15 Works by Omcree
Listing Works
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some things sure can sweep me off my feet by Omcree
Fandoms: Critical Role: Exandria (Web Series)
07 Mar 2026
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You would think,” Laudna says, with prim condescension, which tells Imogen exactly how aggrieved she is, “that professional athletes, at the Olympics, the Olympics, Imogen, would be able to throw a fucking stone.” She looks to the television, sees easy movement, gentle voices, cool whites that seem pretty soothing. The mess of Laudna’s hair suggests otherwise; Imogen is uncertain why curling would be so enraging.
She says, “Is it… not going well?”
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“I thought, you know, that because it was all over, Predathos and the dreams and— Laudna, I have so much control over it now, the voices and the magic, and I have the circlet. I really thought with the circlet— I thought that if I wasn’t in his head, that if he knew I wasn’t in his head, then maybe— Then maybe.” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound so hollow. She doesn’t feel hollow, feels like it might all climb up her throat and spill out no matter what she does.
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The Temults at the dawn of a new era. A quadriptych.
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Only once have you felt your broken body so thoroughly deny you and even then, with the rope tight around your throat, you had at least been able to weep, to scream. Your body kneels, staggers. It fights for breath it does not need.
You had not thought it possible to grow colder, a chill that seeps from your soul and finds nowhere to go. Quietly, shakily, you whisper, Delilah? It falls not from your lips, but from your mind. You have never wanted an answer less.
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In the quiet dark of the Parchwood, Delilah takes control. Bells Hells do not notice.
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though you’re many years away by Omcree for cairophoenix
Fandoms: Critical Role (Web Series)
14 Jun 2025
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Casting helped distract from the memory of Laudna’s eyes looking at her in confusion, from Laudna, dreadful in her murderer’s mourning veil, from the smooth skin between her ribs where there should have been a jagged scar.
Imogen didn’t know where she was. She had to focus on the where of it all, couldn’t contemplate the nagging fear that where should not be her greatest concern. She didn’t think about the unstable marvel of Ashton’s brain. She didn’t think about her body moving out of time with itself. To even consider it was impossible.
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Imogen falls through a hole in the world and finds herself trapped with a wife who doesn’t know her, a future imperilled, and no way to get home. A time travel AU.
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“Look,” Ashton said, taking a folded up wad of paper from the inside of their jacket, spreading it out on the desk next to Fearne. Laudna pushed past her reluctance and stood with a sigh, pulling Imogen up with her. She peered down at the map, hoping that there was some semblance of a plan. “This is the layout, everything I’ve seen from every visit to that fucking mansion, including the first one.”
“When she shoved you out a window,” Imogen said tautly.
“Exactly, so I know there’s a fucking window here.” Ashton stubbed an angry finger into the map. “Every construct I’ve seen, every protective rune.” There was poorly hidden entreaty when they added, “Do you think you can do it?”
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Ashton asks the witches to help them break into Hexum Manor. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
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Imogen had spent nineteen years not thinking about soulmates, then another seven sure that her soulmate would find her deeply disappointing. The worry hasn’t fully abated, and Matilda still hasn’t shown up.
She now exists in a state of enlightenment, secure in the knowledge that soulmates are bullshit. Because now there is Laudna. If soulmates were worth a damn, surely hers would be Laudna.
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A story about fate, and choice. A story about love. Or, a soulmate au.
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She feels it before anything happens, the preternatural awareness she’s always had for Laudna, of knowing she’s going to speak the instant before she does, of knowing how she’s going to move, when she’s going to smile. There is a broken, rasping gasp, the rattle of a corpse dragged over gravel, the opening of a tomb. There is a sickening snap of bone dislodged, a twitching marionette of a jerk, and a feral, growling “Fuck.”
She looks down into eyes as dark as the void. Eyes that are open, and staring at her uncomprehendingly. Imogen breaks.
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In the dirt of Bassuras, Laudna takes a breath. Bells Hells deal with the aftermath. Imogen deals with the consequences.
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“Come on, Laudna, if I hypothetically became a superhero you wouldn’t want me to tell you?” Imogen couldn’t keep the fond exasperation from her voice, because that was absurd.
“No!”
“Leaving out the obvious fact that you would absolutely be able to tell, why not?”
“Because— because it’s about the persona, the symbol,” she said, plaintive. “It’s about knowing that anyone is capable of great good if given the chance.”
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People come from far and wide for a chance to see the famous heroes and villains of Jrusar. Imogen is just trying to pay her rent. A fake superhero AU.
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“You’re the one who has the right to say no. You’re the one who gets to choose what you do, what happens to you. No one else. No leader, or hero, or god gets to decide what you do, Imogen. Only you.”
“I’m not worth Exandria, Laudna.”
“You are. You’re worth everything.” Laudna knows her voice is wretched, her singular devotion to Imogen eclipsing everything else. She doesn’t know how else to exist other than in thrall to her. “I’d let Exandria burn before I let them take you against your will.”
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There are no secrets in the dark, only each other. Imogen and Laudna talk about the future.
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“I’m talking about Imogen,” she said, looking down at her ring. “I’m talking about the fact that I’m completely, life-ruiningly in love with Imogen, and I don’t know how to deal with knowing that.“
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Laudna has an epiphany. Laudna doesn’t cope with it well. A modern AU.
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Laudna comes to Gelvaan twenty years too early, and there is no one there to save her when the town tries to roll her back out.
Twenty years later, Imogen Temult, overcome by dreams of the red storm and the voices of a judgemental town, finds solace and salvation in the presence of a friend for the first time. That friend just happens to be the nightmarish apparition that has started haunting her bedroom.
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Something feels different this time. The swirling red sand is still abrasive, still burns as it rubs against her skin, still stings her eyes. The wind still tears through her, still hammers at her eardrums. The ominous light of Ruidus still tints the storm in an oppressive crimson glow.
But there is a pressure here, pushing on her entire body, compressing her bones. The pressure on her mind is almost unbearable; it feels like she’s being peeled open, like the thoughts of all of Marquet, all of Exandria, are pushing in on her. She remembers what it felt like to stand in the market in Gelvaan, not even three years ago, assaulted by the thoughts of a small town, and realises that the pain was inconsequential, child's play compared to the force of whatever this is.
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In the fight at the end of it all, Predathos chooses Imogen as its preferred vessel. Imogen disagrees.
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In venturing into the world with Imogen, Laudna had flourished. She was a natural when she was appreciated properly. She’d made friends for them in a way Imogen never would have by herself, had found a group of weirdos who were better off together. She had rejoined the world and made it better with her presence.
Their life together had very quickly progressed from friends to best friends/platonic soulmates. Although she struggled relentlessly with the platonic part.
Imogen was desperately, achingly in love with her. She had fallen from that very first smile and had concussed herself on every single branch on the way down. And the only person who didn’t know about it was Laudna.
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In which Imogen and Laudna get their cottage, and it’s a house in the Windowed Wall, a found family who love them, and a repurposed cast of characters. Or: Imogen loves Laudna, a Modern AU.
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“Laudna, you died?”
She knew this, surely? Imogen had been very clear, from the very first time that they met, that every thought in Laudna’s head would work its way into Imogen’s, that she couldn’t control it, that she saw everything even when she didn’t want to. She must have seen this. They’ve been working together to build up Imogen’s mental walls so she can try and block out the thoughts, have been practicing every night. And it’s working! Imogen is very capable.
And she’s said it before, she thinks. She must have. And Imogen has been with her every day for the past two months. What did she think she was looking at?
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After fleeing the mob (again), Imogen and Laudna hide out in an abandoned house, and talk. It’s all rather a lot for Laudna.
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Would it help if I stayed up? Kept an eye out? Imogen is so very tired, but she’ll do this for Laudna, so that Laudna can rest. She’d do anything to give Laudna even a modicum of peace.
You need to rest, Imogen. That’s not an answer, but it's Laudna putting even Imogen’s most minor needs above everything, just like always, just like normal, and it brings her comfort even as it frustrates her.
I’m kinda too wired to sleep. She can’t tell if it’s a lie or not; the tiredness grafted itself to her bones some time before the Solstice and hasn’t let go. After a decade of nightmares, she didn’t think it could get worse, but she’s learning every day that it can always get worse. It would help me, I think, to watch over you. Definitely not a lie.
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Imogen and Laudna come back to the Hells. Imogen will not let Delilah take Laudna.