#fiddlewrites

Beau: tiefling barbarian. agreed to race swap with jester, and also is hyped to finally have some FUCKING dark vision. also?? she gets to punch shit??? almost unlimited times with almost unlimited power????? hello?????? yasha you really live like this??????

Jester: human monk. agreed to race swap with beau, and also steals her class because 'hey now i get a cool stick too :D!!!' gets almost scarily in character during the game, all serious and strategic, and everyone gets whiplash when the game is over and she instantly reverts back to her usual self

Yasha: gnome cleric. being tiny and picking flowers, that's all she's about. has a wife in game that beau lowkey fumes about

Fjord: extremely handsome human bard. trolls everyone by only singing about his own adventures and achievements, even if the rest of the party was there too. nott says she can't see the difference between him and his usual self, and fjord makes it a point to give everyone inspiration except her

Nott: dragonborn cleric. The Bigger The Better Babey! also yes good now she can watch after and heal all her dumbass children

Caleb: human warlock. everyone complains about him 'basically playing as himself', but he argues that the concept of being given a specific subset of power from a higher entity rather than carving it out for himself has always intrigued him, and besides... his parents are alive in this backstory

Molly: changeling cleric. worships the traveler in game, and jester, who'd been feeling kind of worried about leaving him out of her own backstory, is touched. nott rants when she realizes changeling was a race option

Height difference

All of their interactions have been fucking hilarious so far

Literal opposites in family/background. Even their shared common goal, to be like their parents, is gone about differently (Fabian has been brainwashed into wanting to become like his dad lest he disappoint him, while Riz wants to be a detective in order to solve a mystery personal to him and just takes advantage of his mom's profession to help him complete this)

Height Difference

Sort-of-enemies to friends to lovers trope, hell yes

Just imagine Fabian... finding out his boyfriend is so poor he sometimes has to eat cereal with water for dinner.....and making a point of inviting him over for dinner like three times a week 'just because you starving would be an inconvenience to team morale, of course'

Riz does not generally accept hand outs, thank you very much, but you know what? If he's invited to go over to this handsome dick's house, he's damn well gonna empty his fridge

HEIGHT DIFFERENCE

Having a socially inept goblin boyfriend would definitely knock Fabian's reputation down a notch... and that's great, since it teaches him not to do things for everyone else but rather for himself

They're both actually pretty socially inept, but each in their own way. I can see them helping each other learn from each other, since the areas one is mostly clueless in are kinda the other's specialty (Fabian: too show-offy and extroverted™, doesn't know when to admit he's wrong or shut up, Riz: too awkward and paranoid, doesn't know when to insist on something or how to really talk to people in general)

The possibilities for stupid passive aggressive pet names and playful relationship teasing are endless

They both have trust issues, in their own way.... imagine them helping each other overcome them.... and growing as individuals..... hnn

HEIGHT DIFFERENCE

Imagine Fabian meeting Riz's mom. You can't tell me he doesn't love her. You just can't. If CollegeHumor makes it so he doesn't, I'm going to fucking riot

Riz is a little weirded out by how obsessed with his mom his boyfriend is, but okay

Riz has a truly positive relationship with his mom, the kind Fabian thinks he has with his dad. I feel like seeing Riz with his mom would kind of help Fabian put things in perspective? Like a sort of 'wait your mom, who loves you, and is a pretty big deal of a detective, doesn't constantly remind you that she's going to die and put subconscious pressure on you to be like her?? thats just... thats just a me thing??? wild' sort of way. If that makes sense

Riz can hitchhike trips in Fabian's backpack whenever he feels like it and I'm yelling

Jock and nerd boyfriends, enough said

HEIGHT DIFFERENCE

warnings for self loathing, sort of dissociation (i didn't have it in mind while writing but i figure it could come across in that way) self-aimed and accidentally inflicted violence, and a pretty graphic description of the wound caused from that aforementioned violence

///

The mirror is cracked.

Nott doesn't mind. If anything, she prefers it. That thin scar trailing down the middle is an excuse not to stare at it directly, a barrier between her eyes and the eyes of the creature behind it. It's damaged goods, is what it is. And Nott doesn't waste her time with things like that.

Instead, she looks at the mirror's outline. Its frame. It appears to be golden, although Nott isn't sure if it's genuine or not. She debates licking it to find out (gold always has a certain tinge to it, quite tasty in small amounts but bad if overdone) but figures that might be too obvious. And besides, Caleb is already so busy distracting the shopkeeper for her-- she doesn't want to put any additional stress on him to come up with an excuse for why his little halfling friend is putting her tongue on the products.

The man already seems suspicious as to what kind of halfling she is. After all, what kind of halfling wraps herself up in bandages and robes instead of walking freely? What kind of halfling speaks with that traitorous lilt to her words that only creatures of the night have? What kind of halfling's lips don't move in tune with the words she speaks?

She reaches out and slowly feels the frame. It's surprisingly warm. Like many hands have touched it before, some all too recently-- one look at the price tag and she can see why. Then again, it's a lovely mirror, she supposes. Despite the thin, spider-like crack. She makes the mistake of glancing over at it, no particular reason in mind, and glances back hurriedly again as her eyes meet the startling yellow ones of the creature in the mirror.

She wonders if she can get Caleb to put a charm on her eyes. Change their color. She's always been fond of light blue.

"Nott, how is the window shopping going?"

Nott nearly jumps two feet in the air. "Oh, uh, uhh--" Steeling her voice to stay light and pleasant, she squeaks out, "Lovely, Caleb!"

Even from here, she can hear his sigh and begrudging return to whatever trivial conversation he's having with the shopkeeper as the real meaning behind her words sinks in. It's going okay, currently thinking about what to steal. Distract him a bit longer, won't you? Thanks!

A twinge of guilt twists through her, and she bites her lip. Not hard. Not purposely hard, anyway. But there's a sharp pain as the familiar taste of pennies fills her mouth anyway.

Her teeth are too sharp. How many times is it she's wanted to laugh with complete abandonment? Kiss Caleb on the forehead as he lies asleep? She couldn't bear it if she hurt him.

Swallowing roughly, she goes to look away, find something else (something smaller, easier, cheaper) to steal, but finds that her eyes are still locked on that stupid golden mirror's frame instead. What is it that's keeping her from moving on to a new aisle? This is nothing special. It's just a mirror. Probably not even real gold.

Reaching over on whim, she goes to move the mirror so it faces elsewhere, tries to snap herself out of this sudden trance she's snapped herself into, but then her fingers falter and the mirror slips and she takes a step back and--

She's facing it. Her. The creature.

She's facing it head-on, and it's too late to look away. She's already taking it all in, soaking up what she sees like a sponge soaking up water. Except the water is acid and the acid is burning her, burning her inside and out.

Oh.

So this is what she's looked like for the last few months. Years. Forever.

Nott's caught glimpses of this face before, in windows and puddles and yes, even a few mirrors before, but never like this. Never so confrontationally. Never in such a large and clean and fancy mirror. Never on purpose. Even though the purposefulness of this situation could be called into question as well.

Its eyes-- her eyes, are the color of melting butter and liquid gold. They are the eyes of a cat, blinking slowly in disgusted bewilderment before widening threefold as understanding sets in. They're pretty, Nott supposes absently, or as pretty as eyes like that can get, but their pupils are nothing more than two violent slashes in their midsts. As thin and offputting as the crack in the mirror that tears the creature in two.

Its skin-- her skin, why won't this sink in-- is a sickly, mottled green. Not dark like Fjord's, but not light like an elf or wood spirit's either. It's kind of like the shade seasick people turn when on a long trip overseas, or that Caleb might sport after eating one of Jester's long expired treats. The shade associated with revulsion and disgust. How appropriate. On the arms, slim white scars bare the signs of struggles their owner has faced, enemies it, she, has opposed. Hatred she's allowed herself to be the brunt of, if by her own hand.

The mask thankfully hides what Nott already knows to be a mess of abnormally jagged teeth jutting out from a too-large bloodstained mouth, but she can still spot specks of green from where it's been chipped and nicked by the forces of time. Cracks in an otherwise perfect foundation.

She reaches up, as if in a dream, to touch the pretty porcelain lips. The creature in the mirror does the same.

"Nott," Caleb calls again, (distantly, she thinks, as if they're in completely different worlds instead of only a few steps apart,) "are you done?"

This time, she doesn't answer.

The red lips feel cold against her thumb. Cold, but beautiful. Everything is in its resolute, porcelain place. Nott licks her own lips. They feel chapped. The taste of pennies still lingers on her tongue.

She stares some more at the cracked figure across from her. The cracked figure that she's expected to believe reflects her. The cracked figure that shows her, in broad daylight, all the things people hate about her. The cracked figure that she's worked so hard to try and escape, but for nothing.

All she has to prove for her efforts are a pair of too large robes, and a pretty mask showing a future that will never be hers.

Nott thinks about this for a moment.

And then she reels back, and punches the mirror straight in the fucking center.

"AH-- FUCK!!"

Caleb instantly whips around. At the sound of shattered glass, the shopkeeper is quick to follow.

Nott staggers back, instantly jolted out of whatever trance she was in earlier as her fist flares up with pain. Not the usual type, either. This kind of pain is red-hot and angry, coiling through her hand and arm like a snake looking for a vein to bite. She yelps (screams, rather,) and realizes all too late that the shopkeeper is screaming as well.

"My mirror!" he wails. "My beautiful, beautiful mirror! What have you done, you green little beast?!"

Nott goes to choke out an answer, even just a "I dunno", but the words die on her lips as a scream makes its way there first. Caleb is already rushing over, a look of shock on his face as he scoops her up, away from the broken glass, and examines her hand wordlessly.

"What happened here?" he asks quietly, urgently, and even over the shopkeeper's wails he manages to make himself perfectly heard in her ears. "Nott, are you okay? No, do not look at that. Look at me. Are you okay?"

Nott ignores him and instantly looks at her hand.

On one hand, it's not as bad as she'd thought. On the other, it's worse. Bits of glass are embedded in her skin like stars, all sorts of shapes and sizes, and blood trickles from the wound steadily. Caleb's eyes sweep it up and down worriedly before mumbling a Zemnian oath under his breath.

"I'm... Jester can patch me up, right?" Nott asks feebly. Hopefully. Each word feels like a rock in her throat.

"Perhaps," Caleb says. He doesn't ask her what happened again.

"Excuse me," the shopkeeper blusters, hurrying over and pushing both of them aside to try and survey the damage, "but you'll have to reimburse me for this! This mirror was worth its weight in gold! It had over twenty three callers for it!"

"Getting my little friend the help she needs is a little more of a priority right now," Caleb says softly, and Nott feels another twinge of guilt, "but I assure you we will be back to pay for the damage we've caused."

"It was already cracked," Nott offers. "Your mirror, I mean."

The shopkeeper's face turns purple, and he looks like Nott bleeding out is far from a problem to him right now. "Oh, was it now? Tell me, will that excuse hold up in court?"

"There is no need to get the authorities involved," Caleb interjects, shooting Nott a Look. She shrinks back and tries not to think about the fire coursing through her bones. "We broke it. We will pay for it."

The shopkeeper sniffs. "You're lucky I'm not calling the Crown's Guard on both of you."

"Yes. Thank you. You are really very kind."

"That'll be two hundred gold. Doubled 'cause of damages."

Caleb's breath hitches a bit, and Nott winces. Neither of them have that kind of money. None of the party does. Guilt fastens itself around her heart, so heavy she can almost ignore the pure anguish in her hand.

"Ah," Caleb says, and Nott knows that tone. It's the 'time for plan B' tone he uses when he knows that they're both screwed. "That is fine. That is very fine. Will you allow me to go and get help for my little friend first? She has a rare condition, you see, and if she does not get help in the next ten minutes her blood will certainly--”

"I don't care," the shopkeeper spits. "I just want my gold."

"That is very kind of you." Caleb is already half-way out the door, dragging her behind him as gently as he can by her uninjured hand. Nott already knows that the minute he steps out fully, he has no intention of ever returning. "We will be right back."

"Yeah," Nott squeaks. "Definitely! Coming back is exactly what we're gonna do now! Sorry about your mirror!"

The shopkeeper, thankfully, doesn't acknowledge her. He's gone to the back of the store. Probably to look for a broom or something to clean the remnants of what would have otherwise brought him a fortune.

Nott spares a final glance at it all even as she's being pulled away. The perfect golden frame is not nearly as perfect anymore. If anything it just looks out of place, surrounding jagged bloody shards that look almost like teeth. Her teeth. The teeth that it couldn't show her before, now splayed out after ruin. What a fucking irony.

Caleb's hand tightens in hers as he pulls her down the street. She already knows what will come next. He'll stop her at a corner, try a small charm on her, wrap the wound up with a piece of cloth and then bustle her over to Jester who'll take care of the rest, hopefully. The matter of why she lashed out and ruined their stay in town will be swept under the rug. He'll allow her motives to be left forgotten.

And she loves him for it.

"Do not do something like that again, okay?" he whispers.

She nods. Ever the promise breaker. "I won't, I swear. I don't know what came over me, Caleb. I'm sorry."

He squeezes her hand again, satisfied. But even through his warmth, and the concern and affection radiating off him in waves, Nott can't help but think of those cold, perfect ruby red lips she saw in the mirror.

That tantalizing snippet from a life she'll never have.

No, she thinks fiercely. Her fist burns in agreement. I will have it. I will.

OOF.... i was gonna wait a little longer to answer this but apparently my man Kiri's birthday was recently so let's fucking do this i guess!!

-Kirishima is lactose intolerant. During date nights, this leads to a lot of

- “Hey. No. Shitty-Hair. You can't order that, aren't you lactose intolerant”

“I mean technically but--”

“Nope. No buts. I refuse to let my boyfriend break out in fucking hives during date night.”

“Hives are actually caused by a milk allergy, not--”

“Don't change the topic, you're still not getting fucking carbonara”

-During winter seasons, they'll wear matching ugly sweaters. If anyone comments on them, they'll have to answer to Bakugo

-Bakugo is actually a huge sap for physical affection, and the concept of PDA doesn't throw him off one bit. Most affectionate touches or fumbling for his boyfriend's hand or sudden kisses are started by him. If anyone tries to chastise him on being “school inappropriate", the PDA amplifies

-Although Kirishima always apologizes to them, he totally fucking loves it

-Although Kirishima isn't a huge initiator of PDA or physical affection, he channels all his love into nicknames and little gifts (like keychains or flowers or other things like that)

-Kiri’s nicknames for Bakugo: dude, bro, babe, honey, katsuki, suki, chickpea, angel, love of my life

-Bakugo's nicknames for Kiri: shitty hair, kirishima

-Just cause they're so sweet with each other in school though doesn't mean they're like that in combat. If anything, they go harder against each other than the others. It's common for teachers to step in and tell them to kick it down a notch

-It's all a matter of pushing each other to being the best that they can be 💪

-Kirishima, all bruised and sweating after a particularly rough training session: nice uppercut babe, your coordination is really improving

-Bakugo, bleeding a bit from his ear and sweating even more: shut up and let me kiss you

-Kirishima loves podcasts! Sero got him into them, and although Bakugo can't be bothered to listen to them he's down with listening to his boyfriend ramble about them instead

-It was subsequently Kirishima's idea for their squad to form a D&D campaign

-(He's a dragonborn paladin, Bakugo is a human barbarian. Both are automatically dating in-game as well)

-They're the poster picture couple during Pride, always

-Kirishima can go days just surviving on ramen because he's so preoccupied with training and work to think of actual food. Bakugo always yells at him for it, and, when that doesn't work (or at least doesn't work as long as he'd like it to) drags him off on a spontaneous ‘date night’ to the nicest restaurant he can find on such a short notice

-They arm wrestle at the table to decide who pays the bill. Quirks aren't allowed.

-Kirishima likes to sleep with the window closed, and Bakugo with the window open. This leads to one of the two of them always getting up halfway in the night to adjust it to their whims, and the other getting annoyed in the morning

-One of their first dates was them just chilling in their room searching up songs to compile into their shared work-out playlist

-One of their second was going camping under the stars 😳

-Kirishima took boxing for four years. It helped him with his sexual awakening

-Kirishima was Bakugo’s sexual awakening

"Hey babe if you were gonna date anyone else who would it be"

"I don't want to date anyone else, I want to date you"

"Yeah but if you were gonna date anyone else who would it be"

"You"

"It's a hypothetical question, just say a name"

"Tetsutetsu"

"Really?? Why???"

"He's the closest thing I could think of to you"

Beau: cobalt blood, breath aspect. has a very hungry spider lusus (sound familiar? no it doesn't shut up) that low-key threatens to eat her if she doesn't supply it with other people food. very rusty psychic abilities due to her never using them, but has Sick Guns to make up for it. flushed crush on yasha

Jester: fuchsia blood, space aspect. it's kind of fun being the heiress but also like? super boring? she never gets to talk to someone without them getting all scared of her, and being a seadweller doesn't really help broaden her options :// oblivious to the hemospectrum until the lowbloods of the M9 explain it to her, and from then on regards it with distaste. very sheltered to the violence committed against the lower castes. obsessed with quadrants. flushed crush on fjord, maybe?

Fjord: indigo blood, void aspect. lives very close to the sea, but rarely gets to visit thanks to the seadwellers living there. in contact with a mysterious source who promises him power if he does their bidding but never reveals themselves to him (hello? doc scratch?). doesn't care for the hemospectrum one way or another, but has some Kind Of Strong Feelings about seadwellers - they don't let him explore the sea, and a pack of them killed his lusus when he was just a grub. very uninterested in quadrants, and insists he's not black flirting with nott, but is teased for it nonetheless

Yasha: purpleblood, rage aspect. her matesprit was culled by some other members of her cult religious purpleblood club for being both a lowblood and a nonbeliever, and she went ballistic for a bit, lashing out and killing as many of them as she could until her mind cleared and her hands were purple and she was standing alone surrounded by bodies and she realized shit maybe this wasn't the best idea. abandoned her purpleblood ideals and is currently on the run. licensed lowblood ally. unknown feelings towards beau

Caleb: goldblood, time aspect. fine tuned his psychic powers to Perfection in hopes of being taken notice of by the highbloods and being used as a battery for their ship?? granted a position of security amongst their ranks. it worked, and for a while he was tasked with hunting down and killing lowblood rebels/traitors/mutants until [redacted]. takes his cat lusus everywhere he goes. can't forgive himself for the things he's done. Very Wary Of Highbloods

Nott: limeblood, doom aspect. no her relationship with caleb isn't pale you freaks, it's ... uh ... what do you call it when you want to take care of and protect someone a lot? and feel pride and unconditional love for someone else without any sort of attraction whatsoever? being a lusus comes close, but not quite. man if only there was a word in alternian for all this. is always on the run for being a limeblood, and even abandoned her matesprit out of fear of him being culled for being with her. sopor slime probably shouldn't be ingested, but Here We Are. types in grey. also very wary of highbloods, but trusts quicker than caleb

Molly: violetblood, heart aspect. one of jester's first friends as well as the first of the M9 to go godtier when the game starts. living his best life underwater bathed in riches and chumming it up with the heiress. doesn't particular care for the hemospectrum, but might use it as a trump card to fuck with people. pale crush on yasha? red or black on caleb??? who knows, he's a dreadful flirt

(quick author notes: the timeline skips a lot & I used greek for halfling because why not)

warnings for lowkey suicidal thoughts but generally just trying to convince yourself you’re okay with dying, and some mentioned but not very descriptive wounds 

Prompt from @idonottlikethishellsite: from the list of shit i hope never actually happens-- been thinking a lot about how reincarnate is the lowest lvl spell that could change nott into something other than a goblin but would require her to die first. the thought of nott purposely wanting to use that spell and trying to talk caleb into it keeps me up nights.

***

"Would you ever let me die?"

The question is asked innocently enough, but it still gives Caleb pause. He turns to look at Nott, but she doesn't meet his glance. Her feet dangle over the tavern table she's sitting on. At her side, her flask lies, their cause for visit.

Caleb nods. "Ja," he says flatly. "Over my dead body."

(Not that it's worth much.)

Nott smiles at him, but it's strained. Her lips are clamped over her teeth like she's holding a secret. "That's very sweet."

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." Her fingers twist into each other, and she fiddles with them aimlessly. Her feet have started to swing under the table. "Just one of those silly thoughts I get sometimes, Caleb, you know me."

"Mm." He does know her, and that's what worries him. It's only been a few weeks, and already he knows her like the back of his hand, like the color of the sky. He'd know her blind or deaf. Which, by the way, he'd have to be in order to believe such an obvious lie.

He lets it drop anyway. “Long day tomorrow," he says instead, and carefully watches for her reaction. “Lots of shopping.”

It worries him more when she gives him none. "Yeah," she says. Absently. Like she's still turning something over in her mind, molding it into shape. Caleb knows what's it like to overthink things, (he knows it far too well) and he knows it's not what's happening here-- but for the life of him he can't figure out what is.

"Yeah," he echoes in her voice. And then, returning to his own: "I was thinking we could stop by a book shop I found on the way here. It sold many things-- mostly books-- but I think you would like it." He tries for a smile. It falls short. They always do. "Lots of trinkets. For your collection."

Nott's expression remains blank, but by the way her ears droop Caleb knows his approach backfired. Shit.

"My collection," she agrees, fake cheerfully. It sounds as far from sincere as he's ever heard her. "I do love trinkets."

Caleb drops the pretense. "Look," he says hesitantly, "I know I am not the best person to talk to about... things. Or stuff. Or anything, really. But if there is something troubling your mind, something that I am able to help with--"

"No, no," Nott interrupts him. She jumps off the table and dusts herself off briskly. "I'm fine. I swear it. Just drank a drop too much, and well..." She gestures to herself sheepishly. "I'm not always a happy drunk, I guess. I'll be right as rain in the morning."

"Ah," Caleb says. He wants to believe her. He wants it more than anything else right now. "That is all?"

"That's all," Nott promises. She leans up, on tiptoes, and beckons for him to bend down. Caleb does, and before he knows it a sudden warmth tinges his forehead and Nott's pulling away with a look that he can only describe as familiar. He blinks at her owlishly, and she smiles. Still through clamped lips.

"Night, Caleb," she says, turning on her heel and already making her way across the tavern to where they've scoured up enough coin to book a room for the night.

 "Good night," he says. He doesn't think she heard him.

Slowly, he reaches up and presses his fingers (the fingers of a murderer) against his forehead. The warmth has already left it.

"Good night," he repeats to no one in particular. It is a good night. No, maybe good is not that right word. It is a strange night, is what it is. Only on strange nights do your little goblin friends ask you odd questions and don't tell you what's wrong and kiss you on the forehead (it's so familiar, like his own mother's when she'd tuck him in at night) before going to sleep at 10 pm.

But then again, he reasons, she gave you her excuse. Who are you not to trust her? She says she drank too much, and this is another side to her you have yet to see. Just because you know her a few weeks does not actually mean you know her a lifetime. Who are you to claim that she's lying?

He stands up, a little more satisfied with his choice, and goes to head after where Nott left. The flask shines forlornly as he passes it, and he takes it by habit, shaking his head a bit at his little friend's forgetfulness.

Then he stops.

The flask is still full.

***

“D'you think you'd be upset?”

They've been on the road a while now, and Caleb is getting antsy. Only a while ago did they encounter a pack of vicious hyena-like creatures (he thinks they're called gnolls) and only a while ago did he have to watch as his little friend nearly got slashed in two. He tried to patch her up, tried to look past the amounts of crimson pouring out of her and do his best, but he's no cleric. Just a wizard.

(Just nothing.)

Nott trails after him now, her eyes drooping and with the faint tinge of iron to her scent. As she asks the question, she sways a bit, and Caleb instantly slows down.

“Upset?” he asks. “Over what?”

Nott shrugs. “Me. I dunno. If I died.”

Caleb stares at her, but she's resolute in not meeting his gaze. Something about the whole scene rings familiar in his mind, and he strains, trying to remember where they might have had this conversation before. A tavern? No matter.

“Ja,” he says, slowly. “I think I would be very upset.”

“Oh.” She rubs at her eyes. “Well, er… how upset? Like on a one to ten scale, maybe? Can I get an approx--”

“Nott,” Caleb says, and gods help him he's already starting to get upset thinking about it, “Are you planning something?”

Nott has the nerve to look offended. “What? No!”

“Then what are you asking me for?”

“It just doesn't make sense to me, that's all.” Nott shrugs, and her footsteps quicken a bit. Caleb picks up the pace as well. “I mean, you could always just revive me, right? You're a wizard. You're magic--” (and oh, how beautiful the word sounds on her lips, like glitter and awe and everything magic was, once, everything magic should be) “--and you're powerful. I don’t think I’d be gone for long.”

(Too powerful, some might say.)

Caleb swallows, and tastes bile at the back of his throat. “Yes, that is true. But I'm no cleric, Nott. And the idea of me reviving you does not cancel out how horrifying you dying would be.”

A pause.

“Do you. Want to die?”

No response. Not even a whisper. Caleb's heart sinks, and for a second, flames flicker in his eyes. He thinks about Nott, jumping in front of him to confront the gnolls. Nott, completely fine with the idea of being torn apart if it meant he would get away safe. 

He grabs her arm. She freezes, and Caleb instantly adjusts his grip so it's not hurting her.

“I do not know what you're hiding,” he says softly. “But please. You know you can talk to me, ja? You know that I am here for you? I would do everything in my power for you. You know that, don't you?”

She looks up at him, just two golden eyes blinking in the dark. The mask hides her lower face, and he hates it. Hates not knowing what she's thinking. Hates only being able to read half of her.

“Yes,” she finally says, and relaxes in his grip. “I know. Thank you, Caleb.”

He lets go. That's not the answer he wanted, but he's never been one to push the matter. And Nott seems tired as it is right now.

“Let's camp out here for the night.”

“Okay.”

She helps him light the fire.

For once, his parents are the last thing on his mind.

***

“Caleb!”

Caleb looks up reluctantly from where he's poured over the newest book he's bought. It's a fascinating text all about transmutation and history, and it's wrapped up in the kind of red leather case that makes his heart skip a beat. Being broken out of the trance that comes with it is beyond infuriating.

He opens his mouth to snap out a ‘go away i'm reading’, but stops when he sees Nott's face. It's flushed and excited, pupils round and smile stretching from ear to ear. Something good must have happened. And he always has time for a shred of good news.

He slowly puts the book down and beckons her inside. She looks like she might explode.

“You seem... happy,” he says.

She nods, head bobbing as if on a spring. “As a matter of fact, I am!” she says giddily. “Read this.”

She shoves a bright blue book in his hands (where did she even get that) and waits, bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently as Caleb examines it. It's a fairly old book, nothing like the red one Caleb was just reading but still in its decades. He squints at the letters before identifying them as Halfling.

He doesn't read Halfling.

Where on earth did Nott get this book?

He hands it back to her in confusion. “I appreciate the literary enthusiasm,” he says slowly, “But Halfling is a tongue I do not speak.”

“No, I know that,” Nott says in a voice that implies she did not, in fact, know that. “But it's a really easy passage, just go to page 117 and you'll see, I've taught you all the words you need to know!”

Caleb sighs and obliges her. Page 117 is in the middle of the book, and based on the scribbled in pencil marks and circled words, he has a feeling it's also the most read part.

He starts to read.

Reincarnation

Casting Time: 1 ώρα

Έκταση: Touch

Components: Σπάνια oils and αλλά πράγματα αξίας at least 1,000 gold και τα λοιπά, δεντρολίβανο

Duration: Instantaneous

Εσύ touch a dead humanoid ή ενα piece of a dead humanoid. Εξαρτιόταν ότι the creature has been dead no longer than 10 days, the spell forms a new ηλικιωμένο body for it and then καλεί την soul to enter το body. If the target’s soul isn’t free or willing να το κάνει, the spell fails and

He closes the book.

“Nott,” he says, and the dread coiling around his heart is all too familiar to him, all too cold and heavy, “what is this?”

Nott grins. “It's a spell, Caleb! A spell that can change people! Isn't it wonderful?”

“Yes,” Caleb says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. His parents’ form flickers in front of him when he closes his eyes. After a second, Nott's joins them.

He hands her back the book and stands up. His foot has fallen asleep, and he tries to shake it awake again but it's too late, now his other foot is asleep too and he's numb all over, numb and cold and confused.

“Why did you show me this?” he asks.

Nott looks at him like it should be obvious. “For me,” she says simply. “I didn't think it was real at first. I don't know much about magic and spells and things, so I thought maybe it wasn't. But then I looked more carefully, searched a few bookstores, nicked a few tomes and-- here it is. The spell that can change me. Reincarnation!”

She does a giddy little jump. Caleb can only stare. He knows how Nott feels about herself. He knows her hopes and dreams, even if they'd never crossed her lips to him. He knows more than she thinks. He always does.

But in this moment, he feels like he doesn't even know who he's talking to.

“Nott,” he says. “This spell requires way too many things than we can afford.”

Her ears droop, but she's still smiling, undeterred. “Like what?”

“Oils. 1000 gold. More things I cannot read.”

Nott laughs, and it's all wrong, this whole conversation is wrong and Caleb wants to go back to reading his red book and acting like this never happened. “Oh, don't worry, I have quite a bit of coin saved on the side. Just a few more months and I'll probably have even more than that book asks for!”

“And the oils?”

“I'll nick them. I dunno. I'll find a way.” She grins. “Oils, Caleb, really, is that what you think is gonna throw me off after all this time?”

“No,” Caleb says, and he hears a faint ringing in his ears, “But I thought the fact that your corpse is required might.”

For the first time, Nott looks a little disturbed. Not a lot. It's barely noticeable, just a quick flit across her big yellow eyes, but it's enough to make Caleb feel better, if only for a moment.

Then the doubt is broken, Nott is clearing her throat, and the ringing in Caleb’s ears has returned.

“Well,” she says simply, “you thought wrong.”

And Caleb leaves the room.

***

“I'll do it without you if I have to.”

Caleb doesn't even turn his head. It's way past midnight where they're staying, and both of them should be sleeping-- but of course, neither of them are.

Neither of them have for what seems like months.

There's a moment before Nott speaks again, her raspy voice slicing through the silence like a knife. “I don't want to. But I will.”

“How will you do that,” Caleb says flatly.

A muffled huff from Nott informs him that his friend isn't sure either. “I don't know yet,” she finally admits. “But I'll find a way. I always do.”

“It's a powerful spell.”

“I have powerful friends.”

“It's difficult.”

“It's worth it for me.”

Caleb nearly pinches his nose on instinct, but stops just in time. He can't bear to close his eyes anymore. They've started playing tricks on him again. They'll show him Nott burned into the insides of his eyelids, Nott bleeding out on the ground and Nott with her little limbs all twisted up and Nott with fire consuming her from the inside out--

He realizes his mouth has gone dry. He swallows.

“You want to die,” he says. It's not a question.

He can almost hear Nott’s shrug, almost hear the flicker of doubt smothered under fierceness. “No. No, I don't want it. But I'm willing to.” A small laugh. “I've always been willing to. For Jester, and Beau, and Fjord, and you--” her voice catches a bit, but she plows on “--and Molly… why can't I do it for myself for once?”

Caleb doesn't answer her. He doesn't know what he'd say.

There's another beat of silence before Nott speaks again.

“I was so happy when I heard about it,” she confesses quietly. “I didn’t even know about the coming back as me part. I thought that when I died, I’d come back as someone brand new. And I was fine with that, I really was, but then I thought of you and I didn’t tell you about it and I dropped my research because I knew you'd get cross, and I knew you'd get sad, but then you said you'd do everything in your power for me, that one night we fought the gnolls together, don't you remember, and I started to look into it more actively, and I thought--” A sigh. “I don't know what I thought.”

She rolls over from where she's curled at the bottom of the bed like a cat, and even through the dark Caleb can feel her eyes, two golden pinpricks almost like lanterns trained on him.

“Please, Caleb,” she whispers. “I need this. I've always needed this.”

“But I need you,” he says. It’s such a selfish thing to say, such a selfish reason, 

(but he’s always been a pretty selfish man, hasn’t he?)

“I’ll still be here,” she says. “You’d bring me back as me. It’d still be me.”

“My hands were built for destroying,” he says. The words burn as he speaks them but he knows they need to be said. “Not for creating. And any creation built from destruction is a creation I want no part in.”

His breath rattles in his chest as he says his next sentence, all in one go, not letting it burn anymore than it has to: “I can't do this for you, Nott. I'm sorry.”

Silence. It stretches on for so long that Caleb half thinks Nott's fallen asleep, and a part of him hopes she has, hopes so desperately that she'll let this conversation be nothing but a bad dream in the morning.

But hope's done nothing but fail him so far, and tonight does not intend to prove an exception.

“Well,” Nott says, and it's the emptiest Caleb's ever heard her, “Then I guess I’ll have to find someone that can.”

Most, if not all the songs give off very heartbreaking and sad vibes-- with the exclusion of Humility, but as Russel said in the Q&A:

Look, I don't ship 2Doc.

Never have, never will. I do however think 2D has at least some sort of vaguely self aware Stockholm Syndrome going for him. The journal is a wrestle between hatred and heartache.

Just take this:

Versus this:

Not to mention how all images of Murdoc are scribbled out angrily:

But there's also a FREE MURDOC slogan plastered across the page and the words "where have you gone?" scribbled underneath:

I guess what I'm kind of getting at with this clusterfuck of a post is that this situation isn't black and white-- 2D to us might objectively be better off without Murdoc, but does he feel that way? I remember hearing that Damon said something along the lines of The Now Now being an accumulation of 2D's thoughts rather than something political or catchy-- and his thoughts tell us a very different story. Sure, he's happy to a certain extent, but there's a jumble of other feelings and emotions blended in: regret, anger, longing, fear.

Everyone has their own interpretations on things, and I won't be The Policing Asshole, but claiming The Now Now is a tale of positivity and fleeing from abuse just seems kind of off to me. Not that claiming 2D has a crush on and misses Murdoc is much better, but that's a post for another day.

Here's hoping 2D manages to get the best from his soul searching, and that fanon interpretations on him and this album will become more deep and (ironically) 3D.