#Laudna is precious though

[unicyclehippo]

Palm, cr3!

‘did it hurt?’

nana morri’s smile was mossy and huge like the rest of her. ‘what’ss that, dearie?’

laudna hovered in the doorway. ‘the shard,’ she whispered. ‘the shard,’ she hissed, head ticking to the side. her eyes were huge and black. they fixed on the seared blistering skin of nana morri’s palm. ‘when you held it—it burned you.’

‘that’s not what you want to know.’

laudna stared.

nana morri poured another drink.

the thatching of the tiki bar shivered in the breeze that morrigan summoned with a stern look and a beckoning finger. the wind rattled the shutters on the windows until morrigan glared. it quietened once more.

‘what—‘ laudna braced herself against the frame of the doorway. ‘what did it taste like?’

‘aah.’ morrigan tilted the crystal glass in her hand. the drink was liquid gold, thick hot honey. a glint of light shone in those deep, dark sockets. ‘you want it. you want to hold it in your hands,’ she said with a fond, sweet lilt to her voice. teasing, almost. ‘you want to taste it. you want to eat it,’ tummy growled.

‘no!’ laudna’s fingers clawed into the wooden doorway. curls of wood came away beneath her nails. ‘no! no! no!’

morrigan tilted her glass the other way. ‘just me here, dearie. your sweetheart is sssleeping. she can’t hear you. say what you mean. tell nana the truth.’

‘no! it’s not for me! it’s for fearne!’ Laudna shook her head hard. thwacked her traitorous palms—palms that burned with the want to grasp the shard, to crack it, to stuff it handful over handful into her mouth and swallow it down to feel the warmth—against her head hard. ‘it’s for fearne. isn’t it? that’s why you stopped. yes?’

‘…yes.’

‘you were tempted.’

‘you weren’t watching,’ nana smiled. it wasn’t as wide. she sat still, didn’t drink. she watched laudna. ‘who was watching?’

‘she was.’

‘Is she here?’

‘always,’ laudna murmured. a smile—a smirk—tilted her lips. ‘always.’

nana leans forward and forward and forward, head craned on her improbable neck. nostrils flared, she dragged in a long breath. ‘aah. ahaha. to whom do i have the pleasure of speaking?’

delilah lifted laudna’s head, her shoulders, standing tall. meeting the eyes of the dread hag as an equal. ‘names are something of…tool for you, mistress of the fates.’

‘mistress, am i? you’re too kind.’ the flattery doesn’t soften morrigan. it makes her sink down into herself and tummy’s eyes open wide. ‘you have me at a disadvantage. i. don’t. like that.’

‘but you like laudna. and more importantly, your darling fearne loves her.’

‘i will happily gobble your little corpse up if it means keeping my fearnie safe. you don’t strike me as safe.’

‘perhaps not. but i have no intention of harming your fearnie,’ delilah said, and she plucked laudna’s hands free of the wood she had clawed into. sauntered forward. she made such a ghastly vision, wearing laudna like a gown. an accessory. ‘i have a vested interest in seeing her - all of them - succeed. you may consider me an ally of your precious granddaughter.’

nana morri cackled. her eyes didn’t shift away from delilah. ‘well, well. i knew she would meet all sorts of people when she left home. i suppose i’m not surprised she met you. she attracts all sorts, my fearnie. darkness grows toward her like a flower. pretty. now, a drink?’

‘you don’t truly imagine me so foolish.’

nana morri shrugged. her form shifted, clunked, as though parts of her were made of heavy bone or wood and knocking as she moved. ‘dear laudna is far more trusting. she doesn’t even check for poison.’

‘she’s a sweet fool.’

‘suits your purposes just fine, then,’ nana murmured. ‘not a drink then. what is it i can do for you?’

‘you make deals, yes?’

‘i have been known to deal on occasion, yes.’

‘wonderful.’

‘but you have nothing i want.’

‘you haven’t even heard my offer yet.’

a huge hand whipped out to wrap around laudna’s skull and half her torso. it dragged her close, laudna’s wide eye staring into the toothy mouth of tummy as she growled.

‘you have nothing i want.’

‘i assure you, madame morrigan, that is not true.’ delilah abandoned laudna. it was a struggle to hold her form, shadows slipping—the shadows were morrigan’s too, here—but they held long enough with the aid of laudna’s magic that she could step up to the hag. elvish tripped gracefully from her tongue, and with each word morrigan relaxed and listened closely. the language of the fey was not delilah’s to command, but the language of secrets was well known to morrigan the fatestitcher and she listened well.

[mintywolf]

Out of habit, Imogen still wakes early. Even with no farm chores to do, the instinct to escape sleep before a dream — or worse — can find her startles her awake almost before the sun is up. As the blur of sleep falls away from her eyes she finds herself looking at not the attic ceiling of her old bedroom, but the warped beams of a ramshackle roof not far above her head. To anyone else it might have seemed unsightly, the tar-paper shingles through the gaps in the boards and the frost on the exposed roofing nails. But when she sees it the knot of dread coiled in her chest whenever she wakes begins to unbind itself, and she relaxes. She is not in Gelvaan anymore.

No voices crowding intrusively up against her mind. No voices raised against Laudna in hatred. Around her there is only a dense, gentle hush, and from the pearly cast of the light she can tell that it has snowed in the night.

Smiling, she snuggles down into the rustling warmth of the bed, enfolding herself in the comforting weight of the blankets, the softness of her new red flannel pajamas, the sweet scent of dried straw and Laudna’s hair on the pillow beside her. She is lying on a straw tick in a barely upright little shack in the woods, and it’s the most at peace she’s ever been. Gelvaan is far behind her, and although in leaving it she has had to leave behind a few more things than she’d expected, one of them was not Laudna.

Imogen turns over to face her. The rising dawn sheds just enough light over the bed for her to take in the utter deadness of the figure next to her. Laudna’s head lolls limply on the pillow, tilted just a little too far to the side to be comfortable, so that Imogen is looking straight into the unseeing dark of her half-lidded eyes. Her hair lies in lank tangles over her face like strands of river weeds, unstirred by any hint of breath between her slack lips. Her horrible little dead rat doll lies curled on her chest like a pet. All of this is precious to Imogen now.

In the snowy silence she can hear nothing but the contented murmur of her thoughts under the blanket of sleep, and by that she knows that she is not, despite all appearances, lying in bed next to a corpse. It doesn’t bother her as much as it used to, now that she knows. Though she does, with affection, reach over and carefully close her eyelids.

(Read more on AO3)

[critical-derolo]

"I haven't accessed that part of my brain in fifty years."

Imogen knows.

Being a mind reader has its perks and down sides - mostly down sides, if she's being honest. Mostly pain. Mostly disgust. Yes, many downsides. But that might be what makes the perks extra special? Who knows, she isn't in the habit of considering it.

This perk, however, she likes, because she knows that Laudna hasn't accessed that part of her brain in fifty years. Okay, fifty is a variable, but for as long as Imogen has known the warlock, the woman just... doesn't think that way. Which is totally fine - was totally fine. People are diverse (another thing that Imogen knows more than most) and wired uniquely to themselves. Some people just don't feel those things and, again, if she's being honest with herself, she much prefers their company. So it was an added bonus when she met Laudna - her music, her gentle song, and found that there weren't... inappropriate or deeply private thoughts that the sorcerer would have to pretend she didn't hear.

She never heard them. Private thoughts? Yes, but more along the lines of the ever-present desperation that runs like a cold, constant adrenaline through the dead woman's entire body. Also, the insanity. Neither of those were ever a problem, though; Imogen was like a balm against the frenzy that's always moments away from taking Laudna. And the insanity is mild, it's very mild and very manageable. Patè needs scolding sometimes, but that's really it.

The two had found a rhythm that is steady and solid, that sailed their friendship for two strong years. They were good, they fit together, and then-

And then Dusk arrived. Yu. Them.

Maybe it was just another ploy. More chaos to be sewn into the group. A wedge to shove between their two powerful casters. Maybe it was genuine? (Imogen can hardly blame them.

Laudna is beautiful. Horrifying, and beautiful.

She doesn't know it either, which makes it... special? Tender, at least. Laudna looks at herself and she likes her reflection, she does, she likes the creepy quality she has. Imogen assumes the main difference between now and back then is Laudna was like this, only alive, once. Things that make people squirm, or flinch, or curl their lip in disgust, it all pleases the warlock.

But beyond that, looking at herself. Imogen's heart breaks when she hears the spiral, the consuming, obsessive thoughts about her ears. She doesn't know why that, in particular, is Laudna's straw. Where she draws a line from fondness to shame.

In what world does Laudna have to be ashamed that someone else carved her ears into points? But it's the only thing about her that she's ever been truly self conscious of. To the point that she hides them with her golden elven caps.)

So no, Imogen can't blame them even if it burns her that Yu was the one to access this part of Laudna's mind.

Because she has.

Ever since that night, that frantic night of Laudna pulling out her hair (she has so much hair, too much hair, how can she pull so much out and still have a full, wild, dark mane?), something has shifted. Changed. Subtle, at first, but there. The keen eye and appreciation for architecture and decoration has expanded into people watching as well, now. Complimentary thoughts on someone's clothes, their face, their hair-

'So brilliantly violet, more precious than amethyst-'

It startles Imogen the first time she hears it, when they're walking through the bazaar. Fearne does her half skip, their hands clasped together, fingers tapping on windows to point out colourful fabrics to Imogen. Behind them, Orym and Chetney admire the carving blade that the gnome picked up, while FCG and Ashton swap stories. Laudna lingers to the side, quiet as she is, gliding along with everyone. Her eyes are distant, thoughtful, stuck in her head - she gets like that sometimes. Just... gone but near.

So when Imogen hears that lilting voice and idly glances to the side, she misses a step when Laudna's dark eyes widen and shoot away immediately. The thought halts in her head, dark whispers overlapping a panicked list of the different types of cheese she's familiar with.

Highly unusual, but Fearne is pulling Imogen along before she can think too much about it.

Easily dismissed.

The next time Imogen hears it, it's about Ashton. The Hells are in some run down tavern that they swore was on the up and up (and when it comes to taverns, who else does one trust than the person who has gotten kicked out of so many?). They've got a fresh crack across their nose that's still healing, and a grin on their lips as they tip their head back to bark out a boisterous laugh at something FCG said.

Laudna's little melody takes an energetic, almost panicked uptick as she mentally traces Ashton's strong, angular features. She's mesmerized by the way the light plays off their skin and crystal hair. Without really considering it, Laudna's long, pale fingers are delicately sliding against a bicep literally carved from stone. Ashton glances down and up. "Lookin's free, touching is gonna cost ya."

Like a deer caught in the galloping horse's gaze, Laudna looks up in startlement. Her mouth opens - just a little too far, like her Form Of Dread is on the cusp of being activated. A reflex. Or spasm, maybe. Imogen winces against the thoughts of the neighbouring tables, their own fear like a bitter spice on the tongue. "Sorry!" the warlock sings sheepishly. "You have, actually, you know? Maybe!"

"I don't think that was a full sentence," Orym murmurs at the other end of the table. "You feeling okay, Spooky?"

"Better than okay! In fact, I've got the next round! I'll go get it." Before anyone can react much in any way, she's lifted from the table to sweep across the room. A few heads turn and Ashton's eyes linger for a few seconds before they shrug and get back to their drink.

Imogen is starting to realize that something has changed.

They've found a pond, of all things. The group has been on the road for a full week trekking gravel paths until the soles of their shoes wear thin. It's been a hot few days, a hot few long days and everyone is just one strike of bad luck away from being miserable. But like a twist of fate and good will, Orym and FCG spot this pond through the dense trees.

It takes the group literally half a heartbeat for all of them to go sprinting to the water. Now they linger for the day, finally able to enjoy the sunshine with the relief of crystal clear, nice and cool water. Orym and Fearne have all but refused to leave the pond. The little halfling found a large leaf that he now lounges back out as he drifts on the surface, using little gusts of wind to steer. Beneath him, Fearne lurks with only the curled tips of her horns poking through the surface. Imogen has been victim to random watery attacks from the faun enough times that she's happy to dry off on land.

And, of course, Ashton and Chetney are amidst a battle of balls. Cannonballs, that is. Each one climbing higher in the tree to make a bigger splash.

Keeping dry, Laudna and FCG have spent the day on the large, flat rocks at one end of the bank. FCG has been collecting rocks, special ones, and arranging them in smiley faces. Laudna sits back next to the collection, lifting each one to inspect thoughtfully, before placing it back. When the cleric finally asks if she's going to swim at all, there's a quick smile. Too quick.

Laudna picks at her skirt with a dismissive air. "Oh, no, no. Water and oil do not mix, literally. I look even scarier when I'm wet, a... oh, what did they call me? A soggy nightmare? No, a boggy... nightstalker? I can't remember anymore but I made the mistake of knocking on a door during a storm to seek shelter and the poor dears almost had heart attacks."

Being a robot and all, FCG can't frown but Imogen hears the sorrow tinge their thoughts. A metal hand reaches out to touch Laudna's shoulder. "They sound very boring."

"They were old, you see," Laudna replies with that feral grin and wild eyes. Her edges are fraying and Imogen isn't certain if FCG can tell. "Even older than me! And way out in the middle of nowhere. I'm not sure what I was expecting, honestly, one can hardly blame them."

"I can."

Her head tilts and something pops. "Then you shall, darling, but I won't. I'm quite frightening."

"You're also very thoughtful and sweet," the cleric tries to insist.

Laudna's long, black-tipped fingers drum against the stone. "It takes a certain amount of courage to reach my oozy center. Even before... this," she motions to herself, "back when I was pretty. I used to be pretty, you know."

Deja vu fills Imogen to the point she has to shake it off. She wobbles for a second before hopping to the larger stones where they sit, dropping next to the warlock. Her warm hand slides down Laudna's cooler arm until their fingers lace together. "You're pretty now," she says firmly.

There isn't an immediate dismissal, like Imogen half expects. Laudna's head tilt straightens back out, there isn't a joint threatening to pop in her neck anymore. She leans forward enough to gaze down into her own reflection in the surface of the water - thoughts buzzing like bees in her head. White noise layered against the ominous, guttural groaning and eery whispers. The song gets softer.

'Not the worst, I suppose. My eyes are... dark, but kind. Pale. People like pale, yes? And tall. Tall women, that's something people like. Legs for days, as Chet says. Do I have day legs? Hmm. Am I? Pretty enough for Imogen? Maybe-'

There's a twitch of movement. Laudna's head snaps to the side her her eyes find Imogen's. The whispers get louder now, trying to drown out the sorcerer's lovely song. "Imogen," Laudna says, thoughtfully.

And for some reason, Imogen can't quite breathe. Her face feels warm and her pulse is trapped in her fingertips. There's something about the way Laudna's lips form Imogen's name. The way her voice caresses each syllable.

The sorcerer swallows hard. "Yes?"

"Would you-"

"FEARNE, NO, THAT'S CHEATING-!"

The near shriek of Chetney's voice cuts through the clearing and halts whatever Laudna was about to ask. Everyone turns to look and see an enormous, absolutely honking monster of an elk leap from the top of a tree and into the pond. It takes a good twenty seconds for the gnome and halfling to resurface, both sputtering water and beating at their chests. Fearne pops up next and her entire face is one big, happy grin.

Laudna straightens up next to Imogen, beaming proudly, as she starts clapping. Whatever it was, this moment, this... possibility, it's gone.

For now.

Imogen can hardly wait for the next one.

[pixelmator5]

C3 EP59 Thoughts and Spoilers

Under the cut for obvious spoilers...

Team AOL is now confirmed to be Team Issylra, so I was right

Deni$e is my favorite of the guests, and even though I think it’s dumb, her outing her real name because she misheard someone else seems totally on brand.

I’ve never seen Utkarsh before but if he is an avid DnD player like I’ve heard he does an excellent job acting like he has never played before

I’ve heard he is likely method acting, as Bor’Dor would have no idea what he’s doing given he got his magical abilities literal hours before we met him (allegedly)

Prism is precious, and the first time I’ve ever seen a Scribes Wizard played before, which makes me excited to see what she can do.

Ashton, Orym, and Laudna are all depressed and that makes me feel things it shouldn’t.

Laudna, the one who doesn’t let anything get her down because the worst thing to happen to her has already happened, is heavily compartmentalizing and states that if she talks too much she’s scared she’ll just start crying.

Ashton who was glad they were doing something good and thought they did enough now has to come to grips with the fact that they weren’t enough after Bell’s Hells had done so much to build them up over the past several months and has gone back to their old world view after finally thinking they can make a difference

Orym, who has never let his size bother him, states that he feels small, when never before has he thought of himself as anything less than himself.

Now for my theories...

Bor’ Dor is hiding something and isn’t quite what he seems. I don’t know what it is but he almost seems a little too clueless.

Deni$e is a Totem Barbarian 5/Thief Rogue 4. The thief seems self explanatory but the totem stuff is pure speculation. Given her combat actions, we can safely eliminate most options, including Ancestral, Zealot, Storm, Wild Magic, and Beast, leaving Battlerager, Berserker, and Totem Warrior. Totem is just a hunch but what I believe she’ll more than likely be, and she has to have at least 5 levels to take two attacks, so we know that’s the minimum barbarian level she can have.

Prism will end up carrying the party through an encounter later, pure Wizard queen shit, that’s all I got.

Orym is finally breaking down and I hate that but at the same time he needs feel his emotions, trying to stay strong just isn’t helping at this point and he needs to just let himself finally cry, or flip the fuck out, or something.

Ashton and Laudna will feel bad when they find out what was happening while they were off trying to destroy a power source during the solstice and ending up being no help. This will only further their depression, compartmentalization, and self-worth issues as a result. One will have to be the rock for the other but neither of them are going to be emotionally available enough to do so (Ashton is trying, but he very clearly has his own shit going on that, like Orym, he’s just trying to stay strong through.)

[leet911]

Names

Names have power, Imogen knows. She's read too many books by long dead conjurers and mages to think otherwise. So when Laudna comes back and the music is different, Imogen is relieved, but torn. Because her favorite person is back, sort of.

Laudna is alive again. She's alive alive, in a way she hasn't been as long as Imogen has known her. This person though, this Matilda, is just as caring and selfless and precious. And Imogen doesn't know if this music is more like a cover or a remix, just that it's not the way that Laudna used to sound. This is not the way that Laudna used to feel.

"Should I—" Imogen stumbles over her words, catches herself wanting when the song in her head doesn't resolve the way she remembers it. "Should I call you Matilda?"

"I've always been Laudna to you."

"But I don't want you to hide who you are." Imogen reaches a hand out momentarily, but she changes her mind and drops it back to her side just as fast, clenching the fist closed.

Laudna (Matilda?) smiles then, her face softening as she looks at Imogen. "You know I never felt like I had to hide from you."

Imogen cries, and the chimes sound in her head, still not exactly the same as Laudna, but almost. It's clearer now, the notes distinct and crisp, the hushed whispers missing from the background. The melody is gentle, just like it's always been, but the ominous undertone is gone. Now, the most ominous thing is that the music is different. And Imogen knows that's not fair, but that's the part that scares her. Because maybe she was hoping that they could go back to the way things were before.

"Laud—" Imogen starts, then corrects herself. "Matilda, I…"

"Call me Laudna," she interrupts. Her eyes are watery and shy, avoiding Imogen's. "I've only ever dreamed about you calling me Laudna."

Imogen breathes a sigh of relief then, because she's only ever thought about this person as Laudna, and she's never felt like Laudna needed any other names. "I'm glad," Imogen whispers, and she takes Laudna's hand for real this time. Their fingers lace together, just like they used to, and Imogen squeezes, shivers when the grip is returned. Laudna's hand is warmer than Imogen remembers, and Imogen thinks she can feel a pulse hammering much faster than usual, but she's not even sure whose heartbeat that is. "Because I think I fell in love with Laudna."

[lespetitesmortsde]

break my little imodna heart?

Great timing anon, because I was in the midst of this little pile of trauma when your ask came in. Death, abandonment, angst, etc. Post-resurrection.

You could read on AO3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51497527

Anchor

She wakes up with her head in Imogen’s lap, Imogen’s fingers combing through her hair as she jolts up from a sharp crack across her cheek.

She wakes up and there’s a gnome-looking lady with white hair and a scar across one eye leaning over her, studying her. The gnome pulls back, but her brow remains furrowed.

She wakes up and FCG’s voice is incredibly loud in her ears. “Laudna! You’re back!” and he sounds thrilled, exuberant, and she’s filled with confusion. Her eyes dart around the room and there’s someone pretty who looks like they might be familiar, wielding a bow and aiming an arrow straight at her.

FCG draws her attention back to them, “Are you back? Are you okay?”

Quieter, moving from behind her to beside her, Imogen asks, “Is it you?”

There is not enough time to think no space to breathe there isn’t – Is it you? Or is it –

Chetney jumps in, “Say something only Laudna would know, quick!”

She looks at Chet and struggles to say something, for her vocal chords to rub, for the air to pass through them. She looks over at Orym and then back to Chetney.

Rocking back and forth on his wheel, FCG frets, “Uh-oh, she can’t speak?”

And finally, finally, her voice works mostly like it’s supposed to. It comes out weaker, wispier, and so much rougher than she recalls it being for a long, long time. “I don’t…” she looks around before settling her gaze on Imogen. “Have you found anything else out about your mom?”

It feels like the room collectively lets out a strained breath.

She’s introduced to the strangers treating her like a bomb with an unknown timer. When the gnome says it’s just her, that Delilah isn’t around anymore, Imogen lets out the most relieved sigh. But she’s not so sure that getting rid of Delilah could be that easy. And despite Imogen’s assurances, she doesn’t trust these people, not the ones she was sacrificed for.

She wakes up and she is groggy for most of the day, feels more dead than she usually does, floats around on auto-pilot, made easier when she’s holding Imogen’s hand.

It’s getting harder to hold Imogen’s hand. Oh, Imogen is there and treats her gently when she’s within reach, but there’s a distance between them now. She can feel it in her shadow, creeping up through her boots, when Imogen moves away and lets others come between them.

Her attention feels foreign, translucent. She can focus on the conversation for a couple of minutes at a time, even contribute a little, but she loses the time and space in between. One moment they’re in the house she woke up in. The next they’re out on the street. Then she’s in the castle. They’re going to eat.

It’s like she blinks and–

She wakes up and there’s potato soup in front of her. The others purposefully left the spot beside her for Imogen, but even though she feels delirious, like reality — if this even is reality — bends in waves around her, she knows Imogen like no one else does. She knows that her friend, her best friend, first looked for any other seat than the one beside her.

And her heart breaks when Imogen finally sinks into the chair, accepting her fate.

She’s pretty sure it doesn’t happen in real-life, that it’s the echoes of her resurrection, but every so often she hears Orym’s voice around the periphery. You deserve to be more than a footnote in Delilah’s story.

Please. Come back.

There are people here who need you.

And they’re lovely words, truly, she would love for them to be real, to be honest, to be truthful.

But the only person who ever came close to needing her, and doesn’t actually need her at all, can’t wait to get away from her.

She’s left wondering what the point of it all was. They wasted precious time coming after her, fighting off Delilah, traipsing around the horrors of her mind, boxes open and emptied. They used up precious favours for someone who will only hold them back.

She was already dead.

Why is she back?

She doesn’t have an answer and she doubts any of the rest of them have much of one either.

She wakes up and she doesn’t know why.

Lady Vex’ahlia gives her a ring, says it will protect her, but she can’t help wondering what for? Everyone has already put far too much effort into getting her undead again. But Orym tells her to take it and his words calling her back to the land of the living drift back through her head, so she slips it on her finger.

The weight is different from the ring Imogen gave her. Maybe she’ll need to give Imogen’s back, even though she loves it and she’ll miss being able to look at it and touch it.

Maybe this ring will help her bear the loss of the other one.

The group is getting ready to go to bed in the castle and she’s fine with that, she wants them to have a comfortable night. But she can’t. She can’t do that. No matter what all they’ve done for her, she can’t do that.

She’ll spend her night alone. Try to get her thoughts into some sort of cohesive thing. Maybe in the morning she can be who they remember her to be. Maybe in the morning, they will say goodbye and they will leave her behind now that they recognise how weak she is, how much of an anchor she is, dragging them down, down, down to depths unknown.

At some point, Imogen tries reassuring her that they’d do it again, that it wasn’t a big deal, that she’s not a nuisance. Imogen even says she missed her. So much.

Her traitorous little heart sinks its talons into that too deeply, pulls it too sharply into her chest.

When the time comes, it will hurt to remove it, like bisecting her heart and plucking it right out from her ribcage.

She tells them to have a restful night, that she’s going to go sleep by the Sun Tree. Wants to let some of the hope and healing seep into her bones from its roots.

She wakes up and there are fancy sheets strewn along the ground and the whole lot of them are sprawled across them underneath the tree. Fearne is cuddling Orym. Imogen, maybe because she was once more pushed into her old normal place by everyone else, is beside her. Imogen’s head is on her shoulder.

Maybe she didn’t want to be alone, after all. Maybe it’ll take more than one night to wrestle her thoughts and her mind back to the land of the living.

Maybe she can have this one indulgence as a departing gift.

She is exhausted, but she lies awake long past when everyone else falls asleep. Her heart thuds sluggishly in her chest.

Imogen against her is a comfort, one she does not deserve, of course, never has, but in the last thirty-odd years, she’s learned to take the rare good things when they come along. Not to ask questions. And the last two years have been great. They’ve been the best.

When she is left behind, reliving those two years will sustain her for decades, if not more than that. She can live a week, a month, inside each step they’ve walked together.

She could live a year within the confrontation between Imogen and Delilah in the tree, could go without food if only there’s the echo of Imogen shouting out, “Delilah Briarwood, we’re going to sunder you.”

That all means so much. Imogen was so angry. She glances down at Imogen now, eyes closed, the tiredness more apparent in sleep than when awake. She hopes Imogen rests well.

Orym’s voice and Orym’s voice alone once more ripples through her head.

She wakes up from being dead and the only question that haunts her is why didn’t Imogen try to bring her back.

[yashley]

thinking about ashley’s insight on why fearne was so desperate to save imogen, that she couldn’t bear telling laudna they’d lost her, that she didn’t want to lose imogen’s use to the team against dangers, and while i find the way fearne has this tendency to bypass visceral emotions in favor of something’s functionality, (which is like god. of course that’s how fearne makes sense of emotions. though her parents loved* her so, they still used her entire existence transactionally for a favor, and while nana morri loved* her so, kept her as a part of her collection for her ruidusborn fey status; that’s what love is, right? fearne steals as morri steals but always with the intent of functionality; fearne trying to steal a coin or a pendant of a god, to use that power for later, and that’s the formula of love* that fearne understands while never having to be vulnerable to love), and i just really do wonder just how much of that compulsion for “functionality = importance = love” nurture really resonates with the nature of fearne.

fearne’s nurture dictating how she processes emotions is just so fascinating and yet heartbreaking because it’s like, yes she desperately wants to serve a function for the people she loves, she needs to be of value, otherwise she’ll deserve it when they leave her behind. but it’s just something to me that when her best friend asks something of her, lays a task at her feet, she doesn’t immediately take it, she grows quiet and promptly smooths that worry away so she doesn’t have to admit that this opportunity to be of use, this favor being asked of her, fearne can’t even hypothetically accept it… but how is that possible when that’s who* fearne* is*?

fearne never knowing deep, difficult emotions until she met the crown keepers and bells hells makes it easy to point at moments of great emotion for fearne (laudna’s death, imogen’s dream) and see the way she processes them right then right there than when she recontextualizes later against how emotionally vulnerable she was when it was happening. that ashley’s insight for fearne’s desperation to wake imogen was said to just be about wanting to preserve the precious relationship of other people and then potentially utilizing functionality of a team member’s power for later. that was the only driving force fearne was really valuing when she cried out for imogen to wake up.

yes, fearne sees imogen’s power and equates that to usefulness and that’s the sole motivation in keeping her safe. for them. that’s all. but then it’s the trembling way fearne speaks out that they shouldn’t let imogen go. because imogen… serves a function. they could use her one day. that’s what love is, right? that’s the only reason fearne can be so protective of her. an impulsive fey just cares about practicality. and if imogen needs someone to comfort her until fearne can get her back to laudna then of course that’s all it is. she just wants to see them. happy. that’s what she’s there for.

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

OTOHAN IS HERE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(no joke though I'm still laughing so much that she STILL didn't detect that she has Armand Tershi's false ring on her finger. Don"t get me wrong, the comedy of Laudna checking the Treshi scry ball + the fact that it really is a precious ressource is good. But just... did she really not notice ? Did she notice and just don't care ??)

[masterqwertster]

Any of 12, 18, 19, 28, or 32 of the Guy in a Situation prompts seems like shenanigans Bell's Hells would get into in the Secret Library AU.

Alrighty, let's go 18 Possession/Mind-controlled. After all, Laudna is kind of possessed normally anyways.

"Come on, Laudna! You're stronger than her!" Imogen shouts, back pressed against a bookshelf.

"Oh really? Is that what you think?" a voice that isn't Laudna’s comes purring out of the dark-haired woman's mouth. “Poor dear. She hasn’t even told you that this isn’t the first time I’ve taken control. It’s not even the second.”

Fear and fury shiver down Imogen’s spine as she hears those words among the slow tap-tapping of Laudna’s possessed footsteps. A bitter and hysterical part of her mind says the bitch is probably miffed that Laudna wears flats, denying her the crisp click of heels for her little predatory stroll.

For the thousandth time, Imogen curses the artifact that came in earlier today. It’s what Delilah is after, what she saw fit to take over Laudna for, so why shouldn’t it bear the blame? There’s hope that if they can get the stupid thing to the forge it’ll be possible to melt down the little verdigris stained statue of a left hand with an eye in the palm, rendering it inert, which will then, hopefully, get Delilah to fuck right off.

Problem is, Delilah cottoned on to the plan pretty fast. Worse, she’s somehow gotten control of Ashton. You would think it would be real easy to keep track of 500-plus pounds of living stone, especially with how Ashton stomps around most of the time. But no, the damn bastard has a near-silent tread when they’re sneaking around. It’s fucking terrifying the way they ghost out of the stacks as they hunt down the rest of the team at Delilah’s command. And certainly not helped by the fact that Ashton knows the library best, seeing as it’s been their home far longer than any of the rest of the team has been here.

Though by now, FCG has, hopefully, tangled Ashton up somewhere else. Even mind-controlled, the punk rock has a soft spot a mile wide for the cute little robot. And FCG isn’t exactly defenseless either.

Imogen looks across the aisle to Chetney, receiving a nod. A steadying breath in, then she darts up the aisle, finding a new hiding place. He shadows her advance a few seconds later, ducking under a blast of magic spun between no longer friendly fingers.

The telepath and the werewolf have been playing leapfrog to distract Delilah while Orym and Fearne try the ventilation ducts to get to the forge. And they’re so lucky that Delilah can’t sense the damn artifact, otherwise the bait-and-switch before they all split wouldn’t have worked out like this.

A tsk echoes amongst the shelves. 

“Try all you like, but you’re not going to beat me,” Delilah calls out, taunting. “Not without killing your precious little Laudna.”

“That’s what she said,” Chetney taunts back. Then yelps when another blast comes his way.

They’re playing a dangerous, dangerous game. Orym and Fearne need time to sneak by and do the deed. But more time means dodging more shots from Delilah, that Ashton has more chances to break free of whatever entrapment FCG has used against him. It’s a race against the clock with no way to know who’s won until the cards are all down.

How’s it going, Orym? Imogen calls down the psychic tether she’d established as the group split.

We’re there. Just trying to get the forge hot enough to melt this thing down. Orym reports, mind distracted with his current activities.

Well please hurry. I’m not sure how long we can keep this game up before someone gets real hurt.

I know. We’re trying.

“Then again, maybe you are willing to kill her. I haven’t seen that poor statue of a boy in a while. What you’ll do to him, you’ll surely be willing to do to her. Or is he just worth less to you? A Nobody that no one wants around,” Delilah continues.

Imogen’s fists clench. Sure, her and Ashton don’t always get along, but that doesn’t mean she’d kill them for what Delilah is making them do. Yet she knows just how deeply such words would cut Ashton, and it scares her that Delilah probably also knows that just from watching from behind Laudna’s eyes. It’s something only friends, like Laudna and Ashton are, should know. Delilah shouldn’t be able to tread on that bond, the fucking bitch. She shouldn’t be able to touch any of Laudna’s friendships.

And that sparks a damn foolhardy and risky plan in Imogen’s mind.

Delilah says she’s possessed Laudna before? Fine. Imogen bets that Laudna’s never had so many reasons to fight the bitch off before. Her friend just needs a reminder.

“Imogen!” Chetney hisses when she boldly steps into the middle of the aisle.

“I care about all of my friends. And that includes you, Laudna. So you better kick this bitch out, or I’m spendin’ the rest of my days lookin’ for a way to bring you back. Even if the rest of my days is just today,” Imogen declares, standing boldly in the open space.

Delilah twists Laudna’s face into a teeth-baring snarl, hands twisting into arcane motions. 

Imogen doesn’t break eye contact with her best friend(‘s body).

The blast misses her by three feet.

Imogen wants to whoop in victory as frustrated confusion spreads across Delilah’s expression. She knew Laudna was in there, knew she was strong enough to throw off that damn ghost.

“Like I said, Laudna’s stronger than you,” Imogen says with a vicious, victorious grin.

“You think that’s enough to stop me!?” Delilah snarls, hands clawing for more arcane might.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think you have a reason to keep fighting anymore.”

Delilah whirls, and Imogen can see Orym and Fearne stepping up behind her. The small man tips his hands, letting a misshapen lump of metal fall to the floor.

“NO! What have you done?!” Delilah shrieks, gathering even more magic to her.

Imogen fears that this blast isn’t going to be one Laudna can redirect away from them all. Even Fearne and Chetney reflect her fear. But strangely not Orym.

The reason becomes apparent when FCG comes wheeling out of the stacks next to Laudna-Delilah, an artifact in hand and arcane words tumbling out of their mouth, Ashton standing protectively at their back.

FCG finishes before Delilah can release her blast, sending the malevolent spirit screeching back to whatever damned hole she’d crawled out of. 

Imogen rushes forward to catch Laudna before Delilah is even fully banished.

“...Hello, darling,” Laudna rasps out as her eyes flutter open to Imogen cradling her.

“Hey yourself. I’m glad you're back with us,” Imogen replies, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Me too, darling. Me too.”

[laudsimogen]

For an imodna prompt, how about "Rumble"?

Quake, Rumble, Roar

It started as a quake, a subtle quiver deep in Imogen’s chest. It thrummed with each beat of her heart from the very first day she’d met who her neighbors had called “the witch in the woods,” powered by the lovely tones of Laudna’s mind. It was beautiful; it was the first beautiful thing Imogen had heard in such a long time, and she ached for it the moment she couldn’t hear it anymore.

But luckily for her, She never had to be away from Laudna for long. She came back to the little hut the very next day and breathed deep the cool autumn air as Laudna’s mind came into focus from inside.

Oh, no, no, Laudna thought. This candlestick should go by the table; it’s much too big for bedside lighting. There was a brief pause in collected thought as she presumably made the change, then a warm wash of satisfaction. Perfect. Now, that curtain has got to go.

Imogen was so latched onto the thoughts that she didn’t realize what was about to happen until it was too late, and she came face to face with Laudna through the smudged panes of the window as the curtain was ripped from the rod. Laudna visibly spooked at Imogen, then relaxed a little as recognition set in. Imogen blushed furiously, but Laudna didn’t seem to mind; she simply held up a finger, then moved out of view to open the door.

“I’m so sorry,” Imogen said as the door opened. “I wasn’t meanin’ to be weird. I just wanted to, uh…here.” Imogen thrust a basket of fresh produce, eggs, and cheeses toward Laudna. “Like a housewarming thing, I guess. I don’t know how long you’re plannin’ on staying here, though.”

“Oh.” Laudna took the basket gingerly, as if it were something precious. Oh, dear, she thought, and there was that quake in Imogen’s chest again. “This is too kind,” she said. Much, much too kind. Do I invite her in? I haven’t had time to clean yet…

“It’s nothing,” Imogen said. “Would you mind if I sat out here with you a bit? It’s a long walk back home.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se—the little hut was a full hour away from the farm—but Imogen was well beyond capable of making the walk without so much as getting winded. She just wanted an excuse to stay.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Laudna said, and a warm emotion hit Imogen, causing that quake: fondness. Excitement—happiness, even. “Give me one moment.”

She ran inside and returned with a worn but soft blanket to lay across the front steps, then took Imogen’s hand to sit down together. The sudden contact took Imogen aback for a moment; no one ever touched her that readily, especially not her hands, but Laudna hadn’t given it a second thought.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had company,” Laudna said. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a host, but we can share this lovely basket you brought if you’d like.”

Imogen would normally feel it impolite to take part in a gift she’d brought, but Laudna’s mind told her she desperately wanted to share it, so she simply smiled and accepted.

She hadn’t meant to stay long. She’d just wanted a brief respite from the thoughts that normally penetrated her head, but she still found herself sitting on that rickety stoop as the sun sat down on the horizon behind the trees, sharing stories and smiles with her new friend until Laudna expressed concern about her getting home safe before dark. She reluctantly agreed, but promised to visit again.

This time, she found that the quake in her heart didn’t subside when she left.

The quake was small. It was quiet. It could be ignored. But there came a point in Imogen’s friendship with Laudna that the feeling couldn’t be considered a quake anymore—it was more of a rumble, constant and heavy and somehow comforting despite knowing what it meant.

Maybe at first Imogen had been infatuated with the music of Laudna’s thoughts. She wasn’t above admitting to that. But the more time they spent together, the better Imogen got at blocking others’ thoughts, and she couldn’t keep listening in if she had the ability to give Laudna privacy. She wouldn’t do that, not without permission.

And the more time they spent together, the more Imogen noticed the spark in Laudna’s eyes, the joy in her smile, the warmth in her heart. It wasn’t long before those things set off the rumble even more. Imogen felt it regardless of where she was or who she was with, but of course it was stronger around Laudna. She’d never had a friend so dear, and even after just a month she couldn’t imagine life without the dead girl’s beautiful spirit around to keep her out of the pit of despair she’d been living in before. “Home” had become less associated with Gelvaan or her house and more associated with Laudna, so when she realized she could take home with her to seek answers, she did.

“I know it’s a big ask,” Imogen said. “And if you like it here and don’t wanna leave, I’ll stay too. But if you don’t mind wanderin’ around together, I’d really love to have you with me to figure things out.”

“A big ask?” Laudna laughed, a wonderful pealing sound, and the rumble grew. “Imogen, I’ve been wandering alone for thirty years. I’m only still here because it’s where you are, so if you want to leave, of course I’ll go with you. I want to help you.”

Imogen’s tight, anxious demeanor broke, and she dissolved into relief with a warm smile. “I’m so glad,” Imogen said. “Really. But I don’t just want answers for me, Laudna; I want them for you, too. You deserve to know more about your…situation.”

She still didn’t know quite what to call it. To her, Laudna was perfect in all of her greyed skin and stringy hair and unsettling physicality, but she respected that Laudna wanted to be, in her words, “alive.” She just wished Laudna could see how utterly alive she already was, regardless of how she looked.

“Oh.” Laudna looked as if she would be blushing if she could. “Well, that’s—that’s very sweet, Imogen, but your needs are much more pressing. We should focus on that.”

Imogen frowned and brushed the hair out of Laudna’s eyes. It was always there like a curtain, like she was hiding behind it. “Yours aren’t any less important than mine,” she said. “Especially Delilah. She’s got to go, and I’ll help you get rid of her if it takes the rest of my life.”

She’d meant to say it in a lighthearted, joking way, but it came out serious, which she supposed was fair. She had been serious, after all. But she hadn’t meant to admit so soon that she would live the rest of her life next to Laudna if she had the chance.

Laudna chuckled wryly. “I’m not sure that’s possible, I’m afraid,” she said. “But it’s all right. You’re such a wonderful friend, Imogen; being around you almost drowns her out. She’s just like a pesky little fly buzzing around in there right now.” She smiled and tapped the side of her head with one long nail, and Imogen let out a fond, breathy laugh that she could hardly even hear over the rumbling in her chest.

“I guess that’s better than nothin’ for now,” she said. “When do you wanna set out?”

Laudna glanced around her little cabin. She’d lived in it longer than she’d lived in most other places at this stage of her life, but it wasn’t the house or its contents she was attached to. She hummed and gathered a few essentials, tied them into a pack, and hoisted it over her shoulder with a wide grin. “How about now?”

The thing about earthquakes is that they happen, and then they’re over. The same can’t be said when they live inside of you, when they can be fed and when they grow like a living thing. Imogen had a soft spot for hers because it came from Laudna, and Laudna was the best thing she had ever known. So, why shouldn’t she feed it? Why shouldn’t she grow it into the biggest, fiercest force of love she could? It was a fraction of what Laudna deserved, never mind how it distracted Imogen and gnawed at her insides. Laudna deserved all of the love she could get, and Imogen would give it to her regardless of the fact that the rumbling beast was beginning to scare her.

The first time it roared was the first time Imogen saw Laudna hurt—really hurt—in combat. The thing became angry, violent…afraid. Laudna was fine after a little bit of healing, of course, but Imogen couldn’t shake the horrible, protective terror that rooted itself deep in her chest with that rumble.

It roared often after that. It roared with fear and anger, but it also roared with love. It filled Imogen’s chest and gut and ears with every one of Laudna’s little quirks, with her smile, with her touch. If Imogen wasn’t careful, she was sure it would overtake her and become all that she is. Thing was, she wasn’t sure she’d mind. After all, she already planned on spending the rest of her days with Laudna. It didn’t matter how she loved, as long as she did love. She’d be whatever Laudna needed to be, and if that was just to remain her friend, Imogen would still feel honored to have the privilege.

And then Laudna died.

Imogen could have died with her. She certainly felt like she could, like she might wither away without her person to keep her tethered to life. If it weren’t for the possibility of resurrection, maybe she would have, but there was a chance. And every time Imogen began to lose faith, that beast in her chest woke and roared and screamed, reminding her that Laudna was not gone yet, that as long as Imogen lived to try, there was still hope.

In Whitestone, the roar was deafening. Imogen couldn’t think over it, could barely hear well enough to know what was happening. The thought of Laudna returned to her overwhelmed her, and at the same time she was excited and hopeful, she was also more terrified than she had ever been in her life. If it didn’t work…

But it did, and for the first time in years, the noise stopped. No roaring, no rumbling, not even a quake. There was just the quiet comfort of Laudna’s breath in her hair as they held each other, and Imogen knew the beast could finally rest. It would still be there; she had no doubt about that. But she was no longer afraid of it, of its influence, because it had the same goal she did: to keep Laudna as safe and as happy as possible.

[exhaustedwerewolf]

ok we here in the critrole fandom love a true love's nat 20 but... something about imogen failing her roll to help w/ laudna's res ritual even after such a beautiful speech, is taking me back to percy's failing to help with vex's, even though the gift of the residuum glass, something so precious and so tied to his worst trauma and therefore so vulenrable, feels like it should've worked.

I know the dice aren't magic but both feel so poetic somehow. reading imodna as a romantic thing that is still secret for them both... it's like neither percy nor imogen were ready to bare their whole heart if that makes sense? despite their love for the person they're begging to come back being so big you could see it from catha, they're still frightened to say exactly what they want.

percy, despite the fact that he just got vex killed, doesn't say a word and matt has him roll an intelligence check. he takes out the residuum, which is supposed to amplify magic. he is trying to "fix it," trying to fall back on what he knows, because he's scared to be trly vulnerable by trying something else, and it doesn't work.

imogen is a sweetheart, and often the mediator of the group. kind of the heart, if in a very different way to jester. imogen's words are lovely, but she's not being selfish, and I think that's the problem here. she tells laudna she deserves to make the choice either way (true) and she doesn't know what being free of delilah will be like but imogen will be there to support her if she wants to try- also undoubtedly true. and it doesn't work. because it's just imogen being a good person, not telling her own secret truth.

paralleling with vex's succesful true love's nat 20 on percy later, vex is selfish. she tells him, "[my heart is] yours," and "I don't want to be here if you're not." and that calls him back. neither of them said, explicitly, "I need you here." even orym said that more specifically (and his roll worked.)

[unicyclehippo]

Uhhhh imodna prompts, deadly? :D

i’ve never seen such a display from you, she says, and laudna wishes that her voice was not a cool spot of dark water when she has been cooking under the hellcatch sun for an hour. not in all our years together.

laudna sighs. drifts down into her mind. what an ache, what a clutter it is to have even three voices in her mind—she cannot imagine the tempest that must be imogen’s.

as if the thought summoned her, imogen leans close. shoulder knocks against hers, pressure of her power pressing on her other side. almost a hug. ‘are you alright?’

laudna nods. tilts her head to an awful angle and rests it upon her friend’s shoulder.

it was something rather remarkable. a pause, then she speaks again, admiration a poisonous gloss across her words. rather beautiful, don’t you think? deadly, no doubt, but you felt it as i did.

‘no.’

imogen scoops her arm around her own. leans her head against the top of laudna’s. she laughs a little, no humour in it. ‘yeah. me neither.’

laudna does not correct her. it is rare that delilah comes down from her perch, as she calls it—her attic, as laudna imagines it, no better place for a wicked witch to make her haunt—and she doesn’t know herself what to do with the fact that delilah has now deigned to speak with her not once, not twice, but three times in as many hours.

don’t lie to me, dear. your body is as much mine as it is yours. after all, i shaped it, i killed it, i brought it back. and i felt the warmth in our chest as you did, draining it out of your precious friend. she doesn’t wait for laudna to speak. whether it is because she knows laudna doesn’t dare, not with imogen beside her, or because she is merely enjoying the chance to monologue, laudna doesn’t know. you know there is nowhere for me to go. i am deeply invested in your success, your survival. our survival. can you truly say the same for these…people you surround yourself with?

‘we’re a team. a family.’

imogen nods. her gloved hand curls around laudna’s; for a moment, it looks as though she wants to tangle their fingers together but it must have been a flight of fancy on laudna’s behalf because all she does is touch the ring, blood red, and then her hand returns to laudna’s wrist, resting there gently.

a family, delilah repeats. what good is a family? it offers no true protection against this harsh world—power is what matters. have you not yet learned that lesson? did yours not end up dead alongside you, powerless? cold fingers brush against the nape of her neck, that never-fading scar. laudna shivers. this family you claim, remind me, how long did it take that little one to hang your metal friend? do you think they would hesitate, should you misstep?

‘stop it.’ laudna’s voice cracks around the command. on her wrist—skin clammy, sweating ichor—imogen’s fingers still where they have been mindlessly stroking, tracing patterns.

‘laud?’

she pulls away from her girl, reclaims her wrist, her hands, buries them into her hair. through the hanging strands, she sees a speck of violet concern.

‘not—not you, darling, never you.’

imogen purses her lips, worried. ‘is it her again?’

shh, dear.

‘no,’ laudna lies. ‘pate! pate is being terrible, recounting the events of his - his busy night.’

imogen is quiet for a long moment before she leans in. splits the black curtain of hair with her fingers, brushing strands back behind laudna’s ear. her fingers slide down, stroke down to where laudna’s neck meets her jaw, where a lazy pulse occasionally knocks.

featherlight, imogen strokes laudna’s cheek with her thumb. it is so soft and tender a gesture that laudna is afraid she has dreamt it—but no, a streak of warm where those lightning-filled fingers have touched her.

imogen pulls back. ‘pate,’ she says. laudna knows she does not believe her. ‘okay.’

‘he’s - a very considerate lover, apparently.’

that makes imogen laugh, even as her nose crinkles with a grimace. ‘oh, laud - i didn’t need to know that.’

‘Is that not better than selfish?’

‘i- suppose,’ she allows, nods. lifts a hand to cover her burning red face.

laudna clicks her tongue. digs into her pouch for fabric, for some of the sturdy paper she had scavenged from various book covers, quickly fashioning a lopsided but functional hat. she sets it on imogen’s head. ‘there! the sun is awfully powerful, wouldn’t want to get burned now would we!’

imogen smiles. worry lingers behind her eyes, in the tilt of her head, the corners of her lips as she seems to struggle around asking laudna again. laudna turns sharply away. if imogen asks again, she will not be able to lie.

‘i should make a hat for everyone. that’s a nice idea. i think i should have enough material and there’s some time until the city.’

[mintywolf]

Inevitably, the scene that she’d been dreading to see begins to construct itself around her. Low-hanging clouds whose sunset-pink undersides seem almost close enough to touch. Cool evening wind in her hair. The gentle rocking of an airship deck beneath her feet.

“I’ve still got that crystal.”

Leaning on the forward rail, she turns her head to the source of the voice beside her, and Imogen is momentarily startled to see herself. Even more disorienting is the fondness with which she looks upon her own face, as though each freckle and dimple and the little gap between her teeth is inexpressibly precious to her, and the spirit behind it, fierce and lovely and bright as a lightning strike, even more so. The face of someone she loves so much she almost wishes she didn’t, because the inevitable pain of losing her will be so much worse for it.

. . .

The scene goes out of focus for a moment, muffled and blurred as though she’s looking at it from underwater. When she returns she is holding out her hand to Imogen, who is regarding her with some reluctance.

“Don’t do anything with it Laudna,” she warns, tipping out the shard of purple crystal into her palm, and the distrust in her eyes stings a bit. Can’t she see how carefully she’s holding it? She knows how much comfort the odd little bauble brings to Imogen, even if she’s wary of it herself.

“I would never do anything without your permission first,” she promises, bringing the shard close to her face to examine. It’s strangely warm, as though Imogen had been carrying it in her hand.

. . .

“— take care of this.”

Her senses flicker again, as though she’s wavered in and out of consciousness for a moment. No. No no no. This isn’t what she meant to do at all.

[crackedmosaic]

You could almost pretend she's sleeping.

It was never more obvious how close Laudna straddled the line between life and death as when she slept. In those early days it had scared you, that this wonderful new presence that changed your life for the better would silently wither away in the night. You used to creep closer, watching that agonisingly slow draw of breath and release that was barely noticeable until your anxiety eased.

So you tried to pretend. You stared at the sharp angles of her face as your fingertips traced over her features, skin as cold as you have always known it to be. Laudna was as beautiful as she was scary. There was something about her features that was uncanny and became pure nightmare fuel for many when she assumed her form of dread, but always beautiful. At least you thought so.

It wasn't working. Laudna was too still. You were too accustomed to the slight movements that indicated a flicker of life. And that damned yellow cloth kept catching your eye. Your favourite colour.

It was your favourite colour. It used to remind you of the few precious memories of your childhood that were happy, of dandelions growing in meadows that you galloped through on Flora, of a fantasy of a mother that loved you enough to stay. But now it reminded you of Paragon's Call, of Otohan. And now it was used as Laudna's shroud, a loud reminder that she was lost. It looked so ugly on her. It wasn't her colour.

The worst thing though was the silence. Maybe it was a mistake to be inside the hole, but you weren't strong enough to lift Laudna out of such a high ledge and you weren't just going to dump her body out. There was no one else around to mask the fact that there was no gentle murmur of a sleeping mind beside you. That's what unsettled you most of all and made tears prickle at your eyes. The thought of never hearing that sing-song voice that only spoke in earnest ever again was devastating.

'Laudna?' You tried reaching out to her with your mind, hopefully, desperately. 'Laudna, please come back to me.'

Nothing.

A high keening sound came from the back of your throat as you slammed your eyes shut. No, you weren't going to cry. You can't. Doing so would be accepting this and you weren't going to do that. Laudna wasn't gone. FCG had been considerate when he suggested some sort of service, but it was unneeded. You were going to get her back.

You thought about contacting Delilah, not for the first time. She had brought Laudna back last time, she could do it again. You almost started the sending spell on instinct, but stopped yourself. You were still too fragile and you were not going to let that bitch have the satisfaction of hearing you let out a sob. You would, soon, but not now.

You turned your attention back to Laudna. She wasn't here, but she wasn't gone. You would make sure of it.

'I never... I never told you how much you really mean to me. I wanted to, but I didn't want to lose you. I refuse to lose you. You're my favourite thing in this world, Laudna. I'm going to bring you back. No matter what it takes.'

[divinesouldariax]

ooo if you have a prompt in you still, dorian saying 8 or 18?? to anyone :)

8. “Help me.” and 18. “I can’t breathe.”

I was abt to go so angsty with this one/just do some classic whump but then this much sweeter idea came to me and wouldn't let me go. I blame the artists, 'cause I've seen several pieces of art abt this recently and it's making me emotional abt them. ~Martin <3

Word count: 674

Content warnings: brief canonical temporary and permanent character death mention

Send me these?

*

Orym had sworn to himself that he would be calm and collected when this moment came. He wouldn't cry or show everyone else just how much he had been missing--

Dorian.

The blue skin and outfit peeked out from under a dark cloak that he was wearing as he rounded the corner towards the outdoor restaurant that the rest of the Hells were sitting and waiting at. Orym was the first one to notice his approach, of course, and Dorian didn't seem to see them, either. Neither did the rest of their friends--Orym could see the flashy pink of Opal's jacket and a few stray sparks of Fy'ra Rai's hair under her hood. He was sure Dariax was there as well, but he was short enough that the taller members of the group covered him.

Orym was standing up before he knew what his body was doing. Calm, he tried to remind himself, but who was he kidding? He broke out in a dead sprint.

Exclamations of surprise and then joy behind him, a cry of greeting as Fy'ra Rai saw him first, and Orym launched himself at Dorian without warning or ceremony.

There was an oof as Dorian caught him. Orym wrapped his arms around Dorian's neck and held him tight, tight, feeling his solidity and warmth and Dorian--

"Orym, I can't breathe!" Dorian choked out.

"You don't need to breathe," Orym responded cheekily, squeezing even tighter for a second before taking pity on him and loosening his grip. Still, he held on, even though Dorian's arms were around him as well and would have supported his whole weight. Orym buried his face in Dorian's soft hair and shook with a silent sob that Dorian could feel but nobody else would notice.

"I'm here," Dorian whispered in his ear. "It's alright. It's alright."

"Oh, gods, I missed you," Orym sighed. He stroked the back of Dorian's head, needing to keep assuring himself that Dorian was actually here, in person, not just a 25 word message from a cold stone.

Dorian pressed his hands, gentle and strong, to Orym's back. "I missed you, too," he said. Reunions and meetings were happening around them as Fearne swept Opal and Dariax and Fy'ra Rai all into a hug, and Orym knew he should let go of Dorian, but he didn't want to.

"So much happened," he said, feeling tears well up. "So much--Fearne and Laudna and I died, Laudna for days, and Eshteross, and he can't come back."

"I know," Dorian told him.

"I wanted you there," Orym managed. "I was so glad you were somewhere safer but I missed you next to me so much."

Dorian held him tighter and started to say something probably apologetic and unbearably sweet, but was cut off as Fearne yanked him into a bear hug, with Orym still in his arms so he got squished between them.

"You're back, you're back," Fearne was saying tearfully. 

"I'm back," Dorian wheezed. "Why must everyone crush me? Fearne--Orym, help me, help, please, she's going to suffocate me."

Orym laughed through a sob. "I can't do anything about it," he said. "I'm as trapped as you are."

"Fearne, please," whined Dorian. Orym felt the pressure ease slightly. Some of Fearne's hair was curtaining his face. "Thank you. Oh, it's good to see you, too, Fearnie."

"We missed you," Fearne reproached. "Never leave us again."

In a minute, Orym would wriggle his way free and hop down to the ground to be pulled into an enthusiastic group hug from Dariax and Opal. But he was going to take that precious minute of being held between two of his favorite people in the world, a place that had snuck up on him with how much he had begun to rely on it, that he had been deeply and sorely missing when it was gone. 

He clung to that minute, knowing not to take it for granted, but comforted by the fact that it was almost certainly not going to be the last one he got.

Send me these?

[chiakery]

Some thoughts on Exandria Unlimited: Calamity, Part 1. Spoilers under the thingy!

- Brennan really isn't fucking around. But the exchange between gods was so curious to me: "if you look down and see the stars, what will you see if you look up?" The "Who did we betray"? I'm sorry, are you implying that the Betrayers aren't completely evil and we should rethink the fundamental believes we hold about this world??

- I already have one grieving husband who rules my heart, I won't survive having two of them, mister Carazo sir

- the sheer audacity of Sam naming his character, a changeling Seelie. I'm glad to see Sam playing bard again but the warlock part is throwing me off. Warlock of whom?? And why did Brennan alluded two or three times to Sam's character not being entirely mortal? What the fuck is up with that? And is it just me, or did his accent change multiple times during the episode?

- I watched it expecting Aabria's character to be some shade of evil and I stand by it even though Laerryn is so precious and I wish her nothing but long and prosperous life. (But what's up with that secret something you need a piece of heavenly gold for, love?)

- also, once again: I love Aabria and Sam so much for giving us an ex-married characters. I've seen people wish for this sort of dynamic pre C3 but with all the hubris and apocalypse hanging in the air? It's even sweeter and more tragic.

- Zerxus, just know I'd die for you. Also, your gryphon is amazing and I wish (despite logic telling me otherwise) that you'll see your son again. Also, did I get it right that he's filling the spot of the First Knight, the title that his husband used to have? Cause that'll be a fucking low blow.

- Purvon being an emo teenager amongst the political-savy adults is something I didn't know I needed.

- Marisha is amazing and intelligent and I can't wait to see the chaos she creates with Patia.

- regarding Marisha's bit on the Instagram about Laudna: I feel now like she was referring not to the Undead itself but the Necromancy used to bring Laudna back. With the Frankenstein monster/zombie whatever it was, I feel like the Necromancer person (can't remember their name, Hola? Holo?) will be somehow associated with the BBEG of this campaign and we're about to witness the shift from Necromancy being a normal type of magic to an illegal art.

- Nydas has such a Gilmore vibe but with more prominent business side (since we're watching him with important people instead of from the perspective of the adventuring party) and I'm all for it. Lou is incredible and I get it why everyone was prising his so much. Also, dragon sorcerer?? What is up with that?

- Travis bird detective? He'll yeah, let's put the CSI opening music! And it looks like he grew to like playing rogues (fun thing to watch after his playfully strained relationship with rogues of VM and MN). He's just so cool in embracing the mechanics of moving and body language of the bird person. And I want to meet his family so bad??

- Overall, an amazing start, can't wait for more! All the name drops of characters mentioned in prev campaigns were so rewarding and the new lore is Intriguing.