#scott's stuff

[fjordfjucks]

can’t wait to see how tumblr destroys the quality of these

anyway i spent all day hiking bear mountain with my dad and I need to go back like tomorrow 

[fjordfjucks]

[fjordfjucks]

I'll be dreaming every night of you I'll be shaking at the sight

my boy Siril has had some unsettling developments lately of the patron variety

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have some cute lions i saw at the zoo last week

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I miss upstate already :(

[fjordfjucks]

ficlet commission for @challengeyourfate !!! a little retcon of the beach party with added widomauk

The resurrection was seemingly a bust. If that had been in fact what Caduceus had cast, none of them could truly be sure. It was a hand dug into a fresh grave, a focused gaze, and words that only comforted them as much as they confused them. The perfectly Mollymauk shaped wound they all shared had been ripped open yet again, and no one could decide if it had been worth it this time around. It wasn’t until they were loading up for the next leg of their journey, a place some thought of as home and others longed to see, that stumbling feet brought a familiar tiefling back to them.

The journey was long, but they were grateful for it. It left time to talk, to catch up like Molly had been gone for ages because that’s exactly what it felt like. There were holes in his memory, to be expected at the very least, and blood still stained the front of his shirt in a stark reminder of what had ripped them apart in the first place. The coat was unharmed though, and that’s what really mattered, at least to Molly. Hugs were shared every so often, like everyone was trying to get as many in as they could before something else shook the mighty nein up, except for two. Caduceus got a firm shake of the hand, a hand clasped on his shoulder, and Molly sharing a look with him that said more than anyone else could possibly hear. But Caduceus smiled, in that slow and soft way of his, and Molly knew he understood it all.

Caleb, aside from being swept up in the initial group hug, more of a tackle, had been keeping his distance. The others had noticed, and for once wouldn’t point his strange behavior out. But he was watching, carefully, hands folded and eyes heavy with the threat of sleep, as Molly talked and laughed and slept like a man not at all dead.

The coast of Nicodranas came into view faster than they had expected. Still, in an awe inspiring way. No one wasted time, just a couple of shared looks before it was time to take this all in while they had time. Beau was dashing off to sun and shit bleached rocks, Caduceus carrying that same awestruck expression through the sand, Fjord and Jester finding a comfort here, a realization that this place was theirs, even if just a little. And Molly was everywhere, somehow, all at once. Shirtless and with pants rolled above bare ankles he walked between the mounds of sand Caduceus had created, kicking up water as it rolled in, splashing Jester along the way and breaking off into a sprint to dodge her own retaliation. He doesn’t linger anywhere for particularly long, his hand dragging across Fjord’s shoulders as he passes, feet digging in before he leaps onto a rock, bounces from place to place, careful to avoid disrupting the shockingly meditative Beau before he’s landing back on soft sand. And with Nott so focused on her Seagull assassinations, it’s easy enough to come up behind her and sprinkle sand right over her hooded head, the laughter on his face plain as day as Nott sputters and swats at him, yelling obscenities.

And Caleb watches, still behind, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, not knowing what to do when it refuses to. So he strips, all but the necklace that hangs heavy around his neck, and walks past it all into the endless blue.

It’s unlike the bathhouses, unlike anything he’d experienced before, and there’s a strange calm in that. He can feel the cadence of the tide drawing him in, his body giving in to the gentle push and pull of it, and when it’s risen over his chest, nearly brushing his lips he feels his feet lift, floating as the last of him vanishes beneath the surface.

Everything is quiet, every weight is lifted, and it feels like hands at his back when he floats up, the sun warm on his skin in welcome. He can vaguely hear Jester yelling something, it’s muffled by the water over his ears, but he still feels the lightness of laughter in his chest, even if he doesn’t betray that.

And then those hands are back again, at least that’s his assumption when he feels something along his back, over a shoulder, until a very real person is attached to that touch, breaking the surface up to his nose, just horns and eyes. Something that should frighten just about anyone else, and considering the circumstances, should scare him as well.

But Mollymauk blows bubbles of sea water with an exhale through his nose, and Caleb can’t pretend he doesn’t feel something light and warm at that, silly as it is. He laughs, tired but genuine, and reaches out like he had before it all went to shit, fingers grazing a purple cheek.

“So here you are.” Caleb says, sighing when he touches warm skin, and Molly pushes with his arms against the water to break the surface, that familiar grin having gone nowhere.

“So here I am.” It’s like hearing him for the first time again. How he says everything with certainty, whether bullshit or not, and Caleb’s not sure how he pretended he didn’t love that sound for so long.

From this angle, head turned and partially submerged, squinting into the sun and the horizon, Caleb’s view is endless ocean and a shimmering tiefling, and it makes no sense at all. Men like him didn’t end up in places like this.

“I won’t vanish.” He hears Molly say after a good while, softer now, a hand gripping his arm, and Caleb closes his eyes against that. “This isn’t some cruel god fucking with you, as much as you’d like to think so.”

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him the selfish train of thought he’d taken. That Mollymauk’s resurrection was purely to spite him, to give and take in a single action, something well deserved. But Molly wasn’t his, he was everyone’s, he was the world’s, and that made it a little scarier to think of what he was taking when he left.

So Caleb opens his eyes, slowly, still squinting against sun and sea water, and Molly is still there, closer, close enough that Caleb can watch the water drip off his eyelashes.

“I killed him.”

“I know.”

“And I buried you.”

“Thank you for that.”

“And I-” He reaches up, fingers pushing at the wet hair against his forehead, remembers when it was dry and brushed from his eyes, eyes that were never shut, and something breaks.

He’s not floating on his back any longer, kicking his feet until they’re under him, water splashing them both, and he’s grabbing Molly’s face in his hands as Molly grabs at his arms, and they’re floating in this limitless space that means more than either of them can fathom when Caleb kisses him. He tastes like the ocean smells, and a tea that he’d only recently been given, and it’s real enough for the both of them.

[fjordfjucks]

I somehow completely forgot about the photos I took at the cloisters 2 weeks ago until I looked down at the sd card in my lapotp 

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FOR THE SHIP MEME THING, WIDOMAUK WITH 20 BICTH

“What are you doing?” It comes out as a giggle, not quite slurred but rich with drink and laughter and the joy a night’s celebration had brought them. He rolls over on the uncomfortably hard inn floor, squinting at Caleb through dim candlelight. His coat is their makeshift bedroll, and it’s so much easier to see him without it. Specifically see him holding up Molly’s arm, eyeing it like those books he seems so fond of. “How many do you think there are…” He wonders aloud, and after having at least just as much booze as Molly, he’s surprisingly coherent. Molly shrugs, which is an awkward movement on the floor, and smacks his lips.“Don’t really count em. Better to just…” He makes a noncommittal wave with the hand attached to the arm Caleb’s got in his grasp, and he can feel Caleb’s thumb slide over the bones in his wrist. “Ignore them?” “Don’t /dwell/, at the very least.” Caleb makes a sound that Molly assumes means he agrees, and he thinks that maybe this is where this strange little encounter will stop, but the fingers around his arm don’t ease up. The sound of Fjord snoring on the bed distracts him for a moment, and when he glances back he feels the distinct press of lips against his skin. It’s a slow turn back to Caleb, a cautious gaze, ready for him to bolt, but he doesn’t. There’s a stillness in the air at the open pause they share, neither making a move, to or from. And Molly’s never been the shy type but roping Caleb in requires more tact than he can say the liquor is letting him have. “You missed one.” He whispers, a playful tease, and the hand on his arm does loosen at that- but only to move up. “Oh…my mistake.” Caleb murmurs with a sincerity that makes Molly want to /scream/ because this man is every kind of a disaster, so unpredictable in his ways that keep Molly hovering around him. And Caleb does mean to rectify the situation, because he pulls that arm closer, and this time in full view presses a kiss to a scar just below his elbow. It’s the kind of attention he loves, which would be /all/ kinds, but coming from awkward little Caleb keeps him quiet. And that silence turns into courage, because there are lips on every inch of his arm, warm and tickled by scruff, and every time Caleb looks up with eyes that say ‘is this okay? am I okay?’ Molly offers a soft smile that says ‘you’re wonderful’