#and ashton taking care of orym after his fall and orym holding ashton's hand after they got messed up by the phantasmal killer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sageshyperfixdiary · 5 months

Text

Ashton x Orym (quickfic)

Just very extremely fluffy everyday Ashrym (they got lost in the woods when they went off together, is the scenario)

"This is a fucking terrible idea." Ashton grumbled looking up and squinting as sunlight filtered through the boughs of the large Redwood like tree. Orym followed his gaze, leaning back a little to get a better scope of the challenge they stood before.

"Well, I'm open to other suggestions if you got any." Ash's only response was disgruntled huffing. "It'll be fine, I'll be able to spot which direction we can head in easily enough from up there."

"It's not the spotting that I'm worried about, it's that you think it would be a good idea for me to launch you up there." He looked down at Orym with a wry smirk, that belied the worry he constantly had over his friends, "it's the kind of self-destructive behavior I expect from me, guess I'm rubbing off on you."

That got a little snort laugh from his companion, the halfling raising a suggestive eyebrow as he looked up at Ashton, "You've already done that in more ways than one. Relax, Ash it's not like you haven't launched me off your hammer before." Still, Ashton glanced up almost nervously at the lowest possible branch he could aim for. "I distinctly remember that ending very poorly the last time, but fuck it, just don't fall or I'll kick your ass." Orym couldn't help the smile as a warm feeling spread through his chest at Ash's very punk brand of caring.

He hopped onto the head of the hammer, squatting down slightly and holding onto the handle loosely, "ready when you are, handsome."

Ashton still really didn't like this idea, his hammer arm has been particularly painful today, after their night rolling around on the rough forest floor. Regardless, he stretched his arm in a few wide circles and gripped his hammer tight with both hands. He easily drew the hammer back even with Orym's slight added weight. With a deep breath and a loud roar they reared back almost spinning the hammer and Orym in a full circle, he released the weapon aiming for a slightly higher branch best he could.

With his usual acrobatic grace, Orym used the leverage of the hammer to push off mid-air. Arm reaching out he caught one of the branches, spinning around it and flipping up onto it safely. He grinned down at the Genasi quite far below now. "Be right back." Orym scurried up the rest of the tree. He took a moment to get his bearings when his little head broke the tree line. Unfortunately even with his high-perception he didn't see the bird flying clumsily towards the back of his head. All he knew was something larger than him cashed into him, causing him to lose his balance. The halfling fell from the high boughs of the tree trying and failing to catch one of the passing branches, and taking a few rough hits on the way down. Knocked about so much his head rattled from a particularly harsh impact and he knew he wouldn't recover in time. This was going to hurt!

Ash's stone heart was in his throat when he heard the sounds of branches breaking too rapid to be his Halfling climbing down safely. It took a moment to see a shadow bounce between the branches as he realized Orym was crashing to the ground fast. For a moment, Ashton cursed his body as usual, he couldn't move. If he caught Orym with his stone arms would that be much better than Orym falling to the slightly softer earth? He didn't know, but they couldn't bear to let Orym just hit the ground right in front of him. They stretched out their arms catching the little halfling and cradling him as he let them both fall back, hoping that would soften the impact.

Orym groaned his head and ears ringing. He sat up on top of the warm familiar stone that was Ashton's body. Golden eyes narrowed Ash ran his hands over Orym's body making sure nothing was broken as they sat up, Orym slid down to rest in the Genasi's solid lap.

"What the fuck happened?"

"A bird hit me in the head."

Ash's response was a puzzled, "what?" even though they heard him perfectly.

"I think I understand Letters a little better now." Orym chuckled the ringing in his head finally receding. The halfling grinned up at Ashton's still scowling worried face, "guess I should've ducked"

Ashton groaned rolling his eyes at the awful, awful pun. But couldn't help softening at Orym's boisterous laugh. He knocked their foreheads together gently chuckling along.

#ashrym #ashton greymoore #orym of the air ashari #critical role #cr fanfic

24 notes · View notes

unicyclehippo · 2 years

Note

Prompt: stiff

they hide afterwards. no inn, no caravanserai for them but a squashed dim basement beneath ant-eaten boards, the rickety building shoulder to shoulder with others, rickety in the same way but that one with a roof of bolted metal and this one with a wall crawling with white dead ivy. nowhere of interest. a cluster of roaches, hiding in the dark.

ashton carries the little ones, one over each shoulder. it doesn’t matter that they’re breathing still (again). they cling to him and let him bear them down beneath the hatch to where it is cool and safe, and he takes up his post at the base of the ladder, hammer in hand.

she goes to each of them in turn. she’s surprised they let her come close—she has looked scarier before, perhaps, but then it was on purpose and today it is by circumstance. ichor staining down the side of her mouth, her neck. the front of her red blouse all black. eyes all black. hands all black, dripping. the shadows drip upwards from her feet, the shadows burble as she walks, try to glue her into place, sweet and sticky shadows that want to keep her where she is. the kind of love that would swallow her up if she let it.

she shakes her hands, shakes the thought out of her head. she goes to her friends. if there is one thing she is very good at, it is mending.

‘oh, you don’t have to,’ chetney wheezes when she kneels beside him, knees stiff and cracking as she bends.

‘i want to,’ she says, and thinks she sees him flush beneath the caked dirt and blood.

‘you should look after the little guy first,’ he insists. ‘or - or fearne, you know—‘

laudna lays a hand on his shoulder and he quiets. fidgets a little and then goes still when she takes his woollen hat and turns it over in her hands. ichorous tendrils knit themselves, knit and purl and tug the hat back into shape. she runs her fingers over the knife wounds, and the torn edges of his clothes where his lupine form strained the material.

‘aw,’ he croaks when she’s done, and he swipes under his nose. ‘thanks. you want me to look after the dolls while you help everyone else? i think the house got some shingles knocked loose.’

if they had, she could mend it herself but she thinks he’s a little like her. he needs something to do with his hands, wants to help. she digs into her bag and hands it over. hesitates for a second, voices and strings a-jangle in her head, before hanging over sashimi and, with great reluctance, pate.

‘i’ll take good care of him,’ chetney reassures her. his eyes are big and solemn and bloodshot. he cradles pate in one hand, holding the little rat to his chest, and laudna smiles.

‘thank you. if he misbehaves, if he’s rude—‘

‘oh it’s been a tough day,’ chetney waves her off, ‘he’s fine. i don’t mind if he’s a little rude. besides i think we’re just gonna sit for a while. what do you think?’ he asks pate, and scratches gently along the seam of skull and body.

pate doesn’t seem to mind the attention so she leaves him with his new—uncle? no, that’s far too forward. friend. and turns to see who she can mend next.

orym is laid out, legs draped over fearne’s. laudna’s breath catches but the halfling lives. she watches his chest rise and fall in deep, even breaths—he is only asleep.

fearne’s burned hand heats up when laudna crouches beside them. embers rush across the black of her eyes and they don’t quite fade when she douses the flame.

‘it’s just me,’ laudna whispers. she tucks her hands into her lap. tilts her head at an odd angle, eyes returning to their valiant guard. ‘may i?’

fearne bares her teeth. she is more than half wild now—always she has been untamed, heeding no command but her own whim, but now feral in it. every few seconds, her teeth grow into sharp fangs and her nails spike into claws, square pupils slitted, primal. after a long moment, she nods.

‘i’m going to mend his clothes where they’re torn,’ she tells fearne, and reaches out just one hand. swirls her fingers over his shoulder, his neck, his belly. she focused on the cloth restitching and not the mottled skin beneath, not the rust that has seeped into the beautiful fabric. she can’t do anything for the colour. the sash around his waist has been slashed and laudna falters. she can repair what is broken but she can’t replace what is missing. she is frozen, staring, and only relaxes when a much reassured fearne dips into a pouch and pulls out a familiar cloth. torn, but real.

‘i didn’t steal it. i picked it up. i- i didn’t steal it.’

‘oh fearne.’ laudna is careful with her when she hugs the woman. there’s so much blood—rust—smeared over her lovely clothes too. she looks fearsome, clings to her fangs and claws, because in those brief moments when they fade again she looks lost. a girl abandoned.

‘i don’t - think i want him to go.’

‘no. no, fearne, of course not.’

‘laudna?’ she whispers, and laudna leans in very close. ‘is this my fault?’ fearne asks. ‘they’re here because of - of me and my parents—‘

‘no.’

‘—and maybe if they’d stayed in the feywild he wouldn’t—‘

laudna squeezes her arm. gently, because she is weak and because she has no wish to add to fearne’s pain. she pulls back and strokes fearne’s hair out of her face, weaves her shadows to tie the sea-foam bows of fearne’s dress, neaten her and fix the snarls and tears of the silky fabric.

‘this isn’t your fault, this will never be your fault,’ she whispers, and sees her words mend a little piece of fearne that her magic could never reach. ‘it was very kind of you, to pick up orym’s belt. he would have missed it very much.’

fearne nods.

laudna finished mending the flowered fabric and leans forward, ties it around fearne’s wrist. ‘so we know where it is, until he wakes up.’

fearne nods again. shuffles down so that she is curled around their friend. laudna drifts her fingers over orym’s hair—just to feel him there, just to be sure—and it is only when she steps away that fearne’s eyes finally lose their warning spark.

fresh cut grass creaks a smile for her when she approaches. ‘you’re doin’ my job today,’ he jokes when she settles beside him. the spokes of his wheel are bent and crooked from—she doesn’t know, exactly. perhaps from the crawler flipping?

‘i think,’ she tells him, striving to sound calm, ‘if i don’t help them i might go insane tonight.’

fcg nods. ‘yeah.’

‘perhaps you can relate.’

‘i don’t know. i’m worried it’s the other way round for me.’

laudna hums. ‘may i?’

‘oh, sure. you have my consent.’

‘thank you.’

it’s the work of a few blissful minutes, nothing but cool shadows and intent focus, to buff out their body. dents and scrapes from the roaring winds disappear, dings pop back into shape with the crunch of metal. when she’s done, fcg sinks down, body covering their wheel so they are stable, settled against the gravel of the floor.

‘you did very well, bringing her back,’ she tells him. ‘it’s been a very frightening day for you.’

‘it’s been a real long day. i might -‘ their lenses flicker, blue light not to red but fading. ‘i’m real tired. i might take a nap, if that’s alright. laudna?’

‘yes?’

‘ashton might not say thank you, but…help him too?’

she treats them to a fond smile. ‘he’s next, i promise.’

‘oh good,’ fcg sighs, blinks, and clicks down into stasis.

and ashton is next. she is working her way around the room ashton stands at the base of the ladder still. he doesn’t tell her no when she approaches him, doesn’t tell her to fuck off, doesn’t move save for shaking hands and shoulders. she skims light fingers over the cuts and tears in his leather vest, admires—not for the first time—the detailing.

‘it was well done, going for someone who could help,’ she tells him as she works, in the cool serious tone perhaps only he knows well, that voice stripped of effort, of brightness. ‘you did well.’

in a voice so quiet the words barely stir the dust hanging thick in the air, they say, ‘i ran away.’

‘and you came back. you saved him.’

he has nothing to say to that. only grips his hammer and stares resolutely up at the hatch, tilts his chin so the tears won’t run down his face. she continues. dark stitches working the fabric back together, seamless. when she is done, she pats their shoulder gently. they will break a little under the weight of guilt, she thinks, but they will be mended again.

‘we are not the nobodies. we are the bells hells,’ she reminds them, and turns away.

imogen’s eyes flicker even now, a light behind them that she could once control—the super bright flare—now dashed across the back of purple eyes, bleeding the colour red, at odd intervals. she smiles, but in a face frozen in horror, it is not reassuring.

‘i don’t think you can fix this,’ she whispers.

laudna nods solemnly.

‘may i try?’

imogen’s fingers shake. not because of fear—perhaps that is part of it—but from the electricity splintering through her still. laudna can’t do anything for that. what she can do is run her fingers along the frayed, burned threads of fearne’s bracelet. cool shadows engulf it and when they retreat, it is vibrant, whole. laudna smiles. it always pleases her to see things mended. each time, she thinks a little of her muck will remain behind but each time she is pleasantly surprised. no stain. she reaches forward, drags her fingers over the tiny nicks and sand-blasted marks on her harness, the tears in the gauzy blue dress. for a long minute, she tries not to look at imogen’s hands as she repairs the gloves, nearly burned unrecognisable.

‘what do we do now? what—i don’t—i don’t even know what i did—what happened to me—‘

laudna shushes her, touches inky fingers to a curl in imogen’s hair. she wants—she wants to hold her tight, wants to clasp her hands, wants to open up her ribs and crack them wide, stuff imogen inside of her where anything that would try to hurt her would have to go through laudna first. she feels the ache of it in her jaw, her sternum. forces herself to wrap a violet curl around her finger and pretend that it is enough.

‘you need to rest.’

‘i can’t rest—‘

‘shut your pie hole,’ chetney barks from his place, not far from them. ‘old men need their rest.’ he jerks his thumb over at fcg and then himself, spinning a few times in a circle before he curls up around pate.

imogen looks torn between irritated and amused. laudna strokes her arm, can’t help herself, and watches her expression break into a sweet smile. worry lingers in her lightning eyes, worry and a desolate fear, but laudna will spend every minute of her life mending that, undoing what has been done, unspooling those tangled threads of fate.

‘you need to rest,’ laudna says again, and offers her hand. imogen muffles a sob, grasping it tightly. ‘ashton and i will keep watch,’ she promises, and shuffles so imogen can lay her head in her lap. she strokes cold fingers across imogen’s forehead until the deep furrow fear has gouged between her brows eases and sleep takes her, and her magic reaches out, restless, for things to mend. it cannot help imogen more than her presence already does but she will keep it up until her watch is over.

#cr spoilers #critical roles spoilers #tagging my stories #prompt fill #laudna my beloved #another story about mending as a cantrip and a way of being? you bet!

313 notes · View notes

masterqwertster · 10 months

Note

Hi!

So I love your writing, especially the prompt thing you've been doing recently. I'm super curious on what you think it would look like after the last little fic with Ashton and Orym, since they have no healers.

Maybe #6, #19 or #27, if you haven't done those or are okay with repeats? With Orym having to accept Ashton and Laudna's help until they can find a way to heal him, since it doesn't seem like he can even lift his arms? Or even accepting help from the other three traveling with them right now.

Or maybe for another focus, Laudna being panicked and scared about him being hurt and almost losing them both, but also worried about Imogen, so she's projecting onto Ashton and Orym to feel in control and maybe a little too pushy about helping him heal and making sure Ashton is alright too.

Thanks! 🤗

Alright, last one for this prompt list (for now) Sorry this one took a while. The prompt decided to fight me, but I got that sucker in the end! 6 "Don't move, you're still hurt." 19 "You need to eat something." Gonna pass on 27 "I'm going to carry you, okay?" since I've done Ashton and Orym both separately and together on that one. And since episode 63 was a whole thing, this references that, just the tiniest bit. Also, my brain decided this is a canon adjacent where Orym, Laudna, and Ashton are off on their own having split from their guests. So it's just the three of them in this little fic. A follow up to this one.

Laudna clutches her boys close.

For a bleak while there, she thought she'd lost them. How could she have gone back to Fearne, to Fresh Cut Grass, and told them their best friends didn't make it? That her reflexes hadn't been fast enough to catch them in a life-saving Feather Fall? And what about her, left alone without her family?

Lucky her, they managed to save themselves.

There's even the pleasant surprise of Ashton returning the hug, pinning her and Orym to their chest. Laudna really does enjoy hugs from the genasi when they're willing. Just the reassuring weight to their arms, the seemingly unshakable solidity to their body and presence, juxtaposed with the absolute care and gentleness they handle her with. Sometimes she'd swear there's nothing more grounding than an Ashton hug.

A hiss escapes the group hug, sending Laudna scrambling backwards as Ashton's arms spring open.

With that space, she fully takes her boys in, almost immediately spotting the problem: Orym's arms look a dreadful mess. Bright red and swollen at the joints, and dislocated too, if she's any judge (and she is, with as often as her own joints will pop out of place).

"Oh. Oh, that doesn't look good at all. Hold still, give me a moment," Laudna worries, hands going into the motions for a Wither and Bloom. Healing is hardly her specialty, but this spell can heal. It doesn't have to kill hurt.

And it's not as much healing as what Fresh Cut Grass or Fearne could provide if they were here, but it is some measure of healing. The worst of the swelling reduces, the redness recedes some, and some nasty cracks and snaps indicate that all the bones have popped back into their sockets.

"Wait," Orym pants out as Laudna's hands begin the motions for a second casting. "S-save the magic. We might n-need it later."

Laudna bites her lip. She really thinks Orym should take a second round of healing, even if it does bring her magic reserves down to uncomfortably-low-should-another-fight-occur. Because it's either her magic or one of their few potions to get the halfling into something better approximating working order.

"Heal him," Ashton commands, cutting through the indecision.

Orym splutters as Laudna quickly completes the spell, trying to be indignant about the used resources even as the tension in his body relaxes a bit more from the second dose of healing.

"Can you hold your shit, or does Laudna need to hit you again?" Ashton demands, no room to lie or evade in their gaze.

With a stubborn jut to his chin, Orym picks up his sword and shield. He only slightly fumbles stowing them away on his back, earning a grunt of approval.

"Alright, let's keep moving," the genasi says, groaning a bit as they lever themself back onto their feet.

"Are you okay?" Laudna has to ask. It can be a little tricky to tell when Ashton is vocalizing his chronic pain or a current injury.

"I'm good," Ashton says, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands a bit, producing a barely audible popping that Laudna’s fairly certain wouldn’t be audible at all if his body wasn't made of stone. "After all, I'm not the one who caught, like, ten times their body weight and still some-fucking-how held on."

"Are you complaining?" Orym raises an eyebrow at them.

"Nah. Just saying you absolutely fucking needed the healing after doing something that crazy," Ashton easily explains, flicking the halfling's ear.

Orym grumbles, but lets it go.

Laudna, for her part, is very glad Orym managed such an impossible feat, even at great cost to himself. Certainly, having Ashton handle their own weight is always the better option, but needs must. And they obviously got around to it quick enough, since Orym's arms are still attached and the boys did haul themselves back up the cliff.

And maybe, maybe, Laudna spends the rest of the day hovering and worrying. Even though her boys are perfectly fine besides Orym's sore arms, Ashton's sore everything and there's really no need to worry. They're quite capable and can handle themselves. She's seen them in action, so of course she knows that. There's really no need-

"Here. Eat," Ashton grunts, shoving a bowl of stew into her anxiously wringing hands.

"Oh. Oh. I'm alright," Laudna demurs, even as her fingers curl around the warm bowl.

"Eat," Ashton demands again. "I know you don't need much, but you still need some. 'Sides, food is energy and you need to regain yours for-" and he wiggles and flicks his fingers at Orym in what is actually a half-decent impression of her casting Wither and Bloom.

And well. When they put it like that.

Laudna eats her stew.

As they settle down for sleep and watch, Laudna hits Orym with another Wither and Bloom, getting a little sigh of relief from the halfling. Then she spins one last one on Ashton as well for good measure.

"Good night," Ashton intones as almost a threat, flipping her off good-naturedly. And they resettle in their seat, obviously feeling some relief from her spell as well.

"Good night~" she sing-songs back, curling into her bedroll. Her boys live (she can hear them breathing), and soon, all of Bells Hells will be together again.

#MQ&A #critical role #ashton greymoore #laudna #orym of the air ashari #MQfic #hurt comfort dialogue prompt

38 notes · View notes

sociallyawkwardfoxwriter · 2 years

Text

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 Twelve. Friendly Fire

“Got any ideas?” A crackle of purple lightning shot from Imogen's hand as she shifted next to Dorian. “I'm not sure how much longer we can go like this.”

“I have one, but I'm not sure it's a good idea. I don't have a clear line of sight on everyone.”

“That's one more idea than I have, and we're running out of time.”

“Fuck, okay. Step back.”

After a moment of indecision, Dorian lifted a hand to point at a spot in the center of the group of creatures on the roof. Instead of focusing on the creatures themselves, he aimed for the shingles keeping them stable on the roof. His fingers balled into a tight fist, then exploded open releasing a thunderous burst that shook the roof. The shingles previously locked in place began to slide down the edge, sending all the creatures falling off the building.

The crack of their bodies impacting the ground should have been a relief when they didn't get back up, but all that filled him was dread. Hanging precariously from the roof was a bloody Orym with no sign of his shield or sword. His muscles flexed from the effort of trying to stop himself from falling over fifty feet to the unforgiving ground below. Dorian's breath caught in his throat in terror when a hand lost its grip, causing Orym to swing dangerously and scramble to grab it again.

Before his mind could process what he was doing, Dorian clicked his heels together and pushed off the ground. For a horrifying moment, he watched Orym's other hand slip free sending him into a freefall. The world around him slowed as his mind desperately tried to figure out how to catch him. If he fucked it up, Orym would hit the ground because he couldn’t focus his spell properly or make up for his own mistake.

In the brief moments he had to make up his mind, he never took into consideration Orym taking matters into his own hands. His body twisted in midair changing his trajectory just enough that he went from falling straight down to slamming into Dorian's chest. The unexpected impact sent Dorian into a backwards flip, but he didn't care how many times he uncontrollably spun. All of his focus and energy went to tightening his arms around Orym in a likely crushing hold.

When they finally came to a stop, he found himself horizontal to the ground with Orym wrapped around his front like Little Mister clinging to Fearne. Carefully, Dorian righted himself to make the descent easier on his return to the ground. As soon as his feet touched down, Dorian sank down to the ground with Orym still clinging to his chest. Without bothering to ask, he pushed a wave of healing into Orym. The body in his lap marginally relaxed.

“Orym? Are you still in pain?” Worry grew when no response came from Orym as the seconds dragged on. His hands started meticulously searching for wounds on Orym's body. “Where are you-”

A hand snapped out to stop him from touching Orym's side followed by a low groan of pain. “Careful.”

“Let me heal it.”

“Don't waste any more of your magic on me. I just need a rest, then I'll be fine.”

“Orym-”

“Give me a second.”

“I'm not trying to rush you. I want to help. If you would let me-”

“I said I'm fine. Leave it alone.”

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Easier than he thought possible, Dorian pulled his hand free of Orym's grip. His fingers gently ran along Orym's side, only to freeze when he found his entire side soaked in blood.

“Dorian-”

“Did I do this to you?”

“You saved me. I was on my back. They were about to attack me, and I wasn't in a good position to stop them. You made the right decision.”

“I hurt you!”

Even though Orym tried to fight against it, Dorian separated them to get a better look at his side. The brown of his armor and the green of his undershirt were stained red from the top of his hip all the way up to his ribs. Fresh blood welled from the deepest parts of the wound in a slow seep that would continue without some sort of help. Being careful not to cause Orym pain, his hand settled over the middle of the wound and pushed the last few healing spells he could manage into him. He dropped his hand in frustration when it wasn't enough to completely heal the damage he did.

“Stop that.” Orym took his hand in one of his, then removed his waterskin from his side and started pouring it over his hand to wash away the blood. “Things would have been much worse if you didn't send them off the roof. They would have torn me to shreds.”

“I could have killed you.”

“You gave me a chance. Ask Aston. They'll tell you the same thing I am. You made the right decision.”

“I should have been more careful. I had no idea where any of you were. I could have hit both of you.”

“We know the risks, Dorian.”

He let his hand fall limply down when Orym released it now clean of any blood that once stained it. “That doesn't make it better. You protect us. We should be helping you, not hurting you.”

“We both know things don't always happen the way they should. All we can do is our best in the moment. That's what you did.”

“It doesn't feel like it.”

“You're always too hard on yourself.” Orym released a grunt as he rose to his feet with a hand protectively over his side. “Can you give me a boost up to the roof? I think my sword and shield are still up there.”

“I'll get them for you. You sit down and rest.”

“Don't be ridiculous. The others are all on the roof. I'm not going to sit down here while all of you are up there. Plus, I'll have a better view up there.”

“Fine, but you're taking a rest.”

“If it will make you feel better, I'll take a rest. Now, help me up. I'm too sore to jump.”

“Hold on. I don't want to accidentally drop you.”

“You won't.”

#febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday12 #friendly fire #critical role #dorym #orym #dorian storm #imogen temult #blood and injury #hurt/comfort #fanfic

4 notes · View notes