Critical Role One-shots (Requests open)

Bury Me with Daffodils and Pray that I Am Reborn. [Orym/Dorian]

"Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left."

!!Graphic and possibly disturbing descriptions like Gore, Vomit, and the Main Character's death!!

Orym stared at his friends, watching them smile and basking in their joyful laughter. They sat in a clearing in the woods, their last stop until returning to Gilmore with the runes and information about a lost city.

The sun had reached its apex, its warmth spreading in the air. No clouds in the sky to hide its beauty, none to shield his eyes from his companions. Trees surround the group, creating a shelter of peace, however temporary.

Orym coughed into his fist, turning his head away from his friends.

He knew what to expect.

Small yellow-white daffodil petals, a flower associated with rebirth and eternal life. But its lesser-known meaning was unrequited love. Ironic that eternal life will end up taking his, perhaps he would also get the rebirth end of the deal.

He knew from the tales of the Ashari what the sickness that had settled into his bones was; Hanahaki Disease. The girls of the village would whisper about its myths and pray that they didn't suffer from them. Orym smiled fondly at the idea in the past, twisted as it is, to be so in love that even the beloved's rejection would send you to the arms of the Raven Queen. Luckily he hadn't needed to worry, with his future husband at his side.

Yet again Orym smiled, but now he had no certainty in his love. He had become so enraptured, so fond of his closest companion that he would willingly lose his life.

Then again, he didn't have anything to lose. He would protect Dorian with his life, there was nothing he wasn't ready to sacrifice anymore.

The fighter wiped the crimson-stained petals off of his hand and rubbed his lips with a dirty rag. He acted as if everything was fine, because to him, it was. He had come to terms with both his feelings and his death when the first petal fell from his mouth.

"Hey, Orym! you good, man? You're all...spacey." Dariax jogged over, the rest of his friends following suit.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" Orym tried to keep the gravel in his voice to a minimum, he could only fain a cold for so long. Dorian gave him a concerned glance, and Orym worried he could see right through him. That the bard could see the vines twisting around his delicate muscle, the yellow-white flowers starting to bloom inside of his lungs.

"Alright..." Dariax sighed, pulling down Dorian as he turned from Orym. "Talk to him, please? Somethings off...he's got the look."

Dorian looked at Orym, then back to his ginger friend. "What look?"

"The look he wears when he's sure we're going to lose a battle, and he's ready to get himself killed."

Both men nodded and the sorcerer left with Opal and Fearne to pack their stuff for travel. Dorian stayed, readying his mind to figure out what stupid thing their leader was doing.

When Dorian turned, he immediately recognized the expression his friend was talking about, and it made his heart drop for reasons he didn't know.

It was a look of self-resignation, what concerned Dorian was that he didn't know what it was that Orym had bowed down to. It was unlike the fighter to just give up; what had brought him to his knees? What was he hiding and why did he feel the need to hide it?