#Briarwood Home

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 82

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

Patreon 💜 Art Prints 🖤Books!

(Author's Notes)

Panel 1: A long time ago, Laudna is fixing up a different house. She has built a dollhouse out of a fruit crate and is filling it with furniture made of odds and ends and dolls made of clothespins. Laudna looks the same age as ever but her mien is particularly childlike, suggesting she hasn't been dead for very long. It’s spring, and she's wearing a pinafore dress. Her (alive) pet rat is watching the proceedings curiously from the roof of the dollhouse.

Panel 2: Looking closer, we can see that it's an approximation of a white manor house or castle. A doll wearing the same attire that we saw on Laudna when she was killed and reborn is being approached by a doll dressed as a noblewoman.

Laudna: There you are, D. Home sweet home.

Panel 3: In the dining room, the dolls as well as a bear made out of a spool are arranged around a dinner table.

Laudna: Delilah?

Delilah: Yes, poppet?

Laudna: Why did you invite me to that party? I mean . . . why me, specially?

Panel 4: Laudna's shoulders droop as Delilah laughs. She holds the dolls protectively to herself.

Delilah: {hahaha} Oh, darling girl. It was never about you at all. You were only ever a means to an end.

Panel 5: She lies down on the floor, limp with disappointment.

Delilah: There there, don’t sulk so. We must make the best of our situation. This isn’t exactly what I had planned, either.

Laudna: Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Delilah: You don’t really mean that. If I go, there’ll be no one to talk to you at all. Your twitchy-whiskered friend certainly can’t hold a conversation.

Laudna: I don’t care. I hate you.

Delilah: Suit yourself, then.

Panel 6: She raises her tearstained face in surprise to find herself, apparently, alone.

[annemarieyeretzian]

fearne saying “I think what laudna doesn’t understand is that she’s powerful without [delilah]. I think she thinks she needs her.” and chetney saying “that was almost somebody entirely different. I wouldn’t know if she has a choice.” and asking “does she?”

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

What a great 5 days we had at London ! With @greetingsprogramms we decided this summer to come back to MCM London this October, because we had such an amazing time last year.

We went with two friends who had rarely been to London, so we were tourists for two days, and yes that includes going to see musicals ! I discovered the amazing Hadestown, which I did not know, but I'm now a fan of ; and of course, back to Hamilton (I already got to see it in London back in 2018, but it was so good it was very easy to convince me). We saw Big Ben, the Thames, Picadilly Circus, the palace, the British Museum, Camden Town, etc.

And then Friday, Saturday & Sunday it was MCM. Wow. There were a LOT of people, more than last year, even of Friday. Lots of great cosplays, including, I hope, mine. I went as Lady Delilah Briarwood in full Victorian attire on Friday and Saturday, and I put on my Laudna cosplay from last year Sunday.

We went to the Critters meetings Saturday and Sunday, and it was so nice seeing so many cool people who exchanged little trinkets. I made way too many frienship bracelets with red wool, I wanted to give every Imogen and Laudna one but I didn't succeed. Oh well, at least some of them got it. We also went to the BG3 actors panel, and on Sunday they did a live D&D one-shot that very funny and sweet.

Thanks, Critters from the UK and the world. You're the best.

[antlereed]

hm. that jazz lounge singer au is looking more and more appealing

[ty-loves]

Briarwood Mortuary🕊️🪦

The Briarwood Mortuary is owned & operated by the Briar Family of Brindleton Bay. This longstanding mortuary & cemetery is the resting place of many of Brindleton Bay's most coveted citizens. This lot can be used to lay your sims to rest peacefully, host a funeral service, or even have a wedding in the cemetery.  

Gallery ID: ty_loves415 (✅include custom content to find builds)

Information: 

30x30 lot

$319,543

 Functions as: Generic, Wedding Venue, or Museum lot

CC Used:

Asabinsims | Real Trees for build mode (1) 

Alf-si | Birch Trees (1),

Magnoliidae | Leafy Ground Cover plant recolor (1)

TheJim07 | Gravestone & Mortuary ts3 (1), Mater Dolorosa (1), Winged Victory of Samothrace (1)

Felixandre | Estate (2), (1), (3), Paris (2), (1), Chateau (2), (5), (6), Berlin (2), (1), London (1), Gothic Revival (2), (1), Grove (4), Fayun (2), (1), Florence (2), (1), Soho (1)

Pinkbox AnYe | Venice (1), Summer Garden (1), (2), Bayfront Powder room (1),  Miranda (1), Cozy Corner (1), Magnolia (1), Ashwood Dining (1)

SYB | Ratatouille Kitchen (1), Hotel (1), Piano (1)

Valia | Mediterranean columns (1)

Lilis Palace | Folklore Skanzen (5), Intarsia Enfilade (1)

Plush Pixels | Parisian Apartment (1), Summer in the Hamptons (2)

Max20 | Garden at Home (1)

Pierisim | Domaine du Clos (2), (1), Auntie Vera’s Bathroom Toilet (1), Winter Garden (1), Woodland Ranch Old Rug (1)

Harrie | Coastal (2), (8), Copenhagen (1), Brutalist Bathroom Tiles (1)

PsychicPeanutKitty | Ghost w/ a Lantern (1)

KHD | Noor Set (1), Ghibli (2), Liberty (1), Countess Desk & Chair (1)

Severinka | Halloween 2018 (1)

Sims4Luxury | Fall 2023 Pumpkins (1)

Myshunosun | Herbalist Clutter (1)

Natalia-Auditore | Baron Samedi Coffins (1)

CWB | Anapolis Wall Light (1), October 2022 (1)

HYDRA | Heart Vanity (1)

Sooky88 | Vertical Oil Paintings (1)

PandoraSimBox | Get to Church Stuff Pack Pulpit (1) LittleDica | Countryside Cabin Roof Trim (1)

*Packs Used: Lovestruck (benches), Cottage Living, City Living, Get Together, Jungle Adventure GP, Romantic Garden Stuff, Paranormal Stuff Extras & TOU: 

Please do not reupload or claim my build as your own

Please do feel free to tag me if you use this build <3

Always use bb.moveobjects when placing

Reshade by YoursTrulySims

Leave a comment here if you have any issues

Thank you all cc creators <3

All trees used in this build are CC, not defaults.  

@asabinsims @felixandresims @pinkbox-anye @alf-si @sooky88 @pierisim @lilis-palace @myshunosun @kerriganhouse @harrie-cc @sims4luxury @psychicpeanutkitty @valiasims @maxsus @littledica @hydrangeachainsaw @nataliaauditore-blog @syboubou @thejim07 @magnoliidae @plushpixelssims

[nellasbookplanet]

Here’s the thing:

I want Predathos to get out.

Not because I hate the gods or want to see them killed or driven off (in fact, I find the 'the gods are tyrants' arguments to be laughably incorrect and deeply hope c3 ends with the pantheon still present) but because ending the campaign without facing Predathos would be a huge anticlimax. If Bells Hells simply kill Ludinus and go back home, it will feel like killing the minion but never actually getting to the big bad. What if c1 had ended with killing the Briarwoods but never getting around to Vecna. What if the m9 had actually managed to kill Lucien with their trap in Aeor before he made it into the Astral Sea to set off his plan. We wouldn’t have gotten to see the nature of the somnovem, the horrific flesh city or the peace of putting it to rest, the wild creativity that was the final battle of imagination. If c3 ends without showing us what the fuck Predathos actually is I will go lie facedown on the floor for a week wondering what we missed out on.

Now, this doesn't mean I want the hells to purposefully let the beast out of its cage. I would prefer the campaign not end with the heroes finalizing the villain's plan and setting off calamity 2.0, thank you very much. But if Ludinus still has an ace up his sleeve that makes Predathos' release all but inevitable (which I honestly expect)? Maybe even if there’s a party split and one or a couple of the hells take the decision into their own hands (looking at you, Ashton)?

I'd love that shit. Show us what Predathos truly is. Let it eat Ludinus maybe. Give us a glimpse of the true end if it’s let loose on Exandria. Have there be a horrific realization of oh, this is what the Vanguard was arguing in favor of. And then kill it.

[its-your-mind]

Liam: my c3 character was an ordinary member of Keyleth's guard, and saw his husband and their father killed in her defense by one of the boogeyman from Caleb and Essek's past.

Marisha: my c3 character was the one hung in imitation of Vex on the Sun Tree by Delilah Briarwood in her attempt to send a message to Percy when he came home to Whitestone.

Taliesin: my c3 character was almost killed as hired muscle on a mission to steal a crate of the dunamis potions Veth's husband got kidnapped to create based on the Beacon Essek stole, and they were only saved by one of those potions being poured into their literal brain.

Sam: my c3 character (v.2) got fired and his life spiraled out of control cuz Jester and Nott were too good at sneaking around and drawing dicks.

[tangent101]

I think you're right. Laudna is conflict-adverse. And I think we can lay that all at Delilah's feet as I think Delilah was quite abusive and manipulative. Though I also have to wonder... how much of Laudna is her own person, and how much of Laudna is a fractured aspect of Delilah herself?

Let's think about that for a moment. Delilah blames herself for a lot, and then pushes that blame onto others because if she accepts that she is to blame then she's a bad person. And she's not a bad person, she's someone who is doing all this to get things done and fulfill her end of bargains. She's the responsible one, damn it!

Her husband who she loves dearly got sick and she couldn't find any way to heal him and finally when she did she goes forth, gets what is needed to heal her husband, returns, and he's dead. She was too slow and didn't do what was needed. But she learned enough to know she could try to bring him back and she does!

In response she's driven away from her home, she's cast out from her peers, she loses her job. She and her husk of a husband flee and find someone else who feels the world has unfairly turned against her and they unite and start to work to fulfill her obligations because if there is one thing Delilah is not, is someone who doesn't fulfill her end of a bargain. And then it all fucking falls apart again. And she dies.

She wakes up in this shell of a body hanging from the Sun Tree and struggles to break loose but doesn't have most of her power... and something inside her breaks. She tried so hard. She did so much. And now she's being punished for being responsible and for doing what she had to do... by being consigned to a corpse? Her mind fractures. She catches fragments of the life of the body of the girl she inhabits and the part of her who is not responsible, who did the right thing damn it! just... embraces Matilda. No. Not Matilda. Matilda is dead. Delilah murdered her just to send a message.

No. She's Laudna.

It doesn't help that Delilah is then Resurrected. Much of her soul, of her intellect is dragged away and is put back in her body, leaving just "Laudna" to wander the world... until finally Vox Machina puts down Delilah once and for all, and she is dragged back to the fragments of her soul that had chosen a simpler life, a new existence.

The rest of Delilah, the darker aspects, the elements that just... hate and want to regain her power and fulfill those bargains... they berate the part of Delilah... of Laudna... who just wants to embrace a simpler existence, of being just a girl, who did nothing wrong. But Laudna doesn't ever listen. She ignores her other part and moves into the world and Delilah is at war with herself, pushing herself, trying to get stronger, trying to get to the point she can reunite the fractured aspects of her mind. And she is failing and is growing quieter and quieter... until something odd happens.

She finds this lavender-haired girl who is so very alone and who catches stray thoughts and who is unsure of herself and doesn't see that inner greatness... and both Laudna and Delilah, two aspects of Delilah that coexist now... are drawn to her. And they start to fall in love with her.

The Delilah aspect is growing stronger. It is increasingly difficult to figure out what is "Laudna" and what is "Delilah" but... that's because they are Delilah. A fragmented soul who finds solace and union in one thing... the strength of their love.

Of course that's probably not it at all but... it's a fun way of looking at a character and trying to figure out just what is going on there. :)

A Long Road Home - Page 71 Author Notes

Page 71

Hello it’s me I’m back with more unethically doe-eyed Laudna faces.

Imogen has really been digging in her heels about refusing to believe Laudna is dead. In part it’s because she perceived the accusations of her being an undead witch as an affront she needed to defend her against, in part because she didn’t want the people of Gelvaan’s meanness to be somehow justified, and finally in part because admitting that Laudna is dead means accepting that something unspeakably bad happened to her in the past.

But for her part Laudna can’t tell whether Imogen is angry because she’s undead, or because she deceived her by not telling her, or because of the now-distant tragedy of her past that it’s too late to do anything about. She just sees her anger, so her first impulse is to run.

(Why people — especially Imogen — being mad at her is so uncomfortable for Laudna hasn’t been explained in depth on the show, just that she is. I’m inclined to believe that she’s just naturally conflict-averse and afraid of losing the best thing that’s ever happened to her, since she’s always worried that some day Imogen will find someone more deserving of her friendship and not need her anymore. But it could also be that in the past anger from strangers usually turned to violence against her, or that Delilah’s anger resulted in pain to her, and she would hate to associate that hurt with Imogen.)

[shorthaltsjester]

thinking about the scene between vex and percy at the end of campaign one where after over a hundred episodes of the two of them as snarky assholes (affectionate but factual) helping to fight dragons and gods, they both buckle under the weight of just. missing their families in a way that’s fresh to both of them in different ways, where percy finally has the room to admit what’s been taken from him and what he let himself lose in his commitment to vengeance (the ability to actually Grieve) and where vex just watched her brother walk into death off towards their mother. and it’s been a horrible day, and percy confesses that he was going to be a clockmaker, once.

and then, three decades later, we see the two of them elevated to a less accessible status through the eyes of bell’s hells, where they’re to be the judges whether laudna gets to come back, where The De Rolos™ are leaders and percy is a hardass and vex is a lady, except there’s an intricate clock tower in this Whitestone’s cityscape, except ashton goes to punch a statue bust and several brown bears occupy his surrounding environment. and vex sees a face not unlike her own that was killed precisely for that fact and commits to helping her and percy sees a face too much like his own and gives them a hard time until he’s standing surrounded by the crushed glass of his home and offering genuine advice about how to move forward.

and to me what was so compelling about vex and percy both as individuals and as two people who fell in love with each other was that they both had walls for different reasons that functioned in very similar ways where they didn’t have to admit the things they knew/felt were missing in themselves. but by the end of their campaign those walls aren’t gone but they have, like, doors and windows now or something. and that’s present when we see them again from the more removed view of campaign 3, percy’s harshness softens for his daughter, vex helps bell’s hells but also ensured that should laudna bring delilah back then whitestone was protected and, god!!!! they’re perfect delicious characters genuinely and the way that matt makes the duality that defines those characters (and their relationship and whitestone itself) where they are stoic and cold and harsh but they’re also warm and kind and silly. that’s narrative that’s character creation and development that’s environmental storytelling that’s to be loved (and to love) is to be changed.

sorry but tonight’s 4sd has been fantastic and the group talking about the inherent shittiness of whitestone’s geographic and historic placement and the resonance of seeing vex and percy and percy’s advice to ashton has me thinking so many thought’s because. what if whitestone was already tending towards uninhabitability and what if it got worse when the briarwoods diminished even the warmth the sun tree could provide but. what if the last son of the ruling family returned and what if he fell in love and that was enough not to cancel out the harshness of whitestone but to amend it and add something to it. something something the mistress of the grey hunt protects whitestone from the harshness of the parchwood, something something percy’s speech to vex about why he gave her the one title she’d have to earn, something something vex was already doing the work of the mistress of the grey hunt simply by caring about and standing by percy — even before it was love — in the face of orthax and the briarwoods and death blast coffins and deals with devils.

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 83

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

Patreon 💜 Art Prints 🖤Books!

(Author's Notes)

Panel 1: Sometime later. Laudna sits outside on a swing she has made, looking forlorn and still a little sulky, letting her rat climb around in her hair. Evening is deepening into dusk around her.

Panel 2: She raises her head at the approach of a parade of lights appearing between the trees like will-o-the-wisps.

Panel 3: Quickly it becomes apparent that they aren’t fairies but lanterns and torches being held by the grim figures of an adventuring party emerging from the gloom. Sighting her, the leader, a man in armor, points in her direction and shouts.

Panel 4: (narrow, between wide black space where the violence has been elided) She tries to run, but her pursuers catch up with her.

Laudna: Come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Come back. Help me!

But Delilah does not.

Panel 5: Later. It’s raining. She is lying in the woods where she was struck down by the “heroes,” at the feet of an ancient statue of a robed figure broken and weathered beyond recognizability and partly sunken into the earth. A few crossbow bolts protrude from her chest and she is bleeding darkly from the slashes of blades. Her rat nuzzles at her in distress.

Panel 6: She stirs feebly, whimpering, as Delilah’s magic begins to crawl over her wounds, stitching them.

Delilah: Lie still, child. Let me mend you.

Laudna: ‘m sorry

Delilah: Shh. I know you are.

Panel 7: She climbs into the statue’s lap and buries her face in its skirts. The shadows of the surrounding forest surround her in an embrace.

Laudna: Please don’t go away again. I don’t want to be alone.

Delilah: I’m here. I won’t ever leave you.

Laudna: (quietly) I love you.

Delilah: And I you, darling.

[utilitycaster]

this is another "inspired broadly thoughts about veilguard, a game I haven't played" post (it is currently downloading!) but this time it's about, to be honest, epic/heroic fantasy in general, and Campaign 3 and especially Vox Machina.

I think having Vox Machina's mission kick off first chronologically (in a fun way - last to be introduced, but first to go) fits because while the Nein's story is about the change enacted by a small, determined group of people who rely utterly on each other, Vox Machina has always had powerful allies from their introduction to the audience, though not, to be fair, their inception in the home game.

Vox Machina's story in campaign 1 ends with Vasselheim behind them - they are the strike force, but they can call upon bastions defending the city. Devossa and members of the Slayer's Take join them in the final battle. Gilmore, Allura, and Kima have their backs. The same is true in their battle against Thordak, in which they're joined by Tal'Dorei's army, the Ashari, and again, Devossa, Zahra, and Kash. Whereas the Mighty Nein's most public and political victories are ones of mediation and crisis aversion taking place largely off the battlefield (the beacon, the reveal of the Angel of Irons cult, the treaty negotiations, and taking down Trent and the Volstrucker), Vox Machina's public victories concern threats to the realm that bring disparate groups together. (These themes continue quite nicely in the parties' post retirements, Vox Machina being comprised of key figures in Whitestone, the Tal'Dorei Council, Vasselheim, and of course the Ashari and the Mighty Nein's main institutional tie being to the Cobalt Soul.)

I'm very openly a Nein Girlie, but Vox Machina is also quite dear to my heart and I have a particular love for that aspect: for Vox Machina serving as the tip of a worldwide spear against existential threats. The world unites behind them, repeatedly, and they take that role seriously, dick jokes notwithstanding, and do not let their allies down. Indeed, I think the Briarwoods arc is a great example of them not letting their allies down even when they are let down by their allies. Vox Machina is often described as the most archetypal fantasy campaign, and I think that's valid, and there is something very satisfying and lovely about a Tolkien story in which the world comes together against great evil. I think those endings are often harder than endings like those the Mighty Nein had - a story of a small group succeeding against the odds tends to fit narrative patterns of, well, succeeding against the odds, whereas everyone banding together often comes with both victory and terrible sacrifice - but they are vitally important.

I've really loved the Exandrian Accord and the Grim Verity as factions within Campaign 3 - I'd honestly watch 5 more accord sessions and I'm not joking - and after seeing Vox Machina this episode, I hope that Bells Hells are able to honor their agreements the way Vox Machina has and continues to do so.

[ryanclaremont]

love like war.

Ryan would have thought that after the holidays the club would be been more calm, less popular as everyone gets int the swing of things. She's proven one with people booking tables or inquiring about events which is fantastic this is what she wanted, what she wanted for August's club. She gets everyone pencilled into the calendar, shares it during a staff meeting too and it feels like this year will be great for the club. It already seems promising.

On the side she's been working on helping plan the gala which has definitely been a bit more interesting. There's a mix of past Miss Briarwood winners and locals helping out and everyone has an opinion. Ryan contributes what she thinks will help, and not for her mother. People listen to her for the most part and there are some individuals that are not sure why she's here. Funny, because Ryan thinks that every time she's stuck in a meeting.

For the most part it's been okay and she gets to go back home to the apartment and tells August and Moon all the stupid shit people say. Speaking of the apartment, Ryan hasn't looked once at any other apartments and she's not sure if she's going to. Things have been going well living with August and well, maybe a little too well.

Ryan wipes down the bar top as people flood into the club and she greets them with a smile and an hello, grabbing beers and handing out shots. There's a DJ here tonight, and he's doing well. Everyone seems to be in a good vibe too.

[thegoodgayshit]

we are not talking about what Chetney said to Laudna last session enough.

"he's lost more than all of us"

Saying that as a justification on why orym should keep the sword to LAUDNA. The girl who watched as her family and herself were brutally murdered by the Briarwoods, then being risen from the dead and chased as far away from any semblance of home she could still have. The girl who lived alone in the woods for 30 years before getting anywhere close to a family.

Like yes. Laudna has Imogen and the rest of the hells. and yes, Orym lost his husband and father in law. But he still has a home. A purpose to fight for. A doting mother. A mentor who knows what he's gone through. A place to return to. Friends who would die for him both in and out of the hells.

I truly think in that moment, Chetney was more talking about how Orym's loss hit harder than some of their others. But god DAMN he couldn't have worded that in a way to isolate Laudna more.

And marisha ray with the fuckin "thank you. but do not ever speak to me about loss again." THAT VOICE. That crack at the end?? The way she could barely get it out she was so angry and sad??

Way to go for showing dnd players how to do "it's what my character would do" right. Fuckin out of this world delivery this episode.

[burr-ell]

What do you mean by 'trying to mighty nein-ify vm instead of having actual character moments'? Not intending to be hostile or aggressive, I just saw those tags and got curious.

That's okay! Mighty Nein-ification is a bit of a misnomer (especially because it's unnecessarily hostile to the Nein). The problem isn't so much making Vox Machina like the Mighty Nein (all indications are that VM was just as rough around the edges as the Nein were when they were starting out), it's that I think they retreated to old shorthands they were familiar with that work well with the Nein and don't work with VM in the time they had.

So when we first meet Vox Machina in the stream, they're already established and respected adventurers at level 9 sent on a quest by a member of the Council of Tal'dorei. They've already killed Brimscythe and the Dread Emperor and saved the Sovereign and his family; while we see their scrappier beginnings in the Origins comics, it's purely backstory in the campaign. With the Nein it's the opposite, where we actually follow them through their low-level adventures as they get to know each other, watching them argue and mistrust each other and slowly build up both their friendships and their clout within the political factions of Wildemount. We watch them go from a gang of slapdicks who no one likes or respects and are constantly fighting to a strong and cohesive team of movers and shakers.

Here's the problem: the cast is now producing an animated adaptation of Vox Machina's campaign, which is almost universally agreed to really pick up around episode 24, the beginning of the Briarwood arc. Between the slower-paced first 20 episodes and the red dragonborn in the room, the Briarwood arc makes the most sense as the starter story. We can't just jump right into that without taking some time to establish VM as a party, right? That's what the opening two-parter of season 1 is for: they need to establish who Vox Machina are as individuals and a party so we have a baseline understanding of them before following them through an iconic storyline. There are different ways they could do this!

And the way they chose to do it was "gang of slapdicks who no one likes or respects and are constantly fighting".

This would have been fine if they weren't starting with the Briarwood arc and leading into the Conclave arcs, which both require VM to have some rapport with each other and the Tal'Dorei Council to work. Instead VM are still on thin ice with the council and honestly don't give anyone a reason not to think of them that way even before everything goes wrong at the feast. (Like, I don't think Scanlan's antics in 1x03 are funny; I think they make him look like a dumbass and they make VM look like dumbasses by association.) Allura and Kima barely tolerate them and Allura is reluctant to speak in their defense when the Sovereign puts them under arrest. I can understand that they thought this kind of conflict would be more interesting, but this is the lead-in to the Briarwood arc. There's PLENTY of conflict here to be interesting! Why not try to build up Vox Machina as a competent party with friendly allies who struggle with but still overcome a difficult challenge, maybe straight-up open on them killing Brimscythe and then lead into a truncated Kraghammer arc?

Because this doesn't just make for a lackluster opening two-parter. Emon being so hostile to the party means they have very little investment in or connection to the city, and then for the Briarwood arc they spend the rest of their time in Whitestone. As a result, when the Conclave attacks, it lacks emotional weight. Keyleth has a line in season 2 about their home being destroyed that falls flat because Emon wasn't their home; they were kicked out of every tavern and multiple people pointed out how bad their reputation was. The lack of friendship with Kima and Allura makes their meeting in Season 2 Episode 5 very jarring, because they greet each other like old friends when they're not. (I think Seasons 2 and 3 did a good job developing Allura and Kima's friendship with VM, but this is work that should have had its foundation laid sooner.) When Keyleth asks the question of "why are we even together", it's never really answered in the emotional sense in which it's asked. Why are they together? Because at the eleventh hour they finally started acting competent, I guess. Don't get too attached to the idea of that theme, because it's not gonna come up again all season.

You see what I'm saying here? They didn't go for what would most efficiently tell the story in a way that made sense; they went for tropes—archetypal stories of scrappy underdogs pulling together for a common goal. And while it seems like a quick fix that solves the problem of distilling the first twelve levels of Vox Machina's campaign into a 12-episode season, in the long term it undercuts what the show intends to do later because the groundwork they laid was too focused on using familiar adventure story imagery to try to push audience reaction buttons. That's a problem that has hung over this show for three seasons now, and I think the metapigeons have come home to roost.

[locuas642]

About the Chroma Conclave

Now that they revealed the connection between Thordak and the twins, I can say it.

in the original stream, the Chroma Conclave as a group was responsible of having commited a personal offense against at least one of the members of Vox Machina (as oppose to the Briarwoods and Ripley who were Percy's personal nemesis).

Umbrasyl took Westruun.... Duh. but what the show changes was that Westruun was Pike's childhood home and where Wilhand brought Grog after he saved him. In other words, it was their childhood home. As you can guess, this also gave everyone further reason to want to liberate Westruun from Kevdak and made Grog's fight with him even more personal.

And in the original stream, Grog was the one who got the killing shot to Umbrasyl, fully liberating Westruun from those threatening it.

Vorugal, as I mentioned in another post, killed Tiberius. Which despite how much of a bad person his player was, the characters did take Tiberius death hard and fought to defeat Vorugal as much to stop the Chroma Conclave as it was to liberate the ruins of Draconia.

Raishan was Keyleth's most personal enemy in the entire campaign, Furious by what Raishan did. and Raishan........ that might still come up.

and Finally Thordak was the culmination of Vex and Vax's backstory of having lost their mother as a result of Thordak's rampage. And so it was almost fitting that Vex was the one to shatter the crystal while Vax was the one to kill him.

But I understand that particular change to give the shattering to pike rather than Vex. and only half of it is the need to give Pike her much deserved focus for the battle she had to miss.

the other thing is that each of the members of Vox machina have been able to "claim" the kill, obtaining the title of Dragonslayer.

Grog against Brymscise (originally Vax's)

Scanlan against Umbrasyl (Originally Grog's)

Vex & Keyleth against Vorugal (Originally Vex's)

and now Pike and Vax against Thordak (Originally Vex & Vax's)

I think you can tell where I am going with this.

since there is only one dragon remaining, and only one person yet to be able to claim the title of Dragonslayer.

[quietblueriver]

**Update: now 1k longer, edited, and with two additional nights' worth of obsessive CR thoughts. Much like how to hit post/publish without going back to change a million things, I have yet to figure out the line between rb and "so different it deserves a new post" and maybe never will!

Also now on AO3.

----

Three cheers for the surprisingly lengthy, emotionally complex conversation in Ep. 96. Still thinking about that devastating rooftop moment, and never not thinking about Imogen Temult, so here's this, in which Imogen visits her favorite place without her favorite person, gets a surprise visitor, and has some thoughts about Laudna and their future. Some light spoilers for Ep. 96.

-

There was a cool breeze ruffling the fabric of her skirt against the skin of her leg, and Imogen took a moment to bask, eyes closed, face turned up to the warmth of the sun. When she blinked open her eyes, she found exactly what she expected: the old oak that took up a corner of the sprawling yard, a faded-white bench swing hanging from one sturdy branch; the little shelter for firewood, empty at the moment, a green wheelbarrow parked just beside it; the raised garden beds bursting with color that framed a pathway to the porch steps where she sat. The most familiar place she had never been. 

Home. 

“Of course,” she breathed out. Her mind’s decision to bring her here was at once almost unbearably cruel and a kindness she was surprised she could grant herself, and tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her palms over the smooth, dark-stained wood of the step next to her hip.

The sound of her own voice made her realize exactly how quiet the world around her was–no birds chirping, empty hitching posts, bees gone from the thriving patch of wildflowers. The house behind her waited still and free of the whistle of the kettle and shuffle of stockinged feet, missing the absent-minded humming and chorus of mundane thoughts that made Imogen feel most at home.  

 “Of course,” she said again, a little louder and a lot more resigned. 

It didn’t seem right, that the chasm in Imogen’s stomach, already bottomless, could somehow grow deeper, but that was what was happening, her mind returning to Laudna’s skin under her lips on that rooftop, Laudna’s body wrapped in blankets and shifting quietly away from Imogen. 

She felt like a coward, letting her go again, flying back through that window, turning her own body into itself in bed. She could’ve stayed, should’ve stayed, should’ve pushed. But then, it was Laudna’s choice. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Giving Laudna the choice, the control, the autonomy she’d had taken from her for so long? 

This wasn’t the first time she’d prepared herself to lose Laudna. She had watched FCG, well-intentioned, try to force her back to them at Whitestone. She had understood, even as she’d wanted to kill them a little. But when it was her turn, Imogen made sure Laudna knew it was her choice and that Imogen would never try to take that from her. It was still true. Imogen loved Laudna far too much to try to force her hand. 

Now, though. Now there was the green ghost of Delilah Briarwood, sharp voice chasing Laudna’s like a wolf after its prey. Closer and closer and closer. 

It felt less and less like giving Laudna a choice and more and more like leaving her to be eaten. Imogen worried, always, about what that bitch was saying to Laudna, what she was doing to Laudna. She worried about how much influence she had and about whether Laudna could see it. 

But then Laudna had been the one to say that she didn’t know if there was much point in distinguishing between them anymore. 

That was it for Imogen. It was one thing if Laudna couldn’t see Delilah, couldn’t understand that her choices might not be fully her own. But Laudna knew. Laudna knew she wasn’t alone, knew Delilah was more than just a passenger, and Imogen had done all she could to be clear about Delilah’s lies and Laudna’s own power, to offer Laudna perspective on who she was to Imogen without Delilah. 

And with all of that, she had made her choice. Imogen didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how Laudna could see Delilah for what she was, for what she wanted, and still believe she could control her, still choose to try. Then again, of course she didn’t. It was so fucking messy and it had been for longer than Imogen had been alive, and anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice to understand; it was her choice to respect.

She could do that. It had broken her, was still breaking her, but she would always, always respect what Laudna chose for herself. She had nodded, cracked open on that rooftop. She had accepted what she heard and what it meant, for Laudna and for her and for the future she had thought they both wanted. 

I’m going to miss our little cottage, though.

She hadn’t meant it as a shot. It was grief over something she thought, hoped, Laudna might be grieving, too. It’s not like Imogen thought Laudna’s decision had been easy. 

Still, she hadn’t expected the look she received in return, the surprised, broken stare, the shaking sob and flood of ichor that Laudna tried to stem. It was like Laudna hadn’t realized that their future was there to lose. Maybe she hadn’t. Laudna never did seem to understand how much Imogen loved her, no matter how clear Imogen tried to make it. Maybe she’d heard Imogen’s very real dreams as passing thoughts. Maybe Imogen’s concession of their future had been the first time Laudna had seen it clearly. 

Or maybe things were right fucked up, and Laudna needed to cry about it. 

Either way, Imogen wasn’t fool enough to expect that Laudna’s possible moment of comprehension would change anything. Sure, she’d sounded different with the Hells, less like she was expecting death, a dead end, and more like she wanted to take back control, but Laudna also knew the rest of the Hells were less likely to respect her choices than Imogen, that any hint of her willingness to let Delilah take control, even on a suicide mission, might lead them to push Laudna away. Imogen had no doubt that Laudna loved her, had no doubt, really, that if she was right about Laudna’s realization that it meant something, but Imogen wasn’t hanging her hope on that. 

Laudna had made her choice.

“So,” she said aloud, voice soft as she took in the green grass stretched before her, the fence line separating their cottage from the forest, Laudna’s thriving tomatoes and okra, supported in their little cages. “Just me then.” 

And wasn’t that a dangerous realization. 

Because Imogen’s whole life was about control. Her mind, her body, her emotions, she knew all of them needed to be held tightly, that letting go meant danger for anyone around her. But here, now, all alone? The small, steady voice of reason inside of her lost to the reality of her isolation. “Just me,” she whispered, and in a snap, her scars burned, light flashing under and around her skin, tears falling hot down her cheeks. A storm of fear and anger and desperation and hurt let loose. The bursts of lightning that crackled around her did not set the house on fire. She might be alone, but she could never, would never, hurt what was theirs.

Instead, she stood, still burning, and walked to the top of the stairs, staring at the post that ran from the tin roof through the floor of the porch. She considered, watched little bolts strike out harmlessly at the porch and the railing. 

She’d been six years old the first time she wrecked the cleaning station in the barn, tiny, furious body pushing buckets and tack and brushes, flipping the table in a show of strength that followed her for years through drunken stories from the other stable hands. At her daddy’s hard order, she had stomped her way to her room, slamming the door with tears streaming down her face.

Imogen’s daddy hadn’t understood a lot of things about her, but he’d understood her that night. Relvin, who had all of her anger and none of her magic, had come to get her from her room and taken her to the back of the old storage barn, where he’d used a rafter to hang a densely packed sack of hay at her height. He’d taken her hand, still small enough to fit fully in his, and shown her how to make a fist. 

Now, just like he’d taught her, she curled her scarred fingers and folded her thumb across the outside, squared up to a cut of wood that was absolutely going to win this fight, and swung as hard as she could. Sure enough, with a grunt and a flash of pain, Imogen pulled back to find her knuckles bloodied and the wood smeared with dark red but as solid as ever. She contemplated her unblemished right hand, and it was only the sound of rustling grass that stopped her from another round. 

Her head shot up and toward the corner of the house and the source of the noise. She was in her own mind, her own dream, but that didn’t mean shit, really. She wiped at her eyes, hissing at the pain and glad for it and for the blood now surely on her cheeks, and she let the heat crackle the air around her. She was ready and out of patience for any bullshit. No matter the evidence of her weakness now marring the wood next to her, this place was sacred, and she was going to be pissed if somebody had come here to fight. 

Imogen relaxed, air cooling, as she took in the figure that loped toward her. He was horrifying, a mass of patchy dark hair and exposed bone, dripping ichor and torn flesh. His eyes glowed and his deadly teeth showed through his half-torn jaw. As Imogen walked down the steps to wait, she felt deep fondness at the wagging tail and lolling tongue that felt so incongruous to the rest of the hellbeast. Fun scary. 

“Hey, baby boy,” she said affectionately as he got closer, and his tail wagged harder at her voice. She leaned forward when he made it to her, cupping his face to scratch behind his jaw, wincing at the pain in her hand. His fur was mostly intact under her fingers, although the jaw itself was a blend of bone and ichor and random thin patches of hair against Imogen’s palms. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

As if in answer, he pulled back and whined, licked at her cuts and the forming bruise, the familiar sticky, black liquid cooling and covering the split skin. 

“I’m okay,” she reassured, aware that even beyond the evidence of violence, the intermittent purple static around her body probably wasn’t particularly convincing. She was right, it seemed–the tilt of his head was skeptical, and he huffed at her loudly, but his eyes were fond. Imogen saw Laudna in him so clearly in that moment that she lost her breath for a second. 

“Fuck.” 

Another whine, another lick, and Imogen conceded the point. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’m not doin’ so good. You come all this way just to check up on me?”

He moved forward and pressed his head into her thighs, and she scratched at the parts of his back and ribs that she could, stopping when she noticed the pain in her hand was gone. Flexing, she pulled it back to look more closely, wiping the blood and ichor off carelessly on her shorts. Sure enough, the skin was healed, and Caviar was staring at her, tongue hanging from the open side of his mouth. 

She could’ve healed it herself. This was her mind, after all, and it wasn’t one of those dreams where she felt like a passenger. She could’ve stopped the pain entirely, stopped it before it ever started. She hadn’t.

Not as herself, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. It only made sense that the kindest, gentlest parts of herself would manifest this way. It had been Laudna who taught her how to love herself, and it was Laudna she wanted with her now. 

Big eyes blinked up at her, and just like the cottage, just like her knuckles, Caviar’s presence was a welcome wound, and one she’d inflicted on herself. 

Imogen fought a sob, only half successfully, and Caviar whined again. “Kinda fucked up, sweet thing,” she rasped. A drop of ichor fell from his tongue to the packed dirt in front of the stairs. She wiped her eyes again and sighed, reaching down to smooth the hair between his eyes with her thumb. “How about a little walk in the garden, yeah? And then maybe a snack?”

-

It took a minute to pull off her boots, toss them a little carelessly on the uncharacteristically empty shelf inside the door. She had nothing to hang on the shiny, empty brass hooks that waited above it, and she didn’t dwell, following Caviar through the living room to the little kitchen in the back. The kettle rested on the stove, and she filled it and set it to boil before moving to the shelves on the opposite wall. 

“Okay, Cavvy. Let’s see what we’ve got, hmm?”

There was a glass jar filled with cookies that Imogen knew were for Cav; they were fresh, and they smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon. He scarfed down two happily while she found the tea leaves. She turned to the shelves near the window where she knew her favorite mug was waiting for her next to Laudna’s. Her hand fell back to her side as she took them in, her mug and Laudna’s and the small collection of others, all in a neat and tidy line with their rims up. Imogen stared until the water boiled and the kettle whistled, stared until Caviar bumped her leg.

She put a hand absently on his head, felt bone under her ring and pinky fingers. “Your mama did that,” she said evenly, blinking and looking down at him. “This is our house.” He pressed up into her hand, and she scratched obligingly. “This is our house.” 

She ignored her own mug and pulled Laudna’s down, setting it on the table and filling the strainer in the yellow ceramic teapot. She poured the water and waited for the leaves to steep and then sipped her tea in silence as Caviar settled by her feet. A blue tea towel embroidered with a small white oleander in the corner rested over the top of one chair, smudged with orange-tinted batter and smelling of cinnamon. 

Imogen never had been a very good baker. 

-

“I think Orym was lyin’ to her.” 

Caviar’s head rested on Imogen’s thigh, just above her knee, as she lay with her arms spread wide on the worn blue and gray rug in their living room. He lifted it slightly at her words, and she brought a hand down to finger the tip of his good ear, the one without a chunk missing, the way that he liked. 

“I know he loves her,” she assured, and Caviar pushed himself up on his massive paws and shifted so that his body was pressed into hers, Imogen’s arm resting on his surprisingly dry, largely exposed ribs. “I don’t mean that. I just,” she traced bone with her index finger, staring at the wicker basket full of yarn beside the chair that Laudna favored, a cousin to the one at Zhudanna’s, “I heard them talkin’ about her, about trust, and I think Orym…He knows Delilah won’t let him close if she doesn’t trust him. He knows she’s listnin’ whenever she can. It’s about Delilah. Always fuckin’ Delilah.” 

She rolled onto her side, moving her arm so she could rest her head on her bicep and curling the other across Cav’s body. He huffed out a sigh, breath a harsher reminder of death than his mother’s, decomposition to her sweet decay. Imogen didn’t mind it. 

“He doesn’t wanna hurt Laudna.” Goosebumps formed where his cold body made contact with the exposed skin of her legs. “But he will.”

A low growl started in Caviar’s chest and Imogen made a soothing noise, noticed a stray sock under Laudna’s chair. “I know, baby. You’re a good boy.”

He was a good boy. He’d come as Delilah gained a better foothold, Imogen knew, a manifestation of Laudna’s anger and fear and hurt and power, her desire to protect.

And maybe Laudna saw him as further evidence of Delilah’s power and usefulness but Imogen knew better. Delilah would protect them only as much as it benefitted her, and it was a complicated balance when weighed against the need for Laudna to give her as little trouble as possible, sure, but one that definitely would’ve left at least a few of the Hells dead and buried several times over.

There was no calculation for Laudna. Caviar sprang readily, her body literally tearing itself open to be of use, and he snarled and snapped for the people Laudna loved. He was Laudna’s beast. 

His hackles now were built from Imogen, from love and a desire to protect that Laudna did not often extend to herself. She liked the look of it on him. The growl continued, a comforting rumble, as Imogen spelled Laudna’s name against his fur. “We’ll keep an eye on it.” 

-

She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, but Caviar made the decision for her, interrupting her carpet brooding and disappearing around the corner to the staircase after a pointed look back at her. She followed, resigned, but stopped halfway there, eyes stuck on the pair of boots next to her own and the one now-occupied brass hook. She knew them, boots black and worn and scarf maroon and soft, big enough to use as a shawl if she wanted, Laudna’s frame so small it wrapped around her easily. She took a half-step toward them but at the impatient bark from upstairs, she tore herself away and started to climb.

He was waiting for her by Laudna’s bedside table, which was exactly as it should be–a paperback novel, spine bent so many times the title was hardly legible between the yellowed cracks, sat waiting next to another wicker basket, this one containing an embroidery hoop and some fabric. A small pin cushion peeked out of the top, clearly custom-made, the glinting metal protruding from the stuffed rat skull making Pate look even more disturbing than usual.

A white quilt with an intricate pattern of overlapping rings covered the bed, the green and gold and blue and purple striking but not garish. She sat on her side, smoothed a hand over the fabric, felt the dips and ridges of the stitches in the pattern. Caviar’s deadly claws clicked against the wood as he made his way to her, and she bit her lip for a minute before scooting over onto Laudna’s side, breathing in the smell of her on the pillow and patting the bed next to her. With menacing grace, Caviar joined her and spun once before settling, nose tucked under his tail, the curve of his spine just touching Imogen’s torso. 

She watched the rise and fall of his body, eyes moving across the ragged realities of him. A hound of ill omen, and he looked like one. He was fierce and violent, a weapon, but Laudna, who knew what it was to be used and feared, who didn’t seem to be able to see him fully as herself, had given him a name, opened her chest for him and fussed over him and, at one point, asked Imogen whether putting him in a sweater would be “undignified.” 

“Your mama’s ridiculous,” she said quietly, gratified when he remained still and unbothered. “I’m very in love with her.” A beat, her palm scrunching the quilt at her side. “I thought she knew, y’know? I thought she heard me when I…” 

She flattened the fabric again, traced one of the rings with two fingers and thought again of Laudna’s face on that rooftop. What had she thought Imogen meant all those times? What had she meant when she said Imogen could have this? That they could have this? 

She turned her head, ear against Laudna’s pillow, and stared at her own bedside table. It didn’t have anything on it aside from a small lantern, but it wouldn’t, would it? Laudna would hand her the book, and Imogen would read aloud as she worked on whatever project or rested her head on Imogen’s stomach. 

The chasm widened this time, maybe finally out of depth to reach, and its growth brought along the urge to reach over and shatter the lantern. Instead she turned her head to the other side, took in Laudna’s dresser pushed under the window, the pitcher and glasses, the glazed speckled bowl full of feathers and small bones, and a lonely sock waiting for its pair forgotten under Laudna’s wingback. 

“Real subtle,” she said to herself, less quiet than she had been with the annoyance seeping in, because what the fuck was she supposed to do about it anyway? Caviar remained undisturbed. 

Rolling her eyes, Imogen took a few deep breaths and took stock. She very well might wreck herself again, thinking about how she couldn’t have this, trying to understand why. On the other hand, she was laying in an imaginary bed in an imaginary cottage next to an imaginary version of the monster that sometimes jumped out of her girlfriend’s chest, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave this place or the little pieces of Laudna in it, so it seemed more likely than not that the wreck had never actually stopped. 

She did not fight the turn from that thought back to Laudna on the roof. 

I’m a dead end. Laudna had said that phrase several times in the last few weeks, and Imogen hated it, scoffed at it every time, but she should’ve understood sooner that nobody calling herself a dead end really believed she had choices. Not real ones, anyway.

The only thing that was certain for Laudna was Delilah, and at the root of it all, she believed her choice was Delilah or nothing. 

And Imogen had been clear about how she felt about Delilah.

You told me once that you hate the idea of her watching you, watching us. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed?

She hadn’t heard that question for what it was: Can you really love me this way?  

Imogen shifted on the bed, hot and anxious, and Caviar whined lowly, displeased at the movement. She ran a hand through the fur at his shoulder and then stood, pacing the space between the bed and dresser.

Laudna, shaking and unable to believe that Delilah had chosen her for a reason. Laudna, crying slow, black tears as Imogen told her she hated that Delilah was there, watching them, when just a few minutes before Laudna had admitted she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Delilah any longer.

Imogen had let this go because she thought Laudna had made her choice, had all the information and chose her own path, and Imogen didn’t want to try to take that, but she also should’ve known that for Laudna it hadn’t felt like a real choice.

“It’s not takin’ her choice to help her understand that she has one.” Her voice was an agitated murmur, and she heard the shift of Caviar’s body on the bed, saw that he had uncurled and was watching her, still mostly relaxed but attentive. 

Fuck. Fuck. Of course Laudna couldn’t imagine their future, because she couldn’t imagine herself without Delilah, and Imogen hated her, openly and vocally and with all her heart. Delilah, who was there all the time, who had been there for thirty years, and for most of that had been Laudna’s only constant, her only company, her only protector. Delilah, who’d had all the time in the world to convince Laudna that she should be grateful to have her, that she was alive only because Delilah let her be, that she was walking around purely on the luck of the draw. 

Of course she thought her value was Delilah, thought the best she could do would be to try to take as much of Delilah’s power in service to her friends, to Imogen, as she could, even if it meant she herself would disappear. Imogen knew Delilah must love that, must love Laudna’s thoughts about self-sacrifice. The bitch.

A growl issued from the bed, and Imogen turned again to the hound, whose eyes were on her, his body now in a rigid, ready line and his lip raised in a snarl. Sighing, Imogen sat, offering her hand for him to sniff.

“I know. I know. I hate it, too.” The growling slowed although he remained tense, ready, teeth glinting. “I don’t think this is somethin’ we can fix on our own, baby. We can’t scare her away from your mama.”

But she had to go. Or, they had to give Laudna the option, a real option, to live without her, so that she felt like the choices in front of her were more than just smoke and mirrors to Delilah’s stone.

“But we’ve got help, don’t we?” She kept her voice gentle and flipped her hand slowly until his cold nose was moving along her palm. “Lots of people who love your mama. And lots of people who hate that woman.”

No matter Orym’s fears, Imogen knew Fearne had spoken for all of them when she said they’d kill Delilah as many times as it took. They just had to figure out how.

Imogen could work on that.

Well.

There were some things they had to do first, but if they survived Predathos, surely the Tempest, surely all of those people at Whitestone who hated Delilah so much, would jump at the chance to help get rid of her for good. Lord Percival was kind of a dick, but Lady Vex’ahlia seemed to have him under control, and if they couldn't help, they had to know people. Someone could help, and Imogen would absolutely fucking leverage Ruidus and Predathos and everything the Bells had done and sacrificed to get what they needed. 

They could make a plan, and Laudna could decide how she wanted to live her life. Yeah, it would hurt badly for Laudna to choose Delilah again, but at least then she and Laudna could both be sure it was a real choice. Laudna was worth the risk. Always. 

In the meantime, Imogen could hold onto this for the both of them. She wanted this, and she was ready to fight for it if Laudna wanted it, too. The spark of hope she'd tried to snuff out earlier flared back to life, and she let herself start to believe that Laudna did want it, would want it, would fight right beside her if she believed it could be real. Maybe she just needed a little hope too. Imogen could share.

Caviar licked at her, and she let him, moving to lie back down as he moved away from the edge of the bed and relaxed a little.

She put a hand on one of his front paws, and he raised it up, laying it over her arm, the rough pads scraping her skin. “We’re gonna try this again, okay? I’m gonna try this again.” Hard bone and wet sinew pressed against the inside of her elbow as he lay his head and neck over her, a comforting weight. “For Laudna.”

A bird chirped happily outside their window, and Imogen closed her eyes. 

She woke in their bed, still facing away, still curled into herself, and she turned immediately, reached out to Laudna as she stared at the sharp point of her shoulder and the plane of her back. 

Laudna? 

The response was immediate, concerned. Imogen? Are you alright? 

I love you.  

Laudna turned, and Imogen watched her eyes take her in, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that made Imogen itch to reach out and soothe her.

When their eyes met, Imogen put a hand between them. 

I love you so much. No matter what. Even if she’s with you forever, with us forever, I don’t care. I want you, okay? If you want that, want me, I’m yours. 

She was crying, dark stains moving down pale cheeks, and she was still bundled into herself, small and in her own blankets. Imogen eyed her hand between them and thought about choice. 

I…I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s something you want.

Nearly immediately, Laudna’s hand was out of her blankets and on Imogen's, cold and perfect. 

It is. It is. I…I thought you would want space. After…

Imogen shifted so that their fingers laced, traced her thumb over the skin at Laudna's wrist. 

I don’t want space from you, darlin’. I want…

She stopped because it wasn’t the time for a full conversation, but she shifted closer, lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Laudna’s, did it again when she heard Laudna’s small sound of relief. She laced their fingers again, thumb over knuckles this time, and moved closer still, until their feet were nearly touching, sighed happily when a cold ankle moved to rest on hers. 

Caviar came to visit in my dream. 

Oh? Laudna lifted her eyes from where they’d been fixed on their joined hands. Tell me about it?  

We went explorin’, she offered, and started with Laudna’s garden.