MY HEART HAS NO PITY ON ME.

independent cassandra de rolo from critical role campaign one. written by katie.

[kestrael]

hey hey hey so this blog is an archive now ! if you want the new location / url let me know xo

[erzmagier-arc]

idk

astrid and cassandra standalones with multi sideblog

astrid standalone with multi standalone (w cassandra on it)

astrid standalone with multi sideblog (w cassandra on it)

for katie

Voting ended onAug 16, 2023

[kestrael]

torn between keeping cass here or putting her on the multi

[kestrael]

nothing but respect for MY guardian of woven stone

[kestrael]

hi i'm alive

[kestrael]

listen . . . . . i just think that cassandra de rolo deserves to be kissed more

[derangcdarchive-blog]

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

[turnedfolkl0re-gone]

the balcony that benedict had snuck her off to has become a bit of a sanctuary for her. any time they come to aubrey hall, sophie finds that it brings her a sort of comfort. a place where she can escape the eyes of the ton, the judgmental stares and invasive questions. it is a quiet, secluded place that she has come to rely on in moments such as these, when everything becomes a bit too much for her to handle.

or, in this case, someone that she cares about has become a bit to overwhelmed by it all as well.

pulling back the curtains of the balcony, sophie leads them across the stone and leans against the cool marble of the ledge with a sigh. green eyes meet with cassandra's pacing frame, a look of concern evident on her face. ❝ are you quite alright? you look a bit unnerved this evening. ❞

[kestrael]

cassandra does not settle much any more. and every year longer that she stays with her guardians it gets worse . . . though she does not know if attempting to escape them would be possible. though they've discussed wanting her to marry, she cannot imagine that she would be allowed to choose her own partner -- or that she would be allowed to be much further from them than she is now.

her shoulders are still tight, but they loosen a little now that she and sophie are in private. but her feet move fast, and she wants to remove her gloves to pick at the skin around her nails, already red and raw. but she can hold herself back from that -- at least for now.

"i . . . am as well as i ever am," she says, voice tight but still attempting to be warm. perhaps she's admitting more than she should, but it's hard not to on a day like this -- on an anniversary like this one.

[kestrael]

she was beginning to realize that people could survive most things. not because they were brave or strong, but because there wasn’t any choice.

independent ,  private ,  selective .  cassandra de rolo of critical role .  written by katie  ( she/they ,  25+ ) .  template .

[kestrael]

SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

[kestrael]

[ FIGHT ]: just as the receiver is about to be attacked, the sender arrives suddenly and begins to physically fight off their assailant.

cassandra is no stranger to fear. she's lived it for most of her life, after all -- but, somehow, this situation feels different. and perhaps it is -- instead of living in the clutches of a necromancer and a vampire, she's facing down someone -- something -- in an alleyway. her mother's sword gripped tightly in her hand, adjusting her grip to be able to defend herself in the very near future.

it's just as she's about to take a step forward that the . . . creature cries out, and both it and she look over its shoulder to see @inabsentiia getting involved. blue eyes track over the man and the way he seems to be operating on her behalf as the being lumbers around to face him instead of her. cassandra huffs, double-checking that there's nowhere she can escape at the moment before darting forward and getting a sneak attack on the now-distracted creature. "can i help you?" she can't help but to ask, annoyance reading before her relief.

[seeliecourtarchive]

@kestrael sent : " You're crying. " / for desmond!

" I- "   HE   CUTS   HIMSELF   OFF.   I   don't   mean   mean   to   be,   he   was   going   to   say.   He   doesn't   want   to   bother   her   with   this,   and   the   Count   had   taught   Desmond   to   fear   tears.

The   whole   day   has   been   like   someone   slowly   tightening   a   crank   on   his   stress.   He's   been   running   errands,   and   at   first   no   one   had   recognized   him.   Then   they   saw   his   hand,   and   prices   had   become   steeper,   eyes   more   watchful.   Then   he'd   heard   a   gun   shot.   At   first,   Desmond   was   too   panicked   to   do   anything   but   run.   Then   his   brain   distantly   starting   noting   things   like   the   fact   that   there've   been   no   screams   or   shots   since   the   first,   and   now   he   hears   the   usual   sounds   of   street   chatter.   But   his   heart   is   still   pounding,   and   all   he   wants   to   do   is   escape.

He's   found   himself   in   an   alley   that   had   looked   deeper   from   the   outside.   " I   heard   a   shot, "   he   whispers,   partly   out   of   precaution,   partly   because   his   throat   is   closing   up.    " Sh-   Sh-   Should   we   hide,   my   lady? "

[kestrael]

cassandra had been talking to her people -- something that she attempts to do somewhat often, or at least more often than her predecessors had. she'd been talking to some farmers when the shot had gone off -- a quick pause taken to make sure that everything is alright before they'd returned to their conversation.

a few moments later she'd seen desmond run by -- and she knows she has to make sure that he's alright. she ends her conversation pleasantly before hurrying after him and into the alley. she'd made sure to make enough noise that her appearance wouldn't be too much of a surprise to him as she approaches, coming to stand close to him but not too close for comfort for either of them.

"it was a misfire, desmond," she informs gently -- and she hopes that that will be actually helpful. she'd have to tell percy and kynan about the incident, of course -- the pale guards need to be trained on misfires. "we don't need to hide."

[kestrael]

oh god what is this

[kestrael]

holds the de rolos so gently in my hands

[kestrael]

here's the thing. cassandra is an immensely intelligent and powerful woman. she's incredibly self-possessed and logical and sharp. cassandra also can't live on her own. not because she's physically incapable of it, but she doesn't sleep well or live well when she doesn't live with another person/other people.

[akarii-memes]

Anonymously send me something your muse is secretly thinking about mine.

[kestrael]

me: an npc named desmond in the circus in c2e1: