#orym needed someone to say this to him. he needs someone to keep him grounded.
Text
"I'd be up shit's creek by myself. I was by myself. It's not great."
"Yeah. No, it's not."
#critical role#orym of the air ashari#orym#ashton greymoore#cr spoilers#ashrym#biting and gnawing my leg off i WILL be thinking abt this for the next month#and YEs i do think ashton has some sorta something feelings going on for orym. no i will not elaborate i just know these things#it's my autism enhanced perception. i know what ashton is.#on a non-ashrym related note: SO glad someone FINALLY checked on orym#also glad i wasn't reading into things thinking ashton was noticing orym being off. he made some Faces that i hoped meant they noticed.#orym needed someone to say this to him. he needs someone to keep him grounded.#as much as i love fearne and orym and i DO think she's helped him for the better...fearne is not a very grounding person#but that's what's good about her#i think ashton could be a very good gronded person for orym. platonically or romantically.#as much as ashton likes to toot their horn abt being unstable and wild and chaotic...#they're probably the most level-headed and grounded after orym#they're more likely to pick the more chaotic choice but they do it in such a calm and chill way y'know?#i have a lot of ashton thoughts. i think he's so wrong to have raised his hand esp after fcg's freakout.#he didn't raise a hand against them#okAY I WILL. stfu now byeeeee
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Orym's argument against Ludinus Da'leth and the Ruby Vanguard is essentially "The purpose of a system is what it does."
This is a systems theory coined by Stafford Beer around 2001. He posited there is "no point in claiming that the purpose of a system is to do what it constantly fails to do." It does not matter what someone tells you a system does if it does not reliably do that. The things it does consistently do are the actual purpose of the system.
Ludinus (and Liliana) claim the purpose of the Ruby Vanguard's violence is to free Exandria of oppression from the gods. Orym's point is that they have not consistently protected anyone from oppression. They consistently murder innocent people, indoctrinate vulnerable people into doing terrible violence (including children), support a ruling class that dominates the population through mind control and eugenics, and seek to release a predator so terrifying that the warring alien gods and native primordials worked together to seal it away as a threat to both of them.
So the logical conclusion is that the purpose of Ludinus' system is not to free anyone from tyranny, it's to install himself as the tyrant. And it does not matter what Ludinus says it's for or even what he believes it's for. The purpose of a system is what it does. And Orym has been personally and repeatedly victimized by what it does. Why wouldn't he keep reminding them of that?
Add onto that, the Ruby Vanguard is a death cult. They lure people in with believable lies. They use propaganda to control how people view them and to convince people to support them. Liliana has been groomed into a true believer who genuinely thinks what she has been told is true and that Ludinus' system does what he says it will. She has been convincing other people of this for years. Not because she's an inherently bad person but because everyone generally tries to convince others that what we believe is true. It is actually dangerous to let a cultist try to talk you into the cult's perspective. That's why Orym shuts it down.
Orym was already on edge but it's fully in a breakdown after FCG's sacrifice. One more iteration of Ludinus' system consistently murdering the people he loves. But he still told Imogen he wants her to have a good relationship with her mom again. He wants Liliana to make it through the other side of this. But that has to involve consistently stating the reality of what's happening against what she believes.
Ludinus believes in the rapture of the revolution. Burn everything to the ground on a fundamental level and a new perfect society will grow, with him to guide it. The reality is that kind of power vacuum consistently leads to horrific violence and conditions often get much, much worse. Especially for vulnerable people, who often do not survive. A lot about the gods' relationships to mortals probably needs to change, but this an incredibly dangerous gamble to fix it.
The purpose of a system is what it does. Any suggestion otherwise is cold comfort to Orym's family in the ground.
#POSIWID#critical role#critical role spoilers#critical role meta#critical role campaign 3#Bell's Hells#Orym of the Air Ashari#Ludinus Da'leth#Liliana Temult
465 notes
·
View notes
Note
one word prompt: scheme
‘i have a scheme.’
‘no.’
‘alright, a plan.’
‘the word isn’t what i have a problem with. the whole concept is.’ orym glanced up from his book, fixed her with a knowing—and amused—look. ‘she’s a big girl. she can do this without us.’
fearne sighed. flopped dramatically into the sofa beside him, wriggling until her head was in his lap. she cleared her throat. he went back to reading. she cleared her throat, louder, and continued to do so until he said,
‘alright!’ orym put his book down and gave her his undivided attention, playing with her hair. ‘how did you get this so knotted up?’
fearne shrugged. she lay legs kicked over the arm of the couch, and drummed her heels against the side of it, frowning up at the ceiling.
‘are you sure—‘
‘yes. we aren’t going to spy on her.’
‘no,’ fearne said, sharply, ‘are you sure she’ll be alright?’
orym looked at his friend. fearne calloway was a legend of the silver screen for a reason; she was a creature drawn to drama, to delight, to playing pretend. there was no one like her. he truly believed that. there was no one in the world so capable of transformation as fearne. but he knew—and ought to have remembered—that transformation did not mean fraud and trickery didn’t mean carelessness. at her core, fearne was hungry. hungry for attention and pretty things, sure, but that was mild compared to her hunger for life, love, freedom. to someone else, that might have been scary, but orym had grown up with this girl—had pulled out sleeping bags so often they hardly ever got put away until his mother bought him bunk beds instead. she was his sister in everything but blood and he knew, he knew, that he belonged to fearne. and so did imogen. and gods help anyone who hurt her.
‘she’s gonna be fine,’ he said, making himself sound confident for fearne. he was confident—but then again, imogen had a brain that wasn’t always kind, and she was going on a date, which she had never really done before. ‘it might not go perfectly, but she’ll be fine.’
fearne nodded. her earrings jangled. her nails clicked as she tapped her steepled fingers. ‘i’m going to follow her,’ fearne announced. ‘you should come. if not to spy on imogen, at least to keep her from noticing me.’
orym groaned. ‘we promised!’
‘we promised we wouldn’t interfere. not that we wouldn’t turn up to watch.’ fearne rolled off the couch and strode for the door. ‘i’m going to need a disguise.’
‘no, you think?’
‘where’s your trench coat?’
‘it won’t fit.’
fearne looked at him like he was being very silly, and she would laugh if she had thought it was on purpose. instead, she rolled her eyes. ‘mine is in my bag.’ the obviously went unsaid but not unheard. ‘you should bring a gun.’
‘first, i don’t have a gun. second, we aren’t threatening her date with a gun or anything else. third—‘ orym crossed his arms and stood his ground. ‘i haven’t agreed to go.’
fearne tilted her head and smiled.
//
‘i can’t believe we’re doing this,’ orym grumbled from behind his newspaper, eyeholes cut out of it. ‘this is stupid.’
‘i didn’t ask you here to be a negative nancy.’
‘you didn’t ask me at all,’ orym hissed. ‘you threatened me.’
fearne fluttered her fingers as if to say, there you have it, that’s the end of the matter, and refocused on imogen on the other side of the cafe.
#museum au#fearne calloway#orym of the air ashari#tagging my stories#prompt fill#background imodna obviously
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
Everything hurts, until it doesn't.
The howl of the sandstorm dies down, replaced by a ringing silence. Orym blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting against bright, silvery light. This is definitely not the Seat of Disdain. The sand-weathered walls are nowhere to be found, replaced by a forest that seems to shimmer as though nothing truly has an edge.
No Fearne. No Imogen. Everything still. Everything empty.
This is it, then. This is after.
Will.
The world shivers around him, and the forest morphs into a mountaintop. Orym stands at the bottom of the slope beneath a cherry tree. The seasons have changed since last he stood here, but the blossoms blush pink with early spring even so.
There is someone at the top of the slope, silhouetted against the watery light of Catha. His back is turned, but Orym would know this man anywhere. Anywhere.
He opens his mouth to call out, but his voice comes out small. He's failed, after all, hasn't he? There is no vengeance for this man he swore to avenge. Not by his hand, anyway. He swallows, taking a step, then another. He'll forgive him. Of course he will, of course he–
"Orym?"
He freezes. That voice, emanating at once from inside his head and everywhere around him, is a familiar one. It isn't Will's.
"I'm so sorry," Keyleth continues. "I never meant for you to find this kind of end."
Orym whirls, but the Tempest is nowhere to be found. He and Will are alone with the trees and the moon, and Will shows no sign of hearing any of this.
"I know that it might be tempting to stay," Keyleth says, and something in Orym's heart twinges in agreement, "but Zephrah still needs you. Your friends still need you."
His friends. Images flash in his memory: Laudna and Imogen walking beside him, Fearne snoring gently under his head, Dorian– Dorian. He swallows.
"Your work isn't finished yet," Keyleth says. "Please, come back and finish it."
His work. His duty. Orym lets out a long breath. It's always been who he was, his devotion to the Tempest. The idea of leaving his work unfinished sits like a blade between the ribs.
But Will… Will is here, right in front of him. Maybe, just this once, he can be forgiven for shrugging off his duty. After all, if there's any indication that he's not up to the task, this would be it. Maybe it's time to stop trying to be useful.
He takes another step.
"Hi, Orym."
Again, he pulls up short as the airy tones of Fearne wash over his mind.
"I'm so sorry I didn't get to you in time." Uncharacteristic sadness tinges her voice, and he knows from horrible experience that she means it. "But I think you should come back, anyway."
A sudden weight manifests in his hand, and Orym uncurls his fingers to find a seed cradled in his palm. The one from Thrascuur. Still unplanned, because his business hadn't ended.
"I don't think you knew that I took this," Fearne says. "But you can have it back. I think it would be pretty rude, if you broke your promise to plant it."
Orym closes his fist around the seed. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Keeping his promises, doing his duty, following orders. He looks to the top of the mountain, where Will remains facing away. Maybe it's his turn to be selfish, just this once. He takes a step. Then another, and another, until he's running. The weight of duty around his neck falls away with every step as he lets the seed fall to the ground and land where it will. There's shame in his stomach, but there's lightness in his chest, buoying him as he goes, bright as the moon.
"Hello, friend."
It doesn't freeze him, this time. Instead, his footsteps slow until they stop, halfway up the slope. This voice doesn't echo, like the others. It's concentrated. Small. Brittle in a way he knows far too well.
He looks down at his hand and finds himself clutching the Sending Stone.
"You made it back to Tal'Dorei," Dorian says, and even now he attempts a light tone. "Zephrah is just as beautiful as the last time." A pause. "I'd hoped you might give me a more thorough tour, this time."
Orym screws his eyes shut. He came. He's in Zephrah, with the others. They told him Orym was dead, and he came. He came, and there are tears in his voice, and a waver that has nothing to do with vibrato.
Will stands at the top of the hill, facing the moon. Orym takes a shaking breath.
"Orym, I… I'm sure it's quite a sight, where you are," he continues, as though reading his mind. "I know that you would never wind up anywhere less than paradise, if there is one."
The strain as he takes a breath is audible. Twenty-five words have come and gone. This is different magic at work.
"All I can say is that we miss you very much." That perpetually light tone is choked with what can only be earnest tears, now. Orym feels his own throat tighten. "And I miss you very much."
His knuckles are white on the stone.
"But above all, I regret very much that I never had the chance to say goodbye," Dorian continues. "And I'm sorry that I wasn't there to protect you."
Three more words cap off the speech, and Orym half wonders if he's imagined them. Regardless, as the stone goes dark, Dorian's voice does not come again.
A new glimmer of light washes over the hill from behind him, and Orym turns to find the glow of an open doorway. Across the threshold, faces drawn and tear-stained, stand his friends. Stands Dorian, crying for the absence of him.
Orym's heart tugs in two directions at once.
He's had enough of duty, on this wavering hill. He won't come back for that. But as he watches, Dorian cradles one lifeless hand between both of his, and presses a kiss to the knuckles–and here, in the ringing and the light, Orym feels it.
He looks over his shoulder to where Will watches the moon. Slowly, Orym reaches out to touch the doorway. It feels wrong. It feels right.
Then, as though he could sense the movement, Will turns.
Orym stands rooted to the spot as those eyes take him in for the first time and for the thousandth. That old, familiar smile curls across his face, and Orym's heart aches.
Gone. He's gone. And if Orym stays, he'll be just as finished. The edges of the doorway behind him begin to diminish.
Will holds up a hand. It could be a greeting, or a signal to stay away. Maybe both. Orym reads his lips as he nods toward the doorway: "Go."
It's not a condemnation. Not a rejection. Just a wish, like the others. Orym chokes back a sob.
He thumps a hand over his heart, mouthing the words to Will. With a smile that looks like pride, Will mirrors both.
The doorway begins to flicker. With one last, lingering look to Will, Orym focuses back on the other side. To Keyleth and Fearne, miserable despite their reasoning. To Imogen, Laudna, Ashton, Chet, and FCG, standing back with bated breath. To Opal and Dariax and Fy'ra Rai, huddled together nearby.
To Dorian.
Maybe this place will be after, someday. In this moment, it feels like before.
With eyes wide open, he steps through the door.
#if you recognize the premise and a few bits of wording you qualify for the senior discount#critical role#orym#dorym#past orym x will#c3#mine#mine:fic#cr spoilers#critical role spoilers
470 notes
·
View notes
Note
20. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I may never fully understand what you’re going through. But please let me help you get through this.” with Ashton and Orym please? Preferably with Orym asking 😁
For the Noticing Trauma prompt
Honestly surprised to have someone taking me up on the "Wait a month" part of my pinned post. But I'm a creature of my word, so let's go!
Also slight spoilers for ep69
Orym finds Ashton seated, contemplating a rock held in their hand.
"Gonna try meditating again?" Orym casually asks.
Ashton flinches before turning to look at him, and Orym mentally berates himself for not being obvious enough in an approach from their left side.
"...Maybe?" Ashton answers, doubt and worry coloring his tone.
Orym wanders over to sit beside the genasi, near but not encroaching on their space.
"Would you like some company? I think some meditation could do me some good as well," Orym gently offers.
Ashton blows out a breath, the vocalization beneath it conveying something between annoyance and resignation.
"So I wasn't thinking, exactly, about meditating," he confesses, turning the rock in his hand, creating a soft clicking of stone on stone.
"Okay," Orym says, curious, and maybe a bit wary of where Ashton may wish to take this conversation.
There's silence for a few moments as Ashton purses their lips, obviously considering their next words.
"I don't want to give you more shit to worry about when we've already got so much going on. And I'm not falling down on this, so I don't need you to pick me up on it."
Yet, Orym can hear going unsaid. He can at least appreciate Ashton trying to hold to that promise they made in Issylra to keep each other functional and upright. Even though Orym's pretty sure that not catching Ashton before they hit the metaphorical ground in these situations will make pulling them back up much harder than catching them earlier.
The solution is simple enough, at least.
"I won't mind. It's kind of easier to face other people's problems than your own," Orym offers. "Plus, we're already doing all we can for the big problems we're working on."
Ashton snorts. "Yeah, I can fucking agree with that. Fuck."
Another sigh as Ashton's free hand comes up to rub his face.
"Alright. So, um... when I went to pick up my clothes, I, uh... I might have had a bit of a panic attack, in a side-alley," he confesses, voice lilting in that way that's begging for Orym not to be upset by this revelation.
"Oh, Ash," Orym says softly with sympathy. "We would have helped with that. You didn't have to-"
"I didn't want coddling," Ashton cuts through the reassurance. Not harshly, but still a solid stop. "I just wanted some space to freak out for a minute and pull my shit back together without being disturbed. Okay?"
Orym nods solemnly. With as many of his own panic attacks and other breakdowns as he's put off to maintain strength for others, he can't say he doesn't see the appeal of doing what Ashton did. To let it out and then put it back in its box without witnesses... he's done that a time or ten.
"Anyways. I had a panic attack, and while that was going on..." Ashton's gaze falls to the rock being turned in his hand, a small contemplative silence dropping over him again. "...And while that was going on, I think... I think I saw the bits of stone on ground near me... shaking. Vibrating. And I'm not sure if it would be worse if that was real, or if it was my mind playing fucking tricks on me."
It takes a few seconds for Orym to figure out why vibrating rocks while Ashton was having a panic attack is cause for concern.
"You think you were shaking them?"
"Seeing as I've apparently got fucking titan blood..." Ashton trails off, words filled with frustration, and a slight undercurrent of fear.
Orym's small hand reaches out, covering the rock Ashton's rotating in their hand, stilling it. He almost expects the rock to be rattling between their grips after that little talk, but no. It's just a normal, motionless rock trapped between his small fingers and Ashton's larger ones.
"I know I can't understand what that's like, what you're going through. That none of us really can. But I'm here, we're all here, to help you get through it, to figure it out. If you'll let us," Orym reassures Ashton, squeezing their fingers around the rock.
Ashton deflates, blowing out another deep breath.
"Yeah. I know. Having all of you is probably the main reason I'm not having a complete breakdown over this shit," they gently murmur.
Orym gives their hand another squeeze. Bells Hells has each others' backs, no matter what.
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
I see so many people who don’t like Orym very much, seeing him as boring, and “the well-adjusted one”, even saying he’s a bit too perfect, and I just can’t agree with them.
I think he’s meant to be boring, but boring in the way of he’s okay with not being the one in the spotlight. He’s happy with simply being there to support others, to help build them up and keep them safe. He is very kind-hearted and level-headed, bringing a badly needed grounding force and moral compass to an otherwise extremely chaotic party. He’s genuinely my favorite character right now for that reason. He doesn’t have to be the main character, he’s just a quiet, caring, good guy who’s there for people when they need him, and that’s kind of why I find his character so compelling. It’s honestly really refreshing to see. The only other character that has given me the feeling of peace that Orym does is Caduceus.
One could easily argue that his incredibly self-sacrificing nature is a flaw. Rushing in to save others, even complete strangers, has very nearly gotten him killed on many occasions. In fact, I feel like he’d be completely content with dying if it meant he was able to save someone else. I’d also say he definitely still has his issues and is not 100% emotionally well-adjusted. Certainly more so than his party members, to his credit, but not completely. He puts others before himself to the point that it is detrimental, ignoring his own problems because he sees tending to the needs of those around him as more important. In fact, he’s so selfless that it often makes me worry about him.
I think what really gets me is how wonderfully gentle he is. There’s been many scenes where he is so tender to his party members, having heart-to-hearts, giving words of encouragement, overall just checking to see if they’re okay. The moment in episode 35 where he was staunching Ashton’s nosebleed and later grew lavender to help calm him down was so sweet to see. I love how fiercely he protects his people, how much he desperately wants to see them live their best lives and be their best selves. In the end, he really is just a guy, and I respect the hell out of Liam for that.
I love that brave little halfling, 10/10 character
261 notes
·
View notes
Note
I think you and a lot of people are forgetting or disregarding that Imogen canonly has mental illness and an anxiety disorder and has had or hinted at suicidal ideations, she’s not a bad person. Flawed sure, but not bad. She apologized to orym immediately after. She’s just trying to understand her mother. So people need to stop hating on her for being “too sad or whiny or always crying.” So if anyone hates Imogen they are not allowed to stan Percy, Caleb or fjord or Vax. If one of the men was going thorough what Imogen was y’all wouldn’t have shit to say. Y’all are just hating to be hating.
In an impressive showing, almost every part of this question is incorrect, and I am going to discuss how.
Imogen does not "canonly" have an anxiety disorder (also, an anxiety disorder is a mental illness so the phrasing here is poor), and honestly, I would not even say her depiction hints towards her having one. I do think it's fair to say that she's been implied to have experienced suicidal ideation in canon. However, you equate that with her not being a bad person, and that's simply not how this works; an absolutely terrible person can also have suicidal ideation. Mental illness is neither a sign someone is bad nor is it a get-out-of-jail free card; it simply is. And someone's actions can hurt other people even if that person is also hurting.
I agree Imogen is flawed! I am pretty sure I haven't outright said she's a bad person, for what it's worth. I have definitely said that I don't think she's a good person, which is not the same as saying she's a bad person, if you have any capacity for nuance. I'm pretty confident that I have never said she's too sad or whiny or always crying, so I'm really not sure why you're sending this to me at all, frankly. Though, with that said, if someone does find that Imogen's frequent crying is annoying, that is their prerogative. Anyone is permitted to find any fictional character annoying for any reason, and it's bizarre and sad that you would make even this incredibly weak attempt to police that.
My criticism of Imogen in recent episodes has squarely centered on the fact that she is often unkind and inconsiderate towards other people and thinks the worst of them. You have only provided one example, of Imogen briefly apologizing to Orym - which doesn't stop her from still openly wondering if Liliana's side might be right afterwards. I mean, an apology is great, but there is a massive difference between "trying to understand why Liliana might have made the choices she did" and "openly and repeatedly wondering around people who have been killed and attacked by the Ruby Vanguard and who have lost family and friends to them if perhaps they might be right."
My criticism of Imogen is grounded in the fact that she seems to have little capacity to understand perspectives other than her own. Even saying this once to Orym, who has been searching for his husband's murder the entire time Imogen has known him, is crossing a line that a more considerate character would not. I think it's consistent with Imogen's characterization, and fascinating, because I don't think she'd see it that way! I think she genuinely believes covering your thoughts out of concern for someone's feelings is worse than openly expressing something harmful, because of her own abilities...but most people don't have those abilities. She really does not consider how people who are not psychic might feel, because she's so wrapped up in her own difficulties.
Which brings me to the part about past male characters. I think getting into this in any depth will be a tiresome contest of mudslinging so I'll keep it very brief: None of these four characters have openly entertained siding with the enemy in a potentially cataclysmic way, which is the source of the criticism of Imogen I have personally been levying. The closest we've gotten is Fjord, and he specifically decided that he would if necessary defy his parental figure's connections to an evil entity, and then personally went to stop said evil, twice, putting himself specifically in the line of fire. I think all four of these characters are also flawed people - that's what makes them compelling characters - but all of them are quite resolute when it comes to world-ending threats.
I also think that it's fascinating that when I compared Laudna to Fjord - in defense of Imogen, no less - it was considered reductive. In general, I found the fandom was, in fact, very hesitant to explore that Fjord was deeply traumatized and often criticized him without taking that into consideration. I bring up the gnarlrock fight so often because at that time, it was very, very common, actually, for people to place all the blame squarely on Imogen for simply being upset because Laudna broke something that helped her with the mental illness symptoms. Sympathy for Imogen from certain quarters - granted, not guaranteed to be yours, but highly suspected to be - seems entirely contingent on whether she's being openly upset with Laudna or not, rather than any other context. Anyway my point here is that I'd love if you could get off anon and show me all your posts in which you explore those four characters' traumas and their responses, because while I'm unimpressed by your question here, I'd love to see if this is a rare lapse and that you have spent time writing eloquent defenses of them. If you haven't, well, then I think we can both agree that you're just mad that other people have different favorite characters than you do.
So in conclusion, I don't think anyone could reasonably say I am hating on Imogen. I am very critical of her choices, but I've also repeatedly said that I find them quite interesting. I think that Imogen siding with the Ruby Vanguard would definitely make her a bad person, but also, I would understand why she thinks this way (I understand why Liliana does too!), I don't think it necessarily makes her irredeemable, and I would find it to be a great story. That's what this is: a story, with characters. I'd like it to be an interesting one.
51 notes
·
View notes
Note
You live!! Yay!!
"Promise?"
"Promise."
With changeling! Reader x ashton bc with fae, promises are very serious. Only you write him the way I love to read him~🌷
Anonymous asked: Can you please write a 'I'm yours. No returns.' For the ship prompt with ashton? I feel like this suits them a lot
Also inspired by this ask from @trippygalaxy
Notes: 1.1k words. Established but new relationship. Fluff. Reader is a non-specific fae race. A combination of prompts helped me out of my writer's block and lack of motivation. Enjoy my darlings x
Song Rec: Take On Me - 2017 acoustic by a-ha
~ Poet
We're Allowed To Be Foolish
-> Ashton Greymoore x GN!Reader
"Right," Ashton says when he claps his hands together, the soft sound melding with with the crackle of the fire behind them. "The children are finally asleep, so that means us adults can finally relax."
Imogen has finally settled, no evidence of any nightmares with her back supported by a tree stump, Laudna's head leaning on the sorcerer's shoulder. A spare cloak is tucked under her chin and covers both their laps and legs. Meanwhile, Orym's form is engulfed entirely by Fearne, having no need for a blanket when he has a faun and her fur to keep warm. Soft snores come from that cuddle pile softly, one of her hands on Orym's back, the other on Mister's. Old man Chetney, ever so stealthy, lies a few feet from Fearne, back to the fire and a small shiv gripped in his fist. His ears twitch when the odd twig snaps and causes a loud spark. The flames seem to lick higher and brighter closest to where FCG is stationed for the night. Their metal glows and reflects like a warped mirror found in shadow.
It's calm - a rare thing when on the road and picking up errands and quests here and there. A travelling band of adventures, ready and eager to taste what's on offer.
You crack a smile from where you sit in the grass, knees pulled up to your chest and a threadbare scarf draped over your shoulders. "We're just on watch, Ash. It's no different from any other night."
"That's where you are wrong, my fair-looking fae," they smirk as they crumble to the ground at your side and pass you your waterskin. You take a grateful sip, but nearly choke when the scarf is suddenly and harshly tugged off from your shoulders. The thin fabric hangs loose when Ashton slings it around himself. The smug bastard. You scowl and pull it back enough so that there's enough material to share, ignoring his cheeky face in the corner of your eye. It isn't even a cold night, but Ashton's body heat is bleeding through the scarf so effortlessly that without it you might just shiver. "Tonight just so happens to mark two months since our first shared watch together."
You are about to protest, but words fail you as soon as your memory does. Lips parted and eyebrow quirked, you simply offer: "I... that doesn't seem right. Surely I would've remembered such a thing."
"Ouch. That hurts. Stings even. And I thought you would be the sentimental one." They lightly punch your shoulder, a disgustingly sweet platonic gesture, deepening your frown because you want nothing more than a kiss instead. But that can be asked for later. "It's no biggie. Really. It's not like anything of significance occurred that night." He pauses. "Certainly not anything to do with us, up to our knees in ice cold water, fishing for a special rock after someone so elegantly threw in the river-"
"Chet trying to use the Sending Stone as a skipping stone! How could I forget?" you chuckle, face warm at the memory.
It had been an accident - you'll agree with Chetney that the magical item does look deceptively mundane. You had been on watch with the gnome, camped near a stream that seemed to grow more powerful as the night went on. Bored out if his mind, he turned to tossing stones into the water until watch was over. The ripples made in the beginning were nothing special, until the water seemed to glow and sparkle, as if having swallowed something magic. Long story short, Chetney was far too short to go wading in the deeper waters with you to look for the Sending Stone.
Luckily for you, Ashton had been only resting their eyes and was more than willing to help you while Chetney fretted from the shore.
If the barbarian hadn't been there to ground you, the waters might have swept you away into the darkness when you swiped the stone from the rushing current.
Your heart aches a little. The only tie to Dorian the party had left was nearly lost that night. You can only hope that the bard has since found his way safely with his daft brother since he left. Ashton brings you back to the present, nodding enthusiastically and laughing at the memory. You hush them, giggling under your breath so not to disturb fast asleep Bell's Hells scattered around the camp. "You do remember, I knew it!"
Things work differently in the Feywild. So much simpler from your perspective, but awe-inspiring to the friends you've made on your travels - Fearne being a comforting and familiar exception. Time is a weird soup, a mantra, a phrase she brings up whenever you think of what might have been. If you had stepped outside of that portal ten seconds sooner, you might have crossed paths with Ashton even earlier.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, reaching out to touch their face. He stills upon contact, leaning into your hand while your thumb traces a line of gold filigree running from his temple to his cheekbone.
A blurred reminder of a time before you came to Emon. A time before you could save their ass when they got in trouble.
How can someone be so strong, resilient, and yet so fragile and tender? You manage to find your voice, distant and faraway, mumbling more so to yourself rather than to Ashton. "You're not what I thought you'd be like."
He bares his teeth in a crooked grin. There's a hint of approval in his eyes when they flick between your own, trailing briefly down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. "Mean and scary?" His voice lowers to a purr - for the sake of the party or your own, you don't know. He makes a sharp movement, a motion as if going to bite your thumb on his cheek. Instead he kisses the corner of your mouth.
That's an understatement.
"Yeah."
"Yeah well..." Ashton muses, leaning back on their hands and glancing up at the clear sky overhead. "I thought you'd be kinda mean and scary too. I mean, a fae? Clearly not from this part of the world, a complete enigma with wicked magic..."
"Me?" you grin, tilting your head in mild disbelief. The idea seemed bizarre at first. Ashton - the barbarian whose head has slag glass holding back a galaxy, who is decked out in leather and wields a hammer engraved with "FUCK OFF" - was intimidated by you. "You thought I was the scary one?"
It's laughable, enough that you begin to ignore your stiff back and sore limbs from travel. Ashton huffs out an amused breath of air. He looks at you, a playful glare darkening his face. "Terrifying." He must not like the thoughtful expression on your face, so he leans forward a little, craning his neck to look at you properly. "Hey."
"Hey."
"... I'm yours. No returns. No take backs."
Emotion wells up in your throat. You try to swallow it down, thick with hesitation. "Promise?"
"Promise. Cross my heart." He drags a finger over his chest, a simple gesture of innocent trust in you that ignites you to your very core. "Hope to die."
"Hm..." you croon, pinching their chin and nudging their face closer. "That's quite a bold oath you just made there, Ash. You're lucky I'm not a fae that would take advantage of your foolishness."
You feel him smile against your lips. "As the designated adults on watch tonight, I think we're allowed to be a bit foolish."
#critical role#critical role x reader#critical role imagine#critical role imagines#critical role fanfic#critical role fanfiction#cr#cr3#cr c3#ashton greymoore#ashton greymoore x reader#bells hells#bells hells x reader#bell's hells#bell's hells x reader#critrole#campaign 3#laudna#imogen temult#orym of the air ashari#fearne calloway#chetney pock o'pea#fresh cut grass#fcg
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
I love the sincerity and, wanna say purity, that comes from Bor'dor's point of view, and also, from Utkarsh's perspective as a new player.
Like, he's someone that a few days ago was just living a simple life taking care of sheeps and making jerky and caring for his sick brother, and now he's got powers beyond his comprehension, and has been trusted in the middle of all of these things.
And he wants a way out, but he also wants to be with these strangers and feel like he belongs, and he's probably doing something bigger even if he doesn't understanding exactly everything that's happening.
But that perspective kinda makes him immune to bullshit. He's so transparent (we literally saw him throw up and lay in the ground in his first battle), that he doesn't have a problem with thinking about the bigger picture and not caring about it because he wants to care for his loved ones (and to that point, he's afraid that the rest of the party might not be up for the task of stoping Ludinus).
But he's also being continuously raising to the occasion, and killing an angel, but that doesn't mean he's not afraid, and yet he keeps trying (and I keep coming back to Prism's quote about fear and anxiety and how it has been reinterpreted by both Bor'dor and Orym)
I don't know, I like that perspective coming from such a distinct character. This ended up being more of a train of thought more than a cohesive idea (since I'm writing while watching), but needed to get these thoughts out there.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
I see a lot of people taking Ashton's "we're all powder kegs" speech at face-value when, in my opinion, it's also indicative of some of Ashton's most interesting flaws. (Most interesting, as in, I still like them! They're cool! Now that I can see more of the very understandable issues they have, they're even cooler!)
TL;DR: Ashton deals with problems on a moment-to-moment basis, sometimes not thinking about or even straight-up ignoring long-term consequences. They also like knowing where people stand and hate when that changes. This forms a one-two punch of Ashton making some good points, but essentially saying, "Well, that happened, but we're not too broken, so let's just keep doing our thing." Which is great until they are too broken and don't have a plan.
Because, okay, it's true that everyone in the group has trauma. It's true that they can all cause a lot of damage, and it's true that they're all struggling. But I don't think it's true that any one of them could have snapped like FCG did--being a kleptomaniac and being someone who can potentially flip on a dime and murder/weaponize the party's insecurities are two very different things.
Also, even if it were true that everyone in the party posed an equal threat, the way Ashton so firmly steers the conversation toward this is just how it is, we're all powder kegs so it was kind of inevitable, we have to accept it, let's move on is also kind of murky. Of course trauma isn't going to heal overnight. But that doesn't mean you stop making long-term plans for how to deal with it; that doesn't mean you can't reevaluate when things change.
As I've said before, Ashton likes to deal with things moment to moment. What's the problem now? Let's deal with it. That caused another problem? Okay, let's deal with that. Usually, this ability to roll with things and tackle complications as they come makes him a good grounding force/leader for the rest of the Hells--they can take the chaos and bring the more anxious characters (FCG, Laudna, Imogen) in line with what needs to happen right now. But sometimes this moment-to-moment style can manifest as not thinking or caring about future consequences, like when Ashton smashes the lens earlier in the episode, or even when he decides to double back in Hytroga's museum.
Second, Ashton likes knowing where things stand; they don't like it when those things deviate. They will accept it if you're an asshole but upfront about it--but if you present yourself or your actions in one light and then do something different, Ashton is going to be pissed. This is why Ashton is, for the most part, cool with Jiana Hexum (they both know what the other wants and will do) but furious with Hytroga (who lays out a set of rules and then proceeds to Not Do That). To Ashton, the party has set where they stand and now have to commit to it, no matter what: "We are here. We have decided to be around each other, we've decided to be this fucking explosive." Of course he's going to be passionate when some of the party wants to change things; he thought they'd already agreed just by virtue of sticking around.
(This is all very nuanced and can absolutely coexist with Ashton's care for FCG, their desire to calm everyone down in general, etc. And I understand that Ashton does advocate for "fix[ing] each other very slowly." But they don't put any plan for that forward, and their main point still seems to be "we're all ticking time bombs and that's just what we signed up for when we decided to be a party.")
(Incidentally, I think that's also why Orym started making his speech about being better and bringing the others into line; seeing the others drawn to Ashton's argument and having been labelled the only sane one, he's trying desperately to make sure they don't go off the rails because they feel it's inevitable or something.)
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
So now we round out our flowers for the Bells Hells with one Chetney Pock O'Pea!
So for Chetney I've picked the Amaryllis and Lupine flowers.
The Amaryllis flower is a bold flower with a big bloom. It can symbolize Pride and Strength.
Chetney has a lot of pride in his work. He's shown that with how he talks about the craft he's honed, and it's not uncommon for pride to come in once you've become accomplished in a craft. Chetney's also got a lot of strength, both physically and mentally. He's a pretty good heavy hitter, and, while he's struggled with it at times, he's managed to keep a decent handle on his werewolf half. He was also able to figure out what Yu was really after, and he can keep a clear head when he needs to.
Amaryllis also mean Determination and red ones can mean Passion.
Amaryllis grow tall despite being a winter bloom. Chetney, like the rest of the Bells, is determined to meet his goals. He's doggedly trying to find connections and information on Oltgar for whatever his end goal there is. Chetney is a passionate man. He throws himself into his work, his fights, and it seems his relationships. He's not the most restrained with some of his actions but he does give everything.
Another fun fact of Amaryllis is that they are often given as Christmas gifts.
The next flower is Lupine! Now these flowers are associated with wolves, so a bit of a cheat with a werewolf character. Now Lupine can symbolize Creativity and Generosity!
Chetney is a Master Craftsman. You have to be creative for that, plus just look at the ideas he's had for the gifts he's made the Bells! Each of them is unique to the person he's made them for. That leads into generosity. He was willing to make toys for 7 practical strangers at that point. He also wants things to be sold at a fair price, not over but probably not under either. I wouldn't find it hard to believe that the man would make someone a comfort toy/item with no costs.
Lupines also mean Renewal and Kindness.
Lupines were originally thought to steal nutrients from the ground and other plants before it was discovered that they add nitrogen to the soil instead. Chetney joined the party not long after they lost a friend. The others were suspicious of Chetney and his intentions, but eventually he's become an important part of the group. It's a renewal in a sense, but also fits in with the the idea of lupines. Chetney is kind. He doesn't always come off like that, but he is. He goes after Cyrus after saying he doesn't care, he apologizes to Orym immediately after hurting him, he pays for a spa trip as an apology, and each gift he's made is chosen to be so personal for each person.
So we are at the end of the Bell's Hells! A long road but so far some wonderful flowers I think! I've been toying around with maybe visiting them all again later, when we see how these characters change. To compare how they've grown.
I am wondering though, should I do Dorian? Would people like to see more of these? Also should I add images to these? Like a banner or just one image of each flower? I'd like to hear thoughts if anyone would like to share!
(Laudna), (FCG), (Orym), (Ashton), (Fearne), (Imogen), (Laudna pt.2)
#critical role#chetney pock o'pea#cr3#cr chetney#campain 3#cr spoilers#I do feel bad that Laudna only has one flower#But she does have a lot of the symbolism for the one#I do think I picked good flowers for all of them#but can't help but wonder if there better ones for now?#Chetney was the hardest for me overall#I think I picked the right flowers#Chetney's is the one I'm least happy with currently#I think I picked good flowers but maybe not the best examples?#aojiwjf I think it's good though?#floral arrangements
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
campaign 3 episode 23: you're tearing me APART delilah
liam: dat ass
that's still one of the smoothest ones she's had yet
"keep it up, you might have a career in this yet"
I'm going to try to watch Calamity. I don't have anything against Brennan, I just unfortunately associate his face with smug d20 fans who pop up every time they've decide CR is morally bankrupt again.
what kind of godawful cliffhanger are they going to leave us on for four weeks
marisha what did you do
well-oiled machine
hey. hey chetney. hey chetney whatcha doin.
hey chetney WHATCHA DOIN
CHETNEY
do it DO IT
GRINCH STYLE
JESUS
he's been writing this in his head for weeks.
CHETNEY
"I wouldn't want to see him in a Whole Foods"
"she is not armored. she is a merchant."
"you can't NON-LETHALLY behead someone!"
did you get your clothes
Reverse Kool-Aid Man
DOORS
"just assume if you give it to her you never really wanted it in the first place"
"where was that?"
GIFT
I'm gonna CRY
I'm CRYING
I tormented myself with vax's exit earlier today, why do this to me
"your big moon, your little moon, and whatever comes next" more like put me in the GROUND"
"that's in-character, whoever's etsy page he got that from, it's lovely"
FANTASY PREPPERS
tantrum hole
collapsible guillotine
travis' face for .2 seconds when laura SUGGESTED shopping
8 whole adults
I Love Him
weh
LIAM
how many times is this episode gonna make me cry before break
DON'T LET THEM TAKE YOUR HEART
whisper so hard my stream froze
"what did you do with YOUR makeup kit"
"so you're the captain's best friend?"
nb tief!
swedish nb tief!
"you don't do what we say, we throw you overboard"
"like twenty. so many. they just keep making problems!"
honestly I don't get tommy wiseau from this, they talk too fast
tommy wiseau talks like he's been drunk for 30 years
the henley looks like one of those padded shirts you wear under armor, just bulky and scratchy and blech
"you're scarier than I am, you know that, right?"
Very A Lot
I love them
"hey dad" hey what
is it just Liam Makes Me Cry Day or
dragons
DRAGONS???
SKY EEL
SKY MANTA
what in the treasure planet
"I SHIP IT"
TREASURE PLANET
oh man hands for scale, it BIG
speed of WHAT
WHAT points of piercing
fuckin sky porcupine
I came back to "the cake is a lie", what the fuck
I hate it
everybody looks really good in this lighting
taliesin stop doing that with your arm
demon? demon manta??
"I DON'T LIKE THESE BIRDS"
"because they're POOPHEADS"
WHAT'S GONNA WORK
TEEEEEEEAMWORK
need art of orym doing a pull-up on the ballista
god bless gordi
"I want one!"
FLY
taliesin DID compare her to a summers
(I may or may not be dozing off, idek why orym's overboard)
"everybody alive except laudna?"
laudna: [carves up sky eel] imogen: GROSS :D
"I had a weird dream and was like 'fuck it', that was weird but cool!"
"you did good! you flew!"
listen I know I say this immediately upon meeting every party but I mean this more than I have ever meant it before: CANON POLYAM WHEN
liam
he's milking the creature
"look out, fellow toymakers"
love the mental image of ashton just coming out of the room and being like "…..sure." and keeps going
I've been playing forbidden west so getting specific parts off of creatures is giving me ptsd
"I wanna know your intent" "that implies that she has intent"
laura's face is my face
"it's like trying to birth a cow"
the ROLLS tonight
I love her
don't ruin boba for me matt
matt throwing mental daggers at his description chart
"I had to!" "NO YOU DIDN'T"
"I'm grasping for. eyeballs."
"I feel like you should blame khalil because he's obviously asleep"
"that's not true at all. we start with the toes."
loudna
This Is What Flat Earthers Actually Believe
"who's on top and who's on bottom now" travis
I love laudna so much
delilah want magic rock
aw shit
delilah is why we can't have nice things
oh I was worried that was where her brain would go
this BITCH
"you wanna destroy whitestone because this is how you destroy whitestone"
"I have QUESTIONS"
"I fucked around and I FOUND OUT"
#critical role#spoilers#crititag#liveblog#reaction post#I had to edit this down since apparently there's a character limit#and I found it
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
one way or another (i’m gonna get you)
Dorian has a problem.
That problem is currently drunk off his ass and trying to balance one of Opal’s daggers on the tip of his nose. Of course he’s failing miserably, hitting himself in the eye with the blunt end twice thus far and maybe Dorian shouldn’t chuckle about it, but Dariax just keeps trying as Opal and Fearne edge him on.
“If you’re not careful you’ll stab your own eye out”, Orym says. He’s still nursing the same beer he started drinking an hour ago, probably to stay sober enough to stop any shenanigans that go too far.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, buddy. That already happened to me, like, three times, and I just healed it back together. No big deal.”
Dorian can see that Orym is at a loss for words.
“Dorian, do you think I can do it?”, Dariax calls over to him where he’s sitting, holding his lute and enjoying the warm evening breeze.
“Sure, Dariax. I’ll write a song about you if you do”, he says with an amused smile. Dorian tries to keep his smile from widening as Dariax beams at him and tries even harder.
All his life Dorian has been taught to be proper and well behaved—maybe that is why he feels drawn towards—well. Towards the group. The group that Dariax is also a part of and that Dorian definitely doesn’t feel drawn towards more than any of the others.
He starts moving his fingers mindlessly over the strings of his lute as Dariax stumbles backwards, falls over Opal’s outstretched legs and lands in her lap with the dagger clattering to the ground in front of them.
Dorian thinks about Dariax sitting on his lap, then he almost chokes on his own spit because so far Dariax hasn’t done anything even remotely appealing or attractive. He’s had shit on his beard, piss on his hands, he’s dirty and loud and so obnoxious.
But when he told Dorian that he’s the handsome one and that he’s just good at talking to people and whether Dorian wants some tips from him—Dorian was tempted. For a split second, he was thinking about Dariax offering to teach him how to flirt.
Because Dorian might be aware that he’s handsome, but he has exactly zero idea about how to flirt with people.
“Hey, Dorian! Do I still get a song?”, Dariax shouts, still half sitting in Opal’s lap.
“Sure, buddy. I’ll write you a song.”
“Cool! It’s a promise!”, Dariax says, thumbs up, a big grin on his handsome face.
There, Dorian can admit it.
Dariax is handsome. They’re all handsome. It’s really no big deal. Not at all.
Dorian tries not to think about what his parents would say about Dariax, because it’s completely irrelevant. It’s not like his parents will meet his friends, and especially not Dariax. Maybe he should go to bed and hope that come the next morning his circling thoughts will have stopped.
“Are you working on the song?”
Dorian blinks and turns his head, only to come face to face with Dariax who managed to get up from Opal’s lap and is now sitting right next to him, leaning way into Dorian’s personal space.
Dariax smells like ten different kinds of alcohol, leather and thankfully no bodily fluids, which is definitely an improvement. Dorian wishes that the fact that he’s seen this man with shit on his beard would dissuade his heart from beating a little faster every time Dariax grins at him.
Sadly his heart doesn’t care.
Neither does his stomach, which is currently doing all kinds of complicated gymnastics since Dariax invaded Dorian’s personal space.
“No. I don’t think I can concentrate in here while all that is going on”, Dorian says and gestures towards Opal who is now teaching Fearne how to do body shots.
“Aw, man. Can you play something? Something...hm. Something cool.”
“All my songs are cool, thank you very much!”
Dariax laughs.
“Yeah, okay, you’re not wrong there. You have a really beautiful voice, buddy. No wonder that goliath lady fell in love with you after like, three minutes!”
Dorian feels something that reminds him a lot of the feeling he gets when he’s falling or misses a step on some stairs. His heart starts doing an offensive little tumble and he clears his throat a little too loud as he leans out of Dariax’ space and clutches his lute as if his life depends on it.
“I don’t think I would know what to do if someone actually fell in love with me”, Dorian says with an embarrassingly shrill laugh and a second after the words have left his mouth he regrets them already.
“Aw, buddy, I told you—I can totally teach you a few tricks, you know? Just show you how to get real popular with the ladies. Or gents. Or people in general”, Dariax says and winks at him.
Dorian wishes he could turn into thin air. His cheeks feel very hot.
“I—uh. I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not like I really have the time—“
Dariax snorts and raises his eyebrows.
“Oh, come on, Dorian. We’re just hanging out, right? If you wanna get laid, we have plenty of time for that. You should just relax a little more. Okay, so. What’s your type?”
Dorian stares at Dariax for almost thirty seconds before he clears his throat again.
“Uh. I—don’t. Well. Adventurous. Maybe—uh. Maybe brunettes?”
“Adventurous brunettes? That’s pretty vague, buddy. Just saying. Wait a second!”
Dariax leans closer again and puts his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Then he does a terrible shout-whisper into Dorian’s ear that shouldn’t give him goosebumps but, fuck, it definitely does.
“Are you into Orym?”
Dorian blinks and turns his head to stare at Dariax who looks as if he just found out an earth-shattering secret through some careful investigation.
“N—no! No, he’s not. I mean, Orym is—fine? I don’t, uh—what I meant to say is... I don’t really know what my type is”, he ends lamely.
Of course Dariax feels the need to put an arm around Dorian now.
“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get you laid in no time. You have a pretty face and voice and all that, pretty sure that’ll go easy peasy.”
“That’s really not—“
“Hey guys, what are you whispering about?”, Opal shouts.
“We’re trying to figure out what Dorian’s type is to get him laid!”, Dariax shouts back.
“No, that’s not—“
“Ohh! Interesting! You don’t have a type? Did you never have a relationship before? Wait—are you like, a virgin?”
Dorian abruptly gets up from his chair. He’s definitely not drunk enough for this.
“I’m going to bed”, he says and leaves the room in a hurry, ignoring the disappointed shouts of his new friends following him outside.
*
Dorian hopes that his friends have forgotten the whole thing about supposedly getting him laid and about how Dariax intends to teach him flirting. But unfortunately the universe decides to not do him this favor.
Suddenly, every remotely attractive person they pass invokes a whole litany of questions.
Opal, Fearne and Dariax want to know everything. Which height, body-type, eye color, temperament, and style of clothing does he like? Does he prefer any genders to others? On six different occasions, Dariax tries to wingman Dorian into asking random strangers on dates.
Dorian is so desperate that he considers just telling them that he actually has someone back home, just so they will leave him alone.
It wouldn’t be the first lie he told.
Dorian feels a pang of guilt for lying about his name to these people who keep fighting alongside him.
Orym, bless his soul, is the only person who doesn’t partake in these interrogations and at some point, after Opal had asked Dorian if he was more into “tits or asses” Orym had quietly stated that “he deserves his privacy, you guys”.
Dorian has no idea if he’s a “tits or asses” kinda guy.
But Dorian just can’t stop thinking about the way Dariax’ voice sounded when it lilted “Man, you have the prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen” the last time they were drunk.
It seems weirdly typical and ridiculous that Dorian has to have his first crush on the most chaotic man he ever met.
Dorian wishes he could forget about those damn words, just like everything that happened in their first week.
“You know”, Orym says to him two nights after that cursed conversation as they’re making their way further south towards Byroden, “if you told them to stop in earnest, I think they would respect that.”
The landscape is a carpet of green, sloping hills, rolling fields that lie bare now that winter is closing in around them. The sky is blue and cloudless and as they talk their breath puffs up in front of their faces and vanishes shortly after.
Dorian looks at Orym and then pointedly turns his gaze at Opal and Dariax, who started making a list of their findings regarding Dorian’s type.
“You sure?”, he says with one eyebrow raised.
Orym looks at least as pained as Dorian feels right now.
“I see your point. But they’re not—you know. Not bad people, I guess. I don’t think they want to hurt you.”
“Well, they’re not hurting me, they’re annoying me to death!”
Orym pats him on the back in a way that is so pitiful, Dorian can hardly take it.
“I wouldn’t usually encourage lying, but maybe you could just make up a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or—“
“What if I just tell them that you’re my type”, Dorian interrupts and Orym blinks at him.
“Uh—“
“No offense, you’re not. Not that you’re not handsome or anything, I just. Well—“
“It’s fine”, Orym says with a snort and shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. “You don’t have to fuss about it. You’re also very handsome but not my type.”
Dorian tries not to be offended after the last kick to his ego in Gilmore’s shop and clears his throat.
“Okay, so. What about it? Will you be my—I don’t know. My fake boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Orym, I’m desperate here!”
“I will not be swept up in all of that. I still think you should just try to talk to them.”
Dorian feels betrayed and huffs, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. It’s probably going to be fine, he thinks. That is, until Dariax walks up to him, grins up at him cheekily and bumps his elbow into Dorian’s side.
“So. Are you finally ready to admit it?”, Dariax asks.
There is a glint in his eyes that Dorian can’t quite read.
“Admit what?”, he asks, already dreading the answer.
“That you have the hots for Orym!”
Dorian stares down at Dariax, the man he, so, so very unfortunately has “the hots for” and sighs deeply.
“You caught me”, he says with a gravelly voice. “I have the hots for Orym.”
“I knew it!”, Dariax shouts, then catches himself and turns his voice into a whisper instead. “I fucking knew it!”
Dorian massages his temple.
Maybe becoming an adventurer was a terrible idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here. He could make a name for himself somewhere else. The Menagerie coast is supposed to be lovely all year around.
“Okay, don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha. I’ll keep your secret, won’t even tell the girls at all. And you know what, because we’re such great friends I have a special offer just for you”, Dariax says and leans in even closer to Dorian, who has to lean down significantly.
“And what offer is that?”, Dorian asks with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate. At least Orym knows that Dorian isn’t actually attracted to him, so, he thinks, this can’t possibly get any worse.
“I should totally be your fake boyfriend so you can make him jealous.”
Dorian stares at Dariax.
Dariax stares back with the proudest grin on his handsome face.
The universe is trying to punish him. For whatever reason, it must have decided to make Dorian the butt of a cosmic joke. That’s the only explanation for all of this.
“I don’t think that’s—“
“It’s perfect! Don’t worry, I have experience with this sort of stuff, just lemme handle this.”
Dariax winks at Dorian and then grabs his hand to intertwine their fingers.
“Hey guys”, he calls as he pulls Dorian along who follows helplessly, his heart stumbling in his chest as his consciousness zooms in on the feeling of Dariax’ hand in his, “guess what. I should’ve clocked it all along, but of course it makes perfect sense! Check it out!”
And as Orym, Opal and Fearne turn their heads, Dariax raises their intertwined fingers and beams at the others.
“Wait…”, Orym starts slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion, “what…?”
“Too late, Orym. He’s my boyfriend now”, Dariax says and Dorian wishes that the wind would just pick him up and carry him away.
*
Dorian has to say something.
He can’t, under any circumstances, keep this up.
He is sitting—and gods, his heart is beating so terribly fast—on Dariax’ lap.
Dariax had insisted on it and now his muscular arms are wound around Dorian’s waist as if this is the most normal thing in the world. For someone who doesn’t actually have to breathe to survive, Dorian feels a little bit like he’s suffocating from the staccato inside his rib cage.
They made camp close to a rock formation that, according to Fearne, looks like a pig with wings. The night smells of snow, but Dorian feels hot despite the cold.
He doesn’t know what to do.
He knows it even less when Dariax’ hand finds one of his and just casually starts rubbing circles into the back of his hand with a thumb. Dorian can feel Orym’s eyes on them and sadly that edges Dariax on even more because he thinks his plan is working.
“You know”, Dariax says and sounds way too casual about it, “I can’t believe how lucky I got. Pretty sure you’re the most beautiful person I’ve been with so far, Dorian.”
“I—uh”, Dorian says, then somehow forgets how to speak. His cheeks feel incredibly hot even though he doesn’t sit remotely close to the fire.
Orym cocks his head and suddenly his eyes turn a little too wide for Dorian’s tastes.
Dorian doesn’t want anyone to understand anything about this disaster.
“Well, I would certainly love a boyfriend who tells me nice things like that”, Opal sighs dreamily. “Or—you know. Maybe a girlfriend. Who knows. I certainly don’t.”
She laughs a little too shrilly but Dorian doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about it anymore because a tingling sensation is running through his body and crawling along the underside of his skin as Dariax’ fingers just keep on gently, way too gently, drawing nonsensical symbols and circles on Dorian’s hand.
“Well, I just know what’s good. I make a great boyfriend”, Dariax announces with a smug undertone to his voice. The sad thing is that Dorian can’t even disagree.
So far, Dariax has been nothing but—well. There is no other word for it. Gentle and accommodating. He also started flirting with Dorian and his flirting only ever got tasteless twice during the last twenty-four hours.
He has offered to carry stuff for Dorian, held his hand, given him way too many compliments for Dorian’s poor heart to handle, helped him climb over some rocks and purposefully took a hit for Dorian in combat earlier today while shouting “Not my boyfriend, you ash-hole!”.
If someone had told him that Dariax makes good boyfriend material, Dorian would have scoffed at them.
But now.
Well.
Now he’s in even deeper shit, because this doesn’t help his feelings at all. It does the exact opposite of helping.
Gods, Dorian wishes he could kiss him.
“Well, I am certainly—uh. Happy? For you two”, Orym says with a pointed look at Dorian. Dorian tries to tell Orym that this wasn’t his idea with his eyes alone, that this is the worst, that Dorian definitely needs saving, but he doesn’t think anything gets across because the moment that Orym says that and looks at Dorian, Dariax seems to decide that he can’t have Orym looking at Dorian like that.
Dorian makes an embarrassing screeching sound as he is dipped backwards on Dariax’ lap. There is a very handsome, dwarven face with glinting eyes right in front of his when he opens his eyes again.
“Just go along”, Dariax whispers and before Dorian can protest or even just try to catch up with what’s happening, there are dry, warm lips pressed against his mouth and Dariax is closing his eyes.
Dorian’s brain is blank for a few seconds, then it kicks into overdrive, much like his heart that seems eager to jump right out of his chest and into the campfire. Dorian can’t fault it, because he, too, would love to jump into the campfire, never to be seen again.
Dariax is holding him with one arm while his other hand is resting on Dorian’s cheeks where Dariax’ thumb starts rubbing circles again as he kisses Dorian.
Dorian wants to run away.
He wants to kiss back.
He wants this to be real.
Dariax doesn’t actually want to kiss him. He only does it because he’s pretending, there is nothing real about any of this, no matter how nice and exciting his warm lips feel against Dorian’s.
Dorian pushes him away, clambers up from his position, trying very hard not to fall as he stands up, and steps away from Dariax hastily.
“I—ah. I need to. Pee. Yes. Pee. I’ll be—uh. Later!”
And he walks as fast as he can without breaking into a run.
His lips are still burning after he stops walking without even seeing where he’s going. It’s dumb. All of this is so incredibly dumb.
Beautiful eyes, beautiful voice, beautiful person.
Dariax really has to stop saying these things.
It’s already enough that Dorian developed this stupid crush after such a short amount of time on the road. It’s stupid that it had to be Dariax of all people—couldn’t it have been someone reasonable? Like Orym?
Couldn’t it just have been no one? Or a nice, noble lady that he impressed with his songs and good looks?
No.
He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, his heart beating rapidly in his chest with no clue where he even is or what he’s doing. The trees around him are leafless and bare, stretching towards the dark sky like skeletal silhouettes. Dorian doesn't know what to do.
Dariax kissed him.
He had his first kiss with a complete and utter maniac of a person. His lips are still tingling and gods, he wants to kiss him again and again and again—
“Dorian! Doriaaan!”
Dorian turns around and wipes at his face that feels weirdly wet.
Gods, he hates everything and everyone right now.
Dariax comes to a halt in front of him, his breath coming quickly and holding his compass rose.
“Okay—wow. Your legs. Are so. Long. You’re so. Fucking fast”, Dariax huffs and puts his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
Dorian looks at him and can’t decide whether he wants to kick Dariax in the shin or just run away further.
“So, uh—sorry. I got a little carried away and I kinda—uh. It was brought to my attention that it wasn’t very cool of me to just kiss you without asking if that’s okay with you. So—uh. Really sorry about that, shoulda thought about that before I—uh. You know.”
Dariax scratches the back of his head as he looks down at Dorian’s left knee.
“It’s—well. Yeah, I suppose a little warning would have been nice. It’s—uh.”
Dorian stops and wipes at his face again and when he looks back up Dariax is studying him, his gaze intense and uncharacteristically serious.
“Wait—wait a second. Was that your first kiss?”
“No! I mean. Yes! Sort of! Maybe!”
Dariax gapes and Dorian wishes the earth could swallow him up whole.
“Oh fuck, buddy, man, that’s. I’m really sorry, I didn’t—damn. I really fucked that one up, huh?”
Dariax looks so earnestly mortified at what he’s done that Dorian can already feel how he’s forgiving him, how he finds it endearing, how his heart swells in his chest like the idiot that it is.
“It’s not such a big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just—uh. Maybe we should talk about all of this stuff before… you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, totally. I swear I’m usually not a creep or anything, it was just… you know. The heat of the moment, or something. So…”
Dariax is scratching the back of his head again and swallows before he shoots Dorian a lopsided grin.
“So. No kissing and stuff like that, huh? Just the hand-holding? Hey, maybe a hug or something?”
Dorian stares at him and he could swear that Dariax’ cheeks are a little redder than before, which, Dorian supposes, comes from his embarrassment about his earlier fuck-up.
As long as they’re doing this fake-boyfriend gig, Dorian could kiss Dariax whenever he wants. Because apparently Dariax doesn’t mind that one little bit. He might never get the chance again to kiss him if he says no now.
So Dorian does something incredibly stupid and impulsive and maybe it’s even a real ash-hole move. In this tiny moment in time he decides to be selfish.
“Kissing is fine. Uh—you know. You’re not that bad at it, I guess”, he says and laughs which sounds terribly false in his own ears but Dariax perks up and throws him a reckless grin that makes Dorian’s heart stumble in his chest.
“Ha! You just wait for it, I’ll kiss your brains out before you know it!”
*
Dorian might be addicted.
He knows that this is all a ruse based on a misunderstanding but gods, kissing Dariax is so good.
And Dariax somehow makes it seem as if he’s just as into it as Dorian is, because he keeps kissing him all the time. Of course, it never happens when they’re alone and only when Orym is in more or less close proximity but if Dorian isn’t careful he’ll start believing that they’re actually boyfriends sooner than later.
Dariax is so good at pretending.
He kisses Dorian as if he never wants to kiss anyone else. He holds Dorian’s face in his hands as if it’s something precious. He kisses Dorian breathless and at more than one point Dorian had to stop him because he was getting a little too into it and he’s afraid of overstepping any boundaries.
Dariax promised that he would kiss Dorian’s brains out and it’s absolutely working. On the seventh day on their journey south they get so caught up in making out that they don’t realize that the others have gone to find a camping place for the night.
“We should—uh. Probably follow them”, Dorian croaks and stares down at Dariax’ lips.
“Hmhm. Yeah. Probably a good idea”, Dariax mumbles. Then he kisses Dorian again.
Dorian gets lost in the sensation of tongues sliding against one another and the feeling of Dariax’ hand cupping his cheeks. Dorian slides his hands into Dariax’ hair and buries his fingers in there, something that provokes a sound from Dariax. A sound that gives Dorian goosebumps all over his arms.
He wants to hear it again. He wants to touch more. He wants, he wants, he wants—
Dariax pulls back, his eyes glassy, his breathing labored.
“I—uh. Ha. I got a little carried away. Sorry. What do you say about checking where the others went?”
“Sure. Yeah. Great idea. Let’s go.”
He steps away from Dariax and stuffs his hands into his pockets to keep Dariax from reaching for them. This is a complete and utter disaster.
Dorian knows that he should stop it.
He shouldn’t abuse Dariax’ trust like this and keep up his pretense when all that Dariax wants is to help Dorian make Orym jealous.
Which has, of course, not worked in the slightest, but Dariax insists that it’s just because Orym is such a rational and level-headed guy.
“We just need to wear him thin, you know.”
Dorian doesn’t know.
He feels like he doesn’t know anything anymore.
When they finally reach the campsite, Fearne has placed her head in Opal’s lap and seems to be napping as Opal carefully braids her long, green hair.
“You guys alright?”, Orym asks with his eyebrows raised. Dorian feels himself flush and clear his throat.
“More than alright”, Dariax answers and winks. The implication makes Dorian’s cheeks heat up even more.
He didn’t think that Orym’s eyebrows could climb even higher, but that’s exactly what happens as he regards the two of them.
“Dorian, can I talk to you for a second?”, Orym asks and gets up from the log he was sitting on. Dorian shoots Dariax a glance and he seems… off.
Dariax doesn’t return Dorian’s look, he just walks over to the fire, lets himself fall down next to Opal and asks, way too loudly to be necessary “So what’s for dinner?”.
But Dorian doesn’t have any time to think more about this, because Orym grabs his wrist and pulls him towards a group of trees, away from the campfire and away from Dariax whose eyes seem to bore themselves into the back of Dorian’s head as he follows Orym into the night.
“What are you doing?”
Dorian doesn’t have to ask what Orym means. He wrings his hands and stares at the ground.
“I—uh. I don’t really... I don’t really know?”
“So when you said adventurous and brunette, what you actually meant was short, stocky and a complete disaster?”
“I—um...”
Orym looks at him with raised eyebrows and despite the fact that Dorian is so much taller than him he suddenly feels very small.
“Well. Dariax kind of got it into his head that I’m into you. Which I’m not.”
“Yes, we established that.”
“Exactly. And. Well, he thought it would be a good idea to be fake boyfriends to make you jealous.”
Orym’s eyebrows rise even higher towards his hairline.
“But I’m not jealous. Because you and I are just friends.”
“I know, okay? It just kinda got out of hand?He’s so—I don’t know! I don’t know what to do!”
Orym sighs and rubs his temples.
“So. You’re actually into Dariax?”, he asks.
Dorian presses his lips together and takes a deep breath before he nods.
“And he doesn’t know. He thinks you’re into me?”
Dorian nods again.
“And now he’s waiting for me to get jealous and for us two to be boyfriends?”
Dorian shrugs helplessly.
“Isn’t that... I don’t know. It seems like lying to him.”
“What do you want me to do? Just tell him that I have the hots for him and then leave the country forever?”, Dorian hisses.
“Well, maybe he has the hots for you, too!”, Orym whispers back and Dorian can’t help but laugh. It sounds a little hysterical.
“Then why would he offer to help me to get with you?”
Orym stares at Dorian for a full thirty seconds. Then he sighs.
“I guess it’s a little hard to... fathom... what goes on in Dariax’ head.”
“That seems like an understatement.”
Orym scoffs and shakes his head with half a smile on his face.
“I can’t believe you actually fell for—that.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry. I guess to each their own.”
“So what’s your type then?”
“Uh—I don’t really have a type. I’m not into the whole relationship stuff. Or—uh. The sex stuff, for that matter.”
“Oh. Oh! I see. Well, that seems pretty convenient. Way less stressful than what I’m doing with my life.”
Orym smiles and shakes his head again.
“I’m not going to lie, when I’m watching you and Dariax or Opal and Fearne I am glad that I don’t have to deal with any of it”, Orym admits.
“Opal and Fearne? How do you mean?”, Dorian asks. His brain is still stuck on kissing Dariax without Orym even being in any close proximity. His whole brain capacity seems to be occupied by thinking about Dariax. It’s an absolute clusterfuck.
“Never mind. So, what do you intend to do? You can’t keep this up forever”, Orym says and pulls Dorian away from a trail of thoughts that was leading towards something explicit and utterly unbefitting of a talk with a good friend about feelings.
“I—uh. I’m still figuring it out. I’ll just. You know, I could just tell him that I’m not into you anymore and then he would probably stop”, Dorian says and ignores the uncomfortable tightness of his chest as he thinks about not being able to kiss Dariax anymore. Or hold his hand. Or being told that he’s beautiful.
He’s so fucked.
“I think you should just tell him, you know? We’re adventurers now, no one knows what might happen. If I learned anything from our Voice of the Tempest, it’s that you should do your best to live without any regrets, because time is a precious thing”, Orym says.
“A weird soup”, Dorian answers, his voice weak and his heart hurting. Orym snorts.
“Yes, sure. A weird, precious soup. Anyway. Think about it, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
*
Something is up with Dariax.
Dorian has no idea what it is, but there is definitely something wrong.
He’s quieter than usual, which is disconcerting. He’s also, very definitely, holding onto Dorian’s hand way tighter than before.
“Hey, is everything alright?”, Dorian asks him quietly as they’re getting ready for the night. The sky overhead is dark and full of clouds and the moon is barely visible.
“Yeah, sure. Stellar”, Dariax says but he’s not looking at Dorian.
“You don’t look stellar”, Dorian insists and puts his hand on Dariax’ shoulder. Dariax’ eyes flicker down to his hand and then up to his face. Dariax opens his mouth to answer, but Dorian doesn’t hear anything because there is a searing pain on his back and he slumps forward and crumples onto his knees.
His vision goes blurry from the pain and he can feel that there is something coursing through his body. It hurts.
“Dorian? Dorian!”
Lying down seems like a great idea. What if he dies now and he didn’t even tell Dariax that he’s not into Orym? What if his adventure ends here already? He doesn’t want to sink into the weird soup that is time already. He wants…
“Take your hands off my boyfriend, you fuckers!”
“Hey! What’s going on?”
“Dorian, are you okay?”
He is definitely not okay and while he probably should have different priorities as he’s bleeding out in the grass, all he can think about is the fact that Dariax just called him his boyfriend.
“Dorian, are you okay?”, Dariax’ voice sounds muffled and far away.
“Heh. You’re really good at pretending”, he lulls as he’s turned onto his back to look up at Dariax’ face.
“What? Guys, I think he has a concussion or something!”
“Well, heal him!”
“I’m trying! Dorian, hey! Buddy, don’t pass out on me, okay?”
“Did you know that your eyes are really pretty?”, Dorian slurs and he wants to raise a hand to touch Dariax’ face that seems way too red all of a sudden, but he can’t move a muscle and as he feels Dariax’ warm healing magic flow into him, he passes out from the mind-numbing pain.
*
Dorian has never shared a bed with anyone. Neither in a platonic nor in a romantic or sexual way.
When he wakes up there is someone plastered to his side. The quiet snoring tells him that it must be Dariax.
“Are you okay, Dorian?”, Fearne’s soft voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to see her sit on his other side, her hand places closed to his shoulder as if to make sure that he’s within reach.
“Uh—ow. Yeah. What happened?”
Dorian tries to concentrate on his own body and on Fearne’s words, but he’s distracted by the feeling of Dariax sleeping so close to him. His arm is thrown over Dorian’s chest and his face is pressed into Dorian’s shoulder. Orym is nowhere to be seen.
“Those Nameless Ones seem to have a pretty far reach. They really want that spider crown.”
Dorian groans as he tries to move.
“They hit me with poison or something?”
“Yeah. Dariax fixed it. Then he insisted on carrying you back to the cart. Then he insisted to tuck you into bed. And then he just sort of flopped down next to you and stared at you really intensely until he passed out.”
Dorian tries to laugh but almost chokes on it as he imagines this short man trying to carry someone as tall as Dorian. His thoughts circle around the fact that Dariax cared for him, healed him, tucked him into bed.
“So. Ah—where are Orym and Opal?”, he asks to distract himself from the feeling of having Dariax pressed so close to him.
“They’re checking to see if we’ll be safe for the night. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Fearne smiles down at him and starts scratching Little Mister under the chin as she hums a melody that Dorian’s never heard before.
“Did you ever have a really dumb crush?”, he asks before he can stop himself. Fearne turns her head to look at him again and cocks her head.
“A crush that was dumb because it wasn’t mutual or a crush that was dumb because the person was dumb?”, she wants to know.
“Ah. Huh—I haven’t thought about it that way. I guess… how about we go with both?”
Fearne puts her index fingers to her lips and cocks her head from side to side as she thinks about it.
“Well, I don’t think crushes are dumb just because they aren’t mutual. And I also think that Opal is very intelligent in her own, special way.”
Dorian blinks.
“Wait. What?”
“Hm?”
“You have a crush on Opal?”
“Sure. I thought it was pretty obvious”, Fearne says and smiles dreamily.
“Uh—maybe. Now that you mention it, I think Orym clocked it.”
“She is just. You know. Very exciting and spontaneous and funny and creative and pretty.”
The way that Fearne just talks about her crush makes Dorian wonder why he isn’t able to just say it like this. That he likes Dariax because he’s funny and brave and adventurous and a complete idiot in a lovable kind of way.
“What do you like about Dariax?”, Fearne wants to know.
“Uh—well”, he laughs nervously and clears his throat. Dariax is still softly snoring into his shoulder. “I guess… I guess pretty much everything?”
“That’s so sweet! And that’s what he said too. You guys just fit so well”, Fearne says with an earnest smile.
“Wait. What?”
“Hm?”
“What did you just say?”
“I said that you guys fit really well.”
“No. No, I meant before that.”
“Uh—well, when I asked him what he liked most about you, he also said that he likes everything about you. I thought it was really sweet, you know? There was a whole list of things, but he stopped midway through it and said ‘So basically, everything’.”
There was a whole list of things.
A list.
“So basically, everything.”
“Dorian? Are you really okay? You look a little flushed.”
“Hm? Oh—yeah. I’m fine. Perfect. Peachy. Never better.”
He laughs nervously and glances over at Dariax as his insides dissolve into small, hyperactive butterflies. Maybe it’s not what he thinks. Maybe Dariax meant that he likes everything about Dorian as a friend.
“If you’re sure you’re okay I think I’ll stretch my legs a little bit. This cart is pretty small”, Fearne says and scoots towards the exit of the cart. Little Mister follows behind her and a moment later Dorian is alone with a snoring Dariax, whose hand has somehow managed to sneak under Dorian’s shirt.
What is he supposed to do now?
Wake Dariax up? Confess his feelings?
His heart beats so quickly that Dorian is almost afraid that it might just leap out of his rib cage. In the end he’s not brave enough to wake Dariax up and instead intertwines their fingers and turns his head to look at Dariax who has definitely drooled onto his shirt.
He knows that he’s completely fucked because he thinks that this is endearing.
Dorian raises his arm and gently cards his hand through Dariax’ hair.
Dariax makes a small sound in his sleep, something that sounds like a content sigh, and the butterflies in Dorian’s stomach start dancing happily.
“D’you really think my eyes are pretty?”, Dariax mumbles a second later and Dorian pulls his hand away hastily as Dariax’ eyes open.
“Um—well. Yeah. They’re… they have a very nice color”, Dorian croaks. Dariax pulls his hand out from under Dorian’s shirt and starts rubbing at his eyes.
“You okay again?”
“Yeah. Thank you for saving me. And carrying me to the cart. And—uh. Tucking me in.”
Dariax’ cheeks redden as he coughs slightly before sitting up.
“Well, you know. It’s what boyfriends are for, right?”, Dariax says with half a laugh in his voice that doesn’t sound completely genuine.
Dorian swallows and bites his bottom lip as he tries to find the words. He’s usually not bad at talking, so why does this seem so endlessly hard?
“So—uh. I have something to confess”, he starts as his thoughts start spinning around in panicked circles. Dariax turns his head to look down at him.
“I know, I know”, he answers.
“Huh?”
“Well, I figured, you know. When Orym dragged you away I thought you guys probably had a talk?”
“We did, yeah”, Dorian says but he is endlessly confused about what that has to do with anything.
“See, I knew it. So you think it finally started working, huh? Told you, I’m really good at this kind of stuff.”
Dorian decides that he has to sit up for this. His head is spinning and his heart is racing and he is endlessly confused about what in the ever-loving hell is going on.
“Working? What are you talking about?”
“You know, the jealousy thing.”
Dorian stares at him.
Then it finally clicks.
“Dariax… I don’t want to be fake boyfriends anymore”, he says quietly before he can think of a better way to say it. Dariax’ expression twists and he looks away, his hand reaching for the back of his head to scratch at his scalp—a sign for nervousness, as Dorian knows by now.
“Yeah. Okay. I—uh. That’s—“
“I want to be your real boyfriend.”
Dariax blinks a few times. Then his face turns the deepest shade of red that Dorian has ever seen on him.
“You—what?”
“I don’t like Orym. I never have. Not like that. I—uh. I like you. And when—if—I kiss you again I don’t want it to be just pretend, I want to really kiss you. Because I—uh. I really like kissing you.”
Dariax is still staring at him, seemingly stunned. The hand at the back of his head has stopped moving and started to sink slowly back into Dariax’ lap.
“So…”, Dorian says and the nervous energy humming under his skin is almost unbearable, “can I? Can I… kiss you? For real?”
If Dariax doesn’t say anything soon Dorian might have to flee from the cart and actually leave the country. The suspense is torturous, his words hang heavy in the air between them. And then, faster than Dorian can react, Dariax lounges himself at Dorian and kisses him so passionately that Dorian can’t suppress the moan that escapes him.
Dariax pushes at him, shoves Dorian back down onto the bedroll, sinks one hand into Dorian’s long hair and cups his face with the other.
Dorian’s brain goes blank as he arches up against Dariax’ weight on top of him.
“So, is that a yes?”, he pants into the kiss.
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes”, Dariax rasps and kisses him again. “Gods, you’re so pretty. I thought I was going to go insane.”
Dorian makes a very embarrassing noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Maybe he likes those compliments more than a normal person would.
“So you like me?”
“Are you kidding me? So fucking much.”
Dariax is kissing his whole face now and Dorian wraps his arms around him. He feels light as a feather and the butterflies in his stomach have gone completely off the rails.
“Are you guys decent?”, Opal shouts from outside the cart.
“No! Go away! I want to make out with my boyfriend!”, Dariax shouts back and Dorian laughs.
“Don’t leave any icky spots though!”, Opal says.
“Oh, come on”, Dorian hears Orym protest.
“That’s what Prestidigitation is for, Opal! Read a book about magic!”, Dariax announces loudly and Dorian has no time to protest this obscene exchange because Dariax is kissing him again and Orym seems to be dragging Opal away from the cart.
“So do you know what that means?”, Dorian mumbles against Dariax’ lips.
“Hm?”
“I don’t need any flirting lessons from you after all.”
#critfic#exandria unlimited#exu#exu fic#dorian storm#dariax zaveon#fanfiction#mi writes#critical role#doriax#text#screeching into the void#this is 7k words of chaotic fake dating ooops
593 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m still so absolutely gutted over Dorian’s decision.
Ever since finding out his brother is in the same city as him and has an insurmountable bounty on his head, Dorian has made a lot of decisions that seem to have hurt him. It almost appears to be the ‘frog in a boiling pot’ scenario. “If I just compromise how I feel about this a little bit, it’s fine and I’m still standing my ground, but I’m helping.” Except each time he sacrifices a little more of himself. The first sacrifice could arguably be the biggest, but the first one always hurts the most; he sacrifices his identity. The party doesn’t know that Dorian Storm isn’t his real name. Truthfully, they don’t know anything about him at that point. Orym and Fearne might know a little more about him and some of the family stories he’s told—albeit modified—because they’ve been travelling with him for a few months and have had plenty of downtime to just talk. But he sacrifices his potential standing and acceptance with this group by sharing his true name and identity and where he comes from.
Then he sacrifices a little more once he learns about the bounty. He gives away the Sending Stone in order to give his brother a chance to talk to him if things go wrong. He sacrifices the trust he’s built with the party just a little bit more. He doesn’t ask them nor does he immediately tell them. And when it does come up, you can tell that it’s a bit of a gut punch for him because Fearne calls the stone they have now “useless”.
Then even more. He keeps asking about safety for his brother. A way to get him out of town. A way to get him out of the debt. He’s very much trying to solve his brother’s problem for him without input from his brother. When those moments come up for him with the party where he brings up his brother, you can see that he no longer has a quest or a goal for himself. Chet needed help finding Gurge and they did that, and now he needs help finding the other wolves. Orym needed help finding the Anger and they did that, and now he needs help tracking down new leads about the attackers of the Loomis twins. He was willing to help Bertrand with clearing his name with Esteross. He’s not sure what Laudna’s goal is but he’s helping make her feel welcome and like she’s normal; he’s a man of nobility that’s always clean yet he gets within touching distance of Laudna frequently and helps her with what she needs. He’s doing the best he can with Imogen and trying to respect her boundaries with her thoughts. You can see he’s still a bit hesitant around Ashton, but he’s doing what he can to aid whatever’s going on there; he’s agreed to help clear Ashton’s debt, even before he knew that Ashton’s and his brother’s debts were to the same person. Even when he does learn that he isn’t immediately pushing for them to solve that problem first.
If you include Exandria Unlimited (EXU) as part of this, we saw that his desire to protect those that he chooses as his family eventually leads to an alignment change. He was willing to do what was necessary to help.
Move that to the day prior to the ball where they’re discussing the plans with Esteross. They say that they need someone to pretend to be nobility so that the entire party can get into the ball. Orym doesn’t immediately say anything, nor does Dorian. But those that have known him the shortest immediately offer him up because that’s who he actually is. And it’s offered that he could go under a fake name, but he decides no. And the moment he takes for himself to collect his thoughts while he digs through the trunk of masks is the moment he’s decided to sacrifice just a little bit more of himself. He’s doing it to help his friends, to help his brother.
The moment where he throws the flamboyant outfit he bought while with the EXU group and participated in the pageant and his homemade mask into the bottom of an old long forgotten and dusty wardrobe that will most likely never get looked in again is absolutely crushing. He’s sacrificed the safety of his chosen name. He’s sacrificed being in debt and owing favors to many people, not just the party, to help his brother even though he’s in the free and clear. He’s sacrificed the trust of his friends and the newer party members each time he’s made a decision about helping his brother. And now he’s sacrificed his identity.
That wardrobe moment, that’s him stepping back into the closet. He is once again Brontë, the diligent second son of a world renowned Genasi floating city where he is part of a ruling noble family, and who most definitely is not a bard nor a man that can show emotion nor a man that can participate in frivolities or hobbies or adventures. There are expectations of him, and there are rules and decorum to be followed. There is no room for wants, desires, or a personality or identity.
And that hurts me so, so much.
No, he doesn’t have to fully step back into that persona of Brontë, but his short conversation with Esteross shows that if he’s going to help with this, he’s going to have to become the man his parents know him to be and what he ran away from being. And saying it out loud is a small confession, especially since Esteross would know something similar of certain expectations that come with a title versus the freedom of being without; that confession is an apology. He’s worried that the party will think less of him; that potentially even more trust will be worn away cause maybe this is who he really is and Dorian is just a fake and not who he really is.
I’m very emotional over Dorian Storm.
#critical role spoilers#critical role campaign 3 spoilers#cr spoilers#cr campaign 3 spoilers#cr c3 spoilers#critical role c3 spoilers#campaign 3 spoilers#c3 spoilers#dorian storm
90 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day Seventeen/Alt 3: Shrapnel (C3)
Read here on AO3
Summary: After Ashton is wounded protecting Orym from an explosion, Orym looks after him until help arrives.
“Hang on, we're almost there,” Orym panted. Ashton leaned heavily against him, though he was way too short to provide much meaningful support. “Just a little further, okay?”
Ashton was barely on his feet, bleeding from dozens of puncture wounds from the explosion that had taken out the tavern where they'd been asking questions. Orym had no idea where any of their friends were, if any of them were more injured than Ashton...if the rest of them were alive.
“Fuck.” Ashton hit the ground hard, dropping to both knees and one hand. The other was still claspsed to Orym's shoulder, for all the good that was doing. “Fuck, man, you gotta leave me.”
“No way.” Orym wrapped Ashton's arm around his shoulders and tried to haul the genasi back to his feet. “Not when you're hurt like this.”
“That's exactly why you should go,” Ashton rasped, though he let Orym tug him forward until he could lumber back up to his feet. His side was a mess of torn skin and blood—or what passed for blood in his body. Bits of glass littered his stony flesh, and Orym was sure he could see slivers of metal in the wounds, too.
“Not leaving you behind,” he said. He wrapped his arm around Ashton's waist, letting the genasi lean as much weight on him as he could bear. “There's an alley...up ahead.”
Ashton didn't answer, his labored breathing sounding far too loud in the chaos after the explosion. The tavern was little more than a heap of burning rubble now, and they could already hear the clamor as someone started up a bucket chain to try to contain the blaze.
“Here...just sit down,” Orym lowered Ashton to the ground just inside the mouth of the alley. There wasn't much to hide them there, but he hoped they'd be overlooked in the general pandemonium after the attack. If nothing else, he could honestly say they were caught in the blast and he was trying to help his friend.
With a groan, Ashton collapsed all the way down and curled up on his uninjured side. “Think I've got some new piercings.” He managed to turn his head enough to look up at Orym. “You okay?”
“Me?” Orym knelt beside him, hands on his legs, staring at Ashton's wounds. “Ears are ringing a bit, but you knocked me out of the way pretty fast. Don't think I've got a scratch on me.”
Ashton grunted. “Good.” He settled back down and wrapped one arm over his eyes. “Fuck, this hurts.”
“I think it all has to come out, but I don't know if we should do that without Fresh Cut Grass here. Unless you have a healing potion?”
He groaned again. “We were stocking up after questions, remember? 'Questions are safe. No one gets hurt from asking questions.' Why do I ever listen to you people?”
“Because you like us,” Orym replied. He gingerly brushed at the debris on Ashton's coat, pulling his hand away when the other man hissed in pain. “Sorry.”
“How bad is it?”
Orym risked a peek under Ashton's coat. The heavy leather had protected him from the worst of the blast, though there had been plenty of shrapnel in the explosion. It had been a rigged barrel packed with loose bits of metal and glass to maximize casualties—if Ashton hadn't reacted as quickly as he had there was a good chance Orym would have been face-to-face with the explosion.
“I won't say I've seen worse, because I don't have a lot of experience with explosions,” Orym finally said, carefully lowering Ashton's coat to avoid aggravating his wounds. “But I don't think it's anything we can't heal.”
“S'good,” Ashton murmured.
“No, c'mon man, stay awake,” Orym patted Ashton's cheek, careful to avoid the bruises that were blooming up on the side of his face. “Hey, I never thanked you for saving me back there.”
“S'cuz you're so little.” Ashton grinned up at him, blood staining his teeth. “You keep...keep taking hits. F'r all of us. Someone needs to take one for you...once in a while.”
“Shit.” Orym ran his hands through his hair. This wasn't good. He wanted to start pulling the shrapnel out, but without someone to heal the wounds it could just make Ashton bleed to death faster. “I'll be right back. I promise.”
He patted Ashton on the chest, though it seemed like the earth genasi was too far out of it to notice, and bolted for the mouth of the alley. Someone...anyone. One of the guard might have a healer, or a potion to spare...he had some gold, he could pay for it...anything to—
Orym ran right into someone, nearly bowling them over. He started to apologize when strong, familiar hands grabbed his shoulders. “Orym!”
“Fearne.” He could have sagged in relief. “Are you all right? Where are the others?”
“We're looking for you,” the faun replied. “Are you bleeding?”
“Don't think so, but Ashton's in trouble.” Orym grabbed her hand and started tugging her toward the alley. “Can you do the...can you heal someone today?”
“I think so,” Fearne held back, and he wasn't quite strong enough to pull her along so his feet just slid against the pavement. “Hang on, let me signal the others.”
She leaned a little further into the road and waved her free arm, and Orym caught sight of Imogen returning the wave.
“There!” Fearne smiled at him happily. “Imogen says she'll bring everyone here.”
“Great. Just come on,” he said, pulling at her again. Fearne let him this time, and he led her over to where he'd left Ashton. “I don't know if it's safe to get the glass and stuff out, and he was pretty hurt in the explosion.”
“Well, I can do a little,” Fearne commented as she folded down to sit on her knees. “We should probably move off the street to do the rest.”
“Right,” Orym nodded. He sat near Ashton's head, grabbing the other man's hand as Fearne gently prodded at his wounds.
Ashton's eye slid open and he stared at Orym. “You came back.”
“Told you.” Orym patted his hand. “We're not abandoning you. Not ever.”
He grunted and shifted around just enough so that his forehead was resting against Orym's knee. “That's good...you're good...family's good.”
“Yeah.” Orym smiled. “We're all good.”
#febuwhump2022#febuwhumpalt3#critical role campaign 3#bell's hells#fanfic#ashton greymoore#orym#explosions#shrapnel#ashton has abandonment issues#but who can blame him really
47 notes
·
View notes
Note
Orym and a arcane Archer reader, maybe the group is in some fight and everything is looking bad for them but them out of nowhere all the bad guys are getting sniped left and right! After everything cools down this beautiful/handsome Archer steps out of the shadows and is checking up to see if their all okay while orym is just quietly freaking out cause WOW THAT WAS COOL AND HOT lol. Sorry that this is long I really like orym!
Here you go. Enjoy! 😘
They knew Poska’s folks would catch up to them at some point and maybe they should have prepared for that while they had the time. However, they got caught up in the mix of life and forgot about the entire fact they were on the run. The good thing about being in a forest; there’s loads of trees to take cover behind. The bad part, there’s little to no space for a cart to move through off road; especially not one dubbed the ‘glitter shitter’ and the moment your enemies make it up close, you’re already screwed.
Where are these guys coming from? Orym thinks. There’s more than they expected. Apparently Poska had learned her lesson after the whole ordeal; sending just the two to kill them, then falling under Fearne’s spell herself. She wasn’t going to let them get away a third time. Opal is about to take another hit but Orym swings in, covering her with the shield and successfully deflecting the blow. Then need a game changer and they need it quickly.
“Opal, if you ever thought apologising to your sister was a good idea, please let it be now.” Orym suggests and while Opal already had a brush with death once, she’s a stubborn one. She’s not backing down now. Ted’s wrong. She’s right but Orym does have a point. Could she fake apologise? Orym doesn’t care. As long as this works and they get out.
Dariax goes down but luckily Fearne is nearby to get him back to his feet. Dorian is in a scuffle with two of the Nameless Ones and there’s no disengaging with where he’s at so he keeps swinging his weapons trying to inspire the others to help the group as much as he can. Fy’ra is kicking some ass but she can’t save them all and she knows that. Orym gives Opal the chance to back off and get out of the thick of it. Their assailants are pushing them together, slowly enclosing them and they’re succeeding. Within a few rounds they have nowhere to run.
“We’re surrounded. What now?” Fearne looks at the faces of the Nameless Ones. One of them jumps a little meeting her glare. Good she left an impression but it’s not going to help her much.
The first one gets ready to strike, opens his mouth to speak but the words fall silent. Instead the man lets out a soundless scream. The bloodied head of an arrow visible to the group. Frantically the Nameless Ones look around for who just shot their buddy. Sinking to the ground clutching his throat that one’s out of the game. One down, several to go.
Sticking to the shadows and hiding in and behind the trees you keep moving every time you release another arrow. This group needs some desperate help so when you got a call from an old friend saying adventure and trouble’s on the horizon, how could you refuse. These poor suckers look like they could use some help. Seriously, they have two people that look like they’re properly prepared for a fight? How have they lasted this long? Granted, you came in a bit late and missed most of their fight but you’re here now so does it really matter?
“This is your first and only chance so listen carefully. You leave these people be. Return to your boss and tell her to piss off or you’re going to end up just like your buddy over there.” You hide up high among the branches. The thugs search the grounds but don’t spot you. Idiots.
“Yeah! You better listen to them!” The dwarf cheers on but is quickly silenced by Orym. How could they even be sure you’re a friend and not just someone else looking for the bounty on their heads? Then again, you did tell the thugs to leave them alone and pretty much told Poska to shove it.
You notice one of the thugs reach for a sword, making a move to attack the group. The halfling deflects the blow and swings back. This kickstarts the whole fight again. Okay, playtime’s over. You rain down hellfire from the comfort of your trees picking them off one by one. Both the groups and the thugs catch sight of a shadow moving through but you’ve disappeared before they can track you. In a matter of seconds with the collective fighting back of the group you’ve taken down most of their assailants.
The halfling is being attacked by one of the thugs who relentlessly keeps hitting. The intent is clear; kill. While the halfling deflects and dodges a fair amount of hits, still plenty of them come through and he’s looking a little worse for wear. You land down on the forest floor with grace, light on your feet you barely even make a noise. You draw an arrow calling upon your teachings of old. You pull back the string to the corner of your lips keeping you shoulders low allowing the back muscles to do all the work. You release the string, letting your fingertips slide off, watching the arrow fly and hit the halfling’s attacker right in the chest. It’s a true hit.
When Orym sees another hit incoming he lifts his shield to take cover but the hit never comes. Instead the attacker is gone and there he sees you, bow lifted, still in the aftermath of releasing the arrow you fired. You give him a little wink as you draw another arrow. Your place given away, one of the last thugs runs for you. You before the idiot can even reach you, draw another arrow, repeats the process but this time when your arrow strikes a burst of brambles takes hold over the thug. The thug tries to get out but the poison is strong enough to finish him.
“You might wanna move out of the way.” You turn your attention back to the halting who isn’t going to question your suggestion. The thug that disappeared reappears in the previous spot striking down and hitting nothing but dirt. You nock another arrow and fire. Killing shot. You’re on a roll. With the tides sufficiently turned and the thugs strongly outmatched you finish off the last of them. You certainly knew how to catch their attention.
You’re going around, collecting your arrows, or whatever still usable, letting the group do their thing. Finally getting a good look at you Orym hesitates to interrupt you. Perhaps it’s because you’re intimidating, your looks certainly fit the badass angel of death aesthetic. You’re dropped gorgeous. Or maybe he’s hesitant to approach for another reason. You saved his ass a few times during that fight and you’re highly skilled with a bow. He’s heard stories about archers like you and you’re like a myth standing right in front of him. Everything about you calls for his attention.
You notice the halfling keeping an eye on you. What were you told his name was again? Orym. He’s definitely cuter than you were told. Maybe you’ll stick around for a little while? Arrows gathered, unusable ones disposed of as a nice message left behind for the Nameless Ones that dare tread behind and make a move. The group has gathered most of their bearings but you need to move on soon. Others might follow.
“You all good? Because we need to move as soon as possible.” You come over to the group and you can feel Orym staring, his eyes following as you go. You’re unsure if it’s because you’re the stranger out here, the stunts you just pulled off, you being completely unimpressed by absolutely laying waste to these thugs or something else.
“Thank you. For your help and saving us, saving me. I don’t think we would still be standing weren’t it for you.” Orym tells you, gratitude and admiration written over his face. He’s surprised he doesn’t stumble over his words. You’ve caught him off guard in such a way he’s unsure how to handle it.
Helping them pack up and het back on the road you find yourself sharing the reigns of the ‘glitter shitter’ with Orym. You keep an eye out on the road jumping off every so often to do a perimeter sweep just to make sure you’re not being followed. You have a few conversations, mainly just trivial stuff between the two of you but the man hasn’t made a move yet to go into anything beyond surface levels of personal. After a good hour of silence, conversation seemingly having come to an end, nothing left to talk about just yet, Orym surprises you by breaking that silence.
“I just need to get this off my chest. When you came in, dropping those thugs dead like flies, you took my breath away and I don’t know how to say this the right way but you’re as gorgeous as you are deadly.” Flustered Orym keeps his eyes on the road not daring to look at you for a response. What if he said the wrong thing? He didn’t want to make things awkward between you and him and the group but he’s also at the point where he couldn’t not address this in fear it might get in the way in the future. Better to speak and be let down than say nothing and act solely on attraction later.
You face him with a grin. While somewhat socially awkward, but a good fighter, you appreciate his courage. The dusting of scarlet spreading across his cheeks really warms your heart. You’ve said it before; cute.
“Well, don’t hold back on these compliments on my account. Flattery will get you everywhere.” You offer him another wink. This might just be the start of something fun. Maybe in time Orym will be able to flirt without getting flustered and that day might come sooner rather than later. He, just like you, is full of surprises. Maybe he’ll even get you to blush if he’s feeling particularly courageous.
#critical role x reader#critrole x reader#exu x reader#exandria unlimited x reader#orym x reader#critical role#exu#exandria unlimited
43 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
witchqueenofthemoon
Sandy Settle
khrisnapalomo
Untitled 2017
fugitiveghost
a ghost on the run
drdeeparya
Untitled
maplesugarcookie
MapleSugarCookie