Watching Critical Role Campaign 1 And Im Currently On Episode 38.

Watching critical role campaign 1 and I’m currently on episode 38.

I love drunk keyleth so much she’s so cute like omg

“THE PARTIES NOT OVER!!!!”

*throws up as Percy holds her hair back* “AaAuGh gRoG sAiD iT wOuLd wAkE mE up”

“What aRE we tALkiNg about??”

“OPEN THE WINE!!!” (The rest of the party,) “No no don’t listen to her” “WE PAY YOU OPEN THE WINEEE”

“ggnIGhT pEErcYYYee”

too many dreams unsung - set post-episode 78, Imogen doing her best to comfort Laudna in the face of all of the recent Delilah trauma and they share a dream about it. also on ao3

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Ligament Manor creaks around you, a faint glow of purple and red emanating from the flowers outside into your bedroom. Red moon, red scars, red glows all around - you would be sick of it all if this wasn’t such a necessary, welcome change of scenery and responsibility. 

Laudna rests in your arms, finally having wiped herself out after apology after apology and pulling her hair out until you caught her hands, laid her down, and wrapped your arms around her, stilling her self-flagellation for a betrayal she did not commit. Her sleep doesn’t seem to be restful, but you thank whatever god happens to be listening for it nonetheless. 

You should have gone after her. 

You should have gone after her. 

You should have gone after her,

but you didn’t, and you both have to live with the consequences of that. You let yourself get caught in your rage, in your desire to understand, and you had let her run away. You couldn’t find her on your own, and you didn’t go after her. She had slipped through your fingers. No red ribbon, no glowing red scars to hold it fast, to keep her tethered. 

She hadn’t been forthcoming about her night, but you know she hadn’t spent it alone. How could you have been so stupid? 

Just the night before, you’d witnessed Laudna take on Delilah’s visage and attack ghosts that Delilah had made. If she had a kindred soul on Exandria who was not yourself, it would have been those poor, poor people, and instead Laudna shouted that she had killed them once and would do so again, siccing Delilah’s dog on them once more. 

You had seen the shift in her form of dread - no longer the Sun Tree, no longer the new beginning she had seemed to think her resurrection had brought - instead, a choker, a high collar, and green necrotic energy sparking off of her. 

And you let her wander Whitestone and spend the night alone, you fucking idiot. 

You grit your teeth, remember how you had to pause Laudna’s spiraling self-hatred just a few hours ago, and try to do the same kindness for yourself. 

Your eyes turn to the woman you hold - her back is to you; you had insisted on cradling her tonight. Love is warmth, she had said, almost afraid to meet your eyes, and you didn’t know how to fix this, how to push the pieces of Ashton back into place, how to kick that fucking bitch out of Laudna’s head once and for all, how to make Laudna realized that she is so much more than the monster thinks she is, how help Fearne avoid becoming the wicked creature thinks she will become, give Orym his family back, help FCG stop from ticking over the edge or to find the absolution they so desperately seek - you don’t know how to do any of that, but you can, at least, give Laudna the warmth she wants. You’ll give her all the love she ever wants, too, but for tonight, this is the best you can do for that, too. Her body is so small, so frail, her hair parted in the back as she sleeps to display the scar the rope left behind. You can’t take away the scars, the pain, can’t force air into her lungs or jumpstart her heart to provide warmth of her own, but you can do this. And you will. For the rest of your life, if the gods are willing. 

If they aren’t, well, it seems you’re doing all the work for them anyway, so it doesn’t matter to you what they think. You’re going to save them, because saving them is the only way to save Laudna. That’s the truth that’s planted itself behind your sternum, that propels you forward day after day - your actions are for her, not for them, and they’ll have to make their peace with that if you’re going to do this at all. 

Sleep takes you eventually, your long, lonely previous night and stress eventually winning out over the worried circles your mind paces, and the night is calm and peaceful as your beating heart warms the two of you in bed. 

And then, and these things happen unwitnessed - a shift of the head on the pillow, perhaps, or someone’s arm lifting to cover her eyes from that glowing red, so like the moon you’re both sure you’ll die for, or one of the fey decides to play a little trick - you’ll never know, as it goes for so many things that happen in the middle of the night - there is a soft plink neither of you hear, as your circlet tumbles from its secure place upon your brow and falls to the floor. You won’t know how long it takes for your unconscious mind to discover it’s no longer bound, no longer safely tucked in as you are, but eventually, it must realize that the familiar melody of two years of your life lies so, so close, its favorite tune finally playing again, and so - it travels, and brings your consciousness with it. Who can blame anyone for drifting towards their favorite lullaby? 

You’re baffled and alarmed, of course, to see Laudna facing off against yourself in the woods it takes you a few beats to recognize - you’re in the forest outside of Whitestone, nearly exactly where she ran to today. You have to swallow back that sinking feeling, again, at how it had felt as she turned and ran from you after you had sought her so desperately. You look at yourself - rather, this other version of you, and your panic begins to give way to clarity. 

The you that stands sixty feet from you is younger, her scars hidden under gloves, glowing only purple - this is the Imogen that Laudna met in Gelvaan, the Imogen that ran away with her. Your eyes turn to Laudna as you begin to piece together that this must be her dream, and you wish you could wake yourself up, put the circlet back on, leave her to her privacy, but as your eyes meet hers your vision stutters and jolts, and you are no longer Imogen, an observer who got here by accident in her sleep, safely out of the way of the confrontation, but Imogen, a young woman who fears herself above all else, facing a woman who seems to feel exactly the same about herself. 

“Get away!” The woman yells, her body contorting as she does so, lengthening her body and her jaw expanding and hanging loose, revealing a dark void within, then reverting back to herself. You feel a pulse of fear - but then your eyes catch her shoulder underneath the tattered gown she wears, bleeding a black ichor as furiously as a wound can bleed on someone who is not alive. Your eyes wander over the rest of her, which seems to contort and retract without her intending to, and you see she’s bleeding from several wounds, all over.

She screams at you, trying to get you to run away, but you’re no longer the Imogen Laudna imagined and placed here - you’re the Imogen that has spent years with Laudna, the Imogen that was never afraid of her. 

“The farmers did this to you,” you interrupt her, feeling your rage creep into your voice, making your words drip with it. This, you think, is more or less how you responded in real life, too. “They can’t stand a single thing they don’t understand.” Your hands flex, and you feel the painful itch of your scars against the leather gloves you used to wear to hide from them. 

She stops twitching and contorting for a moment, her eyes finally meeting yours, and within the black that you’re used to, you see a slit of that same, necrotic green that sparked from her in that Whitestone chamber, forming a snake eye with the colors inverted. She’s not quite your Laudna, then - is this who she thinks she is? Is this what she fears what she might become? 

“They won’t be a problem anymore, pretty girl.” Her grin is too sharp, too wide, her voice practically a hiss. She circles you a bit, revealing a pile of drained corpses that her twitching form had concealed from you. Your eyes can’t help but focus on a familiar boot. 

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. 

You left him behind, anyway. He spent years hiding from you, anyway. This isn’t real, she didn’t hurt him, and even if she had, this isn’t her. 

You return your focus to Laudna - the Laudna you had met in Gelvaan was near starving, a cornered animal who couldn’t do anything but run, but had made crafts to pretty the shacks she stayed in and invented a little companion for herself so she would have someone to talk to other than the murderer in her head. She was light, she was music, she had joy despite everything. 

This Laudna, she is wiry, stronger than the woman you know. Your eyes flicker back to the husks - this Laudna hasn’t spent thirty years fighting Delilah, rather; she fed her and ate up the table scraps. “Laudna, this isn’t you.” Perhaps it’s unreasonable to argue with a version someone has of themselves in their own dream, but what are you supposed to do, run away? From Laudna? A day after you had let her run and didn’t go after her? There was no chance of that. 

Her head tilts curiously as she licks her lips and looks you up and down again. “Oh? Tell me more about me!” She laughs, and it’s an echo of the laugh that Delilah had mocked the three of you with the night before it all went to shit. 

You fumble for a second, but it doesn’t take long to gather your resolve. This is Laudna, after all. You haven’t told all of the Hells that you love her because, ultimately, you want that to be her choice - but you would fly above every city you visit and scream it to every citizen if she would want you to. “You don’t want to hurt me.” You raise your chin, trying to meet her height. “You told me that, just today. You said you never wanna hurt anybody, especially me.” 

Her snake eyes narrow - it seems you’ve annoyed her, if nothing else. She transforms with intention - the mourning veil drops, she grows another six inches, her fingers lengthen and her nails sharpen further, ichor dripping off of them, and once again her jaw unhinges, this time baring rows and rows of sharp teeth as she emits a piercing shriek. 

You don’t wince. You feel her mind trying to pierce yours, feel her try to make you afraid. She wants you to run away, you know. She tried the same thing when you met her in Gelvaan, tried to turn you away as she did the farmers who attacked her. This Laudna, too, just wants to be left alone. You didn’t fear her then, and you won’t now. “Laudna, please,” you whisper, reaching for her. “Please, this isn’t you.” 

She flinches away from your hand, and you drop it immediately. Laudna stalks forward, coming closer to you. “Look at me, pretty girl. I’m a monster. You should leave me alone.” She bares her teeth again, inches from your face. Her voice is more cracked than usual - crushed and cracked windpipes from a broken neck, even more constrained by the chokehold Delilah still has on her. Perhaps she’s forgotten, or doesn’t realize - underneath the mourning veil, black ichor spills from her eyes. She’s crying. 

“Laudna, I -” words fail you, as they so often do - you’ve spent so much of your life hiding from other people. An idea comes to you, instead - the circlet must be off, or else you wouldn’t be here. 

You won’t speak, then. Instead, you shut your eyes, and reach your mind out to hers - whether you’re reaching the Laudna in front of you or the one sleeping beside you, you hope it will soothe her. You try to give her only your best memories, your best dreams for the two of you: your hands linked, you saying “I’m so glad I found you… I don’t know what I’d do with you,”; you pushing a ring of entwined snakes onto her finger, trying not to blush while you do so; “I love you so much” - “I love you more than anything”; her waking up in your lap, you getting to tell her that this gets to be real now, this isn’t one of Delilah’s tricks; your dream of domesticity, of baking cookies with her in a small kitchen that belongs to the two of you; the first kiss in the marketplace, the way your heart hammered as she kissed you a second time. You keep your eyes closed, but she’s grabbed your hand in her own, her fingers back to their normal size. “Fate made me,” you whisper, “just like fate made you. I’m not running away.” 

“Darling,” it’s a whisper, but the voice isn’t this demented version of Laudna - it’s your Laudna, and she’s reached for you. You open your eyes, and the ones that meet them are pure obsidian, still shining with inky tears. “Thank you.” 

You let go of her hand, instead hugging her as tight as you can. 

You awake suddenly, and Laudna is still tight in your embrace. She rolls over, and the same leaking eyes meet yours in the glow from the Feywild’s flowers. “Love is warmth,” she whispers, and nestles in even closer to you. 

One of my favorite artists of all time!! You’re such an inspiration to me keep up the good work dude!!

It's that end of year time, an art summary. This year is full of trying new things, making my art more dynamic and flowy, which I'm proud of and want to improve on. Crossing fingers that I can focus more on OC stuff. As much as I have fun drawing fanarts, there's just something drawing your own OCs in situations and people not going 'um actually' towards my own OCs.

Previous years art summary

So I recently got a ps5 which means I can actually play bg3 instead of suffering at like 4 fps and shitty graphics on my slow pc and I decided to change up the looks of my pc while keeping the same class and race.

I love her lots hehe

What she used to look like v

Oh also I accidentally fucked Astarian so there’s that tok

Me when

Imogen doesn’t tell Laudna we’re the shard is (smart move)

Laudna gives Ashton the doll and Ashton apologizes to Laudna

“Love is pain, but it’s also warmth. I was so cold last night” -Laudna