#imogen temult centric

[quietblueriver]

Very short thing set immediately after ep 95 because it wrecked me and I had a second to Kermit-style spew some feelings. Imogen-centric, as I am wont. Pls excuse any typos and the probably wild overuse of the comma.

-

Long moments pass, the ridge of Laudna’s nose pressing just underneath Imogen's jaw, her arms linked around Imogen’s waist as Imogen does what she can not to break in half. 

It’s second nature, to run her fingers through Laudna’s hair, a familiar action, easy, meant to soothe them both, meant to keep them grounded, together, tethered. Imogen knows exactly how much pressure to use, how to move gently to avoid hurting Laudna or coming away with a small creature’s worth of hair in her palm. She’s done it a hundred times before, a thousand, but this time, there’s a prickle in her mind and her hand slows on the second full pass as she tries to figure out what’s different, what’s wrong. Except it’s what’s right, actually. Or what would be right, if Laudna were someone else. The strands are softer, thicker, falling through her fingers easily. Almost like Laudna’s…

Imogen’s rigid as the thought takes hold, and Laudna shifts against her with a small questioning noise. It takes everything she has to try to relax, but it’s apparently enough, cool lips grazing the skin of her neck as Laudna settles again. 

Fuck. She can’t be sure, no matter how many times she lets the strands glide over her skin, whether there really is something different or whether she’s just looking for Delilah everywhere now, and she hates it, hates that her life has been so disrupted, so shaken, that even this almost mundane intimacy can’t be trusted. Her world tilts just a little more, and surely, surely, she’s finally upside-down.

The body that has helped to keep her here relaxes further into her, trusting and vulnerable, even as Imogen tries not to show her panic, tries to hide the way she keeps her breath shallow because she’s scared she’ll smell something other than earth mixed with lavender.

Fighting back the angry, screaming sob that seems to live perpetually in her throat these days, she feels, a little distantly, the cold sigh against her neck.

The exhale shifts into a phrase that Laudna has repeated more times than Imogen can count in the last half hour: “I love you.” 

There had been a momentary relief the first time Laudna said it, free of the stain of Delilah’s echo, something pure in the middle of their absolutely fucked, world-breaking conversation. Laudna, just Laudna, telling Imogen she loves her. 

But each repetition sounds less like reassurance and more like desperation, more like a plea. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me. She wants so badly for that to be true.

But Imogen has never been allowed to live in what she wants to be true.

Maybe it is still Laudna, soft and true and hers, but they’re too far gone now for Imogen to trust it.

She knows that those words are a perfect weapon for Delilah, an ideal means of self-preservation. There is no better way to keep Imogen on the line, to give Imogen–and maybe Laudna, too–hope that some part of Laudna has been preserved from Delilah's influence, than by making it seem as though she can’t touch their love. 

She almost can’t bear their corruption, but the only thing worse than hearing those words like this is not hearing them at all, so she takes them dipped in poison, feels them feed the rotten and writhing truth inside of her. It’s a truth that she has been avoiding since that night in Whitestone, and now it’s crawling beneath her skin, coiling in her stomach, refusing to be ignored any longer: 

Something is wrong. 

Laudna is wrong. 

And what is Imogen supposed to do with that? 

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and it is a truth, too, as it has always been, but, face pressed into dark hair that she’s suddenly afraid to breathe in in case it’s the thing that topples them both, Imogen has no idea how much of Laudna there is left to love.

[finncakes]

ep 48 doodle page ^^

[mehoymalloy]

Hello and Welcome!

Name's Malloy! Find me on AO3, where one might say I like to write fanfic about villainous older women. You can also find me on Twitter (which I use rarely) and Bluesky (which I use very rarely). Below is an overview of most everything I've written, with links and content ratings.

Critical Role

Imogen Temult/Otohan Thull—welcome aboard my rowboat!

○ The Main Fic — Let Me Lay Waste to Thee (M) ○ Let Me's Spin-Off (and mostly Smut) Series — Won’t You Lay Hands on Me (G–E) ○ Canon-adjacent one-shots — A Dance With Danger (M) and These Marks (They're Marvelous) (T) ○ A shared series with @lavendertheys exploring Imotohan's somft side — you'll never know unless we go (G–T) ○ And for those not yet brave enough to delve into the ship tag but wondering 'wtf do folks see in these two?' — shiver as you cry (mercy) (T) and Don't Think, Don't Blink (M), some good old fashioned, tension-filled Imogen & Otohan (sans blatant shipping)

Imogen Temult/Dancer (E)

Liliana Temult/Otohan Thull — the Moon Moms AU (G–E), an ongoing series of family-centric one-shots (and like, one smut fic) in which Liliana and Otohan share a somewhat tempestuous history and raise Imogen together

Stray Gods

Grace/Athena (T and E)

Grace/Persephone (T and E)

Through Eyes of Grace (T) — multiship ficlets

The Horizon Series

Aloy/Tilda van der Meer (T–E) — notably, Prometheus Bound (M)

Silga & Untalla (M)

Regalla/Nasadi (T)

~

Here on Tumblr, I like to post sneak peeks of what I'm working on (published works are tagged #mehoymalloy, while sneak peeks, snippets, and the like are tagged #wip stuff).

The current big (and unpublished) WIP is the Judicator AU (#judicator au), which explores the question of 'what if Imogen was raised in academia and Otohan was a judicator?' It's the creative baby of @inomakani's steller wordbuilding and my writing, and we are stoked to share!

Lastly, feel free to drop me an ask anytime! Yell at me about Otohan Thull, shoot me a random question about my fics, toss me a writing prompt (tho no promises <3) or song recs for my character/ship playlists; I appreciate it all!

Thanks for stopping by!

[revvethasmythh]

No shade to Laura or anything and I understand that sometimes it happens in rpgs but c3 feels more like Imogen Temult and Friends. It feels like half of the time everyone is focused on Imogen. I want more with the other characters.

I mean, I'm not going to disagree with you, anon. I think I've said before that I'm pretty fatigued of Moon Stuff in general, most of which has very strongly centered Imogen for a long while, though I was, admittedly, more invested in the Imogen-centric stuff happening in tonight's ep than anything else thus far (Relvin! I've wanted to know what the fuck was up with him for a long time and I was not disappointed by him as a character). But other than that, yeah, no, literally I want to explore FCG, Ashton, and Chetney's stuff specifically. I am so horny for a change in main plotline and to really just center someone else's abilities as well. Like, I'd so rather have night watch conversations about FCG's feelings than yet another Imogen dream or having Imogen summoning a Reilora to question it. There are many other things we could be doing that I would personally be more interested in, so I feel you, anon

[jadequarze]

Southern gothic

💥  [Ko-fi | Redbubble | Twitter | Youtube | INPRNT] can be found in pinned post.    

[tiredqueermushroom]

Post CR3 Episode 25 Thoughts: Imogen

Imogen. Imogen acknowledging that maybe Laudna didn't mean to hurt her but not being ready to discuss it yet is so real. Because it was never about the rock. It was about her feelings of betrayal and having her trust broken , in the moment it was easier to fixate on the rock then to explain her complex relationship with trust. And she knows this. That's why she's so defensive. She understands her feelings are valid but her reaction in the moment wasn't the best. But she can't tell Laudna that. Not yet at least. So seeing Laudna laughing it up with Dusk hurts, because from her perspective it seems like she's the only one hurting but that Laudna is just a good person. That Laudna's being nice because that's what she does, be nice to people.

I think what makes this situation even better is that Imogen could literally just read Laudna's mind and Laudna properly wouldn't have a problem with it. But there are two reasons as to why she doesn't. The first being the obvious, it would violate Laudna's privacy. The second however, would prove her right. That Laudna's ultimately a good person, that she didn't mean it and she's thinking about it just as much as she is. And that Laudna's doing everything she can to fix things while trying to give her the space she needs.

[quietblueriver]

A little Imodna fic re: Imogen’s trip through Ruidus and Laudna’s reaction to it. Angst and fluff and comfort bc they deserve it.

When the dream is over, Imogen has feelings about her trip through Ruidus, about what she wants and whether she’s wanted.

After the others leave, she and Laudna get some time to talk about it.

-

It’s quiet in their room.

Imogen’s curled toward the edge of the mattress, knees tucked up just slightly, the thick comforter keeping her almost too warm. Normally, she’d turn to Laudna, press close so that the cool of her body balanced out the heat of their bed. Tonight, she doesn’t.

She knows Laudna is awake, can hear the push and pull of thread through her latest project, feels the light touch of fingers on her shoulder every few minutes, gentle enough that they wouldn’t wake Imogen if she were sleeping. She’s not sure if Laudna thinks she is sleeping or if she’s letting Imogen pretend. Which is another way of saying Laudna’s either not paying enough attention to notice that Imogen is awake and caught in her thoughts or she doesn’t feel the need to check in. Either way, and despite herself, Imogen feels it like a slight.

A feeling that causes the weight of shame and an ever-lurking sense of failure to rise up and make the heat almost unbearable. She worms a foot out as quietly as she can, ears hyper-aware of the rustle of fabric she can’t stop.

Laudna’s sewing continues uninterrupted. Imogen’s chest grows somehow more full with her feelings and all the words she’s biting back.

Even now.

Even after their trials with Nana Morri, after all that angsting over honesty and communication and trust, Imogen is quiet.

There are options. She’d known that before they’d been thrown into a pit and attacked by murder wasps and tricked into doubt. There have always been options.

She could turn over. She could reach out her hand and grasp Laudna’s wrist and let Laudna see her eyes. She could ask Laudna to talk to her, could tell her about the thoughts circling and circling through her mind, the ones that have been there since that night in the basement with Delilah.

She doesn’t. She’s tired. And she feels, if she’s honest with herself (and maybe that was the exercise they all needed first, because Imogen’s fairly certain she’s not the only one of the Hells who has difficulty living in her own truths sometimes), like she has been the one bridging the gap, or trying to, without any indication that it’s welcome. Like her honesty and vulnerability have recently been met with hesitancy and hedging and eyes toward a future very different from the one that Imogen had thought they both wanted.

The doubt, an old friend, had begun growing louder in that basement with Delilah and had reached its peak tonight.

The question about giving in to Ruidus was genuine. They’d talked about it before and put it to the side, but now that they’re closer, now that they’re getting ready to really go and do this, it felt important to raise again. She wanted their opinions, because they’d just watched what happened if one of them decided to make a choice like that in isolation, and it wasn’t good.

She wanted to know what they thought, wanted to be as smart about it as she could be.

If you’d asked her, though, even the moment before the question left her lips, whether Laudna needed to be there for that conversation, she would have said no.

Because she knew Laudna’s answer. She saw Laudna’s face furrowing in reaction to her offering her soul on the Crimson Abyss, heard Laudna’s violent threats of protection on her behalf, felt the cold of her form of dread spread and snarling over her as they fought. She knew Laudna’s answer, and it was, “No.”

This was a given, because she loved Imogen more than she loved anything, and because even if Imogen wasn’t trying to be unnecessarily self-sacrificial, there was no denying that giving in could be dangerous.

Except it hadn’t been no. It hadn’t been no, and then, when she’d come back to herself, come back to the cold, exhausting world after feeling so warm, so whole in the heart of Ruidus, and told them just a sliver of it, it still hadn’t been no.

It had been, “If it’s what you want.” It had been, “I don’t want to hold you back.”

And Imogen knows that Laudna loves her. She knows, because Laudna shows her, has shown her, every day.

But the deep and sharpening doubt inside of her says confidently that the love they have for each other isn’t the same.

Imogen wants Laudna. She wants her in every way. There is no future for her, hasn’t been for a long time, that doesn’t have Laudna at its center.

There is nothing she wants more than a cottage with a horse or two and garden beds for Laudna, a porch with a little table where she can start her day with the sunrise while Laudna sleeps and they can end their days with the sunset together, a kitchen like Zhudanna’s, with a stove that works and favorite mugs and a window that looks out at the forest. A home that is warm and easy and theirs.

There is nothing she wants more than to be there, with Laudna. To kiss her good morning and good night and anytime in between. To love her for as long as she’s alive.

And yes, Imogen knows that Laudna loves her.

Long before she kissed her in that marketplace in Jrusar, Imogen knew that Laudna loved her in a way that nobody else ever had. A love so deep and steadfast and self-sacrificial that it made Imogen scared to express the nature of her own feelings because she was afraid Laudna would force herself into something she didn’t want just to make Imogen happy.

Without the circlet, she’d been able to hear the flow of Laudna’s thoughts, often, and understandably, preoccupied with the immediate dangers of their lives after joining the Hells. It felt selfish, in light of that, to ask for more, to put one more thing on her.

And she’d been afraid to say anything without certainty, without some kind of hint from Laudna that she wasn’t going to hurt Laudna and herself and everything they’d built together.

She’d gotten close, before the Solstice. The future they were imagining, the roles they played for each other, Laudna’s own words about Imogen and what she wanted—it closed the gap a little. Made it easier for Imogen to think that maybe, one day, she’d know they were in the same place. That it would be safe to tell Laudna that her love had at some point spilled over its neatly drawn box and had only kept spilling, running over the lines between friendship and devotion and desire until it was all one big pool.

The circlet might’ve made it harder. After all, it was the opposite of confirmation. But the split, her time in Uthodurn, it only made Imogen’s need, selfish as it was, stronger, and when she didn’t have the discouragement of what she thought was knowledge, didn’t have access enough to know that her own want, so fierce sometimes she could hardly think of anything else, was unmatched, she couldn’t keep telling herself the same story about waiting. Fear lost to love (to greed, to desire, to impulse) and suddenly she was kissing Laudna next to the bread stall.

And Laudna was kissing her back. And Laudna was touching her and telling her, softly and with the purpled blush that made Imogen warm and light with affection, that she loved her.

Imogen believed her. She had no reason to doubt her.

Except, of course, for the circlet. Except for the niggling, shameful, persistent voice that reminded her that she could be sure, if she just took off the circlet. That she could be sure, if she let herself explore. That it would save both of them pain if she took even just a minute to be certain that they were on the same page, that Laudna wasn’t just doing her another thing to try to make Imogen happy.

She’d never pry. But without the circlet, she could maybe just stumble into the truth. Fall on it the way she fell onto so many thoughts in the world.

It’s the ugliest part of her. The part of her that believed for most of her life that she knew people because she knew their thoughts, that she didn’t need to listen or to watch who someone was in the world because she could see the real them, the true them.

She knows better now. She knows that people can, and do, fight against their impulses and desires and the darkest voices in their minds. That people work to be more, and better, than their base thoughts.

The problem is, though, that sometimes they don’t. Sometimes people let their impulses lead them and they keep their mouths closed and their hands busy and suddenly you’re watching your friend explode into a million pieces, putting themself and everybody else you love at risk.

She would’ve known, if she’d taken off the circlet. She would’ve seen the plans and heard the reasons and she could’ve done something.

And yeah, it’s about trust. Of course it is. But it’s also about reality, and the reality is that people find it hard to talk about things, especially hard things, and with the Hells, that has the potential to be catastrophic. Has been catastrophic.

It’s easy, to let that logic lead her. She needs to take it off. For protection. For the people she loves.

But if she’s honest with herself, if she fights to be honest with herself if no one else, there are other, more selfish reasons why she sometimes wants the circlet gone.

The biggest one is lying right beside her, humming softly to herself as she works through “the difficult bit. Do you think green or orange, dearest, for the tail?” A question asked before Delilah’s appearance, Laudna’s eyes excited as she held out the options and Imogen kissing her in favor of an answer.

Imogen loves Laudna far too much to leave the worst parts of herself an opening, so the circlet had gone back on as soon as it had been just the two of them. Temptation removed. Laudna had watched but asked no questions and Imogen had offered no explanation and now she’s stuck here in this too-hot bed with her own rambling and pathetic thoughts, lonelier than she has been in a long, long time and looking for a reason not to run as fast as she can back toward the warmth and comfort of that place in her dreams.

Part of her understands. She’d sat, broken-hearted and trembling, on a floor in godsforsaken Whitestone and told Laudna that she loved her and that it was her choice, whether to come back. It was her decision, and Imogen would never ever try to take that from her, even as every part of her wanted to beg and plead and crack open in supplication.

Imogen had refused to be yet another person who denied Laudna a choice. If loving her had meant letting her go, then she would have done it, no matter the cost to herself.

So she understands, a little. If Laudna thinks that what she wants is to leave, to…join with? Return to? Whatever, with Ruidus, and she thinks she’s the reason Imogen is denying herself, then sure, Imogen can understand some of it.

But Imogen’s hopes for the future aren’t mysterious. Even before their kiss, she was clear with Laudna that what she wanted was her. She’d said it over and over again. She’d offered those dreams willingly, in defiance of every part of herself that told her it was foolish and dangerous and pitiful, that reminded her that building a future with someone else was a surefire way to end up like her daddy, lonely and bitter.

Her love won out, and, in the biggest gift of Imogen’s life, Laudna understood. Laudna wanted the same things.

Except maybe she didn’t.

She kicks her second foot out from under the covers, less concerned with the noise, and Laudna stops her motion for a moment, reaches a hand out to touch Imogen’s shoulder.

“Imogen?”

It isn’t really a choice, in the end. Laudna has called her, so she will answer.

“Hmm?”

“Are you…”

The bed shifts, sounds of Laudna putting away her things and moving until her body is against Imogen’s, the hand on her shoulder drifting down to rest on her waist. The cool press of her is such a familiar relief that Imogen almost cries.

“Are you alright?”

Yes. No. Of course not. She feels weak as the water gathers in the corner of her eyes and she bites back her instinct to snap. Anger is first, almost always, and tonight is no exception.

Love surges quickly and she lets it win, feels it temper in the form of an exhalation and the moment she needs to settle herself. Laudna’s trying. Imogen wants her to know, and this is the only way she can.

The metal of the circlet presses into her temple as she gives her body what it wants and shifts back, closer, holds Laudna’s arm to her with her own.

“Do you…do you really not…”

She clears her throat, embarrassed at the sadness and exhaustion that fill the gap left by her receding anger. She’s so tired, and she hates that they’re having this conversation. That they have to have it. That she can’t say what she wants. What she needs.

The question about Ruidus wasn’t a test. This one wouldn’t be either, but it also won’t get her what she needs.

She tries again. Starts with what she knows.

“I…I want you to want me here. With you.” Laudna’s grip around her tightens but she doesn’t say anything, and Imogen takes a second. She sighs out, forces tension from her shoulders and the pride from her throat, open and open and open for Laudna. Trust and honesty and communication. Gods, it’s fucking awful. She presses forward anyway. “It hurt me. B-badly, I think. When you seemed so ready to let me go to Ruidus.”

Nails, now, present but not painful through the fabric of her nightshirt and against her belly, and Laudna’s body tense against her back, and still she’s quiet. Imogen laces their fingers and brings their joined hands underneath her shirt, pressing Laudna’s palm to her skin and shivering as she gathers her words.

“I was tellin’ the truth, earlier. It felt good, bein’ there. But Laudna, I…” She squeezes at her hand and then lets go, pulls and pushes and turns until they’re face to face and she can put her palm against Laudna’s cheek, see the worry in her dark eyes. “I don’t know how else to make you understand that I want you. That I want my future to be you.”

Laudna’s mouth opens and closes and Imogen presses a thumb to her bottom lip and kisses her forehead.

“Sometimes I think I understand the way you feel about me. But the last few days especially, I…” She stumbles again, because they’ve already talked about that night, and she doesn’t want to do it again, although she will if she has to. “I just…” She closes her eyes for a moment and reaches past the sadness and into the fire, lets the slow and steady and bright flame of love and determination and want move her forward. “It doesn’t matter how Ruidus feels. Alright? What’s the moon to me if you’re not there?” She kisses her, hard and quick, and holds her eyes again. “It’s not home. It can’t be. Not without you.”

Laudna swallows and licks her lip and says, slowly, “I want you to have all the things I didn’t get to have.” The pad of her thumb runs underneath Imogen’s eye, turning until the nail is tracing her cheek and down her jawline, over her chin until it comes to rest in the center of her throat. She stares at it as she whispers, voice raspy with the strain of a rope long rotted, “Most of all, I want you to have choice.”

Imogen covers the hand with her own and brings it down, cradling it against her chest.

“I know. I know you do. And I do have choice.” She kisses her again, longer and slower. “I’m choosing you. If you’ll let me.”

She watches the emotions play themselves out on Laudna’s face, expressive eyes widening and crinkling, the corners of her mouth twitching with all the words she doesn’t say, preternaturally sharp teeth tearing at the skin of her lip.

“I can never quite believe that.”

Her lips taste of ichor even more than usual, the texture catching on Imogen’s tongue as she soothes the newly broken skin.

“I know. I know you can’t. But it’s true.” She bites her own lip and asks a question she hopes she knows the answer to. “Is it alright? That I choose you? Would you…would you choose me, too?”

Dark eyes soften and soften, a pair to the arm holding her close.

“Imogen. I chose you a long time ago. I’m so sorry, darling, that I’ve made you doubt that.” She runs her fingers through Imogen’s hair, lets them catch at the back of her head. “It’s beyond my understanding how lucky I am that you would choose me, too.”

It would be easy, to let it go. And maybe she could. Maybe they understand each other, this time. But they’re here, and she wants it to be the last time they have to be (at least for a while, gods help her) so she pulls on the last reserves of her emotional energy to say, “Can you…can you believe me? Please? Or…or maybe we can have a signal, for when you can’t? Because Laudna, I…it’s hard for me to understand that you want me, too. And when you…I can’t always convince myself it’s true, when it feels like you’re tellin’ me to choose somethin’ else.”

Imogen watches as Laudna’s eyes move almost absently over her shoulder before coming back, resolved, as the hand in her hair tightens. “Yes. I’m going to try to remember. This is…thank you, dearest. For telling me. I’m going to think about this more. We can…we should talk about it, again.”

Her displeasure at the thought must register on her face because suddenly Laudna is laughing and the hand in her hair has let go to come pat at her cheek as Laudna tuts. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”

Imogen groans and buries her head in the crook of Laudna’s neck. Fingers return to her hair as she nods her agreement. She feels a tug on the circlet.

“Thank you for this, as well.”

Suddenly she’s pulling back, because this is important, because Laudna should know that…

”Laudna, I promise I’d never…”

She’s being tucked back into Laudna’s body before she can finish, lips against her temple before words are whispered into her ear. “I know, my love. I know. But you could, and it means something that you don’t. So thank you.”

She relaxes into the hold, noses into the space behind Laudna’s jaw and breathes for a minute before she kisses the skin there. And again.

Maybe it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for her mind to wander away from Ruidus and their mission and the conversation they’d just had. But maybe they deserve it. Maybe this is what it means, to choose each other even at the end of the world—that joy and desire get their time between exhaustion and fear.

So she doesn’t fight the impulse. “We should sleep,” she says, as she bites gently at Laudna’s neck, moves down to lick her collarbone.

Through a very lovely gasp, Laudna asks, “Forgotten the chasm already, darling?”

Imogen grins. “We should.” Her hands press at Laudna’s hips until she’s below her, bracketed by Imogen’s knees. “But I have another idea.”

Laudna laughs. “Can you be quick?”

Imogen pulls off her nightshirt and feels incredibly smug at Laudna’s wide eyes, the way her mouth is still half-open from her laughter, frozen there.

“Chasm answer? Or would you rather I…”

It’s her turn to gasp, Laudna’s mouth against her and her hands braced against the bare skin of Imogen’s back, nails dragging in that way that makes Imogen whimper shamelessly.

“Hush, now. We’ve done quite enough talking, don’t you think?”

It’s breathed into the skin of her shoulder, and Imogen can only nod, pulling Laudna closer and letting herself remember that she can have this, forever, if she chooses.

[quietblueriver]

Hi! For the prompting: Imodna, luminescence

Hello! Okay so I started writing and realized I actually want to answer this in two parts, so please find below part i, which is incandescence/Imogen. Working on a part ii, luminescence/Laudna.

Thank you so much for the prompt!!

PS- Usual disclaimer re: errors and prompts. Pls excuse.

-

The idea came to her last week, when she helped Laudna take the old door out of her refurbished little cabin. It had been hacked in half for some reason but the wood was still good, not rotted through, and she’d tucked it away behind the cabin before she left, telling Laudna vaguely that she had an idea for it.

She thought briefly about paint, but figured Laudna should get to choose the color and they could always add it later if she wanted. The only thing she really needed was rope, which was easy enough to get from the farm’s store, Harlan waving her off when she offered to have the cost taken from her pay. 

She made sure to do it when Laudna was out foraging, mindful of the process. The scars on her neck were hard to misinterpret, and she knew some of what had happened, shared quietly under the stars outside Laudna’s cabin or, once, memorably and horrifyingly, through Pate. The last thing she wanted was for Laudna to watch her string rope up in the tree. She hoped the swing itself would be okay, was ready to take it down immediately at the slightest sign of discomfort, felt her palms get sweaty with nerves before she forced a deep breath. 

Steady, Imogen. You’ve gotta actually put it up before you panic about takin’ it down.  

She wound some rope across the length and around each end, connecting the separate loops in a series of knots she was pretty proud of and, when she was satisfied, hung it on the massive oak with the best view of the sunset. 

Imogen had nearly destroyed her thumbnail by the time Laudna made it back, but the immediate and obvious joy on her face and in her thoughts as she emerged from the forest and saw Imogen standing next to the swing soothed all of her nerves. She dropped the basket of mushrooms and clapped, eyes looking between Imogen and the swing like one or the other might disappear if she stopped. 

“Imogen! Is this…is this for us?” 

Imogen nodded, cheeks aching from the size of her smile. “For you, mostly, but I’ll join you as often as I can. If you want, I mean!” 

Laudna tilted her head, an increasingly familiar and comforting melody of fondness in her mind. Her voice carried that same fond feeling as she said, “Whenever you can, please. Thank you, darling.” The flutter in her stomach at the term of endearment ended quickly as there was, to Imogen’s distress, ichor pooling in the corners of her eyes.

Shit.

Laudna must have seen the concern growing on her face because she waved Imogen off, tucked her fingers next to her eyes so that the ichor reabsorbed. “I’m sorry. Happiness, I promise. It’s been a long time…Actually, I don’t think anyone has ever…” Her fingers moved to Pate but stopped, smoothed at her skirt instead. “Swing with me?” 

Imogen smiled again, moved to hold the door steady so that Laudna could get comfortable. “After you, m’lady.” She felt silly, something that generally made her uncomfortable, but it was worth it for the laughter it earned her. She was finding she didn’t mind being silly for Laudna. 

When Laudna was settled, she hoisted herself up next to her, shoulders touching, and then pressed her right foot against the ground and began a gentle movement. Laudna sighed happily, and they were quiet for a while, the sounds of the frogs and the crickets playing around them. 

As the sun set, reds and purples spreading over Faramore’s land and the bluffs, Laudna tangled their ankles together, eyes cutting at Imogen in that way they always did when she initiated physical contact.

(The first time she really touched her, placing a steadying hand on Imogen’s back as she nearly tripped over a log, she yanked it back so fast, her mind in such a panic that Imogen thought there must be danger.

Laudna? What’s wrong?

She turned to find Laudna staring at the ground and fisting her skirt so tightly Imogen was afraid she might tear it. It was like she couldn’t hear her.

Imogen understood once the panicked thoughts cleared enough for her to be able to separate them, found tears stinging at the corners of her eyes and felt a rage on Laudna’s behalf, more and more common, at a low boil in her stomach.

Careful. Disgusting. Cold. Ichor will stain her pretty shirt. Don’t want to scare her. Can’t believe I...she’ll leave. She should leave. Dangerous.

She stepped closer carefully, placing a gentle hand on Laudna’s forearm, which was smooth and cold and a little clammy but certainly not disgusting. Laudna raised her head slowly to meet Imogen’s eyes.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded, and Imogen took another half-step in, let her fingers slide down and tangle with Laudna’s. Her eyes left Imogen’s again to stare at their joined hands.

“Imogen, you don’t have to…I know I’m not…it’s not…”

“I don’t mind you touchin’ me, Laudna. I’m real clumsy, so it’s nice, really, to have somebody there to help.” She squeezed very gently at Laudna’s fingers, ran her thumb over the skin of her inner wrist, leaned forward and said the next part near Laudna’s ear, sure but soft. “And you’re not disgustin’. I’m sorry anybody ever told you that. You’re just a little different.” She let go of Laudna’s hand to remove her glove, took it back and raised them between their bodies, her scars facing Laudna. “I am, too.”

Laudna raised her head then, a tentative half-smile on her face, pulled Imogen’s hand closer and looked at the purple lines scattered across it. Imogen ignored the embarrassment and fear and shame for once, didn’t pull her hand away.

“They’re quite beautiful.”

Her face was burning, suddenly, and she set her own eyes to the ground. “Well, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before.” She cleared her throat and looked up again, gathered some bravery. “It feels nice. Your hand in mine, I mean. I run real hot and you’re so cool.” She winked, felt immediately ridiculous but got Laudna’s smile to widen so called it a win.)

Like always, Imogen did her best to show it was welcome, pressing her ankle back. Laudna stared down at their feet as she asked, “How would you feel about a picnic tomorrow?”

She answered immediately, “That sounds perfect.” Laudna’s hands had only fluttered a little as she proposed the idea, and she didn’t even follow her question up with a dozen qualifications about the value of Imogen’s time. Imogen felt a swell of pride and satisfaction that Laudna was becoming more comfortable with her. She added, positive reinforcement and also the simple truth, “Real excited to get to spend a day off with you.” 

Laudna’s cheeks stained a bluish purple in the low light, and Imogen felt an entirely undue sense of accomplishment, leaned over to let her head rest on Laudna’s shoulder.

This was something Imogen was trying, the physical affection. She wanted to be sure Laudna didn’t feel like she was the only one ever reaching out, wanted to reassure her, push back against some of the shit she’d been told about herself.

Mostly, though, she wanted to be close to her. They hadn’t known each other that long, in the scheme of things, but Imogen was pretty sure both of them had been touch-starved for a long time, and she felt more at home with Laudna than she had with anyone, ever. So she was slowly letting herself give into the impulses to touch and tease and be lighter than she was anywhere else, with anyone else. To be at home. 

“That can’t be comfortable,” Laudna laughed, even as she lifted a hand to wrap around Imogen’s shoulders to keep her in place.

Imogen scooted closer. “It’s plenty comfortable, thanks.” 

She walked back to the house humming to herself and thinking about what Laudna might like from the market for their picnic, making a plan for her morning. She was excited about spending a whole day with Laudna—dipping her feet in cool water and watching at least one performance from Pate and eating fresh bread and cheese and fruit and, assuming she didn’t get stampeded in line, a few slices of the first chocolate pecan pie of the season from Mackey’s stall.

She laughed into the quiet of the forest. They were going to have a picnic.

-

The market was more crowded than usual, and Imogen’s headache was threatening, a steady pulsing reminder at the base of her skull, but she was undeterred, buoyed by the promise of the rest of her day. 

She avoided a cart and brushed by a family with a teenager whose brutal (and correct, from what Imogen could tell) running internal commentary on her uncle’s bullshit. He must’ve picked that up from that circle jerk of a riding club. What fucking clowns…was so loud that Imogen had to bite into her bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

She refocused, picking her way through the stalls looking for the best fruit she could find rather than the best bargain because she was in a good mood, and she’d just gotten paid, and she could almost hear the delighted noise Laudna would make if she could find some of those sour apples she liked so much. She blocked out someone’s mental rant about stepping in dog shit and grinned triumphantly as she spotted a bucket of green apples. 

Prize in hand, she moved the already secured slices of pie and perfectly crisply loaf of bread carefully to the side to make room in her basket. “Now, cheese…”

She made it back to the house without incident, headache still only a threat, and loaded her pack and saddled Flora, who was off the roster for the day same as Imogen, before heading to Laudna. 

Her cabin was empty, a little surprising because Imogen was almost certain they’d agreed to meet here last night. She had been exhausted, though, so maybe they’d decided on the creek after all. 

Redirecting Flora, they headed in the direction of the section best for picnics, a little bend with big flat rocks and enough tree cover to create a little privacy. 

She heard it about halfway there, the familiar music of Laudna’s thoughts discordant with panic and fear. Imogen had Flora at a gallop immediately, cussing and hissing as thin branches whipped at her face. 

There was a group of people crowded around a set of boulders, Laudna’s lanky form easily identifiable, surrounded and pressed almost all the way against a the rocks. The group consisted of a dozen or so people, including Amos, the local cleric, and some other folks in religious robes she didn’t recognize. There were also several of Imogen’s least favorite men from town, a combination of assholes and real creeps whose thoughts made her wish she could give her brain a shower. At their head was Davey Moore, the sheriff’s brother who thought he was big shit. 

They all turned as they heard Flora’s approach, and Imogen barreled through them without hesitation, forcing them to either move or be moved. They dived, crying out, thoughts temporarily diverted to their own safety. They’d be able to block them in before Imogen could get Laudna up behind her, but this at least gave them a moment. 

Imogen stopped Flora next to Laudna, whose normally wide black eyes were even wider and whose thoughts were jumbled and afraid and now worried, not for herself but for Imogen. 

Imogen smiled at her, as softly as she could manage given the worry and fury that were mounting in her body. 

Well, hey there. You okay?

I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to…I thought you might like…

Imogen saw then the flowers in her hand, beautiful yellow and purple and blue blooms whose stems even now Laudna was trying to keep from crushing in her anxious grip. Her hands rose the smallest amount, in offering, and Imogen felt such an intense surge of affection and the desire to protect that it nearly winded her. Probably would have, if she weren’t also burning hot with anger. 

Trying to let some of that affection out through her eyes, she projected, You got nothin’ to be sorry for, Laudna. Those flowers are real pretty. I’m sorry that these fools… 

She turned to glare at the group of men who had recongregated around them, one of the clerics having cast some kind of barrier spell that Imogen could see glinting in the light over their shoulders. 

Well, shit. 

Moore yelled out, “Temult! Of course you’re wrapped up with this…this…”

Imogen flexed her hand around the reins, ground out, “I’d be real careful how you finish that sentence, Davey.”

Imogen. Don’t put yourself at…

“Ma’am,” one of the clerics she didn’t recognize tried, blue robes shifting as he put a foot forward, “Clearly you’re not aware that you’ve been associating with an abomination.” His voice was kind, gentle, like she was a child and he genuinely wanted to protect her, but he had his staff raised in one hand and the other out, ready to cast at Laudna. 

“She’s not an abomination.” 

Imogen. Be careful. It’s not worth it, darling. 

She heard what Laudna wouldn’t say: I’m not worth it. She sure as shit was, though, was the thing, and Imogen wasn’t about to let these fuckers have her. Imogen looked down at Laudna again, steel in her eyes this time, and brought Flora’s body forward and around a little, a half-shield for Laudna. 

Stay as much behind Flora’s body as you can. When it’s safe, I’m gonna pull you up and we’re gonna go. Okay? 

Imogen. 

Laudna. 

“Don’t bother with this one. She’s a freak, too. All messed up in the head like her mama was. Actually,” he sneered at Imogen, moved his hand to the sheath on his belt, “better be careful with her, too. She might try to mess with your mind.” 

A set of frowns deepened, confused thoughts pressing at the barrier of her mind as Amos stepped forward. Nobody in her day-to-day life was deeply religious, but Amos had once offered to pray over Imogen while her daddy stood stoically and silently next to her. (He’d told her later that it “couldn’t have hurt to let him try,” while a cacophony of thoughts about Imogen sounded in his mind. Stubborn. Just like her mama. Didn’t sign up for this. Wish she’d just act normal. Can’t even have a fuckin’ ale in peace since she screamed at Darius’s boy. The thoughts were familiar enough at that point that she should’ve been innoculated against the hurt they caused. She wasn’t.)  She’d declined as politely as she could, pushing down the part of herself that wanted to tell him to shove his prayers up his own ass, and Amos had been gravely concerned that she wasn’t open to being healed. 

Now, in his most pious voice, he said, “Imogen. I feared when you declined my offer of prayer that you had given into darkness, and now I see that it’s true. After we handle your…this…unnatural creature…”

“Hollow One,” another supplied, and Amos turned slightly to nod in acknowledgement. 

“Yes. In any case, after we handle it, we can bring you to your father and see about…”

Her heart pounded, and her head rang, her whole body flushed with heat, as she said, “You won’t be handlin’ anything, especially not Laudna.”

“Ms. Temult, is it? I don’t think you…”

“Enough.” Moore unsheathed his knife and Flora tried to put distance between herself and the man, whinnying when she realized there was nowhere to go. 

“Shhh,” she rubbed a hand down her neck, eyed Laudna, whose hands were even darker than usual, ichor and magic bubbling up and bleeding across now-wilted flowers to drip over the ground. 

With a last pat to Flora, she dismounted, stepping in front of Laudna and sending Flora out toward the path they’d come from, the group of men parting and reforming to let her pass. Flora made it through the barrier without issue and Imogen filed that away, wondered if it was just for humans or just for Laudna or maybe, if they were lucky, just for show.

Imogen. 

It’ll be alright. 

There was almost no space between her and Moore now, his sharp blade glinting in her eyes as his vile thoughts cut at her mind. She pushed them to the side. 

“You’re right. That’s enough.” 

She wasn’t the Imogen Temult he knew in that moment. She wasn’t the weird, reclusive girl whose mind wasn’t quite right but who was “real good with those horses.” She wasn’t the panicked, overwhelmed teenager breaking down in the market, the attention-seeking, unmanageable girl yelling at the people around her when there were no more boxes in her mind for the vile thoughts of others. She certainly wasn’t the polite, palatable version of herself she had learned to present to keep the peace. 

She was Imogen Temult without filter, and she was done. 

Moore blinked for a moment, a break in his thoughts, but then he turned to the clerics around him and said, “Someone knock her out first. Then we can finish the job.”

The minds around her were conflicted at the order, but enough accepted it that someone began to cast, voice loud. 

She heard Laudna cry out behind her, saw a flash of black streak by and hit the cleric in the shoulder. He yelled, shock and pain projecting from his mind, but then he started again, and soon his voice wasn’t alone. 

There were too many of them, too many of them with too much belief in what they were doing and they had trapped them here, in these woods, where nobody could hear them call for help. 

Something in her chest, familiar, hers, but never let loose before, cracked open, and heat flowed out, across her chest and down her arms. It almost felt like her scars were…she raised her hands and confirmed—they were glowing, pulsing purple with power. 

“Imogen,” Laudna breathed out behind her, something close to awe battling with concern in her tone. 

“What the fuck?” 

She looked Moore in the eye as she said, “I said, that’s enough.”

She didn’t know what she was doing, but it felt natural, right, to extend her hands in front of her, nearly pressed to his chest. He lunged with the knife and froze mid-way, body stiff, wrapped in light that beamed from Imogen’s hands over and through Moore and Amos and all the rest of them, her whole body hot and surging like a live wire.

And then Moore was screaming. He was screaming, and so were the others, out loud and in their minds, loud, so loud, a horrible, inescapable set of voices becoming one.

“Ahhh!!!” It burns! Make it stop! “Mercy! Mercy!” So hot, so hot, my gods, I can’t…“Please!” Mother save us…

Hands grasped at heads as their bodies shook and fell to the ground, and bits of their skin, where Imogen could see it, withered with burn, strange purple and white flames appearing and disappearing on their bodies and clothes.

When it was over, all of them prone, Imogen took half a moment to feel both relief and a deep kind of sickness before grabbing Laudna’s hand, pulling her toward Flora, the best girl, who was waiting for them at the edge of the forest. 

She grabbed the reins, scars still alight with purple heat, lightning still in her veins waiting to be let free, and they ran. 

[mehoymalloy]

Hello and Welcome!

My name's Malloy, and you could say I like to write fanfiction about villainous older women. Find me on AO3!

Critical Role

self-proclaimed captain of the rowboat that is Imogen Temult/Otohan Thull.

Main fic: Let Me Lay Waste to Thee (in which I give them the CritRole equivalent of a force bond). Spin-off series: Won’t You Lay Hands on Me (it's just smut and tension and the dreaded feelings), which expounds on Let Me for funsies while I write the big sequel. A few canon-adjacent one-shots, my favorite being A Dance With Danger (basically, 'what if Otohan attended the Chandei Quorum masquerade in Jrusar?')

Liliana Temult/Otohan Thull: the Moon Moms AU, an ongoing series of family-centric one-shots in which Liliana and Otohan share a history and raise Imogen together, detailing all the intricacies and difficulties that entails.

Stray Gods

Grace/Athena; specifically Restraint (but oh, to dream) (it's just smut) and a slow burn long fic that I have in the works.

Grace/Persephone; specifically Sing for Me (it's also just smut).

The Horizon Series

Aloy/Tilda van der Meer; most notably: Prometheus Bound.

Gen stuff: Silga and Untalla

Ship stuff: Regalla/Nasadi.

~

Here on Tumblr, I sometimes post sneak peeks of what I'm working on (all my stuff is tagged #mehoymalloy and #wip stuff). You can also find me on Twitter (which I use rarely) and Bluesky (which I use very rarely).

Lastly, feel free to drop me an ask anytime! Yell at me about Otohan Thull (please), shoot me a random question about my fics, toss me a writing prompt or a song rec for my silly little music playlists; I appreciate it all and I appreciate you! :)

[mehoymalloy]

Aches and Pains of Various Sorts

Link embedded in the title!

Summary:

"You're thinking too loudly," Otohan whispered.

"You have that effect," Liliana murmured, placing a hand on Otohan's free shoulder and leaning down to kiss the crown of Imogen's head. "She hardly ever sleeps like this," she mused, flicking her eyes up to meet Otohan's, nearly black in the low lamplight but somehow still so warm.

It had only been half a year since they had last seen each other, but in that brief moment, hovering so close to each other as their eyes locked over Imogen's head, it felt as if all that time suddenly condensed into a singular moment of aching loneliness. For Liliana, who was normally so good at controlling her emotions—who had gotten used to almost feeling nothing at all—it was nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

---

Or: Liliana struggles with being a new mother, Otohan gets a glimpse of the family she never knew she wanted, and Imogen is loved.

Notes:

Welcome to the first installment of my new series, a collection of (not necessarily chronological) one-shots exploring the idea of Liliana and Otohan raising Imogen together, detailing all the intricacies and difficulties that might entail. I have a lot planned, from Imogen's birth all the way up to the present, and I'm super excited to share more with y'all!

Tags:

Rated M, Liliana Temult/Otohan Thull, Liliana Temult & Imogen Temult, Otohan Thull & Imogen Temult, Family-Centric, Pre-Campaign 3 (Critical Role), Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Baby Imogen, Postpartum Depression, Lore and Backstory Snippets, Relvin Temult (mentioned), Infidelity, Alternating POVs