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thelonelylakecome back and forgive me. critical role, keyleth/raishan. keyleth likes raishan best when she remembers things differently. 1k words, rated m.
"My friends tried to hurt you."
Keyleth's magic has always tended towards the invisible, something drawn from her connection to the natural world that is felt, not seen. But once a year as she runs her fingers through Raishan's hair, the strands of deep green and burnished gold that meld together into an inky blackness that Keyleth keeps expecting to stain her hands, she understands what the academics mean when they speak of magic as a weave.
"My friends tried to hurt you," she says again. "And I'm here to make sure you live."
The threads of new memories glisten in the early morning light as they tangle in Raishan's hair, sinking into her skin, taking hold in all the deepest recesses of her mind, of her. Inside her body, away from Keyleth's sight, they curl around her beautiful, awful brain and make themselves as securely at home as if they've always been there.
"My friends tried to hurt you, and I'm here to make sure you live, and you're so very grateful."
It gets easier every year, Raishan's mind more and more pliable with age, with every iteration of the spell. It helps that very little of what Keyleth has to say is a lie, not now and not even at the beginning. What had started as a precaution had, over the years, become a ritual that Keyleth likes to think brings them both some kind of comfort.
It's better than the pain, isn't it? she had said twenty years ago, maybe thirty.
Now, she says, "You're so very grateful, and because of that, you want me to be happy."
She doesn't remember anymore, really, what Raishan had said. Raishan might remember, if she asked, but that isn't what their relationship is these days.
Here, on the floor of the mangrove forest, under the weeping trees that had first nourished Raishan back to something resembling health, their relationship is: Keyleth, once a year, pulling out the memories of the worst of what Raishan did, replacing them with a softened version less likely to lead to the end of the world; Raishan, accepting the new threads, stirring in Keyleth's lap, her lips tracing unspoken words of gratitude along Keyleth's thighs. It never changes, not in a way that matters.
The only difference now is that their ritual is for Raishan's own benefit now, moreso than the world's. With it, her mind, which is no less sharp than it was in the days of Vox Machina, is bent to pursue the puzzles of Keyleth's interests — questions that intrigue and enrich, answers that bring pleasure and satisfaction. This, Keyleth has decided over the years, is Raishan in her purest form, free from the shackles of Melora's curse and Thordak's plans.
Without it — Keyleth isn't sure what survives under the layers of modified memories. Isn't sure either of them wants to find out.
She doesn't blame her for what happened anymore. Maybe she never had.
"And I am happy," she says. Raishan is luminous now, the worst of her melted, burned away by better things. "You're happy too."
Raishan's never said otherwise, so she must be.
The spell flares, complete. Raishan's eyelids flutter open at last as she struggles to sit up, one hand reaching to her temple where Keyleth's fingers had rested.
"Oh," she says, voice thick with artificial sleep. Every year Keyleth thinks this will be the year she dispenses with such precaution; every year she can't resist the temptation to keep it. "That time of year already?"
"Mm. Feels like it's quicker every year, doesn't it?" Gently, she maneuvers Raishan to sit next to her. The ground is thick with mosses, as is the tree trunk Keyleth's leaning against, the world still soft before the day's heat has had time to set in.
Raishan lets herself be moved — she wants me to be happy — and possibilities gather fizzy on Keyleth's tongue. She settles, as she usually does, on "Tell me about your research."
She knows the shape of it, of course. Raishan is diligent about her monthly letters full of theories and diagrams, and their conversations over Sending, though less frequent, gave something of an air of casualness to their relationship that Keyleth had come to enjoy.
But they only ever see each other once a year, and some things can only take on their true importance face to face. The way Raishan lights up given the chance to talk to a receptive audience — the way the way her smile always exposes her dragon's teeth — the way the skin of her inner thighs is slick and ridged with the memory of scales when Keyleth dips an exploratory hand beneath the waistband of her trousers —
This, too, always happens, and Keyleth has long since let go of any reservations she had surrounding it. It wasn't because of the spell, she had told herself after the first time, and the more she had turned over their first few meetings in their mind, the surer she was: there had never been a version of Raishan that didn't want her. That this one does is no surprise, and indulging her gets easier every time.
Raishan never asks for it aloud, but she never pulls away either, and Keyleth has found that she can't bear to deny Raishan this. The other woman may or may not be aware of the spells — that question Keyleth leaves unasked — but the touch she leans into every time. And if anyone were to ask Keyleth if she looked forwards to it—
It wouldn't matter. No one but the two of them knew it happened at all.
It's the easiest thing, now, in a world where very little is easy at all. Raishan talks, about the moons, about portals and spellcraft and the changing political landscape. Keyleth plays with her cunt, idly but with intent, listening to which words catch on the breath of pleasure and which ones remain steady.
Raishan leans into her, sometimes, and Keyleth pulls away every time, unwilling to speed up their time together. She asks questions, relishes the glimpse into Raishan's interior life that's given only to her, only because of what she's done — what they did together. Balanced on the edge of an orgasm for hours on end, Raishan is beautiful, clever, free of the past.
And here, in a place and moment that only exist for one precious day a year, Keyleth is happy.
Fresh Femslash Salad Bar (2024): Early morning, enemies who fuck, Katatonia
Bring Her Bleeding Heart to Me (2026): any, any, character gives another character false memories
"My friends tried to hurt you."
Keyleth's magic has always tended towards the invisible, something drawn from her connection to the natural world that is felt, not seen. But once a year as she runs her fingers through Raishan's hair, the strands of deep green and burnished gold that meld together into an inky blackness that Keyleth keeps expecting to stain her hands, she understands what the academics mean when they speak of magic as a weave.
"My friends tried to hurt you," she says again. "And I'm here to make sure you live."
The threads of new memories glisten in the early morning light as they tangle in Raishan's hair, sinking into her skin, taking hold in all the deepest recesses of her mind, of her. Inside her body, away from Keyleth's sight, they curl around her beautiful, awful brain and make themselves as securely at home as if they've always been there.
"My friends tried to hurt you, and I'm here to make sure you live, and you're so very grateful."
It gets easier every year, Raishan's mind more and more pliable with age, with every iteration of the spell. It helps that very little of what Keyleth has to say is a lie, not now and not even at the beginning. What had started as a precaution had, over the years, become a ritual that Keyleth likes to think brings them both some kind of comfort.
It's better than the pain, isn't it? she had said twenty years ago, maybe thirty.
Now, she says, "You're so very grateful, and because of that, you want me to be happy."
She doesn't remember anymore, really, what Raishan had said. Raishan might remember, if she asked, but that isn't what their relationship is these days.
Here, on the floor of the mangrove forest, under the weeping trees that had first nourished Raishan back to something resembling health, their relationship is: Keyleth, once a year, pulling out the memories of the worst of what Raishan did, replacing them with a softened version less likely to lead to the end of the world; Raishan, accepting the new threads, stirring in Keyleth's lap, her lips tracing unspoken words of gratitude along Keyleth's thighs. It never changes, not in a way that matters.
The only difference now is that their ritual is for Raishan's own benefit now, moreso than the world's. With it, her mind, which is no less sharp than it was in the days of Vox Machina, is bent to pursue the puzzles of Keyleth's interests — questions that intrigue and enrich, answers that bring pleasure and satisfaction. This, Keyleth has decided over the years, is Raishan in her purest form, free from the shackles of Melora's curse and Thordak's plans.
Without it — Keyleth isn't sure what survives under the layers of modified memories. Isn't sure either of them wants to find out.
She doesn't blame her for what happened anymore. Maybe she never had.
"And I am happy," she says. Raishan is luminous now, the worst of her melted, burned away by better things. "You're happy too."
Raishan's never said otherwise, so she must be.
The spell flares, complete. Raishan's eyelids flutter open at last as she struggles to sit up, one hand reaching to her temple where Keyleth's fingers had rested.
"Oh," she says, voice thick with artificial sleep. Every year Keyleth thinks this will be the year she dispenses with such precaution; every year she can't resist the temptation to keep it. "That time of year already?"
"Mm. Feels like it's quicker every year, doesn't it?" Gently, she maneuvers Raishan to sit next to her. The ground is thick with mosses, as is the tree trunk Keyleth's leaning against, the world still soft before the day's heat has had time to set in.
Raishan lets herself be moved — she wants me to be happy — and possibilities gather fizzy on Keyleth's tongue. She settles, as she usually does, on "Tell me about your research."
She knows the shape of it, of course. Raishan is diligent about her monthly letters full of theories and diagrams, and their conversations over Sending, though less frequent, gave something of an air of casualness to their relationship that Keyleth had come to enjoy.
But they only ever see each other once a year, and some things can only take on their true importance face to face. The way Raishan lights up given the chance to talk to a receptive audience — the way the way her smile always exposes her dragon's teeth — the way the skin of her inner thighs is slick and ridged with the memory of scales when Keyleth dips an exploratory hand beneath the waistband of her trousers —
This, too, always happens, and Keyleth has long since let go of any reservations she had surrounding it. It wasn't because of the spell, she had told herself after the first time, and the more she had turned over their first few meetings in their mind, the surer she was: there had never been a version of Raishan that didn't want her. That this one does is no surprise, and indulging her gets easier every time.
Raishan never asks for it aloud, but she never pulls away either, and Keyleth has found that she can't bear to deny Raishan this. The other woman may or may not be aware of the spells — that question Keyleth leaves unasked — but the touch she leans into every time. And if anyone were to ask Keyleth if she looked forwards to it—
It wouldn't matter. No one but the two of them knew it happened at all.
It's the easiest thing, now, in a world where very little is easy at all. Raishan talks, about the moons, about portals and spellcraft and the changing political landscape. Keyleth plays with her cunt, idly but with intent, listening to which words catch on the breath of pleasure and which ones remain steady.
Raishan leans into her, sometimes, and Keyleth pulls away every time, unwilling to speed up their time together. She asks questions, relishes the glimpse into Raishan's interior life that's given only to her, only because of what she's done — what they did together. Balanced on the edge of an orgasm for hours on end, Raishan is beautiful, clever, free of the past.
And here, in a place and moment that only exist for one precious day a year, Keyleth is happy.
