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the-kaedageist · 6 months

Note

congrats on hitting your follower milestone!! for a CR short fic prompt, how about shadowgast where essek is learning to coexist with caleb's cats? :)

I'm emerging from the abyss to answer this prompt 11 months later, but I hope you enjoy! I also believe someone else had Caleb having a cat named Gretchen before me and my brain borrowed it from someone; apologies, it just fit so well.

“Ah,” says Caleb when Essek arrives for their weekly meeting. “Since you were here last, I have acquired another housemate.”

This feels like a somewhat alarming statement. Thankfully, the suspense is not held for long - a moment later, a calico cat makes her way daintily into the room with them, stares up at Essek, and hisses.

“Gretchen,” Caleb scolds, along with a long string of Zemnian that Essek’s rudimentary skills can’t hope to follow. He’s just about mastered ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and some of the major foods; nowhere near native-speaker-speaking-to-his-cat level.

Essek tries not to be offended at being hissed at, even as he can feel his own ears flicking back behind his head in annoyance. “I have done nothing to you,” he says to the cat.

“She is scared,” says Caleb, reaching down to scritch the calico’s ears. She glares at Essek but submits happily to the pets. “She will get used to you.”

The cat eyes him like a particularly unpleasant thing that has been dropped on the floor. Well, Essek thinks, he has certainly had nemeses before. What is one more?

The situation does not improve from there. Every week, Essek Teleports to Caleb’s house, and every week, Gretchen acts as though Essek has offended her to the very depths of her being. (It probably doesn’t help that the third time this happened, Essek hissed back.)

By the end of the first month, Essek despairs that he will ever have a good relationship with Caleb’s animal companion.

At night, when he’s downstairs studying and Caleb is asleep, Essek sneaks back upstairs to find Gretchen curled up at Caleb’s side, purring happily. When Caleb is reading on the couch and Essek is attempting to cook in the kitchen, he peeks in to find Gretchen stubbornly attempting to seat herself in the middle of Caleb’s book, to Caleb’s laughter.

It seems that although they loathe one another, he and Gretchen share a love of the same man. Surely there is common ground they can find.

One night, Yasha and Beau come over for dinner. Gretchen is ambivalent about Beau (although no hissing is involved), but she waltzes right up to Yasha and starts headbutting her ankle.

“Oooh, hello, little beauty,” Yasha says, reaching down to scratch her cheek. Gretchen stares up at her adoringly. Essek also stares at her, aghast and betrayed.

“What is this?” he asks like a spurned lover.

“What is what?” Beau asked. She glanced over at Yasha. “Oh, the cat? She loves Yasha. For obvious reasons, of course.”

Essek rolls his eyes. “I thought she did not like strangers.”

Beau blinks. Her eyes narrow and her mouth stretches into a smirk. “Does the cat not like you, Essek?”

“No,” Essek denies quickly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He quickly makes an exit to the kitchen, making excuses about checking the soup, before he can be pestered further.

That is when he begins to wonder what he’s doing wrong.

First, he tries dressing more comfortably for his trips to Caleb’s. Perhaps, Gretchen is intimidated by the points on his mantle and the finery of his robes – is that a thing cats care about? The only cats Essek has ever encountered have been moorbounders, and usually they care more about the quality of their meal.

Unfortunately, even in loose pants and a soft shirt, Gretchen still glares and hides from him on his next visit. Caleb seems to appreciate the change though, pulling Essek into his arms and cuddling with him more than normal, and Essek makes a mental note that perhaps more comfortable clothing was in order regardless of the cat’s opinion.

Next, he attempts to determine if Yasha has bribed the cat for her love. He does research and discovers that cats are known to love meat and fish. The next week, when he Teleports into Caleb’s house, he pulls out a handkerchief with some pieces of fish stashed inside and lays it out on the floor. Gretchen does her usual routine of glaring at him while growling before she slowly approaches to sniff the food.

Caleb looks amused. “You brought a present?”

Essek shrugs, feeling heat on the back of his neck. “She is part of your family.”

Gretchen eats up every morsel of fish, to Essek’s relief. However, once her meal is complete, she goes back to hissing and glowering as though no offering had ever been made.

Essek is starting to feel a bit offended. This feels personal.

One night, he cuddles up with Caleb, dejected, as Caleb strokes his hands through Essek’s hair and coils a curl around his finger. “You are quieter than usual,” says Caleb. “Is something wrong?”

Essek glances up at him through his lashes. “Gretchen does not like me.”

Caleb says, “hmm” and continues to stroke Essek’s hair. “I have thought much about this, and I think she sees you as another cat.”

This is not something Essek has ever considered. “Another cat?” he echoes, surprised.

Caleb presses a kiss to his hairline. “You have cat-like mannerisms. You are prickly and picky and beautiful. Does it surprise you at all?”

Essek thinks for a moment; perhaps it does make some sort of strange sense. “So if I am another cat, how do I win her affection?” he asks at last.

“Well,” says Caleb, “ideally I would have put you both in adjoining rooms and let you sniff each other under the door.”

Essek gives him an unamused look. “Caleb Widogast, I am not actually a cat.”

Caleb tousles his hair with a small chuckle. “Ja, of course. Then I would say…be around her. In, ah, her orbit, so to speak. Give her space, but be present and let her get used to you.”

“I have been present,” says Essek petulantly. “She does not like me.”

Caleb shakes his head. “You either approach her head-on or you give her a wide berth – understandable, but I do not think it helps.” He lays his forehead against Essek’s curls. “You are stubborn. You will find a way.”

And slowly, Essek does.

He continues to bring Gretchen fish, but retreats beyond arm’s reach so that she can eat without feeling threatened. He is careful to seat himself within her watchful gaze when she is near, so that she will know his location. He stops trying to befriend and starts letting her be, and Caleb had been right – once he gives her the space to get to know him on her own terms, Gretchen finally, finally begins to thaw.

The first day she approaches him after her fish treat and lets him tentatively reach down to scratch her ears, Essek feels as though he’d been rewarded with a monumental gift. He meets Caleb’s gaze – and Caleb smiles sappily at him, as though all he’d ever wanted for his life was Essek and a cat, in this little house, with everyone getting along.

“You see?” Essek says to Gretchen. “I am not so bad.”

She turns around to show him her butthole and trots away with her tail held high. Essek laughs. “Perhaps we still have some ways to go.”

Caleb wraps an arm around his shoulders. “It takes time,” he says sagely, and Essek can do nothing more than laugh exasperatedly and press a kiss to his cheek.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #critical role fanfiction #ficlets #my fics #also just for the record the follower milestone in question was hit in JANUARY

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ratinayellowbandana · 4 months

Note

Hound "baby boy" of Ill Omen for prompts!

first off, thank you for carrying this whole ship on your back. you are our strongest soldier and we appreciate you.

second, even more thanks for sending this my way! I hope this is something like what you had in mind!

if anyone else sees this and would like to toss a little prompt my way, feel free :)

wc: 934

cw: body horror…kind of? it’s just canonically what the good boy looks like

~~~

Imogen loves Laudna. She does. Quite a lot, in fact.

Because it is a fact.

It may as well be written in stone. In the stars. Recorded on one of those dusty scrolls in elegant script and stuck on a shelf in some stuffy library for the next bored student who may happen across it and learn of two witches who saved the world.

Laudna, it must be noted, is a woman of many quirks.

And Imogen, it must be noted, adores her for them.

They are just as much a part of Laudna as the angle of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. As are her projects, macabre and scrounged as they often are, and so Imogen adores them, too.

(If it takes her a moment to come around, Laudna must never know. Each new creation, presented to Imogen with all the glee of a child in a sweets shop, will only ever be met with enthusiasm. Laudna, she knows, has spent too long squirreling away the odd parts of herself. Imogen is determined to recover them.)

“Come here, darling,” Laudna calls, and the flesh-and-bone creature that scared the everloving fuck out of Imogen the first time he burst from his maker’s chest trots happily to her side, tongue lolling from a fleshless snout.

The hound twines between Laudna’s legs, and she lifts her skirts to allow him through. He leans heavily against the inside of her knee, and Laudna beams. She bends at the waist to wrap the creature in spindly arms. His back arches, and Imogen can hear the vertebrae curving, clacking, as Laudna scratches behind his one intact ear. The ichor-tipped remnant of a tail begins to wag, shaking them both with the force of it.

He spots Imogen several paces away, and his green eyes glow, peering at her curiously.

Laudna has stopped her scritches, and the hound tilts his big head. Laudna looks up, meets Imogen’s fond gaze, and her lips split into a wide grin.

“Go on,” she pats the creature’s sides encouragingly, “say hello if you like.”

The hellhound bounds forward, released from his command.

Imogen recalls the day he learned his tricks.

Laudna had found Imogen lounging beneath a copse of trees one afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to sink, casting the forest in dappled shades of orange and gold. The festering hound loped diligently at her heels. His paws colored the leaf-strewn ground iridescent black in their wake.

“Look!” Laudna had said, chest puffed. She turned to her newest creation and pointed one finger. “You’ve been so obedient all afternoon. I’ll see about giving you something from my collection if your other mom approves of your skills. I should have a deer leg that will suit you nicely.” She contemplated for a moment. “Ready?”

The hound stretched into a bow, muscle snapping over exposed bone, yawned, and shook. Drops of blood and ichor spattered the clearing, but Imogen hardly noticed, too caught up in Laudna’s casual statement.

She had said it nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just gifted Imogen something extraordinarily precious. As if Imogen’s senses hadn’t suddenly gone askew. As if she hadn’t just sent Imogen’s worldview slip-sliding into something new and dangerous and so welcome that it felt like a homecoming. Her mind spun until she was almost giddy with it. She wondered, then, how something said so simply could feel so significant. If Laudna understood what she had done.

She had appointed Imogen the caretaker of a fragment of her soul. Of a creature that had been born of her, born from her. Crafted from the essence of her with whispered words and a desire to protect.

“Imogen?” Laudna had said then, “Are you ready?”

And Imogen had glanced between Laudna and her hound, who sat on bleeding haunches and looked expectantly at his mother, and it was all she could do to swallow the creak in her throat.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Now, as the hound nearly bowls her over, Imogen cannot find it within herself to be mad at him. Not even at the dark stains on her dress. They’ll come out with a prestidigitation or two. She knows from experience.

She falls back in the grass and stares down twin emeralds. A broad tongue laps the side of her face, and she laughs, trying to dodge a cold, wet nose against her cheek. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his muzzle.

“Hi, baby boy,” she coos. She rubs at his ears, and he presses harder into her palm, groaning loudly. She can feel the vibration in her chest.

Laudna scolds, “What have I said about knocking people over?” Her hands rest firmly on her hips. “Honestly, Imogen, you could at least discipline him. How will he learn?”

Imogen rolls her eyes, shrugs. “I’m the fun mom. He comes to me because he knows he can’t get away with anything when you’re around.”

Laudna huffs. “I’m sorry that I want our son to be civilized.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” The hound flops to the ground, sprawling over Imogen’s outstretched legs, and she lets out an oomph of surprise. “Are you going to join us down here?”

Laudna sighs and settles beside Imogen, resting her head on Imogen’s shoulder. She runs her hands over the creature’s exposed belly, avoiding the biggest of the perpetually oozing wounds. His jaw unhinges happily. His tail thumps a steady rhythm against her shin.

Imogen presses a kiss to the top of Laudna’s head, and Laudna relaxes into her.

A soft smile spreads across Imogen’s lips.

#this was written in an hour on the highway so please forgive any mistakes #I adore the baby boy #but for real many thanks for letting me take a stab at this #always honored to see you pop up in my notes :)#hope this works!#prompt fill #my fic #imodna #imodna fanfic #critical role #laudna #imogen temult #hound of ill omen #fic #cr3 #critical role fanfiction #ask #horse-immorality

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bloopitynoot · 8 months

Text

Dear CR smut writers,

Please never stop creatively coming up with unholy usages of Mage Hand, Hold Person, Unseen Servant, & Immovable Object.

Sincerely,

Anyone who ships the wizards.

#critical role fanfiction #I love these tropes so much #for the shadowgast shippers #shadowgast #essek theyless #or maybe for the blumentrio #blumentrio #caleb widogast #astrid beck #eadwulf grieve

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saphirered · 1 year

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Hiii I love ur writing!

I would love to see a Percy x reader where they both kinda hate each other in the beginning but eventually fall in love, if that makes sense? Maybe a rivals to lovers thing

Hope that makes sense! Love ur work :D

Thank you deary! I love a little rivals to lovers moment so I hope you enjoy this one! 😘

You are completely and utterly infuriating. Percy has a multitude of enemies in his life, upon whom he wishes horrible things but you are not a common enemy. You are not a friend either. He does not wish an ill fate to befall you. What he does wish for, is your projects falling apart at the seams, your wine to taste sour and food to be bland, your ink to forever run out, your notes to be messed up, that one tool you need to be missing or just barely out of reach. Percy wishes no harm upon you but he does wish for the most petty things to befall you. Were he anyone else he might feel some kind of way but he just happens to be a petty individual from time to time and when it comes to you, you are no exception.

Percy doesn’t quite know where it began or when it might end. He cannot remember a time before, where you might have been on less rivalling terms. You’ve just always been so damn you and you can get under his skin like no other with your stupid perfection and incredible mind. Your clever and eloquent words always hit him just the wrong way and you make his blood boil. Where he turned a tinkerer, you turned to magic. You’re a damn prodigy and you have no issue with rubbing it in his face. You just had to get involved in Whitestone politics, didn’t you? You just had to be fundamental in the city’s protection. You just had to rub it in his face you were here when he wasn’t.

Your skills to disturb his peace just when he needed it are impeccable. Percy was enjoying a late lunch in the dining hall alone after a busy morning and afternoon of tinkering and meetings. You had been entirely absent all day, nowhere to be found. Despite what he might have thought the lack of your presence irked him. He brushed it off as some expectation you might jump out to ruin his day at some point but you never did. Percy would deny it if ever faced with it but he grew worried at your lack of presence. Perhaps you overslept. Completely unreasonable for you as you rise at the crack of dawn and are never a minute late to anything. You’d missed two meetings you were set to attend. No page had come to notify him of your undoubtedly expertly worded excuse. No word of you came at all. And when those meetings came to an end nobody had batted an eye at your lack of attendance. Did everyone know but him? Was this some sort of trick? Another petty thing to get back at him for something he might have said or done?

Think of the devil and they shall appear. You enter the dining hall and beeline for the decanter and glasses. You fill one and drink, then fill it again with a deep sigh. You lean against the table a little too much as you shuffle over to grab a plate and pile some of the food leftovers still set out; some bread and some fruits, Percy notes. Not your usual choices. If anything you seem entirely careless about the contents. He notes your appearance. You look disheveled. Your clothes are crinkled and you’re sweaty. Your eyes are sunken and your expression is grim. Your shoulders are slumped and there’s a shake to your hands that are usually so steady. You look exhausted.

“What hell hole did you crawl out of?” Percy says with his usual snark and casually sips his wine. He expects a quick-witted retort. You bite your tongue and shake your head as you drop some grapes on your plate.

“I’m not in the mood for your quips, Percival. If you’re looking for a fight I suggest you go find your friends and ask them to kick your ass into the next realm.” You grumble picking up your plate now filled and taking another large swig of your drink before you pour a refill.

“Day drinking already? I recall you saying those are the actions of idiots and alcoholics.” You give him a look, in particular his own glass very much filled with the burgundy liquid yours holds as well.

“So which one are you? Idiot or alcoholic?” You retort and Percy swears he notes the faint twitch at the corner of your lips.

“Any one who does not question his sanity is the furthest from it.”

“The same could be said about anyone who holds a cup and proclaims themselves not a problem drinker.” He snorts and rolls his eyes. You look between him and the exit. Your exhaustion shows and with a shake of the head more to yourself than him you take to the seat opposite of him. You sit down gracelessly, push aside the cutlery, put your elbows on the table as you cross your arms and lean on them. The moment you sit down there seems to be some kind of relief rushing through you, similar to that of muscle ache. What had you been up to? Percy wants to find out.

“You neglected your duties to the council today.” It’s a statement not a question. You just pick up a grape and pop it into your mouth musing a shrug. “Did you oversleep?” The jab is almost belittling and you shoot him a look to remind him of your first statement; you really aren’t in the mood for this.

“I was otherwise occupied. Now may I please eat in silence?” The expression, the tiredness in his eyes makes him almost regret his pervious words. What has caused you to be like this? He’s never seen you so-so beyond yourself. You’ve always been the image of composure and expertise and now, you’re almost seem vulnerable, weak, almost human and not just the picture perfect creature you’d set your appearances as. You’re a person, not just some devil sent straight from the hells to make his life a living nightmare. You’re real.

“If you wish…” He pushes around his food with his fork while you tear bits and pieces off the bread and eat them slowly. You’re too tired to eat. You look like you’re about to fall asleep right here on this very table, or at least deliberating whether you could justify it. You both eat in silence for the next few minutes. Percy has cleaned his plate and reaches for the decanter to pour some more wine. You’re confused when he refills your cup too.

“Are you alright?” Percy asks out of the blue and you might as well have been shot by one of Vex’s arrows given your surprise. You choke on your bread and cough.

“Excuse me?” You wheeze and recompose yourself. You look for any kind of deceit or malicious intent, anything that might explain the undertone of his question because you are pretty damn sure that sounded an awful lot like worry.

“Are you alright?” The second time he repeats it does not ease quell your confusion. Still sounds like worry. Why the hell would he have any reason to be worried about you? You two have been nothing but a menace upon each other’s lives. You never had anything nice to say about each other. You constantly question each other’s skill, motives and credibility. You constantly undermine and try to outperform each other. That’s not to say you have not enjoyed any of it, and you remember the looks of satisfaction and pride well when either of you stand victor over the other. You’d never expect worry to be an expression associated with Percy in the context of you. Worry means concern and concern is rooted in care. And that train of thought sends you down a spiral. Does he care? Do you care? Maybe you do. Anyone’s life grows a little duller without their competition nearby, right? That’s just a poor excuse. How do you even answer his question? Honesty.

“No.” You speak before you can think but you know it’s true. You’ve been pushing yourself too far the past few weeks.

“Will you be alright?” When you answered Percy swears something within him reminisces of glass breaking.

“I don’t know.” You chuckle to yourself and think for a second. “Do you know you’re the first person to ask me that and and got the real answer? What does that say about me?” The latter you ask yourself.

“You’re exhausted. Rest.” You’ve heard those words before but not from him. “I can’t very well argue with you when you’re about to pass out onto your lunch.” There’s a light quip in there but it’s far more playful than the ones you’re used to. It’s far more lighthearted than you have ever exchanged.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? What’s your record? Sixty-five hours without a minute of sleep before you decided a nice risotto would make a comfortable pillow?”

“You keep reminding me. As you keep reminding me that your record is set at sixty-seven hours and twenty-four minutes and thus you have bested me even in sleep deprivation.” He manages a chuckle as do you.

“Are these the petty victories we have come to? Have we no better achievements left?”

“Well, I’ve killed a dragon. You?” He deadpans though there’s no real seriousness about the brag.

“You and your friends killed a dragon, together. You still got four more to go. Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear.” You wink and swirl your wine leaning back in your seat. Though exhausted the tension begins ebbing away. Who knew it was Percy that would be a comfort and bring peace to the chaos of your life.

“It’s still one more than you. Besides, we’ll have killed the other four in time.” You shrug and flick a grape at him. It bounces off his arm and rolls on the table. Before you can claim it back Percy puts his hand over it and prevents you from getting it. He cups it as you try to pry his fingers apart and gets it out of your reach lest you disgrace yourself even further and lean over the table to attempt to take it from him. He grins victoriously and pops the fruit into his mouth. You mutter some kind of curse under your breath and he just looks at you innocently.

“Of course, you take your sweet time skinning some dragons while I keep this city safe hidden from their senses. Tell me, how many lives saved every day counts against the slaying of a dragon? What’s the conversion rate? You’re schooled in mathematics and economics are you not?” You point a finger at him and Percy is sure he has the perfect retort for your statement but then the gravity of it hits him. You’ve been the one keeping up this city-wide illusion. You’ve been the one keeping Whitestone safe in his absence. That’s why you weren’t at the meeting today and that’s why he wasn’t informed. Gilmore and Allura were there, you weren’t. He doesn’t know why it took him two days to figure out no three of you were seen in the same place since he returned from the Feywild. He had known the illusion was there, he passed through it for goodness’ sake. He just never considered that’s what you’d be doing. It’d gone over his head you’d use your skills not to fight but to protect instead. You’d not reach for glory or selfish gain but you’d do what is best for the people. You’d still risk yourself for every soul in Whitestone. You’d been doing so for weeks and you had not flaunted it in his face once during your interactions. How did you end up the one protecting him? Why did you not gloat? Why do you not mention this fact even now?

“You’ve been pushing yourself beyond your limits, for Whitestone? For us?” He asks breathlessly. The meaning behind those words becomes very real now they are spoken, and the statement is undeniable. The playfulness disappears and a a gloomy sorrow overcasts instead. Still you manage a cocky grin with a raised eyebrow.

“Well who else is going to keep your precious workshop safe so you can continue constructing the means of a dragon’s demise or while you’re off gathering those pesky vestiges?” Your jest does not make lighter the gravity of your deeds.

“Thank you.” Percy blurts before he recovers. “I mean it. Thank you, for everything. Whitestone owes you a debt.” ‘I owe you a debt’, he leaves those last words unspoken. Percy cannot quite describe what runs through you but he feels safe to assume you have not heard those words before, not on this matter. It’s one thing to know people are grateful for the work you do. It’s another to actually hear them say it. A thoughtful moment of silence passes before you push back your chair and rise.

“I’m going to sleep for the barest amount possible and then I’m going to go back for my next shift and repeat this all over again.” You twirl your wrists and they crack sending shivers up Percy’s spine. You flex your shoulders and same thing happens. He sees the discomfort pass across your features when you push the chair back in its place and lean on the back of it before you walk around the table and make way for the exit.

“Get some proper sleep. I’ll talk to Allura or Gilmore-“ Percy argues but you stop and face him shaking your head.

“They need their rest too if we want this illusion to last.” You counter. You dread every day as this thing eats away at your magic. You don’t know how much longer you can keep doing this but you have to. Every life in this city depends on it.

“There has to be something…” Percy thinks of the ways to help but there’s nothing. He knows next to nothing about the arcane. He’s no mage. He’s a damn tinkerer and he can’t very well fix this with some mirrors or magical charges. He can’t help bear the burden, not as you carry the burden for him. Whitestone should be his responsibility, but he’s out of his depths. He’s helpless, or would be without you to keep pushing yourself far past your limits. He can only imagine what price you’d pay for this over time, or how long you’d be able to keep this going. He’ll have to admit defeat in this particular query.

“You could kill some dragons.” You smile. “But until then, I’d appreciate some company while I drain every resource I have until I can barely stand. If you have the time-“ You imply but an answer is given immediately.

“I’ll make time.” He answers far too quickly. “I’ve come to the conclusion I might like your company far more than I dislike it.” So he has. He cares about you. He looks back upon his life now and he knows it to be true. His pettiness was never born from hatred or dislike. You were perfect, are perfect in his eyes, any imperfection does not chip away at that belief, it is simply part of you. He’s envious of your skill and achievement because he desires to be your equal but felt like he could never be. His pettiness was born from a an unfair coping mechanism and he hopes this is something you two can work on now that veil has been dropped. Perhaps you can discuss as adults rather than bicker like children? He’d like that very much. He likes you. That feel like a disgusting thought he’s still coming to terms with but he knows he can get over himself. He likes you.

“Is this where we kiss and profess our undying love for each other?” And you like him. Gods he doesn’t need a demon’s bargain to figure that one out. He knows your games and your words, he knows how to read those underlying tones and it’s exactly how he sees now; you like him. Never did he think he’d draw that conclusion nor would he think himself anything but a fool for believing it. Maybe he is a fool. A lucky fool he’ll be.

“Perhaps in time.” He retorts. Okay maybe old habits do die hard but given you purse your lips and blow him a kiss, it’s not a habit you want to let die either. It’s perfectly you. It’s perfectly him too.

“I reckon I’ll have you swooning in no time.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge. A petty one at that.”

“If you say so…”

#percy de rolo x reader #percival de rolo x reader #percy x reader #vox machina x reader #legend of vox machina x reader #critical role x reader #tlovm x reader #legend of vox machina #critical role #vox machina #percy de rolo #percival de rolo #critical role fanfiction #critical role fanfic

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railroad-migraine · 11 months

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a Mighty Nein version of the hiding in the alley together Bell's hells scenario you wrote? I really loved your Bell's hells one! Thanks!

Thank you darling! I love that post so much too 🥰

Bell's Hells version 💙

Tight Squeeze (hiding in an alley together)

Beau 💜

You're standing on her toes, and her elbow is poking harshly into your side, and you both just don't know where to look. "Sorry, I'll scoot over a little bit-" "No, wait, hang on a sec-" Awkward scrambling ensues. You whisper and try to convince her to put up with the closeness until you guys are safe, but she. Just. Won't. Listen. Eventually, her squirming has you both off centre and reaching for each other for balance, and she murmurs a quiet: "... oh."

Beau isn't a romantic, never has been, and she's never really gazed into someone's eyes as purposefully as she is right now. You're fucking gorgeous. How has she never stopped to just look at you before? Have you always been so... You blink in confusion as she seems to soften, ever so slightly, calming down enough to breathe in sync with you.

You feel a palm drag itself up your arm, up, up, up until she finally cradles your jaw. And you both stand there, unmoving, for who knows how long, before she eventually tears herself away from you and the alley with a grumble. You take a moment to recover from the intense look in her eye, running after Beau only when she calls your name to hurry up.

Caleb 💜

His mouth is puckered in a tight frown as he looks anywhere but your face. It's an incredibly tight squeeze where you've found yourselves, so narrow that you're effectively pinning the wizard to the wall behind him. Your palms rest flat at either side of his neck and his hands have curled into little fists between your chests. Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears - or maybe it's Caleb's - you're not quite sure whose it is when you're this close together.

It's incredibly quiet. Awkward, even. So you say something. Anything. A stupid comment on how this is like a cheesy scene in one of the awful smutty books that's been passed around the group, and he can't help but huff a laugh and try to hold back an amused smile. His shoulders relax and he rests his head against the wall to finally get a better look at you, and something makes you lean your head towards him, following his lead. His lips part slightly as you move closer and-

Nott/Veth calling both your names from outside the alley jerks your faces apart, and Caleb very hurriedly inches away from you. "We should, ah..." He reluctantly shuffles towards the road, adjusts unkempt hair and smooths down the front of his coat, fingers twisting the buttons shyly. "W-we should go join the others, ja?" His heart sings at the simple touch of you linking pinkies with him. It's a quiet message he doesn't need to worry about deciphering.

Fjord 💜

"Beggin' your pardon." You can't help but snort. Even in times of peril, in situations where you're taking cover from the intense fighting outside of alleyways, Fjord still manages to treat you well and act the perfect gentleman. He shushes you, smiling himself, and it briefly feels like you're the only two people in the world - except for those in the battle mere feet away from your hiding spot.

His eyes soften as you share a secret grin with him, but not in the way you'd like. He clears his throat, peeks out of the gap of the alley."Look, I know this isn't an ideal situation but..." You say his name sweetly, urge him to look up from the ground to meet your gaze, and you see colour quickly spread across his neck in embarrassment. He swallows thickly and looks away, and breathes out the quietest shuddering sigh.

A hesitant hand reaches out for yours, and you grip it tight before he can regret taking the leap. The rest of the Nein find you both in that same position minutes later once the battle had officially ended and it was safe to leave, all tangled fingers and soft gazes. Fjord never wants to let go.

Jester 💜

"Are you gonna kiss me?" She's a little cross eyed, a little flushed and out of breath, and so so pretty this close up. Her eyes flick between your own, both your noses just barely grazing. "It feels like now would be a good time to kiss me." And it does.

But the moment is ruined when a swarm of soldiers charges right by the alley's entrance, and Jester lunges forward to hug you close. Together you find yourselves huddled further in the shadows while the enemy runs right by your hiding spot. She's so soft in your arms, perfect - it's like she belongs there - and you want to tell her that, but saying so out loud would easily blow your cover. So you settle for keeping her close, a hand in her hair while she ducks her head under your chin.

You wait until the last soldier has gone before you reluctantly remove yourself from the tiefling (who visibly pouts) and peek outside the alley. Once the coast is clear, you look over your shoulder, only to find Jester already looping arms with you. She smiles, this time confidently, and you enter daylight once more with no mention of the almost-kiss.

Mollymauk 💜

He doesn't say a word. Which, y'know, is ideal when skulking about in an abandoned alley, away from prying eyes of spies and mercenaries - but the way how Mollymauk is not-so-subtly glancing your way every few seconds is awfully distracting. You lightly push against his chest, tell him in a hushed voice to stop smirking so much, that this is a very serious situation. "What? Can I not look at you now? Can I not enjoy the little things while we fear for our lives? Who knows when I'll see something so lovely again~"

You push him again, a little more forcefully this time, and he actually barks a laugh, sways back to you and tilts his head with sticky fondness. There's a sudden commotion nearby - heavily armoured folk who suddenly look in the direction of the sound and touch their weapons suspiciously. Quick thinking in the moment has you press your body closely to Molly's, making your forms fit within shadow, and cover his mouth with your hand.

And he's silent again, but his expression has changed. He never looks away from you, nor you him, both of you holding breaths in anticipation - of being discovered, or of something more passionate, you are not completely sure - but the moment is never interrupted. When all is safe and sound once more after the hired fighters evacuate the nearby area, he slowly peels your hand away and presses a single, simple touch of his lips to your palm. It's barely even a kiss, but you don't mind. It's nothing. It's something. It's a promise.

Yasha 💜

She's... Well, you already knew that she was tall before this, but you never really knew exactly how tall Yasha was until you were up against each other in a tiny alleyway in some fancy town neither of you know the name of. It's a small space, and there are hired thugs sniffing around town looking for you and the Nein, but you feel so safe with the barbarian - a protective barrier between you and the rest of the world. Your face warms at the thought.

She peers down at you with a blank expression, and you expect awkward silence, but she surprises you with: "Well this is quite cosy, isn't it?" It's dark in the alley, but she can see the wrinkles by your eyes when you smile at her. Good. That'll ease the tension immensely... And the slightly nervous pitter patter of her heart.

Despite it all, she's a little flustered being so close to you. It's weirdly intimate caging you in, and she curses under her breath quietly when you look away bashfully and bite your lip with a grin. She's obviously done something right when you gently rest a hand on her arm and ease her wandering mind. She still feels that touch hours after, and wonders if you're thinking of it too.

Kingsley 💜

You don't want to admit it, but you're panicking. What started off as a cheeky side quest quickly spiralled into a catastrophe, and you now find yourself in a claustrophobic space with bad guys on your tails, and you have grazed knees after tripping earlier and you're stuck with your most charming friend who looks at you like he loves you, and it's all too much, and- "Hey, keep your eyes on me."

Kingsley is holding your face in his hands, and you can barely make out his crimson eyes in the dark, but you know he's giving you that look again. "We're gonna be fine, we're gonna get out of this. I'll buy you a drink later, you'll see." You want to believe him, even as your heart drums loudly in your chest, leftover adrenaline dulling in your veins. You follow his lead, breathe in, and breathe out as you move to hold the wrists of his hand that are cupping your face still. You find calm, and he looks proud. Maybe it's only a shadow of an expression in the dark though.

Instead of leading you back towards the ship, Kingsley takes you by the hand and dances around the crowded marketplace towards a quiet tavern on the outskirts of town. He reaches out and holds the door open for you, and grins when you look puzzled."I owe you a drink, remember?"

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deramin2 · 6 months

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Shadowgast feel like the sort of couple who would have a regular date night to see queer theater and spend several months talking about the themes and the meanings and comparing plays and what they all mean together.

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #critical role campaign 2 #mighty nein #Shadowgast #Caleb Widogast #Essek Thelyss

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angelltheninth · 1 year

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Meeting of Fates

Pairing: Vax'ildan x Reader

Tags: fluff, meet cute, flirting, teasing, lots of innuendos

Word count: 0.8k

A/N: I can't handle Vax being sad so this is how I will make myself feel better.

The tavern was always crowded and loud at this time of night, yet there was something about this one that felt more energetic then the rest. You observed quietly from behind the bar, taking in all the current patrons sitting, drinking, talking and laughing around their tables.

The atmosphere was the same as any other night. A little rowdy, loud, and very cheerful from the sound of constant tunes played by the bards. So what was this feeling crawling down your spine that had you in an invisible hold since your shift started?

You haven't pissed anyone off lately. You think. Hope.

"What's a man gotta do to get a drink around here?" Your focus was shifted from the glass in your hand to the tall, dark half-elf before you. He was leaning against the bar on one elbow, the other hand propped up on his hip and a cocky, and quite charming smile on his face.

He looked familiar but you couldn't quite place him. He was definitely here before though. You don't forget a face like that.

"Pay. Like everyone else." You answered unamused and set the empty, clean glass in front of him, "So what'll it be."

"Something befitting of a someone with my roughish charm if you please." He winked at you and tapped his fingers lightly on the counter.

"Tall, dark and sexy?" You threw his flirt right back at him, pretty experienced in flirting like this, "I may have something but it's pricey. Can you handle that?"

His eyes lit up in recognition of a challenge, a game, "I can handle anything you have."

You raised a brow, looking him over. He didn't look like he was hurting for money that's sure but he didn't look like he was swimming in gold coins either. You handed out your hand, "10 gold."

All the light seemed to drain from his eyes at the amount, "10? Gold?" You nodded. He slowly reached into his pocket and put down 20 silver coins, "I've got this and whole lot of enthusiasm. I'm sure we can settle on a smaller price."

"I never settle for anything small." You ran your finger suggestively over the length of the glass in front of you.

"Then you should avoid Scanlan." He added, his good spirits coming back. He looked down at your hand and repeated your gesture over the glass, "Come now, I'm sure we can figure things out. Just lower it a little for me. I guarantee I can pay you back, make it worth your while."

You sighed, "Look handsome, I'm sure you're amazing but if I gave every pretty person who walked in here low prices I'd have two things: a broke business and whole lot of notches in my bed. So far business if going good and I'm not desperate enough for the second one." You picked the glass back up and pointed it at him, "You're a regular so I'll let this one slide, you either order or you go back to... what ever table you sat at."

"How do you know I'm at one of your regulars?"

"Because you have a face that's too hot to forget." You answered honestly and reached for a cheaper bottle.

He winked at you again, his confidence now back in full force, "I could say the same to you. Why do you think I walked over here? Just to get a drink. Nah, I wanted to chat you up a little. Go ahead, no more tricks from me, just make me something tasty." His tongue rolled around the last word, eye brows wiggling as he slid the payment across the counter to you.

"I'm glad you understand. You're sexy but I have a business to run." You prepared his drink quickly and waited for him to reach for the glass, "But after I could give you a run." You whispered. His ears twitched at your words, and maybe another body part you couldn't see. You liked to think that it did.

He hummed, keeping eyes locked with you as he sipped his drink, "If you're as sweet as this drink then I'm looking forward to closing hours. By the way, the name's Vax."

Vax. A quick and easy name to remember. "Then I'll see you in a few hours Vax."

"I can hardly wait. Oh, and, what's this drink called?" Vax looked at the dark liquid swirling in his glass, tasting of chocolate and cherries.

"A Little Death." You answered with a big smirk.

"Tasty. I hope to have it again later." He raised the glass at you before giving you a little bow and turning to go back to his table. They seemed like a rather lively bunch over there.

Who knew your night would be going so damn well? Must be fate.

#critical role #critical role x reader #vax'ildan #vax'ildan x reader #tlvom #tlovm x reader #vax x reader #vox machina #vox machina x reader #the legend of vox machina #critical role imagine #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction #critrole x reader #tlovm #tlovm fanfic #tlovm fanfiction

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taste-of-the-divine · 1 year

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ꕤ | Inked | Percy De Rolo

— VOX MACHINA : switch!percy x femcumslut!reader

✩ 𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙀: you're the first to fall asleep at a party, and you get cumslut written over your forehead with a marker. it causes an "issue" for percy a few hours later. ✩ 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙊: fic (Part 1), 1.8k words ✩ 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂: missing consent/dubcon (percy as victim), powerplay (subby percy into dom percy), degredation, namecalling (cumsl*t, wh*re, l*ve), somnophelia, cumhungry!reader, power dynamic switch, sir, mentions of breeding

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 𝘿𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙀: i did not proofread this :') hopefulyl its legible BUT eventually i'll go back and make the edits i need. the idea was inspired by this post, and it's probably (?) not done yet.

♡ REBLOGS + LIKES ARE APPRECIATED ♡ 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘟 𝘔𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘈 | 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 & 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒𝘚 | 𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘎𝘌

“Oh cmon, wasn’t the bet that the first one asleep gets a dick drawn on their forehead?”

Percy, your boyfriend, shoots Scanlan a dirty look through his rosy drunk cheeks. “Have you no decency? She’s a lady for God’s sake, Scanlan. How will I explain to all of Whitestone tomorrow if we have to leave the confines of our home?”

The pop of a marker and the cap clicking against the floor was enough of a signal that Scanlan didn’t quite care all that much for the high maintenance prince. “Well, then you have an excuse to stay in for a day. Resting’s important, Percy,” he says, before hopping onto a stool to get to your head, slumped over on the couch. Percy stumbles to his feet to try and stop him from putting that bright pink ink on your skin, but he’s forced back into his chair at the hand of Vax.

“Hey, he’s right, you know. You kind of need a day at home, if you ask me,” Vax says, leaning his weight on Percy’s shoulder to keep him down. Percy glares at him too, going to shove his hand away so that he could get to you, but to no avail. Percy’s too wasted for hand eye coordination.

“Oh, Percy, darling, relax,” his sister says from across the table, looking at Scanlan trying to balance and draw on your knocked out face. “She agreed to the game before we even started drinking, and she’s an adult, so I’m sure she’ll be fine. And if she isn’t– well, you can make sure she’s fine. In the morning. No more fussing about it now, you can barely get to your feet,” she says, words slurring before taking a swig out of her bottle.

He can’t relax, at least not when Pike isn’t around. Pike’s usually the babysitter of the group, and with Keyleth vomiting her guts out again, they were somewhere downstairs in the bathroom. Grog wouldn’t be of much help either– he was entranced in some sort of conversation with his reflection in the mirror, flexing and unflexing his muscles to look at.

“Annnnnd, ta-da!” Scanlan grins, showing the marvel to the three others in the room. Cumslut was written across your forehead in big, bold letters, with a penis as the T. Scanlan was really, an artist of all trades.

Percy was the first to react, and the only one that didn’t burst out in absolute side pinching tears. “Scanlan! You little useless bard!” He swung around to Vex and Vax. “I thought we agreed that it would be the dick drawing?”

“Well,–” Vex laughs, whipping away his tears. “There is a dick. There’s just–” he makes eye contact with Vex across the table, who was holding her own laughter for a little before the two burst out again into hearty giggles. “–some other additions.”

Percy sighed. There wasn’t really another other choice; what’s done is done. Hopefully you wouldn’t be too mad when you woke up in the morning about it. And hopefully, the ink would come off soon.

Percy, with his lithe frame, was not the one that carried you into bed. Grog actually carried the both of you into bed– bragging that he could do anything with his giant muscles. Percy would have been grateful for that omission of an opportunity to make a fool out of himself, had he been properly awake during that time of the night. He’d passed out on his own accord after a few more shots into the night.

It didn’t take long before he stirred awake. Alcohol never quite helped keep him asleep as well as it put him to sleep. But his body sure felt warm, skin flushed a little as he reveled in the pleasure of being under clean sheets. There was also pleasure budding from his core, some shifting between his legs–

“What on earth?!–” he manages to choke out before throwing his head backwards as some cavern of warm, wet heat descends on him. It felt good and needy and desperate, and when he had the moment to take a breath from the sudden crashing waves of pleasure, he lifted the blankets to find you, face nestled neatly between his legs, with his cock in your mouth and a protruding cheek.

“My love,” he says, voice soft and hitched at first. “Y-you need to stop or else,–” A groan cuts through, his hands fisting the sheet that he’s holding up to see you kitten licking his tip.

“What’s gotten into you?” he hisses, but he doesn’t get an answer because you take his whole length into your mouth again, mushroom tip gliding against the roof of your mouth before sinking into your back tongue. He’s watching you, or doing the best he can with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth agape. When you wrap your hands around his base, twisting and bobbing at the same time, Percy grimaces, one eye forcing itself shut as he watches you with the other. His cheeks are flushed a deep red, and his skin feels sticky under the touch of your fingers, but all you can think about is his cum, and how much you want it down your throat.

“S-slow d-down,” he stutters, a frustrated moan drawing out of his throat when you don’t listen. He can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your mouth, the sensation of your tongue swirling around the tip all too much for him. He’s close, and you know that, feeling his balls twitching under your chin– and perfect, because that’s exactly what you want. So you keep at it, watching him writhe and pant and seize up with his head thrown back and his eyes cross when he cums down your throat. It’s sticky and a little bitter from the alcohol, but you don’t mind it at all, because you’ve been craving this feeling since you woke up. You suck, and suck, and keep sucking him, milking every little bit that you can.

He’s a whimpering mess now, his other hand grabbing you by the hair to attempt to pull you off his cock.

“Love, love, please– please stop, I’m done, I can’t–” but that gets cut off by another moan, his knees shaking and bottoming out underneath you as your hands work his cock from base to tip, using spit and cum as lube.

He’s never seen you like this before, so needy, so pushy for it– whatever it, was. In a moment of clarity as your hands lift on the pressure to his cock, he reads the word on your forehead again. Cumslut.

He puts two and two together in the middle of a desperate whimper, throwing his head to the side as the pleasure in his overstimulated dick multiplies. On the nightstand was the marker that Scanlan used, capped and sitting neatly by his nightlight. Grabbing it off the table, he managed what he could with you turning him into putty from the waist down, grabbing one of your hands that you were using to support your weight scribbling “obedient” into it the best he could.

Nothing different happened at first– you continued to milk him for all that he was worth, and Percy couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head as he felt the familiar coil in the abdomen forming, ready to snap. “Hah- hah, hmpfh, s-stop, love, h-hang on–” he begs of you, and for the first time in the night, you oblige, hands and mouth lifting off his cock with the nasty squelch.

He looks at you, panting, undignified drool at the edge of your lips, and he slips a finger over it and wipes it away. Catching his breath, he dedicates a moment to taking you in; needy, glazed-over cum-hungry eyes as his cock rests on your cheek, tousled hair, plump, shiny lips coated in a thin sheen of spit and semen, the white of your teeth poking out from under. You looked gorgeous for him like that, and he let you know by pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You want my cum that badly, is that right?” he says, tentative at first. But you nod, rather vigorously, at that. It flips some sort of switch inside of him, and you feel him pull you by the hair, your own whimper leaving your throat as he exposes your throat to him.

“A little cumslut wants her holes filled. What a sight,” he taunts, a wicked smirk brewing at the corners of his lips. The way he looks at you runs a chill down your spine– it was the way he looked at something he wanted, no, needed, to be under his control.

And you were more than ready to give that.

“Be a good girl, then. Get on with it. On your hands and knees, on the floor,” he commands you, nodding towards the wood floor you have next to the bed. You glance down and back at him, and he’s watching you expectantly. Heat rising to your own cheeks, you shuffle down, assuming position on all fours as he requested.

You hear him shifting off the bed, stalking behind you– you feel his hands wrap around your waist, and then– a searing burn on your knees as you’re re-oriented, looking up to see the closet mirror and yourself staring back at you, cumslut written over your forehead. And dauntingly, above and behind you, stood Percy.

You’re naked, because you woke up earlier and tried to satisfy your urges by touching yourself, which, went nowhere, clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this cum-drunk state– but he is clothed; well, partially clothed, his sleeping robe untied and hanging off his shoulders. He knees behind you, secures your ankles to the ground with the weight of his calves and body, and sinks his fingers into your sides.

“Spread your pussy for me.”

Your eyes go wide, thundering in your chest. He notices your hesitation, and grabs a fistful of hair and pulls you towards him.

“I said, spread your pussy for me. Do I need to repeat myself?”

Some sort of noise comes out of you that sounds vaguely like a whimper and a “yes, sir,” as you take your hands and grab your ass to satisfy his request. You feel a bubbling of dopamine in your chest when you obey him, and it feels good, addictive, almost.

When you feel the weight of his cock pressed against your entrance, your body instinctively gravitates towards him, craving to be filled. But you feel his weight pull away, teasing it along your slit as he leans over to your ear.

“Be patient, love. Just enjoy it, I’ll do the work, my little cumslut. You’re such a needy little breeding whore, aren’t you?”

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fruitzbat · 6 months

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the (in)famous acid trip scene from chapter 7 of crowned teeth, as depicted by @suraelis!

couldn't be more thrilled with how well this commission turned out. thank you again for your incredible work!

#critical role #cr2 #kingsley tealeaf #devilverse tag #critical role fanfiction #new tea leafing

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mommymilkersmac-n-cheese · 8 months

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Can’t wait for the fics about the group actually noticing Ashton’s panic attack. Craving that sweet sweet Ashton angst hurt/comfort chronic pain oml.

#critical role #ashton greymoore #laudna #bells hells #critical role campaign 3 #criticalrolespoilers #orym of the air ashari #imogen temult #chetney pock o'pea #cr fcg #fearne calloway #orym x ashton #Ashton’s my favorite can you tell?#ashton my beloved #critical role fanfiction

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mintywolf · 11 days

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Far away in Gelvaan, amid the Taloned Highlands of Marquet, the birth of Liliana and Relvin Temult’s baby girl is overshadowed by misfortune. The poor thing is thrust into the world under a flare of the unlucky moon, and covered in dead poppy flowers. The dead blooms crumble away as she’s cleaned up and swaddled by the midwife, falling from her ears, in scattered patches all over her little body, a ring of them around her neck. These ones are the last to fall, and the impression of them remains like a scar, a band of poppies on her throat. -- In all her life, Matilda has never found a single flower on herself, which must mean that she has no soulmate. Imogen is born in withered blossoms, which must mean that hers is already dead. When a first bloom appears on Laudna five years after her death, she sets out to find the person destiny has bound her to, no matter how long it takes.

A Southern Gothic soulmate flowers AU!

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #soulmate au #angst with a happy ending #southern gothic #imodna #imogen temult #laudna

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overnighttosunflowers · 5 months

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Summary:

They were tangled together in rumpled sheets, Laudna cradled loosely in the crook of Imogen’s arm and tucked against her side. They’d been giggling and talking and relishing in the feeling of holding each other, reaching out to brush hair from the other’s face or trail a finger across the other’s lips and falling back, intermittently, into periods of simply getting lost in one another. Now the sun was starting to sidle lower in the sky and still they were here, together, letting the hours spend themselves only in each other’s company. It was unfathomable. It was real.

The last chapter of every thought's a possibility is here. I hope you love it as much as I've loved writing it. Thank you all so much for coming on this ride with me, for reading and commenting and being in this fandom. You're the best.

#imodna #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #imogen x laudna #southern gothic #my fic #happy thanksgiving to all who celebrate and i love y'all very much. really just. thank you #thank you #thank you.

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ratinayellowbandana · 8 months

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Hi! Number six of the drabble prompt list, and if I may suggest, with a sad jealous Laudna.

hi! I'm sorry this one took a few days. I um. got a little carried away with it again. these were only supposed to be like 500-word prompt fills, and this is uh, slightly more than that. so I hope that's ok.

for those who don't want to find the prompt, it was: "You just didn't look for me." naturally I went ep 64 with a healthy splash of canon divergence, some good old-fashioned hurt/comfort, and pate as a thinly veiled metaphor.

length: 2k

~~~

Laudna whirls on her, snaps, “We looked for you. And the others. Every fucking day.” She holds Imogen’s gaze, holds her piercing stare until Imogen tilts her head. “You just didn’t look for me,” she whispers.

Imogen steps forward, quiet but insistent. “No, sweetheart, no, we did. I did. Every day.” She does not reach out, afraid, not of Laudna–never of Laudna–but of herself. Of what she might do if given the chance at the wrong time. Her heart pounds an unsteady rhythm.

“I want to believe you,” Laudna says. She toys with the brass ring on her left hand, twisting it around her finger anxiously, twin snakes coiling. “I do, truly, it’s just…”

Imogen studies her, searching for answers in a frame both foreign and familiar. Laudna is pale and gaunt, cheeks drawn in, though that’s hardly unusual. Her stringy dark hair lacks luster in the eerie light of the red moon, crispy and clumped together in places by something Imogen can’t identify. Cast in the long shadows between buildings, Laudna is on edge, ready to claw and screech and lash out with those wicked talons if provoked. She is wild, and she is beautiful, and she is frightened.

“I understand,” Imogen speaks slowly, gently, distinctly aware of each word’s weight.

The others are still in the inn, consorting in the tavern. The Hells and their new friends, chatting, laughing, and drinking the night away, simply happy to be home. Introductions were made, and tales of grandeur waited to be spun.

Laudna had been unnervingly quiet after the initial elation wore off. Her hands remained folded in her lap or picked intently at the skin around her nails. Pâté’s silence was even more concerning. He had been coaxed out of hiding in Laudna’s hair with the promise of scratches and nudged his beak into her wrist until she began stroking his greasy fur.

She spoke when spoken to, adjusting in her seat and responding eagerly when prompted. The moment the attention shifted, though, her forced smile would drop. Every so often, she sent a furtive glance in Imogen’s direction as if to ensure she was still there, then looked away just as quickly. Exhaustion crept at the corners of her eyes, and her gaze would fall to her lap whenever the conversation turned to the adventures in Wildemount.

The group from Issylra hadn’t said much about their travels, but Imogen gathered their transplantation had not been as, ah, pleasant wasn’t quite the right word. Illustrious, maybe, Imogen considered, fussing with a seam on her new dress. Laudna’s blouse was tattered and stained with a thick substance that did not match her ichor’s usual viscosity.

Laudna had stood abruptly, muttering something about air, and disappeared outside. After making puzzled eye contact with Ashton, who tossed his head at the door and sighed heavily, Imogen followed her.

She had found Laudna around the corner, curled into herself against the wall of the Spire by Fire. A feral thing, hardened and reshaped by whatever circumstances found her while they were apart.

She has not calmed yet, and Imogen is reluctant to curb the swell of emotion that has Laudna dangling by a thread. She is tangled in it, ensnared in a knotted web, and Imogen is unsure how to extricate her. She is all jagged pieces and raw edges, a tempest of fury and loss that Imogen cannot rely on her mental connection to unravel. Laudna is something of a mystery to her now in a way she has never been, and it’s all Imogen can do to not toss her circlet to the winds.

Instead, she waits.

Laudna is muttering to herself, tugging at her clothes. Pâté flaps about her head, wings of sinew and bone making an abominably wet sound Imogen hadn’t realized she’d missed. The tip of one wing tangles in Laudna’s hair, and she swats at him irritably, sending him tumbling through the air until he manages to right himself. Imogen extends a hand, and he flies to her, settling in her palm on his hindquarters. He gives a disgruntled shake, and his wings squelch back into his body, tail coming to rest around his paws. He peers up at Imogen, then looks back to Laudna.

“I tried,” he croaks in that gravelly way of his, and Imogen strokes his disgusting little head with one finger.

“I know,” she assures gently. He could be referring to any number of moments across a lifetime, a few weeks, mere seconds ago. She sets him on her shoulder and feels pinprick claws pierce the fabric of her dress for stability. Crass and wretched as he is, Imogen can’t find it in herself to hate him. He is an extension of his maker, creepy and ungainly and off-putting, so Imogen must love him a tiny bit. She scratches under his chin, ignores the feeling of magic-touched bone, murmurs, “Thank you for keepin’ her safe.”

“Boss didn’t have the best of times without you.” He pipes up, a little rueful, in a manner Imogen assumes is meant to be quiet. Laudna, only a few feet away, catches it.

“Pâté,” she snarls. He squeaks and tucks himself into Imogen’s collar.

“He’s just confirming what I had already guessed,” Imogen defends, an attempt at lightness that doesn’t quite land. “It’s not his fault you haven’t told me anything.”

“He ought to have stayed in my head. Then he might leave well enough alone,” Launda warns.

“You don’t mean that,” Imogen counters calmly.

Laudna spits, “He should have stayed dead.”

“Hey.”

She huffs a sardonic, dry laugh. “Not everyone deserves second chances.”

Imogen inhales sharply.

There it is.

“Laudna…” She softens. She cups Pâté protectively. His fur oddly damp against her skin. She takes a cautious step forward.

The pieces begin slotting into place, building the frame for a jarring picture of something severe enough to reopen this old wound.

The fight sapped from her limbs, Laudna slides her back down the wall until she sits in the filth and dirt of the alleyway with her knees drawn close to her chest. Imogen winces as rough stone drags across jutting bone and paper-thin skin.

“Are you… Do you want to be alone?” She asks–because what else can she do?– and half-fears the answer.

Laudna’s head jerks up, and something Imogen can’t decipher flashes in her eyes. After a moment, her head shakes minutely, and Imogen lets out a relieved sigh.

Tense silence leaches from the pores of the building’s rocky exterior.

“We tried to find you all. Every day. We didn’t–we didn’t know where we were. Where anyone was, and–” Laudna breathes at last. “Orym was… was angry. Vengeful. And Ashton…. He was our friend.”

“Ashton?”

“I hurt him,” Laudna continues as if Imogen hadn’t spoken at all.

“Hurt who?”

She shudders. “I killed him, not Prism.” Inky tears well from eyes pressed shut. Her voice is impossibly soft, hollow, seeming to ask, Do you hate me yet?

The narrative is convoluted at best. Imogen fruitlessly attempts to splice together the fragments of memory slipping through Laudna’s teeth like snowflakes, to arrange them into a cohesive whole among the scraps she gathered at the table. The Issylra group returned rattled, apprehensive and tense, but this is deeper. Laudna is shaken.

“Wasn’t he a member of the Ruby Vanguard?”

“He was confused, just like the rest of us. Angry at the gods.” Laudna’s eyes flicker to the glowing red moon. Her fist, clenched in her hair, tightens. “And I killed him.”

Imogen steps closer. “We’ve all killed people.”

Laudna shakes her head. Her voice hardens once more. “I don’t begrudge you the shopping or fraternizing with royalty or, or whatever else it was,” she says lowly, “But we didn’t have that. We didn’t save a toy store or home-cooked breakfasts. We spent every moment fighting to get back to you. And now,” she swallows, “we must reckon with the cost.”

She is utterly exhausted; Imogen can see in the dim light. Although bone-weary and at her wits’ end, Laudna’s elegant cheekbones curl with shadows that twist and hide in her skirts. Hunched and fearful as she is, Laudna is still hauntingly beautiful. Something warms in Imogen’s chest.

“You did what you had to do to survive,” she says, “No one can fault you for that.”

“I’m sorry.” Laudna’s voice breaks, fracturing in tandem with Imogen’s heart, and she sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Laud, no–” Imogen crouches next to her, yearning to touch, to take Laudna in her arms and bite and hiss and growl at anyone who dares approach. She restrains herself, carefully plucking Pâté from her shoulder and setting him on the ground between them. He turns to her skeptically as if to say, Really? After what she said? Imogen nudges him in Laudna’s direction. He sniffs, beak in the air, and ruffles his fur before bounding to Laudna’s ankles and putting his weird, cold little dead rat toes against her shin. She ignores the pawing fragment of her soul, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” Laudna mutters, “I must seem…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Laudna begins incredulously, “I–”

“You survived,” Imogen reiterates, “against gods and people powerful enough to destroy them.” She sighs, “I sent you a message every day, you know? Sometimes more than once, if I’m honest, ‘till my nose bled and Deanna had to patch me up.” Imogen offers a half-smile. “All I got was static. I just had to hope you were out there, somewhere, lookin’ for me, too.”

Laudna looks as if she might melt into herself, refusing to look at Imogen. Her shoulders shake, and she confesses with a gasp, “She’s back. I brought her back.”

Imogen’s blood chills, but her tone remains neutral. “Who, Laud?”

At last, Laudna meets her gaze, eyes wide and wet and horror-struck. “Delilah.”

The name hangs between them like a stone ready to drop and shatter and bury itself into their flesh. Searing rage erupts in Imogen’s veins.

“I’m sorry,” Laudna shrinks back, “I’m so sorry. To all of you. You all gave so much to–to find me. And–”

“It’s not your fault,” Imogen interjects.

“–and I wasn’t…I was weak. I lost control.”

“Laudna,” Imogen cuts her off with the steely calm of a thunderstorm on the horizon. She cannot afford to process this now, not when Laudna is trembling in an alley. Not when Laudna, unmoored and terrified, needs her to be an anchor. No, Imogen will save her questions and unfiltered anger, for another time. A time when Laudna is safe and warm and at no risk of coming unraveled in her hands. When Laudna is in a place to know Imogen’s wrath is not, could never be, directed at her.

“Laudna,” Imogen repeats, because she cannot bear the thought of her not understanding, “this is not your fault. None of this.” She does reach out, then, offering a lifeline should Laudna choose to accept it. She does, hesitantly, as if waiting for Imogen to recoil. Her fingers are cool, bird-light against Imogen’s red-scarred palm. Laudna seems to notice at the same time.

“Imogen,” she exclaims, words still tear-tinged and quivering, “your hands. They’re–are you alright?”

“Oh, they–they don’t hurt, usually. Promise. I’m fine.”

“I should have–I’m sorry, I suppose I was–”

“Laudna,” Imogen interrupts again, not unkindly, “please.”

It’s then that Laudna seems to notice Pâté clawing his way up her skirt. She scoops him up and holds him to her, murmuring apologies into his fur.

“‘S’okay, boss,” he rasps, squished against his maker’s chest, “I can’t hold a grudge.”

They sit like that, hand-in-hand, hand-on-rat, until the easy stroke of Imogen’s thumb against Laudna’s has smoothed out the worst of the jagged edges. Until the tension falls from Laudna’s spine and she relaxes into Imogen’s touch.

“The others are surely wondering where we’ve gone.”

Imogen shrugs, snorts, “There’re so many people at that table I think they’d hardly notice two missing.”

“Still,” Laudna says, “we ought to get back.”

“Do you want to?” It’s her choice. It always will be if Imogen can help it.

Laudna considers. “I think I’d rather like to hear the end of Chetney’s story from the Savalirwood.”

“Oh gods,” Imogen groans, flushing at the memory, “no, you don’t.”

“Fearne and Deanna, hm?”

“Best to let them tell it.”

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saphirered · 1 year

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Because i like pain, can i get basically the sunken tomb/those who walk away (tlovm) but it's reader who dies, not vex? She jumps in front of vex as the blast goes off. Can be either Vax or percy x reader.

Turned out to a percy x reader and hope you like the result. Angsty but with a happy ending. 😘

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. His heart has stopped in his chest. Life has ceased to be linear, or perhaps even moving at all. He is stuck in that one doomed moment. He is trapped within his own body with is own bloody mind. He can’t. He can’t. Percy can’t even think or process. He’s stuck in that single image of you. That damned sarcophagus. It looked fine. Everything was fine. Vex gave it a once over. The three of you pushed the top off and there was the deathwalker’s ward still on the corpse of the previous owner. You’d stepped to the end, with Vex. You’d taken to observing the intricate runes on the inside. Vex warned him not to touch but it was too late. He’d reached in and set off a trap. It would have hit her if you hadn’t pushed her aside and in doing so, knocked yourself off balance and into the full force of whatever damned thing hit you.

Some kind of magic struck out, hit you square in the chest and sent you flying like some rag doll. You hit the ground with a sickening smack and crack. That breath, that single exhale that left your body unmoving, that’s where Percy got stuck, watching as the light in your eyes dimmed, those eyes that kept staring at him. They all ran to you but he was stuck. You weren’t moving. You weren’t responding to their calls nor pleas. There was nothing left of you to respond. Once that dawned on him, once it hit him what he had done, had caused, he was left broken. Somehow his legs carried him to your side, where Vax held you in his arms, Vex clutched your hand unable to speak, Pike rushed to heal you but there’s nothing to heal, nothing to be done. You were gone. You are gone. You’re gone.

Things move quickly after. Percy doesn’t know what grace kept him on his feet when he found it within him to join the others. He could not look away from you. Kash had already started whatever ritual he was performing. A resurrection rite. Everything moved so fast. Questions were asked, what happened how did this happen, who was with you? He was but he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t break away from your cold dead eyes. They’ll forever haunt him. They were so full of life just mere moments before when you cracked a joke and smiled, calling him out on his lack of divine worship. He’d retorted with some clever witty remark. Those were the last words he’d spoken to you. He couldn’t even bloody remember them. He can’t even remember your last words.

But then reason hits. It’s not working. The ritual it’s not working. It has to work. It has to work! The Raven Queen, she resides over death and apparently resurrections do not sit well with her or her domain. The others try to suggest things, solutions, but they are not that. Percy finds it within himself to speak some desperate sense; they’re under a lake, where are they going to go? They’re losing time. This has to work now. They can’t give up! He’s begging them, begging anyone, everyone. This can’t be happening! The spell breaks and you’re not moving. Percy’s ears are ringing. He wants to shout and scream and cry but inside him a void begins to grow and leaves him terrified of himself.

Several breaths pass and then, by some miracle, the light returns to your eyes, you shoot up and you’re gasping for air. You’re awake. He’s riddled with guilt once more. You turn to him and stare at him with those damned eyes and while he sees the life in them now, he’s haunted with that blank stare of your corpse.

“What happened?” How is he supposed to answer that question? He was an idiot and should have listened. This is all his fault. He got reckless and greedy and stupid and it cost you your life!

“I touched the armour and you… you were…” He can’t speak the words. The others speak but he does not hear them. “It was an accident.” Why do you keep looking at him. Your eyes should be filled with hatred and anger but you’re not. You’re relieved. You look at him as if this is not all on him. Accident or not, he is still to blame. Luckily distraction comes quickly. The armour is procured and in Vax’s possession for some reason.

You’re back on your feet and a bit wobbly but insist you want to get out of here as much as the others do. Pike has you at first but whether out of habit or sheer guilt, Percy find himself next to you and you lean on him whenever you stumble slightly. He catches you every time you don’t reach for him. It’s definitely a force of habit because each touch is torture. With each touch that scene keeps replaying. Outside on the banks of the lake Vox Machina decides it’s time to take a rest. Everyone’s exhausted and hurt from the fight to get out. Goodbyes are exchanged Zahra and Kash and upon the sunset Percy wanders off on his own. He had the intention of finding Vax, and apologise for what he caused. He did and got punched in the face. Seems that your best friend gave him a smidge of what he deserves. He deserves so much worse but it’s something. But then you have to find him, alone, ass in the snow, processing the pain in his jaw and contemplating every single mistake in his life that could have spared you this fate.

“Percy?” You come up to him. There’s still a slight tremble in your step despite your self-assured expression. No matter how well you might be at hiding your feelings, you always have a tell. You may pretend this doesn’t affect you but he sees it does. That just makes it worse. Still you find it within yourself to try and make him feel better. He wishes you wouldn’t. It’d be easier if you were angry with him, even better if you too decided to take your pound of flesh. Instead you kneel down next to him and look at what must be the mark of his preview to punishment.

“I fell…” He tries a poor excuse but you don’t buy it. Especially not with the extra set of footprints leading away. You place your palm against his cheek. Your touch is cold, he assumes because of the snow but for some reason he cannot help but imagine the worst. Still he leans into your touch.

“Must have been a strange fall. How does one fall on their ass and face simultaneously?” You joke and normally you’d have earned a chuckle or a retort. ‘With great difficulty’ is what you expected him to say or something along those lines but instead you just get silence and downcast eyes that refuse to meet yours. You settle on your knees and bring your other palm to cup his face and lift his gaze to meet yours. Percy bites the inside of his cheek.

“How can you pretend this doesn’t affect you? How can you take this so lightly?” You pull back and fold your hands together to preserve some warmth. Your skin feels wrong, your body feels wrong. Every breath you take you’re suddenly aware of. The blood pumping through your veins, it’s as if you can feel it and it hurts. Everything hurts and you feel as if you’re going to burst any second as if someone could prick you with a needle and suddenly you’d explode. You feel vulnerable and have become so incredibly aware of your mortality, in anything you do, anything you have done; every choice you’ve ever made. It haunts you past, present and future. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You thought of going out into the trees just so scream but that wouldn’t help. You’d just be left with the pain. You thought of ignoring it but that turned on you quickly. You noticed the silence when Percy was around. When you’re near him you feel alive and not some dead person walking. You feel like you can take on this life without being afraid of what happened and what you might face. You feel as if as long as he’s near you’ll be alright. That’w why you came to find him in the first place, didn’t you. You hoped he’d help you see things as they had been before your accident, but that didn’t seem possible.

“Because if I don’t I’ll just be terrified. I’ll break down until there’s nothing left of me and I don’t think I’ll be able to cope. This is all that’s keeping me together. You’re keeping me together.” Those words are harder to speak out loud than you thought, as if speaking them makes them real and undeniable. You suppose that’s true. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat along with your breathing. It just won’t go away and the more you try to ignore it, the worse it gets.

“You died because of me. You shouldn’t even be able to look at me!” There’s so many things running through your head that want to respond to Percy. You manage to stop some of the more irrational ones, the ones you know you’ll regret the moment you speak them.

“Is that what you think you deserve? My anger? My hatred? You won’t get it. Yes, you caused this but it was an accident. That doesn’t make it right but if you are in such desperate need to repent for a mistake, you can do so! I need you, Percy! I need you right now because without you I fear I will fall apart! So please, I’m begging you; do not abandon me now.” You plead. He’s unmoving. You reach out. He doesn’t flinch or turn away. He doesn’t respond so you halt and repeat once more. “Please, Percy. I’m begging you…” You place your hand on his cheek and this time he leans into your palm, even if hesitantly so. You’re about to pull away, seeing that reluctance but before you can his hand clasps over yours and holds it in place.

“I will not ask for your forgiveness-“ You got to speak but he’s not finished yet. “I will not accept it should you offer it to me because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. But you’re right. If this is what you want, I’ll do it. I’d hand you the stars on a silver platter if you asked. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make this right.”

“Percy…” You sigh. That’s not what you meant. You don’t mean to ask for his compliance or service. You ask him to be your friend, your confidant, your rock when the tides get too much in the same way he has always been for you. You’re asking him to be himself, nothing more, nothing less but here he is offering you the world.

“I won’t ask you to accept or turn me away. I will be at your whims for however long you wish me to be-“ Percy keeps going. He has to make this right. You give him a chance to prove himself worthy of you and all you’ve given him. You’ve given him the chance to truly earn your forgiveness in your eyes and his. But you interrupt him by literally placing his palm over his mouth to silence him. Once you make eye contact and you give him a silent ‘are you done’ and he nods you let go.

“Then I order you to stop now.” His heart skips a beat. He cannot breathe. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour or some servant at my beck and call. I just need you. I just need you to be here, now. I don’t need the moon on a string, or you begging on your knees. I don’t need you to fetch me some drink or write me my correspondence. I need you to just be you.” That punch hits far harder than anyone could have dealt. It’s the sheer realisation that his life is more valuable than his actions and choices and deeds. His life exceeds a purpose. It’s a terrifying reality but then he looks at you and sees through you, into your own fear and doubt and he sees, that’s what you need. You need someone who understands fear and pain and he does. Gods he knows he does. That’s why you need him to be here and to be him. That’s why you can look him in the eye. You feel like he’s the only one that truly understands right now because he too, albeit a long time ago came to realise how fragile mortality truly is and all the thoughts that accompany that revelation.

“I know.” He whispers nodding to himself. He reaches out. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close. You allow yourself to twist and mould into his side, tuck under his arm and curl against his chest. This feels real. This is real. You can hear his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest with every breath; something you had previously not been aware of nor ever focussed truly focussed on unless it was out of the ordinary. You take a deep ragged breath yourself. You feel cold trail down your cheeks from your eyes and only truly process you’re crying when gloved fingers wipe them away. Percy whispers words of comfort; meaningless he might say but these are the words he had wished he heard when he was alone and suffering. You pull yourself closer to him until the tears subside.

There’s still a long way to go. This does not resolve the issue nor Percy’s guilt. This doesn’t make anything right or change anything. It’s the beginning of a road to a better future you carve out together. Wherever it leads, he will be at your side as long as this world allows. He’ll fight tooth to nail to have it be so. He’ll make this right. But most of all, he’ll be there for you.

#percy de rolo x reader #percival de rolo x reader #vox machina x reader #critical role x reader #legend of vox machina x reader #legend of vox machina #critical role #percy de rolo #percival de rolo #vox machina #tlovm x reader #critical role fanfiction #critical role fanfic

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railroad-migraine · 6 months

Note

Hey Poet ♥️ I had to put my bird and companion of 12 years to sleep earlier today... I was hoping it would be okay to request Molly, Kingsley, Ashton and Caduceus comforting a Ranger SO (friend in Cad’s case) who had their beast companion pass away? I hope it’s not too grim of a prompt, thanks a lot either way! And thank you for what you do, your lovely writing brings joy to many people :)

Oh darling I'm so sorry. We also recently had a family pet put to sleep and it is very hard, but know that you provided your lil friend a wonderful life and that's something to make it easier as time passes 🩶

Comforting Ranger!GN!Reader

Ashton 💚

Is the shoulder to cry on that you've always needed. They're a strong presence, someone reliable to lean on, something physical and real to keep you grounded and help you not lose yourself in feelings.

They say they have difficulty with words, but Ashton surprises even himself with the soft tone and even softer things he offers you. Little phrases of encouragement, of how things will get better, and how you're not going to carry this alone. You have him and friends who care about you - he ignores the hot feeling in his face when your teary eyes meet his upon the confession - and pulls you into their side with a soft "I got you."

Caduceus 💜

Arguably the best person on the list to console you after losing someone you held dear. If it's something you'd like, he'll organise a little ceremony - allow memories of the good and fun moments shared with your companion to take centre stage. It's a happy occasion, with friends in attendance, a celebration of their life, their love, and how they made a home in your heart.

Cad takes time out of his day to sit with you, share tea and treats and the quiet tranquility of his porch, content to give you silent support but even more eager to offer counsel if that's what you seek. He understands how you're feeling, and guides you through them with careful, attentive ease.

Molly 💜

He knows what it's like to mourn a life, be that of a friend's or the past that he will never truly know. He makes sure that as you're processing this change in your life, that you continue to look after yourself. He ensures that you eat, even if you don't feel hungry. He washes your hair and cleans your face, helps you change into fresh clothes, coaxes you outdoors to feel warm sunlight on your skin. He wants to remind you to keep living, to enjoy it just as your pet beast did.

Life moves on. It always will. Your animal came into your life unexpectedly, just as you came into Molly's life. He's there for you, to get you through the day, the week, the month, and beyond. It happens gradually, as all wounds heal, but eventually he sees you smile at him more and he knows it hurts a little less. He smiles back, all teeth and pride for you.

Kingsley 💜

He's still discovering the big emotions that come with experiencing life. Grief is one of them. He fumbles in the beginning, and is scared to say anything in the fear of hurting you further, but he feels more confident after you melt into his arms and let him hold you for who knows how long. He realises later that a distraction can help further along healing.

So that's what Kingsley does. He spends more time with you, takes you sailing and has you steer the ship (with his professional supervision of course). He drags you into dances along the desk and sings you songs before bed. He holds your hand as you fall asleep, and tells you how grateful he is that you're there with him. Thanks you for giving him that - just as you have your familiar that.

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