#Imogen: bet.

[imogenkol]

— WIP WHENEVER

tagged by @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @jillvalentinesday @marivenah thank you lovelies 💕💕💕

no pressure tags as always: @sstewyhosseini @jinfromyarikawa @voidika @shegetsburned @jackiesarch @corvosattano @florbelles @aceghosts @shallow-gravy @shellibisshe @roofgeese @theelderhazelnut @shadowglens + anyone else who might want to share!

Got blessed with a short burst of writing for the morning after these two finally give in and decide to become official

Everything felt so… calm and peaceful. In the same way the sky looks before a storm. Imogen should be fleeing for her life or at the very least preparing herself for the inevitable destruction. But she didn’t – she couldn’t. All she managed was to lie in bed beside the woman she fought so hard not to love. The warmth of her body half draped over Imogen’s after a passionate night. It was such a simple thing, to have her beloved’s head rest against her chest and feel their breaths as one, yet she could not recall ever experiencing such contentment.

Destruction might just be worth it.

Bix trailed her fingertips along her bare collarbone which caused Imogen to smile. Her own caress lightly traveled up and down the mechanic’s spine in aimless patterns. It even felt extraordinary to touch her just for the sake of it. 

“I’m starting to believe you actually like waking up next to me,” Bix said in a lighthearted tone.

“I have always desired this,” Imogen admitted softly, tilting her head enough to nuzzle against hers. 

“Meaning you’ve always been afraid of this.”

Imogen tensed. The hard-wired urge to pull away and fiercely deny such an accusation threatened to overcome her, but there was no sense in refuting the truth any longer. Not from Bix. Gradually, the bounty hunter willed her muscles to ease. She wondered how long it would take to train these instincts out of her. “If we… truly commit to one another –”

Bix’s fingers twitched into a fist against Imogen’s skin. “If?”

“No,” Imogen quickly corrected herself. “No more ifs. What I mean to say is… Well, I have a lot to learn.”

“So do I. So does everyone,” Bix stated matter-of-factly. She leaned up on her elbow and met the other woman’s apprehensive expression. “You’re here. You’re trying. That’s all that really matters to me.” 

A strand of dark hair dangled over the mechanic’s cheek. Imogen reached out and delicately tucked it behind her ear. She took in the unobscured beauty of her beloved for a few prolonged beats, her thumb tracing some of those features that left her in awe. 

“I am quite certain there is one thing in this galaxy that I would not be able to bear,” Imogen muttered under her breath – almost to herself. 

Bix moistened her lips as she inched closer. “And what’s that?”

A rhythmic knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Along with a gruff voice that called, “Bix? It’s me.”

Imogen hoped her glare would burn right through the durasteel to strike Cassian down.

“Hang on!” Bix called back. With an exasperated sigh, she slumped down and hid her face in the crook of Imogen’s neck for a beat before she forced herself up. At the sight of the bounty hunter’s less than pleased expression, Bix said “Don’t start anything.”

“He still draws breath, does he not? That is the extent of my manners,” Imogen replied curtly as Bix hastily dressed herself. She, too, summoned a great effort to follow her out of bed and do the same. “Unless he wishes to apologize for aiming a blaster at my heart.”

“You held your lightsaber at his throat.” 

“He drew on me first.”

Bix rolled her eyes, though Imogen caught the upturn at the corner of her mouth before she turned towards the door.  “Come in.” 

The both of them hadn’t quite finished dressing. Cassian entered as Bix fastened the waistband of her pants and Imogen pulled a shirt over her head. He halted mid-step, his gaze shifting between the two women as if a complicated equation did not add up. Though, the scene before him must have been fairly obvious.

“What is it, Cass?” Bix urged. 

“I just… wanted to talk to you.” Cassian’s answer came out distracted. His eyes lingered on the bounty hunter. 

Imogen looked to Bix expectantly and received a nod. A part of her had hoped that she would have been allowed to remain in the room, but she understood why Bix dismissed her. Without another word, Imogen collected her coat in one hand and intended to make her exit when an impulse emerged. She would not have Cassian misinterpret the signs, not if she had any say in it. 

In a few strides, Imogen went to Bix and pulled her in by the back of her neck. While their lips met with intention, it was no less soft or passionate than the kisses they shared in private. Imogen indulged in a few strokes and had to fight not to get lost in the sensations, nearly forgetting the witness she intended to show for. 

Once Imogen pulled away, she gave Bix a parting caress and said “I will come find you later.” 

The mechanic had a knowing glint in her eye, but she nodded again. “Alright.” 

Cassian had not moved and the nature of his continued gaze turned from dumbfounded to outright suspicion. Imogen glared right back at him as she made her way towards the door. He stood far enough into the room that she could have easily maneuvered around him, but she instead shoved her shoulder into his as she walked past. Just to make sure her point came across clearly.

[yashley]

I feel like at this point, all bets are off.

[0scinine]

Drawing of Laudnas (second) death because I was inspired by the pose in the sculpture The First Funeral

[jadequarze]

I’m gonna lie down now and think about Imogen. She needs so much help and love orz

[danwhobrowses]

Well Critters it's Bells Hells Live Show Day! That snuck up on us quickly didn't it? Felt almost like a few weeks ago that they announced it!

Alas, being across the pond (also tomorrow's Father's Day in the UK) I will have to wait for the VOD, sitting here with my usual Thursday night doses of anticipation, imagination and anxiety, but I hope all that are attending have a great night. So much can happen, so much stuff I want to happen too but ofc some things are long shots - anyone who looks at my feed can tell what I want to happen let's be honest, and there'll be dress up and whatever beyond extra entrance Sam has planned to make his anticipated and grandiose return.

So sing the intro loud, tag your live spoilers just in case, do creepy whispers if Laudna performs a Sending, tell them to stop it if they sneeze, and most of all enjoy the show!

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hello! Can I request a number 22 "Do you trust me?" "I don't know." from the angst prompt list if this appeals to you at all?

Best of luck with getting back into the grove, I look forward to reading anything new <3

hi! thank you very very much for this prompt - it's delicious. might even reuse it for another idea I have rolling around. i hope you enjoy how this one turned out; it was a great warm-up piece and i got to play around with second person (very sorry if that's not your thing). and on a personal note - I'm a huge fan of yours, so this was a wild ask to wake up to!

cw: mild gore, self-doubt

length: ~1250 words

~~~

You watch as Imogen steps forward. Once. Twice. Her head tilts, and her eyes narrow. Another step. You back away. Your chest is heaving. Why are you shaking? The cold calculation in Imogen’s gaze is unfamiliar. You have been reduced to an object—a threat to be sized up before you are dispatched by those capable hands. And, in a way, you are, aren’t you? A threat. An object. A strung-out puppet without a home.

She is-was-could-be your home, you think. Maybe. She has been. At least, you want to believe that is the truth of it. But how can you be sure? Home has always been an abstraction to you, a thing kept just out of sight, dangled like a lure bobbing just beneath the surface, tempting you up from the depths. It remains just out of reach, it seems. You feel yourself sinking, sinking back into the places the sun cannot reach. It’s safe there, you have learned. The shadows protect you. They are just as much a part of you as the scars that litter paper-thin skin, reminders of rising a little too close to the warm-bright world above.   

Imogen’s stare is piercing, the faint purple glow radiating faintly, only detectable in the darkness. Two pinpricks of violet that bore into you from a safe fifteen paces away. 

Jagged rocks loom, emerge from the ceiling, the walls, like fingers crooking accusingly in your direction. The heel of your shoe catches on a massive hooked chain, snaking and coiling and disappearing in and out of the shadows. Mist curls around your ankles. Hands clutch at a corseted chest as if fabric and boning could freeze the magic leaking from taloned fingertips. 

“This isn’t me,” you swear, and the words sound hollow, distant, echoing, like the air is swallowing them up before they leave your lips.

“It isn’t,” Imogen replies sardonically, but her hands remain pinched at her hips, a faint crimson flickering at her fingertips. “Did you do this?”

Your brow furrows. Three crackling purple spheres appear overhead, and the mist thins. Shriveled corpses sprawl across the stone floor between you. Their skin is ashy and gray, lips dried and drawn back in wild grins that reveal stained, rotting teeth. Bulging eyes too wide for their sockets, bloodshot and unseeing, stare vacantly at the ceiling. Stiff fingers curl into claws, digging into bodies contorted and frozen in expressions of agony. 

“No,” you say, “no, of course not.” You shift back, away, away, and stumble over a red-robed thigh. “I wouldn’t,” you insist. 

“No?”

You repeat, “I wouldn’t. I–”

“How would you know?” Imogen’s tone is cool, “If you did.” She steps over one mangled body, tutting, thunderously calm. A spark flashes in her fist.

“I–”

“You wouldn’t know, would you? If it was you.” She pauses, stares. Her words are biting. “You told me yourself. Maybe it was Delilah.” You shrink back, away, away, until your back hits the jagged wall, and you relish in the pain because it means that something is solid. The fog in your head is thick, clouding, as Imogen stalks toward you. “Is there a difference anymore?” 

A chill runs through you, and the beautiful new corset you wear seems to constrict around your chest, squeezing, strangling. Imogen doesn’t believe you. She doesn’t believe you, and if she doesn’t believe in you, can you believe yourself? She was your home, once, (right?) but the foundation is cracked, leaking ichor and electricity that fries your toes. You need to know. Suddenly, it is the most important thing in the world. Imogen’s confidence in your goodness. That something in you is worth saving. Worth something. (There must be something.)  

“Do you trust me?” Your voice is thick, rattling, when you whisper through dusty cords. 

Imogen is five paces away, now, and moving closer as you press all you can into the wall. Perhaps you could become a fossil for the next generation of adventurers to find. Compressed and hardened between shale and mineral and away, away from piercing violet. Imogen studies you, unmoving, untouching. 

“I don’t know,” she says at last. She brings a hand up to grasp your chin, and you flinch. You have never flinched from her before. (You haven’t.) Her grip is firm. “Should I?”

“Yes,” you say, desperate. “Yes. Please.” Because you need her to understand so badly you could tear your heart from your chest and lay it at her feet if only so she would know it’s there. 

“You hurt us. You hurt your friends, Laudna. Look at them.” She releases your chin and spreads her arms.

Bathed in dim purple light, the corpses wear the clothes of your companions. (Have they always looked like this?) Fearne in FCG’s tattered coat, seafoam hair limp and stringy. Bor’dor, his green shawl stained dark with ichor. Chetney, his throat torn out. Orym, bruised, with Seedling and the Summit Blade fallen at his side. Ashton, arm in pieces.

“I didn’t.” You sound uncertain even to yourself. 

Imogen scoffs. “Running away again?” (Again?)

Always running. You always run. It has always been easier to run. It would be easier to run. (Why can’t you run?) You want to run away. You cannot go far from Imogen. (Can’t you?) The wall is moving. (The wall shouldn’t be moving. Walls can’t move. Why is the wall moving? Are you moving? Are you? A r e  y o u) 

“This is your fault.”

Your tongue refuses to move. It sits limp in your mouth like rotting meat. Sour. Disgusting. Useless, useless. Imogen doesn’t believe you. Doesn’t believe in you. Did you do this? This is your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault

You shudder and gasp, and suddenly, Imogen is holding you, but that cannot be right because she doesn’t trust you and why should she because who are you if you are not yourself and maybe you are just Delilah but how can you be sure and and and 

“Hey, woah,” Imogen croons near your ear. “Hey, you’re all right; you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Stale cavern air that tastes of death and decay floods your lungs, and you heave. Your hands and knees scrape against the floor. You need to get away, away. Away from her. You need to run. Before you hurt anyone. Before you hurt her. 

“Okay, hey, you’re okay, honey. Dominox got you good, huh?” 

Your vision darkens, and your ears ring, and your teeth lengthen.

“What’d you see?” Chetney crows. 

Imogen’s arms tighten around you, and you stiffen.  

“Give her a minute.” 

You shake your head against Imogen’s chest. Bits of debris lodge in your palm, and you savor the sting. Dark hair hangs in a curtain where it has been torn loose. 

“Take your time,” Imogen murmurs. Her eyes are not glowing; her hands do not spark. They trace small circles along your back where you can still feel the imprint of sharp stone, and you shiver at the dissonance. “It wasn’t real, Laudna. Whatever it was, it was the demon messin’ with your head.” 

A shaky exhale escapes your lips. “Do you trust me?” 

“What?” Imogen pulls away slightly to meet your wide eyes. She hesitates. Her mind presses against yours. You can feel her skimming, paging through your surface thoughts like a stone over water before she settles, bobbing, tempting. 

“Is it her?” Orym asks warily. 

“I think so,” Imogen says, but she remains intently focused, searching.

You repeat yourself through the weight that has settled low in your stomach. “Do you trust me?” 

“I… Why are you askin’ me that?”  

[paperglader]

yes, it’s been three weeks, and yes, I’m still screaming about the fact that Imogen was at her lowest when she met laudna (was thinking of ending it all), and laudna had been roaming aimlessly for thirty years, utterly alone. No purpose, no reason for living, until she met the purple-haired sorcerer that saved her life no questions asked as soon as they first met, then chose to stick together forever, hold on to each other, sleep on the same bed for the next two years and help each other find answers to their miserable existence- and now, NOW that they finally got it together, got some stupid answers, and actually gained some power over the forces that had subdued them for years, KISSED, immediately- literally nine days into their relationship- the shitty world that they live in decided to make it clear and remind them that their days are numbered (significantly smaller numbers than they had accounted for) and that they won’t get to live their quiet life on a field, raise horses and just be. I AM OK ABOUT THAT. TOTALLY FINE.

[pstelwitchcraft]

I love that everybody took my "who do you think will kiss next" poll as "who do you ship the most" just bc it means southerngothic hasn't left first place since like, 20 min in, and honestly? Good for them.

[zelreedsandwrites]

Laudna: Imogen! Look at this video!

(Shows Imogen the video of the cat that says “well hiiiiii” in a southern accent)

Imogen: aww it’s real cute

Laudna: it’s just like you!

Imogen:

Imogen: wAIT—

[pocketgalaxies]

npc: (threatening) when the shark finishes eating the fish, it doesn't resort to eating the plankton.

everyone: *impressed noises* that was. huh yeah that was pretty good, pretty slick.

[mehoymalloy]

WIP Whenever

Y’all. Between Moon Moms, the Masquerade fic, a secret smut fic y’all don’t need to know about, and an even secreter smut y’all really don’t need to know about yet, I’ve got a lot a WIPs. So thank you to @foibles-fables for tagging me and helping choose which one to pull from. Here’s a large section of Relvin’s fic for the Moon Moms series. Wholesome cuteness abounds~

Relvin lifted Imogen up and sat her on the { top railing of the gate }, keeping a firm hold on the back of her overalls. "Now you've already met Rosie here," he murmured, holding a { treat } out for the { andalusian } when she came to a stop. She took it carefully, always the gentlest horse they had, and one of the { missus' } favorites. Then she took a step forward, leaning in and snuffling at Imogen's hair, causing the girl to squeal with laughter.

Relvin reached out to { smooth one hand down the horse's nose?, } watching as the foal skittishly stepped up beside { her mama, } craning her neck to sniff at Imogen's bare toes.

"When'd you lose your shoes, girl?" Relvin asked without any real concern, carefully lifting her off the railing before she could kick her feet and scare the foal. Giving Rose one last pat, he kneeled down and set Imogen on her feet, again holding onto the strap of her overalls to keep her from climbing through the gate.

As the foal crept forward, Relvin leaned close to kiss Imogen's head. "Be soft now, ya hear?" he whispered.

Imogen knew that command, knew it meant she couldn’t throw, couldn’t pull, couldn’t push, has to move slow and be quiet. She carefully extended a tiny hand and waited, trying not to laugh when the foal's { fuzzy lips } tickled the palm of her hand.

"There's a good girl," Relvin murmured. "This is Flora."

The master's wife had a pattern she stuck to, but Relvin supposed 'Flora' fit this one just fine, all delicate and timid, shyer than a lot of { foals } he'd raised in the decade he's work's in these stables, including Rose's { previous foals, } most of which had be { reared } and sold to rich folks up in Sruwargas. As one of the few { purebreds } in the stables, Rose accounted for a fair bit of Master Faramore's discretionary income { every few years. } Though Relvin had a feeling { the missus } wouldn't be lettin' Faramore sell this foal. She was already sweet on her, coming down to the stables a couple times a week to ask about how she was fairing.

Relvin watched as Imogen very carefully stroked the foal. "Maybe one day you'll get to ride her, how's that sound?" he asked quietly.

Imogen craned her neck up, wide-eyed gaze trailing up Rose's legs until she was looking straight up and nearly lost her balance, stumbling back into Relvin's chest.

Relvin gathered her up in his arms, hugging her close for a moment. "Oh not her, not yet at least. When you're a bit older, maybe."

Imogen remained quiet, uncharacteristic when it was just the two of them. Usually she was happy to babble away as Relvin asked her question after question. Instead, she took a step forward, hands gripping the railing as she looked from Flora to Rose and back again."Mama?"

"Uh-huh, Rose is Flora's mom, just like Mama's yours."

As if aware of their conversation, Rose { lowered her head }, { grooming Flora's unkempt mane } for a moment before turning her sights on Imogen. Relvin always knew animals had souls, but Rose's deep brown eyes, shimmering with something like playfulness, made that even clearer as she drooped her head and tilted her neck, angling between the railing to snuffle at Imogen's hair again, blowing a big puff of air and { spittle } in her face when she giggled.

[lessthanimpressedlesbian]

I know nothing about the cast of critical role, but I think it'd be funny if Laura told Matt that Vex clocked Imogen's feelings for Laudna. I want the members of Vox Machina (that we've seen) to have a betting pool on whether or not they're dating, especially if nothing overtly coupley happens while they're in Whitestone.

[no-hoe-tf]

besties im gonna SHAMELESSLY plug my fic here. go read it because im sick like a dog right now and i feel like shit. thank you.

give her comments. you are welcome.

[yashley]

RED MOON GIRLS BELIEVE IN NANA MORRI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[samuraiko]

I think a vignette about Orym and Ashton making a bet about imodna would be very funny and lighten the mood after recent episodes

Okay, I am FINALLY getting around to this pile of Asks in my inbox!

Hmmmm... let's see.

This takes place the evening of their dinner at Taste of Tal'Dorei in Bassuras.

"Wanna Bet?"

"This has been... a day," Ashton groaned, setting down his hammer by the side of the bed. He glanced down at the front of his clothes. "And I have to figure out how to get this... whatever-the-f*** that Laudna was sobbing all over me out of my clothes."

Orym looked up in concern. "She was crying?"

"Yeah, about that whole falling out with Imogen. I'm still kinda fuzzy on the details, but it has something to do with a rock that she broke that belonged to Imogen."

"Oh." Orym was quiet for a little bit, then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, great. And Imogen's mad because she thinks that Laudna doesn't even care about the fact that they're fighting and now she's being friendly with Dusk."

Ashton' arched his eyebrows. "Oh, really? Do I detect some possible jealousy on Imogen's part there?"

"No!" Orym protested, then he stopped. "Well... you know, now that you mention it, maybe. I mean, I don't know about JEALOUS-jealous, but-"

"What does that even mean, 'JEALOUS-jealous'?"

"Well, there's... you know, resenting someone just because they're taking up another person's time... and then there's..." Orym's cheeks turned slightly red. "JEALOUS-jealous."

"You mean romance and all that s***."

"Well, yeah."

"Huh." Ashton flopped down on the bed, folded his hands behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling. "Soooooooo... you think that those two have a thing going? Like more than friends?"

Orym made a non-committal kind of noise. "They are kind of close."

"I'd say more than 'kind of.' They share a bed like all the time."

"So do me and Fearne, but we're not like that," Orym pointed out, and Ashton snorted.

"She'd probably be down for it if you asked her." Then Ashton saw a shadow flit across Orym's face and decided against pursuing that particular topic. "And also, Imogen and Laudna are always picking up gifts for each other."

"That's true."

"Yeah, they're interested. They just don't want to admit they're interested. Which I think is stupid because life's too f***ing short to not be honest about how you feel about someone." He saw Orym flinch and inwardly winced. "Anyway... wanna bet which one of them caves and tells the other one first?"

"Tells the other one what? About how she feels?"

"Yeah."

"Are we talking like a declaration of love?"

"Yep. The L word has to be used." Ashton thought about that for a moment. "Actually... Laudna's already said that. Remember? During our game of 'What the F*** is Up With That?' She said that she loves imogen."

"Yeah, but there's a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone," Orym said quietly. "There's no doubt that she and Imogen love each other. But if we're talking romantic love, then..."

"Yeah."

There was silence for a little while.

"Ten gold Imogen says it first," Orym remarked.

"Ten gold Laudna says it first," Ashton replied.

They shook on it.

"No hard feelings either way?" Orym asked with a grin.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"No."

"Too bad, it was a good one."

[danwhobrowses]

Okay so I was gonna do a big gush over all the new Bells Hells outfits on the recent cr episode (a surprise since I had expected that they'd show them for the live show), but instead I'm gonna encourage you to check out @agarthanguide who is answering asks about the process of designing them, they're very insightful, and I'm sure they're more than happy to answer more - within reason ofc.