#neinsided

𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚  —  𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩,  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩  𝙞𝙨  𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩.   the inn windows are a bit dingy and dirty, but even so  —  it’s too bright.  caleb groans and rolls over in the bed.  nott is curled up on the floor tonight, and he feels bad instantly.  she was drinking, too, wasn’t she?  but he can’t remember if she drunk, or if she was just drinking as she usually does.  reaching back, he sits up slowly, slumping over his lap, elbows resting atop his thighs with his pounding head in his hands.  music, drinking, toasting, more and more drinking, mollymauk, stairs, hallway  —   

mollymauk.  caleb’s mind stops there, and it’s a bit jarring.  flashes aren’t memories, but they are close  —  closer than he’d like, but his mind will never let him forget everything about anything.  scheisse, indeed.  that purple teifling, his arms around caleb, those bright eyes, a softer smile tucking caleb into bed like he’s a child who deserves it. 

he will owe mollymauk much more than an ale after this. 

@neinsided​​    —    I  CAN’T  HELP  BUT  THINK  I  WAS  MEANT  TO  FIND  YOU. 

CATCHING   HIS   BREATH   IS   A   FEAT   UNTO   ITSELF   JUST   NOW.         a   challenge,   to   keep   standing   and   listening,   to   stand   so   close   to   .   .   .      well,   not   mollymauk.      not   lucien   either,   whoever   that   might   have   been.      someone   else      —      someone   new.      but   they   are   back   here   again      —      in   zadash,   in   the   evening   nip,   drinking   at   the   bar   as   they   have   before.   

@withpromise​ asked: ‘  i  was  a  good  person  for  six  months .  that’s  like  five  years .  ’ ( from molly @neinsided​ ! )

@neinsided​​    —    YOU’RE  ALIVE,  SO  ALIVE. 

HE   BRINGS   HIM   BACK   IN   SO   MANY   DIFFERENT   WAYS.         kiss   to   the   forehead,   hands   on   the   cheeks,   arm   thrown   ‘round   his   shoulders.      mollymauk   is   creative   in   his   wizard   wrangling      —      creative,   and   somehow   always   exactly   right.      this   sing-song   silliness   .   .   .      somehow   even   works   tonight.      first,   there   is   only   a   blank,   typical-widogast   stare.      but   then,   his   jaw   begins   to   work   at   concealing   a   smile,   head   ducking   down   towards   the   pages   of   his   book,   frumpkin   purring   ‘round   his   neck.            “      that,   ah   .   .   .      that   seems   to   be   the   consensus,   my   friend.      ”   

@neinsided

“molly -” 

there is nothing to say to that. no words she can think of to counter it. she doesn’t want to counter it. doesn’t want to find some reason molly should be wrong, take back the words, 

( furthermore: she knows that he wouldn’t. ) 

@neinsided​​    —    DO  YOU  MISS  THE  ROGUE  WHO  COAXED  YOU  INTO  PARADISE  AND  LEFT  YOU  THERE? 

THE   PAIN   OF   IT   ALL      —      MORE   THAN   HE   EXPECTS.         returning   to   the   grave,   to   that   roadside,   is   all   routine      —      knowledge,   seeking   out   answers,   clinical.      he   knows,   should   the   body   be   there,   that   it   will   not   be   their   friend.      it   will   not   be   mollymauk.      and   when   they   learn   the   truth,   when   they   see   lucien   and   seek   him   out,   caleb   does   not   slip   once      —      never   calls   him   molly,   not   even   not-molly   as   some   of   the   others   do.      lucien      —      he   is   only   lucien,   occasionally   the   nonagon.      that   is   all.   

then   he   sees   him.      stepping   into   the   temple,   seeing   that   smile,   hearing   that   voice   .   .   .      it   strikes   him   between   the   ribs,   knocks   him   more   than   a   little   senseless.      because   it   is   molly   he   sees   and   hears      —      molly   he   thinks   of,   molly’s   hands   and   smile   and   laughter.      and   lucien   is   clever,   and   he   seems   to   see   it,   too.   

by   the   fire,   by   the   scant   slices   of   comfort   they   can   find   in   this   tundra   outside   the   tower      (   he   will   not   allow   lucien   in   that   place      —      he   cannot   ),      they   keep   watch   while   the   others   sleep.      caleb   doubts   the   restfulness   of   it   all,   but   here   he   sits,   taking   his   turn   regardless.      breaks   off   a   piece   of   the   jerky,   takes   a   small   bite,   eyes   on   the   flames   alone.            

@neinsided​​    —    I  DON’T  MOVE  AT  THE  SPEED  OF  YOUR  THOUGHT. 

@neinsided​ / spotify meme / pray for me - kendrick lamar & the weeknd