#have her to tide you over in the meantime

[chknbzkt]

Damn I missed another entire month and for WHAT but here’s the first of the lineup because fuck it SMAUGUST IS FOREVER (to be fair to myself I’ve been busy being experimental and taking my art studies seriously but AUGH)

The others are still in the microwave so y’all get Glamrock Chica first!

And some design exploration on the side!

Info on this lovely girl under the cut

Chica is a wandering Drake who comes and goes as she pleases through Hyde’s Crossing. Dragons (and monsters in general) like her are tolerated so long as they don’t cause trouble, which she doesn’t for the most part, but her tremendous metabolism (and in turn massive appetite) make her the scourge of farmers and cultivators near and far.

When she’s not being fended off with brooms and the odd pitchfork (Old Man Farkle is a Spicy One) along her foraging route cheekily close to people’s properties, she’s either hard at work maintaining her hoard in the form of a massive network of orchards and fruit/vegetable gardens spread all throughout her territory, or patrolling its edges to ensure no creature meaner or nastier than her tries to cause trouble for the people who rely on her orchards and in turn offer her edible goods of their own. It’s a symbiotic relationship, and she’s good on maintaining her end of the unspoken bargain as this side of the kingdom’s makeshift guard dragon.

Chica goes through a cycle every few years where she’ll sleep for a year straight. In order to build and maintain the fat stores needed to endure this cycle, she must keep eating. This is partially the reason for her choice of hoard (drakes like her are big eaters in general, each one having a favorite choice of yummy thing to snack on), partially because Hyde’s Crossing keeps falling on hard times and getting worse and worse each year. As long as you’re in need and she has food to offer, she’ll let you fill your basket ‘til you can scarcely carry it.

Out of the main cast, she’s the second largest (and the second physically strongest). Don’t think for a moment that there ain’t a wall of solid muscle beneath the squish and the fluff, girly gives an elephant a run for its money 💥💥💥 she’s also one of the more placid dergs you could run into while wandering Targum Forest.

Just give the bakers that live there a wide berth, they’ve invented a new delicacy and lent it to her to try and she seems prettyyy mad for the stuff 🍕

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Making a Move

Summary: Spencer's been seeing someone new, and the last thing he wants is to mess this up

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Hotch called a meeting over the phone, and the team is waiting for him and Rossi at the Roundtable. In the meantime, everyone else has made their stops at the coffee machine, Spencer included. He was having his second cup (the first one was from his apartment), but he didn’t need the team to know that. Although not as romantic as expected, his late night was worth the extra yawns and blurred vision. He’d rather the team not know about that too.

“What’s got you so tired, kid?”

Too late.

Morgan fiddles with a pen between his fingers. As he asks, his eyebrow arches; he’s ready for an answer. His question brings everyone’s eyes to him.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

“Nothing?” He knows that’s not it. The pact to not profile each other basically ended before it started. “Cause this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve come in here yawning like every ten seconds.”

“It’s nothing. Maybe I need more coffee.”

Garcia pokes her head up from behind her laptop. “You never have more than one cup of coffee at the office unless you really need it.” She’s still typing while looking at him. “You don’t even suggest it. Until now.” Typing halts, and Spencer sees the realization in her eyes. He knows he can’t stop the tide from coming. “Ooo, what’s his name?”

“It’s not a guy.” Spencer sips his coffee, sugar granules sliding over his tongue as he swallows.

“So it’s a girl.” Prentiss butts in with a smirk.

Spencer rubs his hand on his forehead.

“It is!” Garcia unleashes a squeal. “Okay, what’s her name?” Her magenta nails are out like a cat exposing its claws, and Spencer knows she’s prepared to start a free background check.

“He’s not going to tell us,” Prentiss says.

“What about her job? What does she do?”

A kindergarten teacher. “Not saying that either,” Spencer replies.

“Well, has anything happened between you two?” Morgan joins back in.

Just hello and goodbye hugs.

“Guys,” J.J. calls. She’s standing by the projector, remote in hand. “It’s Spence’s business. He’ll tell us when he wants to. Okay?” She uses her mom voice, and Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if the following words out of her mouth were, “If I hear another word about this, you’re all grounded.” It’s comforting, even though he knew she’d have his back.

Sighs of disappointment and protest around the table were not subtle, but they were as close to a verbal “okay” as she was getting. J.J. accepts it anyway and eventually takes a seat. Garcia leans over and asks about Hotch and Rossi, likely regarding where they could be. Spencer wonders the same thing; so they can get started.

And because Morgan keeps staring at him. He’s eager for Spencer to spill. He even leans over. “Seriously, kid, nothing?”

“I’m not afraid to tattle,” Spencer whispers back. He finds his book, The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read it a couple days ago, yet opened a page and busied himself with the paperback. Morgan’s eyes are still staring. He’s not letting this go, even if this briefing led to the jet. Spencer makes the mistake of looking back at him for a moment, and he has no choice. He turned the page of his book and mumbled, “I want something to happen, though.” He bites his lips closed when the words finally leave them.

Spencer’s opened the door, welcoming Morgan and his sleazy smile. Something he — hell — that they’ve all seen and grown too familiar with at bars and clubs. “Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” He shakes Spencer’s bony shoulder. “My man.”

Spencer can’t help but grin, not in response, but because of last night. He was worried you’d consider him cheap or creepy for choosing to watch a movie at his apartment instead of the theater. He was hoping to make a move. Spencer thought you looked so cozy in your polka-dot sweater; he wished he could reach out and touch the material. It looked so soft. But all the mistakes he made might’ve ruined the chance for that.

“What’d you do?” Morgan whispers.

“I sat too far away at first. I tried moving closer but… I didn’t want to come off as weird. Then I excused myself to get some water, but then it still didn’t feel right and —”

“So you chickened out?”

“I didn’t chicken out.”

He chickened out.

“Okay, well, it’s good you’re not all over her. You’re giving her space and showing her respect. But Reid,” He ruffles his hair. Spencer smiles, and it’s the only thing that keeps J.J. from giving a lecture. “You’ve been on three dates. She likes you, man. She’s probably waiting.”

“But what if she —”

“She does. And you need to go in knowing that and display some confidence. When are you seeing her again?”

“Tonight. We’re getting ice cream.” Spencer tries to suppress his lips curling. It doesn’t work.

“See. Now let me give you some pointers.”

It’s been a while since Spencer’s built such a natural rapport with someone, especially someone in a field furthest away from the grim glimpses of humanity he sees.

He surprised you with a visit during your lunch last week. The vibrant colors in your wardrobe match your classroom. The walls covered in handmade decorations and class-made crafts are a refreshing difference from the dark basements and fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms. The light in your eyes when discussing your students is something Spencer doesn’t get to see often, and he didn’t want to lose it by moving too fast.

Displaying confidence was something that came naturally to Morgan. “Displaying” didn’t feel honest, Spencer thought,  more like a front. Then again, that’s what all displays really were. Spencer’s only known how to be himself. Morgan does have a point, though. He’s already been on three dates. So being himself has worked so far. But he’s sure he needs a little more.

On the walk to the agreed-upon spot, Spencer grips the strap of his satchel as he trudges uphill. It helps him burn off the nervous energy as he gets closer. But when he sees you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, he’s reminded again why he should be. You’re wearing a flowy yellow dress and white tennis shoes. The one difference from last night is the ends of your hair, brunette roots leading to dark pink ends.

You stand up and start walking toward him, beaming already. “Hey!” Your arms are already out, and you hug. Spencer notes you smell like coconut.

“Hey, you,” He tries to make it sound natural. His hand lingers at your waist for a second. “Your hair,” That same hand touches the ends. “It’s pretty.” He smiles, taking in your individuality. He thinks about how much you and Garcia would get along.

“Thank you,” your brightness radiates as you giggle. “It’s the most I can get away with at school, so I figured I might as well push the limits while I can. Plus, the kids love it.”

Spencer’s brain immediately goes to statistics about school dress codes and how they likely change the following year. He holds back. Morgan’s taught him that sharing statistics can apparently kill the mood. He even reminded him before Spencer left (early). “I’m sure they do.”

Your eyebrows quirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah, doll, I’m fine.” He tries again, but it’s taking everything for him not to cringe in front of you.

“No, you’re acting weird.” You cross your arms.

“Am I?” Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Oh yeah.” You snicker. “What’s up? Tell me about it.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to say, “I really like you but I’m terrified of messing this up so I’m attempting to put on a terrible impression of a macho man because I want to kiss you and I feel like being myself isn’t going to get me anywhere” in a form that’s going to sound coherent and not like a crazy ramble that ends in you running away. So he doesn’t say it at all.

“Spencer,” You reach out to hold his hand. “You can tell me.”

“I…” He feels like he’ll stumble over his words before he gets a sentence out. He looks at you, and your grip tightens a little. He returns the gesture. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up exactly?”

“Well, this.” He moves his hand where his thumb is on top. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I like you too!” You say. “We’re on the same page there. So how could you mess this up?”

“Because I don’t know how to make the first move. I don’t want to push you.” The wind blows, and both of you push hair out of your faces, and Spencer tries not to lose his thoughts. “I even let one of my coworkers give me pointers on how to be… smoother.”

You try hard not to laugh, but it slips out, and the insecurity on Spencer’s face spreads. “Is this the one you told me about? Dirk Morgan?”

“Derek Morgan. But, yeah, him.”

“Okay, Doctor,” You step closer, and now both your hands lead up to his biceps. Spencer cautiously moves his hands to your waist. He’s hesitant about public displays of affection, but you started it, and he won’t be the one to end it so soon.  “I’m going to bring you into my field for a minute. I’m assigning you a pop quiz.”

Spencer’s mouth quirks a little, wondering where this is going.

“I have no doubt you’ll ace it.”

“I’m usually good at acing things. Exams, tests, quizzes.”

“Good. It’s one question: am I dating Derek Morgan?” Your thumbs glided back and forth against his cardigan.

“Are we dating?”

“We’ve been on dates. Therefore: dating.”

“Then, no, you are not dating Derek Morgan.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you got a 100.” You push yourself up on your toes to kiss him gently. You both pause for a moment. His hands trail to your back as yours glide to hang on his neck. His breath is extra minty for six in the evening, and it made you realize that was the move he wanted to make. “Feel better? Now that that’s out of the way?”

Spencer leans in to kiss you again. His response is clear when he pulls you in to make it deeper, but still innocent. When you open your eyes, you can see the weight that’s been lifted, a weight you lifted.

“Next time you feel like making a move, you’re more than welcome to go for it. Okay? You have my permission to go for it.”

“What if I don’t know your boundaries?”

“Just ask.” You put your feet flat on the ground, but other than that, neither of you moves or shifts eye contact. “Spencer, I like you the way you are. You don’t need some sort of smooth rhetoric to make me fall further for you.”

Spencer, once again, fails to hide the smirk as it grows. “You’ve… fallen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He says quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

Thank you for all the love from the last fic. I'm glad so many of you liked it 🥹 For anyone curious, I don't have a schedule. I just write and upload when I have something. I'm focusing on getting back into writing so feel free to send oneshot ideas if you have any. Thanks again 🩵

“Good. Now let’s get ice cream.”

[dukestewart]

A new entry for He/Her is in the works but here's a bit of artwork to tide you over in the meantime.

Did you know I have a Patreon page? It's full of concept art, secret bonus comics and a few art tips as well. Stuff like this:

And more recently, a Ranma 1/2-inspired He/Her pic:

I'm just gonna drop the link here, and whatever happens, happens.

patreon.com/dukestewart

Thanks for all your kind comments and tags. Rest assured, I read every single one of them.

[pluralthey]

is there a good place to start if we want to learn about idletry? im very interested in the story and all the bits and pieces revealed so far but i dont know if youve like, stated the basics both about the characters-in-story and how you’re releasing the comic

hi there. unfortunately, idletry became a passion project very abruptly and many details were added very quickly without regard for how long the project would take. once i did realize how large the project was, i decided that i would not even kid myself on the idea of holding in spoilers for the next 5 years, and those two factors combined make the information available very chaotic and slapdash -- somewhat intentionally.

i don't even have the comics tagged separately for easier access among the idletry content -- although, i could go back and give them a separate tag.

i can summarize the story and say that it's about a funny little talking honey badger/tasmanian devil named jessie gaylord who has for the last 10 years of her life been on heavy psychiatric medication in an attempt to mitigate a pervasive delusion that the world is a fictional story. she also has a notorious aggressive streak. these medications work primarily by leaving her so tired that she sleeps most of the time.

the story begins when her medical team has run out of typical medications to try, and they must order an older, more aggressive type of drug which is not commonly used anymore, and has a lengthier process to manufacturing and approving the drug. during this time, she is not on any medication, and she becomes more urgently fixated on convincing people that the delusion is true.

she ends up attempting to contact the writer, who is referred to as God, and she receives a response. she immediately attempts to write the story herself, and she's granted the ability to do anything within the story so long as she can write it out. (the intricacies and limitations of this power have been elaborated upon in a bunch of fragmentary posts, so i won't try to condense it here)

at the end of the first act, she kills the first writer and becomes the new God of her world. the rest of the story is about what she does after acquiring omnipotence, and it heavily features a character named fate -- or shiloh, as jessie calls her -- with whom she enters an intimate relationship.

she has a happy loving family composed of a father named adam, a mother named evelyn, and an older sister named emily. there is a later minor subplot about a cult following who worships her after she becomes God, and this cult is initially organized by an ant called samanthuel -- or samwich, as jessie calls them. these are usually the other characters i mention and i am too lazy to link them right now

the comic itself is currently being written. the script stands at around 51,000 words at the time of writing this as i work on the second act. after it's written, i will let it simmer for a few months and then write a second draft to start to relieve the story of its bloat. depending on its length at that point, i will either need to write a third draft, or i will start drawing the comic.

chances are, during the second draft, i will start to thumbnail or sketch scenes which receive little to no editing, as i know they will likely remain relatively unchanged even through multiple drafts.

the sketch strips are to tide me and an eager audience over in the meantime, but they've sort of dried up as i focus all of my attention on finishing the first draft and taking care of a puppy that was kind of just forced onto me.

i've made a couple of full-length comics before and they have taken years. it is, unfortunately, just the nature of the process. for idletry, i plan to self-publish the comic. i've never published something in print before, so that is the most daunting part for me.

the plan at the moment is to crowdfund this, but, to be frank with you, i no longer pay rent, and i care very much about having this comic as a printed book. i have no issue with paying the cost of printing out of my own pocket by the time it's done and am even anticipating that outcome ahead of time, despite having a pretty reliable audience by now.

i'm on the fence about releasing a digital book version, as i very much want to retain digital color versions of the pages that are more vibrant, but due to the explicit adult content of the story, i don't want it to be free-access.

tl;dr: it's about a lesbian incel with anger issues who's given omnipotence.

i'm still working on the story because i want it to be good.

i'm planning on printing it as a physical comic book once it's done.

[colesabi]

Since I won’t have Ch. 4 of 🍯 out for a while, I thought I’d drop a little sneak peek here in the meantime to tide you all over until I update. :3

“Have you even slept?” Jill inquires, standing in the entryway and Chris snaps his gaze up. She’s carrying two coffees in her hands, blue eyes raking over the mess of his dorm before settling on the far wall. “No offense, but you look insane.”

“There’s something here.” He offers bluntly, returning back to flip through the stack of papers in the folder, pulling one sheet out and scanning through the text. Chris locates what he’s been searching for, scrambling up off the floor to head to the patchwork of intel, pinning the paper in place right below the blurry visage of suspect #1. He turns then, eyeing her before asking, “did you have Analytics look into what I asked?”

“Yeah,” Jill sighs, stepping into the space and reciting her next words in a dull monotone, like she’s reading off a script. “there have been no known breaches of intel in the past two years.”

Chris just looks at her, a knowing smirk playing on his face and she counters it with a warning glare. 

“It proves nothing Chris.” Jill retorts, taking a sip of her coffee and extending her other arm out to offer the other. “Kennedy could have just slipped up. Despite his impressive record in the field, he is still human.”

[defira85]

A Heart As Cold As Ice

A Gale/Tav chapter fic

"A drow does not love, and does not trust. These things are weapons that can be turned against you, weaknesses that can be driven into your heart with more surety than any blade."

Ryme'dra Ulutar loved once - and swore to never be so foolish again. Raised by poor crafters in the lower levels of Ched Nasad, she lost her love to the conniving machinations of a Daughter of a noble House. Declared a murderer and a traitor, a life on the surface seemed too miserable to contemplate... but she did not know that living would prove the harder choice.

Gale Dekarios loved once - and it seems very likely to have signed his death warrant. Ambition has always been his greatest folly, and with his days quite literally numbered, he has tried and failed to embrace a noble, lonely death. Now infected with an illithid tadpole, he has limited time to work out how to cure his newest affliction, or risk a newly risen god from taking control of the city-leveling bomb in his chest.

But first of all, there's a sullen and amoral drow with a similarly terrible secret in their party, and he's never been one to resist a mystery.

Read Chapter One here

It's been a few months, time to throw myself back into another long fic! This fic is compliant with the canon of my other two long fics, so if you're looking for something to tide you over while waiting for these chapters to post, might I suggest checking those in the meantime? But hello! It's time to woo the wizard!

[bananadrinkxxx]

𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝓵 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝓵 (1)

Give me your loyalty

CHAPTER 1

[ Aemond Targaryen x female original Targaryen • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: sex content, fights, harassment, angst, smut, domination, violence, targcest (uncle/niece)]

Only for 18+

[description: War is going on between the Blacks and the Greens and Aemma Velaryon is brought to Aemond as a prisoner.]

Masterlist for all available parts (click here)

They brought Aemma Velaryon to him in chains.

It was a strange sight to see the girl, who had become a woman in the meantime, standing in front of him. Chained like a wild animal that could bite at any moment. Her hair was covered with dirt, her clothes partially torn and ashes from the fire in her face.

He had not expected to see her. Here, in Harrenhal, where her father lay dug, or what was left of him. He could hardly believe it when she was pushed through the door.

And yet she was standing right in front of him.

She looked neglected, but she stood there like a princess, graceful and challenging. He saw no fear in her eyes, as he had expected.

The war had made her more adult, but her beauty had remained the same. Although she seemed lost at that moment, surrounded by enemies, held in chains, she still managed to look beautiful. Her posture was majestic, her chin up, high, and her eyes burned with the fire she had let rain down on her enemies just a few hours before.

The war had changed her, as it had changed all of them, but it seemed that Aemma had made the biggest change of all. The weak girl who had always cried now seemed like a true warrior. She looked like a true Targaryen, although visually she had nothing in common with a Targaryen.

Dark curly hair, brown eyes, tanned skin.

Bastard.

An insult to pure Valyrian blood.

An insult to him and his siblings, who were below her and her bastard brothers in the line of succession to the throne after King Viserys I. But the tide had turned. Aegon now sat on the throne and war tormented the seven kingdoms.

And yet she and her brothers had had more than Aemond had ever received. He who was a true Targaryen.

"Niece, what a surprise," Aemond sneered, walking slowly toward the Velaryon girl. He saw her gritting her teeth, tensing up, ready to pounce on him at any moment.

The thought excited him and he felt his manhood twitch. Her rebellious nature was something new and he liked it. He usually only knew her submissive, but he enjoyed the challenge, the fire in her eyes.

She pressed her lips together. He would like to grab her and force her to open them for him. He would show her who was in control.

"I would love to offer you some food, but our supplies have been limited since your brother saw fit to set them on fire."

She pulled up the corner of her mouth, but continued to remain silent. It made him angry. He wanted to upset her, just as she was upsetting him.

She stood there, with an arrogance in her eyes that made him angry on the one hand, but excited on the other. She challenged him and he was not one to turn down challenges. She had no idea what he wanted to do with her. What he could do with her. And what he had in mind.

"It seems like I killed the wrong brother."

There it was.

Aemond felt a sense of superiority wash over him.

The reaction she had hoped for. She snapped her eyes open, burning hatred flaring in them, and before the guards could react, Aemma sprinted forward.

Not even Aemond saw her coming, so quickly she was upon him. She gives a roar like a beast gone wild, like a dragon about to devour its prey.

She reached into the fireplace, for the burning wood, fire licking at her hand, and before Aemond could react, she threw the burning wood at him. Only in the last second he managed to dodge before Aemma was with him and hit him in the face with both hands, which were still bound together, by the way.

Aemond stumbled, surprised by the strength of her blow.

"I'm going to kill you, kinslayer," she screamed, "I'm going to rip out your other eye, and stuff it in your mouth."

She swung at him again, but this time he caught her blow.

"You will burn screaming!"

"Maybe I will," Aemond confirmed, pulling her close to him. He grabbed her face and held her tightly. She tried to free herself from his grip, but she had nothing to oppose his strength. "But at first I will burn your kin first, shortly after your traitorous cunt of a mother and her lickspittle of a husband are executed before your eyes."

Aemond ignored his stomach as he felt the sting that the expression in Aemma's eyes triggered in him. There it was, that vulnerability he knew. The weak girl he had wanted to protect on the one hand and had despised for her weakness on the other.

"Everyone out, but stay outside the door. No one comes in until I say so." The guards looked uncertainly at each other, no one seemed enthusiastic about leaving him alone with his niece, but after keeping his gaze on them, leaving no room for argument, they did as he said and left his room.

"You're a traitor," she breathed, and he saw the tears in her eyes threatening to flood. He saw the weakness in her eyes that she hid behind a mask of strength, but she couldn't fool him. He knew her. She could not fool him. Aemond had always been able to read her like an open book, and the years of war and fighting had not changed that.

He suppressed the desire to push her to the ground and submit her to his will.

"I hate you," she continued to speak. "I fucking hate you."

"Hate is a very strong emotion, niece. So you still feel something for me? How nice," he scoffed. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. He hadn't seen her beautiful eyes in too long. He didn't want to lose a second.

"It is hate. Nothing more."

"Hate and love are close to each other."

She gave him a snide look. He'd like to fuck that rebellious nature out of her. He imagined what it would be like. To have her moaning under him.

"I've never loved you."

"You're good at lying. You still want me."

"The only thing I want from you is your head."

"Gladly," Aemond laughed, leaning closer. "You can have him between your legs if you want," Aemond said, his eye on her chest, which was heaving with anger. What a treat it would be to his eye to see her naked and feel her breasts under his hands.

He knew he was a slave to his lust, but he could do nothing about his desire. His hand came to touch her face, but she slapped it away. Aemond smiled.

"Fuck you."

He laughed.

"I'll leave that honor to you."

She contorted her face in disgust.

"Why don't you just kill me and spare me your stupid chatter," Aemma hissed.

"You really think I would give up my most precious trophy just like that?" He laughed and tilted his head slightly to the side. His grip moved to the back of her neck and he pushed her head towards his.

"No, my sweet Aemma. You have a use other than your death. I would hate to see this tender skin melt by Vhagar's fire."

"No matter what you do, I will not yield."

"Oh, I hope you will. All the sweeter will be the victory."

He would possess her. The idea of his cock inside her excited him, and made lust flow through his body. To his shame, he had to admit to himself that he had always desired his niece, and the war had not changed that. Basically, the war now played into his cards, because he would finally be able to take what was rightfully his without anyone opposing him.

Aemma Velaryon was his and it would be better for her the sooner she would understand. He would subdue her and fuck the sass out of her. He would not force her, that was not to his liking, but he already knew exactly how to make Aemma do what he wanted.

He had plans for her, plans he'd had since she was a teenager, plans he'd had since the first time he'd longed for her cunt, and he was going to make it happen.

He saw her disgusted face and he decided that now was a good moment to end the conversation. He would bend her to his will soon enough, but for this moment he would treat her for what she was.

A traitor and a prisoner.

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire - Chapter Five: Red Sky in Morning

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, adventure, alcohol, injuries, fluff, angst, smut (eventual), slowish burn. Reader is a badass. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). Additional warnings will be posted with each chapter as needed. No use of y/n.

AN: Any knowledge I have about yachts comes solely from watching Below Deck. I have zero sea legs and could not possibly work on a yacht. Same goes for medical treatment. Take it all with a grain of salt ;) Feedback is always appreciated, but never demanded. Hope you enjoy!

Series masterlist

Chapter Five: Red Sky in Morning

Hunched over the weather radar on the bridge, Joel pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his dark rimmed glasses. A line of storms would be moving through the area later and it was already choppy in the marina. It wasn’t looking good for getting out on the open water for the first day of charter and that always made it harder on the interior crew – they would be responsible for keeping the guests entertained without being able to use the water toys.

With a heavy sigh, Joel turned away from the radar. There was nothing he could do about the weather. He was beginning to feel equally hopeless about the status of whatever this was with you. Things did not go how he hoped the other night and you stuck to your word in keeping a distance from him. That wasn’t what he wanted, at all, but he didn’t know how to get you to understand.

Romantic feelings were confusing and made him feel incredibly vulnerable, which he hated. That’s why he tended to avoid them.

“Hey, Dad,” Sarah chirped as she entered the bridge, peering at the weather radar. “It’s not looking good for today, huh?”

“No, baby girl, it doesn’t,” Joel replied, eyes softening at the sight of his daughter. She always brightened his day, and he loved working with her. “It’ll be up to your crew to keep them entertained until at least tomorrow. Hopefully the weather will clear up by then.”

Sarah nodded confidently, her left hand pulling a small spiral notepad from her pocket. “About that, I’ve come up with a couple ideas of what we could do with the guests today. The primary’s a renowned food critic, right? I was thinking Tess could host a cooking class with Talia as her sous chef since she has some culinary talent. The guests could pair up and create a Caribbean-style dish for their dinner. In the meantime, we could do a blind tasting where the guests have to guess exotic flavors and whatnot. What do you think?”

Feeling his chest swell with pride, Joel’s lips twitched into a broad smile. “That sounds great, honey. You think Tess will be into it?”

Beaming back at him, Sarah snapped her notepad shut. “Already checked, Tess is onboard. Said she’d love the challenge of doing something different for once.”

He laughed, no doubt she would. “Good. Thank you for taking the initiative here. I’m really proud of you, Sar. I think the guests will love it.” Joel pulled her in for a tight hug, the warmth of the embrace relieving some of the stress he’d been feeling. “The guests should be arriving soon. Go finish getting ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The primary guest was a quirky woman in her fifties named Donna, with short, dark hair going naturally gray and laugh lines ringing her bright green eyes. She wore chunky purple glasses with a chain attached like an old librarian. She was boisterous and friendly with a deep laugh, the kind of woman who made friends everywhere she went. Donna was accompanied by her husband of thirty years, a mild-mannered man named Doug who appeared to be her exact opposite in all ways, and two other couples who had been long-time friends of theirs.

From the moment they stepped onto the yacht, the guests were unbothered by the weather and took it in stride when Joel informed them the yacht would remain in the marina until the next day.

“The crew has some fun activities planned to keep you entertained, though,” he finished, hand stretched out to direct their attention toward Sarah.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll give you a tour and show you to your rooms.” Sarah led them from the aft deck, explaining the layout of the yacht as she went.

Joel held Tommy back for a moment as you, Connor, and Ellie brought the luggage onboard once the guests were out of sight.

“Make sure your team is ready to assist interior with whatever they need, ok?”

“Of course, brother. We have their backs. Whoever isn’t tasked with helping inside will work on equipment maintenance in the lazarette,” Tommy explained. It was the perfect time to check the oil in the jet skis and tender along with any other fluid top-offs or changes on the equipment.

Joel patted his brother’s back with a solemn nod, his eyes tracking you as he turned to head for the bridge. You were looking down with a large piece of luggage in your arms and didn’t notice him. Jaw tensed, he ascended to the bridge deck with you occupying too much space in his mind.

“That’s the last of the luggage on, Tommy,” you called before heading for the guest cabins. Once the luggage was placed in the correct rooms, you headed toward the stern. Tommy reviewed his plan with you before the guests arrived, so you made your way to the lazarette beneath the aft deck.

“Hey Brit!” Tommy greeted you like he hadn’t seen you in a while when you stopped at his side in front of one of the jet skis. He’d recently taken to calling you Brit, instead of England, and it seemed to be catching on with the rest of the crew. “It’s short for British, get it?” he said the first time he used it. You heard that new nickname more than your real name now and it amused you.

“Hello Tommy,” you chuckled. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let’s check the oil first and see if anything needs to be topped off. We shouldn’t need to change it yet, but we will if we must,” Tommy explained. “It’s just going to be me and you. Ellie and Connor will be assisting the interior with anything they need.”

Perfectly content with that arrangement, you picked up the necessary tools to open one of the jet skis. You enjoyed the maintenance work even with the inherent messiness. You always wound up with oil under your fingernails no matter how careful you were, but you’d become a pro at washing it off after all the years spent helping your grandfather.

Pulling out his phone, Tommy played music while you set about your tasks. The pair of you worked well together, talking and teasing, singing off key to 90s rock the whole time. It was effortless, being yourself with Tommy, and you wondered why you couldn’t be falling for him instead of his brother. Tommy didn’t seem to have the same strict rules for himself that Joel did, and it would have been so much easier to be with him.

Unfortunately, the heart wanted what the heart wanted, and yours wanted a grumpy pain in the ass who made things more difficult than they needed to be.

Shaking yourself, you pushed away thoughts of Joel. You wasted enough time thinking about him, it was time to focus on something, anything else for a while. Steering clear of him physically was easier than you thought the past day and a half, but the emotional and mental distancing was proving far more difficult. The dreams that plagued you at night didn’t help, your subconscious incessantly teasing you with images of a life that you can’t have with Joel.

Picking up on your mood, Tommy did his best to distract you from your thoughts. You had no doubt that he already knew what happened and why you were down, knowing that Sarah or Tess, maybe even Joel himself, spoke to Tommy about it.

“’Kay, Brit. Let’s play a game,” he said while you were gathering the drip pan and some rags. The oil in one of the jet skis needed to be changed after all. It was time to get messy. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“What kind of game is this?” you asked, perplexed.

“Just pick the one you prefer. It’s not that difficult.” Tommy laughed.

“Er, ok. Chocolate.”

Satisfied, Tommy continued with his unusual little game. “Coffee or tea?”

“Tea, obviously.” Your eyes rolled so hard it made you dizzy.

“Dogs or cats?”

“I like both.”

“You can only pick one, Brit. Them’s the rules.”

“Fine. Dogs.”

The game continued for some time, Tommy’s broad grin growing the more you got into it. It was a great distraction, and you were eternally grateful to him for it. The afternoon passed as the pair of you continued to work and chat until Sarah’s call came over the radio asking for additional help setting up for the cooking class.

“The primary requested that some of the crew participate too. They want to make it a contest to see who makes the best dish,” Sarah explained when the two of you joined her after washing up. “I’ve already assigned pairs.”

Sarah’s expression was a perfect mix of determination and guilt as she looked down at the clipboard in her hands. She was up to something, and you would bet this week’s tip on what it was.

“Tommy, I paired you with Ellie,” she began, turning to you with a thin, hopeful smile and upturned brows. “Brit, you’ll be with my Dad.”

“Sarah,” Tommy warned on your behalf before you could respond. He spent hours working hard to lighten your mood and didn’t want the effort to go to waste. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now, for obvious reasons.”

“It was the captain’s request, Uncle Tommy. Not much I could do,” Sarah explained with a shrug. Turning to you, she grabbed your hand in a soft grip. “I’m sorry. I think he’s trying to make things right between you two. Give him this chance?”

Just when you finally stop overthinking about him, he manages to reel you back in. Resigned to your fate, you nodded with a grimace. There wasn’t much you could do about it anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Due to the rain, a series of small cooking stations with a larger table at the front, where Tess and Talia would do the demonstrating, were setup in the main salon. Fairy lights were strung along the walls and ceiling, bringing a starry night effect inside the boat to make up for the weather outside. The yacht was slightly bobbing in the water due to the wind.

“Welcome to Cooking with Tess and Talia!” Tess greeted as the guests, Emmy, Connor, Ellie, Joel, and Tommy settled in their stations. You were the last to arrive, leaving Joel concerned that you really didn’t want to work with him. Despite it only being a couple of days, he was desperate to make things right, to have you speaking to him again. He couldn’t let himself be with you yet, but he didn’t want to be without you either.

Yes, he was keenly aware of the emotional roller coaster he created and how affected you were by it, but he could do nothing to stop it.

“Thanks for agreeing to be my partner,” Joel murmured once you were at his side, lips quirking up in a lopsided smile. He let all his feelings and things he could not say shine through his eyes, hoping you could see it when he gazed at you.

“I couldn’t very well deny a request from the captain, could I?” you returned, tone dull to hide your nerves and the lingering hurt feelings.

Joel sighed wearily. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he needed to just leave you be. The pair of you did your best to focus on the instructions Tess gave, though the distraction of being so close physically yet so distant emotionally was difficult to manage.

“We are going to make pernil, a classic Puerto Rican dish using roast pork shoulder. We will start with the marinade for the pork shoulder. While the pork is marinading and roasting in the oven, we will make the rice and desert. In all, this will take a few hours, then we will have a tasting to judge whose turned out best. Ready?”

Tess spoke through the steps, laying out the ingredients for the marinade as Talia demonstrated the process. Within the first few steps, Ellie and Tommy were already laughing and knocking things off their table as they jostled for who would get to add the ingredients first. Cooking was clearly not their strength, but at least they were having fun. Donna, the primary, and her husband concentrated with intense focus on their preparations, talking each other through the steps as they measured out the spices for the marinade. It was clear that they spent a lot of time working together in the kitchen. The other guests appeared to be having fun, chatting quietly, and laughing when they messed something up.

Joel spoke to you in soft murmurs as the pair of you worked together. Cooking was not your jam he could tell, but Joel was well versed, influenced by so many years of friendship with Tess and being a single parent wanting to do right by Sarah. He handled the ingredients and utensils with quiet confidence. You took direction well, passing him the items as requested, holding the bowl steady as he mixed the marinade, and finally brushing the liquid over the pork shoulder.

As the only ones not participating, Sammy and Sarah gathered the pork shoulders to bring to the galley to continue marinading before going in the oven in an hour. They returned with fresh adult beverages for the guests and waters for the crew as Tess segued into the next steps of preparing the dish, instructing everyone in chopping onions and peppers to go into the yellow rice. Each station was equipped with a rice cooker rented from the provisions company.

“This is actually kind of fun,” you admitted out of nowhere as Joel guided you in how to properly chop the vegetables, his large, warm hand covering your own on the knife. His heart swelled at that admission. Maybe there was hope after all.

“It’s a great activity to do together,” Joel replied, voice rough with repressed feelings. Oh how he wanted you to know that he would love to do this with you in his kitchen back in Austin someday, but it was not the time to share those types of thoughts.

Over the next hour, Tommy and Ellie spilled all of their rice on the floor, knocking them completely out of the little competition. Their hysterical laughter left the rest of the competitors with little doubt that they were sad about that fact. Joel’s deep brown eyes watched you smile broadly at their hijinks, his own lips quirking up at the sight.

“I hope you two know you’re on cleaning duty after this!” Joel called to them, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You loosened up after that, chatting a little more with Joel about the food you were both preparing and anything else that came to mind. You both studiously avoided the topic of your feelings for each other. Joel was just happy that you were having fun and speaking to him. He hoped it lasted beyond this activity.

“Have you ever had flan before?” Joel asked as the dessert preparations began.

“No, I’m not a huge dessert person. I’ve heard it’s good though,” you replied.

“It really is. I’ve made it before at home.”

“So, you are a big dessert guy then? Making homemade desserts in the off-season?”

Joel smiled with a nod. “Guilty. I enjoy cooking, have ever since Sarah came along and gave me a reason to learn how to do it well.” He loved sharing this with you, both the cooking and the details about each other.

By the time the pernil was ready to eat, everyone was giddy with hunger. Conversation and teasing were boisterous as everyone moved between the stations to taste the dishes, noting the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) differences between them all. A vote was taken, and Tess announced the winner once everyone had eaten their fill.

“It was really close, but it looks like Donna and Doug are the winners! Joel and Brit were a close second, but that just means they were the first losers,” Tess teased while the guests cheered.

As the guests moved to the seating area in the main salon, the crew dispersed to start cleanup duties.

“Nice work, Cap,” you said, flashing Joel a small smile as you scurried away, headed to the galley with a pile of dirty dishes in your arms. After spending the past few hours so close to Joel, the yearning for him was overwhelming and you needed some time away from him, and everyone else. Dish duty in the galley would be perfect for that.

“Hey, wait! I, uh, was hoping we could…” And, once again, you were gone before he could finish a sentence. It was a habit of yours that he was beginning to seriously dislike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was early, possibly pre-sunrise though it was hard to tell down on the crew deck, when Sarah ducked into your cabin and plopped her overly perky self on your bunk. “Morning sunshine!”

“Too loud. Take your noise and be gone, you witch!” you grumbled, burying your head beneath the covers.

The bunk above you creaked and Tess’ head peered over the edge, her long locks hanging down in waves. “Aww, come on, Brit. Let the girl have her fun.”

“I know what she’s trying to do, Tess and I want no part of it.” Your voice was muffled by the blanket, taking the edge off your tone.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” Sarah whined. “My dad seemed so happy last night. He loves to cook and it’s clear he enjoyed showing off his skills for you.”

“He’s obviously very good at it,” you admitted reluctantly, fingertips edging the blanket down a bit.

“Don’t I know it.” Sarah’s dark eyes, the ones that reminded you so much of her father’s, narrowed mischievously. “You know, you two were the actual winners last night.”

Brows furrowed; you pulled the blanket down to fully expose your face and stared at Sarah. “What are you talking about? Donna and Doug were the winners.”

“She’s right, Brit. Joel told me before the event to skew the results to make sure one of the guests won,” Tess admitted. “The primaries were actually second place.”

Hmmm, that certainly sounded like Joel. He was too humble.

“See, I told you he was worth the effort. You need to give him a chance.” Sarah’s voice was pleading, smile hopeful.

Sighing, you sat up and placed a hand on hers where it rested on your bed. “Sar, there’s no point when he won’t give me a chance. I’m not the problem here.”

“He’ll come around; I promise,” Sarah insisted. Tess nodded in agreement and the two women stared at you with insane smiles.

“Your eternal optimism is disturbing.” Falling back against your pillow, you pulled the blanket back over your head. “Don’t you two have work to do? I’m on late shift today, so I need a few more hours of sleep.”

Slipping in your earbuds, you tried your best to ignore thoughts of Joel as you drifted off to sleep once again. The weather had calmed overnight, and the yacht was already anchored at sea when you awoke a few hours later. After a quick breakfast, you arrived on deck to start your shift. The rest of the deck crew was already busy unloading the water toys and you jumped in to assist.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” Tommy greeted you with a charming smile. “Can you help us put the jet skis in the water? Ellie’s on the davit controls today.”

“Hey Tommy,” you bumped his shoulder as you passed, smiling brightly in return. “Of course.”               

Connor was already by the davit, connecting the lines to ready the first jet ski. You checked the connections and patted him on the back. Pulling one of the support lines tight, Tommy gave a thumbs up and both you and Connor grabbed the remaining lines, pulling them taut.

“Ok, El! Take it away, slow!” Tommy called.

Ellie’s brow pinched in concentration, fingers working the controls to first lift the jet ski off the deck, then extend it over the rail and lower it towards the water. She had been practicing lately, working on controlling the davit with finesse rather than jerky movements and too much speed. The last thing Ellie wanted was to be responsible for damaging the yacht or any of its equipment, so she wanted to be proficient at using the davit.

Eyes darting between the jet ski and Ellie, strong grip keeping your line tight, you were impressed with the smoothness of movement from Ellie’s handling of the davit. The only jostling was from the wind rather than the davit itself. The first jet ski went down without issue and Connor jumped into the water to drive the jet ski to the swim platform and tie it off.

“Connor man, stay down there. The next one is coming in a minute,” Tommy called out. “No sense coming back up here with how smooth that one went.”

The three of you repeated the process with the second jet ski while Connor waited on the swim platform. It was a little less steady this time, but the jet ski landed smoothly on the water, bobbing along with the ripples. Once again, Connor jumped into the water to disconnect the davit lines. Before he could release the rear line, the wake of a passing boat jostled the jet ski. Connor didn’t see it coming and it threw off his balance, his right arm extending instinctively to steady himself against the yacht’s hull.

His wet hand gave way against the slick surface as another wave lifted the jet ski and Connor toppled off the machine. It happened so fast, you and Tommy watching from the deck, when the waves hit. You were already jumping over the rail, plummeting into the water when Connor’s head bounced off the hull.

The tender was already in the water, having been the first thing the deck team offloaded before you joined them on deck, and Tommy sprinted down to the swim platform to jump into the small boat as Ellie frantically called for help over the radio. When you surfaced, you were grateful you landed nearby and Connor was wearing a lifejacket as he bobbed face down in the turquoise water, the slamming of his head against the yacht having knocked him out cold. You reached him in seconds, turning him over so his face was no longer submerged. He wasn’t breathing.

The tender appeared at your side, Tommy reaching over to pull you both aboard. He shouted up to Ellie to get in the water and secure the jet ski while you started CPR, and he steered the tender back to the swim platform where Joel was waiting. By your estimate, Connor was face down in the water for no more than 30 seconds, if that, and his breathing resumed after a dozen chest compressions. However, he remained unconscious, and you checked Connor over, noting a gash on his forehead and a broken left forearm. Flattening your palm over the gash, you attempted to stem the flow of blood.

Sarah appeared on the swim platform and assisted her dad in tying off the tender while Tommy helped you delicately bring Connor onto the yacht. “Help is on the way, should be here in a few minutes,” Joel declared. “Is he breathing?”

You nodded, breathless from the adrenaline rush, and placed the clean rag Sammy rushed to hand you to Connor’s forehead. “He’s still unconscious and has a broken arm,” Tommy spoke for you, his comforting hand clutching your shoulder.

“Shit,” Joel swore, his voice immediately drowned by the sound of a siren as a rescue boat approached.

You stumbled back, sliding down to sit on the platform as the rescue team took over. You were soaked, hands covered in Connor’s blood, a chill wracking your body as the last dregs of adrenaline dispersed. You watched, wide-eyed, as Connor was transported to the rescue vessel. Once the vessel departed, Joel rushed over to you, bending down to meet your gaze.

“Are you okay?” He spoke your name softly, his hands running over your head, shoulders, and arms, checking for any injuries. Joel’s touch left a trail of searing heat on your skin. The shivering was uncontrollable, and you stuttered out a positive response indicating you were ok. “Thank fuck,” he breathed, pulling you into an uncharacteristic hug, his body warm and strong against yours. You clutched to him like a lifeline as he led you inside and down to the crew deck. Once in your cabin, he turned the shower on and let the water heat up.

“Can you manage by yourself? Or do you want me to get Sarah or Tess?”

“I-I can manage, just need to warm up.” Slipping into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click, you shed your wet clothes and climbed into the shower, steam rising around you. The immediate relief from the warmth of the water left you groaning.

“I’m going to send Sarah down to keep an eye on you. She’ll call me if you need anything. I have to get back to the guests,” Joel called through the door, hesitation in his voice like he didn’t want to leave you.

“Ok. Thank you, Joel,” you called back, grateful for him in that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Joel was certain that you were going to be alright, his heart rate finally settled. Checking in with the guests to let them know what happened was easier than he anticipated – they were understandably concerned about the crew, specifically Connor’s condition, having witnessed at least part of the incident. Donna insisted that they were content to lounge on the sundeck and relax in the hot tub for the day to let the crew settle their nerves after the traumatic events.

On his way to the bridge, Joel also checked in with Tommy and the rest of the crew to make sure they were ok. Emmy was the most concerned, having grown close to the young man over the past few weeks. Talia comforted her as Joel reiterated the importance of safety awareness and let them all have an extended break while the guests relaxed.

“Join me on the bridge?” he looked to Tommy as he turned to exit the main salon. The brothers walked in silence until they were on the bridge where they were quickly joined by Frank. “So, we’re down a man on the deck crew. Early report on Connor is that he won’t be returning with that broken arm. I’ll reach out to the staffing agency to get a new deckhand.”

Tommy nodded. “In the meantime, we’ll work with a three-person crew.” It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last. He always made it work.

“I’m happy to lend a hand where needed, Tommy,” Frank added. “It’d be good to get my hands dirty again.”

“Well, that’s settled then. I need to make a couple calls. Keep an eye on the crew?” Frank and Tommy assured Joel they had everything under control and left the bridge as Joel called the agency.

“Hi Marcia, it’s Captain Joel on Radiance. Listen, I need a deckhand asap.” Pausing to listen to her response, he added, “Any experience level is fine at this point.” Marcia assured him she’d be back in touch within an hour and ended the call.

Feeling like things were back under his control again, Joel settled into the captain’s chair with a heavy sigh. What a fucking day. Between yesterday’s bad weather and the events of today, this charter seemed doomed from the start, but at least the guests were laid back. The vibration of his phone drew Joel from his maudlin thoughts to find a text from Sarah.

Brit is all set. She’s resting for a bit and will be back on deck in an hour. She’s such a bad ass!

The grin that spread across his lips was involuntary at the mere mention of you and how highly his daughter thought of you.

Thanks baby girl. You doing okay?

I’m fine, Dad. You okay?

It’s been a day already, but I’m good.

Love you.

Love you too baby girl.

The phone was still in his hand when it rang moments later. “Marcia, what’s the good word?” Joel stood from the chair, nervous energy making him need to move around. “That was quick work! He can start tomorrow, great! That’s one less thing to worry about.”

After discussing a few more details, Joel thanked Marcia for her help. They’d have a new deckhand onboard tomorrow morning. Perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were holed up on the bridge on overnight anchor watch, gaze hovering over the weather radar to keep an eye on the wind speed. The wind picked up again as the evening went on and Joel was concerned the anchor would drag, so you were dedicated to anchor watch as you were already scheduled for the late shift.

After the day’s events, you were content to sit on the quiet bridge while everyone else slept. Normally, you would bring a book or your earbuds and listen to some music to keep yourself entertained during the quiet hours, but tonight the silence was soothing. The night sky was clear, the sparkle of a thousand stars shining down around a half-moon making you feel like you could be anywhere in the world.

Only one thought attempted to distract you – Joel’s presence in the captain’s quarters right behind the bridge. He was in there, deep asleep, dreaming God knows what and all you could think about was what it would be like being in there with him.

The way he cared for you earlier, held you after Connor’s rescue, made you forget about your plan to steer clear of him for a while. It was a losing battle when he was right there.

Perhaps you should just resign yourself to pining over the man and leave it at that. No other potential solutions were working anyway.

At four o’clock in the morning, you heard the creak of a door followed by the heavy padding of bare feet on the floor. Turning your head to the side, Joel emerged from around the corner and your heart melted to a puddle at the sight of his bedhead. Despite being forty years old, he looked like a grumpy little boy with the sleepy frown marring his face, hair askew, pouty lips drawn in a wide yawn.

You couldn’t stop yourself beaming at him, now knowing what he looked like when first waking up. It was endearing as all hell.

Squinted eyes met yours in the darkness and the bridge brightened just from the smile in his gaze. Joel was just as happy to see you as you were to see him. This mutual pining thing was no joke.

“G’morning,” he mumbled, sliding in beside you at the small table along the wall behind the captain’s chair. “Everythin’ going good?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, basking in the press of his sleepy warmth against your right side. “Just peachy.”

“Hmm, good.” Joel tilted his head back against the wall, still half asleep and you wondered why he was even up.

“What are you doing up so early?”

His head lolled toward you, dark eyes shining in the low light emanating from the helm. “I could hear you thinking out here and just wanted to be near you… make sure you were ok.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him, searching his eyes for confirmation of what you just heard. It was another crest on this never-ending roller coaster with Joel Miller. “I’m ok. Just lots to think about, you know?”

“I do,” his head bobbed. “I figured we could think about it together.”

TBC

[oldguardleatherdog]

OLD MACDONALD BOUGHT THE FARM: "Barking and meowing" by students is being banned in a hysterical panic by another ignorant Florida school board. How long are we gonna put up with this insidious nonsense?

I've had it. These nutcases are about to regulate onomatopoeia in elementary school. Don't laugh - it's hiding something ominous, and it's deliberate.

First: If you're in the furry fandom - as I've been for 26 years (longer than the average fur has been alive these days) - TAKE THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY.

If they're actually banning K-12 school age kids from wearing anything animal-themed (yeah, it's that broad) and restricting the sounds they can utter for Christ's sake, you can be sure that the wild-eyed crazeballs chick who runs LibsOfTikTok and singlehandedly caused the wave of library closings over the mere existence of LGBTQ+ characters in books - to the extent that the State of Missouri legislature has defunded the entire statewide public library system! - already has her sights trained on Midwest FurFest, and the lunatics who closed down Boston Children's Hospital with bomb threats are already booking flights to bring the Nazis-with-guns to every furry convention in America by the end of this year, AND IF YOU DON'T GET WITH THE PROGRAM THEY'RE GOING TO BLOW YOUR oWo uWu ASSES OFF!

Enough dicking around, my fellow furballs. You know what to do.

Here's what I posted to Reddit last night - piss-poor metrics for my posts about the Wile E. Coyote anvils over our heads, but my groaners in the r/3amjokes and r/dadjokes subs get 35,000 views. Go figure.

In the meantime, read, heed, and reblog like your life depends on it, because it does:

---

You may laugh at first glance, or shake your head at "Florida again" - but it's a stalking horse for their next milestone: banning student behavior and appearance that to the MAGAs and right-wing nut jobs carries even a *hint* of LGBTQ+, and then - say it with me -

Identifying students who are mature enough to have come out as LGBTQ+ fully or in part (friends, family); those who are known to be "questioning" and on their way to coming out; those who are beginning to identify as other than heterosexual or show "tendencies" or "predelictions", and students too young to be self-aware in those ways but are seen as suspect by teachers and administrators - and then, gradually at first, then quickly and deliberately separating, isolating, and ultimately barring them from access to public education.

Kentucky has said it out loud just this week, clearly, plainly, with no room for ambiguity: "It's time to eliminate 'transes' from our schools."

If you're still on the fence about getting involved with activism and protests to put this movement down for good before it becomes too big to stop - and we still have time to stop it and crush it - do you think they'll stop after just banning kids?

You don't need to have psychic powers or a crystal ball to see what's heading our way. Soon.

You can choose to do nothing - or you can choose to act. One or the other. Simple, plain, clear.

Joni Mitchell once sang, "it all comes down to you," and she was right, of course, but if you listened closely, her meaning was clear then, and applies now - one choice will save you, the other will not.

Only one of these choices has the potential to turn the tide, the clearly visible, quickening, rising tide that's got crazy Jesus in its eyes and a list with your name on it.

I cannot choose for you, of course. No one can.

Last time I looked, this was still a free country.

But if you do not make the right choice - *you*, Constant Stranger, she sang - no one will be able to save you, or us. And the choice is upon us, sooner than we thought, and now.

Time to choose.

[aphroditeslover11]

the time is tough, I need some Oppie x student!reader fluff!!! Something like the one of the exam🥹🥹 I don’t have any specific request, surprise me🫶🏼

Sorry to everybody else who has sent in requests, I’ll try to get to them soon but everything is a bit manic at the moment. In the meantime, I hope that this will tide you over, especially the Oppie lovers out there. This idea just came out of nowhere, so fingers crossed it was what you were thinking of! 🩷

As always requests are still welcome, im just not working at the speed of lighting at the moment!

It’s All French To Me

As always, based on a very fictional portrayal by Cillian Murphy.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, Oppie smoking as usual, a spot of academic stress.

Usually the first person that you would turn to when you had a problem was Robert. He was always ready and happy to help, in fact he almost seemed to like the fact that you needed him sometimes, but this was something that you felt like you had to hide. You were struggling to get your work up to the level that you wanted it to be at and if you were honest you were embarrassed to tell him. You were seriously considering dropping the course, having said as much to your professor who supported you as you were studying French with him and the body of your degree was politics and philosophy. Your professor was Robert’s best friend though, and you didn’t know how he would react if you told him you were pulling out. Robert seemed to be a genius about anything that anybody ever brought up, he had never had your problems and you didn’t want him to think any less of you because of it. You had spoken to some friends who were having similar problems, but exams were approaching and despite the improvements that a lot of them were seeing in their grades, you had not been so lucky.

~

It wasn’t unusual for a Chevalier to ask Robert to meet with him, the pair were best friends after all, it was just usually at a local bar rather than in the formal setting of his office. They had arranged to meet during a gap between their lectures, though Oppie was confused by how illusive his colleague had been when he had asked for a reason. When he got there, knocking on the door gently before letting himself in, Chevalier was sat at his desk with a glass of whiskey, signalling for him to come and join him.

“Hoke, nothing’s wrong is it? If something has happened why do you want to talk about it here, I’d be happy to have you over this evening. Y/n’s staying over tonight, bring Barbara, I’m sure she’d enjoy a bit of female company.” He seemed to be fumbling with his words, which was uncharacteristic, unless he was anxious.

The French professor poured a glass of whiskey for his friend before beginning his explanation, a perplexed yet awkward expression on his face.

“Oppie, I don’t want you to think that I’m criticising y/n, because I’m not, I actually think that you are largely to blame for this one, but she’s struggling in my class. We’ve even had extra time working together outside lectures and she’s a natural linguist, but probably the most inexperienced to ever take a French Literature course at Berkeley.” Robert didn’t really know why he was being spoken to about this, surely this was your own personal problem.

“And why is that my fault?”

“Because you were the one who talked her into taking it, she turned up on the first day telling me that she hadn’t finished the intermediate course at school because her teacher was as good as shit and the school fired him and couldn’t get a replacement in time to do the exams. Did she tell you that?” This was all news to Robert.

“No, but we did have a very illuminating discussion about the Proust that I read in Corsica, so I just presumed that naturally…”

“Robert, she loves you and puts up with all of your quirks and eccentricities, I dare say she was nodding along like I do when you talk about physics. Take it from me, sometimes you can have an entire conversation with yourself in a room full of people and not realise that nobody else has joined in.” He was aware that this was one of his faults, but wasn’t keen on his friend lecturing him on it, swiftly trying to move the conversation on.

“Regardless of what caused the problem, what do you propose to do about it?” He pulled a pack of Chesterfields and a lighter from his jacket at this point, anything that made him think always required a cigarette.

“She came to me last week saying that she wanted to drop the course but couldn’t because she didn’t want you to think that she was stupid, so I’m going to suggest that she pauses the course and you, as you’re fluent, help her get to a standard where she can resume it next year if she can stand the language after being taught by you. God, the holidays are nearly here, take her to France for Christmas, make it seem exciting so she doesn’t think she’s letting you down. She’s a natural as I said, just inexperienced and lacking confidence, so immersion would probably be the best teacher anyway.”

After a bit more conversation on the subject, it was agreed that this would be the best plan, Haakon sending his friend home to try and persuade you around to the idea. Robert walked out of the office with a warning to remember that he had to be convincing about the whole thing being his idea.

~

It had become a bit of a Friday night tradition that Robert would take you out on a date, picking you up from the little room that you rented in a house nearby. It was always lovely hearing the beep of the horn from outside your window, taking one last look at yourself and fixing your lipstick before going down to meet him. He had this sort of old world charm to him, always opening your door for you, helping you in and out of his car, and tonight was no exception. The drive to the restaurant was pleasant, he mentioned a new book that he was reading and you talked about how disastrously your orchestral rehearsal was the other day, trying to plough through Tchaikovsky’s fourth symphony for the first time.

“Well, that’s what you get when you go near Tchaikovsky, it’s bloody awful don’t you think?”

“I don’t hate it as much as you do, but I certainly prefer a bit of Beethoven, the symphonies are nice to study to if you’re ever looking for some background noise.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“I can’t stand the fifth anymore though which is a shame, it’s just overplayed.”

“I agree, at least it isn’t Pachelbel’s Canon, I know how much you string players hate that!” He took his eyes off the road briefly to watch you as you laughed at his last comment. You were always beautiful, just more so when you smiled in such a carefree way.

Robert helped you into your seat when you finally arrived, you were quickly brought menus and ordered, opting for the wine pairing that Oppie had guided you to as usual. He may sometimes drink a little more alcohol than was healthy, but at least he had good taste in the stuff. He was halfway through a steak, telling a story about some ridiculous thing that Chevalier had done at a party when he suddenly came out with the question that you really didn’t want to hear:

“Speaking of Hoke, how are you finding French Literature?” You spent a moment debating on whether to make up a lie, say everything was going swimmingly, but he would find out eventually anyway.

“Actually, it’s not going so well. I love languages, I just don’t really have the kind of grounding that I think I need for this. I’d have said earlier, but I didn’t want you to think badly about me for having second thoughts, especially with Haakon being your friend. He’s not the problem by the way, it’s definitely me.” You waited anxiously for his response as Robert considered his next move, knowing he had a plan to stick to.

“When you say second thoughts, do you mean stopping the course?”

“Well, I was considering stopping for now, teaching myself a little more French and resuming it again next year. Though, I’m not sure they’d have me back after this one.” Brilliant, he thought, you were walking right into his little trap.

“I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem, your delightful and very persuasive inamorato is friends with the professor after all, which could be used to your advantage.” He saw you cringing as his mention of special treatment, which you were always desperate to avoid, and quickly moved on to save himself. “How about you do what you were thinking of, we’ll speak to Hoke together next week and make sure that you’ll have a place next year. In the meantime I can help if you’d like, I’m fluent, not as good as Chevalier but passable.”

“Would you? That would be really helpful.”

“Of course. I love you, why would I not want to help. It’s not like you’re stupid, just inexperienced. Hoke says your a natural, just need a bit more practice.” You were flushing a bit at his praise, you always did when he suggested that he viewed you as a fellow intellectual. His attitudes towards those in his circle that he didn’t weren’t always pleasant, so it meant a lot coming from him.

“There was one other thing. I was wondering if you might want to come and spend the Christmas holidays in France with me, immerse yourself in a bit of the culture. It’s the best way to get fluent that I’ve found.”

“You want to go abroad together, for winter break?”

“If you’re comfortable with it, yes.”

“I’d love to.” He reached for your hand across the table, taking it in his to press a gentle kiss to the back of it.

One conversation with Oppie and, just like that, all of your worries were gone.

[mercerislandbooks]

Book Notes: Fantasy Roundup

Or, some ideas for what to read when you have a book hangover from Iron Flame:

Curious Tides by Pascale Lacelle

When Emory is the sole survivor of a secret ritual in the caves below Aldryn College, her healer powers, given to those born during the new moon on a rising tide, begin to shift into something strange and uncontrollable. Will her estranged friend Baz, brother to one of the students who died, help Emory figure out her new powers and what really happened that night? This debut fantasy has it all — dark academia, an upper YA that crosses over beautifully into adult, a murder mystery, secret societies, forbidden magic, a pining romance and the most gorgeous book design I’ve seen in a while. The magic system is built around the moon phases and the tides. Curious Tides is book one of a planned duology.

The Hurricane Wars by Thea Guanzon

What happens when Talasyn and Alaric, two soldiers from opposite sides of an entrenched war meet on the battlefield and discover their opposing powers combine to create something entirely new and unexpected? They continue to absolutely hate each other while having to work together to save their people from an even worse fate. Of course. And we all know what happens when two attractive people hate each other. Drawing inspiration from Southeast Asia, debut Filipino author Thea Guanzon has penned a fun, fresh fantasy that balances an authentic depiction of the toll of conflict on a population with a strong cast of characters and all the political machinations of Machiavelli. The Hurricane Wars is book one of a planned trilogy.

Godkiller by Hannah Kane

In a world where gods, fed by the attention, prayers, and offerings of humans, can also be destroyed by them, three disparate people come together to travel to the ruined city that was the last stand in the wars between gods and people. Kissen, a godkiller for hire. Elo, a former knight turned baker. And Inara, a young girl whose life has become intertwined with a god of white lies, Skedi. The four travel together to Blenraden, hopeful that they will find a way to untangle Skedi from Inara. All the feels of quest fantasy with characters that are delightfully flawed and human. The world building was immersive and queer normative with a host of diverse characters. The religious and magic system was at once familiar but with enough twists to make it unexpected. Godkiller is book one of a planned trilogy.

The Fragile Threads of Power by V.E. Schwab

From page one of The Fragile Threads of Power, I was invested all over again in the world of the four Londons, seven years after the events from The Shades of Magic trilogy (also excellent, if you want to start there). The plot works together like interchanging gears, or a chess game, the movement of each character affecting the others, often unknowingly. There are characters from the original trilogy, new additions, and Tes, the one who, unconsciously, holds the key to everything. Schwab investigates power in this novel -- who has it and who controls it, and by whose standards its morality is judged. Schwab puts a lot of things in motion in this book, and only a few are resolved by the end. The Fragile Threads of Power is book one of planned trilogy. You can always go back and read The Shades of Magic series in the meantime!

What the River Knows by Isabel Ibañez

I can’t think of a more fun combination than 1880’s Egyptian archeological digs, a feisty heroine determined to find out what happened to her explorer parents, and a current of magic running through it all. When Inez Olivera hears that her parents, on a dig in Egypt, are presumed dead, she takes matters into her own hands. Inez books passage from Bolivia to Egypt, intent on discovering the truth. What she finds in Egypt is an infuriatingly handsome young man, assisting her guardian in carrying on her parents discoveries, and men thwarting her inquiries at every turn. Add to this a mysterious ring that connects Inez to the magic of the past and the questions continue to pile up. It will take a trip up the Nile and many near escapes just to get Inez closer to any answers. Packed with action, a slow burn romance, and a huge twist kept me enthralled to the very last page. What the River Knows is book one of a planned YA duology.

Hopefully you find one, or many, of these titles to be a satisfying read!

— Lori

[missmungoe]

Editing the update for Bind Me to the Tide (Shanks x Makino Soulmate/Shared Pain AU), which has somehow become two chapters. ETA this week, but in the meantime, have a snippet, because Luffy is giving me a lot of feelings in this fic:

It became a routine, as the days of their stay lengthened to weeks—he’d be up with the sunrise, the first one through her doors, and the last to retire, his heart as light as her laughter, which Shanks spent most of his days looking for ways to coax out. And aside from the initial excitement surrounding their arrival, the following days were mostly uneventful. Peaceful, and without any notable incidents involving windmills or sharp objects.

With one exception.

The sniffling was making it hard to hold the needle steady, and, “Sit still,” Shanks said gently, angling his chin a bit.

Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Luffy held his breath.

His look softened, and, “I’m not going to scold you,” Shanks said, as he continued stitching the cut in his cheek. It was a good thing the knife had missed his eye. “I’ve done more reckless things with a knife when I was your age. But speaking from experience, you should treat yourself with more care, if not for your own sake, then for your soulmate’s.”

Luffy sniffled, but, “My soulmate?” he asked.

“Everyone’s got one, right?” Shanks asked, with a smile that recalled his self-assured declaration, weeks ago now. “So even if you’re the one who's hurt, someone else will have felt it, too. And the stitches.”

It was punctuated by the needle piercing his skin, but Luffy seemed to have found a distraction in the topic of soulmates.

Focused on stitching the cut, Shanks didn’t ask, but then it was a private matter, even without counting the fact that he was talking to a six-year-old, but then, “I feel them,” Luffy said, and with a grin, “They get hurt a lot.”

His own smile was startled, but then it couldn’t be serious injuries if he sounded so delighted about it. “Maybe they’re a little hooligan like you, getting into fights.”

Luffy seemed delighted by this prospect. “Yesterday, it hurt here,” he said, pointing at his front tooth, his voice muffled as he said, “Like shomething phfell out.”

“They might have lost a tooth," Shanks said. "It happens at your age.”

Horrified eyes stared up at him, as Luffy asked, distressed, “Do they come back?”

He chuckled, “Yes." And with a look, “But only once. When you’re fully grown and you take a few too many punches, you’ll end up with gaps in your teeth. This is why I don’t fight with my fists; it would be a crime to ruin these pearly whites. Although there are some pirates who exchange them with gold.”

Luffy’s eyes rounded, his horror exchanged with delight. “Gold?”

Realising that he might have made a mistake, “If anyone asks, I did not put this idea in your head,” Shanks said.

Grinning, Luffy didn't seem to find any cause for concern. At least he wasn’t thinking about the stitches.

He was quiet for a beat, as Shanks continued, before he touched his chest, over his heart. “Sometimes it hurts here.”

His smile tilting, “Yeah,” Shanks said, gently. “Mine does that sometimes, too.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Pain isn’t just from cuts and bruises.”

He absorbed this, but then, “I like it,” Luffy said, smiling. “Having a soulmate.”

“Yeah?” Shanks asked. He was focusing on the stitches, but then he was trying to make it so it wouldn’t scar too much.

“Mm,” Luffy said. “I don't feel alone when I feel them.”

It hit him so hard he had to pause what he was doing, but looking at Luffy only found him smiling.

He didn’t reach for the bond, or Makino where she was in the storeroom doing inventory. And he’d been lucky, growing up, never lacking in company, but like the little boy on the barstool beside his, he thought about the little girl who’d grown up here, and wondered if there’d been a time, before Teach, and before she’d been so afraid, where she’d thought of him that way, not as a burden but as a companion.

“Can you have more than one?” Luffy asked then, as he resumed stitching the cut.

“Soulmate?” Shanks asked, and when he nodded, “I haven’t heard of it happening. For most people, feeling one person’s pain is more than enough.”

Luffy grinned, undaunted by this. “I’d have more if I could!”

“Yeah?” he chucked. “How many?”

He thought about it, before he declared, “Ten!”

Shaking his head, although his grin couldn’t be helped. This kid...

“That’s a whole crew,” Shanks said.

Luffy’s eyes widened, before he grinned and said, fiercely, “Even if I can’t have ten, I’m still gonna try.”

“Try?”

Luffy nodded, and said, “To feel when they’re hurt.”

His hands stilled, but then he hadn’t been prepared for that, although Luffy didn’t seem aware of the profundity behind that simple statement, but then for him, it probably was that simple.

“That,” Shanks said, with a rough chuckle, and saw him wince as he pulled the needle through, “Sounds like something a captain would say.” And with a smile, “But you’ll have to toughen up,” he said. “Can’t cry at every little pinch if you’re going to share the pain of your whole crew.”

It was punctuated by him snipping the thread, and, “All done,” Shanks said, tilting his chin to inspect it. “It’ll scar, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” Smiling, he lifted his brows. "Your soulmates might even recognise you when they see it.”

He realised what he’d said a second too late, but Luffy only looked emboldened by this.

Those wide eyes lifted to his own scars then, as he asked him, “Where’s your soulmate, Shanks?”

As though the Fates had been listening, Makino returned from the storeroom, her smile softening as she came up to the counter where they were sitting, reaching for Luffy’s chin as she inspected the stitches. She was standing between their barstools; this close, Shanks could count the pale freckles on her shoulders where the sleeves of her blouse bared them. She wore a new bodice today, sunflower yellow with wildflowers embroidered along the laces, the dark red petals bringing out the brandy in her eyes.

Turning towards him dragged his eyes up from her waist, as Makino said, “You’ve done this before.”

He might have felt a little ridiculous for his own reaction if he hadn't been so arrested by the gentle admiration on her face, and grinning, he waved his fingers. “Steady hands. Well, unless I’m drinking, but in which case I really shouldn’t be holding a needle to anyone's face.”

He saw her eyes darting to them, before she quickly looked away, and clearing her throat, “Hungry?” she asked Luffy, running her fingers through his hair. “I could make your favourite. Nothing heals a hurt like a good meal.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Lucky,” Shanks said, and saw her grin where it lifted her cheeks.

Bouncing off his barstool, his stitches already forgotten, “Food!” Luffy cheered.

“You can keep the captain company while I cook,” Makino said, a smile thrown his way. “If he doesn’t mind.”

“Always happy to have good company,” Shanks said, with a wink at Luffy, who’d climbed back onto the barstool. "And someone ought to keep this little troublemaker in check. Not me, but someone. I say we get into a bit more trouble, eh, Luffy?"

Eyes round, "What kind of trouble?" Luffy asked.

"Oh I'm sure we'll find something," Shanks said. "Always some trouble to be found, even in little ports like this."

Looking at Makino found her watching him, her eyes holding something that made him pause, although before he could inspect it, she'd blinked it away, and with a flustered smile, excused herself.

Shanks watched as she made her way to the kitchen, a last glance offered over her shoulder to him before she disappeared through the doors, leaving him by the bar with Luffy, and a feeling that had grown progressively harder to ignore, despite his continued attempts.

He wondered if it was his imagination, and that he was just seeing what he wanted in her reactions. And he didn’t consider himself a delusional man when it came to attraction—he was aware of what he looked like, and hadn’t exactly been lacking in attention where that was concerned. Even Makino had conceded, if only by prim omission, that she found him visually pleasing, which would have been all the encouragement he’d need, usually.

But attraction couldn’t always be helped, and it didn’t mean she’d welcome anything more. And given how comfortable she was around him now, he didn’t want to fuck it up by crossing a line there was no coming back from.

Even if the way she looked at him sometimes made him wonder if she would mind crossing it.

“Shanks?”

“Hm?”

“Why do babies hurt?”

He blinked, and turning his head found Luffy watching him expectantly. “What?”

“Yasopp was telling Ma-chan that it hurt when Usopp was born,” Luffy said, cocking his head. “Why? What happens?”

Shanks stared at him, his train of thought derailed so thoroughly, he had nothing to offer, and so only managed a very articulate, “Uuuuh.”

“Oh, and what’s a cervix?”

“Uuuuuuuuuh.”

“And what does ‘tearing’ mean?”

“Hey, do you want to play a round of bartop hockey?”

[smallraindrops-blog]

Across The River

A ‘Wake me From This Dreaming’ interlude

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: A river flowed onward, heedless of the shades.

Warnings: no beta, angst, mentions of violence, rape, child death, implied suicide and ideations ( in a way)

notes: part of WMFTD. I am still working on the core part of the story but I hope this will help tide over in the meantime. Thank everyone for waiting.

enjoy! 

The Masterlist

In the solemn peace, River Lethe flowed through Elysium. Its pale mist looked soft, inviting like clouds of a childish dream. If one stood close enough, there might be something in there in the waters, calling to them. 

Perhaps it would be a lover’s face, peering up under the fan of lashes. The gentle smile of an exhausted mother as she reached out. A father’s deep voice calling for his children.

Hector of Troy saw only the cloudy waters, the Lethe had nothing to offer him. Yet.

Not for the first time, he allowed his fingers to dip in. It was refreshing, like the cold water that came from the mountains, water so clean it would almost taste sweet. 

It would be so easy to lean down for a sip.

“Hector.” His wife called out, her voice pitched in the way it often did when she saw him near the river. His son was blabbering in those sweet baby noises of his.

With a smile, Hector stood, turning to go over to Andromache and little Astyanax. His son let out a squeal when he saw Hector, his chubby legs kicking. Hector took him, tickling the fat fold under his neck to get a laugh.

Andromache smiled as she watched, shifting her shawl tighter around her shoulders. 

Once Hector had tossed Astyanax into the air as he often did before but Andromeda had screamed in horror when she saw Astyanax mid-air, running over to a surprised Hector and yanking their crying son out of Hector’s arms, shaking with tears.

She had apologized afterwards, her beautiful eyes red and puffy. 

Hector had never done it again.

“Are you behaving for your mama?” Hector asked his baby, grinning at the nonsensical sounds he got in return. 

“He discovered that grass is edible today.” Andromache sighed, looking at Astyanax with a fond smile. Hector liked seeing her like this. His Andromache had always been a gentle soul and being a mother suited her well.

“I can’t say I blame him, it is delicious.” Hector teased, his grin widening at the cool glare his wife gave him. “What? Our son clearly agrees with me.”

Astyanax squealed, bringing both parents’ eyes toward him. With a cheeky smirk, Hector bounced their son in his arms. “See?”

Andromache gave them both an unimpressed look, but there was a hidden smile in those dark eyes of hers.

~

Hector didn’t like to think himself a bitter man. 

When he drew breath, he wasn’t. He had his duties, many that he detested but he was never one to sulk for long unlike stormy and bold Cassandra or his entitled brother Paris. 

But when his son was asleep on his chest, his downy hair brushing Hector’s skin, acid would grow in his guts. 

His son was punished for actions he never took, for crimes committed by others. When he had learned it was Achilles’ son that had killed his son and his father. The brutal way he did…

Hector only felt a dark visceral satisfaction that he at least took the person Achilles had held most dear. Sometimes, Hector thought about how he would have prolonged that man’s suffering, both Achilles’ and Patroclus’ if he had only known what was to come.

Sometime Hector wished that he had killed Achilles’ other son, the one that loomed over almost everyone else.  

There was a chance once, if Hector had allowed his spear to fly, shining in the sunlight. His aim would have landed true, that he was sure of. 

But he felt it was wrong to kill a son in front of a father, even one foul as Achilles so he stayed his hand and took someone else’s life. He took a stranger’s son instead.

Other times, Hector wished that he had tossed aside his damn pride, his own thirst for glory and taken Andromache and their son far away, the gleaming city of Troy nothing but a speck in the distance.

~

It was the flash of red that caught his eye, bright and fiery in the gentle lights of Elysium.

Cassandra.

He watched her stumbled toward the river leate, her copper rich hair spilling down her back like a waterfall. She was so tall, her flesh so golden one could have mistaken her as a goddess.

Maybe he should say something but what could he say? To tell her that she shouldn’t try to feel the heat of a summer sun on her upturned face once more, to never have the ocean white foam rush over her bare feet?

but she was his sister and he couldn’t bear the idea of her existence being eased. 

Not her. 

Hector was yelling out, running down the path toward the river. He was too far away for her to hear.

She fell to her knees, staring down at the river. Hector realized she was crying. However even in all of her pain, she held herself with a grace only a born queen could have.  

He screamed out again, running and running. He felt as if he was standing still.

Cassandra looked up, right at him. Her mouth twisted in pain. 

She took one lingering glance at him, her eyes divinely made and doomed by the treads of fate. Hector thought she mouthed something but he couldn’t be sure.

Then, she turned away, the pain was an iron spear deep in his throat, sharpened to a deadly point. 

Cassandra leaned down, her chest heaving as she tenderly skimmed her fingers on the surface. Her copper fire hair was a simmering veil, hiding her expression from Hector but he swore that it appeared she gave the gentle waters a kiss.

For a breathless moment, Hector didn’t exist, he was back in Troy with her small hand in his as they hurried down the hallways, golden light coming through the windows and they were laughing. 

They were happy.

Then graceful as a swan, his little sister slipped in and under the waters, not a single ripple breaking the surface.

He collapsed onto his belly when he reached it, his arms in the river as if she would still be in reach. The cool water flowed gently around his biceps, his panting causing faint ripples to appear. 

There was nothing there. Not anymore. It was all just a mist now. A dream.

Hector of Troy pulled away and knelt on his knees, uncaring of the water damping his tunic. His cheeks were wet as well, his eyes burning.

He watched the river for a long time after that, but the river flowed onward, the delicate fog dancing over the soft grassy plains. 

~

It didn’t quite settle in that his baby will never grow until he saw the fine grays in his beloved Andromache’s dark hair. The lines around her smile.

They never spoke of what happened to her after the war. The idea of it left a bad taste on Hector’s mouth. The thought of men touching Andromache had made Hector want to pick up his spear and go hunting.

If Andromache had wanted it, if they had been kind and gentle to her, courted her with the respect she was due then maybe Hector could have lived with it but they didn’t.

They never did.

In a hush, broken whisper, she had warned him that Astyanax had brothers. From that monster. Her slim fingers trembling as she let it out, her cheek flushed, damp with tears as she recalled the shameful acts placed upon her. 

In a cruel twist of the fates, Astyanax was bound to his own murderer by his mother’s womb.

It hurt. 

That the fates had allowed Pyrrhus’ sons to live when Hector’s didn’t.

He didn't remember much after he left, his spear in a trembling fist and white hot rage blinding his sight. He had prayed he would find one of them. Achilles, Pyrrhus or his three sons, Y/N or Patroclus although neither of the last two had committed those sins against Hector.

It would hurt Achilles, soul deep like it did Hector and that would have been enough.

When Hector returned, burnt like a candle on both ends, his form crumbling like the walls of his city, he had buried his head in Andromache’s lap. His hands desperately fisting in her fine skirts like a fool clinging to a deathless goddess for supplication, for her forgiveness.

“Hector.” Andromache whispered, her hands tangling in his dark locks. “Hector, it is okay now. They can’t touch us here.”

He wept like a newborn babe, fat tears rolling down into his beard. She murmured gentle words, comforting him with her gentle touch, when Hector should have been the one to comfort her.

How? How could he tell her that it wasn’t right? 

Astyanax should have grown up. 

The warm sun on his back, the salty spray of ocean waters on his cheeks, his eyes closed in pleasure of a perfect summer day.

His own dark curls should have shone with olive oil like his mother’s. He should have grown strong and broad like Hector. He should have been able to smile at Hector with his own cheeky grin. He never got a chance to listen to his grandfather’s stories.

He should have been able to learn his numbers, to learn of the heroes before him. He never tasted the sweetness of pomegranates, the rich bloom of a red wine on his tongue.

Astyanax should have a chance to fall in love, to make his own mark in Time’s sands. 

So many should haves that it would be impossible to list. Those invaders from the seas had their children grow. It felt like they had stolen the sands from Astyanax’s hourglass for themselves.

Did she cry out for him in the end? For him to rise from the dead to save them all? 

He didn’t ask. It would have been too cruel to them both, to remind her of her darkest moments and for him to know for sure.

One fact remained among the ruins of his soul.

Hector of Troy had failed. 

He had failed as a son, as a husband, as a warrior but most importantly, he had failed as a Father.

They never spoke of it again.

~

He had once seen Patroclus in the markets although the man didn’t spot him, pointing at an open scroll with his son leaning over his shoulder, his bulky arms crossed over his chest. 

It looked as if this was something they did regularly, a father and son shopping trip.

The noise of the crowd had been drowned out by the blood rushing to his ears. His skin had gone cold.

What could Hector say? 

That he was sorry, Patroclus was a needless casualty? That Hector wanted to kill Achilles, to settle the matter once and for all? That a part of him wished he had made Patroclus’ death more bloody, that he had killed Y/N as well, just to make the hurt all the worst?

Hector had turned around and left as his bitterness and rage tried to soak into him like poison. 

~

Hector was staring at the flowing river again. 

The boatman was coming by, new shades in his boats. He won’t stop here, Hector saw there were no warriors on this boat. 

Most of them looked like commoners. They had likely spent their days under the sun, hands in the earth, or selling merchandise in the open air markets. A child was crying, so faint but it was like a lion roar in his ears.

The babe’s mother shushed them, her own tiny form curled around them protectively. There was no man with them, trying to help comfort the child and woman.

Andromache joined him, with Hector helping her sit next to him. They sat there, looking over the cliff. Little Astyanax was dozing in the bassinet they made for him, contentedly gumming on his fist in his sleep.

“My brooding husband.” Andromache sighed. She took his hand between her two delicate ones, her skin so much more softer than his. Hector glanced down, choosing to admire his wife over the river. 

She was paler than he was, often tucked away from the sun to do her weaving on the loom or tend to her duties as Lady of the house. 

The contrast of her hands around his large one, her skin fine as petals while his skin was calloused, deepened by the years in the sunlight and hard work.

Hector covered her hand on top with his, running his thumb on her soft skin.

“Yes, my love?” Hector teased with a playful kiss on her cheek. She flushed a rosy pink, just like she had dozens of times before, like she had done when they wedded in his family’s gardens. 

Andromache smiled at first but then it faded. Her dark eyes glanced at the river, and Hector followed her line of sight. 

They didn’t speak for a long time. 

Quietly, as she was admitting a sin, she whispered. “It isn’t fair.”

”No.” Hector agreed, bitterness growing in his voice. He couldn’t hide if he tried.

They both knew they were speaking of. For themselves and for their son. The river looked so peaceful, so quiet.

Would it be like going to sleep, only to wake up as someone else?

When something wet landed on Hector’s knuckles, he realized that Andromache was crying. Hector pulled her into a tight embrace, cupping the back of her head, letting her cry into his chest and pressing gentle kisses on top of her curls.

“He won’t remember us.” Andromache weeped. “I won’t remember him. Or you.” 

Hector shushed her even as she spoke the truth. 

“I hate them all.” She snarled like a wild thing, pulling away to stare into his eyes. “I hate them all, Hector. They killed him-“ 

Her voice cracked, sobbing once more. “My baby-“

Hector held her as she sobbed, his own tears falling down his face. He held his heartbroken wife as the river flowed onwards, carrying countless mortals’ memories in its gentle waters.

~

When Pyrrhus had stolen away the gentle god of sleep from the House of Hades then his downfall into Tartarus itself, the stories grew like wildfire. It had even reached Hector and Andromache, hidden as they were. 

Hector couldn’t find himself to be sorry about it. He only felt a hard satisfaction that the gods had finally punished the monster of their own making. 

“Let the furies’ righteous hands deal with him. They know a worm when they see one.” He told his wife who had been oddly quiet since the news arrived.

Andromache nodded, fixing Astyanax’s messy hair with a gentle hand. Her expression was distant, her mouth in a tight frown. Hector wanted to call for her, to bring that shining light back to her dark eyes.

Then she began crying, covering her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook. Astyanax blinked up at her, his little mouth parted in confusion. He reached up to her, his little hand on her chin. He frowned at Hector like he was responsible.

"My love?” Hector fell to her side, his hands on her arms as he tried to understand why the news would make her weep so. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself back together. 

She gave Astyanax a weak smile, kissing his hand before she sighed. “I- I’m happy.”

Andromache laughed brokenly, looking at him. Her dark eyes gleamed like the night skies, full of stars. “It won’t take back what he did but I can rest now. We can rest now. I won’t have to fear waking up to see him looming by my bedside-”

She began crying again. “Thank the gods, thank gods we never will see him again.” and Hector just held her. 

It was all he could do now. 

Maybe now some of the healing for his family could actually begin. 

~

Eventually, it was Andromache who suggested the idea. And they had been arguing non-stop for hours now, going in circles at this point.

”Well, what else is there for him then?” His patient wife snapped. “We both agree he deserves a chance to grow up too.”

Hector stared at her in muted shock even though he knew she wasn't wrong. He had the same thoughts countless times but he never dared to say it outloud. 

She jutted her chin out stubbornly, her slim hands folded in her lap. Their son was playing with a wooden horse toy that he had found on the ground.

Andromache had allowed him to keep it, claiming that she wouldn't let the Greeks take that small joy from them as well.

”It is a good idea.” Andromache said. “Surely this god of sleep will hear our plea. Especially after meeting that monster. We cannot be the first family who wished to stay together.”

Hector pitched his brow and sighed. “You know of his relationship with them? Right?”

There was no need between husband and wife to clarify about whom they were speaking of. It came out after Pyrrhus had stolen away the sleep god that he had taken Achilles’ other son as a lover.

It was said that the brothers were fighting out of petty jealousy the whole time. Hector had only rolled his eyes when he heard. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“He can help us find the pool of memories.” Andromache coaxed, her expression hopeful. “I know he will help us. I just do.”

Hector sighed again, looking at both of them. Astyanax was biting down on the horse’ head, meeting Hector’s eyes with a gummy smile.

“Fine.” Hector agreed, even though his guts twisted at the thought of being near those people again. “Once the House allows outsiders again, we will go and plead our case.”

Andromache beamed at him, hurrying over to hug him. Hector returned the hug, burying his face in his wife’s hair. 

He prayed this was the right decision.

~

It was Andromache's concerned voice that had Hector grabbing his spear as he joined his family outside the home. His wife was frowning at something far away and over the cliff, bending down to pick up Astyanax.

Hector didn’t hear any sound of fighting nor any screaming. But with how Andromache was acting, it was enough to scare her.

Elysium’s gentle lights should have made it easier to see any danger but... Maybe it was just Hector, but it seemed dimmer than normal, darker. It was wrong somehow.

“What is it?” He asked once he was close enough. Andromache nodded toward the river. “Look at it.”

Since Hector’s arrival to Elysium, the river Lethe had been a constant. The river moved so slowly that it appeared still, the beauty hiding the dangerous undercurrent under the fine mist.

Something had changed.

The lethe was racing down the land, the once peaceful waters had turned to rapids, white foamy waves spilling over the grounds. The fogs had grown heavier and grayer as well, thick as rain clouds. 

“What in the Hades?” Hector swore, tightening his hand on his spear. He wasn’t the only one. He saw a few of the amazons on the opposing cliff side of him, watching the river with the same worried expression. 

Their queen arrived, golden in her glory. Hector rarely spoke to her, her own sunlight locks had always reminded him too much of Achilles. She glanced toward Hector with a questioning frown and all he gave a shrug. 

A few of the warriors who must have been fighting near the river had abandoned their battle for now, stepping away from the river as they watched it grow more and more chaotic.

”Hector? Have you ever seen this before?” Andromache tightened her hold on Astyanax. She was looking toward him for an answer, for safety. He shook his head, hating that he had fallen short once more.

”No.” he said, not daring to look away. 

Was this Asphodel all over again? Was the river going to devour everyone in the area, like the blasted river Phlegethon? Hector and his family were high up but who knew how far this river would travel.

They weren’t ready yet. They still needed to find the pool of memories- they needed to go the House-

Then it stopped. The river went utterly, unnaturally still, quiet as a grave.

No one moved.

Hector heard it, the faint rushing of water and he tore his eyes away from the river and toward the tallest cliffside, the only one blocked away from shades, the one with a handful of poppies on the edge.

For a breathless moment, there was nothing. 

Then it came, rushing over the mountains and down on the land like an impossible avalanche of cloudy water. So huge that one could look from miles away and never see the sheer mass of it all. 

Screams of those too close were swallowed up in moments, now stolen away forever. 

”RUN!” The booming roar of the Amazon Queen broke over the sound of the oncoming doom, “Run for your lives!”

He immediately abandoned his spear, grabbing and lifting up his loved ones in his arms. 

Andromache screamed out, curling her body around Astyanax. 

He ran.

Hector ran, faster and harder than he ever had before. 

Only Achilles in his insanity had inspired such speed from Hector, but this time his family was in his arms, and he would not fail them again.

[bluecatwriter]

Hmmm, Director's Cut on Butcher-work?

Thanks so much for the ask! I have a lot of Feelings about this one. :)

(The fic in question.)

CW for description of blood/injury below:

-This fic was directly inspired by Re: Dracula, because the scene with Van Helsing staking the Weird Sisters was just. so horrifying. I loved the way that Alan Burgon voiced the part, as well as the sound design that emphasized just how gruesome it was. This is no triumphant killing; we believe Van Helsing when he says, "Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher-work." I listened to it, and had to take a break afterward, and my first thought was, "Oh man, he is gonna have some trauma about this," and this fic was born.

-As long as I was having Van Helsing deal with trauma, I figured that he should also have some deep lingering regrets about how he handled Lucy's situation. Although he doesn't admit to doing wrong, I think it's noteworthy that he treats Mina very differently than he does Lucy— there is no yeeting Jonathan away from Mina's side, for instance— which indicates to me that his attitude toward vampires changed as he gained more knowledge, and it just made sense that he would second-guess how he acted when he was first trying to aggregate all his fragments of knowledge about vampires.

-A dream sequence seemed the best way to explore his doubts and trauma in a vivid way, so I settled on the most dramatic setting possible. I was a bit inspired by fairerforafleck's excellent fic "There is Some Fascination," although their setting is even cooler than mine!

-The image of Lucy looking up at him innocently while he brushes aside her hair to place the stake over her heart was one of the earliest moments I thought of when brainstorming. I made myself very sad thinking about it. :(

-"She screamed. Blood hit him like the slap of an ocean wave, salty and bright, and in an instant blood welled up from the floor and rose, knocking him off his feet. He fell into the rising tide, drowning as he felt his own body flying apart, limbs rent from their sockets, chest cracking open, entrails spilling out. Blood in his throat, his guts, his eyes, blood dissolving the cells of his body like acid, blood so thick it was impossible to tell where sensation ended and the scream began." I figure that if you're gonna go with the nightmare imagery, you might as well go hard. When I write a paragraph like this, I draft it with the weirdest, most intense imagery I can think of, throwing together associations even if they don't make sense, and in a later draft I sort through them and pick out the ones that I like the most. Oftentimes phrases that seem nonsensical at first glance end up being the most evocative. (I am very much a "throw everything at the wall and see what sticks" writer.)

-Even though Jack/Van Helsing isn't the point of the fic, I knew that I wanted someone to be there for him when he woke up; I think there's nothing worse than waking up alone from a nightmare. So I put Jack in there; he can't fix anything or bring any closure, but he's still there, and that still counts for something.

-"Art gets these dreams too, John told him once. Perhaps it is just the price to pay for rescuing a soul in such a manner." Someday I am gonna write a Van Helsing & Arthur fic where they either bond or clash (not sure which) over the shared experience of staking a vampire. Meanwhile Jack is holding fast to his conviction that Van Helsing made the right decision, because he can't emotionally handle it if VH is wrong.

-In the end, Jack asks if there is not any peace for Van Helsing to find, and he answers, "There is not." I wanted to capture the feeling of being caught in a trauma that feels like it will never end; there is no way to find peace in the foreseeable future, and the trauma can only be borne in the meantime. Usually when I write hurt I write comfort to go along with it, but I left the ending a bit raw and unfinished.

-The last two lines are, "Moonlight bathing them in silver. His chest aching with tears he could not shed." I liked the play of visual and tactile detail and the unfinished feeling of it all, emphasized by the sentence fragments.

Thanks again for the ask, I really enjoyed picking this apart!

(Ask game here)

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog! (no pressure! ❤️)

This is so cute!! Thank you for asking me! Let’s see…

1) Due to my allergy to dust, when I was a kid I wasn’t allowed to keep stuffed plushies; I instead had a cloth doll in the form of a kangaroo that I loved to bits. When I was 3 or 4 years old, I forgot her in our hotel room after a holiday. The hotel did send her to me, but in the meantime I was inconsolable, so my parents bought me a little kangaroo puppy cloth doll to tide me over until she arrived. Both dolls still live in my bedroom.

2) I’m almost exclusively right-handed, except for the act of pouring. I pour out of bottles and the like with my left hand. I *can* do it with my right hand, but in the same way one can learn to do stuff with their non-dominant hand; it’s harder, messier, and it's more instinctive to do it with my left hand anyway.

3) I have had a few tattoos planned for years, and I will get them, eventually. The first is going to be the constellation of Orion on my left arm.

[pluckysidekick]

So…I’m still processing ‘The Maiden’s Rage’ - it had so many alternating highs and lows, with the highest highs (that final scene on Ace’s bed) and the lowest of lows (Nancy verbally abusing Ace all day before actually trying to kill him), all packed into 42 minutes.

In the meantime, oh look, no Episode 3 photos yet, and we don’t seem to be getting actual episode teaser trailers. Whatever they’re doing or not doing is working as ratings continue to climb.

In the meantime here’s what I’ve got in my folder for what I believe is in Episode 3 - caveat that it’s my best guess based on timing, wardrobe, the trailer, etc.; no guarantees:

Love this duo sleuthing out the mystery together, as I said when Maddison first posted them, I want a spin-off with these two. Are they investigating some part of the town water system? An abandoned commune? Also the fits are 🔥

Gorgeous smiley friends. I’m sure they are all dealing with something traumatic and/or crazy in this episode but they look so good doing it. Note Nancy has a checked blazer on over her polo in the photo on the right, and is holding some kind of folder or old manuscript. Did she have to go to court? Is it something connected to Abbott’s history, and/or the town founders? Could we get a library scene (a person can dream)? The writers have told us that Carson will be back (yay!), I’d love a Dominique sighting too!!

Speaking of dreaming, there were some dreamy set shots Nick Thomas shared during the time period of ep. 3 filming. If these are from 3, I’m excited to find out if the creepy cabin factors into the plot - maybe it’s on the site of where the town was founded? I certainly put it to good use in The Space Between. And is the photo on the right a setup for the highly anticipated scene below, or one afterwards where Nancy and Ace argue about the curse breaking, perhaps?

We know we should expect some heart wrenching scenes with Nancy and Ace - this is the episode where Kennedy said “good luck”, and that has some of her favorite scenes. Speaking of which:

From wardrobe, set clues, and the timing of Maddison’s posting of this BTS photo on the right (with peeping Tunji 😂), I believe this epic scene is in Episode 3 and in Icarus Hall. Is this the scene where we find out how long Ace has had feelings? Is it a failed curse breaking attempt that leads to Nancy and Ace to remaining friends for now? At least Bess looks happy if only for a moment.

We also will see the return of Birdie (from S2’s Moonstone Island) who we know from Kennedy is dating George’s sister Jesse. Based on wardrobe in the trailer scene on the left, and the recently shared wind machine photo on the right, these are both from Episode 3. Dying to know what causes this maelstrom in the Historical Society, and why Birdie and Jessie call for Nancy’s help from the woods. The plot thickens!

Alright, here’s to hoping we actually get some official Episode 3 content in the next week. And hope this little essay helps to tide you over in the meantime.

UPDATE: Official show stills that confirm the photos above.