#dorian really just left ashton floating there

[sylvanfreckles]

No. 17: Icy Deep

Part 17 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: G Warnings: none

Summary: When the Bell's Hells are forced to cross a frozen river with no bridge, Chetney uses the opportunity to share a few things he learned during his time in Uthodurn. It doesn't go well for him. (Read on AO3)

...

“Oh, boy. I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of this,” Dorian remarked. His hand tightened on Ashton’s shoulder as they took another slide-step onto the frozen river. Fearne, in the form of some kind of tiny, adorable rodent, squeaked in agreement from the crook of his elbow.

“Considering you’re not literally made of stone, I don’t give a fuck what you’re feeling,” Ashton griped back.

“Don’t worry! The ice will hold!” Laudna said. She’d dropped to all fours to spider-crawl across the ice, distributing her insignificant weight as much as possible. Imogen, flying, was struggling with hauling FCG over the river so they didn’t have to risk the journey. And Orym, of course, had cut a wide swarth around all of them to cross on his own (he’d said it was to keep a lookout upstream, but Dorian was pretty sure it was because he was enjoying sliding around on the ice. He thought he’d seen a halfling-sized form doing backflips upstream, but that made him too dizzy to focus any more closely).

“You’re such a worry-wart,” Chetney added. He slapped Dorian’s backside as he passed, then slipped nimbly between him and Ashton. “Need to work on your balance, blue boy!”

Dorian rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the gnome’s teasing. Particularly since he’d been crossing this way to stick close to Ashton just in case—he wasn’t sure Imogen would be strong enough to lift them if the ice broke, and he could at least levitate the earth genasi if the worst happened. Otherwise, he probably would have clicked his boots together and flown across the river.

The ice groaned under Ashton’s foot, and they froze. “Fuck.”

“Easy,” Dorian murmured. “We’re okay.”

“I know we’re okay,” Ashton snapped, without any real heat in their voice. “Fuck,” they whispered again, sliding their foot a little closer before taking the next step.

“Take your time. There’s no rush.”

They slid another few feet forward.

“I don’t know if this swims,” Ashton muttered, gesturing to their body. “Hasn’t really come up before.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Fearne squeaked in agreement and scrambled up Dorian to cross over his arm to Ashton’s shoulder. She could have easily run across the ice in this form without any danger but had chosen to stick with them for moral support. Or blackmail material. One never quite knew with Fearne.

“We had frozen rivers like this near Uthodurn,” Chetney called. He stomped on the ice and gave a satisfied nod. “Sturdy.”

Dorian shuddered. He could swim, and he was pretty sure his reflexes would be good enough to leap out of the way if the ice broke, but it wasn’t something he wanted to test. “Please be careful, Chetney.”

“What, with this?” Chetney leaped up and down, slamming both feet into the ice. “This ain’t going nowhere!”

“Not funny, old man,” Ashton warned.

“I bet it would even hold my better half.”

“Chetney, no!” Dorian called out the warning, but it was too late. Chetney was already transforming, his larger werewolf form nearly twice the size of his usual gnomish one.

“See?” Chetney gave a wolfish smile and stomped on the ice again. “Nothing to…uh-oh.”

The ice cracked.

Dorian panicked.

He did the first thing that came to mind, and cast levitate.

On Ashton.

“What the fuck!” Ashton, now a foot off the ice, swung their arms and legs through the air helplessly. “Let me down!”

“Sorry, Ash,” Dorian was already making his way toward the spot where Chetney had dropped through the ice. “Gimme a minute!”

Chetney was clawing at the edges of the broken ice, fur already weighed down with water. The water was quickly freezing in his fur and along the edges of the hole.

“Chetney!” Dorian dropped to his stomach and stretched across the ice, reaching toward the werewolf with one hand. “Change back, then grab my hand!”

Claws hooked into his hand, breaking the skin, dragging him toward the hole.

“If you do that, we’ll both go down,” Dorian argued. “Chetney! Drop it!”

The wolf snarled. The other claw was coming around as animal fear replaced the normal intelligence in Chetney’s eyes. Dorian steeled himself, bracing against the ice as best he could.

“Enough, Chet!”

He looked up to see Imogen floating next to him, hand outstretched. The world wavered for a split-second, and the fear that had been clenching his heart started to relax. Dorian let out a sigh of relief and looked back to see Chetney’s ears droop as his grip on Dorian’s wrist loosened.

“Don’t let go,” he called out quickly. “If you change back, we can pull you out.”

“And I’ll fly you to the other side,” Imogen added. “No more icy deep for you.”

Chetney whined but complied. The icy fur receded, leaving behind a small, water-logged gnome. “Sorry about that.”

“We all make mistakes,” Dorian replied, hauling Chetney out of the ice. He was relieved when Imogen immediately grabbed his arms to fly him over to the bank, since the hole had destabilized the ice around it.

The last few minutes replayed in his mind, and he dropped his forehead to the ice with a groan. Ashton was never going to let him live this down. He looked back over his shoulder, only to find that Orym had lashed a vine around Ashton’s waist and was towing them toward the riverbank like a particularly ill-mannered kite. Ashton had folded their arms, brow furrowed in a scowl, but Dorian thought he caught a hint of relief in their posture at not having to walk the rest of the way across the ice.

He lay like that for a moment, stretched out on the ice, inches away from the hole Chetney had fallen through, until an insistent squeaking caught his attention. Dorian looked up to find Fearne, still in her rodent form, climbing up his arm to press her cold rodent nose to his cheek.

“All right, all right,” he laughed, scooping her up into the crook of his arm and slowly shifting onto his knees so he could stand back up. “Let’s get this over with.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

C3E22 post-ep

--God, I am way too tired to write about Ashton the way I want to tonight. They remain far and away the most interesting character to my brain (not that the other character-plot hooks aren't interesting! but oh boy do they ping hardest), and between this and 4SD and some of the more bullshit meta that was floating around for a bit before 4SD I know there are things I want to unpack about Ashton and loyalty and belief and their relationship with the Nobodies, but not tonight.

--Tonight's episode was pretty great in the amount of information we got just from all over. Like, multi-part Ashton lore dump, but also we learned about plot! we learned about werewolves! We learned about FCG's nascent sense of inherent self-worth! We got maps, which I really need to look at because I am just REAL unclear on how Marquette works as a continent. I love infodump eps, and this one was real great at being about characters as much as/more than lore.

--Having two separate mind readers in the party just changes the game so, so much, and I continue to love how much we're seeing that as an in-party dynamic, even aside from all sundry interactions with the rest of the world. From being able to split the party more easily at a gala because you've got telepaths to check in, to violations of privacy, to this. And this forced remembrance is shortcutting so much time and misery in such a neat way, but it's also so interesting how. Like. It's not even that people in this group can't lie, it's that by and large they just don't, not to each other. (Not since Dorian left, but that's another conversation altogether.) Chetney tells us all about his rage reflex, and nobody particularly seems to be keeping tragic backstory away from everyone else, and Ashton just straight-up let that get flayed open right in front of everyone, and it's so interesting? And it's going to be interesting when somebody does lie, does get caught lying. Especially when that person turns out to be either Imogen or FCG, the two mind-readers, who ironically are absolutely my top two votes for shady motherfuckers trying to deliberately hide things about their past.

--Yeah no I'm done, that's it, that's all the words I've got in me, but someone poke me about Ashton in the next couple of days and maybe I'll have more coherent things to say than "yes good love him" again.

[gay-hypersexual]

you can forget about mine

It hasn’t even been a minute… at least that’s what it feels like. He’s not sure if time works the same way here as it does out there.

What he does know is this: in one moment all he knew was pain, but in the next, he knew peace.

In one moment, he saw blood, swirling sands, a glint of steel stabbing through his torso. In the next, it all vanished, replaced by grassy fields, cherry blossoms floating in the wind, a familiar face (kind, gentle, loving) hovering over his own.

In one moment, his small hands found and grasped onto larger ones, that of his lover, husband, big moon. In the next, that of his traveling companion, oldest friend in the group, big spoon.

Fearne is there, Derrig is there, Will is there, and he thinks he’s in paradise.

But it’s a minute later (or an hour or a year or a lifetime) that that thought disappears.

Because now there’s someone only vaguely familiar to him nearby. A tall, lanky figure with long, black locks, feathers adorning their shoulders, a mask obscuring their features.

And there’s a… tear. In the sunset orange-tinted horizon of his paradise, there is a crack, disturbing the air, calling to Fearne.

The faun bounds over to it immediately, hand outstretched, but she stops. Turns back. The raven haired figure seems to only slightly mind, shifting from one foot to the other.

Fearne kneels down, wringing her hands, avoids eye contact. “I— just give me a minute, ok, and I’ll be right back for you, I promise!”

There is no immediate response, just a head tilt of confusion.

“You… you will go through it, right? When I cast it, when I reach for you?” Her voice is quiet, but their surroundings are still, so the waver in it is audible and cannot be ignored.

Small hands let go of bigger ones (hesitantly, reluctantly) and intertwine with hers. “I don’t know.”

Tears have started to collect. They fall faster as she shakes her head no, vigorous and defiant. “Tell me you’re going to come back with me!”

“Fearnie…”

“No! No.” Seafoam green curls fall in front of her face, a curtain to hide her distress. “Please! Please, don’t make me go without you.”

No answer, save for a sharp exhale— choked and sad.

“You and Dorian once said I should stop taking things that aren’t mine, but I can’t help it! I steal things I like, and I want to keep them. Some would say that’s selfish… well, I am!” She squeezes her hands around his tight, finally looking up, not a dry eye between them. “I’m a selfish person and that’s why I’m asking you to stay with me.”

The figure has taken a step towards them now, tells her she must make the choice now, to accept or refuse, before it closes.

“One more minute!” she pleads, pulling the halfing into a hug. She speaks even softer than before, her breath tickling his ear. “I just found my parents again and I really want them to get to know everyone, see what they’ve been missing out on. And we found out this connection with me and the moon? What does that even mean? I need you with me to figure it out!”

“Imogen, Laudna, FCG, we all need you with us! And Chetney and Ashton… they’ll go berserk without you! And Dorian—” She curls him closer. “I know it’s hard, I know! But I’m not ready to say goodbye. Please.”

A feathered arm reaches down, nudges Fearne’s shoulder, and gestures to the rip in space. “You have to choose, it’s been too long.”

Fearne stands up, starts backing into it, gaze never leaving her friend. “Please, Orym, please! I don’t— I don’t want to be without you!”

In a flash of white, she’s gone.

Left standing in the fields, he… just isn’t sure. Why should he leave? Everything he ever needed is here. Here, not out there.

Out there is only more hurt. Out there is chaos, fear, doubt, death.

He only knows happiness here.

He looks back, and that face of the man he loved— loves, is staring at him with compassion and understanding. “Whatever you choose, little moon, I will always be here.”

The correct answer is not within him, not right now.

But there’s no new tear yet, so he doesn’t have to decide now.

Not yet.

[masculinepeacock]

sensory prompts 11 and 45 for anything

11. light reflected on puddles + 45. floating on your back in water (pretend this takes place sometime in the future)

The low moonlight overheard glinted off of the puddles that had gathered in the holes of the mud after the heavy rain today. Ashton wasn't usually the sentimental type, but the smell of rain on the air really was quite nice, even if he and Dorian had been separated from the rest of their little group.

Ashton wasn't sure if they trusted Dorian Storm just quite yet. There was something about the bard that wasn't entirely truthful, but it wasn't like Ashton was being entirely truthful either so. Dorian could keep his secrets if he wanted to. The two of them were slogging through the mud, and while Ashton didn't mind it at all, he could tell that Dorian did. His usually pristine clothes (which, how did he do that, by the way? Ashton was almost impressed) had dirt on them, and Dorian was being so brave about it.

"Do you hear that?" Dorian randomly asked him, especially since they had been near silent for a while now.

Ashton stopped moving, trying to listen for what Dorian had pointed out. Water. Running water. "Fuck yeah," they said, and started stomping towards the sound, nearly running. "Let's go!" he hollered over his shoulder to Dorian. Running water meant a place to camp, something to follow and track.

From behind them, Dorian swore under his breath and followed, his footsteps falling a lot lighter then theirs. "Ashton, wait up," he said, but Ashton was too far gone to really care.

When Ashton broke free of the treeline he yelled in joy at seeing the rushing river, that fed into a lake that was clearly visible from here. Dorian caught up with Ashton, and stared at the lake as well. The rain from earlier had left the air hot and sticky, and Ashton could honestly go for a cool down.

Dorian's typically perfect hair was plastered to the side of his head and neck in a way that was honestly distracting, and that couldn't stand. "Race you!" Ashton yelled and despite how exhausted he was, they started booking it for the lake.

"Oh, c'mon!" Dorian whine-yelled, and began running one again. As Ashton ran he tore at the ties on his boots, hoping to kick them off before they made it to the lake, hoping he could jump in before Dorian even reached it.

Ashton kicked their boots off and tore at their shirt and pants too, kicking it all off before practically diving into the lake, careful of his head.

When his head broke back over the water, he shook the water out of his eyes and then looked around for Dorian. Dorian was still standing on the bank. He had taken off the instruments and weapons hidden around his body and set them a safe distance away, but he still wasn't taking off his clothes.

"C'mon pretty boy!" Ashton yelled at the bank, and even slung a bit of water at him, but Dorian dodged out of the way. "Hop in!"

"No thank you!" Dorian yelled back. "We really don't know what swims in this water."

"Coward!" Ashton said. "It's hot and sticky outside and the water feels good. I've seen you trying to fix your hair all day, go ahead and fuck it up some more."

Dorian eyed him, narrowing his eyes, like he was trying to decide if Ashton was telling the truth or not. Finally, Dorian sighed and gave in, peeling his clothes away, and Ashton whooped, trying to ignore the sweeping feeling in their own stomach as more and more of Dorian was exposed. He left on his underclothes and undershirt, but he did wade into the lake, if a bit slowly.

Once Dorian had swam out to meet Ashton, he said, "I was being a little pissy about my hair, wasn't I?' It was deep enough that Dorian could relax on his back, and so he did, blowing out a breath of air as he did.

"You really were," Ashton said, and tried to ignore the way Dorian floating by them made them feel.

Dorian laughed, "You know I appreciate you being willing to tell me that. Or y'know, you being willing to call me out when I'm being too much of a pretty boy."

"Well," Ashton said, ducking his head down so Dorian couldn't study them the way they were studying him. "Someone has to."

"Hm," Dorian hummed. It was quiet for a moment before, a bit falteringly and a bit awkward, Dorian said, "I like it when it's you saying it."

Ashton looked up just in time to see Dorian's brow briefly pinched in embarrassment before he consciously flattened it back out.

"Cool," Ashton choked out, and wished he could float on his back too, staying next to Dorian.

[sensory prompts!]