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nellasbookplanet · 1 month

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I'm still thinking about Laudna and how, as she starts breaking down and the jagged pieces show more and more, earlier aspects of her characterization take a new, kind of horrifying shape.

Laudna was never upset - in fact, the idea seemingly never occurred to her - about Imogen voicing the opinion that maybe the Vanguard was right, even after they murdered Laudna right in front of her. She has never, as far as we have seen, actively sought a way to be rid of Delilah, or to grow her magic in ways that don’t involve Delilah. She talks about a fear of holding Imogen back, encourages Imogen to move on once Laudna is gone. She represses negative emotions but at the same time her joy in life is genuine and overflowing, not a mask.

It all builds a picture of someone who isn't only undead in terms of game mechanics, but who genuinely doesn’t really see herself as alive. Laudna sees herself as living on borrowed time. Marisha has spoken of her as someone who has lived through trauma and moved past it; I believe she means that not in the sense that she's unbothered by her trauma - we have seen she’s not - but that it in a sense doesn’t matter to her. She’s already dead. There’s no point in healing, or seeking a solution or cure, only in finding as much joy as she can in every little thing until the darkness catches up with her. When she regressed in Whitestone post shard incident, there were mentions of her not fully remembering her early days as an undead. She was unstable, not fully sure of what was real and what wasn’t, maintaining her sliver of sanity by talking to the evil necromancer in her mind and an anthropomorphized dead rat. She was likely treated by locals like some scary monster because she largely acted like one. She was a hollow one in every sense of the word. Then she met Imogen, someone who not only wasn’t scared of her and saw her as human, but who understood her struggle; I suspect this genuine human connection was what brought her out of nearly three decades of hollowness.

And in that, she has made Imogen her purpose where before she had none. If the Vanguard is Imogen's destiny, then it doesn’t matter that they killed Laudna because Laudna was a lost cause even before Otohan killed her. Exandria and Laudna both were hollow before Imogen, because she had no real connections, and so now Imogen is all that matters. If Imogen wants to fight Predathos, Laudna will fight. If Imogen wants to leave the struggle and go live in a cottage, Laudna would go with her. If she wants to join Predathos, Laudna would help her. If Imogen died, Laudna would sacrifice Exandria and the gods and the remains of her own soul to get her back.

#laudna #critical role #cr3 #this is why it would be interesting if oryms deal with nana - bring everyone back alive - actually ended up making laudna fully alive #bc she’s been an undead lost cause for so long that she can imagine nothing else. she sees no point in fighting it #but if she was suddenly made alive - would that change her perspective?#nella talks cr

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angstywaifu · 3 months

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Just One Date - Garrick Tavis x Reader One Shot

So this one came into my asks and I knew I had to do this one first. Thank you for the anonymous that sent this in with some other amazing ideas. I'd say I am sorry for picking Garrick first, but I am not. Hope you guys enjoy it! If you guys have any more one shot ideas feel free to send them through! There will be more of these :)

“Come on Y/N, it’s just one date!” Garrick calls after me as he follows me through the crowd, turning heads as he calls after me.

”As I’ve told you for the tenth time this week, no!” I call back as I weave my way through a small gap in the crowd.

I hear Garrick mumble some swear words as he struggle to get through the crowd as he follows behind me. Yet again Garrick had cornered me between classes, asking me out on a date for Valentines Day. Which was tomorrow. I will give the boy one thing, he was persistent. But nothing about our friendship indicated more than friends. Did I find him attractive as hell? Gods yes. But we weren’t exactly close. I only knew him because of my friendship with Imogen.

”Why won’t you say yes?” He asks. He’s getting closer.

I turn around and he nearly slams into me, stopping himself at the last second.

”Because I won’t” The worst excuse ever. I mentally slap myself for it.

He cocks his eyebrow at me as he looks down at me. “That has got to be the worst excuse ever.”

I roll my eyes and start walking through the crowd trying to get to lunch. We’d all had battle brief so the hallway was more packed than usual. He swears again as he tries to follow me. Unfortunately our interaction has caused on lookers and they easily move out of his way to let him through, obviously wanting to see what happens. He reaches out and grasps my shoulder, spinning around as I lightly smack into his chest.

”Please Y/N, I’m just asking for one date.” He asks, his eyes pleading at me to say yes. “You might even want more than one by the end of it.”

I roll my eyes at the cockiness in his voice at the last part. Behind him I see our friends watching anxiously at the interaction.

”You really think one date is all it’s gonna take to win me over Tavis?” I reply sassily earning a smirk from him.

He steps back and leans down to look at me, still smirking at me. “I won’t even need to finish the date to win you over.”

I close my eyes and sigh. One date. It was just a date. There was no way Tavis was that good. I’d never even seen him go out with a girl here before. All I had to do was go on one date, and then he would leave me alone. It was probably just some dare from Bodhi or Xaden anyway.

”Fine.” I tell him, opening my eyes to look up at him. “Just. One. Date.” Emphasising each word clearly.

”You wont regret it.” And before I can respond he turns and runs back down the hallway.

What the hell did that boy have planned.

The next day comes quickly, and every time I catch Garrick’s eyes he smiles at me, clearly excited for whatever he had planned. We hadn’t spoken since I had said yes to the one date, so I had no idea when or where he wanted to meet me. My questions were answered not long after classes ended. A loud knock on my dorm door signalling someone's arrival. But I already knew who it was. I open the door to Garrick standing there holding a bouquet of flowers. And not any flowers. My favourites. White Orchids. I try to rack my brain of any time I would have mentioned this, but come up blank. How the hell did he know?

”Already left you speechless have I?” Garrick teases as I stare wide eyed at the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

I roll my eyes at him and take the flowers. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself Tavis.” I turn and place the flowers on my desk.

I turn back around to him leaning his arm on top of the doorway as he looks down at me. I swear my jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight. The pose perfectly shows off his arm that is braced on the doorway.

He smirks, clearly aware of the effect he's having on me. "Ready for our date, Y/N?" he asks, his voice laced with confidence.

I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. "I guess so," I reply, trying not to let his charm get to me. "But don't think this changes anything between us. It’s just one date."

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We'll see about that," he says, extending his hand towards me. "Shall we?"

As I take his hand, a mix of excitement and nervousness washes over me. I can't deny that there's a part of me that's curious to see where this one date will lead. Maybe, just maybe, there's more to Garrick than meets the eye. But I won't let myself get too carried away. After all, it's just one date.

As he leads me our of the dorms I catch our friends off to the side watching us. Smiles all plastered on their faces. I go to let go of Garrick’s hand but he tightens his grip as he leads me towards the flight field. As we take the last steps into the flight field I see his dragon waiting for us. He leads me over to him and motions with his head towards him.

”Up you get Y/N.”

I look at him wide eyed. No way did he expect me to mount his dragon. Riders only rode on their own dragons.

“No way. Not happening. My dragon will chuck a fit if I go up there.”

Garrick’s dragon chuckles at us, hot air blowing over the both of us.

”I’ve already sorted it. Chradh is happy to let you up there, and your dragon has agreed as long as she can be nearby. Now up you get.” He playfully shoves me towards Chradh.

I huff but begin my climb up Chradh’s leg, Garrick close behind me. I settle into the spot on Chradh’s back, and freeze as Garrick sits right behind me. His legs either side of mine, his chest pressed up against my back. He rests one of his hands on my thigh, his breath tickling my neck.

”Breathe Y/N.” He whispers.

I let out the breath I had unintentionally been holding, but I yet again freeze as Garrick places a blindfold over my eyes. I go to take it off but Garrick quickly captures my hands in his.

”You will take it off when I tell you to.” He whispers harshly in my ear.

I can feel my heart racing as the blindfold cuts off my vision. The sound of the wind rushing past us lets me know we have taken off. Garrick wraps an arm around my waist, holding me close to him so I don’t fall. I was an experienced rider, but I had never been on a dragon blindfolded, let alone a dragon that wasn’t my own. A mix of excitement and uncertainty fills me, wondering what Garrick has planned for our date. I don’t have to wait long before we land. I feel Chradh lower himself down to a ground. Garrick keeps his arm firmly around my waist as he removes the blind fold with the other. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light, but for the second time today my jaw nearly hits the floor.

In front of me is a clearing that overlooks the valley. The view is gorgeous as the sun starts setting, casting a yellow glow across it. Next to the edge of the cliff is a blanket with pillows set up and what I swear are all my favourite foods, and a neatly wrapped package.

“You sure it won’t take me one date to win you over?” Garrick whispers in my ear, startling me and sending a shiver up my spine.

I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m sure.” I say sarcastically as I remove myself from his grip and dismount from Chradh.

Shortly after Garrick lands next to me, grabbing my hand and leading me over to the blanket and pillows. My thoughts on the food are confirmed as I see all of them are foods I love. Strawberries that I have every morning at breakfast, the cupcakes that Quinn makes when she can find the time, my favourite chocolate from the town near the college, and the sandwiches I make if the kitchen serves the right things. I let Garrick pull me down to the blanket with him, kneeling on my knees as I take it all in.

I look at him and raise my eye brow. “How the hell do you know all my favourite things? Imogen helped you didn’t she?”

I already know she didn’t. And Garrick’s shake of his head isn’t needed to confirm.

”I know you better than you think Y/N.” He starts as he leans forward, arm resting on his knee as he looks at me, “You have those strawberries every morning with breakfast. Everytime Quinn makes those cupcakes you practically jump up and down in your seat. Everytime you go to town you always go and buy that chocolate straight away, and you’re always sad the day after you finish the last piece. And every weekend when they put stuff out to make sandwiches, you always make the same one.”

I stare at him wide eyed. He was right. Down to the very last detail. But how did that explain the flowers?

”What about the flowers? I’ve never told anyone.” I ask, barely above the whisper.

”When we did our RSC training and they stuck us in the woods with the other quadrants, we made camp the first night near a clearing with flowers. I remember you wandering over the the flowers as we set up camp and picked a few. You took them back to the Quadrant with you when we were extracted.” He tells me, not skipping a beat.

But my heart does. He remembered a detail so small from our first RSC mission nearly two years ago. Clearly Garrick has paid more attention to me than I had thought. He reaches out and grabs the package I had noted earlier and hands it to me. The small nod he gives me, signalling me to open it. I open the package carefully, almost scared as to what is inside. I know it is going to be something I love. Theres no denying that after everything he’s done so far. I tear away the brown paper to reveal a jewellery box. I look up at him confused and he motions for me to keep going. I don’t miss the nervous look in his eyes as he watches me. I open the box and my heart skips a beat again. Inside is the ruin stone Liam’s mum had given me. Given to all of us marked ones. Mine had been one of the smaller ones, and I always kept it on my desk. And as I rack my brain, I hadn’t noticed it on my desk for the last week. Ever since Garrick had started asking me to go on a date with him. I pick it up and notice and black leather cord it is now attached to. A Necklace.

“Garrick.. I-” The words get caught in my throat as I look between the necklace and him.

He smiles before he takes the necklace from my hands, leaning forward to fasten it around my neck. As it necklace settles on my chest, his hands move to cup my cheeks, angling my head to look up at his. I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest as he leans forward and brings his lips to mine. The kiss starts of slow and delicate as I recover from the shock of the moment. But I quickly wrap my arms around his neck, pulling me closer to him. His arms grab me by the waist as he pulls me into his lap, deepening the kiss. After a long time he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily as we stare into each others eyes.

”Told you I wouldn’t even need one date.”

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #the fourth wing #garrick tavis one shot #garrick tavis x oc

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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Either is denial of processing that trauma (which we know Launda compartmentalizes like fuck), or she's already processed it off screen (even prior to meeting Imogen). I think she's processed her death quite a bit, as we've seen with her early talk with Orym. ("The worst thing has already happened to me...") - I'm confused with why people think it's not being explored ENOUGH when we've literally been back to Whitestone and even got Vex's own reaction to the dead woman who was her doppleganger on the Tree? I think Laudna could easily go Dark Side for the people she loves and Delilah would fucking love that shit and stoke the flames for it. I guess I'm confused as to why you think she's "aimless" when there's a bigger picture happening? Also maybe we're not diving more into Launda's stuff because we're dealing with some exploration of Ashton's past at the moment?

Hi anon, my apologies if I misread this because I found some of it a bit hard to follow, but: you actually bring up a pretty major problem, namely, we know Laudna is compartmentalizing - we see this come out notably in her conversations with Ashton and in Issylra - but Marisha initially envisioned her as over her trauma and so this expression has been inconsistent (and to be clear: not inconsistent in the sense of a person compartmentalizing so hard they don't realize it; inconsistent in that whether Laudna is being played as over it or as compartmentalizing is so vague that even you seem to not be able to decide which it is in this ask).

As for Whitestone: Vex's response to Laudna has nothing to do with Laudna's growth as a person or feelings; that's an exploration of Vex's feelings. We got Laudna's backstory. Laudna's got tons of backstory. We are not actually doing much meaningfully with this backstory. It's there, and because it's a backstory that relies quite heavily on one of the most famous villains in the world and because Laudna does not like Delilah yet has done virtually nothing to get rid of her, it stands to reason that there needs to be some sort of exploration of why this is, but there's not. She's just kind of hated her for 30 years on her own and 2 years with Imogen and however many months with Bells Hells and done below the bare minimum to like...investigate, find a new patron, do anything. As Marisha even said on 4-Sided Dive, she's just going to roll with the punches...which, again, not an invalid decision per se but you need to actually explore why someone would have their murderer in their head and capable of controlling them physically and be like "yeah I'll roll with the punches."

And the issue, to be clear, is that in 71 episodes we have never gotten that. We're dealing with Ashton's stuff now but like. what about the rest of the entire campaign. I could tell you what every other character in Bells Hells (and, frankly? both past campaigns) felt about their past, and what they were working towards at most given points. With Laudna? That's not happening. Like, it's great that you think she could go "Dark Side" although you'll have to be more specific but like, is this a thought based in evidence? Or are you just saying "this is a thing I think would be cool"? Because the latter is valid but as I said in the previous ask (and the one linked, and, frankly, have been saying for nearly a year now), the fandom is filling in all the gaps and we're not even able to do so consistently in the way we have with other characters. We keep throwing out possibilities and none ever come to fruition.

As said, I have my speculation why this is (in brief: I think Marisha has excelled at playing very driven characters and is running into difficulty trying to play one who is go with the flow and overcorrecting into "stuck" without exploring why she's stuck) and honestly she's still like, fun to watch, I liked her conversation with Pate this past episode and the dog fight and, my thoughts about sorlock mechanics aside she's good in combat, but like, I have little investment in her narratively because I don't expect to get anything. And that could change - but my grace period has long since expired and so it's a case of "if something that actually engages with this concept happens I'm going to be here for it - I'll even throw out some ideas if they come to me or engage with the ideas of other people who have interesting things to say - but I'm not waiting around when there's six other characters who actually have arcs."

#answered #Anonymous #critical role spoilers

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masterqwertster · 10 months

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12. “Did something happen to you that I don’t know about?” and 20. “Would you feel more comfortable talking about it if I turned around?” for Ashton and whoever you want?

I'm feeling 20 "Would you feel more comfortable talking about it if I turned around?" with the second character being Prism. Prism is just a curious little girl, and Ashton's got some very unique scars that just speak to the prompt of explaining (possibly) without being seen. Prompt

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Prism nervously asks. "I mean, I don't even have to look. I can turn around and you can just talk about it. You don't have to show me-"

"Hey, you offered to do research into similar shit. Isn't it going to be easier to tell if what you've found matters if you've had a good look?" Ashton counters, continuing to undo the buckles of their vest.

"I- Well, probably. But I don't..."

It takes a moment for Ashton to parse out the unspoken problem, but once they do, they laugh.

Body shy isn't something Ashton's been in a long, long time. Getting raised in an orphanage in the desert where water for washing is a limited commodity does that to a person. It was either let the teasing get to him, or ignore it to spite them, and spiting his detractors was just so much more satisfying. That or punching them.

And fuck, Ashton looks good, in their own opinion. They've got the muscle from their work on display, the beer gut they're coming into isn't more than padding on their stomach yet (and it's not like they'd have the smut novel six-pack anyways. They're not Orym, working out every fucking day), and despite the pain they cause, the gold looks beautiful against their jade skin. They've got a figure worth showing off.

"Oh. I didn't realize it was quite so... extensive," Prism comments once Ashton has removed his vest.

Ashton looks down at the gold that spiderwebs from the impact points on his head, shoulder, and hip. The clear radial lines from those points. How the cracks stretch across his collarbone, his waist, almost making complete loops in a couple places.

He shrugs, watching the light glitter across the shifting gold, "I hit the ground pretty fucking hard."

"...Um, may I?" Prism gently asks, a long-fingered hand outstretched towards his arm.

"...Sure," Ashton agrees after a moment's consideration. They absolutely fucking hate being touched by strangers, but Prism's scooched her way out of that category pretty quickly. And like they said, she'll have an easier time sorting out the good stuff from her research the more she knows about what she's looking for.

Prism's touch is light, and he's not sure if that's because she's a wimpy wizard who can't put a lot of force behind anything that's not magic, or if it's because she's trying to be gentle. Still, she traces the lines branching out from his shoulder with the same dedication with which she'd copied down the Judicator's tattoos.

"I don't think I sense anything magical about the gold. At least, not anything that isn't your general elemental-ness," Prism declares, gesturing to their whole rocky self as she takes a step back to give Ashton space.

Ashton nods. That's about what he expected. Though he still holds some hope she might come up with some information about other earth genasi being patched up in a similar way or something.

"And can I-?" Prism pops up on her toes and cranes her neck a little bit.

"Yup. Just... don't poke it too hard with magic? Imogen and Grass nearly got stuck in there or some shit last time, so, y'know, be fucking careful," Ashton warns as they crouch a bit to allow the shorter elf a clear view.

He does his best to keep an eye on Prism as she investigates the glass, but it's kind of fucking hard when he can't turn his head and his left eye is pretty shitty. He thinks he sees a hand reach up, but if Prism is touching the glass, she's using a fucking light touch that doesn't even give him any pressure feedback.

"Oh wow," Prism whispers after a while, drawing back once more. "That's definitely some powerful magic. Not that I didn't know that before, having seen you use it in all those fights and all. But wow. I've never felt anything like it."

"Yeah. That kind of seems to be the running theme with anyone I ask about it," Ashton agrees, standing up and stretching a bit. "You also might try looking for 'dunamis.' Didn't get much of an explanation about it, but it sure as fuck sounded like the sort of shit I do because of this."

"Okay. Dun-a-mis," Prism sounds out, taking a note. "You wouldn't happen to know how it's spelled?"

Ashton shakes their head.

"Alright. Guess I'll just keep an eye out for different spellings. And if I find anything, I'll definitely let you know."

"Thanks. And be careful, okay? Crime is fun, but only so long as you don't get caught."

#MQ&A #MQfic #critical role #ashton greymoore #prism grimpoppy #hurt comfort dialogue prompt

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stickandthorn · 2 years

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I think this episode is a good example of when bad luck stacks to make what seems like a very tough, but not unbeatable situation; look like a fully unbeatable situation in all scenarios.

They had an absolute jungle of disadvantages, beyond the ones Matt put specifically as a challenge. They were already drained, they all failed dex saves when she hit the crawler, they all rolled very poor on initiative while Otohan rolled super well, they committed hard to a plan of action that was probably the least likely to succeed (fight), which made it very hard to switch to run, they rolled pretty poorly in the fight while Matt rolled well, or made choices that ended up being the wrong one, I could go on and on.

They worked well within their disadvantages, pretty damn well, actually, but they were also just shit out of luck. Even if every choice wasn’t ideal, it is so hard to make the ideal choices in that scenario. No one did anything categorically wrong, but no one was in a good position. Meanwhile, Matt was giving them every advantage he could. I know it didn’t seem like that, but given his DMing style, he was. Matt is very committed to raw and full agency sandbox with almost no retcons. If a player makes a choice in the story, that happens, whatever the consequences (good or bad) be. He runs simulations. He puts components in a scenario, and watches what happens, and he won’t pull back for his or his player’s advantage.

But, he also always aims to help the players when they’re up against a wall. He will never take that wall away, but he’ll ease the gap a little, or, in the worst scenarios, try to point them in the most survivable direction away from the wall.

You can see it here, he gave them opportunities he would never give in other situations. Always ruling in favor of them on contentious rules, letting them do mild retcons of actions, giving them time to think and communicate as players that he usually doesn’t, stuff like that. But most importantly, he didn’t start dragging Imogen towards the conclusion of needing to give in until he knew it was their only option. Perhaps that was always the most successful solution, or the one they were most pointed to, but he didn’t start nearly forcing it till he knew it was pretty much their only way out. And the things is? This kind of thing just happens in games. I’m not saying you can’t dislike what happened, or you should “get over it,” or you have to agree with every ruling or choice, or anything like that. But I’ve seen some people who seem personally mad at Matt for what happened, and treating it like he purposefully railroaded them to this exact outcome, which I find a little ludicrous.

It can change depending on your table, but generally speaking, this is always an option in any game you play. Bad luck, tough scenarios, no major punches pulled. This can happen, and it can suck, but it isn’t a personal attack from the DM to the players. The game is about random chance, it’s built on dice. There is always the possibility that this will happen. A bad scenario going to a totally fucking fucked scenario happens. I’ve been in them before.

So, yes, you can have whatever opinion you want. If you think Matt shouldn’t have balanced the encounter this way, or anything like that, I’m not here to stop you. But I do want to remind everyone that this isn’t something Matt had to specifically engineer to end like this, this is an example of the worst case scenarios that do exist in dnd.

#critical role #cr spoilers #cr #cr meta #matt mercer #bells hells #campaign 3 #critical role spoilers #also #dms can make mistakes on balance #that they have to roll with #obviously all of this is my own opinion #and you can disagree with any part

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cherryjuiceblues · 1 year

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demon harry sneak peek???

Y/N thinks that was the last her brain (or lungs) has breathed in the last 5 hours. She’s a blubbering mess, and her hormones have really kicked in now, along with the swelling of her ankle which makes moving so hard, and she’s feeling so sorry for herself, she doesn’t know what to do. Everything is on replay in her head, and it gets worse every time, new consequences shouting at Y/N from the depths of her mind.

What if Imogen doesn’t want to be seen with you anymore because you’ve ruined her reputation by association? What if someone filmed the whole thing and it goes viral on Twitter? Then you won’t be employed ever again. What if your family refuses to talk to you, what if your boss sues you, what if you get kicked out of your apartment, what if-

“What’s happened to you then?”

Y/N shrieks, head whipping up so fast she’s lucky she doesn’t add a pulled neck muscle to her list of injuries. Across from her bed, sitting comfortably in her armchair that she likes to read in, is a man. She thinks she’s hallucinating for a moment because there is little explanation as to how or why there would be a man in her bedroom. And she’s still crying, but now she’s terrified, so words don’t exactly come easily.

“Who- What- How did you get in here?” She tries to shuffle back against her headboard, too shocked to be careful with her ankle and her arms buckle as the pain shoots up her foot, causing her eyes to well up again, and she feels so useless in this moment.

“Please get out of my house.” The words come out wet, fresh tears rolling down her face, the severity of the situation sinking in. She, hopelessly slowly, moves as far away from him as possible, keeping her legs deadly still until her back reaches the pillows, and she pulls one onto her lap - maybe she can throw it at him.

The man leans forward, expression completely blank. He looks bored if anything, as if she had inconvenienced him. “You’re the one that brought me here, sad thing. Why are you in such a tizzy, hm?” He looks her over, taking in the mess of hair on her head, her red, tearful eyes, blotchy cheeks and swollen mouth, and simply leans back in the chair again.

Y/N can’t even begin to process what he’s saying and knows she needs to get out, that this man can only be here for bad, and that she’ll have to pretend there is nothing wrong with her ankle. So she makes the effort, at least she’ll know she tried to help herself as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, pillow in hand, ignoring the screaming pain. She’ll have to hop.

The wall welcomes her hand as she pitifully makes her way to the door, taking a glance behind her, checking to see the man sat in her chair. But he’s gone, and she gasps as she looks forward and he’s stood in the doorway, looking down at her. She goes to throw the pillow at him (she knows its embarrassingly futile and if she were watching herself in a movie would rightly feel she deserved to be killed; the humour of the situation failing to comfort her) but it doesn’t even leave her hands before he plucks it away and drops it on the floor.

“Why don’t you stop panicking and tell me why you summoned me?” He steps forward forcing Y/N to retreat clumsily, tripping backwards and landing against the side of her bed, face crumpling in pain as her ankle gets folded underneath her bum. He stares down, face hinting at an amused smirk, as if her distress was entertaining. Maybe she really is hallucinating. This can’t be real, people can’t be ‘summoned’.

“I’m almost inclined to believe you actually don’t know what’s going on. I’ve never seen anyone so scared of a demon they’ve willingly called for.” The man’s voice is slow and deep, nearly enough so to make sense, but Y/N has a headache now, along with everything else, and she really just wants to go to sleep.

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Y/N whimpers, pulling herself onto her bed. Her head is spinning but she feels mellow suddenly, eyelids drooping, inhaling a delicate scent of vanilla and lime. In the chaos, she realises she’s stopped crying, and even the attempt to recall the day’s events are blocked as if something is stopping her from thinking.

“I guess we’ll try again once you’ve slept.” She hears the man sigh and sit down, presumably in the chair she first saw him in. But her eyes are closed now and she feels herself drifting away into a blissful slumber.

full fic here

#harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles demon #demonrry #harry styles one shot #demon harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #angst #harry styles angst #sneaky #sneak peek

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zemnian-newcomer · 8 months

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It's late in the evening, I'm tired, I have work early tomorrow, this will not be coherent, but I have Thoughts about the beginnings of C2 and C3 and how they differ structurally that will not be contained so here I go.

(This got long so I'm putting it under a read more)

Obligatory disclaimer that this is not a judgement of the quality of either campaign in any way, I absolutely loved the Mighty Nein and am liking Bell's Hells a lot so far (I'm up to episode 30, so no spoilers past that please)

So right from the start, C3 felt much more fast-paced and more... densely plotted, I guess, than C2.

The Mighty Nein in their early days travelled together, but felt like they could have fallen apart at any time. It took until around the 20 episode mark for me to feel like they had grown together enough for it to hold. (Ironically, that was immediately put to the test with the Iron Shepherds arc.) Contrast that with Bell's Hells, who felt like a much more cohesive group from the single digits.

A lot of it, of course, comes down to the characters. While Bell's Hells as a group are a bunch of weirdos, there aren't actually that many "strong" personalities among them, which the Mighty Nein were full of. Think about Beau clashing with both Molly and Caleb, Nott/Veth stealing from Fjord, Fjord holding a sword to Caleb's throat, Caleb acting without communicating, Molly generally being more of a shit-stirrer - with Yasha not being there most of the time, one of the best team players they had was Jester. Meanwhile Bell's Hells generally get along pretty well. The closest thing to actual conflict within the party so far was probably Chetney not liking Dorian, and even that got better within a few episodes.

On the other hand, the plot (as far as I can see it) of C3 involves the characters a lot more than the starting plot of C2. The early Mighty Nein took quests/assignments, but they didn't have much to do with them personally until the Iron Shepherds (and, well, the guy they got some of the assignments from turned out to be Jester's father, but they didn't know that at the time). What eventually turned into one of the bigger plots was nearly just one encounter in the sewers of Zadash. It didn't involve them, they involved themselves. The plot of C3 so far (and from what spoilers I've seen, also going forward) involves several of the characters on a very personal level.

There is also a very big difference in character drives and motivations. Several of Bell's Hells have a mystery or problem they're either curious about or actively trying to figure out, which means they're very likely to bite on plot hooks that seem to be related to that mystery or problem. Meanwhile most of the Mighty Nein were actually running away from their shit, and it took months of in game time for them to grow enough to face it. (Molly being the exception in that he, in a way, successfully ran away from his shit and left everyone else to deal with it.)

Which is what leads me to why I actually made this post, the way different characters' backstories and motivations get weaved together and into the bigger picture. As of episode 30, Orym, Imogen, and Fearne all have an immediate connection to the Ruidus storyline, with Orym and Imogen having followed this thread together for a long time since figuring out that their individual quests led them on the same path.

I don't really have a point to this, it's just cool to see the different ways a story can be built in DND, with C3 so far being a really elegant way of tying character motivations together and using them to further the plot, while C2 was more of a lesson in having the characters lead the way and building the story off of their actions.

#critical role #mighty nein #bell‘s hells #I've veen writing this post for over and hour and really need to go to bed #really it's just rambling without an actual point to it #just. stories. and how they can be told in different ways.#it's just cool man #alright off to bed with me

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imogenkol · 8 months

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7, 12, 19, 20, 24 for imogen!!

7. What’s one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Well, she wasn't supposed to get a redemption arc at all when I first created her. Imogen's backstory and personality pre-Bix has stayed more or less the same, but I started writing her just a little more soft once her feelings for Bix are realized. She actually becomes a tiny bit compassionate towards others because she starts to see them through Bix's eyes. People start to matter to her. That's not something her or I had planned in the beginning lol

12. Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

Technically yes, but she doesn't see it as self destructive. Giving into the Dark Side isn't typically seen as a form of self care, but Imogen feels like it freed her for the first time. In her mind, she was a slave to the Light Side and in the moment she let that go, it felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders. That doesn't change the fact that the Dark Side is corrosive and it turned her into someone truly malicious.

19. How does your OC behave when enraged?

Imogen never screams or loses her cool. She gets quiet and focused. Her rage is a tool of precision that she's spent many years learning how to effectively wield and she becomes this nearly unstoppable force once she sets her eyes on whatever made her so furious. Honestly, Cal is the only one who's faced off with her like that and survived.

20. Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Yes. Even as a Youngling in the Jedi Order, Imogen would feel very envious of her peers. As a child, she was very eager to please and didn't take it well when another Youngling performed better than her during a lesson. As an adult, she's very possessive of what she considers "hers" because a lot of things were taken from her in her life and she was constantly told to sacrifice what matters to her. Imogen won't willingly surrender anything easily and she makes that known. Especially when it comes to Bix.

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they’d made those decisions?

God okay this one is such a loaded question so buckle up.

It's so hard to say what she would have chosen for herself because Imogen was taken from her family at such a young age (four) and raised to be a Jedi that any individualistic choices or ambitions she might have had never really developed. All she knew was that around the time the Clone Wars started (she was twelve) she realized she did not want to be a Jedi.

Now, the Order doesn't force people to stay. Hell, if you fail as a Jedi you can even go into the Service Corps and have a more chill lifestyle. But Imogen was a child who was strong with the Force and assigned to a hard ass Master because the Council sensed her temptation towards the Dark Side. How could anyone make big life decisions for themselves in that situation?

Ultimately, Imogen and Rejna were mismatched. If Imogen had had a more patient, understanding, and supportive Master, maybe they could have figured out what she really wanted from life and set her on a path that truly made her happy. Not to say Rejna was all bad and didn't care about Imogen at all. She truly loved her and wanted what was best for her, but she was so focused on forming this problem child into a Good Jedi that it pretty much doomed them both from the start.

All this to say that I don't know what Imogen would have been. Even if her experience with the Jedi had gone better, Order 66 still happened and she might've been killed anyway.

#asks #oc insp: imogen kol #THANK YOU LIZ I AM UNWELL ABOUT HER AS YOU CAN SEE <333

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darkdisrepair · 2 years

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cr3e33 (THAT episode)

i hope so badly that the whole episode was a dream and there's some good evidence for it, too, which is so relieving. i love the theory that it is (i agree, that matt didn't seem nearly as upset as i would have thought for someone who may have killed 3+ members of the party)

even if it's not- there's a strange sort of poetic-ness to the fact that the two characters who died so far were exu characters, who in some ways have gotten more closure from their backstories than others.

yes, will is still dead. yes, orym just met the assassins who murdered him, and he feels like he failed keyleth and his people. but i'm sure there's a sort of sense of relief, too, that even though he may be dead, there are threads that can still find their way back to keyleth in the other members of his party.

and isn't it just a huge weight off your shoulders, to look the figures that haunt your memories in the eye, and say i know who you are now? even if nothing comes of that?

and fearne has met her parents. she knows the truth about morrie. yes, there are still so many things for her to know and do about ruidus and the fey realm, but that gaping hole has been at least a little repaired, and she's seen who her parents are.

though the fence might not be greener on the side where she knows birdie and ollie, she can now recognize the relationships she has in bell's hells and the chosen family she's found.

though i love both of them (fearne more than orym ngl), i think their stories, if they were to perma-die, have some sort of closure, even though it may be bittersweet and not the total closure they may have been hoping for.

laudna, imogen, ashton, and fcg are characters who fall into "the most tragic thing about sudden death is what went unfinished" trope. they all have so much to learn and so many unanswered questions about themselves that losing those threads forever would be so devastating because they haven't really been touched on yet.

and then there's chetney, who is... i don't even know. either way, i think he's been a great addition, but his woodworker standoffs have yet to make a whole lot of sense to have me mourn the loss of those plot points.

if this is a dream, though, imagine the trauma of imogen waking up from that? it would be so, so heartwrenchingly awful and lonely and i don't think anyone would really understand that she saw them die.

i mean, it's also horrible if this is real and they are actually dead. i think this is really her big moment of trauma in the campaign. to be backed into a corner and have your friends dying around you, because of you, and the only way to stop it is to go into a storm that you've been terrified of your whole life?

i'm so glad that there's an understanding between the cast and matt (and that they looked like they were having fun, even with all the character deaths) because, even though it's roleplay, what imogen was put through in this episode is so striking because it's so horrible, and awful because she had no choice and was forced into doing something that has already given her trauma.

but the story nuance of it all? the way it was done? beautiful. heartbreaking, and so, so good from matt. major kudos to him for building this moment so well.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #campaign 3 #campaign 3 spoilers #orym of the air ashari #fearne calloway #imogen temult #imogen temult meta #cr meta #critical role meta

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crackinglamb · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday Whenever

Tagged by @noire-pandora, thank you! 💕

Tagging @mogwaei, @bdafic, @shretl, @lilbittymonster, @ir0n-angel and @fiadhaisteach. No pressure!

I've reached the penultimate arc of WG, y'all. I'm both excited and overwhelmed to finally get to this point in the writing. From the very earliest parts of the draft (now going on two years old, holy crap), I knew I wanted the main storyline to end this way. Now all I have to do is not fall apart in the middle of it.

Imogen has reached the Western Approach...

(Under a cut for mention of dead bodies and Blight related existential dread. I've been told this scene is very evocative.)

---

In the distance the heat made the black patches shimmer and waver, but she could still find the places where the dead lay, desiccated into grotesque postures where they'd fallen. Their armor and weapons were as shiny and sharp as the day they died, nearly a thousand years ago. She remembered reading somewhere that the Second Blight had so thoroughly ravaged the Approach that the dead didn't even decompose, because nothing survived, not even bacteria. It was why this region was now a desert, in fact, although she had other theories on that, considering the rest of Thedas seemed to bounce back well enough from the Blights.

Mythal killed a Titan, she thought. Was this where it was when it lived? Is this why they call it the Abyss? The Void? For sure no one knows what lies at the bottom of this trench other than darkspawn.

She couldn't look away from the scene in front of her. No carrion birds flew overhead, nothing moved, it was silent enough to hear the sibilant whisper of sand on sand. There wasn't even a smell. Or at least, there wasn't the smell she would expect from such a battlefield. The back of her throat closed up, reminding her of how the air tasted and felt in the future Redcliffe. She'd thought then that it was because of the red lyrium. But no, it was the Blight that made each breath itch in her lungs.

The others caught up and Stroud dismounted next to her, looking at the other side of the canyon, his expression both bleak and knowing. He glanced at her in the saddle for a moment before his eyes returned inexorably to the vista. “You have the look of one who has never seen such a thing, Inquisitor.”

“I...haven't. There's really no way to prepare for it. Knowing isn't the same as seeing.”

“I suppose that is true.” His lilting voice seemed out of place, too gentle and soft for such a grisly location. “It is little comfort to know that this is victory.”

“Yeah...”

“Come, Inquisitor, let us make sure this ritual site is as empty as it should be, and then we can leave this place.”

Imogen watched him turn away from the view as if he was struggling to do it. She wondered how the physical presence of so much Blight affected him, a Warden who'd served long enough that his Calling could have been real. She turned Squirrel away and her gaze landed on Hawke, watching them from the meager shade of the tall stone columns that marked the site. Elly's eyes were sympathetic when they met hers as she dismounted.

“You all right, Genny?”

“Yeah, just...a little overwhelmed.”

“C'mon, the sooner we check this out, the sooner we can leave.”

“That's what Stroud said too.”

Hawke scoffed. “At last we agree on something.”

The trio walked along the bridge that suspended the ritual tower over the edge of the Reach. The site stood on a spur of rock that seemed to simply hang in the air. Imogen was sure that was an illusion, though. The ground itself was simply so saturated with the Blight that it absorbed all the light that shone on it. There was a lingering feeling of wrongness about the place, but it was empty and sand-swept. There was no blood, no demons, no Venatori. As she'd hoped.

Hawke shuddered. “This place is fucking awful.”

#tagged #wip wednesday #wip whenever #what a wicked game to play #imogen mclean #eliana hawke #jean-marc stroud

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sylvanfreckles · 1 year

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No. 17: Icy Deep

Part 17 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: G Warnings: none

Summary: When the Bell's Hells are forced to cross a frozen river with no bridge, Chetney uses the opportunity to share a few things he learned during his time in Uthodurn. It doesn't go well for him. (Read on AO3)

...

“Oh, boy. I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of this,” Dorian remarked. His hand tightened on Ashton’s shoulder as they took another slide-step onto the frozen river. Fearne, in the form of some kind of tiny, adorable rodent, squeaked in agreement from the crook of his elbow.

“Considering you’re not literally made of stone, I don’t give a fuck what you’re feeling,” Ashton griped back.

“Don’t worry! The ice will hold!” Laudna said. She’d dropped to all fours to spider-crawl across the ice, distributing her insignificant weight as much as possible. Imogen, flying, was struggling with hauling FCG over the river so they didn’t have to risk the journey. And Orym, of course, had cut a wide swarth around all of them to cross on his own (he’d said it was to keep a lookout upstream, but Dorian was pretty sure it was because he was enjoying sliding around on the ice. He thought he’d seen a halfling-sized form doing backflips upstream, but that made him too dizzy to focus any more closely).

“You’re such a worry-wart,” Chetney added. He slapped Dorian’s backside as he passed, then slipped nimbly between him and Ashton. “Need to work on your balance, blue boy!”

Dorian rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the gnome’s teasing. Particularly since he’d been crossing this way to stick close to Ashton just in case—he wasn’t sure Imogen would be strong enough to lift them if the ice broke, and he could at least levitate the earth genasi if the worst happened. Otherwise, he probably would have clicked his boots together and flown across the river.

The ice groaned under Ashton’s foot, and they froze. “Fuck.”

“Easy,” Dorian murmured. “We’re okay.”

“I know we’re okay,” Ashton snapped, without any real heat in their voice. “Fuck,” they whispered again, sliding their foot a little closer before taking the next step.

“Take your time. There’s no rush.”

They slid another few feet forward.

“I don’t know if this swims,” Ashton muttered, gesturing to their body. “Hasn’t really come up before.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Fearne squeaked in agreement and scrambled up Dorian to cross over his arm to Ashton’s shoulder. She could have easily run across the ice in this form without any danger but had chosen to stick with them for moral support. Or blackmail material. One never quite knew with Fearne.

“We had frozen rivers like this near Uthodurn,” Chetney called. He stomped on the ice and gave a satisfied nod. “Sturdy.”

Dorian shuddered. He could swim, and he was pretty sure his reflexes would be good enough to leap out of the way if the ice broke, but it wasn’t something he wanted to test. “Please be careful, Chetney.”

“What, with this?” Chetney leaped up and down, slamming both feet into the ice. “This ain’t going nowhere!”

“Not funny, old man,” Ashton warned.

“I bet it would even hold my better half.”

“Chetney, no!” Dorian called out the warning, but it was too late. Chetney was already transforming, his larger werewolf form nearly twice the size of his usual gnomish one.

“See?” Chetney gave a wolfish smile and stomped on the ice again. “Nothing to…uh-oh.”

The ice cracked.

Dorian panicked.

He did the first thing that came to mind, and cast levitate.

On Ashton.

“What the fuck!” Ashton, now a foot off the ice, swung their arms and legs through the air helplessly. “Let me down!”

“Sorry, Ash,” Dorian was already making his way toward the spot where Chetney had dropped through the ice. “Gimme a minute!”

Chetney was clawing at the edges of the broken ice, fur already weighed down with water. The water was quickly freezing in his fur and along the edges of the hole.

“Chetney!” Dorian dropped to his stomach and stretched across the ice, reaching toward the werewolf with one hand. “Change back, then grab my hand!”

Claws hooked into his hand, breaking the skin, dragging him toward the hole.

“If you do that, we’ll both go down,” Dorian argued. “Chetney! Drop it!”

The wolf snarled. The other claw was coming around as animal fear replaced the normal intelligence in Chetney’s eyes. Dorian steeled himself, bracing against the ice as best he could.

“Enough, Chet!”

He looked up to see Imogen floating next to him, hand outstretched. The world wavered for a split-second, and the fear that had been clenching his heart started to relax. Dorian let out a sigh of relief and looked back to see Chetney’s ears droop as his grip on Dorian’s wrist loosened.

“Don’t let go,” he called out quickly. “If you change back, we can pull you out.”

“And I’ll fly you to the other side,” Imogen added. “No more icy deep for you.”

Chetney whined but complied. The icy fur receded, leaving behind a small, water-logged gnome. “Sorry about that.”

“We all make mistakes,” Dorian replied, hauling Chetney out of the ice. He was relieved when Imogen immediately grabbed his arms to fly him over to the bank, since the hole had destabilized the ice around it.

The last few minutes replayed in his mind, and he dropped his forehead to the ice with a groan. Ashton was never going to let him live this down. He looked back over his shoulder, only to find that Orym had lashed a vine around Ashton’s waist and was towing them toward the riverbank like a particularly ill-mannered kite. Ashton had folded their arms, brow furrowed in a scowl, but Dorian thought he caught a hint of relief in their posture at not having to walk the rest of the way across the ice.

He lay like that for a moment, stretched out on the ice, inches away from the hole Chetney had fallen through, until an insistent squeaking caught his attention. Dorian looked up to find Fearne, still in her rodent form, climbing up his arm to press her cold rodent nose to his cheek.

“All right, all right,” he laughed, scooping her up into the crook of his arm and slowly shifting onto his knees so he could stand back up. “Let’s get this over with.”

#whumpcember2022 #whumpcember2022 day 17 #icy deep #falling through the ice #critical role #campaign 3 #bell's hells #fanfic #ashton greymoore #dorian storm #fearne calloway #chetney pock o'pea #everyone is there in some capacity #chetney is a show off #ice can't hold wolves #dorian really just left ashton floating there #like the world's grumpiest balloon

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angstywaifu · 1 month

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Happy Birthday To Me - Garrick Tavis x Reader

A/N: Couldn't not post a birthday themed fic on my birthday about my favourite Fourth Wing/Iron Flame man. Thank you to those who gave me ideas for it! And thank you for all the birthday wishes! Warnings: 18+, Smut (only a small amount and implied)

To everyone else today was just another day. Another day in the riders quadrant. Just the way I had intended it to be as I stretched out in my bed. I extend my hand out to find the space next to me empty and cold. I open my eyes to see Garrick who was there when I had fallen asleep was gone. Had been for some time apparently. I couldn’t help the slight hint of sadness that washed over me.

Garrick and I were just friends with benefits. Close friends with benefits. He didn’t always stay the night, most of the time opting to go back to his room to try keep our arrangement a secret. But part of my had hoped today he would be there when I woke up. On my birthday. A silly hope considering he didn’t know when my birthday was. No one in the quadrant did. I’d never had a good birthday when I was younger, my parents usually forgetting or claiming to be too busy. And once they had died with the end of the rebellion, I didn’t want someone else to disappoint me. So I never told anyone. The group of people I now considered close friends always asked. Nearly three years later none of them knew. But someone did. Out of the corner of my eye, sitting on my bedside table was a card leaning up against a small box, a dark green ribbon wrapped around it. My favourite colour. I push myself up, manoeuvring to sit in the spot Garrick had been in when I had fallen asleep last night. I reach for the box first, the child in me wanting to see what awaited inside seeing as I’d rarely gotten gifts on my birthday. I open it to reveal a black choker, with a small green gem hanging from it. It was beautiful. I had pointed it out a few weekends ago in town when we had all gone down on one of our rare days off. Meaning this could have only been from someone in our friend group who had gone that day.

We walked through the main road through town. Our voices and laughter echoing off the walls as Imogen tells us a story about Bodhi becoming a flustered mess around a girl he was interested in. Again. For someone who grew up around Xaden and Garrick who were the epitome of confidence, Bodhi was the complete opposite most of the time, and it made for a lot of moments like this. As we pass by one of the few jewellery stores in town, something catches my eye. I drift away from the group as they keep laughing at Imogen’s story. In the window was a choker made up of thin black leather cord , and hanging off it was a beautiful green gem. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I must have been gone from the group longer than I had realised as a familiar presence joins me. I don’t have to look up to know its Garrick. His shadow easily fell over me without even trying. And his smell easily gave him away. The familiar scent of leather, musk and cinnamon I had grown so use to other the last few months. A smell that I swear was permanently on that side of the bed he always laid on.

”What you looking at?” He asks as his eyes scan the items in the store window.

I point my finger at the choker on display in the middle of the window display. “Just that choker. Nothing special.” I tell him.

”Why don’t you get it then? Seems you really like it.” He pushes. I really must have been standing here looking at it longer than I realised.

I shake my head. “I’ll just end up losing it in a challenge or something. Just thought it was pretty.”

With a final look at the choker, I smile up at Garrick before wandering back to the group standing a few feet behind us.

Had Garrick gotten this for me? If he had, he would have gotten it while we were there. But why wait till today to give it to me? I had never told him when my birthday was. Hadn’t uttered a single word about it since the day I had gotten here. There was no way he knew what today was. I place the box on the bed in front of me before grabbing the card that had been placed with the box. I open the card to find the very familiar scrawl I knew belonged to Garrick. I had sat next to him in nearly every class after he had befriended me in Gauntlet training back in first year. I would know his handwriting anywhere.

I promise you’ll never lose this. I’ll make sure of it.

Head to where we first met - Garrick

I move faster than I ever have before. Jumping out of bed and pulling on my uniform and brushing my hair in record time. I’m halfway across my room when I remember the necklace still in the box on my bed. I rush over and grab the necklace. My fingers fumbling nervously on the clasp as I try to secure it around my neck. After many failed attempts I manage to finally clasp it together. I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips as I catch my reflection in the mirror. The sun hitting the green gem on my neck just right, casting a subtle green glow around it. It was beautiful. I don’t even hesitate as my feet take me towards the gauntlet. Garrick and I had technically met before the training sessions had started. We we’re in the same squad. But until gauntlet training had started, we had never uttered a single word to each other. Not even a hello. And as I round the corner into the gauntlet I know my gut feeling was right. Exactly where we had said our first words, had our first interaction say another box with a green bow. Right where Garrick had saved me from falling to my death.

I didn’t have enough momentum. My footwork was all wrong as my body jerked forward on the third last post. I was falling and I was going to die. I close my eyes so I don’t see it coming. Don’t have to watch my death come to me. But suddenly I’m not falling forward. The wind rushing around me gone. Instead I’m swinging back up as something grasps my arm. I thud into something solid, before we both topple to the ground, rolling into the next obstacle. I lie there in shock, my eyes still shut. There was no way I hadn’t died. My mind was playing tricks on me. It had to be. But a deep voice pulls me from my thoughts and has me opening my eyes.

”Hey, are you ok?”

I open my eyes to see the biggest cadet in our squad and probably the entire quadrant looking down at me. Worry etched on their face and in their hazel eyes. Still in shock from almost dying all I can do is nod my head. Clearly he senses I’m still in shock as he grasps my hands and pulls me up with him. I barely reach his shoulder as we both stand on the small landing. The landing I was very close to not being on if it wasn’t for Garrick. Who I could have sworn was half way up the next obstacle as I started mine. He should have cleared it by the time I had started to fall. He should have easily cleared it by then.

”Think you can make it up the next one?” Garrick’s question pulling me from my thoughts.

I turn to look at the upwards climb we would have to make. Something I could easily do. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

”Good. I’m Garrick by the way.” He holds his hand out to me.

I grasp it, his hand dwarfing mine instantly. “I’m Y/N.”

This time I had easily made it across the posts. Right over to the box on the small landing. I kneel in front of it, pulling off the green bow. Inside was a wooden carving of my green dragon. A wooden carving I knew Liam Mairi had done. I had seen him making carvings for some of the other riders. And I had dropped hints multiple times I would love one of my dragon. He kept telling me he would get to mine. But I had a feeling mine had been done for a while as I had only started asking recently. Underneath the wooden carving is another note from Garrick.

I’m glad I caught you that day. Even though I didn’t know you, I hate to think how my life would have turned out if I hadn’t.

Meet me where it first happened - Garrick

I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face as I read his note, or the way my heart beat increases ever so slightly. The others had always joked I brought out the best in Garrick from that day onwards. I had to take their word for it, as Garrick had never changed in my eyes. He had always acted the same around me. I turn and climb up the last of the Gauntlet. Thank god once we cleared this on presentation day we didn’t have to do this to get up to the flight field every single time. Even with it being far easier now than it was back in first year. As I pull my self over the top I head straight for the stairs to take me back down to the quadrant. The only place my mind went to with the words ‘meet me where it first happened’ was his room. So that’s where I went.

”F-fuck, Garrick.” I practically moan.

Garrick’s hands grip my thighs tightly, keeping me firmly seated on his face. His tongue licking slowly over me, before wrapping his lips around my clit. My hands gripping his head board tightly as my body trembles and my toes curl. Garrick’s name was tumbling from my lips with every stroke. I gasp out loudly as his tongue probes my entrance, Garrick’s hands gripping my thighs tightly in response. I feel his groan rumble through me as I grind down on his face, his nose grazing my clit, a loud moan escaping me again. One of his hands moves from my thigh to firmly grasp me ass, encouraging me to move back and forth. I whimper as he removes his lips from me, earning a chuckle from Garrick. I had been so hesitant to do this, and now here I was whimpering at the loss. But he quickly replaces the loss with his fingers. I instantly clamp around them, head rolling back in pleasure.

”Fuck Y/N, you look so pretty like this. Way better than I ever imagined.” His voice dropping an octave lower somehow. “Look at you coming undone on just my fingers and tongue.”

All I can do is moan and whimper in response as he adds another finger, curling them inside me. I nearly collapse at the feeling. Garrick and I had barely started and he already had me falling apart on top of him. As Garrick sucks on my clit again, my whole body starts shaking, my climax quickly approaching.

”That’s it sweetheart. Let go. Come apart on my fingers.” He mumbles against me.

And I do. Hard and loud as I moan and scream his name.

My hand hovers over the handle to Garrick’s room, shaking slightly as my heart beats loudly and fast in my chest. The green bow on the handle telling me I was in the right spot. Meaning Garrick was most likely inside based off the wording of his note. On the other side I pick the faint sounds of someone pacing back and forth. Was Garrick nervous? Garrick who I had never seen look phased or scared of anything in the time we had been here. Yet hear I was listening to his pacing back and forth. I suck in a deep breathe and turn the handle and push open the door. Garrick who was pacing towards the other side of the room turns quickly and looks at me. A smile gracing his lips as his eyes lower to the choker still clasped around my neck. I look around the room, and situated on the desk is a cupcake from one of the bakeries in the local town with green icing on top. Next to it what looks to be a book with some slim boxes stacked on top, secured together with another one of the green bows. Garrick had known today was my birthday. There was no denying it.

”How did you know?” I ask him as I walk over to the desk, Garrick standing behind me and placing a hand on the small of my back.

”Lets just say I have my ways.” He says with a chuckle. I don’t have to turn to see the smirk that will be on his face.

”What ways? I’ve never told anyone here when my birthday was.” I tell him as I undo the bow holding the book and boxes together.

Garrick watches silently as I open the first box. Inside was a new set of daggers. Tyrrish runes decorated the handle. They were gorgeous. The next box held a new set of charcoals to go with the sketch book lying underneath.

”Being a section leader gives me access to information on all the cadets under me.” Cadets that included me as I was in his section. “I had also noticed over the last two years, that you always seemed off around this time of year. That something bothered you. So I already had my suspicions.”

”You didn’t have to do this.” I tell him as I turn and look at up him, trapping me between Garrick and the desk.

Garrick just smiles and reaches up and brushes some of my hair behind my ear, then resting his hand on my cheek. In my rush I hadn’t done my usual braid or bun, leaving it to hand loosely around my face. Something I knew drove Garrick crazy. He loved it when I’d let it down during our more intimate moments.

”I did. I needed to do this for you. Can’t have my girl hating her birthday.” He tells me softly.

Garrick was always good at keeping his emotions off his face. But his eyes always spoke what he was trying to hide. I could see the nervousness in them, the slight darting around my face to see how I would react.

”You’re girl? We’re just fr-”

”What if I wanted more? Wanted more than just some heated moments in each others beds. But kept convincing myself I couldn’t have more. What if I was stupid enough to fall for one of my closest friends.” He pleads, resting his forehead on mine.

”Good thing we’re both stupid then.” I say.

I briefly catch a smile on Garrick’s lips before they’re on my own. Our hands pulling at each others clothes as he guides us towards his bed, two piles ending up on the floor. I go to grab his hand to pull him down to the bed with me, but he smacks it away as he kneels in front of me, pulling me towards the edge of the bed.

”Today is all about you darling.” He says, his voice dropping an octave lower than normal, bringing out the husky tone that he knows I love.

I go to object, but my words are silenced by my moan as Garrick runs his tongue along my centre and pushes his fingers inside me. Happy birthday to me.

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc #garrick tavis smut #garrick tavis x you

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utilitycaster · 2 years

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Hey :) So, since you said we could ask nicely (you don't have to answer if you'd rather not, I understand completely if that's the case) I was just curious if your feelings about the encounter with Otohan changed at all now with the new ep and if so how and why, or on the other hand if there is another way of achieving this bit of story progression you'd have preferred over the fight for it. I'm still....a bit torn on it all, especially on the intentions behind how the encounter was designed, so I'd really appreciate another perspective.

No, absolutely ok to ask! I'm going to write something longer this evening about my feelings on the whole (in short: good episode overall! Some opportunity to do a bit of unpacking, a smidgeon of resolution re: Treshi, and some interesting lore for Chetney, FCG, and Ashton! does not really help my ongoing issues with the campaign but did not introduce new ones so much as continue to expose the existing ones and, if Laudna stays dead, might even put us on a path to fixing some others...but I fully respect people who have decided to not keep up.) But with regards to the encounter:

I would like to introduce you to the text replacer extension I downloaded yesterday and which I will not be changing:

Now: I absolutely respect the appearance of a powerful enemy who nearly kills the party and disappears, I even understand making them extremely powerful, since I know this was an intention for Lorenzo but the Nein were able to kill him more quickly than Matt intended. Otohan's mechanics are ridiculous, but like...just as I agree with Brennan's choice to have a curb-stomp battle when Patia and Laerryn came upon a comparatively low-level character...so do I agree that yeah, if Otohan is super-powerful, then sure, she can be super powerful and near TPK the party. I still can't entirely make a fair call on Matt's intent (were they supposed to go into this encounter? was he trying to warn them against it? was he leaving it fully up to chance, which isn't bad at all but is a weird pivot given the plotting of the rest of the campaign so far) so I'll hold off on that, but it's a relatively small misstep in a vacuum; it's the surrounding issues of the campaign that have me side-eyeing it harder than perhaps I would otherwise.

I think the core of my problems with the actual encounter are:

Otohan is boring as fuck. She has no personality other than megalomania and zeal. Like we know what she's doing, but we don't know why and I, at least, do not care. When I say she talks like a Marvel Villain I mean it. And if your plot is "vast conspiracy", you really need to make the person at the top compelling.

The structure and Otohan's behavior were extremely inconsistent. She started by knocking people out but not taking death saves...then taking death saves midway through. She did not make it clear what she wanted from Imogen until like four rounds in, after she'd killed Orym. Imogen did not start experiencing that storm until round 5. Like, I want to be crystal clear: if Otohan's opening move was to outright kill Ashton, and she just took death saves the whole time? I'd be cool with it. If Imogen had been getting the vague storm feeling from the start and had the opportunity to give in earlier? I'd be cool with it. I like character permadeath in my stories. I do not mind a near TPK. But this felt like it was very clumsily engineered into a highly specific scenario.

I alluded to this in my tags, and I can't find the tweet in question now, but someone tweeted something to the effect of "me, realizing this is Matt showing Imogen her powers like he showed Yasha" and Matt liked said tweet and for real, if I hadn't seen that? I think I would have been about 500% more normal about the last episode although tbh this episode hammers home that yeah, that was at least part of the point, and uh, fuck that. Because here's the thing: it's fine, I guess, if you have a bonus homebrew ability for a character they are unaware of that they can activate in extreme circumstances. But there were no hints thereof, and one of the following seems to be true:

it's stress related, which means either it's kind of vague mechanically (usually not great; see my complaints about the Trusted Ally mechanic for FCG's subclass), or it's explicitly "one or more of your party members is dead" or similar (ok by me, actually!)

HOWEVER, if you decide to showcase this ability you homebrewed for one person - without warning or prior hints - by killing other party members (particularly in the poorly signaled way as above)? For real, fuck that. I find myself in the awkward position of, for various reasons, wanting Laudna's death to stand...but also, if my character were killed off as a means to show another character how to use their cool new powers, it does not matter how much I trust the DM; we would be having pretty serious words because this is fundamentally, in my opinion, a profound misstep. There's "not everyone gets the same number of presents" and then there's this.

I think, to be honest, it's fine to have this ability around, and to show it during combat... but particularly because it's just a bonus ability? just wait until an opportune time through natural gameplay. If it doesn't come up for four levels? It doesn't come up. It's also...not terribly hard to arrange for a lethal combat that is more gracefully done, or even to have played Otohan in a less erratic and boring way, and I'm not sure why specifically Matt did so (nor do I think such speculation will be terribly productive.)

Edit: Forgot to put this here amidst all the criticism but: having Otohan leave at the top of this episode was the right call, credit where credit is due.

#answered #widogasts-web-of-dunamancy #critical role spoilers #cr discourse

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c-is-for-circinate · 2 years

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So it seems like a secondary theme that’s developing in this campaign is a good old fashioned gothic horror story! Do you think that’s going to relate to the class warfare theme or do you think it’s separate?

Mmmm, yes, both, neither. Mostly yes.

It's so interesting that you're pulling the gothic horror out of this, because you know, it wasn't my first thought but you're absolutely right. Usually when I think of CR and gothic horror, obviously the go-to is Briarwoods in Whitestone, but of course we haven't left all that behind, either, have we? With Delilah whispering in Laudna's ear?

C3 so far has been flirting around the edges of gothic horror, not quite ready to move past a theater date into a serious relationship just yet, but it's creeping in more and more. The mad scientist in his basement, tinkering with half-science-half-supernatural powers even he doesn't quite understand. The werewolf whose control slips around the full moon. The dire dreams of doom and portent. The ghosts.

There's also a lot about the story that really doesn't ping as gothic horror to me on kind of a foundational level. I think the key for me here is that everything we've seen so far, with the possible exception of Imogen's dreams, still feels very very real. One of the most intrinsic things about gothic horror (to me at least) is how it nearly feels dreamlike at times, the edges of what's true and what's not and what could be true all blurring a bit around the margins. What is your choice, and what do you only think is your choice? Are the ghosts real or just your imagination, your guilt and suspicion and paranoia and mind playing tricks on you? Neither, they're Laudna with a spell and a good intimidation check. It looks like horror from the outside, but our party are the ones behind the rubber mask.

The werewolf is a creature of sublime gothic horror because the werewolf is hunger and it is a monster and the monster is a man and the man cannot (refuses to) control himself and the man cannot control the wolf and neither can you. Chetney isn't that. Chetney is too straightforward, too comedic, too Chetney for that. Yet.

For contrast, we can absolutely reference the Briarwoods arc, which in spite of being a D&D game does have a very threatening, dreamlike feel to it. The world is ominous in Whitestone, the city itself alive and foreboding, full of undeath and ghosts and threat. Percy himself is a thing of gothic horror, the scientist in his basement creating terrors, the creature of decaying nobility half-owned by his own demons. There are undead giants in the streets and nobody in town speaks above a murmur and the entire place is haunted with the evil that's suffused it.

Jrusar isn't that. I am very, very sure that there are places in Jrusar like that, but the city itself as we've seen it so far isn't, quite. It's an incredibly central tenet of gothic horror, and indeed gothic fiction in general, that location must be a living, breathing thing, suffused with its own spirits and vast, subsuming emotions. It's the haunted house, it's Dracula's castle, it's the shadowed moors and the graveyard. In Southern gothic, it's the south itself, the bayou and the shantytown, the decaying plantation. And we don't -- quite -- see that in Jrusar just yet.

The Jrusar we've seen is alive, but it almost hits me more in the way of sci-fi than classic horror. It's not a creature with moods of its own; it's a clockwork machine, here not to demand that its inhabitants feel its emotions, but that they follow their roles, play their cardboard-cutout parts, continue to tick along to make things work. Jrusar isn't our central piece in a gothic horror. Not yet.

But of course it's the yet that matters, because with all the pieces laid out before us here, we are sure to stumble into a little pocket of space and time where the walls are hungry enough to bring us all the way there. .

Which is where we come back to class, because gothic horror? Is and has always been about class in the first place.

Oh, Edgar Allen Poe left it aside now and again, but Victor Frankenstein could only ever create his monster because he was a wealthy young scion with a castle and dead parents. Dracula was a Count, living in shadows and sucking the life out of everyone in his domain. The ghost doesn't haunt a farmer's cottage, it haunts a manor, looming and old and creaking in the night.

Gothic horror is about the decay of nobility. It's about the declining influence of old titled families in a modern era, and about the sin and decadence of wealth. It's the idea that, as times have moved on and left these old places and old families behind, they have begun to rot from the inside out, poisoned by their own greed and determination not to let go. Or maybe the demons were always there, lurking inside, just waiting to be discovered, inherent in the surety of I can do as I please and nobody will stop me. The only thing that's changed is that our poor maybe-doomed protagonist has dared set foot somewhere she'd really be better off fearing to tread.

In less metaphorical terms (or maybe just to acknowledge the metaphor), gothic horror is very much about the abuse of power by hereditary aristocracy. That power may be turned against their communities, against interlopers, or even against themselves, and most of the time the individual members of that aristocracy don't actually control what damage is done. In effect, the power of age and title and class and money (which are all four different things, but they pile together and compound each other, especially in this genre) itself gets treated like a living thing. That's the hungry monster of gothic lit.

And Jrusar is absolutely ripe for that. What we've seen so far is, like I mentioned above, a controlled version of this, a Scooby Doo gothic horror. Sometimes it's our party playing the whispers in the dark on purpose, and it's not scary because we're already standing back stage watching the magician pull all the wires. Sometimes it's the elite of the city, but it's still faked, in a sense. We've seen tables and chairs and walls come to life, hungry like a haunted house is hungry, except we also hit them a bunch and they died and we found the machine that was doing it on purpose to, idk, scare people away so the venture capitalist could build a theme park. People are trying to fuck with one another's heads, but it's purposeful. Controlled.

The next step, of course -- and with the Nightmare King on the loose, we are so ready to trigger that next step -- is for the fear and the hunger to stop being controlled. Something the leaders of the city tried to leash has escaped its bounds and turned on them. Something is lurking in the tunnels and the hollows inside the spires, where Dugger went bad. It spread, just a little, into his house, but eventually we'll end up down there in its home, probably, and that will be gothic horror. Sooner or later we'll be asked to clear out a mansion of a Mahon family who didn't expect their own manor to become alive in its own right; sooner or later we'll find that the Nightmare King was invited here by the Quorum, that they thought he was chained, that he's set up his own kingdom somewhere they didn't expect and now it's growing. Sooner or later we will wander into a place that's alive, and hungry, and the whispers in Imogen's head will get louder and Delilah Briarwood will hiss in joy and the rubber masks won't come off because they'll be real.

And Travis is going to pee his pants in terror when it happens, but oh man it's gonna be fun.

#cr spoilers #campaign 3 #gothic horror #asked and answered #mmmm I went off on this one #love a good gothic story #catch me rewatching Briarwoods this week #critical role

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Goodnight and Go by SisterSpooky1013

Part of the inspired by songs series, this work is inspired by “goodnight and go” by Imogen Heap.

2219 words, read it here on AO3

His knock was always a welcome interruption. The soft rap rap against her door seemed to have a direct line to her lips, quirking them into a secret smirk that she invariably erased before greeting him. She was, after all, an accomplished avoider, hider, and suppresser of emotions. She had become so adept at concealing her visceral response to him that she found she was unable to let it be known, even now that she felt ready for that part of herself to be seen. Nearly dying from cancer could do that to you; make you rethink why you ever built walls around your heart in the first place. What was meant to protect you from hurt and vulnerability also served to prevent you from having the type of true connection that made life worth living in the first place. And so when she learned her fate, that she would live, she decided to make a change, to let him in, only to discover that she didn’t actually know how. So, brick by brick, she was deconstructing her own defenses. Sometimes that looked like not suppressing a smile, or making a sexual innuendo, or sitting a little closer than was absolutely necessary. It was tedious work, but the progress was continual. What she had not anticipated, however, was how quickly Mulder would respond to the change in her, and how affected she would be by his response.

Mulder had always been affectionate towards her, tender even at times. His broad hand at the small of her back, the occasional stroke of her cheek, a kiss to the top of her head now and then, these were expected and appreciated gestures. Her own demeanor or their sometimes tumultuous relationship never seemed to affect whether he interacted with her in this way; it was simply a given. But the first time she reciprocated, returning his coy smile with a toothy grin of her own instead of a suppressed smirk, she saw his body respond to the feedback. Something shifted in his eyes, or maybe it was more like a subtle wave that traveled down his body, or a spark that sputtered from his fingertips. Whatever it was, she felt it from several feet away, electric and thick and heavy between them, and it hadn’t abated since.

Rap rap.

She felt a flush spread from her chest to her fingertips, and her tongue darted out to taste the smile that stretched across her lips. She wouldn’t push it away this time; she wanted him to see how happy she was to see him. Pulling the door open, she greeted him warmly with a “hi” and he grinned in return, setting off a fluttering in her belly that had previously been reserved for high school crushes. His snug jeans and grey T shirt hugged his muscular body in all the right places, and she decided then and there to pull down her brick for the day, to chip away at part of the wall. Still smiling, she let her gaze float down his body, taking in the hard swell of his pecs and the soft bulge in his pants before she met his eye again. It felt gratuitous and overt, but in reality it was nothing more than a flicker; something he might have missed had he looked away for even a moment. But he hadn’t missed it. She knew because he inhaled deeply and she saw his eyes darken as his pupils expanded, his nervous system unable to suppress its natural response to the flush of dopamine he experienced as a result of her leering.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside, ignoring the blush that she felt warm her cheeks. She couldn’t suppress her body’s natural response to what felt dangerous and exciting any more than he could. “Can I get you something? Coffee, beer?”

She had been working on not asking why he was there, or what he needed. She wanted to eliminate the pretense that their relationship could exist only as it related to a case or a task, so that they could simply be together without a reason for doing so. Maybe if she stopped asking him to justify why he came over or called, he would do so more often, just because.

“Sure, beer sounds great,” he replied, slipping off his shoes and making for the couch. He had nothing in his hands, seemingly no agenda, and that fact both thrilled her and made her uncomfortable. The discomfort, she knew, was part of her defense mechanisms, and so she chose to ignore it. Another brick fell away with a THUNK as she plopped down beside him, on the middle cushion rather than the opposite end as she normally would.

“What have you been up to today?” She asked, handing him his open bottle while taking a swig of her own. His thick fingers brushed over hers as he took the beer from her hand and she caught his eye briefly.

“Not much, I’ve just been over at the gunmen’s, playing Monopoly of all things.” He pivoted his body towards hers, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind her head, which felt like some kind of embrace though they weren’t touching at all.

“Ah, who won?” She asked, curling her legs underneath her torso so that she could also face him, the side of her body leaning on the back of the couch, his arm close enough that she could smell the soap on his skin.

“Nobody, we just stopped playing. I don’t think I’ve ever finished a game of Monopoly, actually.” He shifted slightly and she felt his fingertips brush over the back of her neck momentarily, sending a shiver up her spine.

“What? How can you just stop without anyone winning?!” She was genuinely incredulous.

Mulder chuckled good-naturedly. “Not everyone is as competitive as you, Scully. We were just playing for fun, it doesn’t matter who won.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “That approach would not fly in the Scully household.”

“I’m suddenly getting an idea of why you never played sports in school,” he teased, touching her neck on purpose this time, squeezing gently. Without allowing herself to think about it, she leaned into his touch like a cat, or a flower seeking sunlight. Encouraged, he threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and kept them there.

“No,” she replied, though her voice was a little softer, her breath a little less even, “I never played sports because I’m terrible at them.”

“Really? I was under the impression that there’s nothing you aren’t good at.” His eyes were on her lips, studying them as though he was seeing them for the first time. In what was an unconscious tick, her tongue slipped out and ran along the seam of her mouth. She saw his eyebrows jump almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t like doing things I’m not good at, so I generally avoid them,” she answered, trying to ignore the way his fingertips whispered against her skin, and the resulting throb between her legs.

“What are you bad at, other than sports?” He asked, and she was momentarily lost in the flutter of his eyelashes and the green flecks in his irises as they traversed her face, cool and serene and without nervousness. He always seemed so comfortable and in his element, unflappable in a way that she often envied. His eyes fixed on hers and she realized she was staring, but forced herself not to look away.

“Puzzles. I suck at puzzles,” she finally answered, and his mouth quirked into a smile that she mirrored, just because his smile made her happy.

“I’ve seen you do puzzles, Scully. Difficult ones.”

She nodded, humming at the feeling of his fingers rubbing against her scalp with the movement. “Once I start I have to finish it, but that doesn’t mean that I like it, or that I’m any good at it.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds like the Scully I know,” he said, slipping his hand away from her and returning his arm to the back of the couch. “Maybe we should play Monopoly sometime, see it all the way through,” he added, not seeming to notice the fact that every atom in her body was straining towards him, desperate to feel his touch again.

“I’m not sure that’s a good plan. We may not be friends when the game is over, regardless of who wins. Perhaps something lower stakes, like Candy Land,” she said with a smirk.

Mulder shook his head in mock-doubt. “I dunno, Scully, I can just envision you getting the cupcake card when you’re up by chocolate mountain. You’ll flip the table.” She screwed up her mouth but didn’t deny it. “How about strip poker? There are no losers in that game.”

She imagined Mulder peeling off his boxers after a bad hand, unable to conceal his arousal. Or maybe it would be her, revealing herself to him bit by bit. Her nipples tightened at the thought, and she saw his eyes dart down to her chest, noticing. Of course she wouldn’t be wearing a bra when she wasn’t expecting company.

“Isn’t the person who ends up naked the loser in strip poker?” She asked rhetorically, the verbalizing of nakedness a thrill in itself. Not that they hadn’t both seen each other naked before, but they seemed to have an unspoken agreement that incidental eyefulls during times of medical emergency didn’t count.

“Technically speaking, yes, but if they aren’t particularly opposed to getting naked in the first place, that too can be a win.” He took a swig of his beer, and Scully suddenly remembered hers existed and did the same. “So you’d last, what,” he looked over her body, calculating how many items of clothing she was wearing, imagining not only what he could see but what lay beneath, “Four rounds at most. You don’t have socks on, that’s a disadvantage.”

She took a deep breath, summoning courage. “Only two, actually. You caught me at a bad time, strip poker wise.” She took another drink to cover her shock at her own admission.

Mulder’s eyes narrowed as he appraised her again. Pants and shirt. Oh. He shifted a little.

“Do you make a habit of not wearing underwear, Scully?” He ventured, the pitch of his voice one she was not well acquainted with. His mouth held a playful smirk, but his eyes betrayed his true reaction to what she’d said.

“Why do you ask?” She returned, question for question.

He smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just curious,” he said, heat rising in his cheeks.

She nodded, then diverted the focus to him. She’d had about as much as she could handle. “You’ve got about…6 losing hands to work with?” She asked, guesstimating. “Unless you’re also not wearing underwear,” she added cheekily.

“On the contrary, I’m outfitted in my favorites,” he said, leaning forward to set his beer on the coffee table before he leaned back and pulled up his shirt, revealing the ripples of his abdomen and a trail of soft brown hair that disappeared into his jeans. Scully suppressed a moan. He tugged the waistband of his boxers above his jeans to reveal a pattern of tiny cartoon Elvis’ on a black background.

“Those are very adult underwear, Mulder,” she teased him, and he tucked them away but stayed reclined like that, hands folded on his belly. There was still a sliver of flesh visible between his shirt and pants, which she pointedly avoided looking at.

He tilted his head up to look at her, their faces closer now in his reclined position. “I’d ask to see yours, but…y’know.” He arched his eyebrows and flicked his eyes over her body quickly.

“Maybe some other time,” she replied, a coy smile on her mouth.

“May-be,” he returned.

They were quiet for a moment, which turned into a minute, and felt like an eternity. It was the kind of silence that demanded action, shit or get off the pot kind of silence. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up, anticipation pricking her skin like a sunburn. Do something, she told herself. She parted her lips to speak, but no words came out.

“I should get going,” he said abruptly, and sat up. It felt like a bucket of cold water. Had he interpreted her hesitation as disinterest? She stood dumbly and followed him to the door. “Thanks for the beer,” he said, hand on the knob, and she nodded.

Just before he was about to pull the door closed behind him, he stopped. “Hey, next time I go to the Gunmen’s for game night, you wanna come with?”

She smiled tightly, “yeah, that sounds fun.”

He heaved a sigh that sounded like relief and smiled. “Great, I’ll let them know. Though I really recommend you wear underwear going over there. Never can be too careful with Frohike around. You know how he feels about you.” She chuffed a small laugh, and he added “can’t say I blame the guy.” Giving her one more glance from head to toe, he left.

Brick by brick. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless. One day they would get there.

Tagging @today-in-fic thank you!

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #angst #fluff #UST

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