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waltwhitmansbeard · 6 months

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this fic contains spoilers for the mighty nein reunion: echoes of the solstice. please read at your own discretion.

There is celebration, cheers and drinking and the spectacle of fey magic as the quaint homes of Blumenthal are put back together. Glasses are clinked and songs are sung and throughout it all, Caleb is keeping expert track of the minutes. He lets his friends, heroes, each of them, have their revelry as long as he dares.

They sleep in the tower, and first thing in the morning, he uses the boy as an excuse. Luc needs to go home. Veth will be out of her mind with worry. A teleport to Nicodranas, another to Zadash. Caduceus offers to stay and help Beau and Yasha look into the mystical misgivings after the solstice, though everyone knows his role will be in making sure that the two of them see the better part of a pillow every now and again. Caleb will be back to aid in the effort. There is somewhere he needs to go first.

He sees pacing through the curtains as he appears in the front garden of the little cottage. It almost makes him smile. He makes it up the few steps to the front porch, and then the door is wrenched open and he is yanked inside. "For the love of the Light!"

Caleb can barely breath against the knit of Essek's sweater. "Guten morgen," he says, muffled.

"Three days, Caleb Widogast. Three days." Caleb swings backward as Essek holds him at arm's length, an unusual wild look in his eye. "You run off with Beauregard to save the world, and for three days I do not know if you survived." Essek runs a shaking hand through his hair. "Why could I not send to you, what is going on—" Essek cuts himself off as curious recognition sparks in his face. "Something...happened."

And Caleb can do nothing but laugh. It starts quiet, a humorless chuckle, but then it overtakes him, growing louder and louder until it is something deafening, something monstrous. Vaguely, Caleb is aware that Essek is watching him with profound concern, but he can't stem the tide of violent laughter that has him doubled over in the tiny entryway of this cottage.

"Caleb..."

When Essek speaks, lost and afraid, it is suddenly very, very not funny anymore. The laughter quiets, but Caleb remains with his hands on his knees, too exhausted to stand back up. A hand, fingers long and sure, runs up and down the curve of his spine.

Something happened.

"I don't know where to begin."

Essek lets the whisper hang ominously in the air for a few moments. "Shall we begin with tea?"

And they do. Caleb is shuffled to the sofa, cats shooed out of the way, and Essek fills a kettle and prestidigitates the water to boiling. As the tea steeps, Caleb begins with where it all went wrong, because it is easier to think about what happened on Marquet than the horror he faced back in his hometown. When he speaks of the magic collar, of the shackle meant for Ludinus and used on him, Essek's fingers come to brush along the side of his neck, as if he could will away the feeling of stone on his skin and cold in his bones.

When he has described the horrible shunting across Exandria and the subsequent gathering of the Nein, he speaks of the magic mouths, of the words Trent Ikithon left to haunt him, the specter even Jester's magic could not turn. Essek's hand grips his with strength that would put Yasha to shame. "Caleb..."

Caleb almost doesn't tell him. There is no need for Essek to know, no need for a new worry when the threat has already been handled. But Caleb has kept so much from so many for so long, and well he knows that the most important part of loving someone is the bravery it requires.

"He spoke of going to the Bright Queen," he says quietly. He watches the warm amethyst of Essek's cheeks blanche to lavender. "He threatened to turn you in, because he knew that the best way to hurt me would be to hurt the person I love the most."

There is a long pause, and then Essek sets down his teacup, the liquid inside long gone cold, brings his hand up to cup Caleb's face. His fingers gently scratch into his scruff, and not for the first time, Caleb wishes he could purr like a cat in sunlight. "I would let him drag me by the ears before my queen if it meant you were spared even a moment of his torment. You know that, don't you?"

And he does. It is a wild, magical knowing, a certainty unlike anything he has experienced. He presses his face into Essek's palm. "I'm glad he said it. Even after all this time, all of the work I have done within myself to forgive the sins of my past...I must admit, it was...rattling. His voice, the memories it evoked, the ghost of his hands on my skin.

"But then he spoke the word Shadowhand, and it was all gone. The pain, the shame, the fear. All that was left was rage, and the need to free Exandria of his influence."

"And did you?"

And so Caleb continues on with his tale, the illusion of a familiar farmhouse, the use of a wish to protect his best friend's son, the sight of his family home for the first time since he was a boy. He stops himself mid-word as the memory of his parents, dead, reanimated, puppeted by the worst person Caleb has ever known, nearly knocks him from this place, from this moment. But there is still a hand in his, and the tightening fingers keep him where he belongs.

Essek listens to the whole story with rapt attention, clearly straining to keep his myriad emotions from his face. But Caleb knows him well enough by now to pick out the shock, the horror, the disgust, even the barely-contained smile at the thought of a one Caleb morphed into a dinosaur and the other into a massive white dragon. Caleb spares no detail when describing the implausible feats of his friends, giving Beauregard the full credit for wrenching the artifact from the demonic entity summoned by Ikithon, and after recounting tossing the thing into a demiplane, Caleb says, "When it was over, all I could think about was coming back here to you. If I weren't so tapped out on magic, I would have been here last night."

"Come here." Caleb allows himself to be dragged along the back of the sofa, Essek's arms tight around his chest. For the first time in three days, he is not afraid that at any moment, his very atoms will scatter into a million directions. He buries his face into Essek's chest, lets his love hook his chin over his head and whisper, "I do not know what this solstice has wrought upon our world. But I know that I'm very grateful that neither it nor that man took you from it. From me."

There are no more words left. There is nothing Caleb can say, for all his reading, for all the magic incantations he has memorized, to convey the depth of his relief that, contrary to what he may have intoned to Beau, he did not die on the land his parents lost their lives on. There is no telling what horrors are yet to come, nor what they may demand of Caleb and his friends, but he will not begrudge himself this quiet moment in his love's arms, not after these last three days.

#cr spoilers #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #mighty nein #mighty nein fic #shadowgast #shadowgast fic #my fic

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glossolali · 3 months

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more heroforges from my SWM cyberpunk h/c fic! part of my winter's crest gift exchange fic for @wanderingbasilisk aka wandie bc they gave me scifi/android/cyberpunk brain rot and so i gave them 6k of said brain rot lol

pls enjoy 🙏💜

#i forgot to post about thissss a month agoooo #haha 🫠 everything is so much #shadowmauk #shadowidomauk #cr fic #critical role fic #widomauk #shadowgast #essek #molly #caleb #scifi au #cyberpunk #glossofic #glossopost

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reiinai · 1 year

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Should probably do my own post for this as well as the reblog, continue the string on “Im gonna post all my Shadowgast art first as I migrate back”

…I draw them so much. So very much oh dear.

Fic illustration for @meerdahlah ‘s “I do, Five Times Over, I do” done for the Aeor is for Lovers BigBang 2022

Go show em some love y’all, so many feelings 💕🙌 😭

#critical role #cr #critical role fanart #critical role fan art #shadowgast #critical role fic #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #the mighty nein #sad wizard vibes #i just think theyre neat #and they live in my mind rent free #fic writers doing the lords work #i love them

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ratinayellowbandana · 8 days

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"next to my darling"

hand slipped. wrote more laudna introspection. spiced it up and set it during the end of c3:e91. bon appetite. i might have a problem.

~~~

The stone settles acrid on Laudna’s tongue, and she licks her lips to expel the taste. Her skin burns with shallow scrapes that smart and snarl with moon-dusted fury. Ichor clings, thick and viscous, to hair pulled loose from its tie. It flutters in her eyes, but she cannot bring herself to lift her arms and brush it away. Her limbs are molten, bruised, and aching. She presses on.

Because her eyes still sting with the flash-bright of a guiding bolt with the wrong-right target. Because her ears ring with the piercing screams of not one but two of her murderers that echoed deafeningly off red rock and redder eardrums. Because she holds a clump of wires in one fist and Imogen’s trembling hand in the other.

#no one ask me what this is #this is so not proofread #but we're out here #I’m trying to get better about posting with low stakes and not overthinking before sharing things I’ve made #cr3 #cr spoilers #critical role #laudna #imogen temult #imodna #imodna fic #liliana temult #critical role fic #my fic

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meg-noel-art · 9 months

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So honored to do this commission of the Moon Moms for @mehoymalloy AU! Please throw it some love here: Aches and Pains of Various Sorts

#imogen temult #cr3 #critical role #liliana temult #otohan thull #liliana/otohan #critical role 3 #commission #mehoymalloy #fic rec #critical role fic

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critter-genfic-events · 7 months

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This week, we've got nineteen gen fics featuring your favorite purple tiefling! Whether that's Molly, Lucien, or Kingsley, they're covered here, under the cut. As ever, if you liked them, please leave them a comment or kudos!

it takes two by wastrelwoods (3023,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Beauregard Lionett & Mollymauk Tealeaf

Beau and Molly get trapped in a cave-in. Vitriolic bonding ensues.

Reccer says: This fic just absolutely encapsulates everything I love about Molly and Beau.

there’s a ghost in my lungs by QueenWithABeeThrone (289247, Teen) Warnings: Heavy Angst, implying/reference to brainwashing and torture, Hurt/Comfort, mind control aftermath. Pairings: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Beauregard & Fjord & Jester& Nott & Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast & Yasha, Beauregard/Yasha, Fjord/Jester

it is a Mollymauk!Winter Soldier AU

Reccer says: I will never not recommend this fic

Carry It Until We Die by starkraving (64513,Teen) Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, temporary Character Death, Whump, canon, divergence Pairings: Mollymauk Tealeaf & The Mighty Nein

Mollymauk resurrection au. Molly comes back to yell at his Level 20 friends.

Reccer says: I liked it!

A Reversal of Fate by FeralScribe (40580, Teen) Warnings: Pairings: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast

It is a role reversal between Molly and Caleb. So now Molly is the shy traumatized one and Caleb is the carnival amnesiac.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Hook, Line, Sinker by steelneena (5141, Teen) Warnings: Minor Character Death Pairings:

The Nein's arrival in Balenpost from Lucien's POV.

Reccer says: This fic has wonderful characterization, takes a crack theory and runs with it, and is just an al-together delicious read.

what the promised land would promise me by grayintogreen (3169, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

The Tombtakers' side of the intuit charge trap.

Reccer says: I liked it!

He Did the Goat Dance Very Well by Operafloozy (13529, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

Five tales Kingsley hears about Lucien and Molly, and one time he tells his own.

Reccer says: I love a good Kingsley coming into his own story and coping with what other people say about his previous lives and how he takes that and runs with it. This is a more humorous take on that concept than most.

steady lodged between beast and god by Junkyard_Rose (6737, Mature) Warnings: general suicidal ideation Pairings:

Lucien survives the fall of Cognouza; Essek is left with custody.

Reccer says: A well-characterized "Lucien lives" fic that really gets into the trauma of surviving your swan song. Both Lucien and Essek are wonderfully written.

Autotomous, We by InsanitySilver (53978, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

Years of high seas adventures pass, but for every ounce of freedom Kingsley Tealeaf gains, the nightmares grow in kind. With the help of the clerics, he sinks into his own mind to root out the source of the corruption, but, in that claustrophobic dream world, he finds unfortunate company—some more … palatable than others.

Reccer says: This fic has a wonderfully unique set piece, a lovely original backstory for Lucien, and vivid descriptions. It's an excellent tale of self-acceptance.

in the dream we are always posthumous by hanap (4219, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Lucien & Kingsley Tealeaf & Mollymauk Tealeaf, The Mighty Nein & Kingsley Tealeaf

Kingsley reconciles with the people he was and the person he is now.

Reccer says: This is such a poignant exploration of identity through Kingsley and the Threeleafs. Gorgeously written and structured, it has stuck so vividly in my memory.

Crown of Cinderz by AkizaDragonBane (148365, Teen) Warnings: Slow Burn, Inspired by Tumblr, Alternate Universe, royal au, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Violence, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Childhood Trauma, Attempted Murder, Attempted Kidnapping Pairings: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Ashton Greymoore/Mollymauk Tealeaf

Mysteriously appearing when Lucien Nonagon starts hunting his two brothers. It also happens Mollymauk is seeking refuge for him and his toddler brother. Coming to the throne of the most fearsome ruler in Wildmount. Will Caleb Widowgast take the risk and take them in is the real question?

Reccer says: I liked it!

Wine-Dark Sea by fruitzbat (161010, Mature) Warnings: This piece is pretty heavily focused on post-traumatic, post-apocalyptic and post-genocidal themes. Most of the POV characters are struggling with some form of PTSD. Pairings: Kingsley/Original Character, Fjord/Jester.

Kingsley has just freed himself from something extraordinarily traumatic and is trying to rebuild something after it -- the question is more *what*.

Reccer says: This is a sequel to another iconic Kingsley-centric fic that may have already made the list; unlike the first, this is slower in pace and focuses a lot more on the characterization. I love the way that, while it does have some focus on his relationship to a supporting character, it's entirely about exploring Kingsley (as a character)'s relationship to the notion of free choice. His character arc in this is really well done. The themes are quite heavy, but are explored very thoughtfully and with the weight that they deserve.

The Fathoms Below by Lady_King (6423, Teen) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Pairings: Fjord & Jester Lavorre & Kingsley Tealeaf

while shipping a priority item, the crew of the Nein Heroez attract some attention from the deep...

Reccer says: An extremely well-written fight scene and aftermath that feels like it could slot perfectly into canon.

It’ll Be Over Soon by NKMLN (27,898, Mature) Warnings: Pairings: Fjord/Jester, Fjord & King, Jester & King, Caduceus & King, King & Molly & Lucien

When a trip to check on Bwualli goes wrong, Kingsley finds himself marooned in the Shattered Teeth, far from the reach of the gods. World history ensues.

Reccer says: This fic is my baby. I worked really hard on writing a good horror fic, only to be informed that i had not written a horror fic and had, in fact, written a tragedy. I put a lot of love into this. I hope you enjoy.

looking glass by Anubis_2701 (26721, Mature) Warnings: Pairings: Lucien & Mollymauk Tealeaf, The Mighty Nein & Mollymauk Tealeaf, Cree & Lucien, Lucien & The Mighty Nein

Lucien and Molly are twins. with a different back story

Reccer says: I liked it!

The Fool and The Soldier by mare_astrorum (123354, Mature) Warnings: Pairings: The Mighty Nein & Mollymauk Tealeaf

Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the Mighty Nein's encounter with the Iron Shepherds on Glory Run Road, but a short time later, a spirit began hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Let Your Bloated Brain Balloon and Float Away by R_Black (5074, Teen) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings: Lucien & Mollymauk Tealeaf

After Lucien dies for the second time, he gets to chat a bit with the special sliver of his soul that broke off after his first death.

Reccer says: I adored the descriptions and worldbuilding of this version of the afterlife, and both Lucien and Molly's characterizations felt true to form and uniquely distinct in the best way possible.

And then two recs each for these two fics!

the same twist in your heart as mine by hanap (6000,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Kingsley Tealeaf & Aldreda Tavelle Seriblo, Lucien & Aldreda Tavelle Seriblo, Kingsley Tealeaf & Essek Thelyss, Kingsley Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

In which Kingsley discovers that the last occupant of his body had a younger sister.

Reccer 1 says: I think the most compelling thing to come out of the Nine Eyes of Lucien was that Lucien had a sister living in Rexxentrum the entire time. I like this fic's characterization of Kingsley, and the soft and heartbreaking reunion. Reccer 2 says: One of the thoughts that loomed largest in my mind after finishing Nine Eyes was "What would happen if King learned about Aldreda?" and this fic is *such* an interesting, emotion-filled exploration of that. Things did not play out how I expected they would in the best of ways, which is all I'll say on that. Never enough Kingsley fic in the world and getting into his head and how he would handle things was so fascinating and enjoyable here. Also, Essek and Kingsley's friendship is to die for and an excellent side to this fic!

Crowned Teeth (Or, An Offering Revoked) by fruitzbat (130,570, Teen) Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Pairings: Kingsley Tealeaf/Original Character

After a standard trip towards the Bay of Gifts goes horribly wrong, Kingsley finds himself trapped and vowing to himself to hold those responsible to the light -- betrayed, isolated, and far from home, Kingsley must carve out his own destiny and forge a legacy he can say is worthy of those who came before him.

Reccer 1 says: This fic is absolutely amazing on every level, taking a sentence worth of a setting and expanding it into a beautiful bunch of worldbuilding. The original characters are amazing, the lore is air-tight, and it reads very much like a canon novel I could pick up in a bookstore. There is romance towards the end, but I consider it more of a "story with kissing" as opposed to "kissing with story" and the relationships between King and his crew are all developed well. This is also the first fic in a trilogy and all of them are worth a read. Reccer 2 says: This has some of the best worldbuilding I’ve ever seen in a fic. The world of piracy and sailing Kingsley inhabits is painstakingly described and true to life, and the portrayal of Kingsley’s state of mind, his friends and his enemies here is on point. I highly recommend this whole series for anyone who likes to wonder what Kingsley’s time on the seas and eventual journey to become Plank King might have entailed.

If you liked this rec list, follow along for more! We'll be posting a new list with a new theme each Monday. Want to make your own recs? Check out the rules, and then use the form to submit!

Next week, we'll be reccing fic featuring any of the campaign's pets! This includes familiars, noncanonical pets, Trinket and any flame spirit monkey children that pop up from time to time.

If you're looking for some more, there's some good stuff in the critter genfic bingo tag! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

#critical role fic #critter genfic rec lists #the mighty nein #mollymauk tealeaf #lucient tavelle #kingsley tealeaf #cr fic recs

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starchildghost · 9 months

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On Laudna, Delilah, and Imogen, surrounding the events of c3e65.

There must have been a choice that you made somewhere in there, right? So where was it? The lord and lady of Whitestone have invited you to dinner; it’s such an honor for such a simple farming family. How could anyone refuse? That didn’t feel much like a choice.

You came back - well, not to life, but to something of that sort - and isn’t that a choice? Waking up hanging from a tree? Don’t those god types prattle on about the soul of the dead getting to choose whether or not they came back? Do you even have a soul or is that why you are the way you are? Have you ever had a soul?

You broke the gnarlrock, you killed Bor’dor, both with your own hands - surely, somewhere in there is a choice that you made - isn’t that what life, or whatever it is that you have, is supposed to be? Are your hands your own?

You sit at a table in Jrusar, a place that is meant to be home, with your friends - with Imogen - whom you spent all that time missing desperately. So desperately you lost yourself along the way, you think. If there was anything to lose in the first place. They talk about next steps and who to target next and it’s all you can do to sit there and think how did I get here?

Delilah. It always comes back to Delilah. Your second (third?) life revolves around her, just as she ensured the prior did. Why did she choose you? Why was it you? FCG once told you that you were never alive, and you believed him. Even in your first life, you were no more than a vessel, a doll that was puppeted by everyone around you. Then Delilah gave you a gift and you bore her one in return, but that wasn’t a choice.

It’s maddening, these circles you walk.

Delilah was a monster who, you have heard, acted the way she did out of love. She loved her husband so much she was willing to do awful, awful things. She reshaped an entire city - she reshaped you. You are filled with Delilah, you are a soulless monster, but you don’t feel you act out of love. You didn’t love Orym and Ashton so much that you sucked the life from Bor’dor, you know that. It was never for them, even if Orym gave you his approval. So what was it? Did you drain his life for her - for that deep, dull heartbeat that is not your own yet exists within you? Surely, surely not. You don’t love Delilah - but who are you without her? Can there exist such a love, a love without peace?

Delilah’s words echo in your ears for just a moment, drowning out your friends, and making you jump - you see, at the end of all things, only yourself can be relied on, when all love is taken. Her words follow you wherever you go, whether she’s speaking to you at the present moment or not. Imogen sees you wince and her eyes search yours, but you can’t bear to look at her.

Imogen, you were told in uncharacteristic softness by Ashton, had given you a choice. You hadn’t been able to hear her - you were dead, again, and death is dark and murky and so far away from her light - but she had given you the choice to come back. You didn’t hear her, but when the spell did come through, an unfamiliar wave of light and such softness you had never before seen, you had felt that choice, finally. It didn’t come as a difficult one: your friends were waiting for you, and you couldn’t leave them after everything they had done for you. Whatever peace may have been waiting for you on the other side, without Delilah, was not for you. You couldn’t leave them with a heartbreak as large as that.

After all, they fought Delilah back for you, something you had never been able to do. You are a vessel, nothing more. You didn’t hear her voice except for what echoes in your head always - even without her there, you had come to find out. You truly are a wretched, haunted thing. Back then, you had dared to hope one day even these echoes would rot, and maybe you would find that you were more than a blank slate others had written on. Your magic changed, just as the Sun Tree had. Just as Whitestone had. It was truly gleaming in the sunlight now, allowing its name to no longer sound like a mockery. You had met children who would never know the darkness that prowled those streets. And they had laughed! Not at you, but with you! Your friends - Imogen - they gave you the opportunity to grow, to become better, just as your old home had.

And what had you done, with that chance? Betrayed them. You betrayed them. You had killed Bor’dor for that, and here they are, offering you a grace you had never once considered giving him. He didn’t deserve it, and neither do you.

A soulless monster, a vessel for an even greater monster. At least she acted for love - doesn’t that make her better than you? She had - has - a great conviction, and here you are, bleeding black ichor everywhere, staining everyone who treats you with such kindness. Making them worse. Bringing Delilah back with you, because of course she isn’t gone. She made you, after all, just as you formed Pâté. You cannot be unbound, and maybe you don’t deserve to be.

Maybe - you glance at Imogen, make sure the circlet is securely on her head, keep your wickedness to yourself - maybe you don’t want to be. Your anxious hands twist around one another, clench and unclench, and you make sure the belts are secure around your waist.

You find a way to make your mouth move, speaking as if it were a rusty hinge, because you’re angry and you take it out on the others but they don’t deserve it - they’ve done too much for you. It doesn’t matter that they were shopping and fucking and making new best friends while you were revealing to yourself what you’ve always known to be true. You will find a way to be pleasant and to share information with them and to pretend to care about their adventures. You must. FCG hates that you killed an angel of the Dawnfather. You don’t care.

They start to argue again, FCG and Chetney, at a volume you cannot tolerate with all of this darkness swirling around in your gut. You take the opportunity to tune them out, to close your eyes and rip more of your hair out. Perhaps if you remove enough the guilt will start to pull out with it.

You’re gently shaken from this penance by a soft touch from across the table, by Imogen’s quiet voice calling your name. “Where are you going?” You choke out, hoping the question is the correct one.

“Wherever you’re going,” her response is soft and sweet, much more than you deserve. The others try to pipe up with ideas, but your ears are only for her. “We can go see our old house,” she suggests. You cling to it like a lifeline, and away you go.

You’ve always liked Zhudanna. She’s always been kind to the two of you, even if you arrived in her life much like a storm. The two of you were always running back then. You’re not sure you stopped.

Zhudanna is old and wrinkled and she represents a life you will never have, but you hope desperately Imogen will one day experience. Though, of course, you hope Imogen does a little better at taking care of herself than subsisting solely off of oranges. You don’t stop to ponder where you are in this reality where Imogen gets to grow to be only kind and she lives to be wrinkly - you will never age; you will stay as you are. You’ve already proven to yourself that vessels do not get to grow, and your appearance will reflect this.

You and Imogen head towards the market in comfortable silence. You’ve been quiet with her before, of course, and that coupled with being home has left you with feeling like a warm blanket has been wrapped around your shoulders. It isn’t much, a small comfort, but it’s the beginning of something better, you think. Imogen has her spark, and she is your anchor - she will reign you in, as she always has. She tethers you to reality, keeps you from slipping into the inky black which fills you. At the very least, you think this excursion will stop you from spilling it onto others, as you did at the table.

Imogen seems off, though, and you can’t guess why. Did you upset her? That wasn’t what you meant to do. How could you have done this to her? She doesn’t deserve it, of course not, not after everything she’s done for you. Add another betrayal to the list, Laudna. No wonder you’re barely permitted to breathe.

You apologize to her profusely, trying desperately to get her smile to come back - you’ve infected her with your darkness, after all.

Her hand keeps returning to her circlet, a habit you had noticed at the table, too. Did she pick that up while she was away, with the others? Was there someone whose thoughts she had needed to hear? She stops you from spiraling: “It’s weird, Laudna, I can’t hear your thoughts.” Isn’t that a good thing, though? You’re one step closer to a normal life, to… to being able to leave me behind. You can’t voice that, either. “It’s great, but it’s also strange,” she says, and you can’t help but think she’s somewhere far away.

You attempt to reassure her, to bring her back to you: “You don’t have to listen in to get my thoughts.” You end the thought there, but really Imogen doesn’t have to do anything to get whatever she wants from you. You’d follow her anywhere.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurts, snapping both of you to attention here, in this marketplace. “I can’t tell if it’s all right or not anymore.”

Your thoughts stop walking their maddening circles, finding, instead, that there is another path to take. They stop entirely, first. You had heard Orym desperately trying to contact Dorian and that wizard fellow from the solstice using the sending stones, but they would always fizzle and crackle loudly. Your brain hums a lot like that right now.

“All right,” you breathe out, perhaps before you’re even aware of it. You blink a few times. “All right,” you’re a little more confident now, having taken a second to at least process the words both of you have uttered.

“All right,” she echoes, looking like her question had surprised her, too. Her eyes meet yours and she smiles at you. “So I will.”

You don’t have time to linger on that because suddenly Imogen is in front of you in a way she has never been before. She presses her lips, unbelievably, to yours, and she is so warm. You had forgotten how warm she is, having spent the last week sleeping alone. It’s her spark, you’re sure - she is warm, capable, and so strong. And her lips are soft and she tastes of oranges and-

And she’s kissing you? She backs away, then, as if she’s heard your thoughts, tries to tell you you don’t have to reciprocate if that’s not how you feel after all. You reach for her, not with your hands, which have frozen in their cold, dead, clenched place. The only thing you have at your disposal are your words, which are tangled up because your heart, your heart, is beating faster than it has in thirty years, and that rapid beat is not leaving much room for the words to make a sound within you.

You stutter a few times and land on: “Obviously I care for you an immense deal…” The choice you’ve made this time is the wrong one. Her face falls - she thinks this is you turning her down. As if you could ever do anything but reach from your shadows toward her light.

You try again, your earlier spiral rising back up before you can stop it. You’re nothing without her, all you do is bad things, you murder, you betray, spilling inky blackness everywhere-

“You’re not a bad person,” She states, as if it’s a fact. You blink, trying desperately to believe her. “You’re not a bad person,” She repeats, her purple irises meeting yours, the wind teasing her hair.

It’s your turn to surprise yourself - you kiss her. Your hands finally unclench, and they seek her warmth, wherever you can put them. You desperately want her light to fill you up instead, and you’re trying to physically make it happen. All at once, everything you have ever felt for Imogen explodes within your chest. The younger woman with glowing scars who was the first to show any kindness to the dead woman in the woods - how it felt when it was just the two of you camping, how you slept curled around her, not to share warmth, but to protect her - Imogen sliding a ruby ring around your finger - how Otohan’s sword felt as it pierced your chest - how it felt to come back to life in Imogen’s arms.

You’ve never cared much about the gods. Their existence in Exandria is undeniable; you’ve never fought that. There are a whole lot of people who crave a personal relationship with the divine but not a single one is equipped to handle the consequences. You don’t have room for that sort of trouble - Delilah fills you with power and consequences enough.

Consequently, you’ve never put a lot of thought into what the divine truly means to you. Matilda never cared much about it - she was too busy pretending to be a lady and prancing about the fields of youth. To FCG, the divine is answers to the questions they have, faith in their coin and their goddess and caring for people around them. For Delilah, you think, it was love, but her love was not rooted in peace, and therefore was not love. That has to be why she had the world and then lost it. That fact snaps into you with startling clarity as you hold Imogen in this marketplace - there is a stark difference between you and Delilah after all. The woman who brought you back to life (for the third time) had worshiped a god of light and healing, and she had aided you in stepping out into a Whitestone full of sunshine. Perhaps that was the closest you had come to being something new.

But this, you think, with Imogen breathlessly in your arms, this is your divine. You will learn how to love her exactly the way she wants to be loved. Perhaps you already do.

A long, long time ago, she had turned to you with excitement in her eyes, a cozy town around you, and exclaimed, “I love it here! Seriously, Laudna, let’s move here, after everything.” Back then, you had just smiled and nodded. Of course - you would follow Imogen anywhere. It was only logical you would accompany her there.

The memory makes your breath catch, and she looks up at you, her head resting against your chest. Is this what she had meant? Even then, could she imagine a life with you? A domestic life, full of ordinary comforts, with you? Monstrous dead woman with a dead pervert rat companion? She never could have predicted what the “after everything” would entail, even to this point. You can’t imagine what the “everything” has in store for you both next. A pang of fear hits you, a new one amidst the many that the return of your purple magic had brought. You can’t lose her. You won’t. Perhaps Delilah’s world-shattering love had reached you after all.

“We’ll make it right again,” Imogen said, referring to Delilah. You realize now that you can’t - not if she will help you protect this. Not if she makes you strong enough to save Imogen.

“Maybe it’s our destiny to harness,” you have a hard time looking at Imogen as you say this, thinking of Delilah. You have a harder time looking anywhere else. You will use that bitch, you will continue to live with her, if it means you can preserve this little sliver of good that the universe has permitted you to have. Your hands mindlessly drift from Imogen’s back to the belts you have worn all of these years.

“Maybe it’s our destiny to fight it.” Imogen counters, her circlet secure, no way of knowing what you’re thinking. You think only time will tell where you both fall in the history of all of this, and she bumps you with her shoulder as you both turn to get Zhudanna’s groceries. Even that familiar touch sends a shiver through you - everything is different now. “Together either way,” she grins, and it blossoms in your chest. You feel warm inside, even though you know your body is not designed for that anymore.

She takes you shopping so you can finally get a dress that matches the beautiful corset she’s given you. Imogen, gorgeous Imogen, with her circlet that shines in the afternoon sun, has no way of knowing who you’ve been thinking of all day, and that this corset is reminiscent of exactly what she would wear. Imogen had met her but the once, and Imogen at the moment in time she bought this corset had no reason to know that she had returned. The only person whose entire axis had shifted as Bor’dor’s husk fell from your hands as you came back to yourself, a heartbeat that was not yours thumping in your ears, was you.

You play the part you’re given: you are a vessel and you are, you have come to realize, in love. You’d said before that you loved Imogen, of course you did, but it took her courage to make you realize exactly what way you loved Imogen. So you will do both: you will be a vessel and you will keep Imogen safe. You must.

And, as always, with your gray skin and black eyes, your appearance must reflect that. You pick a deep purple dress, smiling at Imogen standing before you, but seeing, too, a lady of Whitestone in her purple dress and corset, her high neckline affixed by green glass, as she hands you belts and a blue outfit.You put on the dress and the corset, holding the belts you’ve worn for thirty years. The belts you’ve worn since you were last really, truly, alive and breathing.

You tell Imogen whose belts they are without thinking - the words tumble from your mouth cheerfully, because you are glad to dress like a lady, despite everything. “Oh!” She exclaims, and though you were focused on the outfit you do take a moment to realize that you’ve done it again. You’ve been horrifying without meaning to. You will learn not to do this, you affirm within yourself. Imogen deserves only the best.

Regardless, you attach those belts to the house you keep Pâté in. You will carry them around just as you always have, and him, too, even if he is annoying and disgusting and you hate him a little. It was easier before he could speak. You acknowledge to yourself that everything you hate in him you hate in you, too, and Imogen cannot stop you from this. You will carry around a reminder of who you are and what has happened to you, but that isn’t everything.

Tonight, you get to go to the closest thing you have to home, and Imogen will be there with you. You will hold her soft, scarred hands in your own twisted hands, just as you have so many times before, but there is new meaning to it now. You will undress, baring your horrible scar, and you will see her glowing scars as she does the same. You will sleep in the same bed and you will hold her. She will try to make your cold body warm and you will allow her to. You will love her the way she wants to be loved, for as long as she permits you to, and you will keep her safe, like shielding a candle in a raging storm. Her warmth, her glow, is not yours to devour; this is your call to worship, your benediction. You are the one who could live forever but you will spend it in service of her, in whatever way she asks of you.

#laudna #laudna cr #imogen temult #delilah briarwood #cr 3 #cr3 #southern gothic #imodna #c3e65 #cr fic #critical role #critical role fic #i haven't written fanfic since i was in high school so I apologize if this is nothing #but i care about laudna a whole lot and i needed to write this

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hymn-of-muse · 8 months

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Not My Flower.

a Yasha x Reader requested by @botanicalbard

"tell me, bard. you've been seen with the nein quite often, you're familiar with them, yes? tell me all you know of them." a man demanded in a low tone, face obscured by shadow in the dimly lit room.

you'd left the tavern after you and your friends had a few drinks, all you wanted was a bit of fresh air as the ale started to take affect on you. you we not expecting, however, to be grabbed from behind and dragged into the alleyway next to the tavern, a hand silencing you and arms holding you firm so you couldnt run away.

the next thing you knew, you found yourself in a small room, windows covered up and the lighting too dim to make out any doorway outline, unless it was behind where you sat on a stool, ankles restrained and hands tied at the wrist around the support beam you were leaning against.

a man, clearly trying to intimidate you into talking about your friends weaknesses and secrets, stood over you with his arms crossed. you could hear someone in the corner shift, so you knew it wasnt just him here.

"i'll ask you again-"

"no i heard you" you interrupted "im just not sure what it is specifically you want to know, i mean theyre a lovely bunch, sure, but you cant just be so vague, do you want me to give you an introduction for each individual? i can do that in song!" you told him smugly

"what?" he gave a confused look upon your sudden compliance "no-no, no songs, just tell me-"

"are you sure? i got a really good one! oh! or i could sing you a tale of the mighty nein's greatest adventures thus far! what a brave and interesting party of beings they are, like this one time-"

"stop that!" the man snapped, agitated by your interruptions and clear attempt at stalling him for more time. "enough of your games, bard, just tell me what i ask of you and nothing more. if you comply, we'll consider letting you go unharmed. got it?"

"come on, you went through all this effort and all you want is a little information? why not a whole story, huh? not even one song? all you want is small talk? thats so boooring" you groaned, putting emphasis on the 'o' in boring.

the man gave a grunt of frustration as he grabbed hold of your shirt collar and got all threatening in your face. "shut up! just tell me each of their weaknesses, secrets, some information i can ACTUALLY use!"

"one, ew your breath smells. two, nah thats lame. besides, by now they likely know im gone and will come looking for me. you made a huge mistake thinking i was a good kidnapping choice." you chuckled, still smug as ever.

"yeah? what makes you so sure they'll find you?" he grumbled.

"because the barbarian's my girlfriend, and she can get really physical when shes angry"

"heh, you think youre safe? youre not going anywhere till i get something outta you" he glared, raising a fist to throw a punch just when the door swung open with a crash, breaking it off its hinges.

in the doorway now stood yasha after she'd kicked in the door, the light outside illuminating the room and as she stepped in with heavy foot falls, the anger on her face was clear as day. she gave an icy cold glare to the man who's fish was frozen in the air.

"how did you..?" the other person in the corner finally spoke up with a weak voice.

"your neighbors made a noise complaint" yasha stated, storming closer to the man who threatened you a minute before as he stumbled back and reached for a weapon to defend himself with.

when he tried to swing a club at her, she grabbed it and tore it out of his hands, tossing it to the side and grabbing him by the arm. she swung him around and threw him into the other person, knocking them both out on impact when the hit the wall.

"are you hurt?" yasha asked you as she quickly moved to undo your restraints, a gentle hand moving to the side of your face to make sure you were alright. the look of concern on her face said everything.

"i knew you'd find me" you smiled sweetly at her, leaning your head into her warm hand as her shoulders dropped in relief.

"of course i did. i wouldnt let anyone hurt you." she spoke with a light chuckle to her voice, hoisting you into her arms and walking out of the room as she carried you. "not my flower."

reblogs are appreciated! im sorry this took a while to get done! /g

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rainbowcaleb · 2 months

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Dearest reader, you are cordially invited to the event of the season: the wedding of Jester Lavorre and Fjord Stone.

Please RSVP and read here.

This will be a night to remember. A completely normal night. Just an absolutely standard wedding. No surprises and definitely no secrets.

P.S. this is also a shadowgast fic

P.P.S. fluffernutter is not a banned substance, but it is not recommended due to proximity to the cliff side

#fjorester #shadowgast #mighty nein fic #critical role fic #mighty nein #fjord jester #jester lavorre #fjord stone #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #the TEMPTATION to sign that xoxo gossip girl and make it artagan #my fic #my fanfic

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mintywolf · 2 months

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She can’t blame them for wanting to tear down the ivy from the barn. After all, it had tried to eat several of her friends the first time they had visited it, in the other here. But at Laudna’s insistence, they have left it climbing on the walls of the cottage. She likes the wild, overgrown look of it, and the reminder of the passage of time in its reach.

Chetney has repaired the roof, loudly decrying the state of the timbers all the while, and there’s now a fresh cover of fragrant heather thatching. Thanks to Orym the new window boxes are full of violets and petunias, and the flowerbeds beside the door lined with columbine and the long stems of purple and blue larkspur and hollyhocks. Fearne, in the shape of a mossy-hoofed water buffalo, has turned over one of the dormant fields to make a vegetable patch, and there’s an herb garden in progress by the kitchen door. Ashton has contributed a scarecrow in the gangly shape of the Nightmare King and evened out the cobblestone path. Imogen’s magic has determinedly cleaned the dust and grime of forgotten decades from the interior, and Laudna’s has mended what she could find to mend.

It’s surprising how much there was still there to find. A kettle left hanging on its hook over the hearth. Dishes still stacked in warped and lopsided kitchen cupboards. A blue and white quilt, mostly preserved from the harrowing of time, folded up in a blanket chest at the foot of her parents’ bed. A faded needlepoint Sun Tree in a frame on the kitchen wall. A rusted tea tin in the haymow containing a crow feather, two empty spools, a handful of mismatched buttons, a pewter unicorn, and other child’s treasures. A dented copper washtub and a washboard in the scullery, now home to a family of voles. A glass jar of marbles in a trunk underneath the rickety structure that used to be her bed up in the loft. Fifteen numbered markings on the kitchen doorframe, ending at her own height. Pegs on the entryway wall still waiting to receive the coats and hoods of the family who went out one winter night and never returned. It’s eerie, stepping into a place that has, like the rest of the world, gone on aging without her, but not entirely unwelcoming.

They clear out what she doesn’t want to save, or is beyond saving, and move around what she does, just so it’s a little different. With the kitchen table at a new angle she’s less likely to expect to see her mother there cutting apples, and instead able to think of Imogen kneading bread dough with her capable hands. Imogen framed by firelight as she reads on the couch by the living room hearth instead of her father in his armchair whittling. Imogen holding the other end of a blanket as they spread it out over the bed in the room that is no longer the place she would come running from a scary dream, but their own.

When the sun begins to set on a day of hard work they wave goodbye to the other Hells as they set off to return to Whitestone for an evening with the crew of the Silver Sun, docked at the skyport. Laudna wipes her work-grimy hands on her apron and takes Pâté out of the pocket, tossing him up into the air so he can stretch his wings. She slips her hand into Imogen’s as they amble around their farmstead, the late spring grass cool and dewy between her bare toes. Pâté bobs after them like a large and particularly ungainly bumblebee. In the soft-footed gloaming, beneath a sky the same color as her wife’s hair, everything looks both new and familiar at once.

(Read more on AO3)

And so I guess Remember Us is now complete! Thank you so much to everyone who has been following it for the past year.

💜🖤

#critical role #critical role fic #imodna #southerngothic #imogen x laudna #laudna #imogen temult #matilda bradbury #it’s done!

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waltwhitmansbeard · 5 months

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been working on this for weeks but consider it a present for @ravendruid's birthday. extremely rated e, lol, as i create the slutty keyleth rep i wish to see in my fandom.

Keyleth doesn't get horny. It's not that she doesn't like sex, because she does. She likes sex with Vax, specifically, the only kind of sex she knows, because he makes it fun and because she likes seeing how happy and relaxed it makes him and because she swears he knows her body better than she does, the way he's able to pull sounds and sensations from her that she'd never have known she was capable of.

No, Keyleth likes sex. She just never...seeks it out. It's an out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. She's got a thousand things on her plate these days, so much going on and so many people counting on her, that if Vax weren't there to kiss slowly down her neck as she finishes her reading for the next day's meeting or run his hands along her waist while she gets changed, she probably would forget sex existed altogether.

Which is what makes this so strange. There was a terrible accident at a bakery in the wee hours of the morning, an oven malfunction that resulted in two-thirds of the building burning near to ash before the flames could be stamped out. Much of Zephrah has gathered to help, clearing out debris and helping the air genasi family that owns the bakery recover what they can from the wreckage. Keyleth and Vax were among the first on the scene, having been woken with the news by a Blade, and in the intervening hours, they've managed to organize what will become the rebuilding efforts.

Keyleth is meant to be discussing what needs to be physically handled versus what can be fixed via arcane means, but she's not listening to a word one of the few wizards who lives in town is saying. Instead, her attention is entirely consumed by Vax, who is helping the baker affix a large tarp over the portions of the building left standing to act as a makeshift wall. Vax's sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms that strain to reach up to hold the tarp in place. His long hair has been haphazardly braided out of they way, and two spare nails bounce between his full lips as he and the baker discuss their strategy for tackling the tarp. At one point, Vax brings a hand down to wipe sweat off of his forehead, leaving a streak of ash and dust in its wake. He reaches back up to hold a nail in place for the baker to hammer in, and once they're done, he relaxes back down, grins at their success, and claps the baker on the back.

Keyleth wants to climb him like a tree.

She's taken so aback by the intensity of her own lust that the wizard has to say her name three times for her to drag her eyes away from the muscles Keyleth can see beneath the back of Vax's sweat-slick shirt. He's clearly annoyed, this wizard, but Keyleth's missed every word for minutes now. "Can I trust you with this?" she asks, desperately, she imagines. She doesn't wait for an answer, just turns around and weaves her way through the crowd of neighbors until she's at Vax's side.

"Hey!" He gives her his easy smile, the one that normally makes her feel warm but now makes her feel as though she herself will soon be ash and smoke. "Got this up, so at least we won't be damaging what's left as we clean up this mess. How are things going on the magic front?"

It is by the grace of the gods that Keyleth doesn't shove him up against the tarp he's so proud of and knock the remainder of this bakery to the ground. "I think...we need to head home. Just for a bit."

His brow furrows. "I think we can still help out here. At the very least we can help get the fallen beams out of the way."

"Mhm, yeah." The mid-morning sun illuminates the sheen over his face. She's going crazy. "I just...there is something at home. That can help."

"Oh. And...you need me to go with you."

"Mhm!" She doesn't know how to convey how fucking desperate she is for him to shut the fuck up and come with her now. "Please."

"Okay." He's clearly confused, but he turns to tell the baker that they'll be back in just a bit before sliding his hand into hers and allowing himself to be tugged in the direction of home. She doesn't blame him for his bewilderment; neither of them has any precedent for this, her sudden, uncontrollable, unshakable need for him. She doesn't even know how she's going to explain it to him—hopefully she won't have to. Hopefully he'll catch on quick.

He's so damn friendly, saying hello to everyone they pass, giving quick updates on the situation as she half-yanks him along. She knows she must seem absolutely feral right now, and, well, she feels it. Can he feel the thundering of her heart in his palm? Is her skin burning his, her nails digging into his hands? No, he is oblivious, grinning and cordial to each of their neighbors. Normally she thrills in how easily he's made a home of her people, but not today. Today she's hungry.

When they get to the little cottage set aside just for them, she fumbles with the key, missing the keyhole three times before Vax's long, practiced fingers curl over hers and pluck the key from her hand. "Okay." He unlocks the door and pushes it open. "You need to tell me what's going on, because you're—oh."

She shoves him inside, slams the door shut with her foot and then spins him around so his back's against it. His face blooms in surprise as she presses herself against him. "Driving me fucking crazy," she growls, pawing at the shirt hem tucked into his trousers like a cat trying to get a bird through a window. "Such a jerk, looking like this—" She bites down into the crook of his neck.

He hisses, his hands coming to clench at her waist. "Holy shit, Kiki." Finally, she's able to yank his shirt free, skitter her hands up his stomach, where he warm and hard and hers. "You...oh gods..." Good, his brain's just as fried as hers is. Serves him right. "This...it's different."

She kisses him, all teeth and spit. It's a far cry from the way he so tenderly kisses her, no reverence or care. She kisses to mark, to claim, to devour. One of his hands, broad and so very skilled, pulls her in closer by the small of her back, while the other grabs fully onto her ass. She growls into him; going fucking crazy.

Vax breaks away with a gasp. "Kiki." She pushes up on his shirt, which is now bunched up around his armpits. "Kiki." He takes her by the shoulders and pushes her a few inches away. "What the hell is going on?"

She doesn't know what she looks like, but by the bafflement on his face, she must look wild. Her skin is on fire, and there is a pounding up and down her torso that she has never felt outside of the bedroom before. Somewhere beneath the sizzling want, there is embarrassment, humiliation for losing control like this, but right now, she just can't bring herself to care.

"You..." She swallows, willing her blood to stop boiling for a second so she can formulate something resembling a cogent thought. "You just...with the sweat and the shirt and the arms, fuck—" She digs her nails into his bicep like she's going to tear it out from beneath his skin. "I'm losing my mind."

He smiles, then, the kind of mischievous smile he tries to hide from her when he doesn't want her to think he's laughing at her even though he definitely is. "Keyleth...are you horny?"

"Jerk." She shoves his shoulders again, so he bounces off of the door, and then, before he can decide to tease her anymore, she falls to her knees.

She doesn't do this often. She gets so self-conscious, more concerned about how he's reacting and how awkward her neck feels and how sometimes it really is difficult to breath instead of on just doing it. Vax never complains, never asks for reciprocation after he so gleefully eats her out, and so she knows she's out of practice. She can't stop the shaking in her fingers as she tugs at the laces of his trousers, where he is already straining against the leather.

"K-Keyleth." Good, now he sounds just as flustered as she feels. "Are...are you sure?"

She answers by tugging his loosened pants down to reveal his half-hard length, which, after one deep breath, she takes in her mouth as far as it will go. From above, she hears a sickening crack as, she assumes, his head slams back against the door. "Fuck," he groans, his hands coming to weave into her hair. They tug, and it's rough, far rougher than he normally is with her. "F-F-Fuck, Kiki."

She wants to swallow him whole. She wants to unhinge her jaw like a snake and consume him, claim him entirely for her own. He tastes salty, like skin, like sweat. As she swallows back her own saliva, the fingers in her hair tighten and a high keen rips from his chest. Keyleth can’t help the hot wave of satisfaction that ripples over her skin; she did that.

“Keyleth,” Vax pants, his breath coming fast and hard. She hollows out her cheeks. “Oh fuck—K-kiki, wait.”

She doesn’t take her mouth off of him, just looks up with the best approximation of a frown she can muster in this position. His face is a mess, mouth agape, eyes unfocused. “Gonna…not gonna make it,” he gasps out. “Want…you…”

Well. She’s not going to argue with that. Reluctantly, she pulls her head back, letting her tongue trail out from beneath the length of him, and his legs nearly buckle out from under him. The hand in her hair slowly uncoils, like Vax has to actively think about how to relax each of his fingers, and Keyleth stands. She wonders what she looks like, so flushed with wanting him, wonders if he can tell exactly what he’s doing to her.

His hands grab her face and pull it to his, the kiss of a starving man. Vax has a hundred ways of kissing her, tender in the mornings, excited after they’ve been apart, curious when he’s aroused and testing her waters. This is different. He kisses her like he’s trying to catch up, like she’s a wild beast he’s chasing through the woods.

Her hands find his waist again and she’s tugging, yanking him away from the door and deeper into the cottage. Vax stumbles, his pants at an awkward height around his thighs, but he’s dexterous, he’ll figure it out. After a few moments, the backs of her legs hit something solid, and Vax’s lips don’t need to leave hers for his arm to come out and sweep whatever had been on their little kitchen table onto the floor. Some vague part of her mind tries to analyze the resulting crash to figure out what exactly just got unceremoniously tossed to the ground, but she finds she just doesn’t care all that much. Let it break. She’s busy.

Vax’s fingers grip her waist hard, and she’s going up, slammed onto the table. Her legs wrap around him automatically as she scrambles have him closer, closer. His lips trail down to her neck and his fingers, long, nimble, so very good at what they do, fumble at her waistband. “Fuck,” she sighs, her head falling back so he can mouth at her throat.

“Fucking pants,” he growls. “Are they usually this difficult?”

“Losing your touch?” She pulls the tip of his ear into her mouth and sucks on it.

He tugs harder. “Keep making fun of me and you’ll lose my touch.” Then manages to yank her pants down and off in one fell swoop, making her yelp. The table is cold under her ass, but she finds it easy to ignore as two fingers slide into her as easily as they might lace through hers on a stroll through town. "Keyleth," he groans against her mouth. "You're soaked."

"Your fault," she gasps, heart jerking erratically in her throat as he works tight circles inside her. "Your fault your fault your fault—"

Annoying bastard as the nerve to look pleased, like he's proud to have reduced her to this. Because she is reduced, just hot skin and slick thighs and lips that need to be touching him at all times. He obliges her, one hand on the back of her head, crushing her mouth to his, while the other hand, arm pinned between their torsos, seamlessly slips a third finger inside. The sound she makes is animalistic, something she thought she'd only be capable of making while wild shaping. He's simply too good at this. He's not even looking, just an innate expert touch that makes the flame in her belly burn brighter. How does he know exactly where to brush those callused fingertips? How has she not exploded yet?

Her arms, draped around his neck to keep him as physically close as possible, squeeze down between them, to tug at where he's hard and leaking in front of her. He bites on her lip in encouragement, and his fingers—fuck she loves his fingers—slip out of the way just in time for her to kick her heel into his ass to shove his hips forward. He enters her all at once, rough, unforgiving, and her back bows with the force of it.

It's never felt like this before. Normally it's gentle, quiet, romantic, Vax being so careful to ensure that she's not in any discomfort, that she's having a good time. This is not that. Vax fucks into her hard and fast, the table vibrating beneath her as she clings onto him for dear life. She buries her face into the crook of his neck as stars explode behind her eyes. She feels so full, her every nerve sparking and crackling as she pulls him in deeper, deeper. This is it, whatever she was craving, whatever need he spawned in her, he's giving it to her now, and she can't get enough. Her breath staccatos as the muscles in her stomach tighten—she is so, so close.

He knows this, knows what makes her tick better than she does, so the hand that had been gripping her waist to keep her steady comes around to work precise, nimble circles into her clit. That's all it takes. Her body seizes, vision going white as the breath whooshes from her body. She's clenched around him, subsuming him entirely; she cannot begin to understand where she ends and he begins.

The force of it brings him with her, and when he spills inside, he gasps hot breath into her chest. Her ears ring, the sound of her own blood pumping louder than anything she's ever heard before, but as her muscles slowly begin to relax, she hears a sound, strange, high-pitched, soft—oh. That's her.

"Kiki." Vax leans heavily against her, and her jelly bones struggle to keep them both upright. "Kiki."

Her hand comes up to stroke his hair, to calm him, to congratulate him, honestly, she's not sure. She swallows this keening noise that is coming from somewhere inside her and pants, "Good...job. We did it."

Vax snorts a laugh into her shoulder, barely keeping himself up on the edge of the table. "That was...holy shit."

Now Keyleth feels it, that pride that earlier annoyed her when on his face. She did this, left him silly and speechless and sweating. Somewhere, on the farthest edges of her mind, that self-conscious embarrassment is threatening to creep back in, but frankly, she's too wrung-out to notice. "Sorry to...spring that on you. I was...affected."

Vax hauls himself up to take her face in his hands and plant the hardest, filthiest kiss on her mouth. "Do not ever apologize for that," he growls, and the sound make her still-quivering folds twitch. "That was...fucking transcendental."

"No fair," she pouts. "No big words."

"I'm very sorry." He runs his fingers, still slick from her, through her hair, and she's too tired to be grossed out. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but...what brought this on?"

She shrugs, and her skin is getting hot again, the embarrassment beginning to win the war over post-coital stupidity. "You."

He grins at her, the dumb, happy grin that she cherishes like no other. "Well. Now you know how I feel, like, all the time."

She gapes at him. "You feel like that? All the time?"

"Pretty much! Not my fault my girlfriend is a sexy, all-powerful nature goddess!"

"Oh my god." She ducks her head against his chest. "I thought I was going to shatter into a thousand pieces."

"Are you telling me you didn't?"

She rolls her eyes and shoves him. "Alright, my horny meltdown is over, time to get back to work."

"Yes ma'am." He steps back so she can slide off of the table, and they both look at each other askance. "But uh...shower first?"

"Yeah, good idea."

#critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #my fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vox machina #vox machina fic

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