#Critical role fanfiction

[primasveraas-writing]

my soul finds rest / in you alone

C3E114 spoilers

—————

“I'm quite tired of watching you die.”

The words are clipped and quiet, in the usual disdained-Percy way. And then Vex looks up at her husband, and there are tears streaming down his face, dripping off his chin, and his shoulders shake.

Vex stands and wraps him in her arms. She presses her face into his trembling shoulder, and swallows back a sob.

“I just want to see the children again.” Vex’ahlia aches for them, a dead weight settled on her chest. She’s tired in the way she’d hoped never to feel again- even with the pain gone, an exhaustion lingers that trumps even the haze of post-labor and an hours-old baby. No matter the way she’s died, Vex has found, coming back has always been the most painful events of her life.

She wants the soft sleep that comes with the blissful exhaustion of young children. The quiet, gentle kind, when her eyes would flutter closer while one or more of her babies lay on her chest and Percy either watched on or curled up beside her.

But she’s older now, and her children have grown, and she’s still tired.

“I want to go home,” she says, and the tears begin. Percy rocks her as they stand and begins to hum a lullaby that he’d sung to each of their children. With that, Vex knows he understands- that Percy knows what she means by home, that her deepest desire isn’t just Whitestone but five children and a group of friends and a brother and a mother who will never all be together at once. That she yearns for days long past and futures that could never be, that the world, which they sacrificed so much to save, has become close to wholly unbearable again.

[the-kaedageist]

It is years before her hard work pays off. The time is worth it.

She’s done her homework well. She figures out the best time to approach, when her son will feel least threatened. Not when he’s alone. Preferably when he’s in a public place, providing as much safety to him as to her. After five years, the last thing she wants to do is spook him badly enough that she has to track him down again.

She has lived over a millennium. That doesn’t stop her from pausing outside the crowded tavern in Ank’harel, shrouded in the image of a high elf, her heart echoing in her ears. A millennium of life has been nothing without taking risks – but it has been centuries since she’s risked her heart.

She takes a final breath and ducks inside.

The tavern is loud. A band in the corner plays a Taldorian jig, which she recognizes from her three months spent negotiating a trade agreement in Whitestone. Raucous chanting rings from the opposite corner, where a halfling woman and a purple-skinned tiefling are chugging from enormous mugs. She’s so appalled by the drinking competition that it takes her several seconds to turn her attention back in that direction, realizing that they’re exactly the group she’s looking for.

“HA!” shouts the halfling, audible even over the band as she slams down the ceramic drinking mug; it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter on impact. “Suck it, Kingsley!”

The tiefling lowers his mug half a second later, groaning. “You’re cheating.”

She takes a moment to survey the rest of the group. There are nine of them in total, gathered around a long rectangular table running along the length of the side wall.

Next to the tiefling, a dark-skinned human woman in blue waves a similar mug, shouting, “it’s my turn next! Bring it on!” A larger woman with striking hair is staring at this next challenger with clear fondness as she sips from a clear glass. On the other side of the table, a tall pink firbolg and half-orc are deep in conversation, ignoring their companions. A blue-skinned tiefling woman braids the firbolg’s hair and cheers at the drinkers.

On the halfling’s other side, a redheaded human man is tapping his fingertips to the music. He leans against the man she seeks.

She takes a moment to study her son. He’s completely undisguised, his hair a tad longer but just as carefully styled as she remembers, his ears dangling with silver jewelry. From her surveillance, she knows he ordinarily operates in disguise; he clearly has decided to forgo caution here, on another continent surrounded by his friends.

She expects him to look uncomfortable or displeased at the antics of the group – but he is laughing, leaning his forehead into the redheaded human’s shoulder, a flash of fang revealed in his open joy.

In over one hundred and twenty years, she’s never seen him smile like that. It is startling, unbalancing; had she ever truly known him?

Read the rest on AO3 (4,793 words)

[lavendertheys]

Since you’re CEO of autistic Imogen just HOW do you feel about the What Doesn’t Break implication that Imogen spent enough time seeking out Laudna’s mind before the townsfolk came to run her out of town that she threw herself into the middle of that conflict like they were already old friends? Because it makes me absolutely feral.

IT'S A WHOLE LOT, FRIEND.

On my first read I honestly thought that Imogen made all those choices and subsequent in the moment. But upon a few rereads it does sound a lot more like Imogen noticed Laudna without even knowing who or what she was noticing, and kept it on her radar out of hopeful curiosity.

Imagine being aware of some blip of mysterious calm, not understanding it but inherently trusting it anyway. And then the townsfolk start whispering about a hag in the woods, and you just roll your eyes because their paranoia is unending and tiresome and rarely based on any legitimate threat. And then one day that paranoia escalates into an angry mob that heads off in some very intentional direction, and you only follow so you can see their faces when the hunt turns up nothing at all.

But at some point, in between all the frenzied thoughts about their prey and all of your own thoughts about their idiocy, you realize something that makes your stomach drop:

The further they go, the closer that blip gets.

You move faster and throw yourself into the procession and keep your mental walls up as best you can, but you already know you'll deal with any amount of pain just to make sure that blip doesn't go away. So far it hasn't, and it's still getting stronger and clearer with every step forward, and you wonder what could possibly be waiting for you on the other side of this swarm--

It's a person.

A woman, you guess but make a note to confirm later, who's pale as moonlight and visibly gaunt beneath her tattered but beautiful dress. She's frankly stunning, but what hits you much harder is her expression: not a trace shock or surprise that these people are gathered in front of her, but the purest and most profound sadness you've ever seen someone wear on their face. And the thing is, that kind of sadness should be loud, should be screaming and wailing its way through your tentatively open mind; but no matter how directly you focus, your find nothing.

(Well, that's not completely true, because underneath all the layers of breathless hollering is the faintest, simplest, most peaceful melody you've ever heard.)

There's nothing in all of Exandria that could sound like that and have even a lick of evil in it, you decide within your next heartbeat, and start to shrug between bodies and duck around torches until there's nothing left between you and this individual you know nothing about except that their mind doesn't hurt.

(You imagine what it would feel like if all these people went away, if it was just you and the woman, if it could actually be possible to share a life with someone that didn't revolve around pain and self-control and being tolerated.)

That impossible dream is what carries you forward, turns you around, and spreads your arms wide like your daddy trying to wrangle an over-excited chicken.

"No. Don't you dare."

You've never belonged in Gelvaan, you understand now, but rather between Gelvaan and her.

[sunstone-smiles]

The Legendary Vox Machina Tickle Fight

Original request (from 🦋 Anon): "LE GASP!!!! UR A FAN OF VOX MACHINA TOO 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱 Omggggg can you PLEEEEEASE do day 18 tickle fight with the Vox Machina group? They're all so cute together and I'd love to see that!"

Author’s note: Omg, this turned into a huge fic, but I have no regrets, Lol. Here’s Day 18 of Tickletober: “Tickle fight” from August’s Prompt List! I hope you enjoy!

Series: The Legend of Vox Machina

Characters: Pike, Grog, Scanlan, Keyleth, Vex, Vax, Percy, and Trinket

Word count: 4,585

Summary: The Vox Machina crew is having a boring day, so Scanlan attempts to lighten the mood, but Grog’s misunderstanding of one of Scanlan’s words soon turns into a playful fight between the party.  Enjoy!

---

It’s just that kind of day, where the Vox Machina crew gets to relax with one another, but they’re teetering on the edge of drab boredom. They don’t want to go out. Too much effort. So whatever is available in their current cozy sitting room is what keeps them occupied.

Pike, standing on a chair so she can see better over a wooden table, cups a pair of dice in her hands; the sound of the dice clicking can be heard as she shakes them. Grog sits across from her with the table height at his stomach due to his large size. The muffled collision of dice can be heard in his hands as well.

“Ready, Grog?” Pike asks her friend.

“Ready!”

At the same time, they throw their dice onto the table. Pike counts the two numbers on her dice quickly. “I got a six!”

“A three! I win!” Grog celebrates.

“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but six is higher than three,” Pike says sweetly, understanding that her friend has difficulty with numbers.

“Aww…” Grog deflates a little. 

“It’s okay, buddy! We can try a different game.”

Grog leans back in his chair like all the muscles in his body have gone limp. “But we’ve already tried so many. I’m bored.” 

“Heh,” Pike leans her elbow on the table, “Can’t blame you there, buddy.”

“Don’t worry, everyone! Your savior is here!” Scanlan walks into the room, making a performance out of his entrance. He runs up to the same wooden table Pike and Grog are at, hops up onto a chair and onto the table like it was a stage and he was a vendor. “I saw that it was a little dreary in here today, so I know just how to lighten the mood,” Scanlan moves his eyebrows up and down when he says “mood.”

“Oh goody, more mind numbing dirty jokes,” Vex says from her seat across the room. Trinket’s head is in her lap as she passes the time by brushing his fur. Vax sits in a separate chair next to her, polishing his daggers. Meanwhile, Percy draws in his sketchbook as he sits in a chair up against the front wall near the doorframe, while Keyleth sits next to him in another chair and touches up the leaves of a potted plant.

“No no, nothing dirty,” Scanlan replies. “I have tailored this joke to be pristine and appropriate. Ahem!” Scanlan clears his throat loudly. 

“What do you call a cow that’s good at playing an instrument?” Scanlan asks his crowd of friends. He waits and looks around at each of them to keep them in suspense. Then, he answers. “A Moo-sician! Eh? Eh?” he winks and elbows the air.

All of his friends slowly look at each other before looking back up at Scanlan, unamused and in total silence. If crickets were in the room, they would be chirping.

Scanlan puts his hands on his hips. “What? Nothing? Tough crowd.”

“It sounds like you need to get better material, my friend,” Vax shows a brief smile.

“Yes, I would think you of all people would come up with better material than simple puns, Scanlan,” Percy teases.

“I don’t know. I thought it was a little funny,” Keyleth admits.

Scanlan gestures an appreciative hand to the Ashari. “Thank you, Keyleth! But as for the rest of you! How did you not find it funny?! That was one of my best rib-ticklers!”

Grog places a finger to his chin. “Oooh, wait! No wonder no one laughed, Scanlan!” Grog exclaims. The goliath stands from his seat and walks around the table to be behind Scanlan. “That wasn’t a rib-tickler! You got to use your hands. Like this!” Grog finishes his sentence by swiftly moving his hands under Scanlan’s arms and tickling his ribs. The smaller man jumps with a yelp in surprise and throws his elbows down to his sides. 

“Grohohohog!” Scanlan already begins giggling, “I didn’t mehehehean it literally-hehehe! It’s a figure ohohohof speech!”

Grog tilts his head, genuinely confused, “You’ve lost me.”

Pike perks up, a grin brightening her features like the glow of her divine magic. “Oh, yeah! Now this is something exciting!” She stands up straight like she was preparing to charge into a battle. 

“Tickle fight!!!” Pike calls out with the same ecstatic tone as if she was announcing a tavern brawl for everyone to see. She leaps onto the table and rushes over to Scanlan. 

“Grog, hold him for me!” she exclaims.

“You’ve got it, buddy!” Grog keeps his hands under Scanlan’s arms, easily holding the bard in place as his fingers wiggle against his ribs.

“Nohoho, no, no! Pihihihikehehehe!” Scanlan’s laughter increases when Pike joins in and scribbles at his sides. Scanlan curls himself to the side and tucks his face in his shoulder as Pike and Grog successfully team attack him. Scanlan’s joke may have not lightened the dull mood of the room, but his own laughter certainly does.

“Heh,” Vax chuckles as he watches from the sidelines. “Too bad for you, Scanlan. Looks like you’ve waged a war with Pike and Grog.”

“Remember our scuffles that usually turned into tickle fights?” Vex smiles at her brother.

“Ah, yes. You mean the ones I always won?” Vax returns a smug grin.

“Excuse me?” Vex says, playfully offended. “If I recall, you are more ticklish than I. I’d have you begging for mercy in seconds.” Vex places Trinket’s brush on her seat, keeping her eyes trained on Vax.

Vax places his dagger on the table and leans forward, keeping his grin and his eyes on Vex. “I beg to differ, Stubby.”

“Well, I’ll show you, Scrawny!” Vex exclaims and lunges her hands at Vax, immediately getting a solid scribble to his ribs. Vax yelps as the pulse of ticklishness hits his form, momentarily paralyzing him before he clamps his arms down to his sides, then shifts tactics to try and shove his sister away.

“Vehehehehex!” the male twin leans himself off his chair, then crashes to the floor. Vex pounces down after him and tickles his ribs from behind, causing Vax to release a secondary burst of giggles before he curls up and rolls onto his back to attempt to grapple his sister’s wrists. He leans his head back and kicks his legs behind her.

“See, now what did I tell you, dear brother? You’re still the more ticklish one,” Vex teases and easily slips her hands from Vax’s grasp to continue tickling him. There’s no follow up response from Vax except a continuous stream of giggles and a loud snort. Knowing the sound he just made, he curls himself onto his side and tries to hide his face in his arm.

“Aww, and you still snort too. How adorable,” Vex lays the teases on thick.

“Shuhuhuhut up!” Vax finally responds.

“Hey, that’s not very nice. It seems I just have to tickle you more to change your attitude,” Vex smiles and scribbles a hand towards her brother’s belly, causing him to curl himself up tighter. As the twins scuffle, Trinket happily growls at them before trotting off towards the doorway to lie down.

“Hehe, looks like the twins have already roped themselves into the fight,” Keyleth chuckles from her seat.

“It’s inevitable that siblings will get themselves into little squabbles from time to time,” Percy says beside her, not even taking his eyes off his sketchbook.

Keyleth turns to him with a smile. “Did you usually get into tickle fights with your siblings, Percy?”

He glances up at her. “Me? Oh no, no. I don’t do tickle fights.” He returns to sketching.

Keyleth tilts her head. “Huh? But, it definitely sounded like you were speaking from experience…”

Before Keyleth can ask another question, there’s a Scanlan sized giggly scream from the other side of the room. Grog has grabbed Scanlan’s arms and pulled them to the side to allow Pike to scribble into his underarms.

“A lihihihittle hehehehelp here wohohohould be–hehehe nice!” Scanlan shouts out to whichever one of his party members is willing to listen.

“Hold on, Scanlan! I’m coming!” Keyleth answers the call. She places the plant on her chair, then runs over in the direction of Pike. The Ashari makes it to the edge of the table and tries to swipe at Pike, like she was attempting to catch a rabbit, but Pike jumps back.

“Whoa!” Pike says. “Oh no, Keyleth!” Pike already giggles as she turns to run. She hops off the table and Keyleth chases behind her.

“Oh no you don’t, Keyleth!” Grog immediately puts Scanlan down and rushes to Pike's aid. Before the chase has even begun, Grog snatches Keyleth off the ground in a hug as she passes by the corner of the table. He places Keyleth’s feet back to the floor and scribbles into her sides, earling a squeak from the Ashari.

“Eehehehek! Grohohohog!” Keyleth giggles and squeezes her arms down. “Thihihihis height difference mahahahakes it sohohoho unfair!” she says as she realizes the ticklish predicament Scanlan must have been in.

“Sorry, Keyleth! But if you mess with my best buddy, you mess with me!” Grog grins as he carefully wiggles his fingers to Keyleth’s ribs, keeping her in place as she sways like a leaf in the breeze.

Pike twists on her heels once she hears Keyleth’s laughter. She smiles at her buddy Grog as a thank you. Past Grog’s form, however, Pike sees the wooden table they were just at. The once giggling form of Scanlan is now missing. 

“Huh?” Pike wonders. “Where did he–”

“Sneak attack!” Scanlan loudly announces his presence behind her as he digs his fingers into Pike’s sides.

“AHA!” Pike yelps from being taken off guard. “Hahaha! Scanlahahahan!” Pike darts her hands down in an attempt to pry the bard’s hands latched onto her sides.

“You thought you could just tickle me and get away with it? Oh no, no, no, Pike. You see, now it’s my turn to even the playing field,” Scanlan grins. “Who would have guessed that under all that armor that the mighty Pike is so ticklish?”

“Ohoho, yohohohou’re going to rehehehegret saying thahahahat!” Pike giggles.

“I regret saying a lot of things, but this is not one of them,” Scanlan replies.

Seeing six out of the seven party members get thrown into a tickle fight, Percy places his sketchbook on the side table next to his chair, then stands. “Well, if you all are going to continue fooling around with each other, then I think I should take my leave.”

Percy turns towards the doorway to exit. However, as the big brown bear sees Percy walking in that direction, Trinket trots in front of the doorway and blocks the exit. The bear growls at the white-haired man.

Percy takes a step back. “Wha– Trinket?”

“Good thinking, Trinket!” Vex says, seeing the exchange between her bear and the noble occur. “You’re not going anywhere without first joining the fight, Percy.” Vex glances to her bear, “Trinket, be a dear and get Percy, will you?”

Trinket happily growls at Percy. The noble takes another step back.

“Wait, Trinket!” Percy puts his hands up.

The bear growls again and charges at Percival. Trinket headbutts Percy square in the stomach, with enough force to push him, but not to hurt him. Percy hits the back wall as Trinket charges at him and, being the large bear that he is, Trinket easily traps Percy to the wall by having his head right up against his stomach. With another happy huff from the bear, Trinket begins nuzzling his snout into Percy’s stomach, finding a way under his dress shirt and vest for his snout to be most effective.

Percy flinches and his mouth twitches upwards; he tries to restrain his snickers while he attempts to shove Trinket’s big, playful head out of his shirt. “Trinket! Stand down, boy! I am not a toy for you to cuddle!”

“Good boy, Trinket!” Vex exclaims. She leaves her brother in a crumpled pile of giggles and runs over to help her bear. 

“Let me lend you a hand, Trinket,” she says, now standing beside her furry companion. “Or perhaps, two hands?” she wiggles all of her fingers at Percy.

“V-Vex! Don’t you da–AHare!” Percy closes his mouth shut once Vex lunges her hands at his ribs. A few restrained snickers start to trickle from the man as he turns his face away into his shoulder.

“Percival, you’re holding out on me,” Vex teases. “You do know that it’s a tickle fight, right? So, laugh a little,” she moves her hands up his ribs and into his underarms. Rather quickly, his snickers sputter and turn into full blown giggles.

“Vehehehex!” Percy completely breaks into an outpouring of bubby joy. He bends his arms down for protection, but that doesn’t stop the loveable bear from nuzzling into his belly. He tries to wiggle his way out of his predicament.

“There we go! We got him, Trinket!” Vex glances at the bear before looking back at Percy. “See, Percy? You would have missed out on all this fun had you walked out.”

“I will nohohohot be subjugated to-hohoho thihihihis childish gahahame!” He wiggles to the side and successfully dislodges himself from Trinket and the wall, then wastes no time in sprinting across the room.

“This isn’t over yet, Percy!” Vex exclaims. Right before she takes off for the chase, a woosh of black cloth passes by her.

“I’ll deal with you later!” Vax glances over his shoulder to his sister as he runs by.

“Yeah, right. We’ll see about that,” Vex smiles before following suit and running back into the frey.

Percy, knowing he’s a target, skids behind Grog and Keyleth and takes cover.

“Grog! Let me use your body as a shield!” Percy peeks out from the side of the goliath.

Grog’s view turns towards Percy. “Uh, okay.”

“I’ve gotcha, Keyleth!” Vax says from Grog’s other side and leaps onto the table, then he jumps off towards Grog. He lands on Grog and wraps his arms around the goliath’s neck, piggy-back style.

“Hey!” Grog tries to snatch Vax from over his back, releasing Keyleth from his hold. “Get over here, pipsqueak!” Grog spins from side to side to toss Vax off of him, but Vax keeps his grip. Grog sidesteps one way and nearly crashes into Percy, sending the noble stumbling backwards and onto the floor; when Grog sidesteps to his other side, Vex also stumbles backwards and onto the floor when she tries to dodge.  

Grog halts his movement to try and get a better grip on Vax, but the dagger wielder shows him a smirk and uses one hand to scribble at the goliath’s ribs while Vax’s other arm holds himself up by staying wrapped around Grog’s neck.

Grog jolts and a bigger smile grows on his already large features. “Hehehey! Vahahahax!” he tries to reach up at the half-elf again. “Nohoho fair!”

“No fair? We’re playing a tickle fight with a guy twice our size. Creative strategies have to be used, my friend,” Vax smiles at him. 

“And don’t forget about a little bit of magic!” Keyleth recovers and faces her palm towards Grog. Her hand glows and vines sprout from the floor, wrapping themselves loosely around Grog and brushing up against the rest of his torso.

Grog stops going for Vax and pulls his arm down as deep laughter booms from his chest. “Ohohohokay! Mahahahaybe I earned thihihihis!” Grog says through his giggles.

Vex stands up and leans an arm on Trinket. She sees Percy still on the floor, but she’s quite amused with the sight of their tallest ally being overpowered by tickling. She’ll call off her chase, for now.

“Ohohoho no! Grohohog!” Pike says through her own laughter as she hears Grog being felled by giggles from across from her.

“Oooh. What a shame,” Scanlan says over Pike’s shoulder. “It seems like you and Grog have fallen to the same tragic fate of revenge—WHOA!”

Pike uses a burst of strength to yank one of Scanlan’s arms and fling him to the floor in front of them onto his back. As he lifts his head up to regain his bearings, Pike pounces at him like a wolf and knocks him back to the floor. She dives her hands towards his sides, earning a shriek of laughter from Scanlan.

“Pihihihihike! Yohohou already had yohohour turn tickling mehehehe! Hahahave mercy!”

“I’ll consider it, if you help me help Grog,” Pike negotiates with a smile.

“Nohoho way! Hehehe started it!”

Pike shrugs, “Suit yourself then.” She crawls her fingers back up to his underarms, causing Scanlan to kick his legs out behind her and his giggles to increase.

Pike glances beside her to Percy, who’s still leaning back on the floor as he watches Grog’s current fate. “Percy! Come help me with Scanlan!” she says to him.

The noble shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’ve had my fair share of this fight for one day.”

“Come on, Percy. You’re got to have some fun once in a while.” She puts on a smirk. “Or are you too much of a stick-in-the-mud noble to do so?”

Percy’s stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Pike’s tone is one that’s begging to be challenged. Percy narrows her eyes at her, but Pike has already turned her attention back to the giggling bard.

“Now Scanlan, are you willing to help me assist Grog?”

“Yehehes! Yes!” Scanlan raises one arm above his head and purple magic begins to swirl around his hand. Pike pulls her hands away from him, allowing Scanlan—breathless and full of residual giggles—to summon his magical purple hand and glide it towards Grog. Scanlan rolls onto his stomach to see the world upright and controls the magic of “Scanlan’s hand” to tap Keyleth on the shoulder.

Falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book, Keyleth turns to look at the hand. “Huh? Hey!” She exclaims when the hand drifts down to tickle her side. When she twists to avoid it, the hand follows her and tickles the rest of her torso. Scanlan and Pike snicker from the sidelines.

As Keyleth giggles, her concentration on the magic vines falter and the vines retract back into the floor.

Now free, Grog swings his hand behind his back and grabs a hold of Vax’s ankle. He yanks the half-elf from his back and holds him upside down in front of him. A mischievous grin across the goliath’s features is what Vax is met with as he dangles from the ankle. 

Vax releases a nervous chuckle. “Any chance that you’ll put me down, big guy?”

Grog shakes his head like a child who’s gotten their way. “Nope. None,” Grog says and plunges a hand into Vax’s belly. The half-elf barks out a surprised laugh and clasps both of his hands to Grog’s singular large one in any attempt to pry it from his giggling belly.

“Well it wahahas wohohorth a shohohohot!” Vax says.

“All right, Grog!” Pike cheers. Scanlan dissipates his magic hand, releasing Keyleth, then plops onto the floor to take a well deserved break. 

“I’m coming to help!” Pike gets up to dash over to Grog.

“Hold on a minute, Pike!” Percy swoops in behind her and scoops her up into his arms, causing Pike to shriek as he lifts her in a hug off her feet. He has his arms wrapped under hers like he was holding a cat.

“Allow me to show you that a noble can indeed have fun,” Percy smirks. He tightens one arm around her while his other hand starts to scribble into her side. Pike jolts with another burst of giggles and attempts pushing on Percy’s arm to squeeze herself free.

“Pehehehercy, wahahait! I was just kihihihidding!” she kicks her feet in the air.

“Of course. I know that, Pike. But I have to protect the reputation of my good name. You understand,” he smiles. Pike’s squirming becomes strong enough to where Percy nearly drops her, but he catches himself and places Pike safely to the ground, though still with one arm wrapped around her and one tickling her to keep her in place. Percy chuckles as he kneels down, takes a seat on the floor, then pulls Pike into his lap to now have the ability to tickle her with both of his hands, sending her giggles even louder. 

Keyleth eventually recovers, arms still wrapped around herself. She processes her surroundings, noticing Vax’s situation.

“Oh no, Vax. Not again,” Keyleth straightens herself out and prepares her hand to summon more vines.

“I’m going to stop you right there, Keyleth!” Vex rams into the Ashari with a giant hug.

“W-What?! Vex, what are you–dohohohoing?!” Keyleth squeaks at the end of her sentence when Vex takes her turn at tickling the Ashari. 

“Well, you were about to help my brother out of his predicament, and I’m quite entertained by his situation. You wouldn’t want to cut that entertainment short, now would you?”

“Buhuhuhut Vax is in trohohohouble!” she giggles in response.

“Nooo, he’s fine. Look at him. He’s smiling, laughing. He doesn’t need our help,” Vex grins. Trinket happily huffs to himself. Seeing that his allies are enjoying themselves, Trinket trots away over to a spot behind a still resting Scanlan to lie down and watch the rest unfold, until his assistance is requested again.

Just then, a giggly scream from Pike catches Grog’s ears. The goliath turns his head to see that Percy is scribbling a hand at Pike’s belly while the gnome kicks and curls her arms around herself.

“Pike! Buddy!” Grog shouts. He drops Vax to the floor like a bag of gold and dashes over to Pike. Percy looks up just in time to see the massive goliath barreling towards him. His eyes go wide and immediately lets go of Pike. He crawls backwards on his arms and lifts himself to his feet as Grog approaches.

“Grog, wait! We can talk about this!” Percy turns to run, but Grog instantly snatches him off the floor and into his arms, holding him very similarly as Percy did to Pike. Grog spins to face his buddy, then wastes no time in digging a set of his fingers into Percy’s side. Percy lets out a startled chortle before his giggles find their way out again. 

“Pick on someone, your own size!” Grog grins behind him.

“Thahahat’s rich cohohoming from yohohohou!” Percy responds. He wiggles and slips his nimble self from Grog’s arms, ducking under them before running. 

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Grog says before he and Pike take off after him.

Vex witnesses Percy is involved in another chase. She chuckles. “See, Percy! Told you it wasn’t over!”

As she finishes her sentence, Vax suddenly lunges at her and tackles her to the floor. 

“And I told you that I would come back for you later,” Vax smirks above her as he darts his hands towards his sister’s sides. A minor shriek releases from Vex before she slaps a hand to cover her mouth, though Vax can see her smile twitching from under her fingers. Her other hand attempts to shove at Vax while the heels of her boots dig at the floor.

“Ah, ah, ah, sister. We will be having none of that. You saw me giggling my head off, it’s only fair that I see yours,” Vax crawls a hand up to her underarm connected to the hand blocking her smile. Vex yanks her hand down with a shriek that results in the joyful sound of laughter.

“Vahahahahax you a–ahahahaha!” The rest of Vex’s sentence is erased by her giggles. 

“Language, sister,” he playfully scolds her, knowing exactly what she was about to say. He turns to the Ashari. “Keyleth, want to provide some assistance?”

Keyleth nods with a smile, “Okay!” The Ashari makes her way over. She sits on her knees on the floor next to Vex’s other side and joins in, scribbling at Vex’s stomach. The giggles of the female twin grow higher in pitch as she attempts to protect and slap away the two pairs of hands scribbling across her torso.

“Twohoho against ohohone? Well I cahahahan play thahahat gahahame too!” Vex exclaims. “Trinket! Hehehelp me!” she shouts across the room.

The bear growls and lifts himself to his feet. Trinket begins charging forward. Scanlan hears the loud pounding of paws behind him and turns his head to see Trinket running in his direction. Scanlan leaps to his feet and runs straight, keeping his eyes on the bear. Meanwhile, Percy turns the corner on the other side of the room and runs right towards Vex, Vax, and Keyleth, though his eyes are also on his pursuers.

Almost at the same time, Scanlan and Percy look forward, seeing not only are they going to crash into each other, but into Vex, Vax, and Keyleth as well. They try to slow their movement, but Pike and Grog crash into Percy, while Trinket crashes into Scanlan, sending everyone crashing into the twins and Keyleth—which creates a party-sized dogpile with all the Vox Machina members.

As the “dust” settles, Trinket, who was on the edge of the pile, lifts himself up and finds Scanlan lying on the edge next to Grog. The bear nuzzles Scanlan’s neck as an apology, which slowly pulls Scanlan out of his dazed state. 

“Trinket,” Scanlan giggles as the bear gets in one final tickle at his neck. He shoves at the bear’s snout. “Come on, cut it out.” 

The bear growls with glee. As Trinket steps back, everyone else begins to slowly emerge from the pile. Eventually, they untangle themselves and stand to stretch their previously squished bodies.

“Well, that was a fight that I bet none of us were expecting,” Vax says as he stretches out his back.

“To think we were taking a day off and ended up fighting each other instead,” Vex mentions. “But that does seem like something we would do, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about you all,” Keyleth chimes in, “but I thought it was fun. I know I said something earlier with Scanlan’s joke and no one agreed, but I can’t be the only one who thought this was fun, right? I mean, it was enjoyable enough for Percy to join in.” She gestures a hand towards the white-haried man.

Percy crosses his arms. “My hand was forced into the fight, thank you. Under no other circumstances would I have joined.”

Pike shrugs. “Eh, all it takes is a few teases and poking fun at his royal title to get him to hop in,” she teases and smiles at Percy. Percy rolls his eyes, though he returns a warm smile to her as well.

“It was unexpected, but at least it brightened the mood,” Scanlan says. He turns to look up at the goliath. “You did good, Grog,” Scanlan compliments.

“Hehe, thank you,” Grog takes the compliment. He blinks a few times and puts a finger to his chin. “Um…what exactly did I do good again?”

Vax pats him on the arm. “You were just being yourself, big guy.” 

“And we love ya for it,” Pike hugs his ankle. 

“Aww, come here, you!” Grog picks her up in a gentle, but firm hug, then places her on his shoulder with a grin.

Some would say that they’re one odd bunch of adventures, but to them, they’re just one big happy family.

[mintywolf]

Her unsteady glance about herself doesn’t catch on a blue damask evening gown, but everything is only a blur of unfocused shapes and bright colors. She draws in a stuttering gasp, and then another, as gradually her surroundings begin to resolve themselves into a bewilderingly comfortable living room and the oddest assortment of people she has ever seen. ... They all look worn and bone-weary, but alive with expectant joy. They are all staring at her intently. They are strangers. -- 33 years ago Matilda made a dying pact in the arms of her murderer. Now that pact lies sundered by a lightning strike, and her soul with it. Waking again in the arms of loving strangers who seem to regard her as family, she tries to put together the pieces of the life she can't remember and what she means to the people around her.

Remember Us, a story about memory (and its loss), fake marriage, real marriage, family, home, the passage of time, resurrection, and ears, is now complete!

(I never did manage to finish all the chapter illustrations I had planned to do but here are a few. Maybe more in the future!)

[maacbrem]

Vax reaches out to take her hand again. Keyleth is so warm, and he aches to touch her by increments, to remember the curve of her hip bone and the lines of her scars. When she draws back he lets her go.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because what else can he say? There are only apologies and all the ways he’s seen their future go in every world but this one. “I understand -”

“Do you?” She snaps, not just pulling away from him but recoiling. “Really? Because you’ve spent the last thirty years being whatever you are now, but I’ve had to spend them as a person.” He lets the blow land like a fist to the gut. She doesn’t look like she regrets it. She looks everywhere but at him when she says, “I’ve had to learn a lot about grief, but nothing could have prepared me for this.”

[thelaughtercafe]

Tension

Tea Type: Subtly Sweet Tea

Potential Triggers: Nothing comes to mind, but let me know if you think something should go here!

Pairing: Vax/F!Reader (Can be read as romantic or platonic!)

Length: 2.2k+

Summary: Vax's observant nature helps him discover you're hiding a few juicy secrets, and he helps encourage you to be more honest in the future.

A/N: So, new fandom, who dis? Yes, I'm now binging Critical Role Campaign 1, and completely whipped for Vax and Percy both. I'm up to the beginning of Episode 40, so no spoilers please but I have quite a few tword fic ideas. Also, I know Silence doesn't work in DND like this, but shhh fic liberties-

Vax was what many would call observant. Used to lingering in the shadows as he was, he found it almost comforting to look over his friends and family both if they lingered where he could see them. He sipped on his ale, watching as you chatted with Vex and Keyleth about something or other. Percy was tinkering with his machine’s as usual, paying the conversations around him no mind, and Scanlan had found himself a friend for the night. Grog had no such luck but he was no less happy to be enjoying ale by the mug full. Pike had also retired early, claiming tiredness and needing to work in a quiet environment unlike Percy. Vax himself was situated just by the bar, debating if teasing Percy or his sister would be more fun when he spotted something interesting. 

You’d quirked up and seemed to be waving your hands in a sheepish refusal. He couldn’t hear it from here what about, and opted to drift closer, expertly maneuvering the crowds of dwarves before he leaned against the wall by the stairs. 

“Really Grog, I appreciate the offer but it already feels better, I promise!”

“Do you doubt Grog’s masseuse skills?”

Vax felt a smile twitch at his lips, eyes narrowing perceptively as you refused again.

“Not at all! All the others rave about how great they are, I just genuinely don’t need one. It was just a spasm! Besides, Percy looks way more tense than I do, look at how the poor guy is hunched over!”

Grog lit up at that and grinned, whacking you on the shoulder cheerfully before moving to attend to Percy. 

“Grog can help with that! Great idea!”

You let out a sigh the moment the goliath turned his back to you, after ensuring the others were occupied. Vex had gone with Keyleth to grab more drinks and they were talking to the bartender, and you didn’t spot him, all but melded into the shadow of the stairs as he was. He saw the way you rolled not one, but both of your shoulders and winced, fingers pressing into and attempting to release the tension stored there.

He smirked darkly.

You were a clever little thing, weren’t you? Redirecting Grog, lying so he wouldn’t worry, feigning. You had a secret and if there was one thing Vax enjoyed? It was finding out that which should not be known. 

…and maybe punishing you, just a little, in the process for trying to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t and being a naughty little liar. He'd warned you before, as had the others, it wasn't his fault you didn't listen. You had a nasty habit of trying to take on everyone else's burdens while denying your own. 

He figured you’d be retreating to your room sooner rather than later and after a gentle tap and a whisper to Vex telling her not to wait up, he found himself surprised as his sister grabbed his wrist before he could slip away. 

“Take care of her, will you? She’s been rubbing her shoulder anytime she thinks we’re not watching. If you hadn’t come over, I was going to press the issue. Shall I inform Pike?”

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly. Of course his sister had seen right through him, and you both. 

“Aye. You know I will. I’ll tell her, depending on how bad it is.” 

His eyes moved from her to where you were watching Percy try to escape Grog with fondness in your eyes. 

“...I have a feeling there’s a reason she’s dodging Grog’s attempts. Something she’s flustered about, if I had to guess.”

A smirk tugged at his lips as his mischievous eyes returned to his sister’s. 

“A shame, that. For her I mean.”

Vex’s look turned scolding. 

“Try and go easy on her, brother.”

He shrugged, amusement flooding him.

“Depends how quickly she folds, I suppose. If she’s stubborn, even I can't help but have a limit to my patience, you know. Besides, she may even enjoy my methods of persuasion. You certainly did~”

A flash of teeth and he dodged her playful slap with a laugh as she blushed. 

“Shut up, Vax! Honestly, I asked once, why can’t you just let it go?”

“Are you actually whining? Heh, does Percy know? Maybe I should-”

Vax couldn’t dodge fast enough this time as Vex tugged him down to hiss in his ear. 

“Breathe a word and Trinket will have your head.”

“Alright, alright, you win! Always so violent to your dear brother aren’t you?”

He brushed off his clothes before looking back over towards you. 

“Alright, I’m off. Wish me luck, hm? And be a dear and cast Silence for me, won’t you?”

Vex’ahlia sighed and with a moment of focus and a mumble it was done. 

“Doing that for her, not you!”

Was called after but Vax waved her off. 

Now all he had to do was hang out; he was sure you’d follow shortly. 

------

You cracked your neck and barely stifled a wince as your shoulder seized again. You hadn’t injured it, but thanks to holding all of your tension in them, and your neck; you were really feeling the effects. 

You felt bad redirecting Grog like that, but you’d seen the way Percy had grasped his shoulder too, and knew he wouldn’t crumple like you would. Lesser of two evils. He gave in eventually, and lucky for him, he probably wasn’t in pain anymore. It was early in the night, but you bid your remaining party goodnight and retired to your room. You jumped at the sight of Vax on your bed before relaxing, rolling your eyes. 

“You could’ve asked and I would’ve just given you the key to my room you know.”

He shot a boyish grin your way. 

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s good practice for my fingers. Got to keep them loose and limber, you know.”

“Mmhmm.”

You brushed him off as you flitted about your room and got changed for the night behind the folding screen. It had been a pleasant surprise the inn had one as many didn’t. 

You emerged in your nightgown and crossed your arms as you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“So…what’s up? Did you need something?”

He pretended to be stabbed in overdramatic fashion.

“Oh, you wound me! Can’t I come check on my favorite party member without ulterior motives?”

“Sure, you can and have before. But you’re typically chatty, and occasionally tipsy. You seem barely buzzed and you’ve been oddly quiet for you in general, let alone if this was one of your typical calls. You can tell me if I’m wrong but…I don’t like that look in your eye.”

He smiled, and moved to sit up from where he’d been laying on your bed, tossing his dagger carelessly. He placed it on the bedside table. He was already changed, you noted. In black two piece pajamas, and you’d spotted his black robe behind the curtain. Was he planning on staying overnight? You didn’t mind, of course but again…this was too meticulous. He was planning something, you just weren’t sure what. 

“What look might that be, darling?”

You hesitated and then swallowed, something giddy and nervous at once stirring in you as you felt heat in your cheeks and it made you look away. 

“Anticipation. You look not unlike the cat who got the cream. You almost look…predatory, if I had to pick the right word.”

“How frightening~ It’s nothing so serious as all that! “

He moved to stand and you stood your ground as he approached you, finally returning your gaze to his hazel eyes.

“How’re your shoulders?”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and he felt the way you tensed, racking your brain for an excuse. 

“Oh, you heard my conversation with Grog earlier, huh? Like I said, it was just a spasm. I’m fine now-”

His smile widened a tad and then he squeezed, with just the right amount of pressure to get the reaction he guessed at. 

“For reheHEal!” 

You tried to play it off as a cough, bending over and shoving at him to try to get him to release you. He did, backing up a step or two as he observed you. 

“Sorry about that. Worst time to get a cough.”

You mustered an apologetic smile, shaky though it was and Vax let his eyes narrow. 

“...Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re lying again? This is starting to become quite the habit. C’mon, lemme see.”

The expression you made was priceless but Vax kept his unamused expression as he grabbed you by the arm and dragged you over to the bed, gently sitting you down and then looking at you expectantly. Poor thing. You were clearly having an inner debate in your mind over what to do. Shame he wouldn't give you any more time. He motioned to the bed as he moved to stand. 

“Well? Go on, lay down. Let me see how bad it is.”

“It’s really nothing Vax, I swear! Just drop it!”

“Oh right, because you jolting like a scared gob’ was so subtle. If there’s truly nothing wrong then let me see.”

Gods he was such an asshole. Why did your reactions have to be so damn entertaining? …Still, he was absolutely going to Hell for leading you on like this. 

You reluctantly laid down face down and he situated himself at your hips, ensuring you weren’t in pain before continuing. 

“Alright, now you better tell me if anything hurts. I’ll know if you lie again. Got it?”

You nodded and he couldn’t help his smirk now that you couldn't see him, though his voice kept that concerned, slightly hard edge as he dug into your shoulders at once. 

You damn near about seized and your hand rushed to cover your mouth.

“Did that hurt?”

You shook your head and he growled. 

“You must really think I’m blind or something! You can’t even talk!”

Oh, yeah. Definitely going to Hell. 

Now that he was feeling your shoulders, though, it was obvious you had a lot of tension. No wonder you’d been rubbing them earlier. He let his thumbs do most of the work digging in and though he heard you squeak, now and again, every time he asked if you were in pain you denied. It was when his index and middle finger found a knot of tension on the cusp of your neck and shoulder that you finally broke, and tried to reach back to tap his leg, laughing. 

“Fhuhuhuck Vax please! It doesn’t huhuhurt it-it thihihihihckles!!” 

He giggled himself and stopped for a moment to crack his fingers before he answered, all casual nonchalance. 

“About time you admitted it.”

You whimpered in embarrassment and he would bet money you were beyond grateful he couldn't see your expression as you hid your face in your pillow. 

“You knew?! Why didn’t you say anything then!?”

“As payback. For lying, both to Grog and most especially, to me. Next time, tell the truth and I won’t have to be so…”

He spidered fingertips over your shoulders to hear you laugh before pulling back again. 

“Willfully ignorant.”

You groaned. 

“You’re the worst.”

“I hope you know I’ve just started. All joking aside, your shoulder and neck are wrecked, love. Ticklish or not, you’ll feel leagues better if I work these out.”

“You can’t!”

Your instant response gave him pause. 

“What are you so worried about? Surely you must know I’d never judge you for something as paltry as being ticklish.”

“It’s…not that. Gods, Vax, I swear if you tell anyone else-”

You whirled to look at him and he met your eyes unflinchingly. 

“I won’t. I swear it.”

You hesitated and then hid your face again after deeming him to be telling the truth.

“I…I don’t entirely hate it. Truth be told, it’s the opposite. I really…enjoy it.” 

He couldn’t help snickering, but he was quick to clarify at how silent you got, to reassure you. 

“I-hehe. Oh, shit. I’m not laughing at you. I promise. Just, oh Lord, give me a second.”

He finally collected himself, running a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that. It’s too cute for me not to laugh. If you ever want to be tickled you know all you have to do is ask.”

“You say that like it’s easy but-”

“But you’d prefer to be a brat to get me to tickle you instead because it’s easier, hm? In character for you. I’m fine with that. For now.”

“For now?”

“Yes. For now. If you keep hiding things from us for what you believe is our benefit, and putting yourself down- now I have the perfect way to punish you. Maybe then the lesson will stick that you are anything but less than.”

“Vax…”

He brushed off the vulnerability with ease, returning to his playful affect, as if he hadn't said anything.  

“As I said for tonight, however, I’m more than happy to put you in your place when you act up but…”

You squeaked as he dragged his index finger down your spine, making you shiver. 

“There’s still the matter of all this tension you’re holding. Do I have your permission to deal with it, even if it tickles?”

“Mm…mmhmm.”

“Heh. Good. I’m not going to go easy on you now that I know you like this, I hope you know.”

He leaned down to blow air into your ear before whispering. 

“We’ve got quite a lot of lost time to make up for~”

[railroad-migraine]

In honour of Legend of Vox Machina coming out, can we have a Percy x (fem/gender neutral) reader with the prompt "You feel like home to me." Maybe reader also lost their home (or they were from Whitestone too)

'Welcome Home'

-> Percy x GN!Reader

Notes: Angst and fluff, hurt comfort. I started writing this piece in January 2022. As of June 2023, I have now watched TLOVM. Sorry it took a while Anon, but I wanted to save your lovely request for when I eventually got into Vox Machina 💙 Can be read as platonic or romantic

~ Poet

*****

It wasn't meant to be like this.

Things had not gone to plan. What was the plan, you say? That is debatable depending on who you'd ask.

To start, Vax was unfortunately spotted skulking around the enemy's camp. That then lead to small confrontation, one that he'd be fine to handle all by himself, one where he was suspiciously poked and prodded at innocently, but Keyleth instinctually stepped in to save him - thus getting the whole party involved and quickly overwhelmed. It was manageable until the exact moment where Grog lopped off the head of one of the bandits.

To put it simply, all hell broke loose and it all went to shit.

However, in the end, when the bandits lay dead and smloldering by the campfire, it was a victory for Vox Machina.

A victory, maybe. But not quite a win.

Wounds were in need of tending to, and Pike was far too exhausted to treat everyone. Camping in the woods did not seem to be the best option, the trees offering little cover, and neither did the cliff face nearby. Frustrated, tired, hungry - voices raising at each other prickled the hairs at the back of your neck and you knew you had to step up. To be the adult.

"There is a village," you start, but no one chooses to listen, your voice just another one in the argument.

"There is a village," you repeat, a little more firm and insistant, and the others begin to withdraw, eyes falling onto you, "not far from here. I- I didn't mention it before because it doesn't belong on the map. Not anymore, at least.

"We can go there, set up camp, sit down and just shut up for a few hours," you sigh.

Most of the party look hesitant but Scanlan raises a brow and shrugs with an easy nonchalance that you envy. "If you say it's safe, I'm down."

It wasn't meant to be like this.

"It is." You hope. "I promise.

Percy watches you carefully, the fading light of the Sun behind him casting shadows on his face, sharpens his already sharp jawline even further until it cuts into his coat's collar. Something dangerous in his expression. "Lead on, then," but he doesn't sound convinced.

And so you lead your friends to the home and earth that once nurtured your childhood, the very same that you abandoned all those years ago in favour of adventure.

You were still young. Like a child, scarrless, soft, green and new to the greater world that waited for you beyond your doorstep.

It wasn't meant to be like this, you think as you fall to your knees, taking in the grim sight before you. It's hard to tell what exactly happened, whether the homes had been raided and intentionally burned down, or if it had been a simple accident and the townspeople luckily fled somewhere safe.

How long had it been since you left home? What seemed like yesterday were many, many months for your people, and anything can happen in that time apart.

But you never expected to be returning home to a graveyard.

It wasn't meant to be like this.

"I'm sorry."

You sniffle and quickly wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, choking back a bitter laugh. "Percy." He pulls his mouth into a straight line, a grimace of sorts. "You can be a thorn in my side at times, but why should you be sorry?"

He shifts his weight on his feet. "Because... because it's what people might have said to me when I was in a similar state. I'm not sure if it would ever have made me feel better, but I suppose it shows some level of... respect. Condolences. Comfort, sometimes. Or so I've heard."

He pulls his coat tighter around his torso, the bite in the air unforgiving even as you mourn for your childhood home while your knees press into dirt. You risk a glance up at his face, and his forlorn expression shatters your already broken heart. He feigns a weak smile, and ducks his chin in sympathy. "It's not for everyone, I suppose."

It's a cold comfort as your grip on the ashes of your home loosens, and slips through your fingers, like sand lost in the wind.

Percy says your name, clear and grounding, and you manage to tear your gaze from what's left of your history. "Look at me." You crane your neck to look to where he looms over your hunched form. "Home is a feeling... I know that more than anybody."

Slowly, so slowly and gentle as if caught in slow motion, he crouches down to meet your height. He appraises you for a hesitant moment, then reaches out to wipe a tear that trails down your cheek, one that you had accidentally neglected. It smears across your skin smoothly, leaving a clean line in the thin layer of dust you had acquired since the battle and trek over here.

He looks at you softly, and you nearly sob from the incredible amount of emotions you feel all at once. You grip his hand like a lifeline and press it into your face so that you can lean into the comfort he's providing, and a shudder washes over you at the warmth radiating from his glove.

Percy nudges your chin up with his free hand, and you have no choice but to meet his watery eyes.

"And you feel like home to me."

In that moment, you know you feel the same for him.

*****

[posts this and RUNS]

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hound "baby boy" of Ill Omen for prompts!

first off, thank you for carrying this whole ship on your back. you are our strongest soldier and we appreciate you.

second, even more thanks for sending this my way! I hope this is something like what you had in mind!

if anyone else sees this and would like to toss a little prompt my way, feel free :)

wc: 934

cw: body horror…kind of? it’s just canonically what the good boy looks like

~~~

Imogen loves Laudna. She does. Quite a lot, in fact.

Because it is a fact. 

It may as well be written in stone. In the stars. Recorded on one of those dusty scrolls in elegant script and stuck on a shelf in some stuffy library for the next bored student who may happen across it and learn of two witches who saved the world.

Laudna, it must be noted, is a woman of many quirks. 

And Imogen, it must be noted, adores her for them. 

They are just as much a part of Laudna as the angle of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. As are her projects, macabre and scrounged as they often are, and so Imogen adores them, too. 

(If it takes her a moment to come around, Laudna must never know. Each new creation, presented to Imogen with all the glee of a child in a sweets shop, will only ever be met with enthusiasm. Laudna, she knows, has spent too long squirreling away the odd parts of herself. Imogen is determined to recover them.)

“Come here, darling,” Laudna calls, and the flesh-and-bone creature that scared the everloving fuck out of Imogen the first time he burst from his maker’s chest trots happily to her side, tongue lolling from a fleshless snout. 

The hound twines between Laudna’s legs, and she lifts her skirts to allow him through. He leans heavily against the inside of her knee, and Laudna beams. She bends at the waist to wrap the creature in spindly arms. His back arches, and Imogen can hear the vertebrae curving, clacking, as Laudna scratches behind his one intact ear. The ichor-tipped remnant of a tail begins to wag, shaking them both with the force of it.

He spots Imogen several paces away, and his green eyes glow, peering at her curiously.

Laudna has stopped her scritches, and the hound tilts his big head. Laudna looks up, meets Imogen’s fond gaze, and her lips split into a wide grin.

“Go on,” she pats the creature’s sides encouragingly, “say hello if you like.”

The hellhound bounds forward, released from his command. 

Imogen recalls the day he learned his tricks.

Laudna had found Imogen lounging beneath a copse of trees one afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to sink, casting the forest in dappled shades of orange and gold. The festering hound loped diligently at her heels. His paws colored the leaf-strewn ground iridescent black in their wake. 

“Look!” Laudna had said, chest puffed. She turned to her newest creation and pointed one finger. “You’ve been so obedient all afternoon. I’ll see about giving you something from my collection if your other mom approves of your skills. I should have a deer leg that will suit you nicely.” She contemplated for a moment. “Ready?” 

The hound stretched into a bow, muscle snapping over exposed bone, yawned, and shook. Drops of blood and ichor spattered the clearing, but Imogen hardly noticed, too caught up in Laudna’s casual statement. 

She had said it nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just gifted Imogen something extraordinarily precious. As if Imogen’s senses hadn’t suddenly gone askew. As if she hadn’t just sent Imogen’s worldview slip-sliding into something new and dangerous and so welcome that it felt like a homecoming. Her mind spun until she was almost giddy with it. She wondered, then, how something said so simply could feel so significant. If Laudna understood what she had done. 

She had appointed Imogen the caretaker of a fragment of her soul. Of a creature that had been born of her, born from her. Crafted from the essence of her with whispered words and a desire to protect. 

“Imogen?” Laudna had said then, “Are you ready?”

And Imogen had glanced between Laudna and her hound, who sat on bleeding haunches and looked expectantly at his mother, and it was all she could do to swallow the creak in her throat.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Now, as the hound nearly bowls her over, Imogen cannot find it within herself to be mad at him. Not even at the dark stains on her dress. They’ll come out with a prestidigitation or two. She knows from experience. 

She falls back in the grass and stares down twin emeralds. A broad tongue laps the side of her face, and she laughs, trying to dodge a cold, wet nose against her cheek. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his muzzle. 

“Hi, baby boy,” she coos. She rubs at his ears, and he presses harder into her palm, groaning loudly. She can feel the vibration in her chest.

Laudna scolds, “What have I said about knocking people over?” Her hands rest firmly on her hips. “Honestly, Imogen, you could at least discipline him. How will he learn?”

Imogen rolls her eyes, shrugs. “I’m the fun mom. He comes to me because he knows he can’t get away with anything when you’re around.”

Laudna huffs. “I’m sorry that I want our son to be civilized.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” The hound flops to the ground, sprawling over Imogen’s outstretched legs, and she lets out an oomph of surprise. “Are you going to join us down here?” 

Laudna sighs and settles beside Imogen, resting her head on Imogen’s shoulder. She runs her hands over the creature’s exposed belly, avoiding the biggest of the perpetually oozing wounds. His jaw unhinges happily. His tail thumps a steady rhythm against her shin.

Imogen presses a kiss to the top of Laudna’s head, and Laudna relaxes into her.

A soft smile spreads across Imogen’s lips.

[psychicdamaged]

im cooking

[bloopitynoot]

Dear CR smut writers,

Please never stop creatively coming up with unholy usages of Mage Hand, Hold Person, Unseen Servant, & Immovable Object.

Sincerely,

Anyone who ships the wizards.

[saphirered]

Hiii I love ur writing!

I would love to see a Percy x reader where they both kinda hate each other in the beginning but eventually fall in love, if that makes sense? Maybe a rivals to lovers thing

Hope that makes sense! Love ur work :D

Thank you deary! I love a little rivals to lovers moment so I hope you enjoy this one! 😘

You are completely and utterly infuriating. Percy has a multitude of enemies in his life, upon whom he wishes horrible things but you are not a common enemy. You are not a friend either. He does not wish an ill fate to befall you. What he does wish for, is your projects falling apart at the seams, your wine to taste sour and food to be bland, your ink to forever run out, your notes to be messed up, that one tool you need to be missing or just barely out of reach. Percy wishes no harm upon you but he does wish for the most petty things to befall you. Were he anyone else he might feel some kind of way but he just happens to be a petty individual from time to time and when it comes to you, you are no exception. 

Percy doesn’t quite know where it began or when it might end. He cannot remember a time before, where you might have been on less rivalling terms. You’ve just always been so damn you and you can get under his skin like no other with your stupid perfection and incredible mind. Your clever and eloquent words always hit him just the wrong way and you make his blood boil. Where he turned a tinkerer, you turned to magic. You’re a damn prodigy and you have no issue with rubbing it in his face. You just had to get involved in Whitestone politics, didn’t you? You just had to be fundamental in the city’s protection. You just had to rub it in his face you were here when he wasn’t. 

Your skills to disturb his peace just when he needed it are impeccable. Percy was enjoying a late lunch in the dining hall alone after a busy morning and afternoon of tinkering and meetings. You had been entirely absent all day, nowhere to be found. Despite what he might have thought the lack of your presence irked him. He brushed it off as some expectation you might jump out to ruin his day at some point but you never did. Percy would deny it if ever faced with it but he grew worried at your lack of presence. Perhaps you overslept. Completely unreasonable for you as you rise at the crack of dawn and are never a minute late to anything. You’d missed two meetings you were set to attend. No page had come to notify him of your undoubtedly expertly worded excuse. No word of you came at all. And when those meetings came to an end nobody had batted an eye at your lack of attendance. Did everyone know but him? Was this some sort of trick? Another petty thing to get back at him for something he might have said or done? 

Think of the devil and they shall appear. You enter the dining hall and beeline for the decanter and glasses. You fill one and drink, then fill it again with a deep sigh. You lean against the table a little too much as you shuffle over to grab a plate and pile some of the food leftovers still set out; some bread and some fruits, Percy notes. Not your usual choices. If anything you seem entirely careless about the contents. He notes your appearance. You look disheveled. Your clothes are crinkled and you’re sweaty. Your eyes are sunken and your expression is grim. Your shoulders are slumped and there’s a shake to your hands that are usually so steady. You look exhausted. 

“What hell hole did you crawl out of?” Percy says with his usual snark and casually sips his wine. He expects a quick-witted retort. You bite your tongue and shake your head as you drop some grapes on your plate. 

“I’m not in the mood for your quips, Percival. If you’re looking for a fight I suggest you go find your friends and ask them to kick your ass into the next realm.” You grumble picking up your plate now filled and taking another large swig of your drink before you pour a refill. 

“Day drinking already? I recall you saying those are the actions of idiots and alcoholics.” You give him a look, in particular his own glass very much filled with the burgundy liquid yours holds as well. 

“So which one are you? Idiot or alcoholic?” You retort and Percy swears he notes the faint twitch at the corner of your lips. 

“Any one who does not question his sanity is the furthest from it.” 

“The same could be said about anyone who holds a cup and proclaims themselves not a problem drinker.” He snorts and rolls his eyes. You look between him and the exit. Your exhaustion shows and with a shake of the head more to yourself than him you take to the seat opposite of him. You sit down gracelessly, push aside the cutlery, put your elbows on the table as you cross your arms and lean on them. The moment you sit down there seems to be some kind of relief rushing through you, similar to that of muscle ache. What had you been up to? Percy wants to find out. 

“You neglected your duties to the council today.” It’s a statement not a question. You just pick up a grape and pop it into your mouth musing a shrug. “Did you oversleep?” The jab is almost belittling and you shoot him a look to remind him of your first statement; you really aren’t in the mood for this. 

“I was otherwise occupied. Now may I please eat in silence?” The expression, the tiredness in his eyes makes him almost regret his pervious words. What has caused you to be like this? He’s never seen you so-so beyond yourself. You’ve always been the image of composure and expertise and now, you’re almost seem vulnerable, weak, almost human and not just the picture perfect creature you’d set your appearances as. You’re a person, not just some devil sent straight from the hells to make his life a living nightmare. You’re real. 

“If you wish…” He pushes around his food with his fork while you tear bits and pieces off the bread and eat them slowly. You’re too tired to eat. You look like you’re about to fall asleep right here on this very table, or at least deliberating whether you could justify it. You both eat in silence for the next few minutes. Percy has cleaned his plate and reaches for the decanter to pour some more wine. You’re confused when he refills your cup too. 

“Are you alright?” Percy asks out of the blue and you might as well have been shot by one of Vex’s arrows given your surprise. You choke on your bread and cough. 

“Excuse me?” You wheeze and recompose yourself. You look for any kind of deceit or malicious intent, anything that might explain the undertone of his question because you are pretty damn sure that sounded an awful lot like worry.

“Are you alright?” The second time he repeats it does not ease quell your confusion. Still sounds like worry. Why the hell would he have any reason to be worried about you? You two have been nothing but a menace upon each other’s lives. You never had anything nice to say about each other. You constantly question each other’s skill, motives and credibility. You constantly undermine and try to outperform each other. That’s not to say you have not enjoyed any of it, and you remember the looks of satisfaction and pride well when either of you stand victor over the other. You’d never expect worry to be an expression associated with Percy in the context of you. Worry means concern and concern is rooted in care. And that train of thought sends you down a spiral. Does he care? Do you care? Maybe you do. Anyone’s life grows a little duller without their competition nearby, right? That’s just a poor excuse. How do you even answer his question? Honesty. 

“No.” You speak before you can think but you know it’s true. You’ve been pushing yourself too far the past few weeks.

“Will you be alright?” When you answered Percy swears something within him reminisces of glass breaking. 

“I don’t know.” You chuckle to yourself and think for a second. “Do you know you’re the first person to ask me that and and got the real answer? What does that say about me?” The latter you ask yourself. 

“You’re exhausted. Rest.” You’ve heard those words before but not from him. “I can’t very well argue with you when you’re about to pass out onto your lunch.” There’s a light quip in there but it’s far more playful than the ones you’re used to. It’s far more lighthearted than you have ever exchanged. 

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? What’s your record? Sixty-five hours without a minute of sleep before you decided a nice risotto would make a comfortable pillow?” 

“You keep reminding me. As you keep reminding me that your record is set at sixty-seven hours and twenty-four minutes and thus you have bested me even in sleep deprivation.” He manages a chuckle as do you. 

“Are these the petty victories we have come to? Have we no better achievements left?” 

“Well, I’ve killed a dragon. You?” He deadpans though there’s no real seriousness about the brag. 

“You and your friends killed a dragon, together. You still got four more to go. Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear.” You wink and swirl your wine leaning back in your seat. Though exhausted the tension begins ebbing away. Who knew it was Percy that would be a comfort and bring peace to the chaos of your life. 

“It’s still one more than you. Besides, we’ll have killed the other four in time.” You shrug and flick a grape at him. It bounces off his arm and rolls on the table. Before you can claim it back Percy puts his hand over it and prevents you from getting it. He cups it as you try to pry his fingers apart and gets it out of your reach lest you disgrace yourself even further and lean over the table to attempt to take it from him. He grins victoriously and pops the fruit into his mouth. You mutter some kind of curse under your breath and he just looks at you innocently. 

“Of course, you take your sweet time skinning some dragons while I keep this city safe hidden from their senses. Tell me, how many lives saved every day counts against the slaying of a dragon? What’s the conversion rate? You’re schooled in mathematics and economics are you not?” You point a finger at him and Percy is sure he has the perfect retort for your statement but then the gravity of it hits him. You’ve been the one keeping up this city-wide illusion. You’ve been the one keeping Whitestone safe in his absence. That’s why you weren’t at the meeting today and that’s why he wasn’t informed. Gilmore and Allura were there, you weren’t. He doesn’t know why it took him two days to figure out no three of you were seen in the same place since he returned from the Feywild. He had known the illusion was there, he passed through it for goodness’ sake. He just never considered that’s what you’d be doing. It’d gone over his head you’d use your skills not to fight but to protect instead. You’d not reach for glory or selfish gain but you’d do what is best for the people. You’d still risk yourself for every soul in Whitestone. You’d been doing so for weeks and you had not flaunted it in his face once during your interactions. How did you end up the one protecting him? Why did you not gloat? Why do you not mention this fact even now? 

“You’ve been pushing yourself beyond your limits, for Whitestone? For us?” He asks breathlessly. The meaning behind those words becomes very real now they are spoken, and the statement is undeniable. The playfulness disappears and a a gloomy sorrow overcasts instead. Still you manage a cocky grin with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well who else is going to keep your precious workshop safe so you can continue constructing the means of a dragon’s demise or while you’re off gathering those pesky vestiges?” Your jest does not make lighter the gravity of your deeds. 

“Thank you.” Percy blurts before he recovers. “I mean it. Thank you, for everything. Whitestone owes you a debt.” ‘I owe you a debt’, he leaves those last words unspoken. Percy cannot quite describe what runs through you but he feels safe to assume you have not heard those words before, not on this matter. It’s one thing to know people are grateful for the work you do. It’s another to actually hear them say it. A thoughtful moment of silence passes before you push back your chair and rise.

“I’m going to sleep for the barest amount possible and then I’m going to go back for my next shift and repeat this all over again.” You twirl your wrists and they crack sending shivers up Percy’s spine. You flex your shoulders and same thing happens. He sees the discomfort pass across your features when you push the chair back in its place and lean on the back of it before you walk around the table and make way for the exit. 

“Get some proper sleep. I’ll talk to Allura or Gilmore-“ Percy argues but you stop and face him shaking your head. 

“They need their rest too if we want this illusion to last.” You counter. You dread every day as this thing eats away at your magic. You don’t know how much longer you can keep doing this but you have to. Every life in this city depends on it. 

“There has to be something…” Percy thinks of the ways to help but there’s nothing. He knows next to nothing about the arcane. He’s no mage. He’s a damn tinkerer and he can’t very well fix this with some mirrors or magical charges. He can’t help bear the burden, not as you carry the burden for him. Whitestone should be his responsibility, but he’s out of his depths. He’s helpless, or would be without you to keep pushing yourself far past your limits. He can only imagine what price you’d pay for this over time, or how long you’d be able to keep this going. He’ll have to admit defeat in this particular query. 

“You could kill some dragons.” You smile. “But until then, I’d appreciate some company while I drain every resource I have until I can barely stand. If you have the time-“ You imply but an answer is given immediately. 

“I’ll make time.” He answers far too quickly. “I’ve come to the conclusion I might like your company far more than I dislike it.” So he has. He cares about you. He looks back upon his life now and he knows it to be true. His pettiness was never born from hatred or dislike. You were perfect, are perfect in his eyes, any imperfection does not chip away at that belief, it is simply part of you. He’s envious of your skill and achievement because he desires to be your equal but felt like he could never be. His pettiness was born from a an unfair coping mechanism and he hopes this is something you two can work on now that veil has been dropped. Perhaps you can discuss as adults rather than bicker like children? He’d like that very much. He likes you. That feel like a disgusting thought he’s still coming to terms with but he knows he can get over himself. He likes you. 

“Is this where we kiss and profess our undying love for each other?” And you like him. Gods he doesn’t need a demon’s bargain to figure that one out. He knows your games and your words, he knows how to read those underlying tones and it’s exactly how he sees now; you like him. Never did he think he’d draw that conclusion nor would he think himself anything but a fool for believing it. Maybe he is a fool. A lucky fool he’ll be. 

“Perhaps in time.” He retorts. Okay maybe old habits do die hard but given you purse your lips and blow him a kiss, it’s not a habit you want to let die either. It’s perfectly you. It’s perfectly him too. 

“I reckon I’ll have you swooning in no time.” 

“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge. A petty one at that.” 

“If you say so…” 

[the-kaedageist]

congrats on hitting your follower milestone!! for a CR short fic prompt, how about shadowgast where essek is learning to coexist with caleb's cats? :)

I'm emerging from the abyss to answer this prompt 11 months later, but I hope you enjoy! I also believe someone else had Caleb having a cat named Gretchen before me and my brain borrowed it from someone; apologies, it just fit so well.

“Ah,” says Caleb when Essek arrives for their weekly meeting. “Since you were here last, I have acquired another housemate.”

This feels like a somewhat alarming statement. Thankfully, the suspense is not held for long - a moment later, a calico cat makes her way daintily into the room with them, stares up at Essek, and hisses.

“Gretchen,” Caleb scolds, along with a long string of Zemnian that Essek’s rudimentary skills can’t hope to follow. He’s just about mastered ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and some of the major foods; nowhere near native-speaker-speaking-to-his-cat level.

Essek tries not to be offended at being hissed at, even as he can feel his own ears flicking back behind his head in annoyance. “I have done nothing to you,” he says to the cat.

“She is scared,” says Caleb, reaching down to scritch the calico’s ears. She glares at Essek but submits happily to the pets. “She will get used to you.”

The cat eyes him like a particularly unpleasant thing that has been dropped on the floor. Well, Essek thinks, he has certainly had nemeses before. What is one more?

The situation does not improve from there. Every week, Essek Teleports to Caleb’s house, and every week, Gretchen acts as though Essek has offended her to the very depths of her being. (It probably doesn’t help that the third time this happened, Essek hissed back.)

By the end of the first month, Essek despairs that he will ever have a good relationship with Caleb’s animal companion.

At night, when he’s downstairs studying and Caleb is asleep, Essek sneaks back upstairs to find Gretchen curled up at Caleb’s side, purring happily. When Caleb is reading on the couch and Essek is attempting to cook in the kitchen, he peeks in to find Gretchen stubbornly attempting to seat herself in the middle of Caleb’s book, to Caleb’s laughter.

It seems that although they loathe one another, he and Gretchen share a love of the same man. Surely there is common ground they can find.

One night, Yasha and Beau come over for dinner. Gretchen is ambivalent about Beau (although no hissing is involved), but she waltzes right up to Yasha and starts headbutting her ankle.

“Oooh, hello, little beauty,” Yasha says, reaching down to scratch her cheek. Gretchen stares up at her adoringly. Essek also stares at her, aghast and betrayed.

“What is this?” he asks like a spurned lover.

“What is what?” Beau asked. She glanced over at Yasha. “Oh, the cat? She loves Yasha. For obvious reasons, of course.”

Essek rolls his eyes. “I thought she did not like strangers.”

Beau blinks. Her eyes narrow and her mouth stretches into a smirk. “Does the cat not like you, Essek?”

“No,” Essek denies quickly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He quickly makes an exit to the kitchen, making excuses about checking the soup, before he can be pestered further.

That is when he begins to wonder what he’s doing wrong.

First, he tries dressing more comfortably for his trips to Caleb’s. Perhaps, Gretchen is intimidated by the points on his mantle and the finery of his robes – is that a thing cats care about? The only cats Essek has ever encountered have been moorbounders, and usually they care more about the quality of their meal.

Unfortunately, even in loose pants and a soft shirt, Gretchen still glares and hides from him on his next visit. Caleb seems to appreciate the change though, pulling Essek into his arms and cuddling with him more than normal, and Essek makes a mental note that perhaps more comfortable clothing was in order regardless of the cat’s opinion.

Next, he attempts to determine if Yasha has bribed the cat for her love. He does research and discovers that cats are known to love meat and fish. The next week, when he Teleports into Caleb’s house, he pulls out a handkerchief with some pieces of fish stashed inside and lays it out on the floor. Gretchen does her usual routine of glaring at him while growling before she slowly approaches to sniff the food.

Caleb looks amused. “You brought a present?”

Essek shrugs, feeling heat on the back of his neck. “She is part of your family.”

Gretchen eats up every morsel of fish, to Essek’s relief. However, once her meal is complete, she goes back to hissing and glowering as though no offering had ever been made.

Essek is starting to feel a bit offended. This feels personal.

One night, he cuddles up with Caleb, dejected, as Caleb strokes his hands through Essek’s hair and coils a curl around his finger. “You are quieter than usual,” says Caleb. “Is something wrong?”

Essek glances up at him through his lashes. “Gretchen does not like me.”

Caleb says, “hmm” and continues to stroke Essek’s hair. “I have thought much about this, and I think she sees you as another cat.”

This is not something Essek has ever considered. “Another cat?” he echoes, surprised.

Caleb presses a kiss to his hairline. “You have cat-like mannerisms. You are prickly and picky and beautiful. Does it surprise you at all?”

Essek thinks for a moment; perhaps it does make some sort of strange sense. “So if I am another cat, how do I win her affection?” he asks at last.

“Well,” says Caleb, “ideally I would have put you both in adjoining rooms and let you sniff each other under the door.”

Essek gives him an unamused look. “Caleb Widogast, I am not actually a cat.”

Caleb tousles his hair with a small chuckle. “Ja, of course. Then I would say…be around her. In, ah, her orbit, so to speak. Give her space, but be present and let her get used to you.”

“I have been present,” says Essek petulantly. “She does not like me.”

Caleb shakes his head. “You either approach her head-on or you give her a wide berth – understandable, but I do not think it helps.” He lays his forehead against Essek’s curls. “You are stubborn. You will find a way.”

And slowly, Essek does.

He continues to bring Gretchen fish, but retreats beyond arm’s reach so that she can eat without feeling threatened. He is careful to seat himself within her watchful gaze when she is near, so that she will know his location. He stops trying to befriend and starts letting her be, and Caleb had been right – once he gives her the space to get to know him on her own terms, Gretchen finally, finally begins to thaw.

The first day she approaches him after her fish treat and lets him tentatively reach down to scratch her ears, Essek feels as though he’d been rewarded with a monumental gift. He meets Caleb’s gaze – and Caleb smiles sappily at him, as though all he’d ever wanted for his life was Essek and a cat, in this little house, with everyone getting along.

“You see?” Essek says to Gretchen. “I am not so bad.”

She turns around to show him her butthole and trots away with her tail held high. Essek laughs. “Perhaps we still have some ways to go.”

Caleb wraps an arm around his shoulders. “It takes time,” he says sagely, and Essek can do nothing more than laugh exasperatedly and press a kiss to his cheek.

[taste-of-the-divine]

ꕤ | Inked | Percy De Rolo

— VOX MACHINA : switch!percy x femcumslut!reader

✩ 𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙀: ​you're the first to fall asleep at a party, and you get cumslut written over your forehead with a marker. it causes an "issue" for percy a few hours later. ✩ 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙊: fic (Part 1), 1.8k words ✩ 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂: missing consent/dubcon (percy as victim), powerplay (subby percy into dom percy), degredation, namecalling (cumsl*t, wh*re, l*ve), somnophelia, cumhungry!reader, power dynamic switch, sir, mentions of breeding

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 𝘿𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙀: i did not proofread this :') hopefulyl its legible BUT eventually i'll go back and make the edits i need. the idea was inspired by this post, and it's probably (?) not done yet.

♡ REBLOGS + LIKES ARE APPRECIATED ♡ 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘟 𝘔𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘈 | 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 & 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒𝘚 | 𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘎𝘌

“Oh cmon, wasn’t the bet that the first one asleep gets a dick drawn on their forehead?” 

Percy, your boyfriend, shoots Scanlan a dirty look through his rosy drunk cheeks. “Have you no decency? She’s a lady for God’s sake, Scanlan. How will I explain to all of Whitestone tomorrow if we have to leave the confines of our home?” 

The pop of a marker and the cap clicking against the floor was enough of a signal that Scanlan didn’t quite care all that much for the high maintenance prince. “Well, then you have an excuse to stay in for a day. Resting’s important, Percy,” he says, before hopping onto a stool to get to your head, slumped over on the couch. Percy stumbles to his feet to try and stop him from putting that bright pink ink on your skin, but he’s forced back into his chair at the hand of Vax. 

“Hey, he’s right, you know. You kind of need a day at home, if you ask me,” Vax says, leaning his weight on Percy’s shoulder to keep him down. Percy glares at him too, going to shove his hand away so that he could get to you, but to no avail. Percy’s too wasted for hand eye coordination.

“Oh, Percy, darling, relax,” his sister says from across the table, looking at Scanlan trying to balance and draw on your knocked out face. “She agreed to the game before we even started drinking, and she’s an adult, so I’m sure she’ll be fine. And if she isn’t– well, you can make sure she’s fine. In the morning. No more fussing about it now, you can barely get to your feet,” she says, words slurring before taking a swig out of her bottle. 

He can’t relax, at least not when Pike isn’t around. Pike’s usually the babysitter of the group, and with Keyleth vomiting her guts out again, they were somewhere downstairs in the bathroom. Grog wouldn’t be of much help either– he was entranced in some sort of conversation with his reflection in the mirror, flexing and unflexing his muscles to look at. 

“Annnnnd, ta-da!” Scanlan grins, showing the marvel to the three others in the room. Cumslut was written across your forehead in big, bold letters, with a penis as the T. Scanlan was really, an artist of all trades.

Percy was the first to react, and the only one that didn’t burst out in absolute side pinching tears. “Scanlan! You little useless bard!” He swung around to Vex and Vax. “I thought we agreed that it would be the dick drawing?”

“Well,–” Vex laughs, whipping away his tears. “There is a dick. There’s just–” he makes eye contact with Vex across the table, who was holding her own laughter for a little before the two burst out again into hearty giggles. “–some other additions.”

Percy sighed. There wasn’t really another other choice; what’s done is done. Hopefully you wouldn’t be too mad when you woke up in the morning about it. And hopefully, the ink would come off soon.

-

Percy, with his lithe frame, was not the one that carried you into bed. Grog actually carried the both of you into bed– bragging that he could do anything with his giant muscles. Percy would have been grateful for that omission of an opportunity to make a fool out of himself, had he been properly awake during that time of the night. He’d passed out on his own accord after a few more shots into the night.

It didn’t take long before he stirred awake. Alcohol never quite helped keep him asleep as well as it put him to sleep. But his body sure felt warm, skin flushed a little as he reveled in the pleasure of being under clean sheets. There was also pleasure budding from his core, some shifting between his legs– 

“What on earth?!–” he manages to choke out before throwing his head backwards as some cavern of warm, wet heat descends on him. It felt good and needy and desperate, and when he had the moment to take a breath from the sudden crashing waves of pleasure, he lifted the blankets to find you, face nestled neatly between his legs, with his cock in your mouth and a protruding cheek. 

“My love,” he says, voice soft and hitched at first. “Y-you need to stop or else,–” A groan cuts through, his hands fisting the sheet that he’s holding up to see you kitten licking his tip. 

“What’s gotten into you?” he hisses, but he doesn’t get an answer because you take his whole length into your mouth again, mushroom tip gliding against the roof of your mouth before sinking into your back tongue. He’s watching you, or doing the best he can with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth agape. When you wrap your hands around his base, twisting and bobbing at the same time, Percy grimaces, one eye forcing itself shut as he watches you with the other. His cheeks are flushed a deep red, and his skin feels sticky under the touch of your fingers, but all you can think about is his cum, and how much you want it down your throat. 

“S-slow d-down,” he stutters, a frustrated moan drawing out of his throat when you don’t listen. He can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your mouth, the sensation of your tongue swirling around the tip all too much for him. He’s close, and you know that, feeling his balls twitching under your chin– and perfect, because that’s exactly what you want. So you keep at it, watching him writhe and pant and seize up with his head thrown back and his eyes cross when he cums down your throat. It’s sticky and a little bitter from the alcohol, but you don’t mind it at all, because you’ve been craving this feeling since you woke up. You suck, and suck, and keep sucking him, milking every little bit that you can. 

He’s a whimpering mess now, his other hand grabbing you by the hair to attempt to pull you off his cock. 

“Love, love, please– please stop, I’m done, I can’t–” but that gets cut off by another moan, his knees shaking and bottoming out underneath you as your hands work his cock from base to tip, using spit and cum as lube. 

He’s never seen you like this before, so needy, so pushy for it– whatever it, was. In a moment of clarity as your hands lift on the pressure to his cock, he reads the word on your forehead again. Cumslut.

He puts two and two together in the middle of a desperate whimper, throwing his head to the side as the pleasure in his overstimulated dick multiplies. On the nightstand was the marker that Scanlan used, capped and sitting neatly by his nightlight. Grabbing it off the table, he managed what he could with you turning him into putty from the waist down, grabbing one of your hands that you were using to support your weight scribbling “obedient” into it the best he could.

Nothing different happened at first– you continued to milk him for all that he was worth, and Percy couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head as he felt the familiar coil in the abdomen forming, ready to snap. “Hah- hah, hmpfh, s-stop, love, h-hang on–” he begs of you, and for the first time in the night, you oblige, hands and mouth lifting off his cock with the nasty squelch. 

He looks at you, panting, undignified drool at the edge of your lips, and he slips a finger over it and wipes it away. Catching his breath, he dedicates a moment to taking you in; needy, glazed-over cum-hungry eyes as his cock rests on your cheek, tousled hair, plump, shiny lips coated in a thin sheen of spit and semen, the white of your teeth poking out from under. You looked gorgeous for him like that, and he let you know by pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You want my cum that badly, is that right?” he says, tentative at first. But you nod, rather vigorously, at that. It flips some sort of switch inside of him, and you feel him pull you by the hair, your own whimper leaving your throat as he exposes your throat to him. 

“A little cumslut wants her holes filled. What a sight,” he taunts, a wicked smirk brewing at the corners of his lips. The way he looks at you runs a chill down your spine– it was the way he looked at something he wanted, no, needed, to be under his control. 

And you were more than ready to give that.

“Be a good girl, then. Get on with it. On your hands and knees, on the floor,” he commands you, nodding towards the wood floor you have next to the bed. You glance down and back at him, and he’s watching you expectantly. Heat rising to your own cheeks, you shuffle down, assuming position on all fours as he requested.

You hear him shifting off the bed, stalking behind you– you feel his hands wrap around your waist, and then– a searing burn on your knees as you’re re-oriented, looking up to see the closet mirror and yourself staring back at you, cumslut written over your forehead. And dauntingly, above and behind you, stood Percy. 

You’re naked, because you woke up earlier and tried to satisfy your urges by touching yourself, which, went nowhere, clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this cum-drunk state– but he is clothed; well, partially clothed, his sleeping robe untied and hanging off his shoulders. He knees behind you, secures your ankles to the ground with the weight of his calves and body, and sinks his fingers into your sides. 

“Spread your pussy for me.”

Your eyes go wide, thundering in your chest. He notices your hesitation, and grabs a fistful of hair and pulls you towards him.

“I said, spread your pussy for me. Do I need to repeat myself?”

Some sort of noise comes out of you that sounds vaguely like a whimper and a “yes, sir,” as you take your hands and grab your ass to satisfy his request. You feel a bubbling of dopamine in your chest when you obey him, and it feels good, addictive, almost.

When you feel the weight of his cock pressed against your entrance, your body instinctively gravitates towards him, craving to be filled. But you feel his weight pull away, teasing it along your slit as he leans over to your ear. 

“Be patient, love. Just enjoy it, I’ll do the work, my little cumslut. You’re such a needy little breeding whore, aren’t you?”

© copyright @taste-of-the-divine 2023 ♡ REBLOGS + LIKES ARE APPRECIATED ♡ 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘟 𝘔𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘈 | 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 & 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒𝘚 | 𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘎𝘌

[fruitzbat]

the (in)famous acid trip scene from chapter 7 of crowned teeth, as depicted by @suraelis!

couldn't be more thrilled with how well this commission turned out. thank you again for your incredible work!

[mintywolf]

They go upstairs, and shut the guest bedroom door behind them. Almost before the click of the latch, Laudna begins to shed her skin. Her fingers tug and tear at the clasps and bindings of the golden chains and the jeweled collar and the gilded cage she’s been held fast within, fumbling to loosen the knots holding her sash of trinkets around her waist, raking at the buttons of her blouse for an exit.

With a wry smile Imogen moves from the door to help expedite the process, but coming closer to her she realizes that instead of eagerness, there’s a near-frantic desperation to the way she’s pulling at her clothes. Her hands are shaking, and her breath comes in sharp hisses between her clenched teeth. As her fingernails pluck at her sleeves along the row of gold-plated buttons confining her arms from elbow to wrist there’s the pop of a ripped stitch and a button hits the floor with a tiny ping!, then rolls away into a crack between the floorboards. Laudna curses softly through her teeth.

“Here. Let me help you.” Taking her hand, Imogen strokes her forearm reassuringly through the sheer fabric of her sleeve and then begins to undo the buttons.

“It’s too tight.” With her free hand Laudna tugs at the unyielding high collar of her stiff organza blouse and then scrabbles her fingers around to the back of her neck where there’s an even longer line of little buttons running up her spine.

“I know,” Imogen says, in commiseration, “I know you hate that.” She’d guessed that Laudna’s new look wasn’t of her own design, but there was no point in saying anything about it, yesterday. In all the time she’d known her, Laudna had hated the feeling of rough fabric on her fragile skin, of clothing too tight to let her fidget, and of anything close around her throat. What petty cruelty, that her clothes should be chosen to be such a knowing torment to her, not just a constant irritation to her senses but a glimpse of her tormentor in every reflection. “Hold still, I’ll have you free in a minute.”

Working as quickly as she can, Imogen undoes the buttons on her sleeves, then turns her by the shoulders to reach the rest of them. A few strands of her hair straggled loose from the high bun confining the rest of it are snarled around the buttons going up her back, and, taking care not to tug, she unwinds and lays the lock of hair over Laudna’s shoulder so she can unbutton her. The blouse is torn along the seam of her shoulder and sticking damply to her back where she’d lain on the makeshift operating table downstairs. When Imogen finally peels it away she realizes that the dark spots of patchy opacity seeping through the thin fabric aren’t just sweat.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs in dismay, “You’re one big ol’ bruise under here.”

(read more on AO3)