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quietblueriver · 6 months

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Because I can't imagine Imogen was ready to let that moment in the basement go, some quickly written Southern Gothic angst/love/comfort set between their nighttime excursion and Imogen's visit to the temple the next day. Light spoilers for ep. 77.

When the door closes, the sounds of Fearne’s hoofs fading down the hallway, Imogen turns quickly to her pack, doing what she can to look busy as she shuffles clothes and tries to catch her breath. She needs a minute. She needs more than a minute. She needs…

“Imogen.”

It’s loving and soft, because of course it is, because it’s Laudna, but it’s also…she’s doing that thing she does sometimes, where she acts like Imogen doesn’t know what she wants. Like Imogen is too young and too naive to understand. The same tone she used in the basement. Promise me.

As if Laudna wouldn’t burn the world down for her. As if they don’t both know it.

It’s not the first time she’s dealt with this bullshit. Laudna gets to be passionate and protective and fierce in her love (I would murder everyone around us if anything happened to you) but Imogen is supposed to pretend like Laudna’s life is worth less to her, to the world. Supposed to somehow just…let Laudna go. Because what? She’s a little bit dead? A little bit different? Imogen leveled a city block without conscious thought and nobody’s trying to put her down like a rabid dog, so why does everybody act like that bitch Delilah makes Laudna’s life irrelevant? Why does Laudna act like her life doesn’t…like Imogen should just be able to…

Her veins crackle, shoulders so tight they rival Ashton’s, and when the sound of Laudna’s boots stepping closer reaches her ears, she says, sharp and unyielding, “Not now.”

The steps halt immediately, the room quiet aside from the settling fabric of Laudna’s skirt and Imogen’s heaving breath.

“I’m…I really am sorry, darling.”

Her body moves before her brain can stop it, eyes bright and anger flaring as she turns fast enough to surprise them both. Laudna is running her eyes up and down Imogen’s body a bit frantically, like she’s working out a puzzle, and it’s not fear, but it’s a close enough cousin that Imogen sees a flash of her daddy, hard eyes turned on Imogen in the barn after one of the foals got out. The shame is enough to temper her, but it means all the rest of it comes up instead: anger, still, but hurt and fear and the deep grief that lingers in the corners of her dreams, in the desperate way she sometimes holds to Laudna.

“For what?” Her voice breaks, but she shakes her head again as Laudna holds out a hand, so Laudna drops it, fists her skirt nervously instead. “Why are you sorry?”

There’s genuine confusion on her face as she says, “For everything in the basement. I know…I know how it must have seemed, when my form of dread looked so much like her. I know it can’t have been pleasant to watch me lose control that way. Being there just…”

Imogen holds her hand up, light licking up her fingertips, and Laudna’s words trail off, her eyes caught on the lightning running through Imogen’s scars, worry furrowing her brow. Imogen forces down the impulse to comfort. She’s started this conversation, and she needs to finish it. For the both of them. If she lets herself get close enough to run a thumb over the crease between Laudna’s eyebrows, to hold the hand still playing with the material of her skirt, that’ll be it. So she doesn’t, focuses instead on the memory of Laudna’s hands in hers in that room. Promise me.

“I’m not mad ‘cause you looked like her, Laud. Or ‘cause you…I know what that place was to you, an’ I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you to be there again. You don’t,” she works to keep the frustration from seeping into her words, “you don’t have to keep apologizin’ for her. You’re not her, Laudna, even though everybody keeps actin’...you keep actin’ like you are.”

She crosses her arms tight across her chest and stares at the floor, blinking hard as her vision blurs with tears.

“I know I’m not her. I know that, darling.”

The toes of her boots come into Imogen’s line of sight and she doesn’t tell her to stop but she does back herself up, pressing as hard as she can into the table behind her and wincing slightly as a sharp corner digs into her skin. The boots come no further.

“Do you? Because it feels like you…” She uncrosses her arms to wipe her palms swiftly across her cheeks. “It feels like you’re just waitin’ on her to take over. Waitin’…” Her voice cracks again, and she grabs behind her, finds the handkerchief sitting beside her pack and brings it to her face.

“Imogen.”

She shakes her head fiercely, forces a deep breath and then looks up to meet Laudna’s eyes, fist clenched around damp fabric. “Waitin’ to leave.”

Laudna takes half a step forward and stops as Imogen tries to back up further, managing only to dig the corner of the table further into her flesh and guarantee herself a bruise. Laudna’s going to gnaw through her lip, Imogen can already tell, and there’s black pooling at growing nails, ichor waiting to be pulled between nervous fingers. Still, Imogen holds the line, appreciates the distraction of pain, the sturdy wood that won’t yield to her body’s pressure.

“I don’t want to leave, darling. I don’t want to leave you. I’m not giving up. I promise.”

Promise me. Her eyes shine, anger forcing its way to the front of her mind again, and Laudna begins to say something, but Imogen beats her to it, words cutting.

“Oh, do you? Promise? Should I go get Fearne, then? So there’s a witness?”

“Imogen, what…”

“Is it…d’you think I’m so out of line that…or maybe so ridiculous? So naive that…” Her scars burn now, heat across her skin and in the tears pressing against the corners of her eyelids. They continue to leak despite her best efforts, tracking down her cheeks until Imogen brings the yellow fabric of the handkerchief back to her face, letting her eyes slide closed for a moment.

When she opens them again, Laudna looks stricken, her body fighting its instinct to close the distance between them, frozen in the face of Imogen’s obvious desire for space.

She presses out through the thickness in her throat, voice rough, “You made me…you made me promise to…in front of Fearne, Laud. Did you…how was that fair? What was I supposed to do, when she was right there? Are you…are you that scared to talk to me about it? You think I’m that…that absurd, that you needed somebody else there to…to keep me in line?” Imogen laughs bitterly, and shrugs. “I mean, I guess I get it. I’m standin’ here provin’ your point, yeah?” She ducks her head and stares at the worn leather of her boots, breath shaky as shame heats her face.

“No. No, of course not. Imogen. That’s not…”

Darling, can you look at me? Please?

She does, because Laudna asks her to, but even as their eyes meet, Imogen’s jaw aches as she holds herself together, shuts herself off, refuses to give up any more of herself. She can’t bring herself to deny Laudna’s request, but she doesn’t force herself to vulnerability. Not now. It’s strange, to put up her walls this way with Laudna, but it’s Laudna who has hurt her this time.

Laudna, whose black eyes are nearly as wide now as they are when she transforms, full of concern and confusion and a love obvious enough that it makes Imogen grind her teeth in resistance.

“I’m so sorry, Imogen. I didn’t realize…” Her lips are black with ichor and her hands are in constant motion at her sides, strings of black magic expanding and contracting as she fidgets. “I thought it would be…You were…you were so alone, last time. I thought maybe, if you had Fearne, if she knew what I wanted…what I wanted for you…Imogen, I don’t want you to have to carry it alone. Not again. That’s all, darling. I don’t think you’re absurd. Of course I don’t. I wasn’t trying to…to trick you. Or trap you. I would never. Please.”

The pleading tone makes no dent in the wall Imogen has put up, is nothing in the face of the voice in her mind, reminding her of Laudna’s words in the basement, the look on Fearne’s face. I’m quite literally a dead end. Promise me.

“Why are you so sure I’ll have to carry it at all? Why are you so sure she’s gonna win?”

The tears are constant and furious, dripping unchecked down her cheeks, and she hates it, hates feeling this exposed, but she forces herself to keep her head up, to hold Laudna’s gaze.

“Imogen.”

The same tone–love, yes, but something far too close to pity for Imogen to let it lie.

“No. No. I’m not stupid, Laudna. I know what you are. I’ve been in your mind, remember? I’ve seen her there. I’ve known since the day we met that you were different, and I still…I fell in love with you, knowin’ full well what you are and what that means. I’ve seen your form of dread, seen your body split open.

The curtains on Pate’s house are made from my old shirt. Your hound has laid its drippin’ head on my lap. For fuck’s sake, Laudna, I slept next to your dead body. Your truly dead body. An’ I sleep next to you every night. Have for years and will for as many more years as I’m alive, if I have anythin’ to say about it.

I love you, want you, all of you, and you know that. I’m not quiet about it. So why do you keep actin’ like I’m gonna wake up one day and be surprised by what you are? Why the fuck do you keep callin’ yourself a dead end?”

“Because I am one, darling.” It’s sad, and resigned, and there is ichor dripping down her cheeks now, thick tracks left on pale skin. “I don’t want her to win, my love. I don’t. Please believe me. But I have to be realistic. For me. For the both of us.

And Imogen, even if she doesn’t win…

I love you so very deeply. More than I’ve loved anyone or anything in any of my lives. But I am dead. I’m not meant to be here, and you deserve someone who can…who can live, really live, with you. You deserve everything, and I can’t give you that.”

Bullshit. It’s bullshit. The part of her that understands why, understands what Laudna’s been through and the demons that pull at her, whisper to her, the part that drives her almost always, that keeps her soft–it’s gone, lost for the moment to a lifetime’s worth of hurt, of being abandoned or tolerated, never quite good enough for love.

She aches as she spits out, voice as hard as it ever has been with Laudna, with anyone, “If you don’t wanna be with me, you can just say it. You can just…” She shudders, hardens. “Just stop pretendin’ you’re doin’ this for my sake, alright? It’s insultin’ to the both of us. If you don’t want me, just say so.”

“Imogen.”

She can’t do it, not anymore, so she turns to the table behind her, grips the edges as her body shakes. She clenches her jaw until she’s overcome, until a sob escapes, loud and ugly and broken, and then Laudna’s arms are around her waist, cool lips and cool breath against the shell of her ear, “Imogen. Darling. My love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you. I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. I don’t want her to win. I don’t want to leave you. Ever.”

She turns and buries her face in Laudna’s neck, her own arms wrapped around Laudna’s fragile ribs as tightly as she can manage without hurting her. A hand buries itself in her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as she’s held close.

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry. Come sit with me? Please?”

She nods into Laudna’s shoulder, body still shaking, and Laudna hums as she holds her for another minute, pressing kisses to her temple before pulling away just enough to grab Imogen’s hands and lead them both to the bed. They settle across from each other, Laudna holding one of Imogen’s hands between them as she brings the other to Imogen’s face, pressing two fingers gently against her chin until their eyes meet.

“I’m sorry.”

She’s so sincere, so unfailingly honest, and Imogen fights against the urge to duck her head again, ashamed and sheepish.

“No, Laud. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t…I know you love me and I know you’re tryin’. I do. I’m just…I’m scared. I lost you once and I can’t…I don’t think I can do it again. And sometimes it feels like you think it’s an inevitability, that you’re gonna leave me. That she’s gonna…

And I get it. I do. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have her with you, to know she’s there all the time. But to have you ask me to…to let you go? To move on? To be happy? With Fearne right there like it was…What would you say, if I asked you to do that? Could you promise me?”

Laudna flinches at the thought, her head almost unconsciously shaking in denial.

“I know I…I know I’ve said some things. About Predathos and Ruidus and what it might take, what I might have to give up. But I hope you know I don’t…I’m not bankin’ on that, Laud. I don’t want it. Especially not now. Not when we…” She brings Laudna’s hand to her mouth and kisses her palm, her wrist, her knuckles. “I want you.”

Laudna rocks forward, kissing Imogen fiercely, catching her bottom lip with sharp incisors and settling a hand possessively against Imogen’s throat.

I want you, too. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.

Imogen lets herself be pressed back into the bed, sighs as Laudna trails her mouth across her jawline, bites at the lobe of her ear before making her way down to her collarbones, nipping and soothing with a cold tongue.

I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you.

A hand drags at the fabric of her dress, pulling up and up until nails run sharp against the skin of her thighs, fingers moving until a palm presses against her hipbone, holding her down as Laudna’s mouth finds hers again.

Let me show you, darling. Let me show you how much I want you. Please.

Later, tucked into the stupidly nice bed, with Imogen’s head resting on her chest, Laudna says, “It’s still difficult for me to believe that you want me. That you’d give up a normal life for me.” Imogen runs her palm over Laudna’s ribs, waits quietly. “Selfishly, I want you to, even though it…it’s not what I want for you. You deserve so much more, so much better than what I can…” Laudna squeezes at Imogen’s arm before she can object, and Imogen snaps her jaw shut. “Thank you, love.” She feels the press of lips against her hair. “I understand why you were angry with me. I…I would be, too, if you tried to tell me to leave you. To live without you. Even if I knew you were doing it for good reasons, as you undoubtedly would be.

I know you want to be with me, even if I don’t understand why. Even if I worry that I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorry that I keep trying to take that choice from you. I'm going to try to do better. I promise.

And as for me…I want you, Imogen. I want to be here, with you. And if I’m lucky enough that you want me, too, well. Please believe me when I say I have every intention of trying my hardest to stay.”

Imogen pushes herself up to kiss the sharp point of her chin, the corner of her mouth.

“I love you. I wanna live my whole life with you. A stupidly long and real happy life. And anybody who tries to get in the way of that is gonna have a real hard time of it. You hear me?” She’s not talking to Laudna, and they both know it. “I’m gonna fight for you, Laud. And I’ve been told I’m real capable.”

She kisses her again, and again, until eventually they settle, Laudna’s breath evening out slowly the way it does in sleep, muscle memory stronger than the reality of her undeath. While she sleeps, Imogen plans. She might be capable, but she’s also owed a few favors, knows how to make sure she’s owed a few more. She’s never really prayed before, but she can learn. For Laudna, she can do a whole lot more than that.

#imodna #imodna fic #southern gothic #critical role

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socallmedaisy · 10 months

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Laudna starts to lean into her side at the table as the shadows lengthen and the Spire by Fire empties of customers for the night.

It’s happened hundreds of times before, when Laudna has been tired, but Imogen is hyper aware, now, of the way Laudna’s pinky finger is pressed against Imogen’s thigh where she has her hand on the bench between them, how occasionally Laudna catches her eye and the corner of her mouth quirks up into a secret smile just for her, how they’d told Zhudanna they’d come back to her house for the night.

Ashton and Letters have started up again, about faith and the gods and a million other things Imogen can’t think about right now, because her brain got stuck, hours ago, on the feel of Laudna’s lips against her own.

She lifts a hand to press her fingers against her lips, remembering. Orym catches her eye and she pretends she's stifling a yawn instead. “Maybe we could pick this up in the morning,” he says, cutting across FCG. “The existential questions won’t go away. We should get some rest.”

Laudna nods and Imogen feels Laudna’s hair against her shoulder before Laudna stands up, and then turns to offer her hand to Imogen. It makes something ache inside Imogen as she takes it at once.

Out of the corner of her eye, Imogen thinks she sees Orym watching them before he looks away quickly.

“I hope we won’t wake Zhudanna,” Laudna says, once their fingers are safely tangled together.

Fearne pauses where she’s climbing out of her seat, and Imogen thinks she sees a frown crease her forehead. “We’re not splitting up again.”

It’s final, the way Fearne says it, and Imogen gets it, she does, but.

Laudna just sways on her feet for a second, blinking sleepily. Imogen wonders what she’s thinking; if she wants to be alone with Imogen, if she was counting on it, too. She considers linking her mind with Laudna’s, and whispering a secret message just for her, but she’d promised herself she’d use her words if she ever found Laudna again, so she swallows instead.

“We’ll be safe there—” Imogen tries, but Ashton is looking at them too, now, unreadable expression on their face.

“We’ve got separate rooms,” Ashton says, voice pitched a little low, like they don’t want the others to hear. “I assumed you two would take one.”

Laudna’s hand tightens in hers for a second.

“All right,” Imogen says, heartbeat fluttering in her chest, and follows everyone else up the stairs.

Before they go inside the door Ashton points out to them, Imogen watches Ashton catch Laudna's eye. There's a question in their eyes and Laudna nods, just a tiny lift of her chin before she drops it again, and Imogen sees Ashton smile before they duck inside their room.

She presses her fingers against her temple out of habit, searching for thoughts that aren't there, before she drops her hand down to her side.

Laudna crosses the room to the bed once they're inside, and sits down on the edge of it to start to kick her boots off, but Imogen just hovers by the door, unsure all of a sudden, what exactly she’s supposed to do.

Laudna toes out of one boot and then the other like she has a million times before, apparently unconcerned. She shrugs out of the birdhouse backpack she’s made, and puts it down carefully on the chest of drawers in the corner so the entryway where Pate comes and goes is facing away from the bed.

Something about that makes Imogen want to blush furiously, and she hopes it doesn’t show on her face.

Laudna turns around, and then frowns, like she’s realised Imogen isn’t going about her usual bed-time routine.

“Are you all right, darling?” Laudna asks, softly, and Imogen does feel her cheeks flush then.

“I—I’m sorry,” she says at once. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to share the— I’m not expecting anything, Laudna. We can go as slow or as fast as you want. B-but if you’ve changed your mind, or don’t want me here, I can— I could share with someone else…” She trails off, and twists her fingers together helplessly.

There’s a part of her that still doesn’t believe this is real, and she sees Laudna’s shoulders slump a little, her brow furrowing as she looks at her. “Imogen,” she says, voice low, and Imogen can’t meet her eyes.

She thinks about how she’d felt, all those days with Fearne and Chet and FCG, watching them with Deanna and FRIDA and feeling so alone, not knowing if Laudna was okay. She swallows, wondering how she’ll ever be able to tell Laudna exactly what it was like for her when Laudna had it so much worse.

Laudna’s hands still, and she just looks at Imogen for a long moment, her eyes dark and soft in the low light of the room.

The silence stretches between them, so different to what Imogen has been used to her whole life.

"What are you thinking?" Imogen forces herself to ask, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

“I think—” Laudna hesitates, and Imogen is sure, for one horrible second, that Laudna really is going to tell her she made a mistake and that Imogen should go, that it would be easier if things went back to the way they were, but then Laudna sucks in a shaky breath, “—we can figure all of,” Laudna’s eyes slip over to Pate’s birdhouse and back, “that out, together.” She holds out a hand, inviting. “But for now, please come here.”

It’s all she needed, and something that had been clenched tight inside her releases all at once. Imogen crosses the room and takes Laudna’s hand. After a second, Laudna tugs, and Imogen sinks down onto the bed next to her.

Laudna’s fingers are always cold, and Imogen wraps her hands around them, as if she could warm them up.

“I slept terribly without you,” Laudna says, softly, almost a confession. “I didn’t realise I would until you weren’t there.”

“Me too.” Imogen strokes her thumb against the back of Laudna’s hand. Both times, she thinks quickly, when Otohan— and when they got separated.

Laudna smiles, and nods, almost like she’s made a decision. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she says, and something flips over low in Imogen’s belly. “And then we’re going to get some sleep.”

“All right,” Imogen breathes, but Laudna is already coming closer, her eyes closing as the distance shrinks between them.

Laudna has to dip her head a bit—even when they’re sitting she’s taller—and her hand comes up to the hinge of Imogen’s jaw as Imogen leans up to meet her. Laudna’s mouth is cool against hers, but warmth floods through Imogen anyway.

Their kisses at the market were fairly chaste, but this one feels a little different; Laudna’s mouth open against hers, Laudna’s forehead and nose pressed against her like she doesn’t want there to be any distance between them. It’s still soft and sweet, gentle, like Laudna is being careful, and Imogen wonders at that, that Laudna thinks she’s something to be careful with.

Laudna makes a soft noise in the back of her throat and Imogen sighs into the next kiss, feeling Laudna smiling against her mouth, before they break apart.

Somehow it's even better than all the times she imagined it.

When she opens her eyes, there’s a faint pink flush on Laudna’s usually pale cheeks. She looks even more beautiful than she usually does, and Imogen can’t stop herself from grinning.

After a second, Laudna’s lips quirk up into a smile too. “I know,” she says conspiratorially, as if they’re still listening to each other’s thoughts, and Imogen laughs.

They settle down on their backs side by side in the bed, elbows bumping together.

After a second, Laudna's foot nudges against hers, and Imogen turns her head to find Laudna looking at her.

"I am sorry about being angry this morning," Laudna says, slowly. "It just felt like… like we had very different experiences and after what happened with Bor'dor I just—it was hard."

"I know," she says at once, "I get it. You had every right to be angry. I'm so sorry for what happened to you." She means it, and hopes Laudna can hear the sincerity in her voice. "Whenever you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Laudna nods and reaches for Imogen's hand. She plays with Imogen's fingertips for a moment, then, "Will you tell me what happened to you? I wasn't ready to hear it this morning."

"All right." Imogen swallows, and rolls over onto her side so she can face Laudna, but doesn't let go of her hand. For a second, she wonders where to start before she settles on the most important truth. "I missed you every second of every day, and all I wanted was to get back to you. I was so scared something bad had happened to you." Laudna's fingers tighten in hers. "I kept trying to send to you, but it wouldn't work, it just kept hurting my head, and we couldn't teleport back and… it was awful. Everyone else might have had moments of happiness but I didn't. Not without you."

Laudna just looks at her, her expression softening. Imogen shrugs, helplessly, not sure what else she can say.

"We're back together now," Laudna says, using a finger to tilt Imogen's chin up and meet her eyes. "Let's not get separated again." It hitches up at the end, almost like a question and it makes Imogen want to laugh, because if it was up to her they would never be further apart than this for the rest of their lives.

"No," she agrees quickly. She can feel the ring she'd given to Laudna months ago against her skin where their hands meet, "never again."

#critical role #imodna #I just had to get this out of me #I don't mind we didn't get more from them but it doesn't stop me imagining it #ship: together either way #I'm still feral about them #fic #ficlet

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utilitycaster · 4 months

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I do wonder if the nature of Vax's deal with the Raven Queen has made people imagine the gods as more transactional than they are, because I don't think that's the case, and specifically I think Orym went to Morri specifically because he knows this and knows she will make a concrete deal whereas the gods are unlikely to make a similar guarantee. Vax is actually a weird edge case exception, borne of the specific resurrection rules and the drama and details of the scene (in the Raven Queen's sunken temple, by the body of her former champion, a specific offer to the goddess of death of a life for a life) - and even then, she didn't take his offer the way he expected it, asking for a life of service instead of simply ending his life then and there.

When we look at the player characters who have received favors from the gods, this has largely happened in-game through player choices but not necessarily as part of a deal (the favors in Campaign 1; Fjord's relationship with the Wildmother though that does involve a paladin oath as, well, paladins do; FCG's worship of the Changebringer) or it's been part of the backstory as dictated by the player (Pike, Jester, Caduceus, Yasha). The only example where it simply happened, that I can think of, is Orym's sword, and that was a relatively minor boon (and he'd spoken to Melora before during EXU Prime as well).

Meanwhile, the messages characters have received from the gods this campaign have only come with either deities they already had fostered a relationship with (Deanna and the Dawnfather/FCG and the Changebringer) or have come from the players specifically opening that line of communication by going to the temple - Kord communicating with Imogen is the first instance of a god talking to someone who didn't speak first, and he does not actually ask anything of her so much as say he respects the storm vibe and if she betrays his worshipers he'll take action. The only people who have actually explicitly asked for action (do not let Predathos wake) are gods speaking to clerics who worship them; the Raven Queen has only offered broad visions and has not actually asked anything specific of the party, and has even provided answers to them unrelated to the current situation. Fearne's received portents from both the Raven Queen and the Wildmother for personal questions she's asked.

The gods can provide power - that is a fundamental aspect of D&D, just as one's bloodline or specific knack for music can provide power - but they rarely make specific deals. Even paladin oaths are nebulous and indeed don't even require a deity; cleric relationships have conditions but they are usually a very broad "do not actively go against the principles I, as an embodiment of concepts, embody." The transactional power? That's warlocks. There's a pact. You do what I say or I take the powers away. (Obviously we've seen a god serve as a patron, but the pact and paladin oath blur in that case - there's never been the punishment/reward system in Melora's patronage.)

With all that in mind, Orym's deal with Morri does not feel like a rejection of the gods, but rather a good understanding of how they operate vs. how a hag does.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #orym

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