criticalkink | CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

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CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

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Welcome to the kink meme for Critical Role!

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It's pretty simple. You post a prompt and your fellow fans get inspired and write fic based on that prompt. As it is a "kink" meme, a great deal of fic will be of the smutty variety, so if you aren't into that or not of a porn-reading age, this place won't be for you. Not all fic has to be smutty, but it does have to be kinky.

Clarification: This is a kink meme, therefore prompts must be kink-based. It is not a general prompting/headcanons meme. There have been a couple of people confused by that, so we're just making it extra clear.

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Post each prompt as a new comment to the main post. Include pairing (or threesome or more if that's your thing) and anything else you want to add. You should put, at the very least, the pairing in the subject line along with a specific kink if it applies. You can put the whole prompt in the subject if it will fit, but if it doesn't, use the comments. For example:

Subject line: Beauregard/Jester, friends to lovers

Body of comment: Jester's been letting Beau use her for sparring practice. That kind of proximity does things to a tiefling.

I see a prompt I want to write! What now?
Go for it! You don't have to claim it, and fills can be written by more than one person. Once you've finished you must post it as a response to the original comment. Responses should use a subject line that includes the pairing, rating & any necessary warnings (i.e. incest, non-con, etc.). If you have titled your fic you can also include that. Also, as LJ limits the size of comments, if your fic goes into multiple comments, please note that your comment is part 1/5, part 2/5 and so on. Using the prompt above, the subject line could read:

"Punches and Pastries, Jester/Beauregard, M, 1/3"

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The dragon stares down at them, pacing back and forth quite like a cat. It's head tilts, looking at each of them in turn, and when it finally settles down, it has a sharp and predatory grin across its face.

"Well then, little thieves," it says. "Why have you come to me?"

"Great dragon," Fjord says, stepping forward, "we are not here to steal from you, but to humbly ask your help. Amongst your collection is an artifact of great power that we were hoping to ensure the safety of."

"And is it's safety so ensured?" the dragon asks, it's smile still just as sharp.

"We beat the bad guys here, so, yes," Beau says. She does a better job than Fjord at not getting intimidated, staring into the dragon's face. "And we're hoping to take advantage of that. They're trying to use it to free the Chained Oblivion, but we think we might be able to set up a counter ritual with that piece, and some other pieces we're still tracking down."

The dragon leans back, looking over them all once more. "Take it," the dragon says, calmly. "A gift. To the adventurers brave enough - and arrogant enough - to take on Tharizdun itself." It smiles.

They stare at each other in surprise. "Uh, thanks," Fjord says, regaining his manners. "Thank you. For placing this trust. In us."

"Are you actually a wizard or just a dragon?" Nott blurts out, suddenly. "They said you were a really powerful wizard. That you might be able to-”

The dragon leans in close at her, and it is glaringly apparent that if it wanted, it would hardly be a problem for it to swallow her whole, even more so as it opens its mouth to speak. “I am a wizard, little goblin,” the dragon said. “One who has been studying the arcane for a very long time.”

“Do you know how to change someone’s body?” Nott asks. “Permanently?”

The dragon pulls back, and turns, tilting its head to stare upwards at the open air for a few moments. “Just your body?” it asks. “No changes to your mind?”

“I don’t want to be a goblin anymore,” she says, and her eyes are bright and eager. “I want to be a halfling again.”

“Yes, I believe that can be done,” the dragon says.

“Permanently?” Nott asks.

“It cannot be dispelled,” the dragon says. “This is a boon, enhanced and manipulated by magic, not a spell. And unlike my good will, it will cost you.”

“Anything,” Nott says.

“We don’t have anything quite worth your admiration,” Fjord interjects. “But we are adventurers, so if you have some item you’d like us to acquire for you-”

“No, you have something worth my attention right here,” The dragons says, and suddenly, its eyes have focused on the two clerics. It’s eyes are wide and penetrating, as if it’s staring through their souls. “The artifacts I have are gifts, what I hoard is. . . experiences. To have something no other being ever has, or ever will again.”

Jester breathes in, and stares at the dragon before her, the very large dragon. She looks over to Nott, then back to the dragon, and breathes in a somewhat choking breath. “I- I can-” she stumbles out.

“You don’t have to do this,” Beau says, quickly. “Right, Nott?” Those words are laced with venom, and a glare tossed in the rogue’s direction.

“Right,” Nott says, although her voice is only half-hearted. She doesn’t take her eyes off of the dragon.

“Would you- would you be like that?” Jester asks.

“Not necessarily,” the dragon says, and in a fluid motion, it transforms. A humanoid figure now stands before her, dressed in fine, noble-looking clothes, with long braided hair the same steel-gray color as the scales had been, and cold blue eyes. The smile is small, close lipped, and yet somehow just as disconcerting all the same.

“Jester,” Caleb starts to say, lips pressed tight.

“No,” she cuts him off. “I, I can do this. I mean, my momma does this all the time, basically, so-” her voice is shaking, just a little bit, despite how much she tries to tamper it down. “It’s not that big a deal. Really.”

“Oh!” Caduceus says, eyes going wide in realization. “Oh. oh.” He stares at Jester, at her discomfort, and at the dragon, which, even in human form, still stares at them both with that same sharp focus. “I accept.”

“Caduceus, no,” Jester says, turning around to face him. “You don’t have to do this - I can - I can-”

“It’s alright,” Caduceus says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t mind.” He smiles at her, warmly, and she collapses into a tight hug around him.

“Caduceus,” Nott says, staring at him with more than a bit of shock. “I didn’t think you would-” she frowns, somewhat worried, and it almost masks the way she’s practically vibrating with anticipation.

The dragon walks over, then, and presses a hand against Nott’s forehead. There is a flash of blinding light, and when it fades, she’s been transformed. Her skin is a light brown, her hair darker, but the face and proportions are unchanged, save the loss of the goblinoid features.

“I’ve given you some small aspect of my own shapechanging abilities,” the dragon explains. “You can only transform into other halflings, but it should be enough to fix the details.” It steps back, leaving Nott staring at her hands. “I will return your friend to you when I have finished taking my payment.”

“Caduceus,” Beau says, warily.

“Go,” he tells her. “I agreed to this. And it’s always a good idea to follow through on your promises.”

He unwraps himself from Jester, taking a few steps back, and suddenly walls of stone are rising from the floor. On one side is the Mighty Nein, with more than a fair share of panic spreading across their faces, and on the other, he is alone, save for the dragon, still keeping its eyes on him.

“They’re unharmed,” it assures him. “Merely being guided out of my lair so that they can avoid any distractions.” It steps closer. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Caduceus Clay,” he says. “What should I call you?”

“For you, I think, I will be called Ushakal,” the dragon says. “I’m glad it was you, who accepted,” it continues, “because I can feel the depth of what you do not know.” It runs its hand down Caduceus’ cheek, finger brushing against his lips. “Are you frightened, little one?”

He’s not scared. This creature doesn’t mean to hurt him, or to hurt any of his friends, he can read that clearly enough across his face. He isn’t offering up anything that he particularly cares about. And yet, despite all that, he can feel the sinking feeling of dread, curled within his stomach.

If the dragon expects any response to come in words, it doesn’t wait. Instead, it leans in, and kisses him on the lips.

It’s short, soft, the gentle pressing of lips against his. He’s not sure what he expected, from kissing, if it would be disgusting or monumentous, but it feels not significantly different from the thumb that had rested there before, now sitting against his cheek.

Ushakal pulls back, stares at him with careful eyes, drinking in the sight. Whether it pleases or disappoints him, Caduceus can’t say. He can’t read the dragon at all, not more than it wants him to, and that’s perhaps the most disconcerting part about the whole experience, because he always has some idea, not this blank unknown staring back at him with

He tries his best to keep that gaze as Ushakal kisses him again. There’s a press of a tongue, a shift in the hand on his cheek, a change in their position, and his mouth opens in response. The second kiss has force behind it, and it’s a strange and new sensation, matching in many ways with more like he’d expected.

Caduceus doesn’t know exactly how long it lasts, but he knows Ushakal pulls away to take a breath, that he doesn’t quite think to do the same, and the third kiss has a devouring hunger that makes him reconsider saying the second had ever had any force behind it at all.

The hand on his cheek is now firmly gripping his hair, and it hurts, but he can’t really think about it because it’s only one of the many things that’s overwhelming him. He shuts his eyes and tries to focus, although that doesn’t really help, almost makes things more intense, but at least he can’t see the dragon’s eyes.

He’s not sure what happens, exactly, but when the dragon releases the kiss for a third time, the only thing keeping Caduceus upright is the hand still entwined in his hair and the other on his shoulder pressing him back into a wall. He blinks, and takes a moment to regain his balance.

“If this is how reactive you are when I kiss you,” Ushakal remarks, smiling, “I can’t wait to see how sensitive you’ll be to the rest. Can you walk, treasure?”

“I can,” Caduceus says, and after a deep breath to center himself, all the trembling is gone.

“Good.” The dragon offers its arm, and it takes a few moments for Caduceus to realize what it expects, but it clicks, soon enough, and he lets Ushakal guide him through the maze-like house.

He doesn’t know where, exactly, he expected them to go, but he isn’t surprised by the bedroom that they enter. It’s elegant, reminds him of their time staying in Nicodranas, of when their housing is well off instead of the typical taverns and outdoor camping.

He doesn’t like it.

“You can sit down,” Ushakal says. “I can taste your fear, thick as it is.” There aren’t any chairs. He sits down on the bed, which is probably where he’s supposed to be, all things considered.

The dragon takes the staff from his hand, and leans it to the side, against the door. It’s safe, here, Ushakal has given his word that he’ll be safe, and it’s a word that Caduceus trusts, no matter how much he dreads it. But he still doesn’t like it, having his focus out of hand, so far away.

“I can-” he starts to say, as Ushakal rests a hand on his shoulder and begins to pull the coat off, He starts to stand as well, and the dragon allows that, but only until the coat is removed, and then a light force pushes him back down.

“You could,” Ushakal says, carefully and meticulously folding the coat, placing it on the small table next to where his staff leans. “But this is about new experiences, and this is very new, is it not?”

Its fingers work at the ties to the breastplate, which no one else has done since his sister first helped fasten it to him. The armor is removed, set to the side, another protective layer gone and he wants it back.

One hand holds his, in some mock gesture of sympathy, trying to soothe him, and Ushakal slowly peels off his gloves, running fingers back and forth along his arms. Caduceus can feel the fur on his arms standing straight up at the dragons chilled touch, and the gentle rubbing does nothing to ease the growing nauseous fear in the back of his throat.

Both the gloves and boots are removed and laid out on the table. Ushakal returns, and carefully unties the belts, pressing close enough to Caduceus that he can smell the iron-tang of blood and metal that emanates from his hair.

His shirts are removed with great care not to damage the gauzy fabric anymore than it already has been. When even the undershirt has been removed and folded gently, Ushakal presses hands into the muscles of his back, massaging him.

His body relaxes into the dragons touch, and his mind can’t help but relax too. The tension between his shoulders and climbing up his neck subsides, gently, into the touch. The panic in his mind lessens, and he almost leans back on instinct.

The panic may be gone, but the dread stays. It stays as the hands move from his shoulders and neck and press into his back, as they loop around to run gently against his sides, as they press up against his chest.

Ushakal pulls Caduceus down, until he lies flat on the bed beside the dragon. It kisses him, softly, before brushing his fingers against Caduceus’ nipples.

The skin is surprisingly sensitive, there, and only seem to get more sensitive as Ushakal rolls them between its fingers, pressing and tugging and pinching ever so slightly, only to then massage away the momentary flashes of pain. Caduceus presses his head back into the mattress of the back and doesn’t look at the eyes bearing into him, but he can feel them on him regardless.

Its when the dragon leans down to put his mouth on them, hands moving down and gripping tightly at his hips, that Caduceus lets out the whimper. It must be him, that whimpers, for all that he can’t feel himself making it, because he hears it, and there’s no way the dragon would make such a sound.

A hand brushes against his cheek, and the dragon hums, a content sound that reverberates through Caduceus’ bones. “You’re doing such a good job, treasure,” it murmurs.

The hand on his cheek moves down, further down, stroking gently. Fingers hook into his pants and tug them off, leaving his skin shivering in the open air that isn’t cold. There’s a few moments of silence, of emptiness, and with his eyes pressed as tightly shut as they are, he feels for a moment as if he’s floating in a void.

It doesn’t last. The hands are back, against his thighs, trailing sharp fingers against the soft skin, moving up. Light touches, fast and darting, then longer, the gentle stroke of a finger. Dancing touches slowly become a firmer grip, and a still tightness becomes movement.

The sensation ties him to his body in an uncomfortable way. He doesn’t want to be himself, right now, doesn’t want to be here in his slowly warming skin. But the Wildmother doesn’t present challenges that can’t be met, and so if escape into that dark isn’t an option, he’ll find another path.

It grows faster and faster still, until all that he can focus on is his skin and the movement and the rapidly building pressure. He wants it to be over, desperately, and it almost is, he thinks, but then it comes to a stop and he’s left shaking in skin that doesn’t fit quite right.

Ushakal presses kisses to his skin, short, licking things. Caduceus is reminded of a too wide smile and dagger teeth, of being eaten, swallowed whole.

And then it swallows him, whole, and he doesn’t know what he had expected to happen next but this was not it. He struggles out, tries to kick, but the hands that feel like talons hold him down and all he does is write helplessly against sheets that are soft enough to burn him with each movement.

And it doesn’t end.

The mouth pulls off, and it still doesn’t end. His body stills, and his breathing grows shallower, and it still doesn’t end. Ushakal kisses his cheek, licking up a tear, and then he’s gone. Caduceus allows himself to open his eyes and stare up at the ceiling.

There is a mirror on the ceiling.

There is a body, in the mirror. He’s used to bodies, in all states, used to bodies that walk and bodies that rot, used to bodies that are beautiful and bodies that have been destroyed. Bodies are an easy thing to maneuver, in his experience, never as disconcerting a thing as others find them to be.

The body in the mirror stares back at him, with his eyes, and he knows it doesn’t like what it sees, but he can’t lose its gaze.

The dragon returns, and its fingers run freely over skin that shudders, and press into him, press inside him, claws against sensitive skin, tearing and destroying, although he doesn’t feel any pain. Instead, they stretch, slowly, methodically, a rhythm of touch that sticks in his head like a cheap melody that won’t let itself be forgotten.

One clawing, taloned finger becomes two, becomes three, becomes a steel-worded tongue that steals tears and drinks them like sugar water. The tongue becomes the voice becomes a weight that sends him shaking, becomes a steady drum beat and a rocking of a boat on waves and swords slashing through skin and a body being desecrated and staring down at him with empty, damning eyes.

And then it’s back to the hand, and the steady movement, and the heat bubbling up beneath the surface. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see what has happened to the body, what will happen to it, what he will allow to happen.

Everything is fast, and sudden, and he can’t breathe, and then it’s over. There’s no strength needed to keep his eyes tightly shut, no force at all. He can almost feel the void seeping into the edges of the darkness.

But there’s a hand in his hair, petting softly, and keeping him there. “Shhh,” the dragon whispers, quietly. “There is a bath awaiting for you when you’re ready, treasure.”

With that, his skin is back, tight and sticky. He doesn’t want to be here any more, doesn’t want to be here for any longer than he needs to be, so he gathers up the strength within him to sit up, to stand, to walk, to let himself be guided to the bath.

In the water, he scrubs at his skin to get rid of the sweat and the grime and the feeling that lingers against it no matter how hard he scrubs. The dragon sits to one side, watching him intently. It is in its draconic form again, curled up, and the eyes that stare at him are wide and piercing.

He doesn’t look at the dragon more than is necessary. He doesn’t do anything other than get himself clean.

“If you ever feel like trading more of your inexperience, little one,” the dragon says as he rises to get dressed, “I have much more to offer you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and bows.

Caduceus doesn’t rush, putting his clothing on, he’s not rude, but he doesn’t take any more time with the process than is necessary. He fastens the ties to his breastplate, and shrugs on the coat, runs his fingers to straighten out his hair, and grips at the staff once more.

The solidness of the wood in his hand gives him a comforting surge of strength, as the dark stone walls close in, and the dragon leads him out of its lair.

The Mighty Nein are waiting for him, when he exits. A part of him knew they would be, but it’s still comforting to see him. They all look up at him, as the door opens, wary, tense, looking at him far too closely. He offers them up a smile.

“Shall we be off?” Caduceus asks.

Jester runs up to him and wraps her arms around him once again. “Caduceus! Are you alright! We were so worried!” she says. “We shouldn’t have left you in there alone. Are you okay? Did it-”

“It’s alright,” he says, patting her back supportively. “You didn’t leave me in there. I made a choice.”

“You’re not hurt, right?” Fjord asks.

“It did not hurt me,” Caduceus confirmed. “The dragon followed through on its deal.” He looks over at Nott, or at Veth, perhaps, seeing how she wore her old face, now.

She looks at him, for a moment, and then immediately away. The rest of them keep looking at him, and so, he keeps smiling.

“Let’s head out,” Beau says. “No time to waste.”

The first night is fine. He sleeps under the open sky, with only Caleb’s dome to block them. The second night is fine. Another day walking, another day camping. The rest of the Mighty Nein ease up on their ginger steps around him, and he sleeps, content and safe in the Mother’s embrace.

The third day, they return to civilization, and it’s fine. He enters the town, and he’s cheery enough.

The third night, they sleep at the inn, and it’s fine. He’s fine.

Except, there’s a mirror on the wall, and a body in the mirror, and it stares back at him, with those empty eyes.

“Caduceus?” Fjord asks, standing at the door, everything about him stained deep with worry.

There’s no longer a mirror on the wall. Instead, there are shards of mirror on the ground, on the wall, on his hands. There’s blood, on his hands. Blood on the floor.

“Well, that’s not good,” he says, staring at his hands.

Fjord sits him down on the bed, a gentle arm around his shoulders, tells him not to move as he goes downstairs to fetch the others. Caduceus sits still for a few moments, before walking back over to where the shards of mirrors are.

“Sit back down,” Fjord says, in the door. His voice is soft, and more than a little sad.

“You need to clean up broken glass as soon as possible,” Caduceus says. “In case someone else gets hurt.”

“I’ll do it,” Yasha says, her eyes a flash of sympathy when they meet, just a moment before she looks away. She kneels down on the ground, and starts picking up the pieces.

“Give me your arm,” Jester says, sitting down next to him. She pulls out the glass, slowly, and then presses a gentle cure wounds into his hand, the wounds closing up without a trace. She doesn’t let his hand go. “You know,” she says. “When I was taken, I thought the Traveller abandoned me, because I couldn’t hear him anymore, and I was really angry, and sad, but mostly I was just- but then you guys came, and you got us out of there. The Traveller never left me, he just guided you guys back to me, because he knew that when you’re at your lowest, all you need is your friends to be there for you.”

“You told me someday somebody would need help, and then I’d be there,” Fjord adds. “And I’m here. We’re here. We’re here to help, Caduceus.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Caduceus says, not able to mask the small vein of pleasure in his voice at both of their obvious growth, “but really, it’s not necessary, I’m-”

“Fine?” Jester asks, raising Caduceus’ arm for him.

“People who are fine don’t punch mirrors,” Beau says. “I can speak from experience on that.”

“You went through a lot, back with-” Fjord says. “It’s okay that it left a mark. We all have scars.”

“But I didn’t,” Caduceus says. “I didn’t give anything up that I cared of. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, not to me. I’m unhurt, unmarked, I didn’t lose anything of importance, it was more than a generous deal-” He cuts himself off, pauses, breathes in. “It’s nothing but a matter of bodies. Bodies live, and die, and return to the Wildmother, and what happens to bodies is unimportant.”

“Is it?” Nott asks, and she is Nott, well, she isn’t Veth, doesn’t wear Veth’s face for all she’s in a halfling body. She’s something in between the two, now, and she stares up at Caduceus with eyes that should burn, like all the eyes burn, but instead they’re soft.

“In the end, it’s all the same,” Caduceus says.

“All of this was for a body,” Nott says. “For my body. Getting it back. If bodies didn’t matter, then this wouldn’t matter, and none of it would have happened at all.”

“It matters to you,” Caduceus says. “You bear a great wound. And the only way forward was to heal it, and the only way I saw to heal it was to return you to who you had been. It’s the only thing that mattered.”

“Why would you want to help me?” Nott asks. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve never been kind, I’ve been irritable, and drunk, and I’ve killed you.”

“But now you won’t,” Caduceus says. “The wound in your heart has been healed. All of the wounds you all bear, they’re healing. And when they’ve finished, you’ll be alright, and we’ll save the world, and everything will be as it ought to be.”

“And you?” Jester asks.

“I’ll get to go home.”

The room is quiet, still, the only sound the slight clink of glass from where Yasha cleans, and even that grows even quieter, to match the stillness.

Nott wraps her arms around Caduceus, holding him tight.

“I don’t think everything can be fixed,” she says. “I thought it would be easy, but I don’t think everyone can get a magic sword and be alright. But you get better. It gets better.” She lets go, sitting next to him. “We’re going to get you home to your family. I promise.”

“You don’t have to just worry about fixing our problems,” Fjord adds. “We’re here to help fix yours too.”

“You going to punch any more mirrors?” Beau asks.

“No,” Caduceus says. “I don’t think I like it, very much.”

“If you want to get yourself hurt, as me to beat the shit out of you as training,” Beau suggests. “Cause at least then it’s useful, and I know how to control myself so that nothing goes too badly, or gets infected.”

“Beau!” Jester says. “You can’t say that-”

“I don’t think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Caduceus says, “but I appreciate it.”

“Get some sleep,” Jester says. “Unless you’d rather go camping, because I’m totally up to go camping, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’ll be fine in here,” Caduceus says, and slowly, they all make their way out of the room, with furtive, gentle looks in his direction. He sees Yasha almost say something, but reconsider it, and he sees Caleb linger, until he’s the last one, standing in the doorway.

“It’s better to put blankets over them,” he says, staring towards where the mirror had sat. “Or to take them down and face them against the wall. Do you mind our eyes on you?”

And there’s a thing he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t paid attention to. Caleb’s eyes haven’t been on him, since he first entered the room. They’ve always been turned aside.

He thinks that concept over for a few moments, as sour as it feels in his mind. “No,” he says. “I don’t mind it.”

“The loss of control leaves a very peculiar scar,” Caleb notes. “But it’s just a scar.”

And with that, he turns, and let’s the door be shut.

That night, he sleeps. It isn’t as restful a sleep as those he’d had deep in the Wildmother’s embrace, but it’s a rest all the same, as the dread curled up in his chest lets him go into the dark.

It may have been an easier path, he supposes, staying in the dark and letting it all pass over, but a part of him is glad that instead he takes the one where his friends guide him back into the light.

OP here: holy shit, thank you so much for this it’s literally everything I wanted and so well-written. Everyone’s voices are on point and I especially love your Beau (“People who are fine don’t punch mirrors”) and Caleb (avoiding looking at him until he asked if he was okay with it, and the associated implications at the end, VERY good).

definitely going to be coming back to read this again, I so appreciate the fill !

Mirror requester here!

TT__TT This was so perfect! Thank you!! I love how you wrote Caduceus's internal trauma--I've had a hard time envisioning how he would react to emotional pain since he is such a zen character but you totally NAILED it!! Thank you thank you for adding in the mirror and the smashing of it! <3 <3 It was so much better than what I had pictured in my head! All of the characters' voices were perfect! I hope I have the chance to read more from you! It was fabulous!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

Fill: Treasure, Caduceus/Other, non-con whump, 1/3

Fill: Treasure, Caduceus/Other, non-con whump, 2/3

Fill: Treasure, Caduceus/Other, non-con whump, 3/3

Re: Fill: Treasure, Caduceus/Other, non-con whump, 3/3

Re: Fill: Treasure, Caduceus/Other, non-con whump, 3/3