#Imogen is managing just fine.
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Restless
Imogen can't concentrate.
(standard procedure for up to a couple weeks ago, now it wears a different guise.)
She fidgets, sits with her legs crossed on her bedroll, backpack in her lap, removes, itemises, arranges its contents, huffs stray hairs out of her face, hands still twitchy, mind still scrambled, organises it all again. Repeats.
It's early, the fact given away by the low-lying sun and crisp smell on the air that has not yet been burned away by its sustained and blistering presence.
The blisters on her ankles, the friction of leather that is still not fully broken in. Imogen delays in pulling on and lacing up her boots, calves restless but exhausted, thrumming if they remain still too long (too long being only a moment).
She falls back heavily onto the bedroll.
Overhead, in the weave of vines and branches, birds sing. They're mocking her, surely, the awkward and bound to the ground sack of flesh and fat and bones that she is, hair frizzed and sticky from the humidity, her inner thigh chaffed and perspiring where the contact of her dagger's harness coils around it like a constricting snake.
She loosens it a few notches
The pathetic and inconsistent touch of it frustrates her more, so she buckles it tight like a tourniquet.
She exhales, deflates, heavy as she is, runs the back of her forearm over her brow, spreading the salt and sweat, breathes in, feels the connective tissue holding together all of her joints, exhales, arm to ground, along with every other limb, the back of her knees, her spine, her shoulders (there's a rock digging into one through the mat, did she sleep on that last night?), her neck, her ass, wishes they were all gelatin, that she could become one with the floor and not collide with every edge and corner and texture of it, stop being so reactive.
She inhales, skin pulling away, wishing it would continue, peel, lift, blanket, canopy (closer than the trees), shade, but it would drip with blood, hot and sizzling as it rained back onto her exposed bones.
Shadow, the dark tatters, the veil. Molasses of ichor. Dull, hazy, sharp, thorns. Don't touch, don't approach. Space. Wail, scream, chorus, silence. That would chase the birds away, feathers dislodged from sudden movement re-lodged into black tar, carried off, away, down sluggish stream, no contact. Barbed like a briar.
The thread of the bed roll is itchy, the weave of it too thick and open, rough spun from fibrous burlap, it splinters bare skin where it makes contact, nape of her neck, backs of her forearms, thighs, knees, and calves.
Delicate, cool, billowing lace that accommodated to the pads of Imogen's fingers, to her palm, fractured by magic, calloused and freshly wounded, it dulled even the rows of needle teeth beneath. Imogen imagines it her bedsheets, the ground would not matter - could be rivers of lava jutted by shattered glass, it would not matter, sure, cool billowing lace, Imogen would sleep well.
Easier to tell now, how restless her hands are. They pluck at the gauzy linen that makes her dress, the more rigid weave of her waistcoat, following stitching as if it were pathways, movement, roads to get her somewhere, them, skin to skin contact barriered like the rock digging into her shoulder. Her touch meanders to her chest, unintentional, she swears, in promise and obscenity, a winding path with sides towered by hedges and trees that block the horizon, a shock carried from the point of touch to manifest as an ache between her legs and a weightless haze in her head, body rolling, shoulders leaving the mat, leaving the rock that digs, a breath to a sigh to a gravelly moan, sends a bird or two scattering away, a leaf or two falling behind them.
Fuckin' birds. Relax. More touch. Touch is good? Barbed. Thorns. Restraint. Maybe she should grow her nails, maybe then the touch won't feel her own. Laudna - fuck, the name gets a reaction from her again, the jolt in her core as she feels the heat pool at the surface of her face, her neck, her chest, crimson damming, damning, acid rising to her throat carried by the guilt of it.
She kicks and squirms, side of a fist like hammer to nail on the bedroll beside her, other covering her face from the shame of it, it being the burn, the rolling simmer, the violent boil of want and guilt and acid and sting and she is so restless, boiling over, she can't concentrate, the contact of the ground and the fabrics and the atmosphere all feels wrong, scalding, now she knows what to compare it to, how it could feel, what she could be touching.
Could be death calling, alluring, maybe, how long she flirted with it. Cold with head empty, sounded nice, still does, though the delivery and means maybe different now. A face to an end, ends her, finishes, acid in her throat again, hand bunching the rough fabric under her hips.
It moves of its own accord to her thigh, takes a fistful of cuff and flesh and she sobs, eyes scrunching shut so tightly that she starts to see colours in the dark, blotches of crimson in a grey dream, her body in the butcher's cart.
Dreamlike, hazy, drunk (this must be how it feels), she moves without thought, groping herself through the crotch of her shorts, writhing, the floor is too hot against her back, sweat gathering at her hairline and salt beading down into her eyes, again, breath short, short, when did it get so shallow, dizzy. How long could she hold it (hold herself), heat, radiating into the cup of her hand, squirming, a worm under boot, squashed before it gets to dine on the corpse. She pushes firmer against herself, shudders, the feel of the floor leaving, rolls her hips onto the press of her fingers, barriered, dulled, not enough, as they fumble, clutch at the shorts and wrangle the inseam of them in frantic pulls against uncomfortably undulating heat, heat, damp forced through from the close contact onto the pads of her fingers and Gods she's gonna have to prestidigitate that, what the hells is she doing, Laudna could return from her morning forage or whatever it is any moment and
fuck the thought doesn't quell the need at all, her hips spasming and knees shaking as she holds them suspended and trembling, working herself up, frantic, frantic and desperate. How did she get here? she followed the woman at the market, the woman followed the yellow bird, the birdsong silenced for pathetic needy moans, her hips raised so high her shoulders are pushed further into the cut of the offensive rock, princesses and mattresses and beans or whatever that fairytale was Laudna had mentioned about ladies and their proper behaviour.
Proper, right, she should stop, get it over with, fumbles with the fastening of her shorts, hand making its way beneath fabric before it's fully undone, now registering coarse curls, then slicked, heat, heat, heat, hot, wet, eager, soaked, soft, the glide of her intensity, betrayal, soaking. fuck. Touch is not enough, hers, fuck. Not right, the feel of callouses and scars and heat and a barely registrable thrum shit what happens if she gets away from herself, gets too excited. magic fried uncontrollable she is out of control fuck the heat of the bedroll on her back and the push of the rock imbedding imbedded scars wrapping tangled suffocating sinew silvered skin nightmares burden and guilt guilt guilt storming-
Imogen rolls over onto her front, the rock through the bedroll pushing into her chest, against her sternum, aiding to evacuate the bile that has been suspended in her oesophagus but the guilt won't leave her thighs slicked and hot and tacky and uncomfortable and the chaffe of the itchy fabric of the mat burning them, restless, as she removes her fingers from between her legs, wipes the evidence of a pathetic and failed and just and just wrong attempt onto her shorts, prestidigitates it all clean as if she can wash herself of her impurities and intentions, dares to think of the occasions the purple glow has evaporated the rain from Laudna's clothes and skin, now a selfish act, was then too, maybe, always selfish.
#Imodna#Imogen Temult#Laudna#Critical Role#Fanfic#Emma writes#My first foray of writing in my notes app#Rainy morning thing#Imogen is managing just fine.#Seeing Laudna's form of dread for the first time didn't awaken anything in her not at all#M rated fic that links to an E rated collection
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Hi! Sorry to bomb you with another idea ( and absolutely no rush, as I know you probably have a full plate currently!)
But here's a cute idea for Garrick fluff content. It's that time of month for reader and she can't get a break with training etc but Garrick makes it his priority for cuddles and interrupts a training or something to make it happen. I just feel Garrick would be the prefect guy to have around for the not so lovely time of the month.
warning: period and period blood
Dragon weeks
Everything hurt. Everything. There wasn't a part of your body that wasn't aching. You had woken up in the middle of the night with a dull pain in your lower stomach but you simply were too exhausted to care and it also wasn't all that bad back then. You had simply pulled at your boyfriend's hand. Carefully nuzzling his warm palm on your stomach as you cuddled into him more. That had been enough of a relief for you and sleep had taken over you almost immediately.
Just your luck had run out by the morning. You had woken up feeling so uncomfortable and sore that even the thought of moving was irritating. Not to mention the ice-cold bed now that Garrick was gone. A sharp pain shot through your stomach as you twisted into yourself. Already feeling the dampness between your thighs. Maker if you will have to wash the sheets too...
That had been the first thing that had made you cry that morning. Hands submerged in ice-cold water you scrubbed at the stains, desperately trying to get them out. The logical side of your brain kept telling you that it was fine. Things like that happen. And most importantly- Garrick didn't care. Your periods had never been on cue. It had always fluctuated - a couple of days give or take. So accidents like that happen if your body didn't send you a warning prior. And it had happened with Garrick too. I mean you two had been together for four years now it was almost inevitable.
"I'll get it", he had muttered that absolutely awful morning when you had got out of bed only to be met with a giant red stain. "No, please, get out", you had tried to push at his chest but it was like moving a mountain. "That's not happening because I'm taken care of this", he said softly scooping you up in his hands and carrying you towards the bath. You had shrieked as his hand brushed over the stain on your clothes as he lifted you but he muttered the same thing, "Still don't care, darling".
After another cry over that you had managed to pull yourself together to get down to breakfast. You knew that neither Garrick nor Xaden would be there because the two had been going on morning patrols. Then probability a handful of meetings. You had a class of first-years to teach and to say that you weren't looking forward to that would have been an understatement. "You good?", Bodhi asked as you slipped to sit next to your friends. "How do I look like?", you said with a roll of your eyes, scrunching your nose up at every food that was on the table. Everything looked and smelled disgusting this morning.
"Well, truthfully like sh-", Imogen's hand came in contact with the back of Bodhi's head. "You just look tired. Have you been sleeping?", she asked instead, an oddly concerned look on her face. Right, so you did look like shit then. "I'm fine, don't fuss over me", you waved her off, standing up to get away from all the smells. "Hey, you didn't eat anything yet", Bodhi protested. "I will later on", you promised with a smile. "Garrick would not be happy with this", Bodhi pushed, pointing to a plate that was for you and still was untouched. "Good thing that he's not here then", you shrugged your shoulders and walked away.
You were more than happy that most cadets had enough respect to not comment on your sloppy performance today. You had ushered them to the mats and for the most part, only commented on their on one combat skills. Casually leaning against pillars or a wall. Water bottle clenched between your fingers. teeth gritted as you tried to keep standing upright. "You'll break your knuckles if you punch like that, engage your wrist", you called out right as the gym door opened with a bang.
You swayed slightly. Catching a pair of pretty, pretty but pissed eyes. "Class is over, out", Garrick called out firmly. Probably making at least a couple of the newbies shat themselves as they hurried away. "Hey, you ain't in charge here", you crocked out but that only earned a deathly glare from your boyfriend. "Move your asses, how long would it take for you to mount if we were under an attack", he snarled, pushing some of the slower ones out himself. "Garrick", you called out in a warning manner.
"Oh don't you Garrick me", he turned with a scowl, "What the fuck are you doing today?". He was a couple of steps away from you now. "I'm working just like you", you said through gritted teeth. You knew that he would see through your bullshit. This was Garrick after all. "You have pain sweat all over your face, and you're hunched over, do you need me to continue?", he was firm but you knew there was nothing but love beneath it. "Geez you sure know how to hype a girl up", you sassed back, brushing your fingers over your face. The movement instantly sent daggers through your body as you whined.
Garrick's arms are around you in an instant. "I'll lift you, might be slightly uncomfortable at first", he informed you not waiting for your approval. "You're not carrying me through the halls like some injured deer", you grumbled, trying to push away from him but only causing yourself more discomfort. "Love, you look like you are about to faint so just give up the hero act and let me look after you", Garrick pressed you closer to him. "How did you even...", you breathed out. "You had pulled my hand onto your stomach", he said simply. "But I do that constantly", you argued back. "Yes, but you had that uncomfortable pout too".
No one even dared to look at you two. Well, considering that Garrick kept his frown on even if he spoke softly to you. "Shower, bed, food, cuddles", he stated as he kicked open your bedroom door. "Was that an order?", you teased him, already feeling slightly better now that he was with you. "One that you better obey or I will tie you to the bed", he grumbled, kneeling to unlace your shoes. "Kinky", you breathed making Garrick chuckle. "Get your cute ass into the shower. I'll fetch you some chicken soup", he muttered, leaning in to kiss you a couple of times. "Can you also ask for something to ease the pain?", you would do it yourself but the thought of going up and down the stairs. Garrick reached for his back pocket, pulling out a little bottle, you gasped in surprise. "You didn't", you muttered. "I keep on one me at all times, love. You should know that by now", he said with a smug smile. "Garrick Tavis you are one of a kind", you muttered leaning in to kiss him once more. "Only for you baby, only for you", he muttered against your lips.
#garrick tavis#garrick tavis imagine#garrick tavis x reader#garrick tavis x you#garrick tavis x oc#garrick tavis fourt wing#garrick tavis iron flame#iron flame imagine#iron flame x reader#fourth wing imagine#fourth wing x reader
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❝one thing about me, i aint taking no shit❞
read the rest of the read the rest of the series before this chapter or you’re getting spoilers.
A/N: hi. did y'all hear 1989 tv? it was really good. also, i blacked out (happy halloween) so, sorry this chapter is late. i really have nothing to say other than this isn’t edited so ignore any mistakes. please leave feedback in the comments ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv
Chapter Summary: joel and the sweetest baker have their first fight. the sweetest baker rethinks if she wants to be with joel.
Chapter Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), symptoms of anxiety and depression, lmk if i forgot something.
Series Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.
⋆ word count: 4.6k⋆
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist, joel masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.
Time seemingly taunts me on Tuesday afternoon with a slow bakery and 3 employees. The fretting about the pie recipe paid off and the bakery made it into the Chicago Tribune for best fall treats. We sold out of pickup orders the next day but no one wants to get their pies this early in the week.
My mind drifts watching Ellie’s slow and methodical paint strokes. I wonder what her biological parents did to have that much talent weaved through her DNA. Dina sits on the floor next to her, reading her an astrology book. The two girls appear sickly in love and I smile, standing from the chair.
The iPad next to me dings and I'm reminded that it’s 11:15 a.m., time to start baking birthday treats for Mayor Thomas’ annual fall bash. I mentally run through the list in my head. They asked for chocolate cupcakes with pumpkins on them. It’s simple, Imogen.
I feel like I’m losing it as I walk back towards the kitchen. When I enter the room, two of my employees are sitting, aimlessly tapping away on their phones. Furying climbs up my shoulders when I realize I’m paying them to play video games on their phones back here. “Look alive, ladies,” I snip, walking over to the cupcake storage.
They both both their phones away, apologizing profusely. “It’s fine. You can make up for it by helping me ice two hundred cupcakes,” I say nonchalantly and I hear nothing but groans in return.
I shuffle around the kitchen grabbing all the necessary tools before popping my headphones in. If I have to ice two hundred cupcakes, I’m damn sure going to be doing it while listening to “1989 (Taylor’s Version).”
I click my favorite vault track and smile when the music fills my head. My body uses muscle memory as I buzz around, filling the piping bags with icing. Since the cupcakes are already done and cooled, it takes little to no effort for me to decorate them. Nearly half of the album plays and my pan is done in half of the girls' time. But I created the recipe so of course it is.
Carefully, I place the cupcakes aside until they’re ready for pickup. My heels click on the pink tile beneath me as I walk back to the front to check on the girls. When I round the corner, I hear Chloe talking on the phone. Her shoulders are hunched over; her body language for ‘I’m dealing with a shitty customer.”
I creep behind her as best as possible but she hears the sound of my shoes against the floor, slowly turning around. She tries her hardest to manage the situation herself but after seeing her struggle, I extend my hand for the phone. She puts it in my palm, giving me a silent thank you before returning to her task.
“I’m sorry, this is Imogen Scott. I’m the owner. Can you explain the situation again?” I speak into the receiver.
“Hi Imogen, it’s Rebecca. Mayor Thomas’ assistant,” she speaks frantically.
I nod, pacing slightly around the bakery. “Oh hi, I just finished the cupcakes. You’re still scheduled for the 2 p.m. pickup, right?” I confirm with her.
She kisses her teeth and lets out a small sigh. “About that,” she starts.
I shake my head, panic starting to cause a tightening in my chest. “No. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me, Rebecca,” I plead.
“I’m sorry. The Thomas’ just tested positive for COVID,” she elaborates and I sigh.
I can’t be mad because someone is sick but what are we supposed to do with two hundred cupcakes? “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I express sympathy for the family.
“Mayor Thomas sends his sincere apologies and promises to pay for the full order,” Rebecca apologizes for her boss.
Oh, he doesn’t have a choice. I understand emergencies but I’m definitely charging every last penny to the government. “That’s great but I still have… you know what, it’s not your problem. Have a good afternoon,” I say clicking the end button on the phone.
When I turn around, Chloe is still standing nearby, awaiting the tea. “So I have some good news and some bad news,” I tell her.
“Good news first,” she requests.
I press my eyes closed, trying to push away the oncoming migraine from this fiasco. “Situation is handled and they’re still paying for the full order,” I tell her, and she high-fives me for charging them my worth.
Chloe smiles and nods. “Awesome! Now the bad,” she waves for me to continue with her hand.
“We have to figure out how to distribute two hundred perishable cupcakes before closing,” I quickly spit out.
Dina seemingly overhears my phone call and stands while Chloe greets the customers who’ve just entered the shop. When Dina is in front of me, she shrugs. “That’s easy, every customer gets a free cupcake with purchase,” she says nonchalantly.
“That’s great for 50 of them. It’s so slow and I don’t want to count on that,” I explain, gesturing towards the bakery.
Chloe hums in response before taking care of the customers who’ve just approached the counter. “What can I get y’all today?” she asks gleefully.
“Two dozen cookies. Half sugar, half chocolate chip,” the woman speaks for the group.
“Wow, sounds like you’re going to a big party,” I say over Chloe’s shoulder, handing her some boxes.
A younger and quite frankly attractive man steps up in front of me. “Office meeting,” he flirts with a wink.
On any other day, I might flirt back with him out of boredom. But the more I look at his smirk, the more I find it disgusting. Joel’s smirk is suggestive like he already knows what I want. I’m starving to wake up next to Joel and I’d rather die than wake up to the man in front of me.
My vision blurs as I allow Chloe to get them checked out and out of the store with their box of free cupcakes. After she wipes the glass counter top she pauses, turning around to face me. “What about Dina’s book club at the school?”
I think back to my drunk shenanigans and the fact that I almost laid hands on a parent while in that building. “I’m not going back into that place until Christmas time,” I complain before turning my head towards Dina.
“Either you take them or have James bring them to you when he clocks in,” I urge her to pass on the directions and Dina mutters agreeing responses.
I step in front of the counter, surveying what supplies we have left. We’re almost sold out, so the cupcakes will come to good use. “I’m going to drop some off at the Austin. Maybe their employees can take them home,” I tell her, rotating on my heels to face Ellie and Dina. “Girls, no–”
“Drinking, drugs, sex. Got it,” Ellie groans the mantra I’ve drilled into her head from her spot on the floor.
Chloe’s face lights up with a smile after processing the information. “That’s a good idea,” she praises.
“Thanks! Text me if you need anything. I shouldn’t be long,” I tell her, grabbing a large pink box to put the sweet treats in.
My body is filled with a giddy feeling thinking about the possibility of seeing him for the first time since Friday. And honestly, I’ve never been more excited to see someone.
The elevator dings to let me know that I’m on the floor of the Austin. I step off confidently carrying the boxes of treats up to the host stand. “Welcome to the Austin. I’m assuming you have a reservation,” he welcomes me into the restaurant.
The deja vu from my birthday hits me like a truck and I shake my head. “Oh, no. I’m here to see Chef Miller,” I reply.
The host looks at the boxes in my hands and then back up at me. “Do you have an appointment?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
“No, but,” I start before I’m cut off.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you back there. If you want to schedule an appointment with him, maybe he’d be willing to try your,” he pauses to look skeptically through the clear cover on top of the pink box. “Cupcakes,” he says disappointingly.
Yeah, well no fucking cupcakes for you asshole. “He’s already tried my cupcakes, his daughter–” I cut myself off to take a deep breath and compose myself. “Look, Joel’s my boyfriend,” I try the last-ditch effort. Hopefully, Joel will hear baker and girlfriend then have a fucking clue.
The host’s eyes widen and he clears his throat. “Oh, let me go check with him then,” he dismisses himself.
Another host quickly replaces him, keeping the front of house running smoothly. I step out of the way, allowing customers to file in from the cool autumn afternoon. I pace around the lobby, watching my heels click on the marble floor. The toes of my shoes kiss the window and as I peer down below, I can see the masses of people crossing the clogged city streets.
That annoying throat-clearing noise sounds out again from behind me. I turn around to show this prick that he has my full attention. I’ve been nothing but fucking nice to you, asshole. “I’m sorry. Chef Miller is predisposed and every employee I passed said he doesn't have a girlfriend,” he tilts his head and patronizes me.
“Fuck this, I’ll go talk to him myself,” I grunt, stepping past him and quickly walking towards where I suspect the kitchen is.
“Ma’am,” I hear the host call over my shoulder as I make my way through the restaurant. My eyes quickly scan the room, finding the pattern of employees flowing in and out of the kitchen. I beeline confidently towards their path. “Ma’am you can’t go back there,” I hear the host repeat and he confirms I’m correct.
I shrug, fed up with the bullshit. Joel might be mad but I can explain later. “I can and I will,” I call over my shoulder.
As I’m walking down the hall, I hear crashing in the kitchen. The employee doesn’t let up with harassing me to the door. I pause for a second contemplating if this is the right thing to do.
Fuck it. You’re already here, Ginny.
I push through the double doors and the first thing I see is a white wall. But the crashing of dishes and the screaming doesn’t pause. “Y’all need to take your head out of your fuckin’ asses and start realizing what the hell is goin’ on here,” he barks, as I round the corner.
The chefs and employees are wide-eyed, some of them in tears. Nobody speaks, just accepting the abuse from the older irate man. “Most chefs I’d know would be fuckin’ embarrassed,” he reaches in front of a chef with a plate sitting on the table in front of her. He snatches it, crashing it down on the metal surface. It hits the tabletop and the porcelain and food scatter on the grey tile beneath it.
The noise causes me to jump ten feet in the air, nearly dropping the box of cupcakes. “Do you think we’re gonna get a fuckin star with this shit,” he growls.
Joel doesn’t stop there, picking up the next closest plate of food he’s determined uneatable and chucking it across the room. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you,” I watch as Joel points in each of their faces, spitting the degrading words.
The feeling of sympathy for the chefs weighs heavy on my heart. None of them can be older than 25. They’re babies and he just crushed their dreams of becoming chefs in 20 seconds flat.
Joel’s back rises and falls rapidly, as though he’s on the tip of a spiral. “Get your shit together!” he swears, removing the towel from his waist and slamming it down on the counter.
My feet quickly and quietly start moving backward in hopes of avoiding Joel. Tears well into my eyes and I trip on my own feet. I don’t know Joel. Not this one. This can’t be the same Joel who offered to whip me up something special on my birthday. Now I realize that whoever made my food on that day probably got fired.
Up until this point he’s been nothing but sweet to me. He’s shown me nothing but his good side. The first time he got angry with me, I checked him. But that’s not an option for his employees.
When Joel rounds the corner, his eyes meet mine and he stops in his tracks. His breathing hitches before he inhales a sharp breath. “Ginny,“ he utters lowly almost as if he’s afraid. It’s a complete 180 from his previous behavior.
I set the stack of pink boxes on the shelf next to me. “Here’s the cupcakes I brought for you, because I care about you, Joel. I care for you and Ellie and I wanted to see you. Come to find out you’re treating your employees like the shit on your shoe. That’s fucked up Joel,” I fume.
Joel purses his lips before stepping forward, attempting to box me in like her always. “You weren’t–”
“No,” I hiss, sidestepping out of the way. The simple yet quick action causes the tears to spill over my brim. “Ellie’s at the fucking bakery right now. Does she know? Is that why she didn’t want to work for you? I treat my employees with kindness and you rule with fear. The fuck are you doing, Joel?” I croak out, attempting to hold on to the last sliver of composure I have left.
You just don’t treat people like that. I don’t give a fuck about a star or a stripe. “I don’t know,” he sighs, rubbing his eyebrows with frustration.
I shift, leaning on my opposite leg with my hand on my hip. “You don’t know what?” I articulate sharply.
Joel throws his hands in the air. “Fuck, sugar. I don’t know anything. I was just trying to teach them how I was taught,” he argues.
My eyes flicker back and forth between Joel’s brown ones. They’re full of regret and my shoulders soften. “You don’t have to be the abusive boss your head chef was to you, Joel,” I explain.
Joel’s eyes dart towards the ground like an ashamed puppy. “Here, take these.” I place my hand gently on the top of the box. “Maybe share them with your staff. It’s a step in the right direction at least,” I advise, walking out of the kitchen.
I don’t turn around when I hear Joel following me and calling my name. I don’t speak to him when he picks up Ellie that night. And I’m unsure if I want to anymore.
Thanksgiving Day
Tommy clears his throat before he shovels a spoonful of pie into his mouth. “Mmmm,” he moans. “This is good, Ginny,” he compliments happily.
The rest of the table chatters in agreement. After being stuffed full of Joel’s meal, they needed a warm dessert before bed. The fluffy layers of the crust flake apart perfectly in my mouth; taste buds bursting with cinnamon and apple. Fuck, this is going to knock me smooth out after Joel’s meal.
I can feel him staring at me. He wants me to look at him, but I can’t. If I look at him, we have to have a conversation. I don’t want to do that in front of our friends and family. This entire Thanksgiving has been awkward as fuck between us. But god, I miss his lips, his smirk, his tan fingers interlocked with mine.
Maddie and Leo made themselves useful and created a burier in between me and Joel. But Ellie and Tommy are seemingly oblivious to our little spat, which I’m grateful for.
“No wonder this made it into the Chicago Tribune. This is divine, Ginny,” Mrs. Crown compliments, pointing towards the dessert with her fork.
I smile, bashfully looking down at my palms locked in my hands. “Thank you, Mrs. Crown,” I murmur.
Someone drops their utensil and it clatters against their dish. “You made it into the Tribune?” I hear Joel ask in shock.
I glance up at him for the first time tonight, studying his bug-eyed disposition. “Uh, yeah. Forgot to tell you,” I come up with a quick excuse.
Joel gave my face a once over before sitting back in his seat. “Hmph,” he grunts and I can tell he’s not buying the diversion.
Ellie had celebrated with me all week, having already been at the bakery. But when I found out, I told her I wanted to tell Joel on my own time. We just never got to that after the Monday fiasco.
Ellie slyly leans over and whispers to the disgruntled man, “Joel, say congrats.”
Joel’s head slowly rises until he’s peering at me. He’s pissed and I can practically see the steam exiting through his pores; his blood is boiling. “Congrats,” he mutters.
I take the cloth napkin out of my lap, leaving it on the table before standing. “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, swiftly walking out of the dining room. Before I fucking cry again in front of Joel.
I feel like the small hall is swallowing me whole. My head is pounding, and the tears begin flowing down my cheeks. I never want someone I care about to be mad at me.
Bursting through the kitchen door, I stare at the staff wide-eyed. They whisper to each other before exiting the large space, leaving me alone to calm down.
Once they’re gone, I crouch on the ground with my back against the cold wall. And only then do I allow myself to let go, crying until I feel like I’m suffocating on my own tears. My chest tightens, and I hear ringing in my ears, unsure of what just happened.
I’m brought out of my thoughts when I hear the kitchen door creek open.
“Ginny?” I hear Ellie’s voice ring through the room.
I hear her footsteps walking over to me and I quickly brush the tear stains away, praying she doesn’t notice my tomato face. I reach my hand out to grab the counter next to me and use it to support me as I stand, grabbing a bowl to use as a cover.
I plaster on a smile, putting the bowl in front of me. “What’s up, El?” I ask.
Her head tilts and she walks closer to me. “Is something going on between you and Joel? You’re both being weird as fuck with each other,” she speculates. Fuck. Ellie’s no idiot and I know that.
My nostrils flare and my vision blurs. I’ve always been great under pressure, but talking to Ellie feels heavier than a rude customer. “Well, you’re not wrong…” I trail off, abandoning the bowl. “Uh, we just had a heated conversation,” I confess.
Ellie’s brows knit and the curiosity seeps through her pores. She’s not gonna let it go. “About what?” she asks.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll all blow over tomorrow,” I reassure her, shifting awkwardly to lean on my other leg.
Ellie’s lips part and I know she’s about to argue when Joel appears through the doorway. “Ellie, time to get going,” he waves her towards him.
The air in the room is thick and I feel like I’m drowning in the swimming pool that is the tension between Joel and me. Ellie apparently senses the same feeling I do, and she scrunches her nose. “Okay…” Ellie elongates the word, tip-toeing out of the kitchen.
I avoid Joel’s gaze to no avail when I see his tattered brown boots before me. He inhales a sharp breath, causing my hair to scatter around my forehead. “Sugar,” he rasps, and his fingers touch mine.
My eyes latch with his and I have to remind myself not to melt in the amber waves. “Joel,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his shaking fingers toying with mine.
I gnaw on my lip, leaning back a little so there’s space between us. “I know, Joel,” I reiterate.
He curses under his breath, abandoning his attempt to slyly hold my hand. “What can I do to make it up to you?” he asks.
And here we are again, back at the beginning. What doesn’t he get? The people working for you are human. “Treat your employees with respect,” I instruct.
“I’m trying that. We’ve had a good day, let me show you,” Joel stresses.
I shake my head, slowly blinking from exhaustion. “You can’t do it in one day,” I remind him.
Joel takes a step forward to box me in. “I know,” he sighs.
I reach my hand up and caress the skin on his face with the back of my hand. He leans into my touch, humming softly. “You have to change the culture of your business,” I gently remind him.
Joel nods, and his hand slides up my waist. “I will. It’s just, I need you, sugar,” he emphasizes with so much need, I’m eager to forgive him. “This week has been shit without you. Every time Ellie mentions you, I feel like hell,” he continues.
We’re adults; There’s no reason for us to go back and forth. “Okay,” I conceded.
Joel’s face twists and he jerks his head back slightly. “Okay?” he asks, his voice thick with confusion.
I nod, feeling my jaw relax from previously being clenched. “I don’t wanna fight with you. I missed you a lot,” I admit.
Joel’s mouth curves into a small smile. “I missed you too,” he returns the sentiment. “Those pretty eyes, your perfume,” he says, putting his hand under my chin. “Missed these,” he finishes, dragging his thumb over my bottom lip.
“How about you kiss me since you’ve missed me so much?” I offer, with a raised brow.
His face lights up with excitement. “I can?” he asks for consent.
I nod, returning the small smile. “Please,” I stand on my tiptoes, giving him better access.
Joel leans down, connecting his lips with mine. My eyes flutter closed and I give into him, allowing him to take full control of the kiss. He hungrily dips his tongue into my mouth, seemingly desperate for more. I oblige him, craving the same thing. Maybe more than I can get right now.
His tongue swirls with mine and I moan quietly. Joel lightly squeezes my neck, tilting my head back. The feeling of the counter-pressing into my back gives the sharp pain to the pleasure I so often crave. My hands find their way into Joel’s head, tugging on his root. He groans into my mouth, deepening the kiss.
Suddenly, I hear a throat being cleared behind me. Joel takes a step back, parting our physical connection like the Red Sea. When I turn around, I’m embarrassed to find Tommy, Maddie, and Leo standing near the entryway. “Finally, you two made up,” Tommy throws his arms up dramatically.
Maddie dramatically rolls her eyes, walking over towards me. “I honestly couldn’t take it anymore,” she complains.
Leo awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. He’d been a dick to Joel all evening and the guilt is written all over his face. “Sorry for harassing you tonight, man,” he apologizes to Joel.
Joel shrugs and I’m grateful that he understands Leo’s protectiveness over me. “I get it, you care about her. Too much to lose,” he empathizes.
Ellie comes around the corner with her burgundy coat zipped up. The fabric makes a swishing sound as she walks, reminding me of my own childhood. “I’m ready,” she announces, a hat secured on top of her head.
We all file out of the kitchen, bidding the Miller’s a goodbye before I realize, I should probably go home too. Grabbing my coat out of the closet, I struggle to get it on successfully. Joel comes up behind me, gabbing the shoulders of the jacket to assist me. “You want a ride home?” he asks lowly.
Maddie picked me up so I assumed I’d leave with the first person out. Happy that it’s The Millers, I nod. “Yeah, I’ll ride with you guys,” I graciously accept his offer.
The four of us file out of the house on the chilly evening. The physical manifestation of my breath floats in front of me with each rise of my chest. Maddie and Leo wave goodbye from the front door before shutting it once we’re on the curb.
Joel unlocks the black truck, opening the back for Ellie to climb in. “Tommy, in the back,” he barks at his brother.
I put my hand on Joel’s bicep, attempting not to fantasize about him picking me up and fucking me against a wall. “No, Joel. Tommy’s legs are longer than mine in the truck,” I let Tommy take the front seat.
“You sure, sugar?” Joel confirms.
I smile, stepping up on the side rail. “Positive, sweetness,” I respond, sliding in next to Ellie.
Joel raises his brows, before nodding. “Mmm, sweetness. I like that,” he says.
“I bet you do,” I murmur back before he shuts the door.
After dropping Tommy off at his place, Joel invited me over to his for a glass of wine. I’d never seen his place, so I gleefully took him up on the offer.
My eyes scan the room and I notice the dust covering the top of the blinds, as if they’ve never been moved. There’s barely anything on the walls that accompanies the neutral paint, aside from a few art pieces I assume are Ellie’s.
The kitchen is humongous with an identical double oven like mine. There are pictures on the speckled kitchen counter and when I look closer I see Ellie, Tommy, and a little girl I’ve never seen before. My head tilts as I take in her brown curls and freckled face. She looks like she could be related to me. “Woah,” I breathe out, sliding into the seat next to me.
It’s uncanny, and it’s making me queasy. “Fuck, right? Joel doesn’t see it,” Ellie startles me a bit, adding her two cents.
“Ellie,” Joel scolds his daughter.
I turn toward Ellie, thinking of the best way to explain this to a kid. “I don’t think he wants to compare his daughter to anyone, El,” I start. But, I wonder if that’s why he was so drawn to me in the first place.
Ellie plops down onto the worn leather couch in the living room. “No shit. I don’t like it when people compare things to my mom’s,” she says over her shoulder before clicking the TV on.
“Ellie,” Joel grunts before opening the fridge.
Fed up with his repetitiveness, I groan at the two. “Joel, she’s expressing herself in the way she can in an appropriate space. Let her swear now so she can learn codeswitching,” I rant, pausing to take a deep breath.
My attention turns toward Ellie who is now fully invested in me ripping her father a new asshole. “Now school? No fucking way, kid. I don’t need to come up there and cuss someone out again,” I warn her.
Ellie puts up her hands in defense. “Sounds like a sweet fucking deal to me,” she smiles maniacally.
Joel shakes his head, popping the reusable cork out of a wine bottle. “Hell, you two are going to be the death of me,” he predicts before pouring a glass for me.
Ironically, Joel and Ellie are the only daily sparks of life I have left.
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rest of the series.
#joel x reader#joel fanfic#joel miller#joel miller x oc#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#joel miller angst#joel miller smut#joel smut#joel fluff#joel fic#joel x ellie#joel and ellie#joel x black! fmc#x black reader#x black oc#black fanfic#black fanfic writer#black female writers#x oc#x reader#x fem oc#black tumblr#ellie williams x platonic!reader#joel miller series#joel tlou#sweetest pie barbieliv#tlou fic
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Hurt/comfort spell prompts: 14 or 18. Ashton & Bells Hells. Please and thank you.
14 Detect Thoughts
Went with a little bodyswap snippet since it was "Ashton & Bells Hells" for the prompt, and Imogen's Open Mind ability is free Detect Thoughts.
Ashton knows it’s a dumb idea, but they’re itching to try it, to know.
After all, he’s never going to have another shot at this. Bells Hells is determined to undo the magic that swapped his and Imogen’s minds or bodies or however you want to define it. And he’s so fucking curious about how the pain of hearing other people’s thoughts stacks up against his own broken body. What is it even like to hear (involuntarily, mostly) how other people view the world and navigate it?
They’ve done dumber shit. They’ve done much more dangerous dumb shit. All Imogen gets from not controlling her mindreading shit is headaches, and Ashton runs the uncontrolled risk of those daily, what with the giant fucking hole in their head.
Besides, Ashton is going to be smart about this. The plan is thus: pretend to be asleep and wait until everyone but whoever is on first watch to fall asleep, then quietly shuffle off Imogen’s circlet so there’s the least amount of active thoughts when he tries this. It’s probably not even going to be all that difficult to sneak the circlet off for a bit, seeing as Laudna is still clinging to Imogen the person, not Imogen the body.
(Honestly, he’s a bit amazed, if unsurprised, that Imogen hasn’t snapped about all the touching Laudna is doing. She’s certainly not letting anyone else spark that pain)
So Ashton waits, and when they’re pretty sure everyone is asleep except Chetney, whittling away as he takes first watch, they make their move.
“What’re you doing?” Chetney asks, barely looking up from his project as Ashton’s Imogen hands slip from under their blanket towards the circlet.
They quietly curse that they don’t know how to fucking move right in Imogen’s body, can’t even use their sneaking magic because hers is all wrong for it, to sneak such a little act past the old gnome.
“Well? Speak up,” Chetney presses.
“...I …I wanted to see what it’s like. Her mind shit,” Ashton says, voice softer and higher because it’s not his. At least his voice isn’t forced into her accent (though it’s weird as fuck to hear his own voice speak like that).
“You could try just reading one mind, instead of trying to hear everyone’s thoughts,” Chetney points out, giving them a stern glare.
“I don’t know how to do that. ‘Sides, it’s just a headache if I fuck it up. And you’re the only one actively thinking anything right now. Everyone else is asleep, maybe dreaming,” Ashton explains his reasoning. “I’ll put the circlet back on in a minute.”
Chetney gives them a heavy, considering look. Obviously poking for any other potential disasters that would make interference with their plan a necessity.
“...Fine. But you be real careful about this, ya hear?” Chetney finally assents, waggling a chisel at them.
Ashton nods (ignores the lilac hair that swishes in and out of view with the motion).
He takes a breath, settles, focuses. Like when Ashton does that meditative reaching for the earth shit that he’s still trying to figure out.
Then Ashton takes off the circlet.
A quiet murmur comes to ears that aren’t, much the same as when Imogen and FCG press into their mind to speak. It’s a little prickly, a little staticy, in that way that the beginnings of a sensory overload can be. But it doesn’t get any worse than that. Pretty manageable if you ask them.
(Yes, Ashton knows it’s only a few minds, specifically at a time when they’re not thinking loud thoughts. But he’s also had some bad sensory days with little option but to push through and make it work. At least isolation would help with this, unlike the pain that lives in his body)
They let the prickly little thoughts wash over them, breathe, adjust. Once they feel settled and sure, they focus, try to actually comprehend the not-sounds they’re hearing.
It’s mostly little flashes of emotion, of colors, from the sleeping minds around him. Joy, sadness, a little fear, exhilaration. Greens, blues, reds, oranges, browns. Just brief glimpses of dreams in progress that scratch like sand on the wind.
And a grumbling watchfulness from Chetney that insistently pokes at their brain.
Probably shouldn’t be letting them poke this. But he did think the risks through this time. And it’s definitely lower stakes. Still dumb. Sometimes you gotta let the kids get the dumb out. Hopefully in a minimally harmful way.
The gnome’s thoughts aren’t flattering, but Ashton didn’t expect them to be. Watching and wary, which makes sense given the enormous risk they once took without talking to the group. They’ve learned their lesson though.
Satisfied with trying out Imogen’s abilities, Ashton places the circlet back on his head. The psychic sound cuts out almost instantly, that bit of pain vanished with it.
“You okay?” Chetney asks.
“Yeah. It was… interesting,” Ashton replies, thoughtful.
“Good. Now go the fuck to sleep and no more fucking around with Imogen’s shit.”
Ashton flips the werewolf off even as they curl into their blankets, eyes drifting shut.
I actually rolled for this. Ashton failed their Slight of Hand check with an 11 (9+ Imogen's +2 modifier) vs Chet's Passive Perception of 16 (so Ashton would have failed even with their +7 modifier). And then for the Open Mind Wisdom Saving roll, which was a DC 14 (8+ 6 people in range) and he rolled a 20 (19+ 1 WIS).
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"I haven't accessed that part of my brain in fifty years."
Imogen knows.
Being a mind reader has its perks and down sides - mostly down sides, if she's being honest. Mostly pain. Mostly disgust. Yes, many downsides. But that might be what makes the perks extra special? Who knows, she isn't in the habit of considering it.
This perk, however, she likes, because she knows that Laudna hasn't accessed that part of her brain in fifty years. Okay, fifty is a variable, but for as long as Imogen has known the warlock, the woman just... doesn't think that way. Which is totally fine - was totally fine. People are diverse (another thing that Imogen knows more than most) and wired uniquely to themselves. Some people just don't feel those things and, again, if she's being honest with herself, she much prefers their company. So it was an added bonus when she met Laudna - her music, her gentle song, and found that there weren't... inappropriate or deeply private thoughts that the sorcerer would have to pretend she didn't hear.
She never heard them. Private thoughts? Yes, but more along the lines of the ever-present desperation that runs like a cold, constant adrenaline through the dead woman's entire body. Also, the insanity. Neither of those were ever a problem, though; Imogen was like a balm against the frenzy that's always moments away from taking Laudna. And the insanity is mild, it's very mild and very manageable. Patè needs scolding sometimes, but that's really it.
The two had found a rhythm that is steady and solid, that sailed their friendship for two strong years. They were good, they fit together, and then-
And then Dusk arrived. Yu. Them.
Maybe it was just another ploy. More chaos to be sewn into the group. A wedge to shove between their two powerful casters. Maybe it was genuine? (Imogen can hardly blame them.
Laudna is beautiful. Horrifying, and beautiful.
She doesn't know it either, which makes it... special? Tender, at least. Laudna looks at herself and she likes her reflection, she does, she likes the creepy quality she has. Imogen assumes the main difference between now and back then is Laudna was like this, only alive, once. Things that make people squirm, or flinch, or curl their lip in disgust, it all pleases the warlock.
But beyond that, looking at herself. Imogen's heart breaks when she hears the spiral, the consuming, obsessive thoughts about her ears. She doesn't know why that, in particular, is Laudna's straw. Where she draws a line from fondness to shame.
In what world does Laudna have to be ashamed that someone else carved her ears into points? But it's the only thing about her that she's ever been truly self conscious of. To the point that she hides them with her golden elven caps.)
So no, Imogen can't blame them even if it burns her that Yu was the one to access this part of Laudna's mind.
Because she has.
Ever since that night, that frantic night of Laudna pulling out her hair (she has so much hair, too much hair, how can she pull so much out and still have a full, wild, dark mane?), something has shifted. Changed. Subtle, at first, but there. The keen eye and appreciation for architecture and decoration has expanded into people watching as well, now. Complimentary thoughts on someone's clothes, their face, their hair-
'So brilliantly violet, more precious than amethyst-'
It startles Imogen the first time she hears it, when they're walking through the bazaar. Fearne does her half skip, their hands clasped together, fingers tapping on windows to point out colourful fabrics to Imogen. Behind them, Orym and Chetney admire the carving blade that the gnome picked up, while FCG and Ashton swap stories. Laudna lingers to the side, quiet as she is, gliding along with everyone. Her eyes are distant, thoughtful, stuck in her head - she gets like that sometimes. Just... gone but near.
So when Imogen hears that lilting voice and idly glances to the side, she misses a step when Laudna's dark eyes widen and shoot away immediately. The thought halts in her head, dark whispers overlapping a panicked list of the different types of cheese she's familiar with.
Highly unusual, but Fearne is pulling Imogen along before she can think too much about it.
Easily dismissed.
The next time Imogen hears it, it's about Ashton. The Hells are in some run down tavern that they swore was on the up and up (and when it comes to taverns, who else does one trust than the person who has gotten kicked out of so many?). They've got a fresh crack across their nose that's still healing, and a grin on their lips as they tip their head back to bark out a boisterous laugh at something FCG said.
Laudna's little melody takes an energetic, almost panicked uptick as she mentally traces Ashton's strong, angular features. She's mesmerized by the way the light plays off their skin and crystal hair. Without really considering it, Laudna's long, pale fingers are delicately sliding against a bicep literally carved from stone. Ashton glances down and up. "Lookin's free, touching is gonna cost ya."
Like a deer caught in the galloping horse's gaze, Laudna looks up in startlement. Her mouth opens - just a little too far, like her Form Of Dread is on the cusp of being activated. A reflex. Or spasm, maybe. Imogen winces against the thoughts of the neighbouring tables, their own fear like a bitter spice on the tongue. "Sorry!" the warlock sings sheepishly. "You have, actually, you know? Maybe!"
"I don't think that was a full sentence," Orym murmurs at the other end of the table. "You feeling okay, Spooky?"
"Better than okay! In fact, I've got the next round! I'll go get it." Before anyone can react much in any way, she's lifted from the table to sweep across the room. A few heads turn and Ashton's eyes linger for a few seconds before they shrug and get back to their drink.
Imogen is starting to realize that something has changed.
They've found a pond, of all things. The group has been on the road for a full week trekking gravel paths until the soles of their shoes wear thin. It's been a hot few days, a hot few long days and everyone is just one strike of bad luck away from being miserable. But like a twist of fate and good will, Orym and FCG spot this pond through the dense trees.
It takes the group literally half a heartbeat for all of them to go sprinting to the water. Now they linger for the day, finally able to enjoy the sunshine with the relief of crystal clear, nice and cool water. Orym and Fearne have all but refused to leave the pond. The little halfling found a large leaf that he now lounges back out as he drifts on the surface, using little gusts of wind to steer. Beneath him, Fearne lurks with only the curled tips of her horns poking through the surface. Imogen has been victim to random watery attacks from the faun enough times that she's happy to dry off on land.
And, of course, Ashton and Chetney are amidst a battle of balls. Cannonballs, that is. Each one climbing higher in the tree to make a bigger splash.
Keeping dry, Laudna and FCG have spent the day on the large, flat rocks at one end of the bank. FCG has been collecting rocks, special ones, and arranging them in smiley faces. Laudna sits back next to the collection, lifting each one to inspect thoughtfully, before placing it back. When the cleric finally asks if she's going to swim at all, there's a quick smile. Too quick.
Laudna picks at her skirt with a dismissive air. "Oh, no, no. Water and oil do not mix, literally. I look even scarier when I'm wet, a... oh, what did they call me? A soggy nightmare? No, a boggy... nightstalker? I can't remember anymore but I made the mistake of knocking on a door during a storm to seek shelter and the poor dears almost had heart attacks."
Being a robot and all, FCG can't frown but Imogen hears the sorrow tinge their thoughts. A metal hand reaches out to touch Laudna's shoulder. "They sound very boring."
"They were old, you see," Laudna replies with that feral grin and wild eyes. Her edges are fraying and Imogen isn't certain if FCG can tell. "Even older than me! And way out in the middle of nowhere. I'm not sure what I was expecting, honestly, one can hardly blame them."
"I can."
Her head tilts and something pops. "Then you shall, darling, but I won't. I'm quite frightening."
"You're also very thoughtful and sweet," the cleric tries to insist.
Laudna's long, black-tipped fingers drum against the stone. "It takes a certain amount of courage to reach my oozy center. Even before... this," she motions to herself, "back when I was pretty. I used to be pretty, you know."
Deja vu fills Imogen to the point she has to shake it off. She wobbles for a second before hopping to the larger stones where they sit, dropping next to the warlock. Her warm hand slides down Laudna's cooler arm until their fingers lace together. "You're pretty now," she says firmly.
There isn't an immediate dismissal, like Imogen half expects. Laudna's head tilt straightens back out, there isn't a joint threatening to pop in her neck anymore. She leans forward enough to gaze down into her own reflection in the surface of the water - thoughts buzzing like bees in her head. White noise layered against the ominous, guttural groaning and eery whispers. The song gets softer.
'Not the worst, I suppose. My eyes are... dark, but kind. Pale. People like pale, yes? And tall. Tall women, that's something people like. Legs for days, as Chet says. Do I have day legs? Hmm. Am I? Pretty enough for Imogen? Maybe-'
There's a twitch of movement. Laudna's head snaps to the side her her eyes find Imogen's. The whispers get louder now, trying to drown out the sorcerer's lovely song. "Imogen," Laudna says, thoughtfully.
And for some reason, Imogen can't quite breathe. Her face feels warm and her pulse is trapped in her fingertips. There's something about the way Laudna's lips form Imogen's name. The way her voice caresses each syllable.
The sorcerer swallows hard. "Yes?"
"Would you-"
"FEARNE, NO, THAT'S CHEATING-!"
The near shriek of Chetney's voice cuts through the clearing and halts whatever Laudna was about to ask. Everyone turns to look and see an enormous, absolutely honking monster of an elk leap from the top of a tree and into the pond. It takes a good twenty seconds for the gnome and halfling to resurface, both sputtering water and beating at their chests. Fearne pops up next and her entire face is one big, happy grin.
Laudna straightens up next to Imogen, beaming proudly, as she starts clapping. Whatever it was, this moment, this... possibility, it's gone.
For now.
Imogen can hardly wait for the next one.
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Thanks @luckyfirerabbit!
“Alright c’mon baby, bring papa the big money, big money–” Chetney tosses his dice. “YE-ES! Take that you little shit!” He thrusts a gnarled finger at the poor dealer.
“Be nice, now,” Orym scolds gently.
“Oh, this one’s hot! Hey, is this table free?” A young elven man squeezes in at Imogen’s side as Chetney scoops up his winnings.
“I was here first!” A woman nearly knocks into Imogen trying to secure her own seat.
“Watch it!” Someone else snaps, even as their elbow nudges against Imogen’s. The contact sends static slithering up her forearm.
“Fuck off,” she snarls. “There’s other tables.”
“Lady all the other tables are full, and you’ve been here for an hour.” What? No–oh. So they are. So they have been. The crowd’s really picked up at the Lakecap Skyport since she last looked up. That’s–that’s a lot of people.
“You okay?” Orym’s voice is gentle but it still manages to cut through the hum of the crowd.
“Mmhmm.” She nods with what she hopes is conviction. Her chest is tight. She inhales deeply tin an attempt to loosen it up some. Maybe it’s the alcohol. She’s had two more of those “lavender martini” things that Ashton brought. Her head’s certainly buzzing. She raises a hand to press against her temple. Orym’s saying something.
“Yes, feel free. We’re heading up.”
“What? No! There was– oh. Oh! Okay. Yes, ah, um, keep the table warm for us, we’ll be back in the morning!” Chetney adjusts his vest with an air of self importance.
“Wait, what? No.” They think they’re being subtle, do they? “I’m fine! Let’s go play that card game–what was it? Stork of the Storm?” She slides off of her seat and bumps into a half-orc whose drink nearly sloshes out of his hand.
“Hey!”
“S-sorry,” she stammers. It feels like her whole side is staticky from the contact. A burst of nausea rolls over her. She clamps it down and grits her teeth. The Stuck of the–Stork— Storm game. With the cards. It’s over in the corner. Gods where even IS the corner? There!
‘Fewer people, see?’ She points it out to Orym and Chetney. ‘See? I’ll be fine.’
‘It’s getting kind of late. I’m ready to go to bed. I think the others are wrapping up.’
‘I’ll just tell em to meet us at that table, it’s fine,’ Imogen replies. She won’t let them stop having fun on her account. Not even if her head is screaming with each word sent. There’s all kinds of voices pressing in on her. Needles, needles, ice picks, knives. One foot in front of the other, Temult.
“‘Scuse me,” she murmurs as she pushes past a dark haired man.
“You’re excused!” If her head were in better condition she might psychic lance his rude ass. No, no–no harming civilians, Imogen. She’s still heading for the corner table. Right? The world’s going a little blurry around the edges. The world tilts.
Someone’s yelling. What? My drink all over–arrested for being drunk and disorderly–Skycap shouldn’t let so many people–Please dice please dice please dice— That woman is absolutely wasted–If I roll once more I’m sure it’ll turn out– Should I call security –PERFECT ROLL!--Kind of behavior— intolerable—
Stop, stop, stop. Quiet. Can you not yell? I can hear you just fine, you don’t have to–
‘Imogen.’ The thrum of a cello slides right through the clamor. She knows that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere.
‘Laud?’ She swallows. ‘Where are you?’ There’s a dozen faces in the crowd all directed at her but they won’t stay still. It feels like someone’s stabbing her eyes.
‘Can you open your eyes?’
‘Light’s too bright.’
‘Okay. Can you feel me?’ There’s a pressure against her palm. Something cold, even through the leather. The string quartet of Laudna’s mind swells and the nails-on-chalkboard of the crowd fades.
‘Yeah. Yeah.’ She squeezes. The leather squeaks. ‘Chetney wanted to…we were gonna play cards.’ It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
‘Tomorrow, hmm? We’re all a bit tired. Let me take you to bed.’
‘You gotta–’ she hiccups. ‘You gotta buy a lady dinner, first.’ She feels Laudna’s mirth through their connection more than anything else. Imogen thinks maybe she laughs, too.
‘How about breakfast?’
‘Yeah. Breakfast sounds nice.’ She keeps her eyes shut, trusting Laudna to guide her through the crowd. They can always play cards tomorrow.
#imodna#cr3#critical role#prompt fill#original content#my writing#short fic#imogen temult#laudna#luckyfirerabbit#no editing we die like men
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CLEAN TURNS 10 YEARS OLD!
Voice memo here;
“'Clean' I wrote as I was walking out of Liberty in London. Someone I used to date – it hit me that I’d been in the same city as him for two weeks and I hadn’t thought about it. When it did hit me, it was like, ‘Oh, I hope he’s doing well’. And nothing else. And you know how it is when you’re going through heartbreak. A heartbroken person is unlike any other person. Their time moves at a completely different pace than ours. It’s this mental, physical, emotional ache and feeling so conflicted. Nothing distracts you from it. Then time passes, and the more you live your life and create new habits, you get used to not having a text message every morning saying, ‘Hello, beautiful. Good morning.’ You get used to not calling someone at night to tell them how your day was. You replace these old habits with new habits, like texting your friends in a group chat all day, and planning fun dinner parties, and going out on adventures with your girlfriends, and then all of a sudden one day you’re in London and you realize you’ve been in the same place as your ex for two weeks and you’re fine. And you hope he’s fine. The first thought that came to my mind was – I’m finally clean.”
“'Clean' is the last song on the album for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it felt like the complication of this emotional process I’ve been going through for the last couple of years. You know, I feel like my personal life was really, really discussed, and criticized, and debated, and talked about to a point where it made me feel almost kind of tarnished, in a way. And the discussion wasn’t about music. It broke my heart that I had made an album that I was proud of, and I was touring the world, and playing sold-out stadiums, and still they managed to only want to talk about my personal life. At a certain point I felt a switch and it was at the end of recording this album that I began to feel like my life was mine again and my music was at the forefront again. I was living my life on my own terms and I really no longer cared what people were saying about me. That was when I started so see people talk less about the things that didn’t matter.”
“I had this metaphor in my head about being in this house, there’s been a drought but you feel like there’s a storm coming. Instead of trying to block out the storm you punch a hole in the roof and just let all the rain come in, and when you wake up in the morning, it’s washed away.”
[Imogen Heap] “We met at my studio in London. She had the bare bones of “Clean.” She had the lyric, the chorus and the chords. I thought it was brilliant.I was really writing the tiniest amount just to help her do what she does. I put some noises, played various instruments on it, including drums, and anytime she expressed she liked something I was doing, I did it more. It was a really fun day. She recorded all her vocals during that one session. She did two takes, and the second take was it. We always thought she would probably re-record it, because we thought it can’t possibly be that easy. But after we lived with it for a few months, we felt it was great. I knew she loved it. She said she loved it and her mum loved it. But I wasn’t sure it would be included on the album. But everyone felt it had something special. It came together really magically.”
Imogen's detailed blog entry about this songwriting session.
[Taylor about Imogen Heap] “The coolest thing about Imogen for me was that there was no one else in the studio. There was no assistant; there was no engineer. It was her doing everything.”
[From my writing of 1989 Timeline]
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The Way Things Were
When they finally return to Jrusar, Imogen removes her Circle of the Hidden Eye as soon as they're inside the city proper. And although the thoughts of the city's denizens start to press in around her, Imogen sends her mind out, searching.
Laudna? I'm here, Laudna.
It's been weeks of trekking across Exandria, worrying about gods and magic and moons and battles and skyships. So many failed sendings and teleports, so many sages consulted, so many sleepless nights spent thinking of Laudna, hoping that Laudna was all right, wishing that Laudna could hear her if only Imogen just tried hard enough.
So Imogen searches now, bypassing the drone of thoughts around her, focusing in one direction then another, her brow furrowing as the city gets louder and louder. The thoughts of each mind she passes become clear for an instant before she shoves them to the background, continuing to scan.
When she hears what she's looking for, it's faint, like a distant wind chime, but immediately recognizable. Imogen stops walking then, falling into her own consciousness as she makes contact. The music is strong, and vibrant, and hopeful, and Imogen drinks deeply from it.
Laudna!
Imogen?
Continued below the cut, or on AO3.
And the relief that washes over her is palpable. Her shoulders sag as they relax, the knot in her stomach loosens just a little, her fingers tremble. Then she's running, her mind guiding her higher up the spire.
I missed you so much, Laudna.
Me too.
Imogen reaches the cable car station where a crowd is waiting to board. Without thinking, she runs right up to the edge and leaps over the railing, her powers carrying her up faster than the gondola. Below, Chetney and FCG look at each other, but Fearne transforms into a stork and follows her flight.
I'm here, Laudna.
I see you.
And as Imogen lands on the core spire, there's a figure running towards her, dark hair and pale skin, thin frame and ragged clothes. Imogen has never seen anything more beautiful.
The thoughts become jumbled then, on both sides, each a whirlwind of everything that haven't managed to say to each other for weeks. They have never been apart for this long. Not since they met. Not even that time when Laudna died.
And Laudna is here. She's fine. She is running into Imogen, laughing and crying at the same time, wrapping their arms around each other as they crash together in the middle of the street, not caring about other people around.
"Imogen." She says, not a question or an exultation, just a name, and Imogen shivers at the sound of that familiar voice. Laudna's cheek is cool against hers, and Imogen is suddenly embarrassed by how wet her own cheek is.
"Oh, Laudna."
Then Orym is there hugging her too, and Ashton, and Fearne encircling them all. And when the gondola spews out the rest of their group, there are shouts and laughs and hugs and tears all around.
Later that evening, when they are back at Zhudanna's, alone in their room, they lean against each other on the bed, legs outstretched. The hands between them are clasped, fingers interlaced, and Imogen tells herself she will never let go.
I missed this so much.
Laudna’s free hand traces up a leg, following the purple streaks, lingering at the hem of the shorts. Imogen shivers even as she covers up with a blanket.
You don’t have to hide. Not with me. Nothing’s changed.
Their faces turn towards each other then, dark eyes meeting amethyst ones, but Imogen averts her gaze just as quickly. She has changed though. And not just on the outside. She wants things with Laudna to change. I don’t think we can go back to the way things were before.
Now it’s Laudna’s turn to look away. Why not?
Imogen’s heart skips. She starts speaking out loud because that would make it real. And she needs Laudna to know this is real. “Laudna, I—”
“Ashton told me what you said.” Laudna doesn’t let her finish.
“What?”
Laudna blinks back tears, and Imogen feels her heart breaking even more. “Ashton told me what you said. When I was dead and you needed me back. I heard Orym, but I never heard what FCG or you said. It was so muffled, so distant. I couldn’t make out the words. But Ashton told me, one night when we were apart, when I missed you so much I couldn’t sleep. Ashton told me what you said. So why can’t we go back to the way things were?”
Imogen clenches her jaw and lets out a long sigh. Several seconds pass before she speaks. “Because I love you.” It’s not a secret. It should never have been a secret.
"Of course, I lo—"
"No," Imogen cuts her off. She needs to say this. "I'm in love with you." She needs Laudna to understand. So Imogen is leaning forward, and there's no turning back this time, even if there's tingling in her limbs, fear and lightning in her veins. Because Imogen can't pretend anymore.
When their lips touch, Laudna sucks in a breath, but she doesn't pull away. Imogen kisses her, slow and gentle, asking for permission. Laudna's lips are cool but soft, parted slightly, and when the point of her tongue pokes out, Imogen can't hold back the gasp of relief that overcomes her. As they separate, Laudna shivers, and Imogen doesn't remember that ever happening before. Laudna's eyes are closed, eyelids fluttering as she licks her lips, nostrils flaring with clipped breaths.
Imogen slides the back of her knuckles across Laudna's cheek, brushes away a lone tear. Are you all right? Laudna looks fragile, even though Imogen knows she is anything but.
Dark eyes open, tear-filled and piercing all at once. Oh Imogen. Do it again.
So Imogen covers Laudna's mouth with hers. This time the kiss is insistent, hungry, forceful. Imogen doesn't mean it to be so needy, but she can't help herself. There's a humming that starts, and Imogen isn't sure which one of them it is, if it's even a real hum, or just in their heads. As the humming increases in intensity, so does their kissing.
Imogen is shaky breaths in between furtive kisses, fidgeting hands in between desperate clinging. Don't ever leave me.
Laudna squeezes her tight. I always thought that you would be the one to leave.
And Imogen knows this isn't fair. They've had far too many close calls to make this promise to each other. But she says it anyway. I won't leave. You're my tether. If you love me, I'll always stay.
Because these feelings are real. Even if they didn't set out to save the world, Laudna deserves the world, and Imogen would give all of it to Laudna if she could.
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That art piece you reblogged reminded me that imogen is still under the impression that laudna might’ve said yes to dusk’s date request because there was no time to talk between her seeing them arm in arm and then dusk’s betrayal and then you know all that they still haven’t properly talked about dusk/yu!!!
‘do you think you will ask me to dinner? just the two of us?’
laudna asks this as they settle into the barracks they’ve been provided; she’s examining the stone room with intent, running her claws across the red and grey stone, so she doesn’t seem to notice when the question causes imogen to freeze, all faculties redirected to her brain.
while her blood runs cold, her mind flares with frenetic heat as she searches for what she might have said to give laudna the idea that - to give herself away, the thoughts she’s been so carefully guarding. memories flash behind her eyes—flash - you got me a present? - flash - oh honey - flash - never never never - flash - i got you something too - flash - can i hold your hand—but none of them can tell her when laudna might have seen something new in her. something not so new, really, but newly exposed. she’s been so careful and she can’t find the lapse, can’t pinpoint it.
breathing is impossible. imogen forces herself to do it anyway, dizzy; she drags in a steadying breath and coughs on dust and her heart in her throat.
laudna spins when she coughs, fixes her with worried, wide eyes. ‘imogen! are you alright? what is it?’
‘fine,’ she rasps, coughs again, and laudna scuttles across the room to pour her a glass of water that, with a touch of her hand, she makes ice cold. imogen takes it with quiet thanks, holds the glass to her burning cheeks for a moment before she drinks. the water is cool and clear. imogen lets it wash away the dust and any lingering confusion. she can focus properly on laudna now.
laudna, at her side. watching her. wanting her? how is she supposed to know? is there something new in her eyes? something new in her mind? imogen doesn’t dare check.
‘better?’ laudna asks, as concerned, as sweet as ever.
‘much,’ imogen holds the glass between her hands. she can be brave. ‘what did you ask me?’
‘oh.’ laudna’s hands flutter. it looks like she’s caught between reaching up to her hair and wringing her hands. imogen looks to the ring on her finger. she glances away when laudna finally moves, buries her fingers in her hair. ‘do you think—they will? ask me again? and if they do, what do i say?’
oh.
imogen closes her eyes, cheeks burning in shame.
fool. she’s a fool. laudna had said yu, not you, not imogen, she’s not thinking about imogen at all.
you are a fool, imogen temult.
‘imogen?’
for the first time, the sound of laudna’s voice makes her head ache.
‘what do you think?’
‘i- don’t know,’ she manages to say even with her throat closed up tight. it takes her two tries to set the glass down on the little desk; she can’t keep it in her hands, not without it cracking. ‘what-‘ she stops. swallows. forces herself to look at laudna.
despite the way her hands tangle in her hair, laudna doesn’t seem distressed. a little confused, maybe. her eyes drift somewhere distant, somewhere she is going without imogen.
‘what would you even say if they did?’ she asks. demands, honestly. the sharpness cutting through her words has laudna’s eyes back on her. ‘would you say yes? after everything? they’re an assassin, they want to kill fearne—‘
‘they said they don’t want to kill her, actually,’
‘they lied about everything else, why wouldn’t they have lied about that?’
laudna frowns. ‘they could have killed her in joe’s workshop. yu showed remarkable restraint, really, given orym and fearne were doing their best to kill them.’
imogen stared at her friend (her friend, she reminded herself more firmly). ‘they were trying to manipulate us. all of us! and what about orym? did you forget that they flirted with him too? offered him everything they offered you right in front of you—‘
‘they said i was special,’ laudna whispers.
‘what part of manipulation don’t you understand?’
laudna’s eyes flash green. she hisses, withdrawing a step and another and another until she stands in the corner of the room.
‘laudna - i didn’t - i didn’t mean that.’
‘i understand it better than anyone.’
‘i know you do. i know you do. which is why i don’t understand why you’re even thinking about it, about them.’
laudna crouches there in the shadows. her voice, when she speaks, is matter-of-fact. ‘beggars can’t be choosers, and nightmares can’t be birds.’ it makes some kind of sense to laudna.
‘i- don’t get it.’
‘i’m the nightmare—‘
‘you aren’t a nightmare, laud, or you’re the best one ever, maybe,’
laudna continues on as if she can’t hear imogen. maybe she can’t. her eyes are distant again, though steadfastly black. no hint of green. ‘a bird is wonderful and alive and builds a nest and sometimes mates for life. swans mate for life, did you know?’
imogen rubs her eyes. pinches the bridge of her nose as a headache starts to thrum in the back of her head. there’s a desolate note in laudna—her voice, her mind—that imogen’s jealousy, her hurt, can’t stand against. she wipes her face. steps closer to laudna, halves the distance. she sits on the floor with a grunt of effort, pushes her hair back behind her ears.
‘hey,’ she reaches out. ‘what’s this about?’ laudna ducks her head, hides behind the black curtain. imogen worries at her lip and then asks, ‘is this really about yu? dusk, i mean. them.’ honestly fuck yu for having the worst name. ‘or is this about - something else?’
laudna’s breath rattles out of her. her claws scratch shivering lines down the stone as she drops from crouch to cross-legged.
‘nightmares can’t be birds,’ she whispers.
imogen scoots closer, until her knees are scant millimetres from laudna’s bony ones, covered by the tattered length of her skirt. ‘you made up that saying,’ she points out gently, and puts her hand on laudna’s knee. ‘do you want to go to dinner with them?’
‘i don’t know.’
‘do you want to go out to dinner in general?’
‘i prefer breakfast foods, if i’m being totally honest.’ imogen laughs. it makes laudna lift her head, peek up at her. she smiles sweetly but it doesn’t last long before she’s frowning again, and plucking at her nail, twisting strands of hair urgently around her stretched fingers. ‘how am i supposed to know if i want to go to dinner if yu doesn’t ask me? i never thought about it before. or if i did, i don’t remember thinking about it. and now—‘
‘you’re thinking about it,’ imogen says, a little breathless.
laudna nods.
‘wow. okay.’
‘Is that bad?’ laudna hisses, eyes locked on her. ‘i shouldn’t! i shouldn’t—‘
‘no! no it’s not bad! i was surprised, that’s all.’
‘because i’m—‘
‘if you say a nightmare one more time, i’m going to scream,’ imogen tells her. ‘i’m surprised because like you said, you never seemed interested before. i figured it wasn’t somethin’ you wanted.’
laudna’s smile cracks across her face like peeling paint. imogen could watch it, watch her, all day. ‘it’s easier.’ her voice is low. rich and warm, like melted gold. imogen could happily drown when laudna talks to her like this, loses her cheerful affectation. when she’s honest and honestly lovely. ‘to want things that are - possible. reach too high, and i risk becoming like her.’
‘you’re nothing like her.’
‘i’m a lot like her,’ laudna corrects.
Imogen scoffs. ‘not in the way that matters. i know you,’ she insists, squeezes laudna’s knee. ‘you can’t convince me otherwise. don’t try.’
‘if you insist.’
‘i do.’
laudna laughs softly. tilts her head and eyes imogen’s hand where it rests on her knee. carefully, fingers skittering over her cheeks, her neck, twisting her treasured ring on her finger, laudna finally rests her hand overtop imogen’s.
‘it’s really rather inconvenient,’ she says after a moment. ‘i think about them.’
‘about yu?’ imogen doesn’t want the answer to be yes but she needs to ask. needs to be the one to talk laudna through this, even if it isn’t the outcome she wants.
‘yes.’
‘they were. beautiful,’ imogen murmurs. takes a lead from laudna and ducks her head, lets her hair fall between them.
‘they were,’ laudna agrees. does she sound - interested? enamoured? she only sounds curious. ‘and they liked me, i think. even if they were lying, they liked me a little. and they were kind. is it wrong, that i want it not to have been a lie?’
‘no.’ laudna doesn’t seem convinced. ‘you’re good, laud. you’re sweet. she said - they said nice things to you,’
‘it was all a bit foolish of me though. of course i would be flattered by attention, i’m—‘
‘don’t say it.’
laudna’s smile crooks fondly. ‘my apologies,’ she croons, tangles her fingers fully in imogen’s, sweeps her fingers over the softness of her palm, the roughened callouses that prickle with warmth under her touch. ‘i’m out of my element,’ she confesses. ‘and my head is full enough. i shouldn’t invite yu into the attic. right?’
‘me? or them?’
‘them. you’re—always welcome, imogen dear.’
she tries not to let it get to her head but it’s impossible. yu might have been the one to suggest the idea of romance to laudna’s mind but laudna’s mind is imogen’s to explore, to connect with.
‘can i be totally honest?’
laudna gasps. grips her hand tight. ‘of course!’
‘if i see yu again—them, dusk, not you, laud—i’m thinking of killing them for hurting you.’
laudna cocks her head to the side. ‘but they didn’t?’
‘they lied to you. and made you doubt that you were special, even for a minute.‘ imogen reaches out before she can think it through. cups laudna’s cheek, drags her fingers along the sharp line of her jaw to her chin. she taps it fondly. ‘yu might have been the first to make you think about this - like this - but that doesn’t mean you have to settle. and you are special, laudna. you’re gonna - someone, one day, is going to take you out to breakfast dinner and tell you how great you are and it’s going to be true and it’s going to be for no other reason than to make you smile. not because of some plot or - or manipulation. just to see—yeah,’ imogen sighs happily, and her thumb drifts to the corner of laudna’s mouth, to where her smile begins to spread. ‘that.’
#prompt fill#tagging my stories#imodna my beloveds#sincerely I have no fucking clue if this is coherent it’s nearly midnight i just rambled#imodna
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A Fashionable People short, taking place while Midge is still in the hospital after “On the Other Foot.”
Susie doesn’t sleep for a week.
A fucking week, and she cannot force herself to go to sleep, because every time she closes her eyes she sees her best friend, lying helplessly in that awful hospital bed, surrounded by her family and Lenny and Imogene and it’s just-
It’s too fucking awful.
So she smokes, and she drinks and she paces and she watches some TV and she reads, and she does a crossword puzzle, and she smokes and drinks some more, and nothing fucking does it.
So she braves the cold weather and heads to the hospital.
Midge blinks at her, frowning in confusion. “Are you actually here, or am I just on the good stuff?”
“Both,” Susie tells her, pulling up a chair. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Midge nods, reaching out her good hand to pat Susie’s. “Believe me, I get it. It’s not easy to get any sleep here…doctors and nurses running around…the bed stinks, the pillows are flat.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a hospital, not the Plaza Hotel,” Susie reminds her. “And they’re gonna let you out soon.”
Midge huffs and shrugs, wincing a little. “Sure, they will.”
“Hey,” Susie snaps. “You’re gonna get outta here, your gonna get better and you’re gonna get the fuck back to work.”
Midge smiles just a little and nods. “Okay, Susie.”
“You’re damn right, okay,” the older woman grumbles. She stays quiet for a long, long moment. “So…Lenny was with you when they brought you in.”
“Yeah, he was,” Midge confirms.
They both go silent after that, letting it hang in the air.
“He’s in love with you,” Susie tells her.
“Yeah,” Midge mutters.
“He’s also got an arrest record as long as your arm, and a really big fucking drug problem,” Susie reminds her.
“Yeah,” Midge repeats.
“He’s not exactly a nice, Jewish boy from the Upper West Side,” Susie points out, sitting back and crossing her arms.
“Neither was Joel,” Midge counters. “And even when I found one of those, it didn’t exactly work out.”
“Joel didn’t have the United State Government and a raging drug problem to contend with,” Susie argues. “Look, I get it. The guy’s good looking, he’s funny as fuck, you’ve been friends for a while now. I just wanna make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
"I do know," Midge says softly. "But he gets it, Susie. It's not just that he's funny and attractive. It's that he gets what I'm- what we're trying to do. And he wants me to succeed."
Susie sighs softly and nods. "While we're talking about the men in your life, there is one thing I gotta come clean about."
Midge gives her a shocked look. "You fucked Lenny, too?"
"You fucked Lenny?!"
"Say it louder, I don't think the corpses in the morgue heard you."
"How long has that been going on?"
"Since the night before Carnegie hall…"
"That's good, though. We can spin thar. Two good friends, fallin' into each others' arms the night before his big gig, and then you get hit by a car. The optics on that ain't bad."
"You had something to tell me," Midge reminds her.
Susie nods slowly, blowing out a breath. "It's about Joel?"
"You fucked Joel?"
"Fuck no, I know where he's been."
Midge laughs and winces. "Okay, that was funny. What about Joel?"
And Susie tells her. About the gambling. About losing so much of her hard earned money and going to Joel for help. About letting Joel manage her finances.
Midge stays quiet, taking it all in.
"You hate me now," Susie surmises.
"I…don't," Midge admits. "Before my accident, I might have. But you shouldn't trust Joel with money. He is bad with money."
Susie stares at her, shocked. "Fuck, I thought the stereotype about Jews and money existed for a reason,” she half-jokes.
"For every last one of us except Joel," Midge jokes back. "When we were married I would try to ask about our finances and he'd tell me we were fine, but we were actually living beyond our means."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"Shit!"
Midge nods. "Yeah."
“I gotta get your money and find someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing,” Susie says.
“Yeah.”
“I thought because he cared about you so much-”
“Yeah, no.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Midge.”
Midge nods. “I am, too. That plan of mine…it was awful, and I was awful, and I just- I had my head so far up my ass and then-”
“Hey,” Susie says. “You can’t think about that now, you gotta focus on getting better. Cuz when you get outta here, we got work to do. Right?”
Midge nods, looking grateful. “Right.”
They sit in silence for a little while before Midge speaks again.
“Susie?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t ever make decisions about the money without me again.”
“Yeah.”
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After the Battle
“I’ll take watch.”
The members of the party glanced at each other as Imogen volunteered, but Laudna was the first to speak up.
“Imogen, Darling,” she said. “You need rest. We’ll be all right here; Joe is upstairs. He’ll warn us if anything comes along.”
Imogen took a deep breath. She had gotten off easy compared to the others—physically. But the fight with Otohan replayed itself over and over in her head: her friends falling, Laudna falling. If things had gone just a little bit differently, if not everyone had come out of it all right…
“I won’t be able to sleep,” Imogen said. “Really. I’d feel better if I can just stay alert. Just in case.”
“Then I’ll stay up with you,” Laudna said.
“You need sleep,” Imogen argued. “Look at you. You’re exhausted.”
Laudna didn’t need to look down at herself to know what she looked like. Covered head to toe in cuts and bruises, her clothes shredded and stained with her own blood. The wound through her back and chest, while mostly healed, still ached so badly that she couldn’t sit up straight. But she had priorities.
“I feel all right,” Laudna said. “I’ll just stay up for a bit, and then maybe we can both try to sleep. We’ll wake someone else up if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I can take second shift,” Ashton offered, and Laudna smiled appreciatively at them.
Imogen sighed. “All right,” she said. “The rest of you, get some sleep. Fearne, Orym—”
“We’ll sleep the whole night,” Orym said, anticipating what she was about to say. “Promise.”
“I wish you would, too,” Imogen murmured to Laudna as the others bedded down on the far side of the cellar.
“Likewise,” Laudna said, “but for now…” She took a seat on a crate near the door and patted the spot beside her. “We can just sit and take a nice breather.”
Imogen nodded and sat down, her eyes cast downward at the marks on her arms. It was easier to look at those than to look at Laudna.
“Are you all right, Imogen?” Laudna said quietly. “It’s been a long day. We can talk about it if you like.”
“I’m fine,” Imogen said, but a crack in her voice betrayed the lie. “I just—I’m sorry,” she said. “Otohan…she wouldn’t have hurt you if it weren’t for me. None of you. So, I’m sorry.”
Laudna frowned. “You can’t possibly think this was your fault,” she said. “You didn’t ask her to attack. I’m just glad she didn’t manage to take you away from us.”
She almost took you away from me, Imogen thought, but she tried to push the thought away. Laudna was still here. For now.
What if it happens again?
Imogen ground her teeth together in an attempt to fight the tears threatening her, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from watering.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Laudna took both of Imogen’s hands into her own and ghosted her thumbs over her skin. The touch was all Imogen needed to break, and she leaned into Laudna’s side as the tears erupted.
Laudna wrapped her arms around Imogen as she cried, petting her hair and murmuring quiet comforts to her.
Imogen’s tears dried after a moment, but she continued to cling to Laudna. “I need to leave,” she whispered, more to herself than to Laudna, but Laudna stopped her petting motion at the words.
“Well,” she said carefully, “I would certainly miss our friends. But if it’s what you think is best for you, we can leave.”
Imogen sniffed and finally drew away from Laudna. “I mean…” She hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt Laudna, but she would never be able to live with it if anything else happened to her. “I mean by myself, Laud. Otohan doesn’t seem the type to give up. She’ll find me again, and I don’t want you anywhere near me when she does.”
Laudna stared at her. “What?” she said, and she shook her head. “No, Imogen, I can’t let you go alone. What if something happens to you? Who will make sure you’re all right?”
Imogen’s gut twisted. How could Laudna be so worried about her after she’d come a hair’s breadth away from dying today? When Fearne and Orym had died?
“We could message each other sometimes,” she suggested. “Just to check in.”
Laudna was silent for a long moment, and in the dim light, Imogen couldn’t quite discern her expression. All she could tell was that it wasn’t a positive one, which was about as much as she expected.
“Don’t leave,” Laudna finally replied, and her voice betrayed her feelings. Desperation and fear dripped from her words so thickly that Imogen didn’t know what to say at first. She didn’t get a chance before Laudna rambled on, anyway.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she continued. “Please. We’re all safer together; don’t go for our sakes. Least of all mine.” She paused. Then, “I was serious, you know. When I said I didn’t know what I would do without you. Please don’t make me find out.”
Imogen took a deep, shuddering breath. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to leave while everyone else slept, but she should have known Laudna would refuse. Laudna was always too keen on looking out for her, even—perhaps especially—when she felt she didn’t deserve it.
“I don’t want to, either,” Imogen murmured. “But if you end up dead because I was too selfish to walk away, I just…it would kill me. I’m so afraid of what might happen to you because of all this. I’m more afraid of it than I’ve ever been of the storm. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Laudna said. “Gods, Imogen, of course I do. Do you have any idea how terrified I am for you all of the time? Especially now.” She swallowed hard and cupped Imogen’s face in her hand, and Imogen instinctively nestled into it. A dark tear rolled down Laudna’s cheek, mirroring Imogen’s. “It’s not selfish to stay,” Laudna said. “It’s brave. We all want you here. We love you.” She paused. “I love you.”
Imogen’s heart skipped and her skin began to burn under the touch of Laudna’s cool hand. “Well,” she said, trying to organize her suddenly scattered thoughts. “I…I suppose I can’t go after a speech like that, can I?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” The hand on Imogen’s cheek moved to pull her into a tight hug against Laudna’s chest, all but knocking the air out of her. “You really had me worried there for a moment. I would miss you so much if you ever left.”
Imogen nuzzled into Laudna’s neck and hugged her back. It soothed her more than she expected it would, and she melted into Laudna’s arms. Maybe it was selfish to stay—she couldn't shake that feeling—but it was worth it for this. To keep Laudna happy. “I'd miss you, too. More than I could probably bear.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I love you so much, Laudna.”
Imogen couldn’t tell how long they stayed like that, but she missed the embrace as soon as Laudna pulled away. Still, her hands lingered on Imogen's neck, never fully breaking contact. "You know you're the most important thing in the world to me," Laudna said. "I..." She trailed off, and Imogen frowned as she seemed to completely lose her grasp on her words.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Laudna said. "Nothing's wrong. I just—" She shook her head and pulled her hands away. "I'm not sure I should even be saying this," she murmured so quietly that Imogen could barely hear her. "Oh, this might be a bad idea."
"Laudna." It was Imogen's turn to take Laudna's hands and anchor her feelings. "Whatever it is, you can say it. Or you don't have to if you'd rather not. It's okay."
"It has just been a very long day," Laudna said. "And I thought I was going to die. And all I could think while I was lying there was...was that I never..."
She couldn't be saying what Imogen thought she was, could she?
Imogen gripped Laudna's hands tighter, trying to steady her suddenly quick breathing. She was just fine being Laudna's friend, and she felt so lucky just for that that she never dared to hope for anything more. But Laudna was struggling to get her words out, and Imogen could feel her slow, slow pulse beating faster than usual in her hands, and for a moment it felt true. It felt as if it had always been true.
And everything in Imogen's mind convinced her all at once that it was. She tilted her head up to catch Laudna's lips with her own, too overcome with love for her best friend to think of anything else.
Laudna gave a small gasp at the foreign touch, and for a moment Imogen thought she'd made a mistake, but all of the tension left laudna's body as she gave in to the kiss. It was short, chaste—Imogen didn't want to go too far, not when this sort of thing was so new to Laudna—but it lit such a fire in Imogen that she was afraid her fingers might start sparking. Her hands shook a bit as they parted.
"Well, that was quite something," Laudna breathed. "How did you know?"
Imogen chuckled, her mind still buzzing. "Lucky guess," she said. "Really lucky guess."
#critical role#imogen temult#laudna#imodna#my writing#is this proofread? no#is it coherent? probably not#did i leave the established point of view just for fun? yeah#this is very long for a vignette fic and all i care about is making it disgustingly gay
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i love the way you write heartbreak. i know you just did this for someone else, but something that'll make me cry with imodna?
Well, anon, ask and ye shall receive. I hope this fits the bill.
They didn't manage to bring Laudna back. The ritual, for whatever reason, failed. Imogen was left behind. Again.
But she remembers a café where one can travel back in time (à la Before the Coffee Gets Cold).
Read the whole thing on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52133092
Before the Body Decays
Imogen rushed along the narrow street, propelled by a vague memory and desperation. She was sweating, her hair disheveled. Wear and tear and dust from the road lodged in the fine fibre matrix of her dress. She frantically wove between groups of people on the street, searching for that nondescript sign, the plain wooden door with unmarked windows.
The press of other people’s thoughts was constant and she caught snippets as she tore through the streets of Jrusar. But they didn’t bother her like they used to. It was so much easier to drown all of it out when she focused on the memory of her music, when the guilt and the shame of not being able to save her, not being able to protect her, left nowhere for the trivialities of others to linger. They just flowed through. She couldn’t stop them, didn’t have the willpower or the reason to build her walls up much anymore.
They didn’t compare to the maelstrom of her loss – couldn’t hold a candle to the fiery vortex of grief that consumed her.
She turned down a skinny alleyway, boots crunching quietly against the well-trodden dirt path. Finally, she could see it, just a few storefronts down. She broke into a sprint, slammed through the door. Her brow was dappled with sweat and it dripped down, soaking into her scarf. Her jaw ached from the tension she’d held for weeks now.
There were only three people in the café when she entered and two of them looked up, startled by her abrupt appearance. The woman on her own at a table didn’t seem to notice her at all, head too deep into her book. She ignored them, walked right up to the counter.
“Please,” she said, already begging. “I need to go back – I need to tell her – you can help, right?”
The woman at the counter stepped back as realisation cleared her questioning look, as she figured out what Imogen so earnestly, cryptically requested.
“I’m Kazu,” the woman said, in a practiced neutral tone. “It is not easy to get there and even harder to come back,” she warned, but there was a softness in her eyes, like she’s seen people as broken as Imogen before, asking for the same thing.
#lespetitesmortsde#imodna#southern gothic#ask#anon#my fic#cr fic#cr fanfic#imogen temult#laudna#imogen x laudna#angst and pain and sadness be warned
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I am taking a tag game I found and sending it to my loved ones!! (You don't have to tag people if you don't want I just thought it was cute)
Rules: Make a new post and spell out your URL with song titles, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL
For my bestie! Not tagging anyone cause my URL is far too long, feel free to do it if you want! I managed to get both of my namesake songs on here!
Labour - Paris Paloma
In My Life - The Beatles (but mostly my high school choir's beautiful a cappella rendition, lbr)
Off to the Races - Lana Del Rey
No Better - Lorde
Helena - Nickel Creek
Everywhere, Everything - Noah Kahan
Anxiety - Ladyhawke
Reading in Bed - Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton
The Alcott - The National ft. Taylor Swift
Electric Twist - A Fine Frenzy
Dance Anthem of the '80s - Regina Spektor
Girl Anachronism - The Dresden Dolls
I-89 - I'm With Her
Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) - Florence + the Machine
LOVE DIVE - IVE
A Song for the Birds - Eisley
New York City - Punch Brothers
Annabelle Lee - Sarah Jarosz
California - Chappell Roan
Hot Knife - Fiona Apple
Run Away With Me - Carly Rae Jepsen
Oseh Shalom (not sure which version, my shul sings two versions regularly but both have an echoed part and they are both very peaceful)
No You Girls - Franz Ferdinand
ICIMY - Phoebe Ryan
Sinner - The Last Dinner Party
Me the Machine - Imogen Heap
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Best use of a spell tournament: the bracket is here
More details below. Poll #1 (with spells 1 and 2) will start tomorrow, September 9th.
Modify memory
Caster: Jester
Target: Isharnai
Level: 5
Link: THE POWER OF JESTER'S CUPCAKE! (2x93) | CRITICAL ROLE HIGHLIGHTS
Propaganda: “Jester manages to somehow avert one of the darkest moments in the campaign, where all of her friends are offering things up to make themselves as miserable as possible, and she manages to trick one of their most formidable foes with the power or friendship and positivity. Incredible”
“The combo with the cupcake! The dust of deliciousness! Completely avoiding combat with such finely integrated bamboozlery - and then the panic herding everyone away after it took, just… *mwah*”
“THIS TOTALLY SHOULD NOT HAVE WORKED AND YET IT DID BECAUSE MATT ROLLED A FUCKING TWO ON THE SAVING THROW.”
Counterspell
Caster: Scanlan
Target: Vecna
Level: 8
Link: Critical Role - Sam the Wide Deceiver - *Spoilers Ep 114*
Propaganda:
“‘That’s why I got closer, motherfucker’”
Feeblemind
Caster: Keyleth
Target: Raishan
Level: 8
Link: Critical Role - The fall of Keyleth
Propaganda:
“Hail Mary epic narratively satisfying finish to a very intelligent creature, “
“Raishan was denied access to all of her spellcasting and it’s such a powerful Kiki moment.”
Featherfall
Caster: Laudna
Target: Laudna and Imogen
Level: 1
Link: Bloody Flowers | Critical Role | Campaign 3, Episode 67
Propaganda:
“Laudna pushes Imogen off a tower, to get her away from a demon, gets attacked of opportunitied (which misses thanks to mirror image) then chucks herself off the same tower and casts Featherfall on them both so they land safely”
Wall of Fire
Caster: Caleb
Target: the deck of the Squalleater
Level: 4
Link: Caleb's Wall of Fire | Critical Role Highlight | Campaign 2, Episode 42
Propaganda:
“Really cool way to end an episode”
Daylight
Caster: Fearne
Target: Shade Mother
Level: 3
Link: The Shade Mother | Critical Role | Campaign 3, Episode 16
Propaganda:
“Everytime Fearne casts this spell the entire battle shifts. ‘Oh it's a bit dark in here, let's fucking blind this big ass worm lady’”
Counterspell
Caster: Scanlan
Target: Vecna’
Level: 9
Link: Critical Role - D&D Brothers for life *SPOILERS EP 114*
Propaganda:
“One of the single most heartbreaking moments in CR history. He was trying to save his 9th-Level to use Wish to save Vax, but if Pike and Grog were banished, Vecna would have won the battle (most likely)”
Lightning bolt
Caster: Imogen
Target: a crawler
Level: 3
Link: Laura accidentally k1lls a guy with her Lightning Bolt | Critical Role | Campaign 3 Episode 30 Critical Role Clip | Imogen's Goldfish Moment | Campaign 3 Episode 30 for the aftermath
Propaganda:
“Fail mage, best mage”
#thank you to everyone on youtube who made these videos#critical role#polls#critical role polls#best use of a spell tournament
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August recs
August was too hot to live and weirdly stressful, so I've only got a handful of new stories plus a whole lot of my favorite tropes (so much amnesia!) and fic from fandoms I'm technically not in.
NEW STUFF
I Got My Head Checked by @frostbitebakery (Star Wars, Cody/Obi-Wan)
Below the observation deck, the Marshal Commander of the Third Systems Army is being divested of his armor and weapons, shackles heavy on his wrists. He doesn’t struggle, only a mulish stubborn twist to his jaw showing his displeasure at the situation.
Obi-Wan opens his eyes, steps back from the observation window. “I need a week.”
OR: In which Cody wasn’t trained for a Sith sliding into a moral dilemma because of him.
So apparently I AM weak for a Sith!AU when it's an amazing enemies-to-lovers with a redemption arc? Awesome story with beautiful art by the author. It's written in an unusual vignette format that might not be for everyone, but I thought it let the author cover a wide ensemble and scope of story and tonal shifts very effectively.
To the Letter by glimmerglanger (Star Wars, Cody/Obi-Wan)
“How you feeling, sir?” he asked, eyeing his General. They’d, at least, managed to all evac back to the shuttles without losing anyone, leaving the noxious-smelling laboratory where they’d found a pack of Seppy scientists working on new biological weapons behind.
“I’ll be fine, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, without opening his eyes, his voice thick and hoarse. “But comm ahead, would you, and make sure the medics are ready for me.”
OR, the one were Obi-Wan gets dosed with an especially nasty toxin, and Cody helps him survive the following hours.
The first chapter of this story was originally a standalone that I remember thinking was incredibly hot but emotionally unresolved, but glimmerglanger just posted a second chapter where Cody gets into a mirrored situation and it really balances out the whole piece.
Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (The Untamed, Wangxian)
Lan Zhan’s new liaison at the Caiyi Municipal Cultivation Department is an enigma – ridiculously talented, yet somehow content with mopping up spiritual pests for barely above minimum wage. Wei Ying is slapdash and irresponsible, and Lan Zhan doesn’t like him at all… but then he meets A-Yuan, who loves music and longs for a piano his father can’t afford.
Forced into cautious friendship by a four-year-old's music lessons, Lan Zhan soon realises Wei Ying is more than he seems. The single father is a man of many secrets – including, perhaps, the key to Lan Zhan's life's work. And in the meantime, the background resentment in Caiyi Town is rising to dangerous levels…
I've already recced this by reblogging the fic notice, but it's so great! Plot and romance and feels all well-balanced and creative, with adorable kid content, plus I loved Lan Zhan's research into reconstructing musical cultivation, the modern cultivation worldbuilding generally, and the Lan brothers dynamic.
More tropey recs under the cut!
AMNESIA
Exile by Marchling (Shadowhunters, Magnus/Alec)
Imogen Herondale hated Alec Lightwood.
Everyone from Jia Penhallow all the way through Jace himself knew of her animosity towards the person that she felt held her grandson back from the all that the Herondale name deserved. Despite this, Alec never thought she would actually move against him because to hurt him was to hurt Jace.
He had been wrong.
Now, Alec had no runes. His memories were gone. He had no idea who he was, why there was a ragged wound inside of him that he couldn't see or how he had gotten to this abandoned apartment in San Francisco.
All he knew was that monsters were tracking him and staying alive might take more strength than he had.
Technically all that I know about this fandom I got from a four-hour compilation of Malec clips I watched on YouTube, but this fic combined three of my very favorite tropes (amnesia, homelessness, framed/falsely accused) in one glorious h/c epic that just fucking came for my id. Loved it!
Body of Memory by glorious_spoon (Shadowhunters, Magnus/Alec)
After a patrol gone very wrong, Alec Lightwood comes to in the infirmary with no memory of the past three years, and that turns out to be just the beginning of his problems. There's an ominous plot afoot, a possible traitor at the Institute, and he's pretty sure that he ought to remember the handsome warlock who was waiting beside his bed when he woke up...
This is a great pairing for amnesia, because they had to work SO hard to get together, and their world changed so much in the process - so it's fun to temporarily reset one of them to zero and watch them fall in love all over again, hah. Fun casefile as well!
And you yourself shall keep the key of it by RubyCaspar (Miss Fisher, Jack/Phryne)
Jack is all set to follow Phryne until a bad accident in a raid leaves him with a serious head injury. When he wakes up, he can't remember anything of the last seventeen months, and as far as he's concerned, Miss Fisher is just that rather exasperating, eccentric lady who's interfered with two of his murder investigations.
Gorgeously cozy and soft h/c fic with a hefty dose of pining, just the way I like it.
OTHER
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot by laiqualaurelote (Miss Fisher, Jack/Phryne)
Across a harrowing three days, Jack talked Agent Foxtrot through an increasingly improbable series of escapades and was disobeyed by her a grand total of 117 times. Eventually they managed to fob off nuclear war without destroying any Unesco heritage sites, and then Jack went home and slept for fifteen hours and returned to his office feeling marginally closer to human, only to see perched on his desk an extraordinarily beautiful woman in a frock the colour of fresh blood, spinning the chamber of a shiny golden pistol.
The AU in which Phryne is a secret agent and Jack is her long-suffering handler.
I'm quite wary of modern AUs in this fandom, since Phryne is so much a product of her time and history, but this fic nailed it AND had spy shenanigans and that dynamic I love about this pairing where they've got trust and intimacy and friendship, and yet keep shying away from a relationship because of their issues (but they get there eventually).
Nor Any Drop by @philomytha (Biggles series, gen)
Blowing up the reservoir has more consequences than Biggles expected.
So I still have not read any of these books (yet), but this is a GREAT horror-thriller story set in WWI. Just sit back and enjoy these two being exceedingly honorable slashy undercover enemies (juggling five identities between them!) while trying to survive a terrifying supernatural threat.
What's In A Name? by flawedamythyst (Our Flag Means Death, Ed/Stede)
Captains Grey and Edwards, retired merchant sailors, moved to town a couple of years ago. Tom, the local pub landlord, has spent most of the time since trying to ignore the many, many things they do that directly contradict who they're claiming to be. Still, it's all worth it to have the protection of two legendary pirates for the town.
Sorry, not legendary pirates. Merchant captains. Who are just best friends and definitely nothing else.
Exceptionally cute look at a hypothetical retirement for them, from a charming outsider POV.
Finding Your Bliss by AirgiodSLV (Shadowhunters, Magnus/Alec)
On the pathway to Alexander Lightwood's advanced sexual enlightenment, Magnus starts simple. Or rather, he backpedals to simple, because Alec takes one look at the bedroom Magnus has transformed into a BDSM dream dungeon, turns around and walks right back out again.
My favorite kind of misunderstanding fic - i.e. they're communicating healthily but just coming from such different points that it takes them a while to work things out. Sexy, funny, great characterization.
#star wars#cody/obi-wan#codywan#shadowhunters#magnus/alec#malec#amnesia#miss fisher#jack/phryne#biggles#ofmd#ed/stede#the untamed#wangxian#monthly recs#fic rec
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Part Twelve: "Years Of Hoping" ~ S. Reid
Summary: After years of hoping, Spencer might finally receive his chance to reunite with Imogen.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Imogen Sterren (bipolar!OC)
Word Count: 1,714
Content Warning: DARK THEMES (this fic discusses Spencer having been m0lested as a child, PLEASE continue at your own risk), explicit language, mentions of medications, mentions of mental health facilities, mentions of food, minor character death but not really, tiny mention of alcohol, let me know if i missed anything!
Genre: Angst, really just a ton of angst
Extra Notes: nothing i can think of at the moment!!
Based On the Song: Soon You'll Get Better by Taylor Swift
Originally Written: 01/08/2023 through 01/21/2023 (re-edited on 05/14/2023)
Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!
"Soon You'll Get Better" series masterlist can be found here!
"𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠." - 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐥𝐡𝐨
Spencer paced anxiously around the meeting room of the Atlantic City Police Department's precinct. His chest heaved, his heart thumping with so much rage that he wasn't quite sure he wouldn't punch Arthur Malcolm in the face when he arrived at New Lives Mental Health Facility.
He stayed silent as Hotch directed each team member with new instructions to find this unsub, now known as Samantha Malcolm.
Finally, after the raven-haired man had finished his instructions, Spencer spoke up for what felt like the first time in the whole afternoon. "I wanna go to New Lives. Whether or not she's there, I wanna talk to the father. There are literally hundreds of therapies to help kids through loss. Electroshock is not one of them."
Though no one could see it, Penelope's brows knitted together with worry on the other end of the phone. "Hey, Reid. Before you go, there's something I need to talk to you about. Well, actually there's something I need to show you through Derek's laptop, if he doesn't mind sharing of course."
Derek smirked. "You know how good I am at minding my manners, mama."
"Garcia, can it wait? I mean, we're kind of on a time crunch here," Spencer said, nearly in a grumble.
She swallowed hard and nervously. "I think you're gonna want to see this now." Spencer knew by her tone of voice that she was on the brink of tears.
Spencer snatched the computer up and rushed to take his phone off speakerphone mode as he strutted out of the room. He nearly slammed the door behind him as he finally found an empty room. "What is the matter, Penelope?"
Her heart panged as she considered the information she was about to give him. "OK, first of all, I know you're upset over this case. I know that it brings up past feelings about your father and the things that happened to you as a kid. So, please, if you need to sit the rest of this case out, just tell me and I will let Hotch know."
By the time she'd finished her spiel, they both felt silent cries leaving their bodies. He lifted a thumb to his cheek, forcefully wiping away a tear that managed to escape. "I'm fine, Penelope," he said, his words possessing as much bite as a fresh lemon. "It's just been… it's been a long day, OK?"
"Spencer, you're not fine. This man-"
"Is horrible and vile, just like my own father," he provided. "He's not the first pedophile we've dealt with and he won't be the last. I'm going to be fine. Really."
She nodded as if he could see her. She spoke again, forcing herself to swallow the hockey puck sized lump in her throat. "I also know it's the three-year anniversary of you meeting Imogen and I know that's part of the reason why you're upset today."
Imogen: a name he hadn't heard but a handful of times in the past three years since they'd spoken last.
"Penelope, what does that have to do with-"
She stopped him. "That's why I need you to look at the computer."
Spencer placed the computer on the table, watching as Penelope clicked through her slides, even from almost two hundred miles away. No matter how much time passed and no matter how much technology continued to progress, Spencer would never be convinced that the blonde on the other side of the screen was anything short of a wizard.
Finally, after clicking through a couple different slides, she spoke again. "OK, what's on the next one might be a little triggering so I'm going to need you to sit down."
"Penelope, I'm not-"
"Spence, please," she said, her voice as soft as a baby lamb. "Please just sit down. For me."
Reluctantly, he sat in the lone desk chair, grasping the armrests hard as it nearly slid it out from underneath him. However, what was on the next slide was enough to make Spencer fall out of the chair, no matter how hard he gripped the armrests.
"Are you alright?" Penelope panicked, having heard Spencer's tussle with the office chair.
"Yeah, I'm…" His tongue went nearly numb as he pulled himself up from the floor. "Imogen is at New Lives?"
Penelope stayed quiet for a moment. She knew no matter how she said her next sentence, she'd be in deep shit with Spencer. So, she went with the band-aid method, ripping it off as quickly as possible. "Spencer, there's… well, do you remember when I told you I knew about Imogen from a tech analyst's perspective?"
His teeth gritted together so hard, Penelope wasn't so sure she wouldn't hear them come out his nose. "Garcia, what did you do?"
"Nothing! I just maybe withheld important information that you probably want to know. But the only reason I didn't say anything was because I thought Imogen should be the one to tell you."
Spencer stayed quiet as Penelope switched to the next page. His tongue went numb once again, his mind in an almost matching state. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The only one of his senses that hadn't left was seeing, which he wasn't sure was a good thing when Imogen's file popped open on the computer screen.
"August…" he managed to get out, his airway feeling as tight as the time he'd had an allergic reaction to shrimp. "August is her son?"
"Her sister Astrid's had custody of him since his fourth birthday, right before Imogen was admitted to Bennington."
"Who's the…" He couldn't even get the words out.
Penelope took a deep breath. "His name was Drew. He left as soon as August was born. Apparently he was seeing another girl behind Imogen's back during her pregnancy."
Spencer could feel his peanut butter and jelly sandwich from lunch rising in his stomach. His cheeks were on fire with something close to boiling rage. "If I ever get my hands on him-"
"Not unless you wanna go six feet under for him," she stopped him. "As it turns out, karma's a bitch. He and the girl got super drunk one night and crashed. Almost killed a little girl the same age as August."
It was all so much for Spencer at one time. The new information. The old feelings. His hand started to flail, something it hadn't done in years, not since he'd vowed off stimming. "You look ridiculous, and it's not helping anymore anyway," he'd told himself. The same day he'd decided to stop concerning himself with Imogen. The same day he'd had his last bad panic attack—one that made him pass out on the way to Penelope's office.
He crawled out of his thoughts, swallowing hard in hopes of eliminating the tears coming up in his throat. "Pen, why did you tell me all of this?"
"You know how the unsub, Samantha, lives at one of her father's halfway houses?"
Spencer nodded as if the blonde could see him. When she didn't say anything, he managed to mumble, "Uh-huh."
"Imogen's living in one of his houses too. The one next door to Samantha's."
The room stayed silent, save for Spencer's heavy breathing and Penelope's on the other end of the phone. His face felt numb yet heavy, like if he didn't know what was happening, he would assume he was having a stroke.
He continued reading through her file silently. He read that her birthday was January the twenty-second, just a mere week after he'd received her last letter. He read that she was born 1982, just a mere three months after he was born. He read that she gave birth to August in 2002. Finally, he read her latest progress report from her new doctor.
After six months on her newest medication, Pristiq (Desvenlafaxine), Imogen is showing many improvements. Her depressive episodes show much milder symptoms than those she experienced when she first transferred to New Lives in 2007. I am going to consult my colleagues and ask their opinions first, but I am thinking of allowing her visiting time with her son.
Spencer's eyes darted down to the clock on the bottom-right corner of the screen, and realized he'd been reading for about three minutes. Three minutes filled with silence thick enough to cut with a knife.
He swallowed the last of his tears and spoke again. "I have to go, Pen. The case…"
She sniffled, clearly having cried during the moment of silence. "Yeah," she mumbled, sniffling once more, "Of course. Be careful out there."
Spencer hated confrontation, but he knew there was something obviously upsetting Penelope, so instead of hanging up and ignoring it for his own sake, he asked, "Is everything alright, Penny?" for his best friend's sake.
"Well, you know how I read all those romance novels. What if this is your second chance romance?"
He pondered her question for a beat, but stayed silent. To be fair, he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to respond anyway.
"I've read through her file, Spencer. She's slowly getting better but what if you're that one last boost she needs? I mean, her doctor even said in his notes that he might let August come stay with her soon to see how she does. What if you're what she needs to help her through that?"
His hands shook like his life depended on it. On one hand, maybe she was right. Maybe he could help her through it. Maybe this was the chance he'd prayed for all those years ago, when he'd decided to let her go in hopes of getting her back one day.
But on the other hand, maybe she wouldn't want him. Maybe the sight of him at her doorstep would set her off all over again. After all, the last thing he'd ever heard when visiting Bennington was "You started this. She didn't act this way until she met you."
Maybe it was times like these when desperate people found faith. He knew he'd never get what Imogen went through, but he knew there wasn't a day that went by where he hadn't tried to understand. Not once in the entire three years he'd been hoping for their reunion.
Maybe with Spencer's help, Imogen could get better soon.
"𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥." - 𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧
So... this was supposed to be posted three months ago...
I know, I know. There's no way I can make that up to you guys. I wish I had a better explanation, but the honest truth is that I had no one to beta read these last few chapters and in my head, they weren't good enough for you guys without it. So, here I am, pushing myself out of my comfort zone and giving you the real, raw, unpolished product.
And hey, what better way to end this? Three chapters, posted at 3:33 pm on a Sunday. 💖
-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @wwwonzeee @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose @rexorangecouny @lcvingprentjss
☆𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒☆
#spencer reid#spencer reid x oc#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid imagines#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid series#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds x oc#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds imagines#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds series#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fluff#imagine#imagines#fanfic#fanfiction#angst#fluff#inspired by a song#taylor swift#soon you'll get better series#reidsaurora
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