #character info #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #didgital art #Yasha budgie city #Yasha

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beauregardlionett · 1 month

Text

'til death do us part (vow unbroken)

AO3 Link

Beau plopped herself down on Yasha’s lap, knees on either side of her wife’s hips as she grinned down at Yasha’s tired but fond expression.

Her wife. Beau couldn’t believe she got to say that now.

In some ways, marrying Yasha hadn’t changed things. They had been living in the same simple but homey cottage together for a while now. They shared a bed, a home, a good portion of their lives. Most of this did not change with their newly minted marriage.

In other ways, marrying Yasha changed everything.

Yasha’s hands settled on Beau’s hips, her thumbs smoothing over the bony prominences with easy familiarity. Beau leaned forward enough to bury her fingers in Yasha’s hair—undone from the beautiful, intricate braids she had worn during their wedding earlier.

“Hi,” Yasha hummed.

“Hey,” Beau chuckled, scratching at Yasha’s scalp. “How you doing, babe?”

“Today was wonderful,” Yasha said, eyes bright and voice giddy. “But I’m tired, and glad it’s just us now.”

“Me too,” Beau sighed, leaning down to press a kiss against Yasha’s forehead.

They lingered in the moment's stillness until Yasha shifted beneath Beau. The movement prompted Beau to pull back, just enough to look down at Yasha with a brow raised in question.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” Yasha murmured after a moment. “All of this...joy. I wonder sometimes if this is just a dream.”

Beau heard the things Yasha didn’t say underneath the half-confession. That Yasha wasn’t sure she deserved this, the ever present worry that she had killed Beau back in that cathedral and this was all a made up scenario to cope. Or worse, the lingering effects of a spell lying to her. They’d had this conversation before, and they would likely have it again. Beau understood, more than Yasha might realize.

Sometimes she also couldn’t even believe this was real. But she wasn’t the one who needed convincing right now.

“This is real, Yash,” Beau murmured, bending slightly to catch Yasha’s eye. “I promise.”

Yasha smiled, a tight, close lipped thing—clearly unconvinced but trying not to worry Beau. Realizing she would have to be more persuasive, Beau shifted her weight and smiled.

“You,” Beau said with emphasis as she scooped up one of Yasha’s hands into her own. “Are wonderful.”

Beau leaned down and kissed the pad of Yasha’s ring finger. “You’re thoughtful.” She flipped Yasha’s hand over and kissed her knuckles. “You’re funny.” Beau pressed her lips to the inside of Yasha’s wrist, lingering over her pulse point as she glanced up at her wife.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Yasha flushed but didn’t glance away and left her hand in Beau’s grasp. Beau grinned, moving to kiss the crease of Yasha’s elbow. “You’re strong and brave and unfailingly loyal.”

Shifting her weight forward so she could lean in close, Beau pressed a long kiss to the curve of Yasha’s shoulder. She turned her head to the side and pressed her cheek against the spot she had just kissed, beaming up at Yasha’s flushed cheeks.

“You care so deeply about me and our family.” She heard the shaky exhale Yasha let out as Beau shifted again, moving to drag her lips up the column of Yasha’s throat. She pressed a sweet kiss to the curve of Yasha’s jaw, grinning against the tender skin there.

“You are a monochromatic vision in a world of color.”

Beau leaned back just enough to settle her hands on Yasha’s shoulders and drink in the dazed, loving look she got in return. The words were a familiar weight on Beau's tongue. It was the same thing she had said to Yasha when they were on their first date together, tentative and fumbling and desperate not to fuck up as the threat of imminent death hung over their heads. But here, and now, there was no threat to their lives. There was only the quiet crackle of the fire in their hearth and the deep, comfortable knowledge of security.

With a grin of her own, Beau leaned down and captured Yasha’s lips in a long kiss. It wasn’t anything like the more chaste, somewhat formal kiss they had shared at the altar in front of their friends and family earlier. This was something better, something that tasted like wine and devotion, something holier than Beau could ever imagine.

As they broke apart, lingering scarcely centimeters from each other, Beau said breathlessly, “you’re my wife. And this is real—I promise.”

A grin brighter than anything Beau had ever seen before split across Yasha’s face. Her hands skimmed up Beau’s back to wrap her up in a firm embrace as Yasha laughed, high and sweet.

“You are my wife.” And, oh. Beau understood now why Yasha looked so fucking giddy now. That was such a wondrous thing to proclaim.

Beau buried her face in Yasha's hair, pressing another kiss there as she returned the embrace and laughed. This was familiar, easy. Marrying Yasha hadn't changed anything. Marrying Yasha had changed everything.

#cr #critical role #my writing #writing #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #idfk i'm procrastinating and wanted to write something fluffy #y'know to distract from the horrors

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kotamagic · 1 year

Text

Kagome's friends: OMG Kagome! We're going to a haunted house! Come with us! And bring your friend Inu Yasha! It'll be fun!

Kagome: *deep breath* How... do I explain to you what a horrible idea that is......

#inuyasha #inu yasha #kagome #haunted house #word prompt #writing prompt #fanfiction

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thelavendersquid · 7 months

Text

Weak Spots

Tickletober Day 4

Essek denies having any weak spots. It doesn't take long to determine that is a lie.

Fandom: Critical Role (The Mighty Nein)

Words: 1.5K

AO3 Link

“So,” Fjord begins, once the little group is settled into the comforts of the dome somewhere deep inside Aeor. Essek is left pondering their comfort in such tight quarters. It’s stressing him out.

Fjord goes on. “We’re probably going to be fighting Lucien in the next day or two and I think we need to get prepared. I know our plans usually go to shit at the last minute but we should at least try. Let’s start with what we’ve got - strengths, weaknesses, put it all out there. I don’t want him to find anything he can use against us that we aren’t prepared for.”

Essek starts to zone out, tuning out the rest of this conversation. They’ll have to forgive him - he really doesn’t need to listen to a list of weaknesses and potential solutions. He’s already accepted his fate. He leans back against one side of the dome, staring off into space and letting his mind drift to the dunamis the group discovered earlier, running through what it could possibly mean.

He’s snapped back to the present when the conversation suddenly shifts to him. “Essek? What about you?”

Essek blinks quickly and pushes himself up a bit straighter, turning to look at the others. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

“I was just asking if you have any strengths, weaknesses, anything we could use against Lucien or he could exploit against us?” Fjord raises an eyebrow at him.

Essek shakes his head. “No particular strengths you haven’t already seen, I’m afraid.”

“What about weaknesses?”

Essek pulls his cloak around himself like a blanket and shakes his head again. “Only that I am like Caleb, a bit - ah, what did you call it? ‘Squishy’.”

“Wizards,” Fjord agrees with a wry nod. He turns back to the others. Essek leans back against the dome wall again, relieved that the conversation seems to have moved on from him.

Beau pipes up from a few feet away across the dome. “Any specific squishy weak spots? Caleb has several.” She shoots both Essek and Caleb a smirk.

Essek blinks in surprise but shakes his head. “Not in particular.”

It’s at this moment that Essek feels something against his sock. He flinches away sharply with a muffled yelp - and looks down expecting to find an insect crawling on him. Instead he finds Veth, crouched and grinning up at him - and holding one of her feathers mere inches away from his foot.

The energy in the dome shifts in a split second. Essek can feel it and is not comforted by doing so. He doesn’t have to look up to be acutely aware that everyone is grinning at him. The sudden sense of mischief is palatable, and Essek can’t imagine how he’s going to get out of this one.

“What was that, Essek?” Veth asks. She’s still grinning up at him with a downright evil look.

“Nothing,” Essek says quickly. He starts pulling his foot away, going to tuck them both underneath his robe. “I-“

He’s cut off as Veth, with lightning-quick reflexes, grabs his foot before he can successfully hide it and flutters the feather over it again. Essek yelps again - louder this time, causing a flush to leap to his cheeks - and his ears flick as a spasm runs up his leg and throughout his whole body.

Jester squeals and claps her hands in delight. She is suddenly very close, Essek realizes - it is not a comforting realization.

“Es-sek! Are you ticklish?!”

Essek opens his mouth to respond. He doesn’t get a chance before Jester grabs his other foot (how did that happen, he thought he’d pulled that one underneath his cloak already) and spiders her claws against the heel. And Essek yelps his loudest yet and slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle any more noise - as well as the grin that’s forcing its way onto his face. He leans back against the side of the dome, as far away as he can get, squeezing his eyes shut.

Jester laughs at him and it’s almost enough to make him break and let out the giggles that are threatening to spill over. Instead he squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and shakes his head frantically.

Jester giggles at that. “I think you are!” She sets to work scratching against his heel again.

Before he can even begin to adjust to that, Essek feels a second set of fingers grab his other foot - Veth, who has given up on the feather it seems. “You know what this looks like to me?” Veth asks, grinning brightly and holding up his foot. “A weak spot.” She punctuates this with a sudden scribbling across the sole of his foot.

And Essek can’t hold back - he bursts into giggles, muffled against the palm of his hand. His ears are twitching frantically and he shakes his head side to side, kicking his feet in a desperate attempt to break free.

He hears the others start laughing too. His face flushes white-hot.

There’s shuffling and then another set of hands grabs his foot. Beauregard’s voice breaks through Essek’s giggles. “Here, I’ll hold his foot so he can’t get away.” And then, sure enough, he can’t move his foot even an inch - and Jester, with a delighted giggle, sets to work scribbling and scratching and working her way up towards his toes.

Essek’s brain short-circuits. His hand flies away from his face as his body jackknives and he attempts to frantically bat Jester’s hands away. To no avail - and he dissolves into laughter. “NOHOHOHOHO NOHAHAHAHA NOT THERE!” He falls back against the dome again, laughing.

Essek doesn’t notice the others moving in closer, but he does notice when his other foot suddenly becomes just as immobile as the first. His eyes blink open just long enough to see Yasha, smiling at him as she holds fast to his foot, while Veth pokes one finger under his toes and scribbles others over the top of his foot - and why does that tickle so much?! Essek yelps again and attempts to yank his feet free - but Beau and Yasha hold firm and he gets nowhere. Instead he collapses back against the wall, turning to bury his face in his arm and resigning himself to laughter.

Veth’s grin is clear in her voice. “Wow, Essek, you’d better hope Lucien doesn’t find out about this! We would be screwed!” Essek could never hope to respond, laughing himself silly as he is.

There’s a sudden feeling against one of Essek’s ears - which have been twitching frantically as he laughs - and Essek spasms so hard he almost pulls out of Beau and Yasha’s hold. Almost - they quickly grab him again and hold on tighter. Caleb, who is now sitting right next to Essek’s head (Essek realizes he’s slid almost all the way to the floor - that’s unfortunate), runs another finger over the elf’s ear, wiggling it ever-so-gently. Essek cackles.

Caleb laughs and tries it again, and Essek feels as if he’s going to shiver out of his own skin. He shudders, twisting frantically away from Caleb’s evil, evil fingers and slapping at the ground. He's laughing harder than he ever thought possible.

Fjord laughs from somewhere to Essek’s left. “Two weak spots? Man, Thelyss, how do you function?”

“SHHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHHUHUP!” Essek’s retort carries no malice, he can barely get the words out through his laughter. Fjord laughs along with him.

There’s another shuffling sound and a warm, fuzzy hand flutters against Essek’s other ear. Light above, they’re going to actually kill him. Caduceus’ slightly fuzzy fingers are even more ticklish, if that were possibly. Essek’s laughter kicks up another octave. He spasms again, leaning forward and hands suddenly flailing desperately in attempt to push someone, any of them away - but he can’t coordinate himself enough to even began to manage that. He collapses back into laughter and falls over onto Caleb, burying his face in his shoulder as he shakes apart with laughter.

Caleb smiles and brings a hand up to wrap around Essek’s shoulders and pull him closer. This means, mercifully, that Caleb’s hand is no longer scratching against his ear. Less mercifully, Caleb brings his other hand into play - slipping it underneath Essek’s cloak to wiggle against his ribs. Essek yelps again and slaps a hand against his back involuntarily. He feels more than hears Caleb’s chuckles along with him.

Fjord slides in next to Caleb and joins in, hands sliding underneath Essek’s coat and tickling. Essek feels sure his face is going to split open with how wide he’s beaming and his whole body is sure to explode into a million pieces from laughter.

Nevertheless, it’s nice. He had forgotten what this felt like, the warm feeling of laughing and being held close and tickled apart. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d find himself enjoying it with friends - but here he is. Perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised, life has certainly handed him stranger surprises in the last few months.

Jester’s fingers are under his toes again. Caduceus is scribbling behind his ear in a way that makes him want to scream. Veth, Fjord and Caleb are methodically taking him apart. Beau and Yasha are joining in the fun, fingers spidering over his feet and legs, squeezing at his knees. They’re all laughing at him. And all Essek can do is laugh and laugh and laugh.

Perhaps having weak spots isn't so bad.

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