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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

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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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fearnesbells · 4 months

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give me imodna fic recs please.

the ones that made you cry or scream or sob or smile so hard you broke your phone. partial to reunions and slow burns but just filled with a need to consume. I Want It.

#imodna #imogen temult #imogen x laudna #laudna #critical role #the adventures of a first time critter #imodna fanfic #imodna fanfiction

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mollywall-e · 7 months

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Chapter One of my Imodna Red Dead AU!

Featuring artwork by: @atleastweasle

#imodna #imodna fic #imogen x laudna #critical role fanfiction #critical role fanart #imodna fanfiction

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conditionaljewel · 9 months

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New fic!

>>>Showing Signs of Love<<<

We learn Laudna's gold ear cuffs are more than just beautiful pieces of jewelry as she remembers the early days of her and Imogen's relationship in loosely recounting the trauma she experienced at the hands of the Briarwoods to her and sharing the healing that she's experienced since that time, culminating in an expression of unique love languages between these two sorceresses.

This is the result of my hyperfixation on that Tiktok of the HoH Laudna and Imogen signing out the kiss scene and my brain couldn’t stop obsessing over an AU where Laudna had some form of auditory processing disorder/disability and she and Imogen pick up Sign Language throughout their adventures. Just a little thing thats purely self-serving and for absolutely no one else by myself but feel free to give it a gander if you like and if you do well hey thanks for reading!

#critical role #fan fiction #imodna #imogen x laudna #imogen #laudna #not canon #definitely not canon lol #imodna fanfiction #cr fanfiction #critical role fanfiction #fanfiction #disability fanfiction #disability au #hoh laudna #deaf laudna #hoh!laudna #deaf!laudna #disabled!laudna

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ariadnerue · 8 months

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Hello friends I am gonna need Laudna and Imogen to have a diggity dang conversation in the next episode or I will Riot.

Manifesting this (or at least something like... a quarter this fluffy and dumb) for this Thursday.

Title from Paper Rings by Taylor Swift.

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #imodna #imodna fanfiction #imogen temult #laudna #southern gothic #AriFic #these witches be canon

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goopyratdaughter · 9 months

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flash fiction time to break the hiatus (god knows if it'll last)

#cr #cr spoilers #imogen temult #laudna #imodna #southern gothic #cr fanfiction #imodna fanfiction #critical role #critical role spoilers

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i-think-therefore-i-fan · 1 year

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Fanfic: A hearth to call a home

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36372358

@ratinayellowbandana / annamorris

Author Summary:

You run, and you mend, and you are so, so alone.

Until you are not.

It is an odd sight, to be sure.

A purple-haired woman petting the raven skull of a dead rat puppeteered by a walking skeleton.

And yet, it fits.

-------------------------------------

So while insomnia is hitting me like an incessant dripping tap on my forehead, and the cr3 fandom is pissing in their boots for nerves and excitement at episode 50 let's go a little back in time and review an older fic that deals with pre-campaign Laudna and Imogen.

First impression: title was promising as it didn't have brackets, summary didn't give much away BUT it was in the second person narrative. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with that, but it needs to be handled well. And as I don't enjoy reader fics, I went in with some trepidation.

I love it when I'm wrong =D

It covers Laudna awakening from her death all the way to getting to Jrusar. 30 years in just under 13k y'all. And written so early in the campaign.

Many authors miss the mark with writing from Laudna 's perspective. They tend to write her as someone who feels very sorry for herself. Instead the approach the author takes is one of cold factualism and acceptance. It is what it is. Something Laudna feels almost removed from. Which is why the second person works so well. It adds an element of distance ironically in this instance.

And that is why it moves you. She tries to numb herself, and even after decades it still stings even if she won't let herself give it much thought.

So basically it's a great character study.

And when she notices that she loves Imogen, there are no paragraphs of self-flagellation and self-deprecation. It's more of, oh look that happened, and accepts it and delights in the beauty and joy of loving someone. And deals with the day ahead.

The prose is lovely and the author treats their readers like smart humans that don't need everything spelt out. They know that sometimes less is more, and they use the power of the negative space between words to get their message across.

I thoroughly enjoyed this one and the Laudna they depicted.

#laudna #imodna #imodna fanfiction #imodna fanfic recs #imodna fanfic review

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southerngothicaf · 1 year

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Obliterated

Imogen contemplates the magnitude of her own power with Laudna at her side to provide comfort and reassurance. Read on AO3 here.

The blast radius of whatever primal screech that escaped her had almost completely obliterated everything in its path. Except her. No, them. With the settling of the sand and the dust, the piercing sun like a judgemental gaze upon the back of her neck, Imogen looked through the destruction to where she’d last seen Laudna, afraid that she’d been torn apart like the cracked stone and steel around her. She was still there, her body, but not her. They couldn’t bring her back. A part of Imogen wished that the blast had taken herself with it.

But then she was back, those black as ink eyes looking up at Imogen with fear, confusion, relief, joy, pain. And more than that she could feel her again, hear her the way that only Imogen could. Everything was worth it if it meant that beautiful melody could wind its way through her mind again, tangle itself in the strings of thoughts that coagulated themselves into an overwhelming sludge, and in doing so bring her a reprieve from the cacophony. It was a power that only Laudna had, a power far greater than anyone in their group could wield. But right now she needed to be there for Laudna, she’d done her part to be there for Imogen.

Imogen wouldn’t go a day without appreciating that Laudna was still by her side. Every night she feared that she’d see her familiar figure walk into the red storm. Every day she’d take every touch, every smile, every “Darling” said in that tone of hers. She could and would never get enough. However, something else was lingering in her mind as well, and she knew Laudna was aware of it, though they hadn’t really discussed it yet. Laudna was good like that, not pushing things until Imogen brought it up in her own time.

Imogen sat quietly on their bed in whatever inn the Bells Hells had decided to hole up in that night. She couldn’t remember the name, nor did she really care. She was tired, worried, confused about her mother. But that wasn’t the thing that had been scratching at the back of her skull since the battle with Otohan. She looked up to watch Laudna as she was twirling around the room, adding the little home decorations she brought with them on their travels. Always making a place feel like home, that was Laudna. A soft, sweet melody spilled quietly from Laudna’s breath, absentminded and comforting. Imogen couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on her tense face, shaking her head at herself as she looked back down at the bedsheets.

“Darling, everything alright?” Laudna asked, sending her a concerned glance as she pinned a dark floral garland over the top of the window.

Imogen sighed and leaned back in the bed, looking down at her hands and picking at her fingers. “Yeah, yeah. Just… stuff on my mind, y’know.” The slopes of her accent came out especially rough into the warm quiet of the room.

Laudna clapped the dust from her hands as she finished up and gave a self satisfied nod to the now homey inn bedroom. She gently sat herself on her side of the bed, pulling Imogen’s head into her lap and beginning to brush her lilac strands of hair out of her face. Imogen’s eyes closed and she let out a heavy breath, like she’d been holding it in all day. “There you go, dear. Let it out,” Laudna quietly murmured, smiling down at her beloved as she traced her face with her long, gentle fingers. “If you want to talk about anything I am more than happy to listen.”

The warmth that filled Imogen pushed tears into her eyes for a reason she couldn’t discern. As an instinctual defense, she closed them and turned to hide her face in Laudna’s stomach. Laudna kept stroking her hair, patient, quiet. Eventually, Imogen’s muffled voice, “I destroyed everything.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Laudna asked, confused and concerned.

Imogen turned to look back up at her, no tears having fallen, but the shine of her eyes reflecting her fears. “That day, when you… When I saw you…” Imogen took a deep breath, blinking quickly. Laudna nodded, so Imogen continued. “I don’t think you saw it, because of what happened, but… I screamed and there was this huge blast of power or somethin’.” As she spoke her voice grew steadier, less shaky. She needed to get this out. “It was pure white, and when I could see again, everything around us, the buildings, it was all destroyed.” Laudna was still listening quietly, holding her but not crowding her, giving her room to continue, so she did. “A-and Laudna when I saw that, what I’d done, I was almost sure that I’d ripped you apart as well, and the others, a-and I don’t understand how I- how you’re all- or what even happened I don-”

“Hey, hey,” Laudna quieted as she pressed her hand onto Imogen’s chest, reminding her to breathe. Imogen reached up and grabbed her hand tightly, a few tears falling down the side of her face and into her ears as she gazed up at the woman she loved, holding onto her like a lifeline. Laudna used her free hand to brush the tears away, soothing, “I’m here. We’re here, together.”

Imogen nodded, sniffling then shaking her head at herself. “No, yes, you’re right. I know that. I do, trust me, I know you’re here. I can feel you again and that’s just the best thing in the world. But… I don’t understand what I did. How did I do that? Not just destroyin’ everything, but how was I able to keep you all safe while I did it? What if it happens again and I can’t, Laudna? What if I…” Imogen wanted to tear her eyes from Laudna’s, the shame and guilt for an action she had yet to commit forcing its way up her throat.

Laudna held her gaze, tracing a cold finger along the outline of Imogen’s jaw, up the cleft of her chin to her plump bottom lip, then even further to give her an unexpected boop on the nose, causing Imogen to blink confusedly for a moment, shocked out of the dark place her mind was leading her. “Imogen, I have the utmost confidence that you would never do anything to hurt me, or any of us for that matter. Well, maybe Chetney, but he would probably deserve it,” Laudna said with a confident, caring smile.

Imogen couldn’t help but smile back, curling herself tighter into Laudna. “Thank you, Laudna, but I’m worried that’s not enough.” She was worried that she would become too much for Laudna, no, for herself to handle.

“Well, I know it is. Let me ask you this.” She pulled Imogen closer as she asked, “Were you in full control of yourself when you did that crazy amazing magical blast thing?” Laudna’s eyes widened as she described the blast, the way they did when she was describing something cool or exciting or dangerous or scary, her free hand mimicking an explosion.

Imogen thought for a second, but all she could remember from the moment was Laudna. Seeing her, then the scream, then the white. All she could remember was the pain. “I-I don’t know. I know that I saw you, and I screamed. The loudest scream I’ve ever screamed.” The memory echoed through her mind and through her chest. “It all just came out I guess. I don’t know. But I didn’t like, think to myself ‘destroy all these buildings’ or anything. It just… happened.” Imogen worried her bottom lip with her teeth, struggling against the fear that wouldn’t quite leave her.

Laudna nodded, contemplating the information quietly for a moment, before concluding, “See, even when you lose control you can’t bring yourself to hurt those you love. That’s just who you are, Imogen.” She punctuated the statement with a soft kiss to Imogen’s forehead.

The kiss had brought her back to the moment with a languid electricity that flowed to a subtle blush in her cheeks. Imogen smiled, still unsure of herself, of everything going on, but warm and comfortable in Laudna’s embrace. She muttered an uncertain “Maybe…” before she decided to focus on where they both were then and there, and to try to leave the worrying for the next sunrise. It’d been a long enough day anyway. “Gosh, I’m so glad I didn’t hurt you, and that you’re here with me,” Imogen hummed as she brought the hand she’d been holding up to her own lips, returning the kiss to the back of Laudna’s hand.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” Laudna’s radiant smile and deep, dark eyes shone so heavily with her love for Imogen that she had no choice but to believe her, and maybe that meant she was right.

#critical role #imodna #southern gothic #imodna fanfiction #my fanfiction #this is the first fic ive posted in literally 5 years idk what got into me lmao #i hope yall enjoy #also its titled obliterated cuz thats how i feel lmfao

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thegayypowerranger · 11 months

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Hi! I'm an agéd (late 20's) fanfiction.net user dragged out of comfortable retirement by these absolute fools who I am completely normal about. Heard AO3 is where things are happening these days and figured I’d share it here too! Taking place out of plot context at some point after episode 39 (Laudna's in game resurrection) and before 45 (Feywild).

Delilah is gone. And things feel... Different.

#imodna #imogen temult #imogen x laudna #laudna #critical role #cr #bells hells #cr3 #critical role fanfiction #imodna fanfiction

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vexah1ia · 2 years

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Should I Stay? ( Or Should I Go? )

Part 1 / ?

—

Laudna was floating, floating in an inky void that felt overwhelming, oppressive even. A knot of anxiety twisted into her chest, almost like a blade pressing down.

A blade.

Otohan.

The battle.

Imogen, where’s Imogen?

Laudna snapped her head to the side, her eyes straining to see through the dark, searching for anything, anyone. It was then she realised that something felt different.

It took her a minute, but then it came to her. The pain was gone, that constant ache no longer pulsing through her body, as it had every day for the last thirty years.

Lifting an arm, Laudna braced herself for the flash of pain that usually accompanied movement of this kind. Nothing. And her head was quiet, blissfully so, Delilah well and truly gone.

So she was dead — properly dead that is. A wave of relief ran through her, followed instantly by a flash of guilt and an image of lavender hair and lilac eyes. She couldn’t leave Imogen behind, not by herself.

But she won’t be by herself, the selfish part of her whispered. She has the rest of the Hells, they'll take care of her.

And I’ll get to see my mother again.

—

I miss her 😔

also posted on ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41833413/chapters/104964924

#amrita writes stuff #critical role spoilers #critical role #imodna #imogen x laudna #laudna #imogen temult #critical role fanfiction #imodna fanfiction

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ratinayellowbandana · 8 months

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Prompt: “I feel terrible.” And/or “I want you to kiss me right now.”

I love your fics 🥹 just yesterday I was thinking of your name while perusing ao3 and was wishing for another Imodna fic of yours

hi!! thank you so much for your kind words. it always shocks me when people, like, want to read my writing? so it really means a lot. i'm sorry this took me a little longer. i ended up combining your first one with another prompt and part of my wip so when i eventually publish a fic with an extremely similar scene from imogen's perspective.. dw about it.

anyway, here's some post-resurrection hurt/comfort. we're gonna all pretend they stayed in the castle for a couple days and sorted their shit out.

cw for feelings of helplessness and self-loathing

length: ~1.7k

some prompt lists if you're so inclined || my ao3

~~~

It’s been three days since they got her back.

Three days since she woke on the worn wooden floors of Pike’s home to a small crowd of friends and strangers.

Three days since she set foot in Whitestone again, a place she never hoped to return.

And three days since everyone began treating Laudna as if she's going to shatter.

The worst part is she feels as if she might.

The world is too vibrant. Loud. The birds chirping outside the too-large castle window grate on her ears. The silky sheets on the too-soft four-poster bed cling to her in all the wrong ways. Her skin crawls and her bones grind and she can feel her teeth.

The gnome who revived her said this is normal. She’d been dead, after all. The body would need time to recalibrate. Time they do not have if they want to have any hope of intervening on the solstice.

Imogen dotes the best way she knows how. With soup and kind words and glares that warn the others to keep back if they don’t want a zap to the forehead. She offers furs from the trunk at the foot of the bed and cool cloths that do little to ease the ache of Laudna’s fragile joints. She brings pillows and keeps watch in the window seat as Laudna sleeps.

It’s sickeningly sweet and thoughtful and lovely, and Laudna hates it just a little bit because Imogen has spent far too much time fretting over Laudna as of late when she should be anywhere but a stuffy old castle spooning broth to a dead lady whose hands won’t stop shaking.

Laudna is fine.

She’s fine.

She is.

Delilah is gone, they assure her. Imogen herself sent a bolt of lightning through the bitch’s strange conjured tree trunk in the twisting nether realm that left the smell of iron and marrow lingering in Laudna’s nose. Her limbs still sting with phantom wounds where she had thrashed against Delilah’s cage.

Helpless. Weak.

The others were there, too. At least, for much of the fight and everything that preceded. They had seen Laudna’s memories, as Fresh Cut Grass informed her. Learned the name she had taken care to hide all these years. Buried deep enough, even Imogen, brilliant as she is, would have to dig to uncover it. Delilah, it seemed, only cared for secrets when they were hers to keep.

When her friends visit her chambers, their vivacity is dulled. They are tense, anxious, and trying and failing to hide the restlessness that they are all feeling.

Orym regards her with new wariness, searching for lies and cracks, though he is kind as ever. It’s understandable, Laudna reasons. In this place, where the Briarwood reign harmed innumerable lives, she is a liability. A threat to be guarded against.

Fearne is delicate with her hugs, moves cautiously through Laudna’s space. She hasn’t even stolen any of the silver soup spoons or fine teacups, which might be most concerning of all.

Ashton hovers in the doorway. They return her awkward waves with a nod and flick of their wrist.

Chetney and Fresh Cut Grass seem the most unbothered. Chetney in a plush bathrobe that appears to have been hastily cropped to suit his stature, and F.C.G. chattering on about the importance of rest to the healing process.

And Laudna hates them just a little bit because she cares for them all so deeply, but mostly, she just hates herself. Hates Delilah. Hates Otohan Thull.

They’re losing time and they’ve already lost so much. Imogen has already lost so much. Her mother’s trail is growing colder by the day, and there is nothing Laudna can do but lay in this godsforsaken luxurious bed and wait until her body recovers.

It’s all she can do not to break into a thousand pieces that she would scatter to the nooks and crannies so she wouldn’t have to see the pitying looks on her friends’ faces when Imogen has to help her up.

She turns on her side and buries her face in an obnoxiously soft down pillow to muffle the sob that wells within her and wracks her body.

She does a piss-poor job of that, too.

“Laudna?” Imogen calls sleepily, roused from a sun-dappled doze. Then, alert, “Hey, hey–”

She’s standing, Laudna can hear, and now she’s gone and disturbed Imogen. Bare feet pad across the cool stone floor, and the far side of the bed dips, ever considerate. She will not come closer, Laudna knows, unless given explicit consent because Imogen is wonderful and caring and lovely.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?”

Laudna shudders. “I feel terrible.”

“Oh,” Imogen says, and Laudna can feel the flash of guilt and concern that radiates off of her. “Can I bring you anything? Is it your head?” She shifts her weight. “Do you need water? I can go get a pitcher. Or food, maybe?”

“Stop. Please, stop,” Laudna croaks. Imogen flinches, and gods, Laudna could be sick.

Imogen retreats. “Sorry, I’ll just– sorry,” she murmurs, sounding so small.

Laudna lifts her head and darts a trembling hand to catch her wrist. “No!” she says. Her body betrays her, the word coming out as more of a roar than she ever could have meant. “No,” she repeats, softer, “stay. Please,” because if she frightens Imogen off, she fears what will crawl into the hole left behind.

Imogen hesitates, glances down at the ink-tipped fingers clasped around her arm, and sits again. She doesn’t speak, leaving the path clear for Laudna to lead the way, and oh, Laudna could melt.

Laudna sighs shakily, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…it’s not you.”

Not Imogen. Never Imogen.

The silence hangs heavy between them until Laudna can bring herself to speak again.

“This is my fault, I’m afraid,” she states flatly, refusing to meet Imogen’s gaze. Refusing to see whatever reaction she may find there. Anguish. Frustration. Irritation.

“What?”

Confusion.

Laudna looks up, gestures vaguely to their surroundings. “This. All of us being… trapped here.”

“Laud, what’re you talkin’ about?”

Imogen’s hand comes to stroke the back of Laudna’s knuckles where they wrap around her other wrist. Her fingers are calloused and work-worn, the rough patches of them catching on the imperfect parts of Laudna.

“You should be off tracking down your mother or finding out what you can about the moon, and instead,” Laudna’s voice catches in her throat, “you’re here.”

Imogen shakes her head, exhales. “Where I should be is for me to decide.” She says it gently. It is not meant to be a reprimand. It still feels like one. “And where I should be,” she continues, “is wherever you are.”

Laudna’s eyes flit anywhere but Imogen’s face.

“If you want me there, of course.”

Laudna’s response is instant. “Always.”

She finally meets Imogen’s eyes and is met with a somewhat furrowed brow. She wants to ask something, Laudna can tell. Imogen’s head is tilted curiously, her lips slightly parted. Her jaw works subtly, muscles tensing.

“It’s not your fault,” she settles on at last. “None of it, okay?”

Laudna opens her mouth to respond.

Imogen is steely calm. “You were gone, Laudna. And I couldn’t reach you, and…and you’re here now. You’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

Laudna shrinks into the pillows, takes her hand back beneath the sheet, fist clenching and unclenching. “I feel like such a nuisance,” she confesses quietly. “I should have tried harder to break her hold on me. I should have–”

“No. Gods,” Imogen snaps, lacking any real bite. She inhales. “Laudna, you…you were dead. And I hate sayin’ it; I hate thinkin’ about it. You couldn’t’ve done anythin’ more than what you did.” She softens, throat tightening with emotion. “You did so much. And I’m so proud of you. And… I’m so grateful you chose to come back.”

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” Laudna whispers, “I couldn’t very well leave you, darling.”

“You could’ve.” Imogen bites her lip, ducks her head, fiddles with the hem of her vest. “We, um, I know F.C.G. told you, but we… saw some of your memories. And, and I didn’t really wanna bring it up? So I’m real sorry, but we only saw a couple moments, and we don’t have to talk about it, but,” she looks back to Laudna, “you’re so brave. I don’t think you get told that enough. You’re so strong, Laud, and so good, and I missed you. So much.” She takes a sharp breath.

It bursts out as though holding it in any longer might suffocate her, and Laudna’s hands cease their twitching. She hesitates. Imogen’s affection has split her open, and it’s odd, she thinks, to feel so vulnerable and so safe. That those two sensations can coexist as a tingling in her chest that extends into her tendons and ligaments to warm her all over. She can sense the discolored blush rising in her cheeks.

She does not feel brave. Strength has always been foreign and abstract. That Imogen can see her that way is… incongruous. Absurd, even.

“You’re very kind.”

Imogen looks as if she might protest but seems to think better of it. She sighs, a slight, sad smile crossing her lips. She moves to stand again, to cross the room back to her seat, and suddenly, the thought of Imogen being so far away is unbearable.

“Stay, please?” Laudna shuffles, lifting a corner of the quilt. “This bed is plenty big enough for two, and I dread to think of the state of your neck curled up in the window.”

“You’re sure?” Imogen asks, faint hope coloring her words.

“Come here.”

The bed dips again as Imogen clambers in, pressing herself against Laudna, who lets out an oomph as Imogen wraps around her and intertwines their fingers.

“Sorry!” Imogen says with a relieved exhale, “Sorry, I just–I know I said it before, but… I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Laudna assures gently, taking in the oaty smell of Imogen. The smell of home. “Rest well, darling.”

Imogen squeezes their hands in response and burrows closer.

Laudna relaxes into the embrace.

#as always these bad boys are pretty unedited and written fast so apologies for pacing spelling weird formatting etc #I hope this works!#this actually really helped me figure out some stuff for my longer wips so much appreciated #thank you for submitting :)#critical role fanfiction #imodna fic #imodna fanfiction #my fic #imodna #imogen temult #laudna #cr3 #critical role #prompt fill #ask #anon

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fearnesbells · 3 months

Text

wreck my mind while the planet turns | imodna | 3k+

hello hello hi

i got bitten by the imodna fic writing bug guys.

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Imogen blinks to get the red out of her eyes.

It’s snowing.

She pauses on the path to crane her neck and watch the flakes fall from the night sky. The red fades to the back of her mind, a low, distant ebb.

(Almost like a moon is there, maybe, pulling at tides.)

There is a small, sacred pleasure in watching the snow—from this angle, illuminated in midair by lantern light, the flakes falling almost look like stars. Momentary constellations, generated and broken apart moment-by-moment through the whims of the clouds overhead.

She is fascinated as she holds her hand just in front of her face. She watches the geometric ice crystals alight on her gloves, no longer for concealment and now purely for warmth.

For a while, she stays right where she is, content to quietly, happily watch the flakes accumulate and clump together on the knit purple texture over her hands. Snow is still endlessly entrancing to her desert-born soul. As the pink in her cheeks begins to shift to a chapped, bitten red and her shiver intensifies, though, she decides that it’s probably best to tear herself away and resume the journey back.

With the lantern brandished, she continues on, settling into a familiar, quickened pace as she rounds the next curve of the path. Her body knows this, by now, the pain of her sore muscles and aching bones all but lifted from her by the knowledge that she’s almost home.

Home—the stout, perfect cottage of stone and wood, built strong and small and warm against the wild of the woods. Honey-colored light spills out of the windows and glitters on the snow. A thin curl of smoke rises from the chimney, and a soft, unbidden smile rises to Imogen’s face as she senses Laudna’s familiar music nudging at her mind.

She lets her in. She always lets her in.

Laudna’s presence is unobtrusive and distinctly pleased in her head as Imogen takes an assessing look at the horses, safe and warm in the side barn. The familiar, sweet feeling makes her smile loosely as she knocks her boots free of snow on the porch.

A horseshoe hangs on the door, situated just above a bundle of dried thistleweed to keep the wraiths away. A sigil is carved on either side of the display—one in a spidery, thin-fingered script, the other burned into the wood at a skewed, lavender-tinted angle. Protection spells, from both of them.

Imogen’s key is stubborn in the lock, but turns eventually, and she stumbles inside.

The sigils flicker.

She experiences instant warmth from the roaring fire in the fireplace, a pot of stew boiling over top of it. The seizing, wholehearted fondness for the creature kneeling bent and delighted in front of it, though, dulls all other sensations down to nothing in comparison to its vibrancy. She practically can’t even notice the change in temperature.

Hey, sweet thing, she thinks, overflowing with affection, then says it aloud for good measure.

Laudna turns and tilts her face up to beam at her. “Hello,” she says again. “How was your day?”

Imogen opens her mouth and, curiously, has nothing to say. How was her day? Where has she been?

“It’s snowin’,” she tells her, stalling with a slowed cadence so she can sift through her memory anything about what transpired today.

All she has is the path, the snow.

“Well, yes, darling,” Laudna replies. She giggles a little bit, points to the thick, lead-paned windows that show the forest (and the snow) outside. “I saw.” She stands up and rests one hand on Imogen’s hip, the other on her cheek, still flushed from the wind and cold. Her thumb traces over the skin there. “You look extremely adorable like this. I feel as though I was robbed with all those years we didn’t spend in the snow.”

Imogen laughs, then, forgetting her forgotten day, and cups Laudna’s face in her purple-gloved hands to kiss her sweetly.

“Thanks, honey,” she murmurs, stepping back to begin peeling off her winter layers. A coatrack, roughly hewn, stands crooked by the door from the weight of coats and hats and scarves. “How was your day?”

“Went collecting, found some treasures,” Laudna says pleasantly, shrugs. It’s a short response from the normally verbose Laudna, and Imogen’s brows knit together in worry until Laudna leans in to kiss her again, nipping lightly at her lower lip.

“Glad to hear it,” Imogen says softly, and lets the world fall away for a moment save for her lover, who is so beautiful, and so all-encompassing. It’s easy to let her eclipse all the rest.

When the world comes back, she makes an effort to take it in.

She tucks her face in the thin crook of Laudna’s neck. The smell of dew-soaked earth surrounds her. Chilled. Familiar. Safe. She feels utter contentment, the likes of which she first encountered in those early days on the run—the two of them curled into each other nose-to-nose, awash in newly minted trust.

She had a small and sacred wish for this future, back then, held closer to her heart than its own beats.She didn’t dare to risk her closest hope by speaking it aloud.

She just wished for a home for them. Both of them want (then and now) nothing more than to never have to run again in their lives. They need somewhere to settle.

Imogen presses a brush of a kiss to the cool skin at the edge of Laudna’s jaw. “Dinner?” she asks softly, and when Laudna smiles Imogen feels the movement of it under her lips.

When she steps back, it’s all sharp teeth and sharp joy. “Dinner, yes.”

She moves to the hearth again, and Imogen follows her with a hand on the small of her back. Her eyes go to the tchotchkes scattered over the top of the fireplace.

Bones. Pieces of statues. Bundles of dried flowers.

A inexplicable snowflake interrupts her cataloguing and swirls across her vision, followed by a second, then a third. Imogen’s focus is magnetically pulled to their paths.

A voice says her name, somewhere. The sound does not come from inside the house.

Imogen dimly recognizes it as her name after the fact, like when you can label a birdsong only after the echo has long faded. She cannot tear her eyes away from the snowflakes, now accumulating over top of the fireplace like they did over the surface of her gloves earlier.

An awful feeling gathers in her chest.

“Imogen?”

This time, her name comes from just off to her side—oh, yes, Laudna. It’s all right. Laudna is here. The weight of the feeling eases at the sight of her girl, holding a bowl of stew and looking at her with her deep eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” Imogen tells her through a dry throat. “I’m okay, honey, sorry. Heard something—or, well, saw something, I guess. Both.”

Something alights in those dark, dark eyes. “What did you see?”

“Probably nothing,” Imogen reassures. “I don’t want to worry you about it, okay? Probably just the aftereffects of the chill from outside. Maybe I’m gettin’ sick.”

Laudna rests the back of her free hand against Imogen’s forehead, cold and smooth.

“Eat this, darling, and we’ll talk.”

Imogen takes the bowl of stew with both hands and sits down, keeps her eyes on Laudna at the fire. The tension in her chest unwinds as the other woman ladles a serving into her own bowl, humming to herself.

The stew is delicious. It tastes like her father’s cooking, when he still cooked. Imogen has practically devoured half the bowl before she comes up for air.

Laudna sits at her side after a minute, and takes one of Imogen’s leyline-scarred hands in her own instead of beginning to eat. Laudna never needs to eat much.

“Tell me what you saw,” she says softly. “Like we do with your dreams.”

Imogen keeps her eyes on her face, finding comfort there like she always does as she starts speaking.

“Snow,” she murmurs. “I saw snow. Falling indoors, though—right over there, over our fireplace.”

“No moon?”

“No, there was no—no. Just snow.”

“Think, darling. Really think. Was there a moon?”

Imogen is confused by her insistence, but closes her eyes tightly, remembering the single flake, then the flurry. Remembers the way the snow had drifted together over their things.

Remembers red light from the moon falling through the windowpanes, glittering on the snow like fresh blood.

“There… there was, but…”

“But what?”

She opens her eyes, then, feels Laudna’s music in her mind, anxious now. It’s like a too-quick bow dashing across the strings of a fiddle.

Ruidus is visible now through the kitchen window, silhouetting Laudna’s form—how did she not see it before?

Imogen’s hand, flickering with violet light, clenches and unclenches over the surface of the dining room table.

More sigils are carved over its wood. These are in the thin, webby etching that must have been done by Laudna’s hand. They’re not traditional, instead made up of strung-together foundational symbols that have been cobbled into novel translations.

Refuge. Home. Stronghold.

Fight it, Imogen.

“But what, darling?”

She stares hard at the last sigil, remembering what it’s supposed to say, what they carved there in the first place, and finds that she can’t. Finds, in fact, that now all of the sigils are burning red, bright in her eyes, and that all of them now spell FIGHT, IMOGEN.

“We have to go,” she says desperately. “Laudna, I—.”

Laudna takes both of Imogen’s hands in hers, now, and turns fully to face her. The stew sitting in front of them both has gone quite cold.

“Breathe,” she says fiercely. “Breathe. Shut it out. It’s just that old moon again. He cannot find you here.” She holds Imogen’s gaze with her dark, caring eyes. “Breathe, Imogen.”

The red light recedes. Imogen’s breath still shakes on the way out.

Laudna takes her right index finger and touches it to her own lips before she rests it against her forehead, eyes still locked on Imogen.

Remember? she hears.

Imogen breathes out a weak laugh, and does the same—kisses her index finger, touches her own forehead.

I’m keepin’ you up there, she thinks. Don’t you worry.

“Good,” Laudna whispers, and moves her hand from her own forehead to cup Imogen’s cheek. “I’ll fight it off for you, okay? If it comes, I will fight it.”

Imogen leans into Laudna’s touch, twists just slightly so she can brush her lips against the palm of Laudna’s hand.

I don’t know if it can be fought, honey.

She keeps the thought just between their minds—some things are too terrifying to be said aloud.

“It can be fought, because I will make it so.” Laudna is determined, her eyes getting deeper and darker like they do when her form of dread begins to take its shape. “You are bound for more than that moon. I will not let it take you.”

Imogen smiles wanly at Laudna’s ferocity, but feels tears gather in her eyes, too.

“Everything we learn about Ruidus seems like it’s pointin’ right to me,” Imogen whispers. “My scars… my magic… hell, my mama, Laudna. This is my fate.”

“Why?” Laudna asks, broken. “Why is that your fate, and not this?”

Imogen looks around their home, its life and warmth and light, and a truth settles in her.

“This isn’t real,” she admits, finally. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not real.”

There is a lump in her throat that makes continuing feel impossible, but she tries to speak around it. She will always try for Laudna.

“I made my choice,” she says, the softest her voice can go. “I could’ve abandoned the mission—the group—I could’ve left, and gone to pursue this, with you. But I… at every point, when I could have changed my fate, I chose not to. And now I’ve bound myself to a path with one end.”

“Only one?”

Imogen smiles listlessly, on reflex, a shield more than anything else. Something to deflect the aching weight of Laudna’s gaze.

“Ruidus’ll be the end of me,” she says. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do. One way or another, my road ends there. I’m dying up there, Laud.”

Laudna watches her, quiet, and doesn’t say anything for a long while. It feels like she sees right through to the core of Imogen. It always does.

“So you’re giving up, then,” Laudna says, as a statement of fact.

“What? No, I’m—I’m seeing this through till the end, honey, that’s what I—”

“I woke up at the base of the tree,” Laudna interrupts her.

Laudna never interrupts her.

“I know.” Imogen hears her own voice shake.

“When I opened my eyes, I was so cold. I had never been that cold before, ever. And it was raining, and there was rope—” Laudna’s pale hand goes to her neck, to the friction scars that are textured over the skin there. “I was dead. And then I was alive again—but only partly. Half a life, tossed to me like scraps.”

“I know,” Imogen insists. “I know all of this, Laud, and I also know that you don’t like to talk about it, so we don’t have to…”

“Imogen. Please listen to me.”

It is a simple request, but it’s delivered with such sincerity that Imogen bites down on her tongue.

“Do you know what I did first?”

“Tried to find someone… to talk to?”

“I tried to climb back up the tree and retie the rope. To right the unnatural wrong that had been done.”

Imogen could not speak now if she wanted to. Bile crowds the back of her throat, tears burn at the corners of her eyes. Her vision is edged with red, and she doesn’t know if it’s Ruidus or the storm or the hot, awful press of grief and fear.

“I did not succeed, which you know, and it is something I am now grateful for. I am grateful in a manner so uncomplicated that it is beautiful. There is no regret in the fact that I am alive—or as alive as a Hollow One can be.”

Imogen grabs Laudna’s hands again, and holds them so tightly she fears a knuckle will pop out of place.

“You never told me that before,” Imogen breathes, through her burning, tight throat. “I—Laudna—”

“I continued on, after that, because I understood something that I am trying to get you to understand by telling you all of this, darling.” She squeezes Imogen’s hands right back, bony and strong. “I know what it is like to feel predestined for nothing but doom. I know that you do, too. But my love, my heart, you must understand that you cannot let yourself believe that. You are a creature of such capability and wonder—” she touches her forehead to Imogen’s, and Imogen feels their connection tug open—what a waste it would be if you arrived at the gates of hell and walked yourself in.

There are so many tears on Imogen’s cheeks. She tries to swipe at them, and mostly fails. “Are you real?”

Laudna smiles in the same way Imogen did earlier—humorlessly, like it’s armor. “Yes. No.”

Imogen stands from their table, where the sigils are glowing red, and walks to the window.

Ruidus is closer now—larger. It has begun to storm outside instead of snow.

Someone is calling her name.

She turns back, looks at Laudna sitting at the table, there in all her open, perfect glory.

“I’m here to protect you,” Laudna continues to explain, softly. “From the storm.”

Imogen looks around the house again. Looks at it, really sees it.

It is so beautiful. Messy, like she’d always thought it would be. Flowers in vases, flowers framed on the wall, dried flowers hung in bunches to ward off wayward curses. Bones peppered in among the blooms.

She commits it to memory, just in case.

“I can have this,” she says aloud. “I can hope for this.”

“Yes, you can,” Laudna responds softly. “Always.”

Imogen goes to her, then, because how could she not? She wraps her in her arms, holds her close and flush and as tightly as she dares. Laudna holds her back.

“I want this,” she murmurs. “I’m going to fight for this.”

Fight, Imogen.

With Laudna gripping her hand, she takes one last look around a home that could be hers and strides out into the storm.

The snowy path, the barn, the shed, all of it is gone—there is only red. Lightning screams overhead like it has a voice.

COME.

It’s the call she’s familiar with, the one that she hears every night when she falls asleep. Ruidus—Predathos—calling her forth, beckoning her within.

She takes a step towards its eye. On what ground, she isn’t sure. She can’t see where her foot finds purchase.

COME.

Darling. Follow me.

Laudna, in her form of dread, stands spindly and tall at Imogen’s side, and beckons her away from the storm.

Imogen blinks. The red dims, slightly.

Come on, darling. I’m right here. We can get out of this.

With the effort of a god, Imogen reorients herself, takes a step in Laudna’s direction.

There you are. I’m your tether, right? I’m pulling you right along. Just follow me. It’ll be easy.

One step turns to two, to three. The howling intensifies, the storm’s voice crowding her mind and splitting her head in two with pain, pain, pain—

Sweet, melodic music undercuts the sound of screams, and then mutes them down to nothing.

Follow me, sweet. I’m right here.

I love you.

She’s running, now, the steps coming easier, and Laudna is loping right alongside her, a many-limbed thing with eyes like the night.

“I love you!” she shouts back, out loud. Her voice is stolen by the wind, but she knows Laudna hears.

Keep running! Don’t stop! I love you more than any—

“—thing.”

Laudna’s voice.

There is sun.

There is sun, falling over her skin, and the smell of dew-soaked earth.

“Oh—oh, gods—Imogen?”

Laudna is holding her. Laudna is cradling her, really, draped over the thin frame of her body, and her face is wide-eyed with a naked sort of hope.

“Hi, darlin’,” she croaks. Her throat is painfully dry. “I didn’t… am I okay?”

Black tears gather in Laudna’s eyes and she starts to laugh, then, holds her impossibly closer and shoves her face in the crook of Imogen’s neck.

Imogen nudges at Laudna’s mind, out of habit, and an explosion bursts forth of Imogen-Imogen-Imogen-my Imogen-my girl-Imogen-oh, Imogen-Imogen, Imogen, Imogen—

“You were gone,” she says, mostly against Imogen’s skin. “We were on the road towards Ludinus, and then you went out like a light—like a candle, or something—oh, Imogen, I’m so glad you’re awake,” she says, pulls back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Do you feel all right? Are you all right?”

Imogen leans in and kisses her, touches their foreheads together.

“I love you,” she says softly. “I’m all right.”

I can have this. I can hope for this.

She looks in Laudna’s eyes, sees the fierce, stubborn light behind them, refusing to wink out.

I’m going to fight to keep it.

#critical role #imodna #imogen temult #campaign 3 #laudna #imogen x laudna #bells hells #jackie loves the lesbian witches #the adventures of a first time critter #imodna fanfic #imodna fanfiction #critical role fic #critical role fanfiction #jackie writes #the coven of c3

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