#the 1500s AU we all deserve

[whenthegoldrays]

No but one of these days I am going to write a LUTYN au where Yeon-kyung is the daughter of the Minister of War who helps keep Im's medical treatment of the servants a secret.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.  

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause.  Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.   

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”   

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?” 

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.  

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”  

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning.  “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.  

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.  

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his. 

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.  

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.  

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.  

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”   

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.  

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.  

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.    

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.” 

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.  

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.  

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.   

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

[stormxpadme]

There's a bit of fanfiction negativity in the tags :(. Looking for something to cheer me up, what's your personal scogan fanfic favorites?

Yeah, I saw that, both in the scogan and scogean tag, with posts even including the character name tags. Like. Not cool, people. Way to make authors feel shitty who have been guarding the ship lighthouse for the last 20 years. Claiming in the most popular tags, there's only like 1 good fic among more than 1500? Wow, okay. So I was very happy to receive your ask. Let's counter that negativity with some awesome scogan reads!

Damaged by scottxlogan

Can't do any scogan rec list without including the leading authority on the subject. @scottxlogan is the author who pulled me into this ship years ago, not to mention they're a great friend, unbelievably talented writer and artist, and they deserve all the love. Damaged is surely one of their most ambitious projects and deserves every single view, kudos and review out there. Set in the DOFP finale verse that is no doubt the author's specialty, the story comes with an alluring, intricated plot that leaves you on the edge of your seat along with all the feels.

Submission by scottxlogan

I'm also including a newer work by the same author in case you just want to get a feel for how wonderfully she writes these guys, not to mention the shameless steamy goodness that are the author's smut scenes. scottxlogan is an expert at reversing common fandom tropes believably, and this will leave you longing for more of these power exchanges easily.

he carries the reminders by Wolfsheart

@mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea is another great friend and author I would trust even with my biggest squicks (not that she writes those anyway :D). She's not only technically brillant and very well-versed in the lore which makes every pairing she writes a great read (check out her Tony/Emma, too!), but she'll also never fail to make you laugh or put those hearts in your eyes. And don't miss all those pop culture references that even put Peter Parker to shame! She also gives us scogan fans exactly what we need with stories like this one, combining our fav hurt/comfort tropes with a healthy dose of canon fix it.

I loved you since I knew you by strangenewwords

@strangenewwords is a fairly new and dearly beloved addition to our group at @scoganbingo events, but she's already made a huge impact with her delicious smut and angst stories that hit you right in the feels. Technically also brillant, the linked story is definitely one you don't want to get spoilered for beforehand because the ending will leave you in absolute awe and tears. The author doesn't shy away from including the darkest sides of Scott's past but handles every subject with the necessary care and respect, and as I said ... You don't want to miss out on all that delicious smut!

The Day Before the Soldiers Came by Cerylid

Cery is offering a much-needed fixit for the team dynamics between the X-Men and Logan before X2 with this story. It comes with a lot of humor but also far more feels than you expect. The texting is hilarious but it's the quiet tones that get to you.

*****

Speaking of fix-its, since that negativity in the tags kinda got to me, too, I might just throw in one of my own works here too since I also got lots of Scogan stuff out there.

My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

is basically my go-to X3 fix-it. You look for something to make that movie right, you got it all right there. Along with a bit of horror (we are talking about resurrection, after all) comes a dramatic rescue mission in a mental limbo, and you get an Avenger and Emma Frost guest-starring. There's a couple of follow up chapters that explore both scogan and Tony/Emma a bit further, and we even get a Laura version in old movieverse along the line, and of course all the nasty nasty smut you guys are here for.

########

So, that's it from the top of my hat. All these accounts have even more great stories to check out, and there's lots of other scogan authors out there with great stories to enjoy. So don't let anyone tell you, there's no quality scogan stuff on AO3.

[moorishflower]

hi!! im absolutely astounded at the amount of depth and heart thats in all your fics, and im also very floored at the amount at which you write—im at a cross between admiration and maybe jealously lol!! I wanted to ask, are there any fic of yours (sandman or not) that you think are underrated/deserves more attention?? super excited for everything you ever write!!

asdfg anon thank you <3 So I have a Problem where I have a lot of anxiety about what I create, and when that's writing, if I am not writing The Next Great Novel, then I need to sate the brain demons SOMEHOW, and writing a LOT is the easiest way to do that. I want very badly to please people, and fortunately it's not a hardship for me to write the amount that i do, though I AM trying to consciously like. Take breaks if I need? Take a night off? Keep it healthy looool. But that I'm able to write things that people are consistently finding value and meaning in is a continuous and beautiful marvel to me so thank you, thank you very much!!!

So I read your second part of the ask wrong at first and had gathered uh several fics which I think are underrated that are NOT mine

One Half of a Whole by @violetequus8 - Absolutely REMARKABLE post-apocalyptic literature. Equus captures an entire world and history in 4000 words. There are sentences in this fic that rewrote my brain chemistry.

The entire like this slumber that creeps to me series by @tobrokenstone - THIS. This is survival the way I fucking LOVE IT. Bleak, stark, hard decisions, lasting consequences, surprisingly tender cannibalism (this last may be...specific to me and a few select others lol)

Once again repping the point-set-triangulation series by therm0dynamics, which is singlehandedly the series that got me into Hob/The Corinthian (it's about MIRRORS it's about PARALLELS)

And at this point I realized that you'd asked about which of MY fics I think are underrated, and I was just so caught up in the thought of repping my friends that I lived in a world where I did not write for a moment loool

Salt and Rye is the result of a prompt on tumblr. I wanted to try and capture that feeling of recreating a parent or grandparent's recipe and failing, because it's SUCH a disheartening moment, but I wanted to make it lighter, because Hob has someone there to share the comedy of it with him.

Here there be dragons is my latest fic in the Siren AU and I do think that people who aren't into scifi in general will be more likely to give it a pass, but I'm very proud of it, and very proud of the emotions it evoked in ME, and I promise it's not hard scifi like The Martian or even really pervasive scifi like Star Trek! I just tried to think realistically about what our planet would look like and feel like in 1500 years, and how we might need to leave it. Also, Dream's still a carnivorous octopus man.

an act of faith is the vampire fever dream that struck me at like 3pm on a Saturday and I blacked out for like two hours and this was what I'd written during that time. I enjoy writing obscene levels of devotion and you can't really get much more obscene than "willing to tempt death year after year even though no one's asked you to in order to prove to YOURSELF that your lover loves you"

Honestly I don't think many of my fics are underrated! They're all written at different points in my development and my understanding of myself as a writer, and they range pretty widely in terms of theme and genre sometimes, so some, statistically, are going to be kind of niche! And that's okay! I guess the only thing I'd say is that even if you think something isn't your jam, unless the tags are specifically triggering you give it a try! The worst thing that'll happen is you get a paragraph in and then back out again. An extremely smart person (it was @xx-vergil-xx <3) recently said something along the lines that part of healthy interacting with art is also knowing when to put it down, but it's also important to give different things a chance so that you learn more about yourself and your preferences. I myself am trying to expose myself to and write more angst? Because it makes me deeply uncomfortable to do so! But that's a valuable feeling to know and recognize! Idk i just think we all get different stuff out of writing and it's just nice that I've been able to provide something to so many people <3

[excited-insomniac]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

The marvelous and amazing @zaharya tagged me to do this a solid MONTH ago and I kept and kept and kept forgetting, but HERE WE ARE! In no particular order, here are my own five favorite fics~

Forgetting to Remember (You) — BBC Merlin, 11k. This is just a happy marriage between angst, humor, and general dumbassery. It was also the first experience I had of a word count getting wildly out of control, so that was fun XD

Champion — Harry Potter, 118k. I wrote most of this nearly a decade ago, and I would do the first few chapters fairly differently now, but I'm still intensely proud of this project and love it to bits. The elevator pitch is that my OC, Nita, takes Cedric's place in the Triwizard Tournament, overcomes some personal demons, falls in love with Viktor Krum, and doesn't die at the end! (She was going to, originally, but some of my first readers on FF.net convinced me to let her live ^^;) There's also a sequel dealing with how the war might have gone differently if certain things had changed, which I also love very much.

We Walked The Long Descending Path — BBC Merlin, 29k. Yes this is my Major Character Death one, but I LOVE IT OKAY. I was working through some feelings in the course of writing it and I think the result is some genuinely emotive, impactful prose. But, yeah, I mean, Merlin dies at the end :|

the wake of war — BBC Merlin, 5.6k. I wrote this for a Kinkalot bonus challenge and I think the idea deserved probably 10k more, but I'm still really pleased with how it came out. Just enough worldbuilding to feel like sci fi, just enough plot that it's not pwp (no shade at all, I've written my fair share of that too lol), and sufficient feels to be fun :3

Rewards for Procrastination — BBC Merlin, 6.8k. You know when you adopt a shelter dog that you were only going to foster for "a couple of days"? That's what happened here. I tried to leave the idea in a prompt channel and the next thing I knew I had 1500 words and ideas for five sequels. I still want to write those sequels, for the record, but for now please enjoy a goofy modern AU with some good feels and banter.

Honorable mention goes to Something Hitch-ish (BBC Merlin, 19k) for really living up to the "idiots to lovers" tag and being much more popular than anyone in their right mind would expect, love you babe ;*)

Tagging (with no pressure) @s0mmerspr0ssen @mayapleiades @inkmyth @the-willow-tree @alduade-art

[edwinspaynes]

A, M, V, Z 🤍🫶

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

There are 2 answers to this question. The one that I am the proudest of is A Therapeutic Chain of Events. But the one that I like the best, am most satisfied with, and enjoy rereading the most is A Ribbon of Dream.

M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with?  Did it turn into a story?

I actually have one kind of boiling in my brain right now. If you know the song Timeless by Taylor Swift, it's based on the "In the 1500s..." verse and it's about both Thomastair and Herondaisy. Also there would be a scene where Matthew sleeps with George Boleyn, which I think we all need to see. It hasn't become a story yet, but it may if I ever feel like writing something wildly out of my comfort zone.

V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you?

Besides the person who told me I wrote too much Thomastair and should write Malec instead because they liked it better? Lol. I always really like any comment that @vwritesaus leaves for me and they stick in my brain so heavily because I admire her as a writer and feel as though I have pleased the Queen of Writing when she comments.

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love?

SO MANY. I don't know why but like, the fandom seemed to drop off the map like 2 months after ChoT came out? But I'm still here and I have a really consistent following and see the same names popping up and always giving me kudos! And I love that for me, that I have an established readership :) But The Besotted Couple's Guide to Half-Baked Mistakes did deserve more than 5 kudos, sorry not sorry. I like that one a lot.

THANK YOU!

[chungledown-bimothy]

If I Loved You Less, I Might Be Able To Talk About It More Part 4

The Goblin Court recognizes Hob, and Rue makes a decision.

Arranged Marriage Battlemaster of Ceremonies AU (Episode 3 Canon Divergence)

I promise, I wrote the Detect Magic -> Cure Wounds before yesterday's episode

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1500

Part Four: Resolutions

Part One Part Three AO3

Hob woke up the next morning to find an envelope tucked under his shoulder. He opened it and saw it was from Lord Blemish and Lady Boil.

Well done with the announcement yesterday, ensuring that the price for the Court of Wonder breaking the deal would be higher than even they can afford. Perhaps we have been too harsh and underestimated you. 

Congratulations, Major Hob. 

We trust you to continue doing as you should at the ball tonight; no need to report to us today.

Everything he ever wanted, and all it cost was being barely, agonizingly, out of reach from something he’d never dared to even imagine, let alone consider possible. Possible or not, the fantasy overwhelmed him as he took quill to parchment and wrote a letter of his own.

To the estimable Delloso de la Rue,

I see now that the battles you face daily are ones beyond my comprehension, and I apologize from every corner of my soul for having the audacity to assume that, between them and your duties here at the Bloom, my words or actions could have any significance for you. I know that I am so far beneath you to be unworthy of your notice, but if I may, I would like to repay your honesty with some of my own.

In doing me the honor of allowing me to see the splendor of your true form, you have bewitched me, body and soul. Seeing you as you truly are sparked something in me that I did not think I could ever be lucky enough to experience. The only thing that has changed about my vow to stay by your side for as long as you would have me there is an increase in both its intensity and the agony, worse than any battlefield injury I have suffered in my many years as a soldier, that I would feel if you sent me away.

I would not, however, burden you with my affections. I still ask for nothing but friendship. I will never speak of these sentiments again, and I will truly be content providing only whatever amount of support and companionship you desire. 

Eternally yours, however you would have me,

Knickolas Pnackleless Hob

P.S., I know you said you didn’t want me to fight anyone for you, but if you did decide to show the Bloom your breathtaking, resplendent truth, I would happily gut anyone who so much as looked at you with anything but the utmost awe and respect. You deserve to be appreciated and honored as your true self.

Hob read the letter over again, and again, and again. I cannot send this. I have no right to, and nothing other than my pain and humiliation could possibly come from them reading it. 

With a sigh, he tucked it away on top of dozens of other letters that would never be sent, albeit the first addressed to someone who could actually read.

He completed his daily calisthenics routine and, when he returned, was surprised to find a letter on the ground in front of his tent.

Captain Hob,

As I am sure you are aware, tonight is the ball. Please meet me in my quarters at your earliest convenience- in addition to ball attire coordination, I believe we need to discuss… well. I think you know, and I’d hate for that information to fall into the wrong hands. 

Yours,

Delloso de la Rue

Doing his best to ignore how his heart was racing from the invitation to their personal, private quarters, he immediately headed their way.

He arrived quickly, and the sight that greeted him when Rue opened the door made him weak in the knees. Their iridescent robes practically floated behind them, reflecting the light in ways that made them seem to be glowing, and he heard a faint tinkling of bells instead of swishing as it moved. 

“Captain, good morning! I- I apologize for my attire, I seem to have lost track of time. Please, come in and take a seat. It’ll only take me a minute to change.” They stepped back, opening the door wider, and he stepped through. As he walked past them, he briefly caught the scent of the same flowers from the maze, the flowers they had been wearing in their true form. 

After the door was closed and he was sure no one else could hear, as Rue was walking deeper into their chambers, he muttered, “If you would feel more comfortable returning as your true self, there would certainly be no objections from me.”

-

“There would certainly be no objections from me.” Hob remained standing in place next to the chair they’d gestured for him to take, but his words followed Rue all the way back to the enormous room that was their closet. As they circled the room trying to decide what to wear, something else he said echoed in their mind.

“Delloso, I-” Delloso. Not Rue, not Delloso de la Rue, Delloso. They couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called them that. The thought occurred to them that it was entirely possible no one had. 

With a deep breath, they dropped the glamor, got dressed, and headed back out to properly greet only the second person they had allowed to really see them in millennia.

-

Hob didn’t think Rue had even heard him suggest that they could drop the glamor, so when he saw them seemingly gliding across the floor towards him in all their true, radiant beauty, he collapsed onto the chair beside him. 

“Hob! Are you alright?” Rue rushed to him, and the concern in their voice snapped him out of his stupor.

He cleared his throat and sat up as straight as he could. “My apologies, I am quite well.”

“With all due respect, Captain, you collapsed. Someone of your… physicality does not do that without great cause.” They knelt down next to him and took one of his hands in both of theirs. They quickly cast a Detect Magic that came up empty and a Cure Wounds that also didn’t feel like it did anything.

Hob gently lifted their chin with his free hand and made eye contact. “Rue, I appreciate the concern and the spells, but I assure you, I am fine. It simply has been quite a morning, and you doing me the honor of once again allowing me to behold you as you truly are proved to be a bit overwhelming. Again, I am so sorry for having caused you concern.”

“I- I see.” They let go of his hand and stood up. “My apologies for having distressed you so. Momentous morning, you say? May I ask what has happened?” Hob stood up as well and tried to make eye contact again, but they refused to meet his gaze. 

“Let me be clear, Rue. I was shaken not out of distress but of awe. If I may be so bold, you, like this as you are, are beautiful. More so than anyone I have ever met. I am aware that this is overstepping the line of the friendship you have so graciously offered, but as we are to spend the rest of our lives together, I will not have you believe for another minute that I think anything less of you. You needn’t ever feel ashamed of who you are. I will not pressure you in any way to bless the realms with the privilege of you sharing your truth with them, but if or when you do, know that I will proudly stand beside you every step of the way.”

“Captain, I-”

“Major, actually. That was the momentous news this morning; our announcement yesterday was apparently so successful that the Lord Blemish and Lady Boil saw fit to promote me. Sorry for interrupting, it’s just that you’d asked what happened and I didn’t actually answer but then you called me Captain again, and I just-”

Rue finally looked at him, no longer up like when they met but down ever so slightly, and smiled. “Congratulations, Major Hob. You deserve such recognition from your court. And you didn’t overstep. Your words mean more to me than I can express. 

To be entirely honest, since the rumor is that this is to be the last Bloom, I’d been considering coming out, as it were. When I was informed of our engagement, I had changed my mind, out of fear that it would, I don’t know, cause your court to break the deal and bring so much dishonor onto both my name and my court’s. 

But hearing you, the honorable, trustworthy gentleman I know you to be, say all of that… I’m ready. I hate to ask you to be in the spotlight once again, but what say you to making a bit of an entrance at the ball tonight?”

He smiled and bowed deeply. “As you wish. It is your moment, and I am happy to be entirely at your disposal.”

[littledreamling]

Hob Gadling Meta Posts and AUs

This is my collection of (in no particular order) meta posts, AUs, and general ramblings about Hob Gadling specifically. This will be updated constantly, so if you'd like to hear my thoughts about a certain topic pertaining to Hob, I'd love to talk about it! Enjoy!

Professor!Hob - An exploration of what kind of professor I think Hob would be, largely based on professors I've had in the past

Crisis of Faith - A small analysis of Hob's crisis of faith that resulted from his immortality and his "deal" with Dream

The Death of Hob Gadling - An angsty fic idea exploring the possibility of Hob asking for death after he gets stood up by Dream

Earworms - What happens if Hob gets a song from the 1400's stuck in his head? Frustration, that's what.

Lucid Dreaming - Hob's attempts to lucid dream and how he perfects the use of it to see Dream more often

Dream's New Raven - The only person better suited to be Dream's Raven than Matthew is Hob Gadling

Why Hob became a History Professor - A simple historical accuracy post about Hob finally using his studies of history to understand that was happening throughout the early centuries of his life

Hob Gadling, DM - What if Hob introduced the Endless sibling to DND as a way to relax and bond with each other?

An Exploration of Hob's Immortality - We know that Death doesn't affect Hob, but what about Time? Does Hob have any regenerative properties? Can he get piercings or tattoos? This won't answer your questions, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!

Hob’s Age - In 2022, Hob had a very special birthday (now with a fic inspired by it!)

Sentimentality and Hob’s Understanding of History - Hob might be a hoarder, but there's a good chance he's not and here's why

Hob’s Abuse of his Immortality - Humans are dumb and Hob might be immortal, but he;s also human. Come on, we've all wondered what lava tastes like

Eleanor - An exploration (or introduction of an exploration) of Hob's wife, Eleanor

Antisemitism in Renaissance Europe - Hob in 1789 might be on the wrong side of history but he deserves more credit for the growth he's already shown, it's just a very subtle growth

Hob and Humanism - In the 1500's Hob would've been fairly well traveled and well educated due to his statues and wealth. Also explores Hob's relationship with religion a little more deeply

Blank Canvas Hob - My favorite thing about Hob is his ability to be anything you want him to be

The Printing Press - Hob's chosen profession and how late to the party he really was (it's okay, we won't hold it against him)

Luther's 95 Theses - What if Hob had a hand int he spread of Luther's 95 Theses? What if Hob helped to kickstart the Protestant Reformation?

Hob's Autopsy Scar - The autopsy that almost had a 200% death rate, except that Hob has friends on the other side

Religion and Sexuality and how Hob can have both - An exploration of Hob's relationship with his religion and his relationship with his sexuality, including a brief explanation of the culture of Renaissance Italy and their homo-societal relationships between unmarried men

Renaissance Festival Actor Hob - Hob as an actor in the joust at renaissance festivals

Hob’s Mosaic Soul - We all carry pieces of those we love with us, even after they’re physically gone. How much does Hob Gadling carry from his 600+ years of acquaintances and friendships?

Hob and Memory - An exploration of Hob’s memory and how (I think) he reacts to the loss of memories

Dark!Hob - What if Hob realized that his immortality wasn’t tied to his morality?

[lonestarpost]

April 26, 2021~ Masterlist ~ Issue 12

Episode Review

by @lonestarbabe​

9-1-1: Lone Star’s ninth episode of season two breaks the hiatus with one of the season’s strongest episodes; in this episode,  the showrunners prioritize quality storytelling (many thanks to writer Tonya Kong), and while the episode focuses heavily on past events, it creates an atmosphere that allows extensive character development moving forward. The episode shows viewers Grace and Judd’s story, and it does so in a way that highlights their bright future and how they have built a healthy, happy future together by first creating a solid foundation for themselves. “Saving Grace” stands out because of its attention to detail and the complex dynamics it beautifully fleshes out. The episode is rooted in humanity; the characters are not perfect, but through those flaws, viewers see the power of interpersonal relationships and the ability of people to save one another in a myriad of ways.

Throughout the episode, Judd is lost, but one grounding force saves him from his demons: his wife, Grace Ryder. As the episode kicks off, Judd is a young kid joyriding with his friend. As Judd sits behind the wheel, a tragic accident causes his friend to die, and Judd is left with a wealth of guilt and self-doubt. Despite Grace being in grave danger after the accident, during the entirety of the episode, it is Judd who needs saving from the complex emotions that haunt him. When Judd is in danger, Grace is there for him, even when she is a hospital bed. Judd wants to take revenge on the drunk driver who drove him and Grace off the road, but then, Grace wakes up, and Judd comments that Grace has saved the drunk driver. Before that, before Grace and Judd have met face to face, they begin correspondence when Judd calls a Christian crisis hotline that Grace works at as she finishes school. Seeing their relationship develop over the phone shows the deep connection that the couple has, and in Judd’s darkest moments, Grace was there for him, and her voice saved him from his own self-destruction.

After reciting Psalm 31, which Judd has tattooed on his hand, Grace says, “None of us are perfect. It’s by Grace that we’re saved,” and this line expertly reinforces the themes of the episode. Just before he nearly beats the drunk driver who ran him and Grace off the road, we see Judd getting the tattoo, which shows Judd’s mindset. He is thinking about Grace and how she has saved him. Judd himself was responsible, at least in part, for somebody’s death; that guilt has made it hard for him to recover mentally, but grace has gotten him through. Even so, he struggles to extend forgiveness to the man who has hurt Grace. The reminder of his own trauma is fresh, but Judd is still a flawed, emotional person who needs tempering, and with Grace unconscious, he feels untethered. He’s back to being an angry person, who still blames himself for the death of his friend.

Judd once fought to make amends with Leigh-Ann, the mother of the kid who died in the car, and these parallels show how hard it is to forgive. But the forgiveness ultimately isn’t about giving a gift to someone who has done wrong; in this story, it is shown as a way of saving yourself. Instead of getting trapped in the bitterness, forgiveness allows the characters to heal themselves. Early in the episode, Leigh-Ann is hurt on the floor of her home; this portrayal represents how her son’s death debilitated her. She holds unto her anger, but as Judd makes amends by fixing Leigh-Ann’s fence (a white picket fence that represents the ideal American home, which has become dirty and has fallen apart since Cal’s death), and he takes a devastated property and makes it a home. After watching Judd work for a while as she recovers, Leigh-Ann finally gives Judd water, and not only does Judd make amends, but Leigh-Anne has physically recovered since we last saw her. She still has a sling on her arm, but she’s on the way to healing. Likewise, when Judd goes to see the man who nearly killed Grace, he is in the process of healing himself. He’s just gotten out of bed from his own injuries. His body is still battered, but as he backs away from the man because of Grace waking up, it marks that Judd is healing too, not just physically but he’s also learning to focus on what matters rather than the anger he feels. In the end, it is love and care that brings the character happiness, and it makes them happier to focus on the things that save them rather than what hurts them. Love, from the 126 and from Grace, keep Judd from self-destructing from his guilt and rage.

The title works on a number of levels. While it seems at first glance that the episode is about “Saving Grace” from the accident that has nearly killed her, the essence of the episode is that Grace is Judd’s “Saving Grace.” Not only that, but she is thousands of people’s “Saving Grace.” In her career, she has been a voice of reason and hope. Even when she can’t save a life, as with the astronaut in the season one finale, her voice still provides comfort and a sense of salvation to people who are hurting. It’s not just Grace that saves Judd. In many ways, Judd also sparks Grace’s own decisions. As Grace falls in love with Judd, she realizes that going to graduate school far away isn’t her calling. She doesn’t stay because of Judd, but there’s no doubt that her connection with Judd helped Grace realize that saving people was her calling. She decides to become a 9-1-1 operator, and for thousands of people, she becomes a “Saving Grace” on the other end of the line.

“Saving Grace,” is one of the best episodes of the series, and arguably, it is the most artfully written. It stands out because the details add up in a way that drives the plot and character development. It excels at showing rather than just telling the viewers the vital details of the story. Grace is an angel, and one of her greatest strengths is bringing people together and comforting them in their times of need. When she saves people, she then allows them to save countless others. Through Grace, Judd is a hero in his own right, but he is the kind that gets glory, while Grace’s role is more understated but just as important. The episode mostly focuses on Judd’s history, but when you look at it closely, the role of Grace, understated but poignant, is what stands out the most.

The Edits Edit

Some of the best edits this week that deserve all the love.

Carlos Reyes, 911 Lone Star 1.01 by @reyeslonestar is an amazing piece of fan art, and as usual, Alice is an amazing talent that we should all appreciate.

This Grace and Judd gifset by @ronenrubinstein is just WOW. I love looking at it and cannot stop!

Marjan Marwani by @alwaysablossom is soooooo pretty. I love the colors and all the details more than I can say!

SIERRA MCCLAIN as GRACE RYDER by @bucktks is an amazing edit that highlights Grace. You should also check out this one, which is equally good! Finally, take a look at this Tarlos set! (They all are amazing.)

Judd & Owen in 2x09 (Pt2) by @911dawnstar is such a well-done gifset, and I love seeing Judd and Owen being a wonderful duo. Also look at Part 1!

“We’re gonna have a new little Texan running around!” by @shoenaerts makes me swoon, and my heart can barely handle it because Grace and Judd are the definition of LOVE. This one is also beautiful.

the ryders + howdy. by @laurenkmyers makes my heart beat faster... I love it so much.

This Grace and Judd moment by @chrissiewatts makes me cry every time I see it AHHH.

These gifs by @strandtk is so amazing. I am in love with this edit! This one too!

This gif by @jessie-meili showcases Grace in the perfect way!

Group Hugs by @rafasilvas is one of my fave gifsets ever and highlights wonderful parallels of the 126 family. I’m in love.

The truth is, I think I just wanted to hear your voice. by @buckleys-diaz is soooooo dreamy and beautiful.

Fic Recs

remind us where we've been by @morganaspendragonss (hollyhobbit101)

Word Count: 564

Chapters: 1/1

“This is something, ain’t it?” Judd says, nudging Owen gently. Owen looks around Judd's backyard, taking it all in - TK and Carlos with their two kids, Judd's three milling around, their whole family gathered together in a future Owen's not sure he ever imagined even in his wildest dreams. "It's something," he agrees.

Home is wherever you are by @sixringss (buckscasey)

Word Count: 1651

Chapters: 1/1

A week after the fire, Carlos goes back to his home.Speculation for 2x12/13

Get Me off the Boat, I'm Ready to be on Land by @silvarafael (tiniestmite)

Word Count: 3966

Chapters: 1/1

Five times TK’s sobriety is tested after he arrives in Austin but he keeps it to himself, and the one time it gets so bad that he tells someone.

The Way Our Horizons Meet (chapter 1) by @chicgeekgirl89 (Writeallnight)

Word Count: 1500

Chapters: 1/3 (WIP)

Carlos' perspective through the aftermath of T.K.'s shooting. Follows the events of episodes 1x08-1x10.

You Found Me (Did You Ever Doubt I Would?) (Chapter 10) by @doctornineandthreequarters  (doctornineandthreequarters)

Word Count: 2736

Chapters: 10/? (standalone works)

Tarlos college au

[rainbowvamp]

(for the fic prompt thing) Mordred and an altar if thats okay??

This is... so long. It barely has anything to do with an altar. I didn't edit it. I've been trying to finish this for days. I hope you enjoy.

Mordred is Morgana's adopted son. Magic is known. Modern Reincarnation AU. Mordred buys a good fortune spell and it's not a good thing.

--- Mordred buys a spell off the internet. Morgana is furious, naturally. He's grown up in magic, he should know better than to buy spells written by unknown people with unknown intentions. He's already done it, so it's too late to just burn the damn thing. They have to take it to Merlin to see if they can undo it.

It's a spell for fortune, not so out of the box, but fortune is a fickle thing. She comes and she gives, but she also takes. The wheel must turn round and round, up and down. It cannot be stilled. When Merlin sees the spell he sucks air in through his teeth, and Morgana's worst fears are confirmed.

"I can't undo this. Not without hurting him, maybe even killing him. He's used himself as a binder. Usually-" Merlin turns his gaze to Mordred, "If a spell needs binding, we bind it to an object, not a person. Unless you're a cruel and terrible woman." He turns his eyes to Morgana, who shrugs.

Arthur had deserved it.

"So, what's going to happen?"

"Your spell was to bring good fortune. It will come, but it will also go. Your life will be very interesting, Mordred." Merlin dropped the printed piece of paper on the table and got up, going to a line of spell books that were older even than the warlock himself. His back is tense and his voice is lower than it usually is, almost absent. "I'm sorry to say so will Morgana's. The spell specifies your family. Most spells don't differentiate between the blood ties and the love ones. Morgana is your mother by rights, even if not by birth." Merlin pulls a book off the shelf, flips it open and brings it back to them. The tome smells old, and Mordred can feel the magic pouring off it.

"You can't be serious." Morgana says before Mordred can even start to digest the spell, written in the old tongue that he'd been forbidden to learn until he was old enough to understand the consequences of speaking it. "This could kill him."

"So could an over abundance of bad luck."

When Mordred looked back up at Morgana, her grey eyes were thunderous, her mouth pulled into a harsh line that Mordred had only seen a few times before.

"No. I won't allow it. I'll do it."

"You can't-"

"I can. Don't deign to tell me how powerful I am, Merlin."

"However powerful you are, I can't even undo the spell. The only one with any chance is Mordred. If you try it you'll just kill yourself and he'll still be cursed."

"I'm not cursed. Curses are things someone else does to you." Mordred tried to defend himself, but Morgana turned her glare to him.

"Someone has given you a spell to do that will probably kill you. They cursed you."

Mordred glared at her in a way that would usually made Morgana proud. "Well, I'll live with it then. I'm not going to let you die, and you obviously don't want me to reverse it."

“I don’t even want you to try.” Morgana’s eyes are hard, furious, as she turns back to Merlin. “And if you even think about helping him, so help me, Merlin, I will figure out how to end your immortal life and torture you before I kill you.”

“I understand.” Merlin says with a smile and closes the book. He waves one hand and the book disappears. “Best keep that somewhere Mordred can’t find it. He’s got the same look Arthur used to have. All royal and determined.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Mordred asked, and Morgana rolled her eyes.

“He died 1500 years ago. Don’t worry about it.” She takes her son by the shoulder and turns him to go. “I’ll ward the house against the worst of it when the down cycles start. Merlin, I’ll pay you three times your normal rate if you can calculate how long the cycles will be.”

“PayPal me. I’ll have it by the end of the week.”

When Mordred looked back, Merlin was going back to doing whatever unstable 1500 year old warlocks do, looking entirely unconcerned, but the way Morgana clutched his shoulder Mordred thought that was more because of the 1500 year old thing, not because there was no reason to be.

—

“Show me the altar where you performed the spell.” Morgana said as soon as they got home. “If we’re lucky, the magic might have latched onto something besides you that we can destroy. It won’t reverse it, not even close, but it will mitigate the worst of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Mordred said as he got out of the car and followed Morgana inside. “I just wanted us to have good luck for once.”

“We have good luck, Mordred.” Morgana’s voice was higher than normal, almost breathy while she fumbled with her keys to get the door opened up. “I have a house, and you, and a stable, steady job. I know you want to be able to join Lancelot’s silly little crowd of vigilantes, and you want to be the next great Druid Sorcerer, but that’s just not the sort of thing you can wish for.”

“Yeah, you do have a steady job. And I barely get to see you. And when I do see you, you’re always tired. I’ve applied at 8 places, and I haven’t heard a single call back. I was just trying to… I don’t know, get a job, get you a promotion, give you back your damn inheritance, something!” Mordred kicks a rock and Morgana stops trying to open the door and looks solemnly at her adoptive son.

“I know this isn’t the greatest life.” She whispered, her softness forcing Mordred’s mind out of itself and back into the present moment. I wish I could spend more time with you too, and that I didn’t have to work so hard, and that Uther hadn’t left me in the cold when I was sixteen with none of my father’s money and nowhere to go, but I have made something good for us here, and this spell. Mordred, I don’t know what it’s going to do to us.”

“I’m sorry.” Mordred repeats.

“I know.” She smiled softly and pulled him into a hug. “I know. I know you just wanted to do good, and help, but you can’t wish your way to a better life. Magic doesn’t work like that. You’re a good boy, Mordred.” She kisses the top of his head. “And we will figure this out together. Whatever happens.”

Mordred nods and the pulls away, unlocking the door with magic. “I left the altar in the attic.”

Morgana smiled, “That’s where I used to hide my magic from Uther.”

“I know.” Mordred shrugged, and Morgana’s smile became nearly beaming.

“I’ve raised you well.”

“You didn’t raise me. I was already this height when you got me.” Mordred couldn’t keep the smile out of his eyes when he said it, and he was glad for Morgana’s laughter.

“You’re still growing emotionally. I raised you. Grab the salt and I’m going to get an athame. Let’s see if there’s anything up there I can break.”

“Matches?” Mordred called from the kitchen, and he heard her proud exclamation from the next room.

“Yes! And grab a couple newspapers from the recycle bin. It’ll make good kindling.”

“If we set the house on fire, is that the start of our misfortune?” Mordred asked, and Morgana laughed, brandishing the sheathed dagger he was pretty sure she’d told him she had used to try and kill her foster dad.

“Maybe. If it is, then at least I won’t have to pay Merlin to know how long the cycle is.”

—

fin

[heatherclowndler]

An Open Letter To the Six Fandom

I'm gonna be real with you guys: I’m getting really tired of the moral superiority of some people in the Six fandom. Six is a barely historically accurate concert-musical where the queens fight about their trauma for an hour, but it’s about white women, so I guess that means that its #girlpower is so much more respectable than Hamilton being representation to POC.

If you think I'm not talking about you, I am, @historemix / @ghostheather . I’m fucking sick of your bullshit. How come every time you get called out for being a hypocritical bully, you have a little meltdown, say you'll be better, and then go back to the same bullshit as before?

Before I actually get into the reasons that you’re a hypocrite and a bully, I want to thank everyone that sent me the screenshots and testimonials used in this post. It’s good to know that multiple people are as fed up and disturbed by this behavior as I am, and it wouldn’t have been possible without you.

Anyways, back to the matter at hand. First and foremost, your obsession with being on a fucking high horse is embarrassing. Your self-congratulatory posts about the Six fandom being so much better than the Hamilton fandom is fucking laughable coming from you, and here's why.

Before you get on about the Hamilton fandom being toxic, and the major reason why you can't fuck with the musical, remember that much of the fandom are people of color: most of whom are also minors. And they’re often the first to be driven out of it– not by harmless headcanons and fanfics or kids being "cringy”, but racist, toxic ass adults, colorism, whitewashing and constant harassment. Black fans, minors especially, would be the first to tell you this, since there’s been multiple incidents on Tumblr and Twitter where Black fans have been harassed, called slurs, etc. just for liking the musical, and that isn’t even getting into the amount of shit that’s been sent to the Black cast members for being a part of it. But clearly you haven't been fucking bothered to read the posts of how Black people in this fandom and in the cast have been treated, because maybe if you did, you’d be quiet and think before you start spouting shit, instead of constantly putting Hamilton’s name in your mouth to say shit that you think will give you woke points with the funnymen crowd.

Do you really think that the same bloggers that make fun of Hamilton would see any difference between those fans and you, the adult stanning a musical where Real Life Catherine of Aragon, a character played by a black woman, owned slaves, and was the person that introduced slavery into England is portrayed as a strong, feminist Queen? Or how Catherine Parr, a woman who was complicit in child molesation and later got upset with said child for being a victim of sexual abuse, is portrayed as the ultimate feminist and hero of the musical? Or is it okay for you to talk about how these child-molesting slaveowners were oh so admirable and honorable because you "respect the history,” whatever the fuck that means.

Yes.. I'm sure white women from the 1500s would be so pleased about the fact that their history is being told by women that they thought were inferior to them based on the color of their skin.

Also sidenote, you may want to reconsider your definition of what is a respectable Six fan when you're writing a literal AU for your favorite dead queens. Sis, just say that you want to write Six fanfiction. There’s no shame in it– especially because the people that write Six fanfiction are more respectable than you are.

But speaking of history, you need to take off your clown mask and realize how ridiculous the notion that “respectable Six fans” are ones that have a genuine respect for Tudor history, because despite the fact that you say this, Six completely disregards the actual Tudor history.

Take the example of Boleyn. Anne Boleyn – a woman who was judicially murdered on false charges including incest with her brother, witchcraft, and adultery in part because she couldn’t give birth to a son and wouldn’t be a submissive wife to her husband – is reduced to a three minute comic relief song that makes light of her murder and states that yes, she actually was guilty of adultery, but she only flirted with those guys to make Henry jealous! Writing an entire song about a woman whose name has been dragged through the mud for nearly 500 years after she was murdered on false charges and then saying that she actually did do the thing that caused her to be executed is just peak #Feminism, am I right? And so is making light of her unjust execution by calling the song “Don’t Lose Your Head” and continuously making joking references to her being beheaded, I guess. Never mind the fact that Boleyn was reportedly near-suicidal and “ready to be done with life” by the time she was executed. Never mind the fact that the six fingers rumor – something that’s also repeated in the musical and presented as a fact – was started by Catholics attempting to quell people’s sympathies over Boleyn’s execution by attempting to make it seem like she actually was a witch and therefore deserved to die. None of that matters because Six is about feminism and it does the Queens justice, right?

And let’s not even get started on Catherine of Aragon. You know, the person who you've reblogged posts about that claim she was “a remarkable woman”, and that you’re apparently so sad about the fact that she died that you’ve made memorial posts about her knowing good and well that she was a garbage person who owned human beings? The same Catherine of Aragon that was reduced in the musical to only being angry that her husband cheated on her and wanted to divorce her, as well as bickering with Boleyn? The same Catherine of Aragon that also was reduced to constantly talking in the musical about how she was forced to move to a country where she didn’t know anyone? On that note, isn’t it funny how that works? Especially since she and her garbage family owned slaves, forced them to convert to Christianity and change their names to Spanish ones, and then forced them to come to England with Catherine when she moved there to marry Arthur Tudor!

All of the queens are dumbed down for the sake of the musical and it isn't until the very, VERY end of the musical that they all realize that fighting over who got the worse abuse from their husband is fucking stupid. And, even then, it’s still incredibly fucking problematic and gross because the Queen that makes them realize that the fight is stupid, and ultimately the Queen that’s praised for being the most feminist in the musical and by its creators, is the Queen that literally held her stepdaughter down while her husband molested her. If you’re really so damn upset about how much Hamilton and its creator glorify the Founders that it ruined your ability to enjoy the musical when that musical at least still acknowledges the fact that Presidents Washington, Jefferson and Madison owned slaves (and its creator acknowledging that none of the Founders were good people), why aren’t you upset about how Six portrays Catherine Parr and Catherine of Aragon as feminists when they were a child molester and a slave owner, respectively, and it's never acknowledged in the musical? Why isn’t your enjoyment of Six ruined by the fact that the Six creators praise Child Molester Parr and Slaveowner of Aragon for being strong feminists, or the Six Instagram calling Ferdinand and Isabella (you know, the people that committed genocide against Black people in Spain, had others tortured and executed for their race&religious beliefs, and literally caused Columbus’s colonization of the Americas [and by extension, the Transatlantic Slave Trade] to begin) a “power couple”?

The entire premise of Six is flawed, arguably even more so than Hamilton’s, because at least Hamilton actually did what it sets out to do throughout the entire musical, and not just the last five minutes. But even so, the basic plot idea remains– fictionalized (heavy emphasis on the fictionalized, Heather!) versions of real people fighting to tell their story. So, if the creators of Six cast aside historical accuracy for the sake of creating a diverse and modern take on the Queens’s lives and you eat it up as much as you do, why should we give a shit when Hamilton does the same thing? Since you love Six so much, you clearly fucking don't, because otherwise you’d be shitting on Six just as much as you like to shit on Hamilton. It really just goes to show how much of a hypocrite and a pick-me ass bitch you are, because the fact that you love Six makes it really obvious that you only care about hating Hamilton so much because it’s a stance that you think will give you more street cred with the Tumblr and Twitter crowds.

^^ The absolute hypocrisy of you reblogging this when you regularly make posts and reblog posts of you and other people doing the same thing with Hamilton and its fandom. Embarrassing.

I'm saying this as someone who enjoys Six’s songs and also has common sense and brain cells– they're fictionalized versions of real people, and those real people were shitty. And that’s okay. But you need to stop embarrassing yourself and acting like you’re morally superior to people that enjoy Hamilton when your core arguments for enjoying Six literally could also be said for Hamilton, and your core arguments for hating Hamilton could be said (and would definitely apply better) to Six. I see you all the time making the argument about how important it is for Six fans to see an all-woman cast, do you think Hamilton fans of color can't make the argument that they feel it's important to see a cast with over 95% POC? How for those teens, it brought them into giving musicals a try in the first place (this is just one of many examples)? How Hamilton's overwhelming success brought jobs to so many actors of color, including helping some of them (most prominently, Daveed Diggs) make a stable enough income to give them a place to live and rest their head? When it paved the way for musicals like Six to gain popularity, too? Cognitive dissonance isn't a good fucking look on you, luv.

And don’t even try the "creator is problematic argument", bitch. You're all over Mean Girls, where the creator (Tina Fey) is shitty for a multitude of reasons, blackface and saying the n word included. Not to mention the Heathers musical, where the creators turn JD into a sympathetic villain and apologise for him when the director and writer of the original movie made it clear that JD wasn’t a character that people are supposed to sympathize with. It's a fucking joke that you go "I can't get behind a musical with a bad creator!" when you base your whole blog around a musical whose creator that's transphobic and antiblack, as well as a musical whose creators apologise for an attempted school shooter and use their musical to make him sympathetic. We know LMM is a piece of trash, but that doesn't give you the right to steamroll over fans (again, most of whom are minors of color) who just want to mind their business and enjoy a fucking show, like a pick-me ass theater kid you are.

And while we're talking about your hypocrisy, let's talk about your incessant harassment of a teenage Six fan for fucking months. You’ve instigated wave after wave of bullying towards a fan who was only 15 at the time when it started, for various reasons. I don’t give a fuck if you were just trying to “spread awareness” about their actions, or get them to change their ways, or whatever. You’re a grown ass fucking adult. If you see a minor in fandom – especially one that’s 3+ years younger than you – doing cringy/problematic stuff, let other minors be the ones to say something about it. Your harassment and creepy behavior around minors isn’t justified by the fact that you think that you’re doing something good.

This is just one of the many examples of you vaguing/posting about the teenage Six fan under the guise of trying to “spread awareness” about their reaction. This one is just fucking rude, especially because they’re a minor with ADHD/ADD that projects traits that they have onto fictional characters and vice versa. I’d expect you to know a lot about projecting onto characters and picking up traits from them, since you channel Heather Chandler and Regina George’s bitchiness and their consistent harassment of teenagers that they consider to be lesser than them into your internet persona and identity, am I right?

The potential end result doesn’t justify the means; but clearly you think it does since you never say shit about this teenager getting harassed until you get called out for your complicity in it, say that you never sent them any asks, promise you’ll do better about the way you interact with minors in fandom, repeat.

Not to mention the complete hypocrisy of this statement in the tags of one of the below posts– especially considering that you were the one that made it open season on this girl in the first place with your consistent vaguing about her and making joke posts about her with your friends when she was only fifteen. And on top of that, denying that you ever harassed Lizzie, claiming that your only crime was vague posting her – when you and your shitty friends posted memes about stuff that she had been doing and making it really clear in your vagues that it was about Lizzie. Just because you didn’t name her directly doesn’t mean that it wasn’t harassment, asshole.

Oh, and here you are, months earlier, admitting that you did cause her to get harassed and acknowledging that you named her? Interesting.

The fact that you say that you have to take responsibility for it, but you never fucking do? [Narrator Voice] Heather would not take responsibility for that.

And let’s not forget how after almost driving the girl to the point of suicide and after getting called out multiple times for it, you promised to be a better person, before running to Twitter and continuing to vague about her. And in addition to that, you making memes and joke posts about Jay, the black teenager who was also bullied almost to the point of suicide for minding his own fucking business and making some fucking fanart and quirky headcanons, is fucking nasty. To further stick your nose up at him and go “not my fandom” at him for drawing Trans!Jefferson art when your Tumblr icon is Anne Boleyn with a lesbian flag behind it and your Twitter icon is the same thing with Katherine Howard... the joke writes itself. Do I have to repeat my point?

Not to mention the fact that you fucking lied in your apology on your viral post about him, because you said that you only became aware of the fact that he was a Black teenager that was harassed after the post whent viral.. when someone told you months before (in the replies to the above post) that he was a Black teenager that was harassed relentlessly for his fanart and asked you to leave Hamilton fans of color alone. But clearly you still stand by your point about Hamilton fans. Who’s surprised?

And then after receiving a 22-anon thread where anon presumably called you out on your hypocrisy of this, you still went to Twitter and started bitching about the fact that you were called out despite saying that you were deeply ashamed and that you would do better. Yet another example of Heather the Hypocrite, am I right or am I right?

You really switch up from “I feel incredibly ashamed and I want to reassess where to go forward from here” on Tumblr to “I hate Tumblr purity culture” when you’re on the safety of your Twitter account like clockwork. And it’s awfully bold of you to mention Tumblr purity culture like you didn’t cause waves of harassment to be sent to a 15/16 year old girl to the point where she felt paranoid that someone was going to come to her house and attack her, and later make memes/joke posts about a Black minor who was harassed to the point where he tried to commit suicide and later had to get rid of his online presence altogether for his own safety.

Also, you posted the IP address of the anon who called you out, and tagged them as “asshole” on the website that you use to track IP addresses. But you genuinely felt ashamed, right? You wanted to change and reassess yourself, right? (The anon’s IP address has been blocked out by me to protect their privacy, because the person who sent in this screenshot didn’t black it out, either.)

And even then, aside from all that, your actions have caused multiple minors in the Six fandom to feel uncomfortable. Below are testimonials about your behavior, and how it’s made minors in the Six fandom feel. One of these is also a reply on a post that called out your behavior. (URLs and icons on both Tumblr and Discord are blacked out to protect their privacy.)

Take in what these testimonials are saying. The fact that your behavior with harassing minors has grown so much that people are afraid to post in the Six tags and express their love for the musical because they don’t want to get harassed by you and your group of friends is concerning.

You, a grown adult, have made minors scared to be themselves and do things their way. You’ve created a culture of fear in a fandom where over 80% of its active fans are minors. You should have been leading by example, showing Six fans how the message of uplifting women should be implemented, but instead? You caused a floodgate of harassment to be sent to a then-15 year old girl that got so bad that she was suicidal and paranoid that people would come to her house, and it ended with even more minors afraid to post in the fandom’s tag because they’re afraid that you and your shitty friends will come for them, too. Shit, I was a follower for a while! I had only unfollowed due to your moral high horse, but it wasn't long before I was made aware about your history of bullshit.

You shouldn’t just be ashamed of yourself– you should be mortified with yourself. And your little friend group should be, too: not only because of their part in all of this, participating in harassing and making fun of that poor girl with you, but because of the fact that they keep enabling you to do this harmful shit by not properly shutting you down or calling you out. But it's not like you care anyways, because you’ve made fun of people voicing their concerns about your behavior and calling you out for making the fandom an unsafe space.

"But I said I'm sorry-" Yeah, we know. We saw a series of half-assed “I'm sorry” posts, paired with you not taking real responsibility for any of the harm you’ve caused. And clearly you didn't actually mean anything you said, because you kept doing it again. And again, and again, and again.

By the way, Heather, the implication that you would be indicted for murder if Lizzie committed suicide despite never speaking to her isn’t just an implication: it’s a literal fact that people can be prosecuted for manslaughter/murder without ever laying a finger on the suicide victim. This includes cyberbullying.

It means nothing to admit you're a hypocrite and do nothing to improve, especially because you’ve said this same exact “apology” multiple times, almost word from word. You're a grown fucking adult that vicariously lives out her dream of being a highschool bully through Tumblr by harassing teenage girls on the internet, and it gives me secondhand embarrassment. Grow the fuck up already, Heather. You’re 20 years old.

You're always harping about how the Six fandom is becoming toxic and embarrassing without considering the fact that you’re one of the toxic ass adults that make children embarrassed and ashamed to be a part of their fandoms. Whenever they do something even slightly cringy, and not even genuinely problematic like some of the other shit in the Six fandom, you’re quick to be like “This isn’t respectable,” “The Six fandom is going to be the next Hamilton fandom,” or whatever the fuck else you say. Teenage girls calling Boleyn a gremlin and making headcanons about the queens siblings/children is not the end of the world, and the fact that you act like it is when you’ve actively created a culture of fear in a fandom that’s mostly made up of teenage girls is embarrassing and disgusting.

I don’t care about whatever apology or sob story you’re going to say after you see this post, because in the end, it’ll just be an empty promise as long as you stay on here. At best, you’ll say that you’re going to do better and leave Tumblr for what, a month? Only to bitch on your Twitter account for the entire month, then come back to Tumblr and do the same exact thing that I’m calling you out for.

You need to stay away from minors in fandom. As a matter of fact — stay out of fandoms that are mostly made up of minors as a whole. You’ve proven time and time again that you don’t care about the safety or feelings of minors, nor do you care about actually “improving” or reassessing yourself every time you get called out. The fact that you’ve been called out for the same things via being indirected on a Tumblr post (linked here), being sent multiple anons by different people (shown above), and being sent a 22-anon thread by one single person calling you out (stated by you above), and you still haven’t changed? Is all of the proof that I need that you won’t change.

That’s all I have to say to you.

People in the Six fandom, I’m heavily urging you not to continue giving this person a platform. I can’t force you to do anything, but you all deserve the right to know what’s been going on. Aside from her hypocrisy about Six, it’s historical figures, and its fandom as a whole, she’s been involved in harassing a minor to the point where she felt paranoid and wanted to leave the fandom on separate occasions, made jokes about another minor in a different fandom that was harassed to the point of attempting suicide on multiple occasions (then lying and claiming that she was never told he was a Black minor who was harassed after she was called out due to a post she made about him going viral when someone told her months before that he was all of those things in the notes of another post she made about him), and other minors have posted/stated that they feel her behavior went too fair, and that because of it they feel unsafe posting stuff in the fandom.

She’s been called out on her behavior on multiple different occasions, and each time she said that she would reassess her behavior and discuss how her actions were toxic. People have given her multiple chances, and each time, she’s gone back to the same toxic behavior and done the very things that she claimed she would stop doing. It’s getting ridiculous at this point, and her actions have gotten to the point where it seems like the only course of action is to call her out publicly.

Like Heather herself said, and I will now brilliantly quote because karma is a bitch: “If you keep making the same “mistake” MULTIPLE TIMES, people aren’t gonna be happy about it.” She isn’t exempt from criticism, especially when this stuff has happened multiple times and she hasn’t done anything to change her behavior. Listen to what she said, and hold her accountable.

Again, I can’t force you to do anything, but I hope that everyone in the Six fandom keeps what was said in this post in mind the next time they consider interacting with her or her content. Take care.

[impala-dreamer]

Want a Custom Story from Impala-Dreamer?

Ever had an idea for a story that you just can’t get done? Want to read that thing that you just can’t find anywhere? Always wanted to see me tackle something but have been afraid to ask? 

Now’s your chance!

As of 6/29/20, I am opening Commissions for a limited time! For this round, I will only be taking 5 Commissions, and once those are done, if there is demand for more, I will open it up again. 

If you’re interested in having a piece written by me, please read on. If not, feel free to ignore. If you’re awesome, you’ll reblog this for me! 

“You got Qs, I got As…” ~ Andy Bernard.

Q: What will you write? 

A: Mostly anything. There are some hard nos for me, but the list is small. 

I don’t write ABO, AUs (unless the AU world is canon, ie: “It’s a Terrible Life”, “The Bad Place”, Apocalypse World), Sister!Readers, Underage. I will also not write the actor’s wives (unless they are side characters) or their actual children. 

But, beyond those, I will pretty much write anything. I tend to stick towards TFW, J2M, but if you have an idea for anyone else, just ask. I’ve done others, and can again. 

(I will also be opening this up to The Walking Dead, The Magicians, The Hunger Games, and Doctor Who, and most RPF within those. These will be limited to the idea and whether I feel like I can do it properly, but feel free to ask.) 

Angst, Smut, Fluff, Dark, Combos, whatever. Any genre is a go. Any troupe is a go. Any Kink is a go. Reader Insert or OC is cool.

Q: I have a very detailed idea, is that ok? 

A: Yes, but if it’s super detailed, it may not come out exactly how you thought it would. I work best with a general idea and then I follow where the story wants to go, but I’ll do my best to give you what you ask for. 

Q: What if my request is super dark/crazy/kinky?

A: You cannot scare me. You cannot offend me. The worst that will happen is I will tell you that I don’t think that I can do a good job with it and we move on. But… for the most part, anything way out there is super cool with me. I love a challenge.

Q: How do I order one?

A: Send me an ASK (or message if you are able to, but only mutuals can) and let me know that you’re interested in a commission. I will then message YOU to discuss it. We’ll chat it out and if I feel like I can do your idea the justice it deserves, we will go from there!

Q: How soon will I get my story?

A: These commissions will be my top priority and will be done as soon as possible. Which means, anywhere from 2 days to 2 weeks. I don’t know for sure, but they will take top spot on my work list. Once it’s done, I will email you a copy of the story so you get it before anyone else!

Q: How long will my story be? 

A: I know some writers work off of word counts, but I can’t do that. My one shots generally go from 1500-5000 words, depending on the story itself. You’re paying for a complete story, not an amount of words. If it takes 2k words to tell your story, then that’s what it is, if it takes 10K, that’s what it is. If I charged per word, I’d be more worried about making a word count than giving you the best story I can. 

Q: How much?

A: $15 USD. That’s it. With that, you get my full imagination and writing skill, a complete fic based on your specifications as well as an accompanying story banner/art. You also get it sent directly to you so you can download it, read it offline, print it out and tape it to your walls, make a hat out of it, whatever you want, it’s yours. ;)

Q: Why are you doing this?

A: Because my husband’s hours have been cut twice now and we have children to feed and a home to pay for and this is my full time job. Also, could be fun.

Thank you so much for making it this far, and if you’re interested, considering it and talking to me about it. Even if we do chat and don’t go forward with the idea, no hard feelings, it’s all good. 

If you’d like to support my writing but don’t really want a commission, reblogs are amazingly helpful!! Spread the word. 

Also, my Patreon is churning out great stuff weekly, so take a look if you can. Lots of stuff for only $2 a month!

Thanks again! 

Much love, Beka <3 

No pressure, tagging for interest and a boost if you’d be so kind <3 :

2020 Forever Tags:

@67-chevy-baby​​ @akshi8278 @akhuna01​​ @amanda-teaches​​ @because-imma-lady-assface​​ @blondemarvelchick​​ @blushingjared​​ @broiderie​​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​​ @classic-rock-angel​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @covered-byroses​​ @crashdevlin​​ @deansgirl215​​ @deans-baby-momma​​ @deangirl7695​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @deanwinchesterswitch​​ @defenderrosetyler​​  @dolphincliffs​​ @dontshootmespence​​ @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth​​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​​ @feelmyroarrrr​​ @flamencodiva​​ @focusonspn​​ @herbologystudent252​​ @heycasbutt​​ @hornyandsmol​​ @ilovefanfic86​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @ilsawasanacrobat​​ @imjustadrummer​​ @impala-1979​​ @joseyrw​​ @justagirlinafandomworld​​ @justcallmeasmodeus​​ @katymacsupernatural​​ @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles​​ @lessons-of-red​​​ @letsby​​ @letsdisneythings​​ @lonewolf471​​ @maddiepants​​ @mariekoukie6661​​ @meganwinchester1999​​ @missjenniferb​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @mummybear​​  @onethirstyunicorn​​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​​ @starboycas​​ @stephaniecanfield96us​​​ @stoneyggirl​​ @squirrelnotsam​​ @thebookisbtr​​ @thehardcoveraddict​​ @thevelvetseries​​ @veevm​​​ @winchestersister55​​​ @wendibird​​ @winecatsandpizza​​ @winterpoohbear​​

[mlovesstories]

You Raised Her Too

Words: 1500

Warnings: Angry Sam, cussing

AN- Sam is a lawyer, this is an AU.  

Summary- Sam doesn’t understand why YN isn’t performing well in school.  Dean has to translate.  

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

Sam looked up from the legal papers he had been glancing over as he walked through the house. He saw YN standing and touching the bindings of the books in their library. Her notes and textbooks lay untouched on the table. 

“Ahem.” 

Startled, she turned around to face her father. 

“You told me you would start your homework a half hour ago,” Sam put his papers down and crossed his arms. 

“Sorry,” YN put her hands to her sides, wiping the dust from the dusty books onto her jeans. 

“I don’t know why but you have been so distracted lately,” he responded. “Did something happen?” 

“No…” she shrugged. 

“Please get started on your work,” he winked at her. 

“Sorry, daddy.” YN smiled. As she sat down, he exited. 

As the days and school years went on, Sam only noticed her distracted behavior more and more. He was tired of trying to make her focus. 

“You are in fifth grade.  Get your stuff done,” he growled.  “Stop dilly-dallying and get going.  Why is it so hard to-” 

“WOAH!” Dan walked into the house.  “What’s with the third degree?” 

“Nothing,” YN bit her lip, embarrassed.  “Sorry, Dad.” YN apologized to Sam.

“You know, you keep saying that.  Why is it so hard to sit down and start your work?  Do I need to start taking your series books away?” Sam widened his stance and stood over her as she sat at the table.  YN shook her head, eyes wide.   “Open your damn book and start!” He stormed out of the room. 

“What-” Dean looked to YN.  

“He’s mad because I don’t study.  At least that’s what he thinks.” YN teared up.  “I don’t like when he’s mad at me,” she used her fingers to wipe away the emotion running down her face.  

“So why does he get mad at you then? You never disappoint your dad.” Dean walked across the room, put his keys and wallet next to her books, and he guided her into a hug.  

“I -I.” She stuttered.  “I don’t know.” Almost shaking, YN looked away from him.  

“What are you not telling me?“ The uncle stroked her cheek, offering her a weak smile.  

“I can’t control it. At least I don’t think so.” YN gazed up at Dean.  She whispered, “it’s really hard to pay attention.  It’s not that I don’t want to.” 

“Have you told him that?” Dean sat her back down at the table, and he sat in the next seat over.  

“No…” 

“Why not?  He would understand.” 

“Because he doesn’t love me.” YN tried to open up her textbook, but Dean slammed it shut.  YN shrieked at the sudden movement and noise.  

“What the HELL are you talking about, kid?” He forced her to look at him.  “You KNOW that is not true.” 

“It is.  He just yells at me.  He doesn’t care.” 

“Have you started on your work-” Sam walked back into the room.  YN froze. 

“I was looking over it.  She’s doing fine.” Dean smiled and gave her a kiss on her cheek.  “Keep going, smart stuff.” He gave her a sideways smile to convey his protection of their secret conversation.  “You got this.” 

“Thanks, Dee.” 

Over the next few days, Dean kept an eye on YN.  He saw the distress in her body language throughout the evenings.  She paced and sat down for short periods of time before having to get up again.  

“Here,” he walked into the room.  Dean handed her some silly putty.  “See if this helps you calm down,” he grinned and watched her open the container.  YN pulled it out and stretched it.  

“Thanks, Uncle Dee,” She stood up from her chair and hugged him.  “But why are you being so nice? Aren’t you mad that I can’t concentrate?” 

“No, I’m sad that you feel you can’t even talk to your dad.” 

“Talk to your dad about what?” Sam walked in.  

“Nothing.  Just that I got an A today on my math test,” YN faked a smile. 

“Imagine that, you got a good grade.  You know why?” He asked gruffly. She held her breath.  “Because you like math.  What about language arts or science, huh? Get good grades in those too.” Sam walked out as quickly as he walked in.  

“See?” YN laid her head on the table.  

“You and I are going to have a fun day tomorrow, you hear me?” 

“I can’t, Uncle Dee.  I have tutoring.” she turned her head to face him.  

“What if I told you I told your dad that I was taking you and that nerdy kid to the library tomorrow?  I told him that you told me you study better there than at the house?” He grinned and stroked her hair.  Your tutor-person is aware of my evil plan.  Paid him and extra fifty.  He won’t tell. “ 

“Really?” YN whispered.  

“Yep,” he watched her sit up. 

 “Thank you.  So, what are we going to do?” 

The next day, the two went bowling and each ate a greasy hamburger.  When they came home, Sam was sitting on the couch,  

“So- did you have fun on your little excursion?” He continued to face the TV, not turning to them.  

“Huh?” YN looked to Dean with wide eyes.  

“Your backpack is still by the door,” Sam motioned with his hand.  

“Shit.” Dean said between his teeth.  “Sorry, YN,” he whispered.  

“It’s fine.” YN leaned into him.  She walked in front of her father.  

“You are terrible in school, and when I pay for a tutor, you blow him off and galavant all over town with your uncle? And Dean?  You know she needs this tutoring.” Sam turned to see his brother with a drawn face.  

“You know, you are such an ass.” Dean walked over to his brother.  Sam stood to challenge his brother.   

“I’m trying to provide for her!” 

Dean stood in front of YN to face Sam.  

“You’re not seeing what’s going on right in front of you!  I get that you’re busy with your cases.  Being a lawyer keeps you busy, but she is not okay!  When will you recognize that?” He moved so that Sam could see his daughter.  “See?  YN tries.  Do you know how many times she’s cried in my arms because she is terrified of disappointing her Magna Cum Laude dad?”

Sam looked from Dean to YN.  Tears cascaded down her face. 

“Sweetie?” Sam’s stunned face told her that he understood.  

“Since you were too busy to notice, I took her to the doctor.  ‘Says she has ADHD.” Dean motioned to YN.  She nodded in response.  “Hasn’t started the meds yet though.” 

“You took her to the doctor without me?  That isn’t your job!” 

Dean stepped forward so that he was inches from Sam’s face.  

“You sure as hell weren’t doing it!  I told you over and over something was up with her, and you didn’t do anything.  She told you the same thing, and you didn’t listen to her either.  What was I supposed to do?  She’s my-” Dean stopped and sniffled.  “She’s mine too, whether you realize it or not.  I raised her too.”  Dean relaxed his shoulders and stepped back.  “YN is suffering and it isn’t her fault,” the uncle whispered.  Sam peered past Dean to see YN like a statue, not sure what to do.  Face blushing from the tension in the room, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Sam.  He walked to her and got down on a knee to be eye-to-eye with her.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Sam told her.  “I’m so sorry for everything.  Everything I ever said or did to discount you.”  YN continued looking away as new tears sprang forward, rolling toward her chin.  

“I try harder than anyone else.” YN mouthed to her dad.  

“I can only imagine,” Sam took her hand.  “I am- I am so sorry, kiddo.  If I’d known… I would have gotten you the right kind of help, not made you feel like a failure with the tutoring and demeaning comments.  I thought you were-  I don’t know.  Just not wanting to pay attention.” 

Dean quietly left the room. 

 “I like school.  I just can’t sit still.  Here, Dean gave me this.  It helps.” She ran to the library and took the silly putty off of the desk.  “See?” YN stretched it so that he could see how it worked.  

“Of course Dean had that,” Sam laughed.  “I’ll do better.  I promise.  You deserve it.” 

“Thanks, daddy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly.  “I love you.” 

Sam walked into Dean’s room without knocking later that day.  

“How could I have missed it?” 

Dean turned from folding his laundry on the bed.  

“Because you’re busy and you didn’t slow down to see what was going on. At least you realize it now.  I watched her.  She couldn’t sit down.  YN was fidgety and couldn’t stay still.  She was so frustrated.  I could tell she couldn’t control it.  She’ll be okay now.  It will take all of us to keep her going though.  Meds don’t fix everything.  You know that.” Dean threw a tshirt back on the bed without folding it.

“I should have seen it.  You raised her too.” 

____________

Forever Friends (Everything):

@katymacsupernatural  @unicornblood4ever  @ellie-andthemachine @supernatural-crazed-girl

@fangirl-moment-x  @empirialwolf @winchesters-favorite-girl  @super100012  

@waywardnewcomer  @percywinchester27  @waywardsuns  @supernatural-jackles  

@mcallmestiles @sdavid09  @kingandrear  @bellero

@rosiewinchester @seality @blogsnowflakeme @jaycc7983 @luci-in-trenchcoats 

@cherryblossomflowers @because-you-never-know-when 

@sleepylunarwolf @choosemyname *

@internationalmusicteacher @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @find-sammys-shoe 

@encounterthepast  @torn-and-frayed 

@giggles1026 @xiumin-girl99 

@strangedeerconnoisseur @sbcamp08 @mangueweaschester

@idksupernatural  @silverstripe101a

@thevelvetseries​ @jennawinchester152a​ * @samsgirl93​ *    @supernatural3002​ *

@tmiships4life​ * @breereadsthings​ * @mersuperwholocked-lowlife​ *

@a-magey​ @vicmc624​ @hookedinto-fictionalworlds​   @beatifuldisaster018​

@miraclesoflove​

@myopiamystical​

@fallen-wolf22​

[winterhawkwonderland]

FAQs 2020 Edition

Hey there, Wonderland Participants! As promised, here is your 2020 edition of Questions We Have Received. Some of these are repeats from blog asks or that we have previously answered, but this way it’s all in once place! 

First though, a quick review of the dates and rules:

Dates: (as you can see, we are right on schedule!)

Monday 05 October: Signups open

Sunday 01 November: Signups close

Sunday 08 November: Assignments will be emailed - these will arrive in the email inbox you provided when you signed up so if you did not receive a confirmation email from us we do not have a means to contact you with your assignment - please message the blog ASAP

Sunday 22 November: Check-In #1

Sunday 06 December Check-In #2; Posting Date Signups

December 15-25: Gifts Posted

Friday 15 Jan: Round-Up Posted

Rules:

This exchange is for good-hearted fun! Remember that you’re getting a gift, not ordering a commission.

Don’t be a dick.

Works submitted for this event have to be original works that haven’t yet been posted elsewhere in the fandom. Everybody deserves a new, unique gift!

Remember to keep your recipient a secret until your gift is posted.

This event doesn’t allow any works involving the Big AO3 Four (Character Death, Underage, Rape/Non-con, Extreme Violence). Just… this isn’t the place for it.

This event is open to all ages — with the caveat that participants under the age of 18 will not be allowed to create or receive sexual content.

This year we are allowing art and writing.

Fanart: Final pieces should be digitally consumable. This can include fanart, moodboards, and the like.

Fanfic: Absolute minimum 1000 words; no maximum; expectation between 1K-3K.

All works need to be complete before posting — this includes multi-chapter work.

Now, onto the questions we’ve received so far!

If we write a story best formatted as multiple chapters and finished by the deadline, can we post just chapter one on the day the story is due and each chapter on a new day thereafter or does an entire multi-chaptered work have to go up all at once?

The multi-chapter work must be complete by your posting date and must be completely posted by the end of posting.  Basically, posting runs December 15-25th (dates overlap both Christmas and Hanukkah) - dates will be assigned on a first-come, first-served basis by google form sign-up, and your entire work must be completely posted by December 25th. If you have many chapters, we recommend that you choose an earlier posting date so that you can post a chapter each day until complete and still be done by final posting date. 

Will I get assigned to make either art or fic or do I get the prompts and choose which to make?

You will receive three prompts from your gift recipient and you may fulfill the request in whatever fashion you like as long as it respects the recipients DNWs.  If you can make all three prompts into one art piece or one fic, go for it. You can focus on only one prompt. You can mash up two of the three! Whatever inspires you, we encourage you to get creative!

Are we allowed to combine our gift with a bingo fill if we can fit a bingo event prompt into the gift exchange prompt?

We are okay with this as long as the following conditions are met:

The work produced must prioritize the recipient’s request. If you can make werewolf den mothering and canon-compliant mission AU match up in a way that makes sense and that meets the recipient’s requests and DNWs, go for it.

The Bingo event is okay with prompts doing double-duty for our event and theirs.

The work created must meet the cumulative requirement for BOTH events. For example we are asking for 1-3k at minimum. If the Bingo requires 500 words, you would need to produce at least 1500 words to meet the guidelines for both events. It is hard to give an example of how that would apply to art, but the general idea is that you are creating a body of work which cumulatively meets the requirements for both events. Mood boards might need 6-8 images instead of 4, for example, or art might have a detailed background or full shading rather than a black and white sketch.Please use your good judgment with the idea that you are creating a gift for someone to enjoy in addition to filling a Bingo prompt rather than filling a Bingo prompt that you happen to gift someone.

Are threesome ships allowed for the exchange? As long as Clint and Bucky are prominently included? Can we put that as a request?

You can request an OT3 as part of your requests, but as this is a Winterhawk event your creator is under no obligation to fulfill any poly ships that are not Winterhawk.  Additionally, the focus should definitely be on the Winterhawk aspect of the relationship. 

When we will receive our matches?

On or before November 8th, depending on whether the mods can dig themselves out of the emotional black hole we’re all currently in to get it done early.  We are working on matches every day!

How are matches made? 

Matches are made through a very sophisticated system of: first we match up sensitive topic requests, such as ace/aro, trans, etc. with creators who are comfortable with those subjects and will treat them respectfully. Then we ensure that unusual DNWs (things that don't fall under the Big 4 or that aren't what most would consider 'common' DNWs such as abuse) are not matched with people who might accidentally include that DNW in a gift.  For example, if you put werewolves on your DNW list, we aren't going to match you with someone who has submitted three werewolf prompts. That person likes werewolves, and you don't! It's not a good match! Finally, we pray over the spreadsheet to the Random Number Generator Gods, and they spit out divinely reveal Random Numbers for us to match. Entry number 1 gets matched to holy Russian Roulette entry number 25! Unless one of those already has been matched, that's the pairing that gets emailed out! This is the fairest way we have come up with to do the matchmaking, but if you receive a prompt you absolutely feel you cannot create for, please reach out to us and we will see what we can do about resolving the situation, whether that means we make a matching change, or we ask the gift recipient for new prompts.

How do posting dates work?

After the second check in, a Google Form will be emailed out to all participants - you will be able to choose a date on the form that you would like to post on, running the entire length of the posting period (December 15-25th). There will be a limited number of slots per day (4-5 spots) and they will be filled on a first-come, first-served basis. Again, we recommend that if you have a multi-chapter work and would like to post a chapter per day/every other day that you sign up for an early posting date so that your work is completely posted before the event ends December 25. 

What are the Check-Ins?

Just a way for the Mod Team to check in with participants to ensure things are running smoothly. We will ask you how your gift is coming along, if you’re having any trouble we can help with, and if you have any concerns you would like to voice.  

The second check-in is going to ask you to be a little more specific about your progress towards completion, and it will give us as mods an opportunity to offer you help if you need it - cheerleading, beta readers, etc. 

What if I need to drop out?

Please, please, please let us know as soon as possible.  We have pinch-hitters on standby, very willing to step in if needed - we understand that things happen! We will not even ask you why you need to drop out, we will just say thank you for letting us know and then we will pass your recipients prompts on to a pinch hitter.  No drama at all, and nothing to feel anxious about.  No one will even know that you dropped out unless you tell them.  Gifts are kept anonymous until posting day, and your recipient will still receive a gift regardless of whether you are able to provide it or not. 

[axwalker]

We used to be friends

To catch up : One decision.

Book: The Royal Romance (half AU/half canon or my HC anyway…)

Pairing: Drake x Mc Drake x Liam (friendship?)

Disclaimer:  Drake, Liam and Valtoria belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: This is  Prompt #32 “I’ve never lied to you” from @emceesynonymroll​  Wacky Drabbles (Thank you for hosting this!)

Word count: 1500 (Sorry! I really tried)

This is my personal opinion on the reasons that drive Liam and Drake to act as crazy as they are acting in TRH. 

Tagging: @emceesynonymroll​ @mskaneko​ @pedudley​ @burnsoslow​ @princessleac1​

Liam and Drake usually met on his personal quarters but when Drake had called, the solemn tone in his voice had made Liam set the meeting at his royal office. He didn’t know what Drake wanted, but something told him he wasn’t going to be pleased about it.

He sighed thinking about their friendship, it definitely had taken a toll since the day Drake had finally come clean about his feelings for her.

Well, come clean was not really the best way to describe it, after all, he had discovered their relationship when he was on one knee, proposing. He could still feel the pain, not only because of her rejection but because of his best friend’s betrayal. Months and months of lying and deceiving from the person he trusted the most in the world.

Their friends didn’t judge Drake because they only saw one lie, one deception. But they both knew it was much more than that. It was the hundreds of nights drinking whiskey in his bar while he talked hours about her as Drake listened and nodded without once hinting that their friendship had become something else. It was all the times he had confided in his best friend after she had canceled on him once again, and Drake had comforted him while knowing that he was the reason behind it. It was the day he had told him he was going to propose, and Drake had congratulated him without admitting the truth.

So no, it wasn’t one lie, one time. It had been hundreds of them, months of them.

Of course, he was aware of how emotionally crippled Drake was. Liam knew how difficult it was for him to admit he was capable of feeling anything at all, let alone falling in love for someone, and accepting that that someone loved him back. He knew about all the women that had thrown themselves at him only to get close to one of the princes. And he was grateful. Drake had always been there for him and had dropped his life no questions asked to support him when he had needed him the most, he also knew that Drake would give his life for him. They were brothers and Liam would never forget that.

All those reasons had allowed him to forgive Drake and try to move on. Except he hadn’t. Giving her Valtoria and naming her child heir of the kingdom had been both a blessing and a curse. As he had intended, it had allowed him to spend time with her, but also to be a sad witness of how in love with Drake, she was.

After a while, he had tried to get her out of his system by dating numerous women and focusing on Cordonia’s future. He had even been the best man at their wedding. One of the worst days of his life, he didn’t wish on his worst enemy the pain of seeing the love of his life marry his best friend. He had done it, but it hadn’t been enough to forget her or to mend their friendship. Even if they saw each other regularly, they were with Max and Leo, or watching a horse race or a football match. Their conversations never ran very deep, he didn’t want to hear how happy they were together, it was painful enough to see it written on both their faces. At least until recently. Lately, he had noticed that Drake was almost as bitter as he was before her. And Alexis wasn’t happy anymore, her contagious laughter had almost disappeared and the passion he loved so much about her was gone. He wondered if that was the reason Drake wanted to meet him. Had he lost her already and now he came to him for comfort? Could it be…?

Drake parked the car at his usual spot in the Palace and stop the engine. He stayed inside the car a few minutes to collect his thoughts, he didn’t doubt their decision for one second, but he knew it would be a shock to Liam. Again.

He sighed thinking about how much he had hurt Liam in the past years. It hadn’t been their intention, they had even tried to ignore the strong pull they had for each other, but their relationship had seemed unavoidable. From those early days when he had doubted her intentions and tease her incessantly, to the strong friendship they had built during the social season, and the consuming passion that had started with that kiss on the Beaumont’s study, every moment of their relationship had been a step closer to each other. He hadn’t lied to Liam intentionally, Drake had truly believed that Alexis was going to choose the king at the end. So, he decided to keep quiet about her because it would hurt less when she’d finally left him. 

Nonetheless, the truth was that he had hurt Liam so deeply that his friend seemed unable to move on even after all that time. And the last year had been torture for the three of them. Drake knew his best friend was a good, generous man, but he couldn’t help but doubt his intentions behind giving her Valtoria and naming their daughter the heiress.

Finally, he got out of the car and went to meet Liam who was already waiting for him in his office. He was sitting on his desk with a scotch lost on his thoughts.

Drake entered and they greeted each other with a nod of the head, as Drake poured himself a scotch from the bottle next to Liam and took his usual place across the young king.

“Well, here we are, Drake. Why was it so urgent that we meet?” Liam asked in a commanding tone. 

Drake cut to the chase, there was no point in delaying it anymore “We want to leave Valtoria, Liam. We’re not made for the noble’s life. Either of us”

Liam furrowed his brows “Helena cannot be the heir of the kingdom if you are not nobles Drake, you know this”

Drake looked at him knowingly.

The realization hit Liam. “Oh, you don’t want her to be the heiress anymore either,” he said as he leaned back on his chair.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t realize the amount of sacrifice it would be for us, and especially for Lena. She’s barely one and already engaged, Liam!”

“I told you we were going to get out of it, just give me a little more time,” Liam said tiredly.

“It’s not only that. We simply don’t want to be nobles anymore. This can’t be a surprise for you Li, you know that I’ve always hated this stuff. We both do”

“We? You keep talking for the two of you, but I don’t see Alexis anywhere. It looks like it’s you who want to quit, and you are using her as an excuse. You’re only thinking of yourself but she deserves-”

Drake raised his hand interrupting him “What? More than I can give her? The life of a queen? Believe me, I know that,” he gulped his drink. “I also know that for some fucked up reason she doesn’t want any of it. She’s miserable there”

Liam stood up holding his glass. “Maybe that is what you want to think. Maybe she’s quitting to make you happy.”

Drake didn’t take his eyes off of his friend. “That has always been the problem, Li. You don’t know her”

“Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Drake, but I think it was made perfectly clear that I didn’t really know either of you.”

Drake raked his hand through his hair.  “It’s been two years, you have to let it go. Let her go.”

Liam walked towards him “Oh, Drake, I have. That doesn’t mean that I had forgotten what you did to me. She came here for me. Did you forget I was the reason she left New York to come to Cordonia?”

Drake felt the old pang of jealousy at Liam’s words, so he stood up angry as well.

“No, I haven’t, but she fell in love with me while you were engaged to Madeleine. Have you forgotten that? You’re rewriting history, Liam”

They stood a few inches from each other. “You’re right Drake, I made a lot of mistakes concerning her. I shouldn’t have chosen Madeleine at the coronation or let the guards take her, and it was certainly a big mistake to ask her to be my mistress. So, I’ll admit it, when it comes to Alexis I can see where I failed. But you?” He cocked his brow “I’ve only been a brother to you. You deceived me for months, and I’ve never lied to you. You stole my only chance to be happy” He was so angry he barely realized he was shoving Drake.

Drake raised his hands bawling at him “You have never lied to me? Do you really think I don’t know why you gave her that damned duchy seconds after proposing? Do you really think I can’t imagine why the hell you named our daughter, her daughter the heiress?” He pushed Liam back “Don’t say you have never lied to me because you’re fucking doing it right now, Liam. You might be entitled and oblivious but I’m not. You’re still in love with my wife”  

[themidnightdisaster]

Slurp's Nanowrimo Journal

Day 1 of Nano

Woah there i was able to write three chapter outlines and gave all my characters their own professions and some traits.

I'm being productive icb. Hoping to finish these chapters before the week ends.

Q1 : What was your first piece of writing?

Overall in literature I would say it's a script for the trailer we made during the 7th grade. *im cringing on grade 7 self fr*

Then in fiction novel, a university au with my classmates as characters I wasn't able to finish it though.

Day 2 of Nano

Was able to write only like 200 words to end the first scene bc i taught my sis for her modular classes.

: ( hope i can make it up tomorrow.

Q2 : What time of the day are you most likely to write? Why?

If it isn't curious with my username, during midnights. The only time of the day where everyone is asleep and my surroundings is peaceful as well. Kinda not healthy but yea, I've been used to it since the start of HS when I'm procrastinating with school tasks.

Day 3 of Nano

My days are alr late I havent realized lol.

So I wrote approximately 500 words last night (a record I guess) and I'm going out today so I have a chance to refresh my mind! Wearing masks ofc hehe.

Q3 : Do you plan or just go with the flow? Why?

With social media aus, I don't plan like not at all. With novels, I don't too but I at least write my ideas vaguely especially when I think it's so mindblowing!

I feel drained when planning traditionally for some reason no one would understand and that includes myself. Lmao.

But for this nano, I outlined my chapters and the vague idea dumps are still there. We'll see what will be the outcome.

Day 4 of Nano

I surprisingly broke a record again! I wrote 2184 words today yoohoo! And i think i finally found a 1 hour writing music for me and starting tom ill be using that. Another miracle, i wrote those in the afternoon so thats why im sleeping early today. How i wish silence like this happens everyday.

Q4: Is a word count important to you? Why or why not?

Yep! I like it when I see my progress through time and it motivates me. But like... word count in a chapter? I dont think its that important. Every novel is different. We all have our own ways.

Day 5 of Nano

I finished my chapter 1 by 5 am so i did nothing writing-related today. I started watching a web drama series and binge watched Chicago Med by night (im planning to find the full episodes)

Q5: What's your favourite writing snack/drink?

I usually go with water especially at midnight since im always thinking by that time, "oh my maybe i havent drink water earlier yet maybe i should drink today" and food? Whatever we have in here.

Day 6 of Nano

Was able to write 1/4 of the chapter, yet im not contented bc i wasnt able to reach the scene i wanted to write. Im worried that i would break the streak tomorrow bc classes are finally starting again. Maybe i would go by 500 words per day. This week. Ill try.

Q6: Do you have a favourite place to write? Do you change it up or write in the same place every time?

I just want somewhere silent and peaceful. At night, I just roam around the house and feel the vibe. During the first days of Nano, I'm on my bed. Now, I'm comfortable to write on my study table even during the day as long as I have my headphones on.

Day 7 of Nano

I fucking have no idea how come im super late in this when i started on nov 2. Eh. Weird.

Anyway, i almost got frustrated when at the 23rd hour of the day, i wrote only 500 words for the chapter 2.

So i skipped to chapter 4. Wrote a flashback as an intro and yea, got 1500 words! Unfortunately, didnt add up for nov 9. So its for today.

Q7: Who is your favourite author?

Well, it's a local author from wattpad. Serialsleeper. She's the only author whom I will read everything whatever she writes! Her mindblowing plot twists, the humor, the characters. I love the way she builds up every character she makes, she makes everything relatable even when her forte is horror slasher! One of my unfinished works is inspired by one of her books. How I wish her books gets translated so she can also gain fame worldwide. She deserves it.

Day 8 of Nano

I didnt write anything for today (yea thanks to the bunch of modules for my sis) but im writing atm. Yea. Im writing on my birthday. What about it?

Q8: What is your favourite book?

This is hard... i dont have anything in particular. Like that all time fave. I love all the books ive read in their own ways.

Day 9 of Nano

So this is the day i literally wrote nothing. went out for lunch in a faraway place, had a celebration when we got home, and watched the half of sonic the hedgehog movie. We got some visitors sleeping over here too so i really wasnt able to write anything. We have no classes tomorrow so i hope i can make up.

Q9: What is the premise of your current project?

The nano one? So, it's a film maker who is making an attempt to reunite her old crew from College to join a film festival in their place. Ok its sound so boring yea but the thing is... it wont be easy for her. Why? Well, she left them hanging after the tragedy she herself made.

Day 10 of Nano

Welp im three days late. This is so bad. Today. Nov 13 i started writing again. And... i want to survive this chapter today !!!!

Q10: What is your favourite genre to write? Why?

Slice of life? That's where I relate to. Friendships, to be exact. A romance story that only not focuses on the romance itself, but also the characters' friendship with others. That's where I guess, comfortable writing about. I got the experience, I got hurt because of friendships too. So there.

Permanent Note : came across this amazing idea by @emotionalfig that i will be answering in the every day! Yay, go try it too!