#i am a genius and a prophet ty ty ty

[hotelsongs]

i'm (finally) catching up on critical role (just finished episode 27, rip). what is the ideal time point to consume "true believers"?

(oh fuck yes oh fuck yesssssss)

anon! you are catching up at an ideal time! i mean—nonideal, in that you have precisely ten episodes before you arrive in My House, which is admittedly a lot of critical role, but you are just where it starts to get rollin’. lemme break down what you have to look forward to:

eps 27 - 29:  incredible rp processing the sad shit of ep 25. (marisha mvp as per.) some of my favorite guest stars ever: sumalee montano pls be my firbolg therapist? ashly burch as a bi dwarf? spoilers but keg and beau do kiss. (MARISHA MVP AS PER.)

eps 30 - 31: closure in zadash, ophelia mardun stays hot, leads are dropped for us to pick up all the way in ep 36 (keep an eye on fjord...)

eps 32 - 35: they meet JESTER’S MOM (SHE’S GOT IT GOIN’ ON)

eps 35/36: they steal a fucking boat. please do not ask me to explain further; this, you need to experience yourself.

AND THEN YOU HIT EPISODE 37 AND SHIT STARTS TO ROLL.

i am massively biased—this is my favorite cr arc ever! it’s about my fav and built from the skeleton shipwrecked bones of all my shit—but this is when the season snaps together, i think. i was impressed with the layup and have loved this campaign deeply from the beginning but this is an unequivocal leveller: it’s not farfetched to call it this campaign’s briarwood arc: it’s rare that cr tightens this closely around a character (here fjord, as briarwoods to percy), and it makes the story both incredibly fraught and incredibly syncretic.

and, neat! all my fanfictions slot in neatly after specific episodes, two canon compliant (one “yes that happened” and one “that could’ve happened”) and one... written as prediction-to-be-jossed, now very much au.

so, a self-absorbed walkthrough of the m9 sword snake piracy arc by ao3 user marketchippie, focusing on her (my) bad interests:

ep 37: you meet my wife, avantika. (you are invited to return to my inbox when you meet my wife, avantika. you, reading this, anon or no, are invited to slide into my inbox whenever you encounter my wife, avantika.) you learn more things about the big sea snake talking to fjord through his sjord. the ep is fucking called “dangerous liaisons” because... this arc is gift-wrapped for me.

ep 38-39: they explore a snake temple

ep 40: aka (its real name:) “dubious pursuits”. snake sword intrigue thickens. my fic, third eye, takes place at the end of this episode. it describes a situation that very much happens.

ep 41: the gang does piracy! the gang also discusses several moral quandaries and considers how things are going so far, with the piracy and fjord co-captaining in the name of the sea serpent and so forth. my fic, comedy of masks, takes place hereabouts, based on a comment jester makes in this.

ep 42: pirate island! CHAOS. WILDLY STRESSFUL. ENDS ON A RED-HOT CLIFFHANGER, PUN INTENDED.

this is the point where you read true believers, which was written in a stressed-to-hell fever of “how the hell are they gonna get out of this one?” slanted heavily toward “how the hell is avantika gonna get out of this one”. obviously, challenging myself to write a ‘good ending’ for all involved ended with devastation, which i hope you enjoy

ep 43: the gang does not take my suggestions. things end “better” for them. certain aspects of this arc “end”. (much, imo, as the briarwoods were “over”, but... i can be patient.)

ep 44: the gang goes under the sea to visit fjord’s old ship and drowned dad. fjord and caleb do blood magic together for no reason other than it’s fun.

and that brings us to the present!

keep me posted, pls & ty. you will have fun.

#i need more people yelling about the precise slant of matt’s jaw when he’s playing avantika #the light he can summon into his eyes? fuck outta here matt #also @ anon: read true believers before ep 44 so you can know how prescient i was about certain convos in ep 44! #i am a genius and a prophet ty ty ty #critrole

[awanderingtortoise]

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

-----------------------

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame.  Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol.  “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot.  Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

#zoyalai #i am an idiot #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #horrible puns terrible puns #nikolai duology #grishaverse #tortoise tries to write #me

[wwwafflewrites]

Imagine Getting Caught in an Ambush with Dean Winchester

It was really only meant to be a one night stand.

You were the town flirt, twirling your pretty hair and flaunting your curves which were exaggerated by your revealing outfits. With one smile, you had this guy twirled around your fingers before he even knew it. This was your happy place. This is what you were comfortable with.

You had to admit, he was stunning. Freckles, vibrant green eyes, and a million dollar smile. Not to mention his abs. And those shoulders.

You got your usual fix of hot action, but it stopped abruptly when you both heard a noise from outside. You shrugged it off quickly, but he didn't overlook it as easily.

He sat up and you stared at him, shocked as he re-buttoned himself and reached for his duffel bag.

"Hey! What are you—"

He pulled out a gun.

You stared at him in horror. What was he planning on doing with that?

"It's not for you, sweetheart."

And while he was cute, you weren't stupid. "Okay, I don't know what kind of nutjob you are, but I am so out of here!"

"Stay where you are."

In normal circumstances, you would have up and left. You didn't need a man telling you what to do. But this man had a gun, so... you know, that was important.

He opened his mouth to explain, but then the windows rattled violently and the roof echoed like it was raining rocks outside.

You flinched. “What is going on?!”

Then that manly—kind of hot—glare came over his face as he eyed the windows.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to need you to get down.”

You looked at him incredulously, but then the door flew open and multiple figures burst in. You were under the bed like a rocket.

You shivered. It was dusty, the floorboards were cold on your skin, and it was just uncomfortable. You could feel your uneven breath fan onto the mattress and then back onto your face. Not to mention whatever the hell was going on outside.

Dean was grunting and loud, knocking noises erupted in the smaller motel room. A shot rang out, and you then covered your ringing ears. Gunshots had never been that loud in movies.

Finally then, you heard skin on skin, a good punch, and the room was quiet, other than a few shuffles. You held your breath.

"Dean Winchester," a voice drawled. "I'll admit, he's one tough bugger."

Oh no no. No. Dean hadn't won. And since Dean hadn't won, you couldn't come out. Because then they would have you too.

"Sure is," another voice replied.

There was a creak of the bed, and some movement.

"Think he'll threaten us?"

"Almost definitely."

Someone else joined in. "I'll bet $50 he'll use the word 'kill' in the first sentence he says."

"What if he says, like, I don't know, 'you're all going to die' or something?"

They scoffed. "That counts."

"No, it doesn't."

"Fine. But I'm still going with it."

"That's a risky bet."

"Not if it's Dean Winchester."

You were sure to take long, deep, quiet breaths. You had to stay calm. You had to stay calm.

As much as people thought you were fearless, you fought anxiety daily. This, this was another battle. You didn't have any choice but to suck it up and force yourself to breathe. Force yourself to think rationally. All while your heart was running a mile and you were struggling to keep up.

"Hey, you got more rope?"

You shuddered minutely. They were tying him up.

"Yeah, here."

More movement, on the bed, and you prayed. Prayed to every god you knew that this wasn't some kinky thing. Mostly because you were under the bed. They weren't going to... right? What if they... ugh, you just couldn't think about it.

Fortunately, though, at least you thought it was fortunate, Dean began to stir.

He rasped, "I'm going to kill you suckers."

A couple people snickered, another groaned.

"We thought so," someone said sarcastically. "Now, we want to know where the demon tablet is."

Dean began to laugh. Okay, at least you both knew they were psychos. Like, demon tablet?

"I don't have the demon tablet," Dean told them.

You spoke too soon. Everyone here was insane. How did you end up here? Was everyone in this room high? You thought so. Including yourself.

"We know you have it, Dean Winchester. We know you've been trying to decipher it."

Dean scoffed. "You think I could decode that thing? I'm not a prophet, believe it or not."

Your legs were really starting to cramp from being so curled up. And you didn't want to risk adjusting for fear of them hearing you.

"I told you," one of the voices mumbled, supposedly to the others.

"Bunch of eight year olds," Dean muttered, "You sure you're actually demons?"

They seemed to sober up after that. "Of course we are," one growled.

You could almost hear Dean's smile in his next words. "Hey, don't look at me. You're the ones playing the 'I told you so' game."

There was a jerk of the bed.

You flinched, inhaling sharply. Thankfully the bed covered up your gasp with loud creaking. Like the man had lunged at him.

"Again, eight year old," Dean said smugly.

You frowned. Why did your nose itch? Something tickled. You crinkled it, wiping at it silently, but the itch didn't go away. You felt a sneeze coming on.

Oh, shi—

You managed to hold most of it in, but the inhaling portion could not be stifled. You froze, completely still as you waited to see if they heard you.

A head peeked down and smiled wickedly at you.

"Look who we have here!"

You scrambled and curled into yourself, trying to stay out of reach, but one of them had grabbed you by your ankle. They yanked until you were out from under the bed and frantically trying to free yourself.

You heard Dean swear softly.

One of the men cackled and that's when you broke. You swung your other leg and kicked him in the face, pushing him back but not knocking him down. You brought your fist into one of their knees and they cried out.

"How..?" Dean breathed.

You had no chance to answer him. You swung your other fist into the other man's head, and managed to temporarily get their grimy hands off you. God, they smelled something awful. Was that rotten eggs?

You managed to grab Dean's gun from the nightstand, which the men had stupidly placed without thought. They were too confident in themselves. Too cocky.

Speaking of which, you cocked the gun.

They looked at you in terror.

"Shoot them," Dean urged you. "Don't hesitate. I mean it. Shoot them. They deserve that and more."

You hesitated and whispered, "Who could ever deserve death?"

"Demons could, kid. They've killed more people than you've probably met in your lifetime. And if you don't kill them, they are definitely going to kill you later."

The men didn't deny it. In fact, they seemed to agree.

You pulled the trigger. And you pulled it again. And again. And again. Until you were just shooting corpses. Until you couldn't see through your tears. They could have killed you.

Dean had finally broken through his bonds that he'd been tearing at for a good while after trying to keep still. He came over to stand beside you. "Let go of the gun," he said gently, slowly prying your fingers from the weapon. "Just let go."

You did.

Dean looked at you. "I think you're in shock. Hey, it's okay. You did the right thing. Really."

"They could've killed me."

"Yeah, but you fought back. You didn't let them. How'd you do that, by the way?"

You shook your head. "I dunno."

Something on your hand caught Dean's eye. He lifted it to inspect the ring on your hand, which was now bloody. "Iron," he murmured. "You're a genius. You could punch them right in the face. That is just genius." He looked down and began to laugh. "Where the hell'd you get iron toe boots?"

"I don't know, they used to be my dads."

"Your dad had pretty small feet."

Really? That's all you have to say? After we just got attacked by demons or whatever? Your head was starting to spin.

You rolled your eyes. "They're adjustable."

He looked at you strangely. "And the rings? Where'd you get those?"

"...my dad. He welded them himself. He's um... he's gone now."

"Sorry," he said solemnly. He nodded to himself, clearly deep in thought as he traced his finger over the pattern on your ring. "You ever know your dad was a hunter?"

"What?"

"Hunter symbols. They're everywhere on you. Ring, shoes... jacket, too. Necklace. I'd say he was trying to protect you the best that he could when he died. There's no way those could have fit him, adjustable or not."

"But...what? I don't even… how could I..."

"You mind if I take a look at those? We... uh, Sam and I... we could help you. Because whatever he was warding against, he was convinced they would come after you. From what I can tell, it's probably demons."

"I mean, yeah. I don't ever want them after me again." You shivered, recalling. "Is that it? You just want to help out?"

Dean shrugged. "They were also pretty cool and I want some. But anyway, let's just get out of here. These guys stink something awful."

#dean x you #dean winchester #dean x reader #demons #x reader #reader insert #reader