#cr tag

[utilitycaster]

Honestly one of the weirdest things I've found with this campaign is how many people take Ludinus Da'leth's statements just...at complete face value? Like especially when I recall how everyone was like "if Trent Ikithon is speaking he is, if not lying outright, deliberately misleading" which to be clear seemed like a very reasonable conclusion, and yet now we have "guy who, even if you haven't seen Campaign 2, where he consistently comes off as someone who will say quite literally anything to get the desired result, shows up and in his first appearance pulls the exact same Trent lying by misleading implication bullshit, and also destroys a researcher's mind and casts something at Fearne" and people are like "well, in the same breath in which he implied he was Ruidusborn, which he was not, he also implied without explicitly saying anything definite that he survived the Calamity. This, clearly, must be 100% true. How uniquely cruel of you, in fact, to doubt the unfathomable pain of a real live Calamity survivor."

#you really think someone would do that? just break into a professor's office feeblemind her steal her stuff and tell lies? #it's SO bizarre like. some kind of fucking. markov chain thought process but ONLY for ludinus everyone else is guilty of every sin forever #cr tag

[unicyclehippo]

15. kiss on the back for the prompt thing!

Imogen has spent years submerged in the sweet, babbling waters of Laudna’s mind so, while she may not be able to hear her thoughts now, she still remembers their current. And besides, some things don’t need to be said. It’s an unspoken agreement between them—a quirked brow, the tilt of an answering smile—to return Zhudanna’s coin. 

Laudna distracts their elderly friend with an enthusiastic—and slightly gooey—recreation of recent journeys while Imogen carries the groceries to the kitchen. She unpacks jars of olives and honey and jam, every pickled thing they encountered, wax-wrapped cheeses, smoked and salted meats, dried fruits and beans, bags of fine-ground flour and spices. She leaves the fresh fruit and vegetables on the countertop with the pumpernickel loaves and, as she does, pulls Zhudanna’s lockbox from its hiding place beneath the beans with a subtle bit of magic. 

It’s easy to use her powers now. She knew she was getting stronger but something about being here—where she spent much of her time in degrees of agony with no way to control it or stop it, her powers flaring whenever they wanted to—the difference is stark. How reactive her magic is now, how finely-tuned to her will. A thought, and the lockbox opens. Imogen busies herself selecting and slicing an orange. Another thought, and the coins lift out of the shopping basket and zip over to the box. She arranges the orange segments on a colourful plate. The box clicks closed and slides back into place beneath the beans. It’s all done in a matter of seconds with Zhudanna none the wiser, even if she had peeked over to check on Imogen despite Laudna’s distraction—though how anyone could look away from Laudna for so much as a second during one of her stories - vibrant, enthralling as she is - Imogen doesn’t know. 

She lingers a while, helps herself to a slice of orange. It’s tart, almost sour, the way she likes them. The sun blankets half the kitchen in a square of light. Standing in that warmth recalls fragments of an old dream—baking, home, Laudna. The details are too faded and vanish when she reaches for them; in the space where they had been, her memory provides instead the aroma of baked bread and the cool press of Laudna’s lips against her own. Fingers sticky with orange, Imogen twists her wrist and presses her smile to the back of her hand. We kissed, she thinks, giddy, and suddenly the handful of steps separating her from the sitting room and Laudna is too far. 

‘—a shape like dripping tar, a great blob of malice, hovering in the air. It struck Orym with a spiralling bolt of shadow, pinning him against the rock!’ Imogen hears as she rejoins the story. 

‘Oh!’ Zhudanna squeaks. Her eyes are wide, both wrinkled hands covering her mouth in horror. When she speaks, she sounds so old—had she always, Imogen tries to recall, or is it all of this…this fucking mess around them? The solstice, the god-damning speeches, the fear suffusing the streets like thick jungle mist, the moon, the way oncoming way tilts the axis of every heart. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small, quavering voice, ‘oh dear, oh no, is he alright?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend. Orym.’

The question makes Laudna’s smile falter. Zhudanna, half-blind, probably doesn’t notice. Imogen does. She fills the agonising pause, steps between them to put the plate down next to Zhudanna. By the time she plants herself on the footstool, twin to the armchair Laudna has claimed, Laudna has recovered. 

‘Yes. Yes, of course! He’s a warrior—a hero!’ Zhudanna heaves a sigh of relief at that, claps her hands. Laudna continues. ‘He pulled free of the shadow spear with a horrid yell and spray of blood—’

Geez, Laud, don’t forget she’s old as shit. 

And? She has such a creative soul, she’s enjoying—ah. I suppose…heart attacks…hmm. Should I…tone it down?

Imogen rests her chin on her hand as she settles in to listen to the rest of the story and, catching Laudna’s eyes, offers a small smile. Just for her, darlin’. 

With a wobbly nod—one that makes Imogen want to yank off the circlet and dive deep into Laudna’s thoughts, wade through them muck and all, hear for herself the knotted tangle of fear and nervy tension and trust she knows is causing havoc in there—Laudna launches back into her tale. 

‘Together with our dear new friend Prism–’

‘I like her,’ Zhudanna says. ‘Sensible, for one of those wizard types. Getting out there and having a go of it. Good for her.’

‘Indeed. Very sensibly, she and I harried the foul spirit with our joined magic, giving our companions time to protect the Heirophant and dragging them clear of the danger of this hungry shadow. We threw everything we had at it—flaying it of its shadow piece by piece, cracking its sallow face, until there was nothing left of it but a slug of tarred shadow that I crushed, sending it back to whence it came, into the merciless dark,’ she hisses, hand closing in a tight fist, eyes a brittle, glossy obsidian. After a moment, her intensity relents; the faint gloom in the corners of the room disperses like an audience post performance, and as it leaves, air rushes in to fill the empty space. ‘Anyway,’ she trills, ‘apparently that wasn’t the first time it had appeared there, can you believe that? The Heirophant—the elf Orym and Ashton saved—told us that they had fought it before—or was it their order that had? Hm. Don’t recall. But yes - it’s like a recurring thing. Like a bad ex turning up on their doorstep. But not a bad ex because Evithorir—’

‘Evi- Evirerth-’

‘Evithorir. I think. It was so hard to tell, it hissed a lot. Regardless, the shadow spirit, it turns out it was some, like, ancient terrible hungry fey spirit that sought to devour everything in the world, blah blah, the usual. Starting with Oma-Dua who is this - get this - equally ancient druid who buried herself in the last moments of her life in the depths of this cavern centuries ago to sustain the land around this mountain for the rest of time and took on the form of an enormous glowing green crystal…’

Laudna drifts into an odd silence and sinks back into the plush armchair, into herself, looking small and troubled. Her teeth dig well-worn trenches into her bottom lip as she loses herself in thought. 

Imogen clears her throat. ‘It’s been an awful long time since we got a proper rest, Zhudanna—d’you mind if we rest a while?’

‘Not at all, not at all. Let me move my easel, dear, and - ‘

‘No, please, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll set it aside, if that’s alright?’

‘Certainly, certainly.’

Zhudanna lets herself be distracted gracefully, pulling an old knitting project from the box by her chair. Her eyes—wrinkled, worried—linger on Laudna as Imogen helps her up from the chair, curling a gentle hand beneath each elbow. 

She looks so exhausted and Imogen is certain she’s bearing most of Laudna’s weight for her when she pulls her to her feet but she’s so fucking light it nearly has Imogen stumbling, off-balance. A dozen questions cluster behind Imogen’s teeth, on the threshold of her mind. Did you eat at all? Did you rest? Who took care of you? The thought might’ve made her jealous a month ago but now it just hurts. Laudna is too light, bordering on frail. Her hair is stringy—dirty, greasy, like its been a week since she washed it, brushed it, cared for it (for herself)—and Imogen knows the answer. Knows Laudna. She cares like caring is what keeps her alive, will drag the energy out of her own fucking marrow for everyone else and when it comes to her, she shows them something dead and dying, shows them a grinning skull. Something beyond repair, beyond need of care. 

Red flickers behind her eyes, smoulders in the cracks that split the tips of her fingers. But her hands stay gentle as Imogen helps Laudna to their old room. 

The door shuts behind them, shuts out the world. Blissful. There’s no window in here to show them the ruddy moon. There’s no crowds, no intrusive minds. No guards, no traitors, no one but the two of them. 

Laudna’s slow walk turns to a hobble. She sits at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. 

Giving her a little space, Imogen puts their bags at the footboard of the bed and Pate’s birdhouse on the bedside. He’s sleeping in there or pretending to be. Creepy, beloved spy. She moves the easel like she said she would, tucking it into an out of the way corner. 

‘She’s really very good, don’t you think?’

Laudna stirs. Glances over, dark eyes flicking between the easel and Imogen, and the smile she manages is a wavering thing but it holds steady at the corners. 

She’ll be alright, Imogen decides. Promises. 

‘Yes. Very talented, our Zhudanna.’ 

Her words trail off again and Imogen watches as Laudna begins to fidget, fingers twisting, tugging, pull and plucking in her lap. Was the closed room not blissful for her? Was it too crowded, with Imogen and her and all her thoughts and Delilah and now Bor’dor haunting her? Or was it as simple as the strain of her journey taking its toll? Or was it…

‘Do you regret it?’ Imogen blurts. Laudna stills. ‘The kiss, I mean. Me, kissin’ you. Because I know I asked and I know you kissed me back but if - if you got caught up in the moment or thought it’s what I want - Laud, you gotta know, it doesn’t matter to me how you care for me, I’m so - I’m so happy. So lucky. Just to have you near me. Truly.’

It takes a hell of an effort to shut up then—to bite her lip and give Laudna the room to speak. 

Her stomach flips from nerves and her traitor heart follows suit; it flips, flutters in her chest, so gentle and so warmed by the memory of getting to take Laudna’s face between her hands, getting to touch her after so long of only being able to dream about it, getting to lean in and—that kiss! The memory of it fizzles through her, sweet lightning, and it’s ridiculous, actually, because her hands start sweating and her lips tingle and her skin goes hot all over, sensitive. It’s such a silly feeling; she feels like a stumbling foal - clumsy and awkward, unsure, but so fucking eager to get up, go, explore. It’s silly - she feels silly with it, giggly and warm - and then, of course, sense reasserts itself firmly because Laudna hasn’t said anything yet—is staring over Imogen’s shoulder with a tiny, worried frown—and Imogen’s stomach sinks, veins flooding with ice. If she could just take off the circlet, but…

‘Laud?’

‘Imogen.’

‘Do you?’ It’s harder to ask the second time. ‘Do you…regret it?’

‘No,’ Laudna says in that barely-there way. Imogen wants the shadows back. Wants the intensity. Wants Laudna cackling over one of Pate’s horrendous comments, or chiding her for mussing the bedsheets. Anything but this ghost. ‘No, darling. I was - I was only thinking,’ she sighs, ‘how silly it is, how hard it is to talk about…well. About what we want.’ She blinks, dim and distant. ‘I often think that if only everyone were honest, there would be less space for misunderstanding and heartbreak –’ The words send Imogen’s heart sinking ever lower, but Laudna doesn’t seem to notice and continues, ‘– and cruelty and war and, oh, I don’t know. People wouldn’t get away with murder or inheritance trickery and such. I think about all the people who lie whenever they speak and how foolish it is and then it is my turn to speak and I…I’m terribly afraid.’

At that, Imogen crosses to sit beside Laudna on the bed. She takes one of her delicate hands in both of her own. It’s so light; bird-boned, Imogen thinks distractedly, mind cluttered with midnight-plumed ravens and the Duskmaven, of scavenging vultures and red seeping into cracked desert soil, of a canary in the dark. She hopes—as it gets harder to breathe, lungs struggling to contend with the weight of hope and panic—that Laudna won’t warn her away. 

‘You can tell me,’ Imogen says, and her words stay blessedly steady. ‘Even if you think I don’t want to hear it. I do. I do.’

For a long moment, Laudna examines their hands. Intertwined. Her own—delicate, long-fingered, pale. The dark web of stagnant veins. Imogen’s—broader, tanned, calloused. The cracked skin, red seeping out. Squeezing Imogen’s hand, Laudna says,

‘I won’t lie, darling. I won’t tell you I wasn’t surprised. I was. I am. You are—’ Dark eyes lift to meet Imogen’s; without thoughts to skim, all Imogen can see in the depths is warmth, a glittering fondness. Sorrow lurks there too, somewhere, even if she can’t see it. ‘You are extraordinary. Young and beautiful and so very alive. I - you wishing to kiss me - you understand why I might be startled. I don’t know what I can offer you, darling. I will always be at your side, of course—to protect you, to wake you from your nightmares, to support you, to - to tether you against the storm, as you said, but - ‘

‘But what?’ Imogen shakes her head with a gentle laugh. ‘Who could ask for more than that?’

‘And the kissing?’

‘We don’t have to do it again. If you don’t like it.’

Laudna tilts her head; it’s not a no, but neither is it a yes. ‘You could choose anyone—’

‘I want only you.’

‘Even though I am—’ Laudna cuts off the words with a snap of her teeth. Turns away, sending a gloomy look to the dim corners of their room. 

Imogen’s heart thuds, hard, against her ribs. She rubs at at it, sympathetic. Her bruised heart. She wants what it wants—to be close, ever closer. To hug her, hold her tight. To love her. To rip Delilah out of her—fry the bitch, burn her to ashes, and the ashes to smoke, and the smoke to nothing at all in white lightning—and then offer up her own heart to fill the lack. To welcome Laudna into the red hollow of her ribs, already wondering what kind of home she could make out of them. To take back the ruby ring and present it again, with all the ceremony Laudna deserves. To kiss her. Again and again. 

But right now, Laudna doesn’t need a storm, even one of love. She only needs Imogen to listen to her. So she asks,

‘Even though you’re what?’

Laudna’s hands curl into talons and a snarl erupts from her throat. Earlier, Imogen hadn’t known what to make of the idea that Laudna could summon a wolf but she gets it now. Hears it in that mournful, ragged sound. 

‘Dead. Broken.’ She claws at her heart. ‘Weak.’

‘No. You’re not, sweetheart, no.’

Imogen cannot resist reaching forward. She keeps her touch feather-light. Skims a high cheekbone before sliding back to the strand of dark hair that has escaped its high bun. She tucks it behind Laudna’s ear with exacting care, thumb grazing the gold ear-cuff. I see you. Every bit. Laudna’s eyes fill with inky tears and, when Imogen lifts her other hand to cradle her precious, lovely face, Laudna leans into the touch. 

For a moment, Imogen can only stare. 

There is no one in the world like Laudna—so starkly beautiful, so sweet, so enchanting. There is no one half as creative. She knows Laudna’s story—saw her die—but no one could spend an hour in Laudna’s presence and leave thinking her anything other than vibrant. How could that be death? And as for broken, well, Imogen thinks of the mosaics in Uthodurn’s royal halls, and of stained glass windows in the Dawnfather’s hall—what little she had overhead of that part of Laudna’s story—and thinks of Laudna’s mendings and crafts and the hundreds of achingly beautiful smiles Laudna has made up just for her and yes, maybe she’s been broken, but who hasn’t? How can that make her less? Less lovely, less wonderful? It doesn’t. It doesn’t. She thinks of faith and lets her pinkie slip down to touch, so gently, the ragged mark of Laudna’s first death. She thinks of destiny and meets Laudna’s eyes. 

Beautiful, she thinks, and then - because they are being truthful, because they are telling each other the truth - she says it out loud too. 

‘You’re beautiful. You’re my—‘ Imogen falters, tries to think of a word that doesn’t stick in her chest like a knife, but pushes on because her love doesn’t make her fearless, it just makes her brave. ‘My favourite.’

Her blush blooms purple under Imogen’s hands. Laudna glances down, shy, then up from under lashes dark and sticky with inky makeup, splayed like delicate spider legs. 

‘It is strange,’ Laudna says, covering Imogen’s hands with her own when she starts to pull away, worried. ‘Don’t leave, darling. Let me… Let me?’ 

Let her lean in, yes, let her press close, forehead to forehead, yes, stay so still when Laudna touches her cheek, fleeting. Laudna trembles—afraid? excited? damn this fucking circlet—but the contact settles her and when she retreats, she pulls Imogen’s hands from her cheeks but doesn’t let them go. She breathes in and out. Then says, 

‘Waking from death is much like waking from sleep, except it hurts. Only a little but all the time.’

Imogen’s fingers brush over Laudna’s wrist, where her pulse plods away. ‘Laudna,’ she whispers, not to interrupt. Only because Laudna ought never go a moment thinking she didn’t care. 

‘For all those years, even though I…I ran and built my huts and Pate too, of course, and of course I felt things—fear and loss and joy, too, sometimes—I was alive and awake but. So much of me was still dead. I was so - confused. And angry, often. I was surviving, you see. I had strength enough to hold myself together and fix things, here and there, but no more than that. I was hungry, all the time, I had so many teeth.’ Laudna searches her face. ‘And then I met you and you helped. Cared. These past years with you… It used to be that when I wanted something, it - it was hunger I felt. This endless hunger. A great pit in my chest. And it was hard to tell, you see, what it was I wanted except for everything, anything I could get my hands on. Do you understand?’

Imogen gnaws at her lip. Slowly, she shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’ She dips her head, catches Laudna’s eyes. ‘Explain it to me?’

Laudna’s fingers shake as she slides them over the backs of Imogen’s hands. Long fingers curl around one of Imogen’s wrists and she lifts it to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles, lips cool against the burning ridge of her oldest lightning scar. 

‘You have given me so much. You gave me friendship and purpose and trust. Food. Fun and stories. Strength. A bed. A home. And the hunger…it doesn’t gnaw so terribly, darling. Now, when I - when I want something, it isn’t an impossible task. I needn’t lose myself in that great black pit, blinding searching for what I lack. It starts to make sense. I start to make sense. What I want. Outside of her, and hunger. You’ve given me so much,’ Laudna tells her, and her voice creaks with the weight of her words. ‘How can I possibly take more? How - selfish, how greedy it would be to want… To want.’

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ Imogen asks, voice soft. She tries not to sound to hopeful. 

Launda holds her hands for a long time. It’s maddening, because Laudna never stays still for long; she doesn’t now either, instead stroking tiny patterns against her skin, fingers sliding over and between her own. At the occasional scratch of her nails, a frisson of electricity crackles down Imogen’s arms, through her body. Finally, Laudna nods. 

‘I do. Oh, Imogen, I do. I didn’t know it - I knew I would be content for centuries, the rest of my days, if only I could sleep in your bed, stand at your side, content with any touch or favour you might share with me. And then - to be kissed?’ A shy smile creeps across her lips. ‘Would it be terribly unfunny to say it struck me like a bolt?’

Imogen snorts. Pulls her hands free so she can shove at her—lightly, though, barely enough to make even Laudna sway. Her hands settle on the tender branching of Laudna’s collarbones. The fabric of the new dress is silk-smooth under her palms; the lace neckline, though, catches against her work-rough, scar-rough fingers. She strokes it again, entranced. It’s so soft, the lace, in its reluctance to let her go. It’s so beautiful, the whorling patterns of leaves and flowers, and the contrast of blue-black fabric against Laudna’s pale skin is enough to make her glow. And beneath lace and skin, the steady tap of Laudna’s pulse—a knock on the door, on the coffin lid, here I am. 

Beautiful. 

‘That’s dreadful,’ she scolds, wrinkling her nose. 

‘That’s me. Full of dread.’ A ghostly visage flickers across Laudna’s face, there—skin and skull shifting, FRIDA’s inspiration?—and gone. ‘And you?’ she asks. ‘You too?’

‘Full of dread?’

‘Do you wish to kiss me, I meant, actually.’

Imogen swallows harshly. ‘Yeah,’ she rasps. ‘Yeah, I do.’

A frown pinches Laudna’s forehead. ‘Have you been afflicted with this desire for long?’

‘Afflict— You say it like it’s a sickness or somethin’,’ Imogen teases, but Laudna flaps a hand for her to hurry up and tell, so she shrugs. ‘Um. Yeah. I ‘spose I’ve been wantin’ to kiss you for a while,’ she admits, cheeks burning. ‘When I could hear you, it was… Do you remember when Dusk was hangin’ around, you told me you hadn’t thought about it? Hadn’t accessed that part of your brain?’ Laudna nods. ‘I know. I knew that. Because sometimes, when we were close and you…’ 

Imogen pauses. Sucks in a breath—it’s a little stuffy in their room, no windows, but it smells of freshly laundered sheets and paint and wood polish and Laudna and Imogen lets it steady her. 

‘D’you know that you say the kindest, sweetest things sometimes? You always know what to do to calm me down or make me laugh, even when the whole world is—’ She gestures awkwardly to the south wall where the moon hovers in her minds eye. ‘You know. Going to shit. And sometimes—I wasn’t sure how much you…’ She stops again, lips twisting, frustrated. ‘I knew that you cared for me because, well, because you do.’

‘Naturally, of course.’

‘But sometimes I wondered if…if you wanted to kiss me, like I sometimes thought of doing. But when I looked into your mind, you were never thinkin’ about it so -’ Imogen shrugs, cheeks hot. ‘I never brought it up. You hardly ever thought about it when other folk were flirtin’ or talkin’ about it, so I figured it wasn’t something you wanted. And that didn’t matter to me! Just so long as you were with me, and we were together, I was happy with that. But then Dusk,’ Imogen strangles the name in her throat, hopes fiercely that Yu can feel it, wherever the fuck they might be, ‘put the idea in your head and then they…left…and you were confused and I’d sometimes catch flashes of it in your head but it didn’t feel right to bring it up, even though sometimes I thought—the way you were lookin’ at me, and not pullin’ away when I was lookin’ at you—I thought…maybe? Maybe it was - Maybe you could. Think like that. And when you died—’ Her voice cracks. ‘That wasn’t the right time either, obviously,’ she scoffs. Pulls a hand back to swipe at her eyes. 

‘Darling,’

‘It had to be your choice. All of it. Everything, after what happened. And I was fucking terrified because of all those questions in my head like if I’d be pushin’ you if I asked, or makin’ you more of a target, burdenin’ you with all this Predathos moon shit—’

‘Never. Never a burden.’

‘—and then I got this,’ Imogen taps her circlet, ‘and I couldn’t hear you anymore, couldn’t check, and so, yeah, Laudna, you could say I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while.’

‘Thinking about,’ she says, so carefully, like she’s afraid if she speaks it too loud or too fast the whole thing will break, ‘kissing. Me.’

Imogen laughs. Smiles at her with her whole face, her whole heart. Every soft, exposed, grotesque, tender part of it. ‘Yeah, sweetheart. Is that alright?’

Laudna nods jerkily. Eyes Imogen’s mouth curiously. ‘Can I - that is, if it’s alright with you,’

‘Please,’ Imogen whispers, and she isn’t sure if she’s reading her own mind or if Laudna’s is loud enough to overpower the circlet, if she’s letting the power of it subside in her eagerness to know if Laudna wants what she wants, but it’s so clear—Laudna’s dark eyes, warm and kind and wanting; her reaching hands, aligning them hurt to hurt, heart to heart; plum lips pressing, ever so gently, against hers. 

The kiss lasts a heartbeat. Barely long enough to register the touch. Even so, Laudna flushes deeply. Touches her fingers to her mouth and breathes out, shaky. 

‘Oh. Imogen.’

Imogen lifts a hand—‘Can I? Let me, please’—to Laudna’s neck, grazing the high collar she’d been so jealous of in the store for getting to touch Laudna’s neck, but adores now as she coaxes it down so she alone can see, can touch the soft skin of her neck. Feel the way Laudna’s breath hitches when she does, her shiver as Imogen’s fingers slide forward, following the path of her jaw and swiping beneath the hinge of it—tender, awed, lingering on the mottled silver marks of bullet holes and torn skin—before she slides her fingers into the curtain of dark dark. She presses gently, guides her forward for another kiss. Her lips find the corner of Laudna’s mouth and smiles at the noise of displeasure it pulls. 

‘I think,’ Imogen whispers, kisses her more solidly. Tilts her head and loses herself in Laudna: Laudna’s nose nudging into her cheek; Laudna’s hands fluttering between her elbows and shoulders before laying gently on her back; a clumsy bump of lips, which is actually mostly chin, a giggled apology, and then something gives and Laudna’s lips are on hers again, steady and slow and careful, like they have all the time in the world, like now that she is here there is no where she would rather be. Imogen pulls back, licks her lips. Citrus bursts on her tongue. 

Laudna stares at her mouth. ‘What - ‘ She has to clear her throat, voice breathy, like Imogen has kissed all the air out of her and the thought makes want crackle beneath Imogen’s skin. ‘What do you think?’

‘Amazing. Great. Perfect.’

Dark eyes gleam. Laudna smiles—no, she smirks. ‘Darling. You were saying something, that you thought…?’

‘Oh.’ Imogen starts to speak—and has to stop. She laughs. ‘Y’know, I’ve totally forgotten?’

‘Oh.’ Laudna’s blush deepens. She’s so fucking pretty. ‘It will come back to you. If it’s important.’ She fidgets. Reaches out a hand to touch Imogen’s elbow, her knee. She looks for a moment as if she is about to speak but then a calm settles over her and she only smiles and nods. ‘Do you mind, dearest, if I take a little time to fix the birdhouse? Only Pate said it’s dreadfully uncomfortable and I think - if I add some soft cushion fabric, maybe curtains - I can fix the place up for him.’

Imogen nods. She understands—and could do with a minute to calm down too. She crawls around Laudna up to the headboard, props herself up against it. 

Laudna frowns. ‘Really? Boots on the bed?‘

She smiles, closes her eyes. ‘It’ll be alright, I’ll magic the dirt away after.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Laudna insists. After a few moments of Imogen ignoring her, Laudna sets aside the birdhouse and begins to unbuckle Imogen’s boots. Imogen watches, thoughts far too chaotic to pin down. It doesn’t take long—Laudna has helped her before, when migraines stopped her from doing just about anything—and she pats Imogen’s shin, tuts at the unhappy state of her socks, and mends the hole by her big toe with a needle and thread of black shadow. It looks good as new when she is done. 

‘There,’ Imogen drawls, snuggling down into the pillow at her back. ‘What would I do without you?’

Laudna laughs. ‘You’d wear boots in bed and put your cups upside down on the shelves–’

‘First of all, I’m right about that and second of all,’ she nudges Laudna with her toe, ‘I never wanna find out.’

She smiles and, oh, Imogen thinks, Dawnfather, eat your heart out. You don’t know light like this. You couldn’t make a light like hers if you had a thousand solstices. 

//

They spend a lazy afternoon together. They don’t kiss again—Laudna is far too intent on her work, and Imogen merely watches her and allows time and proximity to ease the tight, grating knot of nerves in her chest that had built with every moment of Laudna’s absence. She asks easy questions and retreads old, familiar jokes and stories, and everything resettles. In some ways, it is as it has always been. It’s the two of them, together. It’s also new in a way that makes Imogen’s heart flutter every time she remembers; I kissed her, I can kiss her. 

‘Pate,’ Laudna croons, as she takes apart old clothes and blankets, stitches them into cushions for the interior of the birdhouse. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she sings, and the rat-bird clambers out of his wooden house and up her arm, waits until she’s packed the cushions into place to skitter back inside, taking pride of place in the decadence. ‘What do you think of your new ho-ome?’ It’s so fucking weird. They both are. Imogen has to get closer to her. Tucks a foot under Laudna’s knee—who beams at her, wraps a chilly hand around her ankle and keeps her close—and makes a note to kiss Pate on top of his awful little skull soon. Just because. ‘What do you think? Will this be more comfortable?’

‘It’s nice!’ he croaks, little paws patting walls and floor. ‘I do have a suggestion, though—’

‘What! You’ve only been alive for a few months, what could you possibly know about decorating?’ she demands, aghast. 

Pate flies from the house, landing on the roof. There are no eyes in his bird skull but Imogen swears he rolls them anyway. ‘Pfft! What don’t I know? I’m the whole package, you know. Bird brains and rat cunning, fanks very much.’

‘Fine, then, if you’re so smart! What’s your suggestion?’

‘Curtains.’

‘Curtains?’

‘Curtains. For, you know, setting the mood, or sleeping in the day. Or if you two need a little, heh, private time to lock lips—’

‘Alright, yes, fine!’ Laudna yelps. ‘I’ll make you some damn curtains!’

Pate chuckles. His wings peel open with a wet squelch that Imogen is never going to get used to—how could he be wet, he’s been dead for years, that’s what she wants to know—and he takes off with one, two laborious flaps of his wings, gliding down to the bed covers and scampering back into his now-comfortable home. ‘Thank ye kindly,’ he calls out from within.

Laudna grumbles as she pulls together curtains rather quickly, delving in her pack for supplies. She pulls out shards of metal–splinters, almost, but as long as her palm. 

‘What’re those?’ Imogen asks, as she tries to bully the pillow under her head into a more comfortable shape. 

‘Hm? Oh - one of Ashton’s climbing pitons. It shattered.’

The pillow refuses to be comfortable; Imogen gives up, gets up to search the room for wherever the other pillow went. She finds it, after a while, on the top shelf of the little linen closet and jumps for it before remembering she knows telekinesis. How in the nine hells Zhudanna even got it up there, she has no clue. Wandering back to the bed, Imogen watches over Laudna’s shoulder for a minute as she crafts. 

‘You went climbing?’

‘When we were separated, that’s where we landed,’ Laudna says. ‘On a cliffside. Jagged rocks, Steam vents. Now that I think about it, we were rather lucky, actually, that we didn’t appear in the air above a sharp spike or roll off the cliff. But yes, we had to climb,’ she says, and tells Imogen all about it— finding Deni$e - Mona, at the time—and the climb and the endless valley of verdant trees. 

Imogen listens carefully, heart heavy. She thinks of a long, cold walk and finding truly kind friends at the end of it - a celestial bull they befriended - shopping - the warmth and bustle and commerce and, yes, anxiety, of Uthodurn, and meeting royalty—and she thinks of Laudna, who dislocates something whenever she sneezes, having to pull herself up a cliffside. She rubs Laudna’s shoulder and dips her head, presses a kiss there on her back—because she can, because she wants to, because Laudna wants it too. Laudna hums, a happy sound. 

‘I’m sorry you ended up there.’

‘It wasn’t all bad. It was rather beautiful. I would have enjoyed it, I think, if you had been there.’

‘Maybe we’ll go together someday.’

Laudna smiles. Affixes one of the piton curtain-rods into place as Pate guides her—’Higher, higher on the left - other left - all of it lower now - perfect!’

‘I think Ashton will want to go back.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was something of the Hishari there - a town. Cursed now, apparently. He wants answers.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ Imogen agrees. ‘Kill the moon, then go on holiday to a cursed town in Issylra. Sounds nice.’

//

‘You were right, by the way,’ Imogen says later, as they walk back from the Windowed Wall to their friends. 

‘Of course I was.’ Laudna beams across at her, tone bright, teasing; it’s such a shift from her mood of the morning that Imogen can do nothing but smile back at her. ‘About what, though?’

‘You said if it was important, I’d remember what I was gonna say. And I remember now.’’ Imogen wraps her arm through Laudna’s, pulls her in tight. There aren’t many people crowding the street but she doesn’t need an excuse to hold her close anymore. ‘You know, the thought you kissed right outta my head?’ 

‘Imogen!’ Laudna slaps her hand lightly, but her eyes gleam. Imogen thinks she might be pleased by the idea of driving her to distraction. ‘Well, go on then. What was it?’

‘You asked if I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Kissin’ you. I was gonna say, I think I’ll never get it outta my head. I’m gonna be thinkin’ about kissing you forever. If that’s alright with you.’

Laudna’s chin lifts - proud, pleased by the idea, clearly - and she gains what could only be called a strut. Her cheeks colour faintly. ‘I’ll be thinking about it too.’ Her eyes glitter brightly over a sweet smile. ‘After all, you’re very capable,’ she teases, and laughs, delighted, at the blush her words pull from Imogen. 

They’re still smiling when they rejoin their friends. It earns them strange looks, but fond, relieved. No one pries—though Ashton has a stare like a crowbar—and they say nothing, for now. 

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #cr tag #imodna my beloveds #imodna

[ember3141]

the original image was just some garbage project I gave up on so I added a glowing frog and I distorted it through a camcorder and crt

#crt #crt tv #cr tag #techcore #retro tech #pixel art #retro #art #dither #dithering #196 #flashing lights #flashing tw #frogs #frog #frog art #frogcore #frogposting #frogs and toads

[shorthaltsjester]

honestly as someone who has been in various fandoms for a long time now and who also watched campaigns 1 and 2 without really getting into cr fandom it isn’t Shocking but it is annoying how often people will look at the stories that cr tells and make absolute claims about the goodness of characters (goodness here meaning Moral goodness, not I Like This character and think it’s well made goodness, which is a separate post entirely). particularly regarding the gods and pc parents. and honestly like, typically in fandom i get annoyed by people bending over backwards to woobify characters who are active in their choice to be unkind and generally horrible but in the cr fandom it’s tended to be the opposite where like. a character is just. a human being (in the sense of being Average not in the sense of Fantasy Races) and huge swaths of the fandom act like that’s the most unforgivable thing someone can be. and maybe it is, but one of the most powerful things about fiction is that it tends to encourage people to expand their empathy and exercise their ability to forgive. because fictional characters, no matter how much people like to project onto them, tend not to cause anyone harm, so it’s easier to learn how to forgive and accept things you don’t understand without also villainizing them.

this is mostly prompted by the recent 4sd and the fact that matt’s response to what’s up with the dawnfather was a very insistent “He’s not bad!” and also seeing the online reaction to the mention that the matron would punish vax for saving keyleth that has taken the as usual completely bonkers tune that the raven queen (Who When Met With A Brother Asking A God To Kill Him In Favour Of His Sister, Gave Him A Job, and Later Extended His Natural Life To Help Protect The World And Have More Time With His Family And Allowed Him To Visit His Sister On Her Wedding Day) is a horrible evil abusive bitch of a god. like. can we grow up? can we understand the world and fiction that represents the multitudes of experiences found in it in shades of grey? is that too much to ask (i know it is).

but also specifically the like Extremely Adamant way that both matt and laura were like no no no no relvin isn’t Horirble he’s average. he’s not good he’s just. he’s A father, not a good or bad one. and on the surface it’s hilarious that they’re both so like. enthused to point out that he’s Average because typically when people respond to a claim of a characters badness with the level of immediacy they both did it’s a rebuttal of “no, this character is good actually.” but it was just to affirm that relvin did harm imogen, but not because there’s some aspect of his character that is inherently cruel or especially Bad. and like. yeah actually. yeah you should react like that to a claim that this average person who Has hurt someone, the way that nearly every single person has hurt someone in a way they cannot repair, with immediacy to say this person is a Person and thus imperfect and capable of great harm, but that isn’t some all encompassing judgment on their morality or capability to also do good or be fine.

anyway this is kinda just a rant post but also is just me saying i’m very grateful that when surrounded by a fandom that tends to paint characters as Good or Bad and even while using a game that can encourage that with its alignment system, cr has always told stories that see goodness as a persistent choice that might sometimes falter and that can be chosen even after a lifetime of Badness. i can’t remember exactly what the quote was so forgive me if it’s incorrect but when jester is talking to caleb after he claims he’s not a very good person and she says “good people do bad things sometimes. even bad people do good things.” that’s it! that’s one of the most consistent themes across campaigns. and yet.

#on fandom #cr tag #i just. maybe it’s the philosophy major in me but. good grief the shit some of y’all say about morality and then turn around and ignore #what you’ve just said. good grief #lately it’s specifically been the people who support liliana (i too love evil women) and act like she tripped and fell into her current #position. and then turn around and call relvin an abusive devil #like. sorry which one has been manipulating imogen. which one abonded her? #that’s besides the point. my point is. the words good and bad are meaningless. #the good placeism. is this character trying to be better today than they were yesterday #this is the imogen temult problem actually. like yes she Chooses to be good. but that is only a choice because we have Seen her be selfish #and cruel and manipulative. if i had to choose to call imogen good or bad i’d of course choose good. but that undermines so much of #what makes her ‘goodness’ actually compelling. #honestly same with fjord. like his character as a charismatic paladin who fights for Good™ is comtextualised by having seen his journey #like. otherwise he’d be boring. #like. if any cr main character was just Good or just Bad. i promise it would not be as popular as it is #critical role

[pawthorn]

Sorry, but if you heard Ashton tell Fearne they’ve always wanted a sister and your first response is not believe that they feel that way or to assume he’s joking or messing with her, you may have some things to re-evaluate.

#i appreciate that you love the ship #but their relationship is still good if it’s not romantic #and if you’ve told someone ‘let’s be friends’ #and had them be like ‘there’s a double meaning in that 😏’ #you should understand where i’m coming from #cr tag #ashton greymoore

[doribuki]

girl your new drip and choice looks immaculate and youre such a disney princess with your rat and your dog and that strange ominous light in your eyes that doesnt belong to you! wait a second.

#i did an art #cr tag #cr spoilers #laudna

[knightnydoorin]

personally think we need an EXU series with different sets of archaeologists and trackers just excavating these different sites in exandria. giving us clues. nothing world changing, just interesting little excavations and dungeon crawls. pleaseee

not even another calamity series. just like modern ish exandrian archaeologists and mages just searching for bits and pieces. some groups maybe being lost to history, maybe only some survive, maybe some get to bring their information to the cobalt soul, others get commendations and money. just lil tidbits of stories. could almost be a bit like candela tbh

#i just think it would be neat #im specifically thinking of aeor and zemniaz and avalir but lets be real theres so much stuff matt hasnt shown us yet #critical role #cr tag #exandria unlimited

[revvethasmythh]

tbh I’ll always be a little salty about the fact that there’s like 10 flagged and obvious parallels that frame Birdie as being a more sympathetic version of Liliana. and yet

#oh woman who left child to try and neutralize a danger the child faced #ended up staying away much longer than perhaps intended and fell in with a faction focusing on ruidus? #birdie took ollie with her left fearne with someone who could protect her specifically #never meant to leave her for over 100 years (that’s on nana) and works with the verity and sabotages the unseelie court (works with ludinus #meanwhile #liliana left husband and child (unprotected) intentionally stayed away for so long LEFT the verity to join ludinus willingly #even birdie's time spent with zathuda in cultish activity is framed more sympathetically #AND YET #cr tag #i was thinking about this like a week ago and couldn't word the post properly so whatever this was the bottom line anyway

[namedafterflowerstournament]

Botanic Tournament : Main Bracket !

Round 4 Poll U

(Tea leaves and rue)

#botanic tournament #tournament polls #round 4 #mollymauk tealeaf #cr mollymauk #critical role mollymauk #cr fandom #cr tag #critical role fandom #critical role #podblr #rue the hunger games #rue thg #the hunger games rue #thg rue #thg series #thg books #thg movies #thg #bookblr #the hunger games trilogy #the hunger games books #the hunger games #movieblr

[captainsvscaptains]

Battle of the Captains

Round 3 Part 5 Poll 1

Propaganda

I love him.

Inej (propaganda by @paul-hectus) : She was kidnapped from her family when she was very little and brought oversea to become an unwilling sex worker when she was FOURTEEN. She is an amazing acrobat and skilled with knives. She's also a great friend and deeply devoted to her saints. The boy she is in love with got her freedom, knives and her ship. Now she kills and hunts slavers❤️

#tournament polls #battle of the captains #round 3 #fjord tusktooth #captain tusktooth #admiral tusktooth #fjord critical role #critical role fjord #cr fjord #fjord cr #fjord stone #critical role podcast #critical role fandom #critical role #cr fandom #cr tag #podblr #six of crows inej #soc inej #inej ghafa #sankta inej #soc fandom #six of crows book #six of crows #shadow and bone tv #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone books #shadow and bone series #shadow and bone #grishaverse

[playerkingsley]

alright, finally starting the new cr episode. maintaining that these tests aren't exactly accomplishing much reparation for the hell's dynamic, but I'm expecting chaos either way, so win/win

#I know literally everyone was predicting there'll be no doppelgangers & tbh even though it's a somewhat cheap twist #this exercise really would be counterproductive without it. so that's my starting assumption too #cr tag

[utilitycaster]

Ok I'm probably going to regret reinventing 17th century European religious philosophy here but:

Ludinus's issue with the gods as stated to Imogen and Fearne (and I will state right now that we know he was lying or deliberately misleading at points in that conversation so I don't exactly take him at his word, but let's assume he does mean this) is that they did not prevent the Calamity. I have the following questions.

Does he have any loyalty/feelings about the Titans given that they would have killed all the people in the era of the Schism, ie, the gods averted that Calamity? My guess is no, which means that whole avenue of discussing the Titans was something of a dead end.

How should Calamity have been averted? The Prime Deities during the Age of Arcanum largely let people do what they wanted, which is what led to one of those mortals releasing the Betrayer Gods. Should the gods have struck down Vespin Chloras before he actually did anything, Minority Report style? Can the gods even predict based on the actions of a single individual or small group, because my guess is they can't, particularly since within the current stream of gameplay they absolutely cannot [ie, the reason the Changebringer can't tell FCG to stay or run is because Matt Mercer is the Changebringer and he doesn't know how people will roll; you do need to consider the medium here]. But if they could: so you think they should strike down mortals on the basis of thoughtcrimes? Or control them? In that case, why is Aeor a problem? There's a lot you can argue is justified once you permit the gods to override free will and kill people over mere potential for catastrophe.

On that note, Laerryn both was an unwitting architect of the Calamity (shorted on energy and then killed the Tree of Names, which served as a core planar defense system) but also averted the worst of it. Did the lives she saved by preventing the rise of Rau'shan and Ka'Mort outweigh the lives she took by destroying the Tree of Names? How should the gods have reacted?

Should, perhaps, the gods have all sealed themselves away earlier - perhaps post-Schism? If so, then the issue isn't the Divine Gate, now is it? Should the gods intervene or not intervene? Should they remove themselves or no? It feels like the issue isn't that they distanced themselves so that they can do less in the world, particularly if you wish to kill them, but that you really want to fucking kill them and they made that somewhat more difficult.

How do we know the gods (for example) didn't save Laudna? She was hanged and she's still alive; Morri would probably count this as saving her and I don't see the same desire to wipe out all Archfey. [real talk I find most discussion of Laudna specifically to be...incomprehensibly ignorant in its refusal to acknowledge that everything about it is player agency related, whether it's the story that the cast played out for Vox Machina or the decisions Marisha specifically made in creating the character, ie, do you think Matt should have said "well you can't play a Hollow One because that would mean the gods didn't save you" not to mention the fact that again, we are playing this within a game system where the existence Deus Ex Machina would in fact fucking suck ass; but even setting aside those reasons why this argument is stupid, it's still stupid. It's like a layer cake of stupid.] Again: do you want more intervention or less? Killing them guarantees less.

I'm assuming the problem with the Calamity is the vast loss of life, in which case, what's the math on how many people have been killed by the Vanguard or Imperium in the pursuit of unleashing Predathos? How many more will die?

If the release of Predathos doesn't result in the immediate demise of all the gods, and the Divine Gate is down, why isn't this a recipe for Calamity 2? What was the motivation for killing the gods again?

Should we kill mortal diviners who do not do all within their power to stop terrible things that may come to pass? If the issue is that some people have power without working for it, why haven't we killed all the sorcerers?

Should we be listening to a single word from someone who consumes random fey to live longer, and that's just the start of the CVS receipt of atrocities?

Is there a point where one's deeply held beliefs due to one's own personal trauma become invalidated due to one's actions as a result of that trauma? If so, why is the limit for Orym "is okay with killing people who are trying, directly, to kill you (which, frankly, isn't even a trauma response, that's just called not wanting to die, which I highly recommend as a personal philosophy), and gets upset when people defend those knowingly collaborating with his family's murderers" and the limit for Vanguard generals "family abandonment/just. buckets of murder of innocents./child soldier recruitment in multiple different contexts/eating fey as biohacking/destroying an entire city and the surrounding forest for hundreds of years (ongoing)/imperialism in multiple different contexts/I was going to make a gallows humor joke about how while neither exist in-world they've violated the Geneva Convention AND the IRB for testing on human subjects multiple times over but actually those both are in fact written in a lot of the same blood/probably some others that I'm forgetting"

#i feel ultimately a lot of this fandom debate boils down to yes this is obviously fiction #but like within the fiction can you sketch out the implications of your argument or is it just a lot of abstract ideals that can't coexist #I don't actually expect answers to these; obviously the point is if you think there is an easy one there isn't #anyway i'm like if an enlightenment era polymath were a religiously observant agnostic who used the phrase fucking suck ass #cr spoilers #cr tag

[unicyclehippo]

Cinnamon

the reunion is noisy, confusing, bloody, harsh, fractured in the manner of the world now. ashton yells, their voice a crack of triumphant thunder. fcg is a whir of blade and shining metal and—legs? orym smiles, for the first time in days, certainly. weeks, perhaps. she can’t recall how long, only that she has missed it. chetney is himself, and then half of himself as the wolf splits his chest and lunges out to crunch jaws around the head of the elongated red threat.

imogen.

at the sight of her, the fractured world regains an anchor. there may be a rift in the world, there may be an egg-cracked moon, their compasses may spin and turn, untethered, but laudna needs none of that when imogen is back where she can see her.

laudna cries black tears and the roots of her dreadful form creak, wrapping around her skull, following the same path. it makes a spectacle of her, and it’s own hunger, forms a crown of creeping roots that tangles in her hair and branches shoot out, soot-black, scorched, jagged and tearing across the soft grey of the afternoon sky.

they fight. they win. there are hugs and drinking and food and safety, or what passes for it these days—a flood of information gathered about the encroaching danger and everything they had missed, separated—lightning lizards as big as a fuckin’ sky ship—oh shit what happened to xandis d’you think—these pits in the fucking ground, right, and cliffs like fucking knives and it steams up burned the shit out of me look at my fucking elbow it’s half fucking melted—saved a sacred bull—killed an angel of the dawn father—run that by me again you did what now?—ran—climbed—lost a goddamn nail but orym was a peach and found it for me—fought—fought—fought—prayed—bled screamed killed searched cried fought—

‘but you have reconnected now,’ FCGs friend (companion?) commented, with a gentle lilt to their tone. ‘i have no love of the gods, but to borrow a word of theirs, i find that to be miraculous.’

‘yeah. yeah, you’re right, FRIDA,’ FCG nodded. ‘it is pretty miraculous, isn’t it? don’t they have such a way with words?’

they held hands. ashton, who had been glaring mildly at FRIDA since they were first introduced, continued to glare. it was, laudna thought, rather nice of him to be so welcoming to FCGs new companion.

‘yeah,’ ashton grunted. ‘they’re super.’

FCG beamed.

‘and this must be your laudna,’ someone said, and laudna looked over to see an armoured gnome, dark of skin and bright of smile. she directed her words to imogen—who stood a scant centimetre from laudna’s side, who had entangled her mind and hands with laudna and would not let her go—don’t leave, no not ever, missed you, missed you, looked for you, searched, ache behind the eyes searched empty, spoke to you, screamed, looked for you, messages on messages static in the head searching reaching out empty empty empty longing hollow stay here stay with me in me of me—

‘my laudna,’ imogen agrees, and her thumb slips over a knuckle, settles between two. ‘this is deanna,’ imogen continues after a moment, shame blooming pink over her cheeks. stunning. ‘she’s knits the most wonderful everything, laudna, and she’s incredible, a cleric, a healer, and—‘ imogen stops speaking aloud but in laudna’s head speaks, finally, no longer the raw and endless electric livewire between them but purposeful message. she died, a long time ago.

laudna’s grip tightens on imogen’s hand. don’t leave. ‘it’s lovely to meet you,’ laudna greets the cleric, and remembers fire and fury and fear and looks on rosy cheeks and bright eyes and full, warm, living flesh. don’t leave. ‘i’m something of a maker myself, i made this dress and some clothes for pate and sashimi, and curtains—i’m very good at curtains—and im quite fond of other mediums too, painting, i’ve done some painting, and taxidermy, gardening, woodwork—‘

‘laudna is very capable,’ imogen says.

laudna stammers to a stop. warmth curls up through her neck, her cheeks. she knows she’s gone blotchy when imogen reaches for her neck, undoes the bandana there and ties it round laudna’s neck.

gallows, rotted rope. unmarked graves. dirt beneath her nails. zealotry heavy on her tongue, tallow grease and smoke.

imogen pauses, unravels the knot before it can be tied.

bed?

laudna leans close, tilts her head onto imogen’s shoulder. they step away, making no excuses or explanations, and take a room in the inn. laudna makes tea, pack of spices in her bag from issylra. mintsharp leaves and cinnamon bark. flowers. pine needles to add to a hot bath.

‘i missed you,’ imogen croaks.

laudna stares down into her tea.

‘laud?’

a warm hand curls around her wrist. tugs her over to the bed where they sit, side by side.

‘hey.’ gentle, so gentle, the hand against her jaw. coaxing her to look at her, look anywhere near her. ‘are you alright?’

laudna nods.

‘really?’ imogen’s smile is quick—fond, undeniably, but fast and tight. ‘because i’m a fucking mess.’

laudna’s laugh is wet, as tears spring to her eyes, overflow. ‘oh i’m s-sorry, i’m sorry darling, i don’t mean to—i’m alright, really—‘

‘would you look at me?’

for a moment, laudna doesn’t. cannot. what if everything has changed? what if this is some cruel trick? not her imogen at all? a nudge to her chin, a murmur, please, and laudna flicks her eyes up finally to see her. violet nimbus. scars crawling up the length of her beautiful neck almost to her chin. the smouldering red of her fingers. the wet, longing desperation of her eyes.

her fingers twitch, skitter up imogen’s arm. laudna brushes her crooked fingers over a tear stained cheek—beautiful.

‘i’m not alright, i wasn’t alright without you,’ she admits, voice shaking, fingers shaking. she drags her nails across the soft of imogen’s cheeks; not to hurt, never to hurt, only to feel and see the white trail left behind. ‘i never wish to be apart from you. never again.’

imogen doesn’t pull away; she leans in, nods. ‘my better half,’ she murmurs.

‘my everything,’ laudna returns, and it is easy to lean in, there is no fear left in her to stop her from touching her forehead to imogen’s, from tilting imogen’s head, from pressing her lips to imogen’s. the kiss is soft and gentle and unhurried and laudna is the only frightening thing about it.

imogen laughs, picking up the thought as it curls, delicious and delighted, on the current between them.

‘my love,’ imogen says, just because she can, and kisses her again.

//

there is a knock on their bedroom door, and a quiet voice intrudes.

‘does anyone—excuse me, pardon me, so sorry for the interruption it’s just i was hoping that you might like to fill out a survey on your experience of the apogee solstice, and reuniting, if i could take just a quick fifteen, twenty minutes of your time?’

#you can ignore this #tagging my stories #imodna my beloveds #cr tag

[towards-toramunda]

is it just me or do a LOT of people seem to hate fearne now? :(

I feel like theres maybe a small vocal minority who do but I think most people still love her! I do she is perfect she is just a single mom doing her best in this crazy emotional world

Honestly usually when I see hate for a character I love I scroll past it and ignore (unless I see one account doing a lot of hate towards one character I love then I just block cause I’m not trying to get upset over nothing)

#critical role #cr tag #fearne calloway #fearne calloway can do no wrong and anyone that hates her can get a flame seed shot at them by mister

[shorthaltsjester]

nothing more morally reprehensible than a cleric (checks notes) using the key features of their class…? surely that can’t be where we are regarding analysis of character actions in cr at this point.

#also like. fcg already cast turn undead around laudna he knew it wouldn’t destroy her. #like fcg does make fucked up choices fairly often but the cleric desiring to cast turn undead when there are many undead creatures isn’t one #also like. yes fcg was a shithead about it w his respect the gods comments but. very very specifically laudna Has been starting shit #in every convo even tangentially related to the gods laudna is the one who without clear motive goes Well What If Gods Bad Actually #which. sure . if u had a clear reason i’d be happy to follow the trail. i’d think it’s still a dumb claim but yk #like the few times when fearne has brought it up it’s been prodding the ideas the Others have in response #and when imogen has it’s been certainly self centered but that means it’s evidently motivated whereas with laudna it’s like. it seems like #she’s just trying to stir shit up which I Would Love if we got context for the Why #laudna is just as responsible for any situation where her and fcg are disagreeing as fcg would be . because they’re Both disagreeing #also of interesting note but. fearne and fcg are much more in the midst of an obvious disagreement. fearne is a changebringer Hater™ . #anyway my point is that a lot of fcg’s character at the moment is being a weirdo about religion so . don’t be shocked when he’s a weirdo #and also. it’s so so fucking stupid to see (jester voice) The Cleric™ cast turn undead and decide it’s more about interpret conflict #than it is. fcg has a very specific build that can be pretty restrictive in terms of beneficial battle actions. let them use turn undead #cr spoilers #cr tag

[distorted-fate]

Suddenly CR. I finally got the Primal Mercy costume so I’m hyped about that. So I finished a couple of doodles that’s been sitting around for a while.

Ft. Durian & Boreas (and technically Pitaya, but it’s just Durian mimicking them .<.)

#art tag #cr tag #mvcr/everbloom #mvcr/durian #I realized that everbloom is now part of the ‘butterflies that haunt me’ club