#bit soft spot for laudna

[otterlyart]

Some live doodle thoughts about a not so dead girl and a not so dead tree.

#laudna #Cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #crspoilers #critical role #This is a WIP #Just the idea of her going through the seasons #I haven't drawn anything in awhile but it was such a pretty image #bit soft spot for laudna #I'll probably finish this at some point

[tatersdoesstuff]

bells of hells

[some notes/details under the cut]

Oyrm

Used a buncha squares for his shape language, stable and strong

Lithe yet buff for that high dex

Earthier colors because ashari shit

leaf shaped pauldron because again ashari shit

Chetney

Triangles and circles weirdly enough, pointy yet got a soft spot somewhere

Made his hair have a vague wolf head silhouette (biggest 'spikes' being ears and the rest being cheek fluff)

slouched even tho im pretty sure hes got an inch or two on orym

slightly cooler palette than my usual, hinting at his past in uthodurn

FCG

Circles and squares, friend shaped and (mostly) stable! yet pointy at some parts to allude to the murdermode

soft warm pallete

tires always lil flat, mostly for expression/posing reasons but also when the hell can they air them

not illustrated but when murder mode his shapes turn more angular

Imogen

Her shape language has the vibe of round shapes turned angular - once soft but hardened to face to world

cloud shaped hair! because shapes are fun (also thunderstorms)

accidentally gave her a bit of a sailor moon vibe

The red in her palette is ripped from laudnas

Laudna (and Pâté)

Thin sharp triangle shapes yet soft round eyes

Outfits got a bit of a Delilah vibe (plus green highlights in the eyes implying her influence)

Pate's palette is ripped completely from Laudna's for consistency

The gold from her palette is ripped from imogen's

Ashton

Squares and triangles :]

honestly had a lotta fun w them, funnest of fun shapes

one of the more saturated palettes

asymmetrical design to fit the chaos of it all

Fearne (and Mister)

Lotsa triangles - chaotic fey shapes

bright colors contrasted by dark purple to show shes bright yet mischievous

like with laudna and pate, misters palette is ripped from fearnes for consistency

she's got goat eyes :]

Dorian

Long pointy confident shapes

coolest palette of them all

bulkier leg shapes to emphasize the boots

quite literal cloud hair

#critical role #bells hells #orym of the air ashari #orym #chetney pock o'pea #fcg #fresh cut grass #imogen temult #laudna #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #dorian storm #taters does art #i hope someone reads all my rambling #i had a lot of fun drawinf em :]

[mollywall-e]

Chapter Two of Whitestone Is For Lovers (inspired by the NYCC Q&A)

Imogen’s a bit distracted throughout the meeting with the rulers of Whitestone, if she’s being honest. It all passes in a blur of band-and-forth bickering and sullen faces, resigned sighs and frantic planning, but it seems to have gone well enough. As well as it can, given the circumstances.

All too soon, Imogen finds herself in a rapidly emptying chamber. Her companions begin filing out of the room: Laudna and Chetney muttering to each other animatedly, no doubt trying to convince FCG to participate in their next thrill-seeking venture; Ashton trying (and failing) to pick Fearne’s pocket without being noticed while she eyes the ornamental weapons adorning the chamber walls.

Orym lingers behind, fixing Imogen with a curious glance. Summoning what she hopes can pass as a confident smile, Imogen flashes him a thumbs up and nods towards the door. Orym hesitates, but nods solemnly, falling into step with Keyleth as she trails the rest of the group. The door shuts behind them with a final click.

Turning away from the door, Imogen spots the Lord and Lady talking amongst themselves at the head of the table, surrounded by a handful of guards. Huffing a deep breath, Imogen approaches. They don’t seem to notice her arrival, at first, entirely consumed by their own conversation. She coughs pointedly.

“Ah, apologies.” The Lord of Whitestone clears his throat, more of a nervous habit than a productive cough. He squints his eyes a bit. “Miss Temult, is it?”

“Imogen, yeah.”

“Well, Imogen.” His voice drips with a self-important boredom. Imogen’s fists clench reflexively as he continues, “Do you have urgent business you wish to discuss?”

“I’ve just got a question." Imogen glances away from Percival’s pointed stare, eyes falling onto the Lady, sitting regally in the seat beside him. The Lady catches her gaze, with eyes so familiar but not quite right. Just a shade too light, not round enough. Maintaining eye contact with Vex’ahlia, Imogen continues, “More of a request, really.”

“Very well, go on.” Percival replies gruffly.

Imogen glances between the Lord and Lady, shifting under their scrutinizing gaze.

Vex’ahlia’s face flickers, growing soft for a moment as she chimes in, “Darling, I believe I can take care of this.” She places a hand on Percival’s.

Percival glances between his wife and Imogen. “Yes, very well.” He begins to rise from his chair, dusting imaginary dust off of his perfectly pressed pants. “Should you need me, you know where to find me, dear.”

The Lord leaves the room, trailed by a pair of guards. The Lady watches him depart. When the door closes behind him, she turns back to Imogen.

“Right, then,” Vex’ahlia motions with her hands. “Do go on.”

“Thank you, Lady Vex’ahlia.” Imogen exhales, fists unfurling at her sides. “It’s about Laudna.”

Vex’ahlia nods solemnly.

“It’s nothing like last time, I swear,” Imogen rushes to explain. “It’s just - As I’m sure you can understand, she’s got a lot of…bad memories associated with this place. Her home.”

Vex’ahlia’s face pales ever so subtly. Imogen resists the urge to start pacing, but she can’t keep her hands still, wildly gesturing as she continues her plea.

“I just - While we’re here, I wanted to - I want to try and help - ”

“Imogen.”

Smooth hands grab hers, stilling their frantic motions. Vex’ahlia, now risen from her chair, gives Imogen’s hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them, arms drifting back to her sides.

“You and your companions are honored guests of Whitestone.” The Lady fixes Imogen with a pointed look. “Your friend, Laudna, is a daughter of Whitestone, one who is owed a great deal. One I owe a great deal. Whatever it is that you require, you need only ask, dear.” Vex’ahlia pauses, face scrunching in a way that belies her regality. “Within reason, of course.”

Read the rest and the previous chapter here

#imodna fic #cr fic #my fic #imodna #southern gothic #a wild vex’ahlia appears

[dadrielle]

trick or treat 👻

Happy Halloween! Here’s a witchy bit of a cut scene from Fixed Twixt Drear Trees that I had to cut because it was spiraling into much too large a beast:

“Can’t b’lieve I ‘most got took out by kid, swiping at me like I’m a pest. No ‘preciation, absolutely appalling.”

Laudna reached up to tickle his stomach, making him squawk indignantly. “You’ve had worse things swipe at you, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Soft footfalls hushed them both, and a creak on the stairs heralded the girl’s tentative arrival. She had deep red frizzy hair in a long braid, and a shock of freckles just like Imogen’s, and so Laudna immediately felt predisposed to like her. She waved her in, but then tossed both her hands up in sudden warning, making the girl freeze like a startled deer. “Ut ut- mind the chalk! I don’t want to draw all this again, never mind how much it costs. Just…stay there!”

The constant motion of Laudna’s hands took on more purpose as she murmured the incantation. The natural shimmer of the gemstone dust in the chalk, catching the sunlight filtering through the window, seemed to suddenly freeze, before slowly rising, smearing up into the air like a bright, trailing afterimage. Another second, and the light pulsed, then exploded in strength, bursting forth into a blue so intense, it seemed nearly white. The magic in the air skittered across Laudna’s skin like static, and the circle hummed in place. Laudna pointed at the girl. “I just need to do the same thing on the other side, wait just like, 2 minutes, ok? Back in a momennnnnt!” Then she hopped in the circle.

A feeling like a warm wave of sunlight passed up her body from her feet to her head, and then she was in Yios at the usual spot. She immediately began tracing out the sigils again, hurrying through the spell as quick as she dared. She didn’t want to botch it and waste all the fancy components, of course, but she was going to vibrate right out of her body if she didn’t get to chat with her new visitor soon. She was terribly glad today one of the other Hells was not meeting up with her on this side - she would have had to ditch the fuck out of them and really, Ashton at least still had a complex about that, even if they wouldn’t admit it. Excellent luck to avoid that problem altogether.

Decidedly more than 2 minutes later, Laudna felt the wood of the barn loft under her feet again, task complete. The girl had stayed despite Laudna’s poor time estimation, and was peering curiously at the various spell components and craft supplies strewn across Laudna’s work table. She kept her arms tucked behind her even as she stretched so far over the table Laudna could almost imagine her craning neck was getting longer from sheer force of will.

She clapped her hands together, and the girl jumped. “Now then! Hello! Who are you!”

“Oh um. Is it safe to give my name to you?” The girl pulled her skirt up into her hands, worrying the edges of it, not quite making eye contact.

Laudna cocked her head to the side.

“I don’t see why not! I don’t plan on doing anything, like, weird to it. Mine is Laudna, and this rapscallion is Pâté.” He lifted his head from his nest in her hair, and the girl eyed him warily. It filled Laudna with an unexpected rush of sadness. Sometimes it seemed like he took on the burden of fear for her - how much less scary the cold, unnatural women seemed when juxtaposed to living taxidermy! It wasn’t fair. He was such a good boy. She made a mental note to find him some sort of treat later, just because.

“Oh. Nice to meet you? I’m Adelrune.” Her eyes skittered back up to Laudna’s hair. “And…how do you do, Pâté?”

He brought his head down so his beak was hanging over Laudna’s forehead, and she fought the urge to look up at it cross-eyed. His little paw thrust out over her brow in an accusing point.

“You’re not gonna swat me again, are ya?”

“No! “ The girl shook her head so vehemently, the edge of her braid popped her right in the nose. “I’m sorry, you just startled me, is all. I shan’t swat again, I promise.”

Satisfaction filled Laudna, at that. If she was willing to be kind to Pâté, then her initial instinct wasn’t unfounded. “Now then, Adelrune, what can we do for you?”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Curious eyes ran over the table again. “Some of the little kids said so.”

“I am indeed!”

“Do you know how to make love potions?”

Laudna leaned in eagerly. “I do not! How do you make them?”

Adelrune looked flummoxed, glancing to the dusty remains of the circle, the clear physical proof of the power of Laudna’s magic. “No, I- I need one?”

“Ah, well, I’m afraid I’m not that kind of witch, nor is my Imogen.” Laudna frowned, tapped her thumb against her forefinger. “Kinda nasty business, love potions, come to think of it. Why would you want that?”

#critical role #laudna #cr fic #fic or treat #my fic #pate de rolo

[c-estmabiologie]

we’ve got a good thing going (Critical Role fic)

Also on ao3!

I’m giving Imogen and Laudna a short and simple cottagegore “after everything” moment in Heartmoor Hamlet because sometimes we should gift ourselves kindness.  -- 

The cottage wasn’t much. It was snugged up against a tree as if it needed shelter, or maybe help staying upright. The roof was soft with moss and the windows were blurred with dust and cobwebs. 

According to Laudna, the previous owner had been a hermit. He’d died in there and no one had known until after his body had mostly rotted away. 

“I heard that if you die in a bog, it sort of… preserves you,” Laudna’s hands waved around as she explained, fingers splayed.

“Yeah, but then you’d have to die in a bog, which doesn’t sound...ideal,” Imogen replied. Laudna gave up a shrug and a noncommittal sound.

The path up to the front door was overgrown with ferns and grasses and other, unrecognizable plants that might not be safe to touch. In a few spots Imogen misstepped and her foot sank ankle-deep into waterlogged earth. They would both need better boots.

Laudna had skipped ahead, limbs loose and skirt smeared with pollen, to get to the door first and pull it wide open. Her excitement was so filling and Imogen couldn’t help opening herself up to it completely. She crossed the threshold brimming with Laudna’s joy. 

In the grey light Imogen could pick out the details of the life that the last person had clearly been in the middle of living. A cup was left out on a table. An almanac was open on an armchair, its pages foxed and mildewed and unreadable. A hand-carved walking stick leaned against the wall next to the door. Dust shimmered in the air and everything smelled of wet rocks and something vaguely meaty. Imogen took a moment to really breathe it in (and wondered distantly if the air was safe). She saw herself as she would be the next day, looking out the window into the back garden with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea, and the day after that clearing out the cupboards with Laudna to make room for what little that was theirs, and the infinite days after days after days that would follow. 

The moment was broken when a soft rat body swung into her peripheral vision. 

“It’s a roight proper home, innit?” Pâté’s tethered arms flung open wide.

“It sure is,” she told him. Imogen slipped her arm around Laudna’s waist and she pulled her in close. 

“And we’ll make it even better.”

The cottage wasn’t much at all. It was only everything.

--

The dust wiped away easily enough and the mould scrubbed away with a bit more effort. They cleared away cobwebs, but, at Laudna’s request, relocated the spiders to safer corners. 

The floor just outside their bedchamber held onto a weird stain where the wood was just a bit softer. They both skirted around it at first out of some sort of respect, but over time they realized that the centre held when they stepped on it, and eventually they just forgot altogether that it was there.

It wasn’t hard to add homey touches: by trial and error they figured out which flowers were safe to pick and set in a glass of water upon the windowsill. Laudna made sketches of her favourite arrangements in her journal and kept careful notes of which caused rashes or released puffs of noxious pollen or worse. When they did venture into town Imogen sought out books that could teach her how to make salves and balms from what grew around their home.

They also always visited the antiques shop, Knot Forgotten. Laudna would chat affectionately with the taxidermy and pick over moth-eaten dolls’ clothes for Pâté and Sashimi. Imogen’s hands would hesitate over lovely, useless things like tiny spoons and jars of buttons. She’d picture them cluttering shelves and countertops with a comfortably heavy sort of happiness.

It was during one of these visits that Imogen found the teapot shaped like a chicken, indignantly tucked away behind cloudy glassware. Its beak was chipped but it was otherwise uncracked. She cradled it thoughtfully in her hands as she wandered along her usual paths around the shop. Everything else on display was more of the same that they always saw when they came through.

“Did you find something?” Laudna asked when they found each other again in an aisle full of empty ink bottles and faded hair ribbons. 

Imogen considered the teapot again.

“I used to have one just like it. Before.” It was a little rounder, to be fair, with brown painted feathers instead of white, but it felt the same to Imogen in a way that she couldn’t explain. 

But Laudna just nodded. 

“Well, I love it, Imogen,” she said. “We have to get it.”

And so they did. 

Laudna named it Ceviche. Its chipped beak made a mess of pouring tea every time; their new morning rituals left them with stained shirtsleeves from wiping tea rings off the tabletop.

--

Imogen’s second favourite thing to do in this new life with Laudna was to let time pass slowly. She loved the crawl of shadows making their way across the floor every day; she loved to discover new dust settling onto surfaces. The best moments, of course, were the ones spent just existing in time, observing life together. Last week it had been an egg sac that Laudna had found clinging to the bedroom window. They’d just waited and checked on it until the morning they could sit and hold hands and watch bog spiders emerge from the silk. 

This week it was the sundews in the back garden with tendrils as thick as her arm. They’d seen the plants naked and glistening with sticky drops of nectar and had just as often seen them crowded with flies and beetles, some struggling, some still. The sundews didn’t differentiate between food that was living or dead; they just consumed. It was fascinating to both of them. 

"Do you think they could get big enough to come through the window and eat us while we’re sleeping?” Laudna said.

“Uh-huh, absolutely I think they could.”

They sat and each imagined that for a long moment punctuated by the odd insect leg or wing that dropped free from a plant’s grip. 

“Well,” Laudna chuckled, “I’m not afraid if you’re not afraid.”

Imogen turned those words over in her mind like stones. There weren’t any hidden grubs, no fungus underneath. The simple fact was that she could not remember the last time she had felt afraid. That familiar feeling in her gut was gone and she hadn’t felt it leave. It hadn’t even left behind an empty socket where it had been rooted for so long. It was an unmooring realization.

She wove her fingers between Laudna’s and felt them slowly take on the warmth from her skin. It was grounding, retethering. 

“No,” she said, “I’m not afraid.” And it was the truth.

#critical role fic #imodna #imogen temult #laudna cr #critical role

[laudsimogen]

This Hunger, It Isn't You (Ch. 7)

Read on AO3

Laudna paced the campfire’s edge like a caged animal. She’s gone back to her realm for a while, knowing it would be some time before Imogen was ready to speak to her again, but the brief time she’d spent with the survivor had left her aching and desperate for more contact.

She didn’t have to wait long for it. As soon as Imogen woke up, she headed for the edge of the shadows, and Laudna hurried around to meet her.

She arrived just as Imogen peered into the dark and called, “Laudna? Are you out there?”

“I’m here!” Laudna said. She could clearly see Imogen in front of her, so close she could make out the freckles on the girl’s face, but it must have been difficult to see into the dark from the other side. Imogen’s eyes couldn’t seem to focus on her, but a smile spread across her face when she heard Laudna’s voice.

“Hi,” she said. “I have news!”

“Sounds like good news,” Laudna said. Her sluggish heart beat a bit faster at Imogen’s excitement. It was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in a long time. “What did you find?”

“Well, I went up against the Plague earlier—I didn’t last long, but that doesn’t matter. She seemed like she didn’t wanna be sacrificing us. She said a prayer or somethin’ when she hooked me, and she said she was sorry. That’s something, right?”

Laudna wished she could break through the campfire’s barrier and hug Imogen. She didn’t know what to think, whether there was actually some hope of the Plague being willing to strike with them against the Entity, but Imogen was so happy. When was the last time she’d seen someone happy?

“It could be,” she said simply.

“This is kinda weird,” Imogen said. “I can’t really see you. Do you think we could talk back at your place?”

Laudna paused. “…My place? Wouldn’t you rather stay here by the fire?” It wasn’t as if she were much to look at, anyway.

“Well, I just thought—I mean, I don’t wanna impose,” Imogen said. “But that’s a safe place to talk where we can actually be face-to-face, right? And a little more private.” Imogen glanced over her shoulder and Laudna followed her gaze to a group of survivors watching them.

“Of course,” Laudna said. “Yes, of course you’re welcome there. But we might run into others like me on the way, and, well…” She felt the hint of a blush beginning to form on her cheeks. She hadn’t even known that was possible anymore. “I can’t defend you like this. I would have to…change. I don’t want to scare you.”

“You mean how you looked the first time I saw you,” Imogen said. “It’s all right. I’ll know it’s still you.”

She held her hand out into the shadows, and Laudna stared at it for a moment. She couldn’t fathom why this girl trusted her so much, even after helping her before. She was still a killer. She still had blood on her hands.

But they were clean enough right now, and Imogen looked so expectant. Laudna took her hand gently, almost afraid Imogen would recoil at the cold touch of her skin or the boniness of her fingers, but she didn’t. She gripped Laudna’s hand and stepped out of the light.

“Thanks,” Imogen said with another soft smile. “I know all this must be weird for you. I really appreciate you takin’ the time to talk to me.”

“Oh, no,” Laudna said, “it’s no problem! It’s my pleasure, really. It’s so nice to have someone to talk to after so long…but let’s keep quiet until we get back to my woods. I don’t want to attract attention.”

Imogen nodded, and she kept her hold on Laudna’s hand as she was led through the Fog to the black woods. Laudna almost stopped for a moment to pick a buttercup from a small cluster of blossoms she spotted and give it to Imogen, but that would be weird, right? It would definitely be weird. The flowers were so pretty, though, and Imogen deserved something pretty. Maybe later, if they managed to remain friends.

Did they count as friends? Laudna wasn’t sure what qualified anymore, and it wasn’t as if she’d really had friends in the real world. She may have been mistaking simple amiability for friendship; after all, they had only spoken once before. But still, it was more than she’d ever had before.

Laudna offered Imogen the bed when they arrived. “The chairs are a little uncomfortable,” she explained. “Not that the cot is great, either. I’m sorry I don’t have something better for you.”

“It’s all right,” Imogen said, the hint of a laugh playing on her voice. She sat down and patted the spot beside her. “You should sit down, too.”

“Oh…are you sure?” Laudna stood awkwardly beside the bed. “I’m not—I mean—I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to be close to me. I know I kind of smell like…like death. There’s not much I can use to try to wash the scent off.”

“It’s all right,” Imogen said again. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever think anything smells bad again after being near the Plague.”

“She does smell awful, doesn’t she?” Laudna said, hushed, as if she could be overheard gossiping. She sat down next to Imogen. “Her whole realm smells like that. Poor thing. I’m sure she’s sick of being sick.”

“I’d imagine so,” Imogen said. “I couldn’t even handle it for five minutes.”

“At least I can be grateful the Entity didn’t ‘bless’ me with that particular power,” Laudna murmured. “Small mercies.”

She could see Imogen watching her out of the corner of her eye. The girl was silent for a moment, and then she said hesitantly, “Can I ask you about yourself, and your life before? Is that all right?”

Laudna hummed. “I don’t see why not,” she said, but her gut twisted a little at the thought of saying those things out loud to another person. It would be good to share it with someone, though, like a therapy of sorts.

“I wasn’t always like this,” she said. “I suppose that’s obvious. But Iwasalways…I don’t know…different. Too weird for the folk in town. They never understood me; they all called me names and kept away from me, and so, when I grew up, I said, ‘your loss,’ and I left!” Laudna tried to play it up, tried to pretend she was above it all and that she really hadn’t minded leaving, but the pretense fell flat. Imogen’s brow furrowed as she spoke, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I just wandered after that. I couldn’t find steady work, so I stayed in abandoned huts along the road and scavenged most of my food and supplies. It wasn’t bad sometimes, but I admit it was a bit lonely.” She looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her fingers. “Then, one day, I was out gathering mushrooms for supper and…well, I suppose I was robbed. I’m not sure what they expected to find on me; it’s not as if I had nice things. But they left me there in the woods with my throat slit, and that’s when the Entity came.”

Laudna subconsciously rubbed at the skin beneath her jaw. It was so long ago, but she’d never forgotten the feeling of her body emptying itself through her neck, the confusion, the pain. She hadn’t thought she’d be scared of dying, but she was. The wrongness of it all had been terrifying.

“The fog rolled in and its voice spoke in my head, telling me it could save me and take me away from that life. It sounded so kind at the time. It even felt like it was holding me with that fog, petting my hair, soothing me.” Laudna gritted her teeth. “It never even lied. I just trusted it too blindly.

“And so, I accepted its offer, and I woke up here. And immediately, it made me kill for it.” Laudna sighed. “I looked like this, too. Like I died back there, anyway. And when I realized it, that’s when my new form took over. It happened when I got upset or angry at first, but now I can control it. And I use it to hunt your kind to avoid punishment. That’s all life is here.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry if you were expecting something noble. I hate to admit it, but I do have a choice in my actions. I just gave up on resisting my orders a very long time ago because it was easier that way. I know that’s rather cowardly of me.”

"No,” Imogen said quickly. “No. Nobody could blame you for that. It doesn’t sound to me like you have much of a choice at all.”

Laudna blinked, taken aback by the ferocity of Imogen’s statement. She’d expected disappointment, maybe even anger, but the girl just looked…sad. Sad for her.

“I think you may be the only one who feels that way, darling,” Laudna said quietly. “I’m not sure the others would forgive me for the pain I’ve inflicted on them. Not that I would blame them.”

“Still.” Imogen took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that. It sounds awful. I hope I can help you escape this place.”

Laudna smiled sadly at Imogen. It was sweet how much hope she had, but Laudna couldn’t share it. Maybe—maybe—there could be a way out for the survivors. And for all the kindness Imogen had shown her, she’d do her best to help find it. But she couldn’t help but imagine there was nothing left for her. She’d been changed, mentally and physically, and she didn’t even know what she was anymore. If the real world hadn’t accepted her before, it certainly wouldn’t now.

She wouldn’t say any of that to Imogen, though. She simply gripped the girl’s hand back, desperately grateful for the touch of her skin, and nodded. “I hope so, too. But that’s enough of my silly little sob story. I want to learn about you.”

#critical role #imodna #laudna #imogen temult #my writing #this hunger it isn't you #bonding babey!

[skygal-178]

IMOGEN & LAUDNA ORIGINS

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A story of two complete strangers and the strong bond that blossoms between them!

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artwork by @shadydruid characters by laura bailey and marisha ray from @criticalrole

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“Imogen, I.. I’m sorry! I don’t.. I’m sorry!” Before Laudna can say anymore, Imogen reconnects their lips once more sweet little kiss. “I’m not. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, Laudna. And I like you.. a lot..” “But not right now.” “Maybe just.. be friends, for now.. and see where it goes.” Laudna gives Imogen a soft smile and nods, before leaning in for another hug. “Let’s go to bed, we’re gonna have a long day tomorrow.” Imogen nods, and the two head below deck to their quarters.

The next morning a sound of a bustling wharf surrounds the ship, with street vendors yelling a small distance into town and merchants selling their goods to the shop owners by the docks. “So where are you two of to now that you made it across?” Jester asks cheerful as ever, as she spots the ladies walk on deck. “Oh we’re heading to the Starlight Conservatory in Jrusar.” Laudna replies, sharing an assuring look with Imogen. “I would like to find out more about the origins of my powers.” Imogen adds. “You mean you didn’t get your powers from any of the Gods?” “That’s the thing, I don’t really know where they came from. I have always thought they came from my mother, but I don’t know much about her either.” “I hope you find what you're looking for there.” Fjord walks up to them, their son not far behind him. He keeps a bit of distance from Laudna and clings to his mother's side. “Safe travels to you too.” Imogen smiles, as she slings her bag over her shoulder. Jester, Fjord, and the rest of the crew wave them off as Laudna and Imogen disembark and start walking into town.

It doesn’t take too long for them to find a tavern to stay the night. Once that’s al settled, the ladies head out to find a way to Jrusar. Spending the afternoon walking around town and talking with some locals, they come across a traveling couple willing to take them along to the spire city. Taking a few days on horse cart, they arrive about midday at the base of the Lantern Spire. Passing through thriving markets and welcomed by locals selling travel and tourist goods. Filou - a young human lady, with long black hair and wearing layered clothes of beige, red and blue colors - and Gallant - a young tiefling man, with a burnt orange skintone and wearing the same type of layered clothing with additional metal armor plates covering the shins, knees and chest area - lead them across the Fatewalk, a stone bridge crossing to the Core Spire. “Thank you guy so much. We really aprreciate your help.” The guy and the girl nod and smile kindly as they waves them off.

As they walk around the base of the Core Spire, through the Windowed Wall neighborhood. When they suddenly hear a woman screaming from one of the houses nearby. “Why ah was that? Did you hear that?” Laudna looks up now fully alert. “Sounded like it’s coming from over there, c’mon!” Imogen immediately rushes over to where the scream is coming from. “HELP! HELP ME!” An older woman bursts through the front door of her house, completely panicked and out of breath. “Ma’am, it’s alright. You’re safe now. What happened?” Imogen places her hands on the elder's shoulders, trying her best to calm her down. “They were everywhere.. th-they came out of the ground..” “What came out of the ground?” Laudna asks, stepping up to them. “I.. I don’t know.. these small hooded creatures.. they crawled out from inside my closet. Started ransacking the place, and attacking me.” “We’ll go take a look inside, you stay here okay.” Imogen gives Laudna a nod, before the two heads inside the house. Where they immediately come face to face with about six of these small hooded figures. Laudna makes quick work of it, as one jumps towards her claws out. It drops down on the floor in front of her, dead. That catches the attention of the others. Luckily their nog very hefty creatures and they take them out one by one. Two more crawl out from the closet, but those are turned back on their heel in fear and mental agony. “Quick, let’s find something to cover up this whole.” Imogen and Laudna both starts looking around for something, anything. “These will work.” Laudna holds up two wooden planks, from the nightstand broken by the creatures. Imogen nods, holding the planks in place as Laudna nails them in place with her rock hammer she took out of her hair. Taking a little bit to be absolutely sure no more of those critters are able to break through, before walking back outside where the lady is still waiting.

“Oh, are you girls okay?! You didn’t get hurt did you? Gods I wouldn’t want you to get hurt for me!” She rambles. Imogen walks up to her. “We’re alright, ma’am. We got rid of those creatures.” “And we also managed to seal off the whole they came out of.” Laudna adds. “They won’t be hurting you anymore.” Imogen finishes, giving the lady her kindest smile. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” The lady takes Imogens hands in her hers. “Please, let me set you ladies a nice pot of tea. Fresh from the market.” Imogen and Laudna share a look, before accepting the offer and following her back inside.

A couple of hours have gone by in the blink of an eye. Having just a nice hot cup of tea with this kind stranger is refreshing after their long travel. “I truly can’t thank you enough for ridding my home of those pesky little monsters. If there’s anything I can do for you, please come by whenever.“ Madam Zhudanna offers, pouring one last cup of freshly brewed tea for everybody. “Oh I’m just glad you’re alright, I hope our craftsmanship will hold them back from now on.” Imogen replies. Laudna gives Imogen a quick look, thinking about the one thing they are still looking for. Receiving a barely noticeable nod in return. “Actually, we just arrived here in Jrusar today and we haven’t really had time to find a place to stay. If there’s anything in the area you know about, that would be well appreciated.” Laudna states, taking a sip of her tea. “Oh well, there are a few taverns and inns around. You have the Spire by Fire here on the Core Spire, the Weary Way on the Lantern Spire and the Soot and Swill tavern on the SMolder Spire. Those are the best known. If you’d like to save yourselves some money, you’re welcome to stay over with me.” Zhudanna offers unexpectedly. “Oh.. well..” Laudna stutters looking over at Imogen who is already looking back at her. In a silent conversation, the ladies seem to agree. “That would be lovely, we could help out with groceries and chores as a way of payment.” Imogen smiles kindly at the elderly lady.

Some days later, Laudna and Imogen have made a little home for themselves in the room they have at Zhudanna’s. Going out for groceries when needed and taking odd jobs to earn enough coin to send a request letter to the Starpoint Conservatory on the Aerie Spire in the meantime. Taking a couple of weeks, but eventually they succeed and manage to send to letter.

Another couple weeks later, there still hasn’t been any reply. “Maybe we should just go over therev and ask in person. Showing enthusiasm in research might help in our favor.” Laudna suggests, noticing Imogen at a loss. “Yeah.. maybe..” Imogen sighs deeply. “I just don’t understand why it’s so dificult to just read some books, it’s not like I need to take them with me. I just wanna know where these powers came from.” She states, a hint of defeat evident in her voice. “Alright! That’s it, let’s go!” Laudna grabs Imogen’s hand, pulling her of her seat. “Wha- right now.. Laudna.. wait!” She gently pulls her hand free. “We’ve been waiting for weeks now, I bet those rich bastards haven’t even as much as glanced at our letter. And that’s just bullcrap!” The frustration in Laudna is building quickly. “You’re probably right.. I’d like to be a bit more prepared, so let’s go tomorrow.” Laudna nods and the two make their way back to Zhudanna’s place. Imogen’s demeanor become a bit more hopeful as they walk off down the road.

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AN: I'm so so so sorry for the late upload, I've been having serious writers block for the past months.. still struggling, but I really wanted to finish this story! I hope it doesn't feel rushed or anything.. Also I know it seems like a bit of an open ending, but this is the point where I imagine campaign three starts off with Imogen and Laudna going to the conservatory together.

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#critical role #imogen temult #laudna #bells hells #campaign 3 #fanfiction #origin story

[demigoddessqueens]

DJHAVGJHDGJSHG , I HAVE AN IDEA!! Well two to be honest. Character Idea: You are a disgraced noble. Through some sort of act you committed (or whatever you can decide) you were disowned by your family. You were mocked and humiliated for being a nuisance/unfit to your family's line. JOKES ON THEM THOUGH, because later after your departure your city was taken over by cultists obsessed with releasing their deity to rain destruction. Your entire family's legacy was thrown out. Of course, finding out this news was a heavy blow to you, and started to twist you inside out. With the mix of guilt of not staying and the humiliation you faced for years by distant relatives and close family, it all formed into your ruined ego. You on one hand wanted to get your revenge but on the other hand, you wanted to leave that behind you (intense stare at Percy) At a first glance, you can come off as a bit of an asshole. You very much frame yourself to be a stubborn prick. Though there are moments when your cocky facade wavers and you show your more loving side (I can see this showing more once you've made good friends.) Normally you let that torment bubble up inside of you and make sure to push it down with certain stunts. Your mind morphs how people perceive you, making you wonder whether they truly like you or are just keeping you around out of pity. Of course when realizing your connection to the massacred nobles.

PLOT IDEA (Woop woop!!): Due to your stuffed in feelings, this equals to you being cursed with vicious nightmares. Of your family, your appearance, whatever your mind could conjure up. Any soft spot in you your mind space would try to hit. Though they were never that bad, I mean as in you would never wake up a vulnerable shell of yourself, until one night. The flashes of some dreading imagery you couldn't take, it was haunting. You sprang up from wherever you were sleeping, a cold sweat running down your back. The feelings of somewhat dried tears would stain your face.

Thankfully you are able to hold in your cries for help, and you quickly go to scramble outside to take in some fresh air. What if one of the party members heard you scrambling out of there and got the courage to go ask if you were alright. BRING THE DRAMA IM READY!

(Sorry if this was super long, I just need to spread it so bad. Any group is fine!!)

Your mind, anon! Your mind 😳🤯💕👌

I’m gonna do a brief one liner for all three groups, and how the other would react to all your inner turmoil

Percy de Rolo - “I know how those types of days and nights can be. I’m here if you need to talk”

Laudna - “Dearie, you sound frightful. Is everything all right?”

Cadeuces - “Are you ok? I’m here if you ever want to talk”

Vex’ahlia - “Is it a bad night for you, darling?”

Beauregard - “Hey…are you ok?”

Vax’ildan - “If there’s anything you want to say, you can speak freely. I’m here if you ever need to talk or anything”

Jester - hugs you tightly with sweet words “you can tell me what happened”

Fearne - “is it ok if I sit here….? and you can yell if you want”

Imogen - “I know how that feels and all…with how my head feels. Do you want to sit?”

Orym - “Will and I used to talk about our feelings

Pike and Grog - “Sometimes Grog/Pike and I used to talk about our feelings if it got a lot…do you want to?”

Fjord - “darlin’/love you look as pale as a ghost. You know you can trust me to talk, if you want”

Essek - “I’m…not the best at these kinds of things, but I’m willing to…”

Dorian - “I know it might not be much…but I am a good listener”

Caleb and Nott- “I’ve had a many sleepless nights such as yours, but I’ve learned not all have to face it alone”

Chetney - “you’re not a burden, and you don’t have to feel like one to keep it all in”

Yasha - “I know exactly how that can be, more often I would like”

Scanlan - “you know sometimes I use composing to help me…if you want, we could figure something else out”

Mollymauk - “Bad night for you too, eh? I know how that can be”

Fresh Cut Grass - “Keeping your feelings inside for too long may hurt…and I’m a good listener”

Keyleth - “Are you ok? Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”

#critical role #headcanons #inbox asks #inbox answers #inbox requests #vox machina #bell’s hells #the mighty nein #critical role x y/n #critical role x you #critical role x reader #exandria unlimited #the mighty nein x y/n #the mighty nein x you #the mighty nein x reader

[overnighttosunflowers]

HI I'M LATE TO THE WRITER ASK GAME! ❤️💥🎁🦈 (for my brand) 🧪🤩

HI NATALIE THANK YOU FOR THE ASK <3

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

What the hell, have a goofy excerpt from the journal fic:

List of ideas Prostrate self on spiky rock New rock??? Horse???? Sculpt horse out of rock Repair old rock?? Repair old rock with blood Sacrifice self → Delilah’s magic in soul = soul goes into old rock = repairs rock?? Find Delilah new magic = gives back rock?? Prostrate self on very very spiky rock on the ground in front of her so that she can step on me → forgiveness via pain as I deserve Give some other chance to take retribution?? Give her my hair?????

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

I really wish we’d spent longer in Yios—it felt like Matt spent soooo long building up to it and then the Hells found all the information they needed in like two episodes and skedaddled. The pacing has been pretty frantic and while I’m enjoying all of it I’m also hopeful that the second half(?) of the campaign will have a little more breathing room. I was put a bit in mind of the way Campaign 2 felt right around Travelercon—whipping through the visit to the Blooming Grove for instance. Having something fixed on a calendar is tough.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

God I absolutely cannot get the hang of FCG and it drives me insane. I’m almost tempted to write something set during this Wildemount arc where Imogen gets to yell at him or something just to practice his (impossible) voice and getting inside their head.

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

I am a terminal canonfucker so yes I dooooo. Lots and lots and lots of linkable transcripts, primarily, but when I was writing the journal fic I had like seven or eight tabs open at a time—a couple of transcripts, the two critrolestats campaign calendar pages, a CR wiki page about the calendar, a critrolestats tab listing all of Imogen’s dreams, and a couple of CR wiki episode pages.

🤩 What led to your interest in the fandom?

I got really into TAZ balance in I think 2018—I’d been hearing @thunderburning talk about it for quite a while and then someone I was friendly with at work recommended it as well and I figured what the heck. I started seeing some CR on my dash from following TAZ blogs and gradually became interested. The thing that finally pushed me over the edge was meeting someone at a work lunch who spoke really enthusiastically about it, and then immediately going on a vacation where I had a lot of downtime (car rides and also jet lag insomnia). I think I listened to maybe the first six or seven episodes of Campaign 2 on that trip? It was a bit of a slow burn and then somewhere around the disastrous hospital heist episode I really went all in.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share? I truly don’t have much right now so I am taking inspiration from you and using something I abandoned. I had fully forgotten about this one, it was set post-38. I’d written about a thousand words so I’m putting it under a read-more.

After dinner, after everything, they’re laying blankets out around the base of the sun tree. Laudna doesn’t really remember coming outside. She doesn’t really remember dinner. Snatches of it—Imogen beside her, hand on her arm, bracing her. It makes it feel more real. Imogen and the sun tree.

As they lay down, Laudna hovers a little, unsure of what to do, whether to—where to—it was her idea to sleep out here and they’re all looking to her and she doesn’t know where to, what to—

“Laudna?” Imogen says, and her voice is a touch to the hand, soft, firm, kind. “Come here, honey.” She’s found a spot in the curling roots, a trough between them. She sits and holds out a hand, and Laudna takes it and curls down beside her, lays against the rough, warm bark. She doesn’t quite realize she hasn’t been breathing until Imogen lays down beside her. Warmth in both directions. Everywhere. It’s been a long time since she was warm.

There’s a sound. The bumping of a wheel across ground. “Imogen, sorry, I wanted to check. Did you want me to—” Letters says. “In case tonight’s the night?”

Imogen shifts beside her. “Oh—sure, Letters. Yeah, thank you.”

Laudna turns to see what’s happening. Letters is laying out spell components—a feather, twine, a silver coin. She doesn’t recognize them. She wants to be conversational. She wants to ask, normally, what he is doing, and not because the presence unfamiliar magic makes her feel twitchy, like the time she’s missed is spinning out ahead of her, things changing in her absence, foreign and alone. She winds her fingers into Imogen’s, and just like that, Imogen squeezes back.

After a moment, she finds words. “What’s the feather for?” 

“Shared Dream,” Letters says proudly. “Lets someone come into a dreamscape with you.”

Her eyes move to Imogen. Imogen, Imogen. The dream—and Otohan—(a flashing sword, echo of a Imogen giving in for her, a liability, a nuisance)—Imogen looks brave and hopeful and scared. “Into the dream?” 

“We’ve been tryin’ it for a few days, while you were—gone. It hasn’t worked yet,” Imogen adds as Laudna’s heart falls, catching it. “But maybe tonight’s the night.” She forces a smile. Brave. Laudna wonders if there are updates her dream journal has missed. 

“I was wonderin’, actually,” Letters says. “Should I cast it like normal? Or now that Laudna’s back, do the two of you want me to try to send her in?”

She can go into the dream? She can be there for Imogen? She can escape her own nightmares, her own head? “I can—I can come,” Laudna says.

“Oh, honey, no, you don’t have to do that,” Imogen says immediately, and something inside Laudna caves in like wet sand. “I don’t need—all I need is for you to be here with me, okay?” Laudna’s expression must show something because she reaches out and touches Laudna’s face. Laudna is grateful. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.” 

“Me too,” Laudna says, and Imogen’s expression goes soft and intense and warm, and she wants to cling to it.

“All right then!” FCG says. “So I’m just gonna get it set up, then, with one end on me, okay?” Their magic sparks and then they hand Imogen the silver coin. She slips it into a pocket; the feather, twine knotted around it, goes back into FCG’s bag. Laudna watches it disappear inside the cloth, stays sitting as they roll away.

“Laud?” Imogen has laid down again, tucking herself back into the space between the two hugging roots. She’s got a blanket from the castle; it’s getting dirty. Laudna makes a mental note to clean it tomorrow. Prestidigitation. She can do things like this again. She can make things better. “Come to bed?”

“Of course,” Laudna says, and she lays back down amidst the brambles crawls under the corner of the blanket where Imogen has lifted it, crawls inside to where Imogen’s arms are waiting for her, and lets herself be folded within them. The tree holds her; Imogen holds her. Imogen kisses her hair softly and, surprisingly quickly, with a sense of safety and assurance that Laudna has rarely seen in her, her breathing falls into sleep, where Laudna cannot follow.

-

Laudna dreams.

The tree is cold. The tree is cold and she is cold and the barn is cold. She’s dressing for dinner and the clothes are paper against the wind and there’s a chill wind on the air as they bring fire towards her home, and she doesn’t finish making Pâté and she is alone and it’s cold, she’s freezing, and then she’s not alone for the whisper of a voice, Delilah, always Delilah, waking rope around her neck to Delilah, the whisper of—

Imogen.

Warmth. 

Her face, through the branches; her voice, a rush of dream-memory, telling Laudna to fight. I want to, Laudna tries to say, you’re here and I want to, tell me how to fight and I can keep trying, I don’t know how anymore, but there’s nothing that comes out and she tries and tries again and her tongue is gone in her mouth and the fire picks up around her, how is the fire cold, and Pâté must be burning and her bird, the drawing, to take her away, she has a pocket full of feathers to build the bird and they’re carrying away on the ice wind,

“We’re here now,” Imogen says, and her hand is against the glass against Laudna’s and her eyes are warmth, and Laudna touches the glass and she feels Imogen’s hand in hers, they’re at dinner and there’s a sandstorm at the windows and Imogen’s hand is in hers and it’s steady and it squeezes when the lobster is served and her breathing stops and she looks to the end of the table and it’s Delilah, and Laudna looks at the lobster and it’s a noose, and she looks to Imogen in a panic and Imogen is there. She holds her hand and she’s there. Just stay close? Laudna says, and Imogen nods and leans towards her as though to kiss her, but there’s a barrier there, and she leans away. Don’t go too far, Laudna says, and Imogen says, I think that’s up to you, darlin’, and Laudna’s hands are Delilah’s and her face reflected in the glass is Delilah’s and the glass is a bubble and the dining room is a tree and Imogen is on the ground.

Don’t go too far, Laudna tries to say again, and Imogen’s face is terrified and she is farther away from LaudnaDelilah’s face, good, that’s safer for her, she shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t, and Delilah’s voice speaks as Laudna’s mouth moves. Don’t go too far, don’t go too far, she says, don’t go—

and the tree closes around her

And Laudna wakes up.

(……anyway after that Laudna was going to beg her way into a dream with Imogen out of a need to feel useful, and in the dream she was going to be able to protect Imogen in some very Laudna way that I hadn’t quite worked out yet—something that gestured at just how false that “I haven’t been able to fight her for thirty years” was, that demonstrated all of the ways in which Laudna is and always has been so so strong. But then I started writing until the mosses take root in thunder instead and this one sort of fell by the wayside.)

#THANKS AGAIN :) #ask games #my fic #sharkodactyl

[railroad-migraine]

From the sentence starters: "It's hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you" with Dorain pls. I mean it just screams staying up late at a tavern drinking and the normally shy reader just blurts that out without thinking about what they're saying because its been such a long day. Thanks in advance if you manage to get to this one!

Omg it definitely does. Big ol’ yes from me. I absolutely loved writing this.

~ Poet

Notes: Minor spoilers for C3E3. Very soft. Mutual pining. Requests are open!

Words: 1206

“One More For The Road”

->Dorian x gn!reader

“Let me hear it!”

The few patrons that remained inside of the tavern lifted their heads at the sudden commotion at the front of the establishment. More specifically, the commotion coming from beside your table. The wizened but certainly not wise fighter lifted his tankard into the air, his stance in the doorway staggering and off balance as he toasted: “Bertrand’s Bells!” The slurred murmurs in reply only made you grin wider as you sipped on your drink with the air genasi at your side.

Bertrand returned outside and faced you both- the only members of the party who had stayed up long enough to see him in his drunken state - and smiled. The wrinkles that appeared in the corners of his eyes showed his age, but there was nothing but a cheeky fondness in his expression - he may have been very handsome in his youth. “Branding,” he said simply, giving an almost suave wink to you both.

Dorian nodded in understanding, watching the man grip his drink and collect himself. “Good night, Bertrand.”

“Stay safe, Bertie,” you added fondly, patting his arm as he sidled past you.

“Good night,” he quipped, giving a wobbly bow to you. It was a fine night for a stroll, and even in his stupor he had the manners of a gent. He stood there for moment, swaying, glancing left and right indecisively before heading in the direction he believed Imogen and Laudna were staying.

Dorian audibly sighed at the retreating form of Bertrand, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and tapping his fingers on the wooden table with the other. With the stresses dealt in today’s adventure, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders sitting here with you in the inn. As if he just remembered your presence, he turned in his seat, elbow propped up and resting his chin on his palm.

“One more for the road?” he proposed, pointing to the now empty cup in your hands. It was on Bertrand's tab, and so were the empty rooms upstairs, so what was the harm in staying up a bit later? He spotted the pensive look on your face and a light purple blush dusted along his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Only if you want to, that is. I just thought it would be nice. Before we retire to bed- our separate, respective beds, that is. But, of course, the night is still young so…” He cleared his throat, halting his words as he let out a breath.

You considered the suggestion, and followed with a nod. “… I’d like that.” Dorian almost didn’t catch your words, but it was plain to see that you were hiding a smile behind the shyness. With a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, he snapped his fingers and called inside to get the bartender’s attention, and eventually two nightcaps were set down before you. Although you held the fresh drink in your hand, Dorian didn’t touch his immediately. Instead, be fiddled with his sleeve’s material with sudden interest. A silence enveloped the table, but you realised it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you would have imagined it to be.

Dorian eventually cleared his throat and pulled you back from your thoughts. “So…”

“So,” you quietly mused, tracing the lip of your tankard and regarding your friend with a soft gaze. He smiled at you and finally took a sip from his drink. The corners of your lips managed to quirk upwards at the action. “Homesick yet?”

“Pffft, how can you suggest such things?" he said, as if the idea was ridiculous. "Come on. We’re friends, you and I. You know I’m just your average wandering bard - I don’t have a home to miss.” His flustered state told you otherwise. Your deadpan look must have nudged something within him, as he promptly slouched a bit in his seat before continuing.

“I mean…” There it is, you thought triumphantly. “Sure. I will confess our little uh, ‘excursions’ back in Tal'Dorei linger on my mind, and my thoughts do drift to Opal and Dariax from time to time but, y'know. I have you.” Heat flooded your face at his words, and he seemed to realise the weight of them too late. He coughed into his drink, and scrambled to clear the air. “Not that I 'have' you, and certainly not just you, singularly. What I mean is that... Fearne and Orym are here too. Heh.”

He huffed something similar to a laugh, in sync with a short night breeze that tousled his hair. The moonlight softly highlighted his features and sincere expression in the just the right way, his demeaner the perfect combination of awkward and charming. A humble bard, indeed.

But… you noticed a slight strain on his face. Tiredness lingered in his smile, and bags were developing under his eyes - he is exhausted, you noted. And yet he was the one to suggest an extension to your evening, prolonging your company with chat and drinks. For what reason would he abandon the lovely guestroom that was waiting for him upstairs for so long?

Dorian was watching you too, in the same state of curiosity, and longing clearly in his gaze. Nearly overwhelmed with realisation, you felt your heart skip a beat.

He’s here for you.

Dorian averted his gaze and rubbed his forearms, imagining a chill in the air that did not exist, and turned a little shy. “And you? How are you finding Marquet so far? ”

“It's okay, but it's hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you.”

Both yourself and the genasi were surprised with the newfound confidence in your voice, finding it nearly as shocking as the confession itself. He swallowed hard, pointing his finger back and forth between you. “You- you want-” His finger rested upon the mantle covering his chest, eyes wide in disbelief. “To kiss. Me. You and me kissing. Is- is that what you said? That is what you said, right?”

You sucked in a breath and scooted into the seat next to him, barely catching how he too held his breath. Boldly, you pinched his chin and turned him to face you, your chest housing a thundering staccato that would rival any musician’s.

His skin was scalding to the touch, and you were almost certain you were the same. With the fatigue you felt in your bones, and your confidence bolstered by a little liquid courage, you leaned in closer. Slowly, enough so that he could back away to change his mind. Dorian didn't move an inch. "It's been a day," you muttered. He nodded in agreement, familiar crystal-blue eyes flickering between your own eyes and your mouth.

"Maybe," he breathed. "Maybe... we should call it a night then." His expression told you that was the last thing he wanted now.

"Good night, Dorian," you chuckled.

"Goodni- mmph!" And you sealed his lips with yours.

Relaxing into the kiss, one of his hands lingered on your shoulder, the other moving to hover over your waist. The next few days promised to be eventful to say the least - however you couldn't help but cherish the calm you were provided before the storm.

~

HA, forgive me for the pun at the end of the fic, it was NOT intentional, I promise hehe <3

~ Poet

#critical role x reader #critical role imagine #critical role #exandria unlimited imagine #exandria unlimited x reader #exandria unlimited #critical role headcanon #critical role headcanons #exu x reader #exu crew x reader #exu imagine #exu crew imagine #exu #exu crew #dorian storm x reader #dorian storm imagine #dorian storm #critrole #cr #cr3 #campaign 3 #bertrand bell #x reader #dnd #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction

[shenonagons]

Day One: Head Wound (C3)

Read here on AO3

Summary: The slag glass might be keeping Ashton's brain on the inside, but it's also opened him up to the wonderful world of migraines. At least one of his new companions can sympathize...and sometimes it's okay to just let go and let someone else take care of you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ashton curled up a little tighter, arms over his head, as another of his loud...comrades? Fellow mercenaries? People he tolerated who weren't weird little automatons?...careened past his door with an unnecessary amount of noise. Part of him wanted to stumble to his feet and stick his head out the door and politely demand that they shut the fuck up, but that was out of the question for two very good reasons.

First, they probably weren't making that much noise to begin with, he was just hypersensitive right now.

Second, if he moved from his little huddle of misery he just might end up painting the floor and walls with the dregs of the little bit of food he'd managed to choke down during breakfast.

So he curled up tighter, definitely did notwhimper when Fearne went galloping past, and seriously considered praying to the gods (who were definitely taking bets on how long he'd last this time) for the blessed release of unconsciousness.

“Ashton?”

Oh, fuck, he was gonna have to answer now, wasn't he? Imogen was one of the few people he actively avoided upsetting, and not just because Laudna would peel a few layers off his skin if he tried (and he definitely wasn't up for that today...maybe some other time).

“Oh dear.” Too late. She was already in the room, closing the door behind her and picking her way across the floor toward his bed. “You poor thing...you're hurting so bad I could feel it down the hall.”

Fuck, fuck fuck. He hadn't considered that. Hadn't thought that their resident empath (or whatever) would be able to pick up on his little problems like this. Ashton peeled one arm away long enough to glare at her with his good eye. “M'fine.”

Too late. Again. Imogen was already kneeling up on the bed to rest one hand on the back of his neck. “I don't have much experience with earth Genasi,” she admitted after a few moments. “I can't tell if you're all locked up or if this is natural.”

Well. Nothing for it but to endure the attention. “Both,” he admitted with a groan, rolling over a little to look up at her. The room was blessedly dim around them, and Imogen's naturally soft voice wasn't quite making him want to pick up his hammer and knock himself out. Yet.

Imogen was chewing on her lower lip, eyes focused on a spot just above his shoulder. “I get these headaches sometimes,” she said, after a few moments of silence. “Anything bright or loud just feels like it's stabbing right through me. Sometimes it gets insideand it just...” she shuddered.

That sounded like it fucking sucked. He groped blindly for her hand and managed to catch her wrist, giving it a little squeeze of solidarity. As bad as his own migraines were, he couldn't imagine being barraged with other voices insidehis own head at the same time.

She shifted around until his head was resting on her lap and slowly traced the tips of her fingers through his crystalline hair. “I'm sorry I don't know how to help,” she whispered after a few moments.

“S'fine,” Ashton shrugged one shoulder and let his eyes slide closed. She smelled like fragrant wood with a hint of death (no doubt from sharing close quarters with Laudna). It was kind of...neutral. Not really a good scent, not something he'd be seeking out at every opportunity, just something...calm. Centering. Something he could focus on that wasn't too overpowering.

“Didn't get them until this,” he said eventually, dragging one hand up to gesture at the lump of glass that had replaced a good chunk of his skull. “Fucking sucks.”

“I bet. Oh!”

He cracked his eyes open enough to see her staring off into space again, this time with a smile on her face. “What is it?”

“Laudna says she found what she needed at the market, and she'll be back to make you some tea in a few minutes.”

He groaned and flopped one arm over his eyes. “Said I'm fine.”

“She makes it for me every time I have one of my headaches,” Imogen insisted, though she never raised her voice or took her hand away from his hair. “Tumeric and ginger and honey, plus some other stuff...it helps, Ashton, I promise.”

The thought of drinking anything made his stomach churn again, and he rolled onto his side so he could curl up a little. He realized, belatedly, that he'd rolled toward Imogen and now practically had his face buried in her stomach.

Oh well. She just shifted so his head was resting more comfortably on her legs and traced her fingers through his crystalline hair again. “Just try it? Just a few sips?”

Ashton reached out for her hand again, and she must've seen it coming as she laced her fingers through his and let him hold on through another wave of pain. They were moving furniture out there, or fighting it, or else Orym had finally snapped and was practicing wall-jumps in a pair of boots eight sizes too big. Whatever it was, something was banging into something else and every blow sent pain radiating out from the glass in his head and the slag in his arm.

“I've gotcha,” Imogen murmured. She curled around him until he could feel the ends of her hair trailing along the side of his face. It helped, at least a little bit. Like she was insulating him from the noise, wrapping him in that scent of incense and grave that was so comforting even though it probably shouldn't be.

“We'll take care of you, Ashton. It's gonna be all right.”

He could have argued. Could have told her he could take care of himself. But it felt fucking great to just curl up and let someone else do it. Just this once.

#febuwhump 2022 #febuwhumpday1 #critical role campaign 3 #fanfic #ashton greymoore #imogen temult #migraines #friendship #hurt/comfort #ashton says fuck a lot

[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Category: M/M Fandoms: Critical Role (Web Series),Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationships: Orym/Dorian Storm, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield Characters: Orym (Critical Role), Dorian Storm, Leon S. Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Rebecca Chambers, Imogen Temult, Ashton Greymoore, Cyrus Wyvernwind, Piers Nivans, Laudna (Critical Role), Fearne Calloway Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Nightmares, Burns, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Orym's Dead Spouse (Critical Role), Sobbing, Human Experimentation, Stitches, drugged, Hospitals, Injury Recovery, Chronic Pain, Scars, Strangulation, Panic, Mind Control, Dissociation, Depression

Day Eleven. Chronic Pain

He knew it would be a terrible day when he woke up well before the sunrise in so much pain, he felt the urge to vomit sitting in the back of his throat. It throbbed deep in his thigh spidering down his leg and up into his abdomen in bursts that sparked whenever he moved. Being conscious of his still sleeping partner, it took a while to find the position that caused the least amount of pain. He kneaded at the spot with his hand for a few minutes, getting the tiniest bit of relief for his trouble.

The next few hours had consisted of a restless sleep that bordered on being awake while the pain continued to burn and throb. When the first hint of sunlight finally began to slip through their bedroom window, he slowly left the bed for the kitchen. His footsteps stayed light until the door shut with a soft click behind him, leaving Dorian still blissfully asleep in bed.

While he was tempted to reach the couch and go no further, he forced his feet to take him to the kitchen instead. It took him longer than normal to start a fire to get the kettle full of water boiling, but he eventually managed it. As soon as it came to temperature, he poured it into the special pouch Imogen brought him the last time she came to visit. With that finally in hand, he returned to the living room to get as comfortable as possible on the couch.

Several hours later that was where Dorian found him-stretched out, pouch on his thigh, leg bent at an odd angle that had been the most comfortable position he found. The wrinkle of concern that immediately took over his face grew deeper as he approached. His hand immediately went to the pouch resting on his leg, which he took once he felt the lack of heat radiating off it.

“Still hurting?”

“Yes, it's a bad day.”

“Do you want me to change the water out of this or does a hot bath sound better?”

“The pouch is fine.”

“Are you saying that because you mean it or because you don't want to be difficult?” When his answer came too slow, Dorian's face changed to that fond look he got whenever he found something Orym said or did ridiculous. “Is that why you didn't wake me up? You know I don't mind. In fact, I would prefer you told me, so I can help.”

“It's fine. You should eat breakfast and do whatever you had planned for the day.”

“I'm not just going to leave you on the couch in pain all day. I know we can't make it magically go away, but we can make it easier on you. That includes letting me help you.”

“I don't want you to waste your day taking care of me.”

“Taking care of you is not a waste of my day. The time I get to spend with you is time that I always cherish. Do I wish you weren't in so much pain? Yes, but it is still time with you.”

“But you had plans for today. I know you told my mom you would go to the market with her. You've been looking forward to it all week.”

With a smile, Dorian leaned down to press a kiss to Orym's forehead, then rose to his feet. “I'll send her a message to let her know I won't be able to make it today. She'll understand. There will be other days we can go to the market.”

“You really don't need to do that. I'll be fine on my own. I'm just going to be lying down all day. Maybe, I'll do some napping, but that's it. There's really no reason for you to sit around all day.”

“I'm looking at the reason right now.” Dorian disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, then returned with the pouch that he handed over for Orym to put the once again warm pouch on his leg. “This should help for now. I'm going to get the tub ready with warm water and lavender. Once I get you in there, I'll make you some tea and something to eat.”

“Dorian-”

“Have you eaten today?”

“No.”

“Then I'm going to make you something to eat. I know you don't have much of an appetite when you're in this much pain, but you still need to eat.”

“I know.”

“I'll be right back.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, love.”

As soon as Dorian disappeared from view, Orym moved the pouch to find the right spot on his leg for it to help. A sigh slipped through his lips at the pleasant warmth seeping through his skin to ease the tense muscles below. The temptation to try falling asleep again was strong enough that he closed his eyes, but the thought of soaking in warm water kept him from going any further.

That meant he was fully awake when Dorian returned to the couch and decided to pick Orym up instead of waking him. To avoid a potential drop, Orym kept his eyes closed the entire walk to the bathroom. It wasn’t until Dorian set him gently down that he opened them up to see Dorian already reaching for the hem of his shirt. Between the two of them, they were able to quickly undress him and get him into the hot water.

“Is the temperature okay?”

“It's good.” After sinking to the point only his head stayed above water, he flicked his eyes over to where Dorian sat on the edge of the tub. “It's perfect. Thank you.”

“You don't need to keep thanking me. Are you going to be able to stay awake? I don't want to leave you in here alone if you might fall asleep.”

“I'll stay awake. I promise.”

“You better. I'm going to make tea, then I'll make a light breakfast. How does toast and eggs sound?”

“I think I could manage that.”

“Toast and eggs, it is.”

Before Dorian could step away, Orym reached out a hand to lace their fingers together for a light squeeze. “I appreciate you doing this for me. I really do.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“Any day of the week.”

“Try to relax. Tension will make it worse.”

“I will.”

“I love you. I'll be back soon.”

“I love you, too.”

#febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday11 #chronic pain #critical role #dorym #orym #dorian storm #hurt/comfort #fanfic