#but before i write the journal i have to finish reading the novel.

[non-un-topo]

I have roughly 9 assignments due in the next 4 weeks, why am I not losing my mind?

[saintbuffy]

got some new books at the library today 😈 hehehe

[gin-juice-tonic]

So, for Starters: Book Of Bill Spoilers warning. Another opinion from me below. (Here's my first opinion I shared, if you havent seen it) This new one is about the lost journal pages again, of course.

Originally, I wanted to make a super big crazy essay about all the reasons I think the journal pages in BOB (The Book of Bill’s given name) are fake, and show off my super-cool totally completely sound deductive reasoning techniques in the process.  

Unfortunately, knowing myself I’m not sure I’m actually capable of accomplishing such a feat. You all know how I tend to post things in parts, sometimes out of order, often never finished. However I would like to share something in particular that’s been eating at me that I’ve seen… partially discussed, but only partially. And certainly not the part that I would like to discuss. 

It’s about the rats.

You know, the rats.

I saw these rats being talked about since before I was even able to have a look at the book myself. 

But before I get further into it all, I would like to start off with a joke: 

Why did dead rats, eggnog, a land orca, shrimp colors, It’s a Small World After All, and an Anti-Cipherite Suit cross the road? 

Well, that’s easy. To get to the other side. 

Of the book, that is. 

If you’re anything like me, you probably skipped right to the journal pages upon contact with the book. And if you’re even MORE like me, you were probably left a little confounded by them. Not only did they seem… wrong somehow. But they also felt random. Full of odd choices of subject that didn’t make a lot of sense. Could these pages really have come from journal 3? If so, why do parts of them feel so… completely out of context? 

And this is where the rats come in. As I mentioned before, I saw many people discussing them. In particular, they were noting their connection to this passage from earlier in the book:

Many of the related discussions also felt odd to me. Though I lacked the knowledge to be able to articulate why at the time. UNTIL, I read the book for myself from start to finish. That's when I realized something:  This is not the only time something from earlier in the book connects back to the journal pages. In fact, it happens many, many times throughout the earlier passages. (Here is a small collection of them for your perusal.)

And then it started clicking into place. The reasons the pages felt like they were so abnormally out of context… is because they WERE lacking context!

Now, before you can finish saying “Gin, you’re an idiot.” I would like you to ponder these three questions: 

1) Why, if these pages were taken from Journal 3, should they require context from outside of it to be able to be completely understood?

2) Why is it that this context can be found in what Bill Cipher has been writing in the preceding passages up till now? 

3) If you put food in a mogwai’s mouth at midnight EST but drive it over the CST time zone line back to 11PM before it can swallow, will it still transform into a gremlin? 

Okay, you caught me, that third one is unrelated. But the first two I believe require further thinking. So let’s delve a little further into the idea. Consider this the real third question: 

3) Are we to seriously believe that these, the only pages of J3 still lost to us, just so happen to tie into the new topics from the rest of the Book of Bill over and over like this?  

And since you’ve done so well thinking thus far, I’ll ask a fourth question: 

4) Are you aware of the concepts of Watsonian and Doyalist analysis? 

Assuming you don’t and you won’t google it, I’ll skip to the important part. Watsonian analysis is to analyze a story from within it, as if you yourself were Watson making deductions in a Sherlock Holmes novel.  

Now, from a Watsonian point of view, what happens when we try to answer our earlier questions? Why should it be that the Book of Bill provides so many of these points of reference to the journal pages? 

One possible line of thought could be that Bill wrote the earlier passages of his book *around* the idea of what was contained in the pages, but I think this doesn’t work for a few reasons. For one thing, the purpose of the book is to get the reader to make a deal, not to take a whole novel to set the stage for a 3 day mini Ford adventure. For another, not all of what I described prior is really fit to be called “context”, is it? The rats, the “Small World” cassette, and the Bill-Suit are one thing, but Eggnog? Shrimp colors? Land Orcas? I certainly wouldn’t define them that way. If anything, they’d be better suited to being called “references”. And unlike the more contextual ideas, there’d be no real need for Bill to sneak mere references to the pages into his grand story.  And lastly, there are a great deal of Bill pages that have nothing to do with the content in the journal pages at all.

So what exactly am I trying to say here? 

If we do intend to think of the callbacks outlined above as references, the only logical conclusion within the story is that the journal pages themselves are referencing back to the Book of Bill, not the other way around.

But… how? And why? Something Ford has written in the 80’s shouldn't be able to reference something Bill is writing post-weirdmageddon certainly. 

That’s because “Ford” isn’t referencing it at all!

And as for why… Well, have you ever noticed when you're writing a story on the fly, things you wrote earlier all come crashing back to you as you try to wrap things up? I believe personally that the journal pages are nothing more than a strange endcap on Bill’s crazy train of thought! And the "references" are just fuel that further the pages creation. Almost as if, to quote someone much more knowledgeable than me on this subject…

In the end, all I've described above (as well as other aspects of the pages I've not mentioned here) leave me with the impression the pages are not real.

As I stated only a bit earlier, the idea that these pages, the only pages of J3 purported to be lost, should be so connected to the rest of the book is beyond coincidence to me. Not to mention that in order to take these pages as total truth, you must give credence to several other passages of Bill's book as well. And I'm not too keen on having to trust him that much.

To all who have read this far, even to those who may have scoffed at the ideas in here or think I've only written up nonsense. Thank you for reading and considering my thoughts.

I am not saying anyone must agree with me on this. I know some people have found the pages to be important and meaningful to them, and I do not wish to give the impression that I think my view is the end all be all correct one, or that I think lesser of those who believe in them. I only want to share my own opinions. And to anyone else who found the pages to feel "off" somehow, possibly validate their feelings too.

[hellishjoel]

ride

7.2k // pairing:dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: Joel whisks you away to Houston for the weekend under the guise of a work trip. You keep a secret from him to try and keep your fling undetected from your parents. warnings: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, dbf/neighbor!joel, smut, swearing, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel in his 40s), pet names, fingering, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v (shower sex hehe), a little overstim if you squint

A/N: sorry not sorry this chapter took a month+, but I hope you like it! A little drammaaaa. and a reminder, they still have all day saturday and sunday together ;)

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You gulp. “Joel-”, it’s almost in a warning tone. “I don’t- fuck, it feels-”  “Uh-huh,” Joel murmurs against your core, nodding gently, grazing his nose against your clit in the process before his warm mouth tightens around your clit. And he suckles.  You cry out, walls clenching around his fingers as he milks an orgasm from you. You damn near crumble, but he tightens the hold on your hip to keep you afloat.  “There ya go, princess, come on my fingers,”

June 23rd 7:48 P.M. 

I’ve had some time to think about Joel, and how much I like to think about him, and how things aren’t an accident. 

Thinking about how unlikely it is that we sparked. 

How Joel could have turned left, and I could have turned right. But we didn’t. 

Instead of running away, I said yes, and so did he. 

The impossibility of us seems so incredible, almost unbelievable. 

I love that so many things had to happen for us to be where we are right now. 

I saw the sun melt his eyes into amber, and he liked the way I smiled in the moonlight. 

This feeling was radical, unnerving, scary. 

I didn’t know why it was called falling or crashing into love. Perhaps I do now. 

“You could sit there and read all day, huh?” Joel interrupts your thoughts as he starts to guide his truck off the freeway, passing a large aluminum Welcome to Houston! sign lit up by the truck’s headlights. 

Butterflies flutter in your stomach, cheeks squished from smiling as his hand settles on your upper thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles on your sweet skin.  

“I’m not reading anymore. Got too dark.” He’s referring to the novel you brought for the trip from your to-be-read pile that you started when you first got on the road. 

The drive from Austin to Houston was two-and-a-half hours long, so you decided to saddle the passenger seat with different activities and snacks to keep yourself busy and out of Joel’s hair, much to his behest. He said he enjoyed letting you ramble on about whatever you were thinking about; said it was like listening to a podcast.  

“But I am writing.” You hum quietly, penning in your last thought before it gets lost in the black of night. 

“What’cha writin’, then?” Joel's curious eyes wander to the nest you had made for yourself in the passenger seat as he tilts his chin up to try and read beyond your journal cover. 

You snap it closed and slip the pen in somewhere between the pages. “Keep your eyes on the road, old man.” Your tone is teasing, making you grin even more as he grumbles in annoyance under his breath as the truck slowly approaches a stop light. 

Once off the freeway and down to the local roads, you roll the window down. You watch the moon start to rise in the sky, feeling goosebumps grow on your arms and exposed legs while the wind lazily flows through your hair. The gentle night breeze is welcome to air out Joel’s stuffy truck. 

You were supposed to be his navigator once he got off the freeway, but you were a bit preoccupied looking around yourself. 

You and Joel left Friday evening as soon as he was done with work, and now you were lightly coasting the streets of Houston as the sun finished setting. You could see the diverse architecture of downtown, the skyline of skyscrapers and high-rises were all crowded together. As you moved further into midtown, Joel drove past small businesses and parks. You let your hand float out the window, surfing the wind like a wave. 

“Hey, space cadet, if you’re not gonna give me the directions to the motel, the least you can do is toss me a french fry.” 

Your head cocks back to him, curiously smiling as you reach your hand aimlessly into the fast food bag, retrieving a fry and bringing it up to his lips. You settled on McDonald’s before you left Danbury, partially because Joel felt like being a little cheap, and you agreed they had the best, saltiest french fries. 

You feed it to him, and he teasingly sucks the salt off your fingers. 

“Gross, Joel.” 

He sneers as he watches you wipe your hands on your thighs to rid yourself of his saliva. “You like it.”

He’s not wrong. You force yourself to look back out the window again to hide the heat creeping up the back of your neck. 

Joel smirks and squeezes your thigh to bring you back to him. When you look over to the handsome man donning his usual green flannel, the wind furles your hair in messy, unkempt streaks. 

He hesitates for a moment, but now that you’re no longer preoccupied with reading or writing, he holds your hand. You feel him test the waters, settling for just lightly clasping it in your lap, but it’s not enough for him. His thick fingers and calloused hand meets the heart of your palm as his fingers weave with your own. He lets out a little sigh and settles himself there. 

You feel like teasing him. You’re afraid to hold my hand but not to fuck my throat in your woodshed with a party right outside? But then you remember how difficult it was to kiss him. It still felt like a slip-up, you had to admit. Especially if this was supposed to be just a casual relationship. It felt intimate and emotionally charged. But it was just kissing, right? And this was just holding hands. 

Your thoughts wrestle around your head a bit. Joel feels it. You’re not sure how he always seems to know what you’re thinking, but he does. His thumb strokes a gentle line up and down the muscle of your thumb, a silent way of saying stop thinking for once.  It’s appreciated, the sense of care and thoughtfulness he provided without even speaking a word. 

Ever since he took you to that bar, Past Lives, all you could think about was Joel. Joel on repeat. Joel taking you away from the distracted environment of the lakehouse. Joel showing you the map, saying there was more to the world than Texas. Joel kissing you. Joel touching you. Joel fucking you. Joel protecting you. Joel saving you. 

As much as you’ve had time to reflect on Joel, you’ve also reflected on your parents. They were hardly bad people, but they didn’t respect your adult choices. You came to tearfully realize that your relationship with them had slowly deteriorated since leaving for university. You grew independent, and that was especially hard for them. Something you had trouble understanding, something Joel didn’t understand either. 

You called Joel Thursday night before your trip under the guise of asking if you should pack any specifics, but the conversation ended up landing on his relationship and parenting with Sarah. You told him how you appreciated the way he let Sarah grow and experience things, that it was good for her. 

“She’s a tough girl, and I trust’er. Nothin’ much left to say.”

“So, what-” you stumble and scoff over the phone. “My parents don’t trust me? Or think I’m not tough enough to tackle the world?”

“S’not what I’m sayin’, darlin’. I don’t know what’s up with your folks. But you don’t need their approval, you’re an adult. All you need is t’… t’ trust yourself. Sounds fuckin’ cheesy, but it’s true.”

You pause, twisting a strand of hair around your finger as your eyebrows furrow, thinking over his words. “Y’think if I act a little more confident about it, they’ll start believing it too?”

Joel’s chuckle is a little crackle-ey on the line as he wanders around his house talking to you, going in and out of good reception. “Gotta start somewhere, buttercup. At the end of the day, it’s about your happiness, not theirs. Don’t gotta be such a people pleaser all the time.” 

Yes, I do, you think. 

“Thanks, Joel.”

“Sure thing, hon’.” 

Dusk on the outskirts of Houston. The houses become few and far between. There’s more green grass and flourished trees. Joel slowly pulls into a small driveway, a large blue neon-lit sign designated that you were at your motel for the weekend. The entire truck is highlighted in a pale blue from the illumination, you nearly have to squint. There were no more than two or three cars parked outside. It was a two-level motel, with an outside staircase to navigate the different floors. 

“The Blue Swallow Motel.” Your attention strays to Joel with furrowed brows. “Why here?” 

Joel shrugs and navigates himself into a parking spot with ease. “Don’t know. Like blue swallows.”

Curiosity sparks you. 

“You like blue swallows? You’ve seen one in person?” 

He shakes his head and says nothing for a moment, but it almost looks like he can’t help himself to dispel some information. “They’re native to Africa, only ever seen the North American variants  ‘round here.” He lets the engine grumble down once he pulls the key from the ignition, but you’re still awestruck in his passenger seat.  

“I’m sorry- Joel Miller Bird Enthusiast?” The eager tone in your voice gives away your excitement, and Joel seems to despise it when you get too excited about him. He has to close his eyes and hang his head, wishing he never said anything. 

“Oh, Joel Miller, don’t even try to deny it, I’ve seen those bird guides on your bookshelf, you’re a birder.” 

His neck swivels, eyes wide and defensive. “I am not a birder.”

You throw your head back in laughter, and eventually, he cracks a smile. “They’re interestin’, okay?”

You playfully pat his shoulder with reassurance, nodding in agreement. The two of you settle down from your fits of laughter and look over the exterior of the motel once more. 

“Y’said you wanted somethin’ quaint? Small?” 

Being with Joel and having no other distractions was your goal for this weekend. Since this trip was coming out of Joel’s pocket, you insisted you didn’t need some fancy hotel. You’ve traveled to Houston a handful of times before, and the last thing you wanted was for your view outside some high-rise hotel to be Danbury in the distance. 

You squeeze his hand once more and nod, stars lighting up behind your eyes. “It’s perfect. Thanks for finding something simple.”

Joel teeters on your appreciation but ultimately ends up shaking his head. “Could’ve gotten something a little nicer for ya, maybe closer to downtown-”

You stop him right there and bring his rough knuckles to your plush lips, adding a kiss to each one. “I said it’s perfect, so it’s perfect. I like it, it’s got charm, chutzpah even. Plus, looks like we’ll have the pool to ourselves.” You hum with a devious little smirk. You hop out of the truck and open the backdoor to grab your things. 

“Pool, you say?” He retorts, an eyebrow raised with narrow eyes on you. You lightly shrug as you grab your backpack. 

“Might have forgotten my swimsuit, though. Shame.”

You brush past Joel, who is scoffing lightly under his breath in disbelief, duffel bag brushing against his calves as he walks with you towards the motel office. You would be the death of this man. 

“Damn shame.”  He mutters, a smirk hanging low on his lips.

---

Room 135 was marked on the dark chestnut door, a small white plate with black numbering decked on. 

There wasn’t much to be said about the motel room itself. You tried to stifle a laugh when you and Joel both walked in to see two separate queen beds. The sheets were white, but the top cover was an extravagant red pattern that looked like it got lost in the 80s. A side table was resting against the wall towards the headboards with a beige telephone placed on top, resting over a few local restaurant menus. Two small lamps were attached to the wall above the beds, perfectly opposite of the television sat on top of a tall dresser. 

“Is this your idea of a romantic getaway?” You teased as you walked further inside over the beige carpet. “Two beds don’t exactly scream romantic.” You set your backpack down on the foot of the bed furthest from the door and closest to the bathroom around the corner. You assume this bed will just be used to hold both of your luggage, not a person. 

“No,” Joel said through a tight gruff as he strained to lift his bag of tools and luggage onto the edge of his own bed. “S’a work trip. Not a romantic getaway.” 

Your smile falters as you purse your lips and fiddle with your hands behind your back. 

“So, this really is a work trip?” You clarify, to which Joel looks at you a bit confused. 

“Course it is.” 

A light boil simmers through your chest. Maybe you will be sleeping in your own bed tonight. Joel could sense your flattened mood, and he quickly felt the need to sweep up the pieces of what he broke. He was bad with words, terrible really, but he tried to find the right ones for you. 

“I said that wrong. It’s a work trip but,” he trails off and falters as he saddles his hands on his hips for a moment and sighs, your doe eyes looking up to his own. “But I brought you here to spend some real time with ya. Didn’t wanna,” he shrugs and rolls his eyes. A classic Joel Miller sign that he wants to say something a little personally emotional. 

“What?” You probe him, a smile tickling your lips as you loop your hands to rest just above the ones on his hips. “You didn’t want to what, Joel?” You ask, setting your chin on his chest and looking up at him with a goofy grin. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes again, having a hard time looking at you. “I didn’t wanna go on this trip alone. Didn’t want to leave you at home when I could bring ya with.” 

Joel wasn’t a social man. In fact, if the world went to shit, you think he might really enjoy the solitude. But for him to admit that he would rather have you in his space than out of it, it’s quite endearing. 

Now you’re the one who's hiding a blush. You settle your cheek against his chest and sigh, soaking in his scent and his warmth. Joel’s hand comes to rest on the side of your head, gently stroking your hair away from your face as the two of you relax into a gentle hug. 

“Were you serious about that no bathin’ suit thing?” He asks after a moment of silence, causing you to roll your eyes and shove him a good distance away. 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You sneer as you round the bed to the bathroom, needing desperately to relieve yourself after the drive. Of all colors, it’s a beautiful mint green. Incredibly retro, you think as you use the toilet and stare at the shower absentmindedly. You roll your phone around in your hands once you finish washing them, a lump rising in your throat. 

Your mother’s words echoed in your ear. 

“If it gets serious, we want to meet this young man.”

There was no young man. The young man your mother referred to was really Joel. Panic was spreading through your body just at the thought of trying to fix this situation. They figured out you were seeing someone, they just didn’t quite know who. A few heavy breaths labor out of you, anxiety nestling in your chest. 

“You okay, buttercup? Been a minute.” Joel asks cautiously from the opposite side of the door, his knuckles offering a few polite knocks. 

Your chest surges. You didn’t want him to know you’d slipped up, half-told your parents the truth. You didn’t want him to end things out of fear of them finding out. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine, Joel. Just.. gimme a minute.” 

His feet don’t move on the other side of the door. He doesn’t want to leave you, feeling something slightly wrong. 

“Really, Joel, just- checking out the facilities.” God. 

He sighs before you hear him back off. “Alright. Lemme know f’you need anythin’.” 

You need to act, or else this feeling will eat you alive. Finally, with some accurate cell service, you text the first person you think of. Nathan. Remember that childhood crush of yours? You hadn’t seen him in years, and with how gorgeous he was growing up, there was a scary feeling that you might be texting a man who had a girlfriend. But he was your only hope to cover up the mess you had made. 

Growing up with Nathan and his parents being friends with your own always felt like a setup. Your mothers always cooed that you two just might end up marrying one another. At the time, you wished it was true, that all this exposure with him would lead to something romantic. But then you grew up, saw each other a little less over the summers, and grew apart. You still kept in contact via social media, but not often. You saw his life in pictures. One from a homecoming dance, a group picture of him and his friends, an action shot of him playing basketball, a high school graduation picture, and a similar one for college graduation. He was still alive somewhere out there, you just didn’t know him like you used to. 

Nathan was always kind, goofy, very golden retriever-like. Summers spent apart created a rift, but he was your childhood best friend and crush once upon a time. If he was willing to help you out, you owed him big time. So you shoot him a text and cross your fingers that this is still his number. The last thing logged in your messages was a silly conversation about cheetahs versus jaguars. You were team cheetahs, obviously. 

You felt a slight sense of relief once you came up with a plan. Talk to Nathan. See if he can act as your fake boyfriend for your parents. See if he doesn’t think you’re damn crazy for concealing your forty-something-year-old fuck buddy. 

You’re not really sure how to reignite the conversation, it’s been so damn long. You stare at the blank screen before you craft the brilliant message: 

Hi

A sigh leaves your parted, anxious lips, and you shove your phone away. 

---

You really did bring a bathing suit, much to Joel’s eagerness for the rumor to be true. You change into it with your back turned to him. You feel his eyes boring holes into you, sending a small dash of goosebumps up your arms. “I’m going for a dip before bed.” You say as you fiddle with the strings of your bikini top, struggling for a moment before you feel a warm presence step in behind you and fuss away with the strings himself. 

You hum softly as he fastens the strings, making a bow at your midback. Joel’s lips brush against your shoulder before they start sponging gentle kisses up your neck. The hair you tied up into a loose bun tickles his nose. 

“Such’a pretty girl.” He hums against your skin, a soft shiver trickling up your spine, lips parting in pleasure. “Too bad you’re not a very good girl.” Joel murmured as his hands slipped lower, past your hips, past the curve of your ass, until he was cupping both cheeks in his large palms. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his fingers squeeze at your flesh. A moan escapes your lips, you just can’t help it. You love it when Joel is handsy for you, the needy one. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and turn in his arms, eagerly kissing him as you cup his cheeks. He fights for control instantly, pulling you in at your hips so your back arches backward out of habit. You let your head dip back, eyes dipping closed as his lips trail down your neck, then between the valley of your breasts, all while his wiry beard creates scratches in his wake. 

“Do you have swim trunks?” You ask breathily, shoving him lightly by the top of the head further down your body. He drops to his knees and continues to trail kisses down your stomach. 

The question catches him off guard.

“Do I- what?” He asks breathily, looking up at you as he sponges kisses over your clothed center. 

“If you don’t have swim trunks,” you try to continue, “you can’t go swimming with me.” You say with a teasing smirk, stepping around Joel, who was awestruck kneeling on the ground, his hands still in place where he was cupping the backs of your thighs before he slaps them down on his own to show annoyance. 

He was probably thinking how you just up and disappeared when you were just standing in front of him a moment ago. Joel grumbles something, but you’re already out the door of the motel room. 

---

The pool is glowing in its blue hue, lit by dim lights around the perimeter and the silver moon in the sky. 

In a world so vast, you couldn’t help but feel a little lost in wanting to explore it. 

You take a breath in through your nose and test the water with a dip of your toe. A bit cold for your liking, but the warm Texas summers make your skin sticky and the air a bit stale. So you dive in. 

The cool water is a shock to your system at first, with goosebumps growing on your skin like wildfire. Your face breaks the seal of the water, emerging over the light ripples you created upon diving in, catching your breath. You take a few leisurely laps along the outskirts, feeling weightless, free. 

“Nice night.” Joel’s brassy voice breaks the gentle chorus of the summer cicadas. You hum as you carve your way through the water until you meet the pool’s edge. You rest your arms on the lip of the pool, bringing your breasts just above the surface of the water. 

“Get. In.” You say with an authoritative voice, despite your eager smile. 

He cocks his head a few degrees to the right, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No. You look like a shivering chihuahua.” 

His joke elicits a giggle from you. 

“It’s only cold for the first few minutes. You’ll warm up.” You’re only half-lying, the pool was so fucking cold. 

Joel merely shakes his head. “You’re crazy, buttercup.” 

You hum as you push off the edge of the pool, moving towards the center, letting the water dance around you as your arms glide back and forth to keep you afloat. 

“Sounds like you need some motivation.” Your eyes lock on Joel’s as your fingers navigate to the back of your bikini strings, slowly pulling the tie loose, feeling the water aid you in floating the material off your upper half. The top strings around your neck are still tied, concealing the full reveal of your breasts. 

Joel’s once secure face fizzled, eyes straying and lips parting. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he kneels down, pointer finger curling towards him impatiently.�� “Get over here.”

You shake your head disobediently. “Now.” His barking urgency makes you stifle a smirk. 

“Joel Miller afraid of a little cold water.” You shrug and move your fingers to the strings tied behind your neck, slowly tugging loose the threads. The material falls limp into the water, floating in front of you free from your body. 

Joel watches with impatience, the spill of your breasts making his cock twitch inside his swim trunks. The mesh material was forgiving, allowing him to swell at the sight of you. The cold water has your nipples taut, drawn into sweet peaks. You’re just out of his fucking reach, too far into the pool for him to grab you. 

He grunts quietly, jaw tight as you slowly swim closer to him. You shiver at his glance alone. 

“If you want me,” your voice drops innocently, doe eyes making their appearance to reel him in, “you’ll get in the pool, Mr. Miller.” 

Just out of his reach once more, you swim back to the center and push your thumbs into the band of your bikini bottoms, down your legs, leaving you bare in the pool for anyone to see from the highway or their own motel rooms. You must admit, Joel’s desperate gaze filled with want makes you squirm with excitement. Disobeying him lights that explosive even more. 

He offers you his hand, one final offer.  “Last chance, angel, get out of the pool.” 

“Why do you even have swim trunks on if you aren’t going to get in?” You ask, eyes gazing over the tangled hair he has scattered across his chest. 

“I was hoping these would appease you alone. Now come here,” he juts his hand out as an offering one last time. 

You roll your eyes and swim closer, your breasts lapping in the water as you take Joel’s hand. And tug with all your strength. 

His feet skid to try and hold him back, but he ultimately summersaults into the pool. You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to conceal your laughs as Joel emerges, sopping wet, cold, angry. 

“Y-You-” He chatters his teeth, eyes screwed tight on you as he pushes his hand back through his soaked curls and down his face, grazing his wiry beard. “You’re gonna get it.” 

Joel’s threat makes you squeal. You attempt to doggy paddle away, but the grip he catches on your arm is iron.  He pulls you back to him, and your body glides through the water, arms securing on his biceps once you’re locked in his hold. He’s threatening, but not as much so when you wrap your legs around his waist and feel his half-hard length. 

You raise your eyebrow at him, and he half-chuckles. 

“Such a fuckin’ piece of work you are.” He grunts out, hands searing the flesh of your hips as he skirts his hand down lower, cupping the globes of your ass. 

A hum tickles your throat as you lean in and press your lips to his jawline in a tempting kiss, smiling as Joel’s nose playfully nudges yours, leaning in for more. 

It’s stomach-twisting how you feel so comfortable with Joel, how you sink into his body, and how he warms your core. You kiss him until your lips feel bruised, and he grips your beautiful curves with eagerness. The two of you kiss like hungry teenagers, finally outside the watchful eyeline of your parents. Joel’s cock is hardening against your naked core.

He forces himself off of you, groaning lightly as he strays from your eyes. Cupping his jawline, you angle him back to you, resting your foreheads together. 

“Makin’ me get all riled up like a damn teenager.” His warm breath puffs across your face, his words make your bundle of nerves tingle. 

“I like that I’m the one causing it.” 

Joel chews at the inside of his cheek before giving you a tight little nod. “Me too, buttercup.”

---

Joel decides pool play is over. He gets out first, snags your bikini pieces that floated to the edge of the pool and starts walking leisurely back into the motel room. 

He only hears your cursing and belligerent rambling after he returns from turning on the shower, piping hot. 

“Can’t hear ya when you’re chatterin’ your teeth.” 

Joel returns to the bathroom and strips his swim trunks off, still half-hard. He tests the water with his hand, giving you an affirming nod it was okay to step in. 

You’re still angry and seething, having to streak your way back to the room naked and freezing your bare ass off. He looks at your crossed arms and playfully tuts. “You’re the one that thought t’drag me in there with ya, princess.” 

Joel follows you into the shower, the water splashing searing hot droplets. It only feels that hot because you’re readjusting from the pool’s temperature. You find yourself huddling into Joel’s warmth. 

He finds it endearing, the way your head settles on his chest, your ear to his heart, too chilled to let him go. He angles the showerhead downwards, letting it focus on your body first. He could wait. 

You gently release your crossed arms, letting them wrap low around his hips. He had a few extra pounds of flesh low on his tummy and on the sides of his waist. You gently pinch the area and smile. 

“Stop that.” He hisses, eyebrows knitted together. 

“But I like it. You’re my favorite person to hug.” 

The sentiment splashed warmth on the back of his neck. Joel has picked up a few extra pounds from town barbeques, and beers tossed back during football games. He used to not like it, the way he had to loosen his belt after a big meal, or having to purchase his new t-shirts in a size up. He didn’t think about it much, but naked with you in the shower, feeling you admire his ever-changing body, was a comfort. 

You look up after a few moments of silence, setting your chin on his chest and feeling his chest hair graze against your skin. 

Joel wants to warm you up, get you to relax under the showerhead. He presses a nimble kiss to your lips, pitter-pattering kisses along the extent of your body before he is down on his knees, angling your back to rest against the shower wall. 

Tired after your car ride and melting under the shower’s sprinkling water, you ache for a relief that will come from your head hitting a pillow. But Joel had other things in mind, things that would make you forget you were tired in an instant. 

Now under his watchful eye, lips and wiry beard scratching at your soft skin, you lightly part your legs for his entrance. God, please don’t let me slip and embarrass myself right now. Let me have this one good thing, this man’s tongue against my pussy would make me a God-willing woman. 

Joel can feel your exhausted body, begging to find a bed. But he had you where he wanted you, and his mouth was watering to taste your sweet musky arousal. His hands settle themselves on the backs of your thighs, supporting your weight as his head leans into your warmth. 

He brings two fingers forward, parting your center, licking a slow draw up your core. His tongue flicks off your clit, your bundle of nerves twitches. Something flips in his stomach, and his cock grows heavy against his thigh. 

You taste sweet and serene, something he’s grown an appetite for. With several days apart awaiting your weekend trip away, he often found himself at night, spilling into his hand thinking about your young, beautiful pussy flushed against his mouth. He takes this opportunity to relish in you moaning his name, without any curious ears. 

His tongue sinks lower, swirling around your tense entrance. The swell of his tongue gushes more arousal from you, and he gets a proper taste that isn’t mixed with water from the shower. 

Joel’s grip on your thigh tightens, and he laps at your clit like a famished man. 

The constant flicks have you gasping for air in the all-too-warm shower. Your fingers weave into his soaking wet curls, still finding a grip as your thigh twitches against his hand. 

Joel’s two fingers parting your center gently massage at your entrance, wiggling in gently as he suckles on your clit, and you mewl weakly. 

His tongue and teeth lightly graze your sensitivity, feeling stars clouding your vision as his fingers set a gentle pace. 

“Ooh,” you sigh weakly, feeling his fingers hit the perfect spot, one that makes you shake. 

Joel knows that sound, knows the feeling. He looks up, admires the way your pretty lips are parted in bliss. The hand on your thigh is brought to your stomach, gently stroking over the flesh. 

You watch him a little curiously, a little fucked. His mouth returns to your clit, but his hand still falters on your lower abdomen. You whimper as he adds a little pressure, and quickens his fingers. It’s jaw-dropping, the friction and pressure, piling on top of each other.

You gulp. “Joel-”, it’s almost in a warning tone. “I don’t- fuck, it feels-” 

“Uh-huh,” Joel murmurs against your core, nodding gently, grazing his nose against your clit in the process before his warm mouth tightens around your clit. And he suckles. 

You cry out, walls clenching around his fingers as he milks an orgasm from you. You damn near crumble, but he tightens the hold on your hip to keep you afloat. 

“There ya go, princess, come on my fingers,” he grunts, jaw tight, and teeth clenched as he watches your cum-arousal mixture glide down his fingers in a sticky mess. He slowly stands, watching you pant for air, as he sucks his digits clean with an evil smirk. 

The temperature in here is too much, heat consumes your body as you weakly grip his biceps. 

“God damn, Mr. Miller.” You say breathlessly. You take him in a quick kiss, moaning weakly into his mouth at your taste. His tongue tangles with you, and he keeps his fingers on your core. His first two fingers start to slowly circle your clit again, but it’s entirely too soon. 

You whimper weakly into his mouth, your clit aching and still recovering from your oral orgasm. 

“Mmm- can’t do it, Joel.” 

Joel snarls as he swiftly turns you around, his foot hitting the insides of both of your ankles to spread your legs. Your face is plastered against the shower wall, watching him out of the corner of your eye with your jaw dropped. 

“Be good for me, baby girl, show how thankful you are.” 

You whine at his raspy voice, feeling its timbre bounce against the walls. 

“Please,” you beg in a whisper, inching your feet farther apart for him to take you in the shower. 

Joel strokes his cock, seething through his teeth at the desperate relief he’s feeling. His swollen tip vies for your attention. He lines himself up, his other hand on your hip as he notches himself inside. 

You visibly flinch away, Joel hushing you softly as he tries again. 

“Gotta relax for me, pretty girl.”

You sigh weakly and let yourself melt with the warm water, fluttering your eyes closed as you gently jut your hips back into this, needing to be filled. 

Joel tries again after lining his tip up and down your slit and gathering your arousal. He notches inside of you once more, causing your eyelashes to flutter. He slowly presses on. 

The drinks must have really loosened you up since the last time the two of you fooled around in his truck. He wasn’t so hard to take then, but now he feels thicker, rounder. You could feel the thick vein on the underside of his cock as he ruts his hips into your ass. 

Finally, you will yourself to breathe, moaning his name in desperation. 

Joel’s trying to contract his lungs, but you’re gripping onto him so tight, the heat of the shower going to his head. 

You hum and purposely grip your walls around him, squeezing for his last breath. 

Joel snarls and smacks your ass from below, watching the fatty flesh jiggle. It stings, but you like it, thinking about his large handprint marking you red. He winds his hips back up and presses in, groaning lowly as he fills you to the brim. 

He sets a decent pace, one that robs you of what air you have left in your lungs. Your entire body feels sensitive, your cheek growing sore from being fucked against the shower wall. But it feels entirely too good, a certain itch that only Joel Miller can scratch. 

Every thrust he makes, you moan his name like a broken record. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you moan and grunt it so much, that it starts to sound like it’s not a real word anymore. 

You reach back an arm blindly, gripping his bicep and stitching your nails into his skin. 

Joel grunts out weakly, the burning sensation you caused on his arm making him go wild. He reaches for both of your wrists and plants them at the base of your back, forcing your face to be your only weight to keep you up against the shower. 

But it unlocks a new angle, one that has you crying out curses and his heavenly name. 

“Fuck me, Joel, fuck- fuck your favorite little pussy,” you mewl out, feeling his cock twitch inside you. 

“God dammit, fuck me good like that, like that,” your eyes clench close, panting heavily. “Right there, daddy, please, Mr. Miller, touch my clit, please,” you beg, the pet name rolling off your tongue. 

It makes him snarl. He sets a hellish pace. His chest puffs up, his broad biceps locking around you as his fingers stroke over your pussy. 

He loves the way you wind him up. Because you are his favorite young pussy, one he’s made his own, railing you so good that you forget about anyone else that may have had you before. 

All you know is Joel Miller. 

His thighs and lower tummy smack your ass cheeks, a distinct slapping sound filling the shower and pinging off the walls right back into your ears. 

Stars flutter behind your eyes, you feel light-headed. The water splashes warm across your back, allowing Joel even more slip. 

The harder he fucks you, the closer he moves in. Now he has his entire torso flushed against your back, flicking his hips up into you with precision. 

Suddenly he’s grabbing your leg by the underside of your knee, hiking it up, and planting it against the shower wall as he exposes a whole new sensation. 

You can’t last any longer. His fingers circle dangerously around your clit, and now he’s pounding you into the wall, forcing friction against his glorious thrusts. You whimper loudly as his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly, feeling your walls clench around him as you come. 

It’s jaw-dropping, heart-surging, mind-fucking how good he feels coming inside of you. It’s warm, warmer than the water still raining over you. It’s comforting the way his seed spreads throughout your core, his grunts filling the shower as he drops his last load inside of you. 

And goddamn, he loves how you milk him dry. 

You weakly slide down the wall, tiredly dropping your leg once he pulls out. 

“No ya’don’t.” Joel quickly says, snagging a strong arm around your waist and hauling you up. You whimper as he peels your face off the wall, blinking rapidly as he spins you to face him. “C’mere.” Joel embraces you, and you lean weakly into his front like a bear hug. 

“Water,” you whisper against his pec. He turns the shower temperature down, a more comforting heat surrounding you now. 

“You’re alright.” He assures. 

After time to recuperate, Joel reaches for the shampoo bottle, squirting a small amount into his palm and lathering it between his hands. You feel a little better standing, but you still stay wrapped up in his arms, in his hug. 

He massages the shampoo into your locks, gently massaging it against your scalp, before he gently washes the bubbles out. He gathers conditioner next, letting it soak into your ends.

You hide your smile against his chest, knowing that he probably had to learn this type of stuff for Sarah. Hair care, skin care, tampons and pads, all the sort of stuff single dads fear. You wonder whatever could have been in Sarah’s mother’s mind to leave a guy like Joel Miller. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but he seemed to fit into your life like a glove right now. For however long that perfect fit would be.

A weak sigh leaves your lips as he strokes your head sweetly, his fingers then grazing your cheek. 

“Y’alright? Feel good?” 

You nod weakly and smile, letting your arms drop gently as you pull away. “M’tired.”

Joel stifles a chuckle and nods. “Me too, baby. Sit tight.” 

Once Joel is assured you’re not going to lose your strength standing up on your own, he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, wrapping his towel low on his waist. You gaze at the lines around his hips, and how they dip down into his towel. 

You clear your throat as you quickly look away once he approaches you with two towels. He wraps one around your shoulders, gently moving his warm hands up and down the sides of your arms. 

You look so sweet, warm and cozy, cum-filled, at ease. The stress he usually sees you carrying around is wiped away. He hoped he had something to do with it. 

Joel leans down and presses a light kiss to your lips. Not hungry, not desperate, not chasing. Delicate. Assuring. 

You smile tiredly and shyly evade his eye contact, something that he hates to admit is goddamn adorable on you. 

Both of you towel dry off any remaining droplets of water. Joel forces you to show him how you even get the towel you wrap around your hair on your head. 

“This is girlhood, Joel Miller.” You say once you secure it on, watching him shake his head in disbelief. 

“A mystery to me.” He says with a boyish grin.

You both exit the steamy bathroom and search your bags for pajamas. You packed a few comfy shirts for bed. And only one extra pair of panties. You better be damn careful with your one last sacred pair. You toss it back into your pack for now, deciding that they would probably be taken off in the morning anyway. You slip under the covers of Joel’s bed, saving him a space you hope he fills. Of course, he does. 

Joel flips off the light switch, indulging the room in a black and blue hue. He grunts quietly as he slips into the covers. The both of you just melt into the mattress. 

You nuzzle into his side, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He makes gentle circles into your back as your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You sigh and turn your back to Joel to retrieve it from the charger. 

“Your parents askin’ if we made it okay?” Joel murmurs tiredly, eyes closed, waiting for you to return to his side. 

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s a text message from Nathan. 

Hey stranger

“Yeah,” you lie, your fingers gliding across the keyboard to configure a response. “They uh.. They’re tellin’ me to not bug you too much on the trip.” You awkwardly chuckle, your back still turned to him as you stare at Nathan’s message. 

Joel dryly chuckles as he reaches a hand out and settles it on your hip. “Quite the opposite.”

You feel terrible concealing this from Joel. But you don’t want him to think you were young and foolish letting your secret fling slip. This was to make things work, to keep the secret buried from your parents.

Another message from Nathan makes your phone buzz in your hand.

Heard you’re in Danbury for the summer with your folks. Wanna catch up? 

Your heart sits in your throat, shocked by his ask. 

You flip over your phone, opting to reply in the morning. You’re beat. You sigh weakly and return to Joel’s side, hiding your face in his shoulder as you gently kiss along the muscle. He was already passed out. 

As messy as this felt, being with Joel felt like being tossed a life jacket in open water. And you weren’t going to lose that safety, not if you could help it.

---

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[achaoticeternal]

civility.

AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM!READER

summary: since your shared childhood, aemond and you have always shared a close bond. word count: 2.4k warnings: canon typical language and violence. bullying.  a/n: this is a fem!reader who is a noble lady and ward of the Queen. reader is Otto’s niece/ Alicent’s cousin so you could also imagine this with a Hightower!Reader. this was inspired from the song seven by taylor swift. i love both soft and mean aemond, you can try and pry him from my hands

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The library was strangely silent today. It was always silent, apart from the rustling of pages and the occasional whisper. Yet, today it was a weird difference.

Helaena sat to your right, reading over a field journal she had found about arachnids. Though you despised seeing the pictures of the spiders and scorpions, you knew they delighted the young princess. Currently, nothing in the gardens or the maester’s study had intrigued her as much as the eight-legged fiends did.

In front of you was a book that briefly talked over the history of the Reach, most fondly writing about Oldtown, your home. With Lord Otto being your uncle, his daughter, the Dowager Queen, now took you in as her ward so that you would be raised in proper society. It had been a high honor to live and be educated amongst the royal family.

Typically, you were an avid reader, being able to finish such a short novel in less than an hour. But the lack of a certain prince’s presence left you feeling uneasy…

However, the door to the library opened to reveal Aemond with his mother at his side. Both of them looked upset, yet it was Aemond who was crying. Clearly, something had set him off from his usually soft demeanor.

“Aemond!” You announced and moved quickly to talk with him.

As you approached him and the Queen, you curtsied before comforting your friend, “What has upset you, my prince?”

Aemond scrunched his nose, the light freckles of his face moving too, “My brother… my nephews… I hate them.”

“Aemond, we do not say such things,” the Queen corrected her son, before dismissing herself to attend to Helaena.

Your eyes followed her until you were convinced that she could no longer hear the pair of you whisper to each other, “What happened? What did they do to you?”

Aemond shook his head at first, not wanting to relive the moment. But he did want to tell you because you always knew how to comfort him. You were a far better friend than any of his family or the sons of the nobles that visited the capital.

“They said that the dragon masters had found an unclaimed dragon. A dragon that I could bond with and fulfill my destiny to be a dragon rider,” Aemond’s lip shook as he spoke, “But they gave me a pig! A pig with wings!”

As soon as you noticed the crack in his voice, you threw your arms around him, pulling the prince into a tight hug. You did not say anything to him… simply allowing him to forget about the incident.

“Their words do not matter, because they are only words. You are the finest among them,” You softly attempted to console your friend, “You have studied and trained much more than any of them. One day, you shall have a dragon, a great dragon.”

“What if I don’t? What if I never become a dragon rider?”

His vulnerability made your chest ache for him. You wished that others could see Aemond as you saw him. Gently, you rested your hands against his forearms, “You are a prince… And even if they are foolish enough to ignore that. My loyalty and friendship are vowed only to you — you are my prince…”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

With the matter of Driftmark now settled, the entirety of the Targaryen family was gathered in a private dining room for a feast. It had been many years since everyone was together for a meal, so you understood why the King had wished for such. It left you to now sit between your uncle, the Hand, and your prince, Aemond.

Currently, everyone was laughing or paying tribute to other members of the family. It was heartwarming to see the royal family coming together and actually enjoying themselves.

Yet, Aemond sat by your side, clutching his goblet. He only laughed at some of the snide comments that Aegon made, occasionally acknowledging the jokes from his uncle Daemon as well. You reached out a hand to playfully snatch the pitcher of wine that sat in front of his plate.

“Refilling your chalice again, my lady?” Aemond questioned you.

“It has been quite the day, my prince,” You giggled to yourself, “Indulging myself for a night might do me some good.”

As you lifted the chalice to your lips, your eyes made contact with his violet one. With a smirk, you began to sip the red liquid while maintaining his gaze. It was only when you lowered the cup that Aemond’s gaze flickered to your lips, now stained red from the wine.

“Do you ever wish to indulge yourself, my prince?”

Both you and Aemond knew there was a deeper meaning to your words. However, Jace suddenly stood to his full height while Aegon continued his torment. At this action, Aemond also quickly stood, eyeing Jace as if he wanted the young prince to act out of fashion.

Instead, Jace made a toast to his uncles — a toast to their shared youth. Then Jace lead Helaena to dance, which was far more innocent than his mocking tribute.

You immediately noticed the shift in Aemond’s disposition from the tribute. His jaw clenched, defining his side profile; while his knuckles began to turn white from his grip on his napkin. Gently, you rested your hand atop his, soothing the skin with your thumb.

“Ignore him,” You attempted to console him, “They only mean to anger you. Do not allow them the pleasure of seeing you so upset…”

A chuckle sounded from across the table. It came from Lucerys, as the servants placed a pig at your end from the table. Aemond’s eye flickered from his nephew to the pig and finally to the chalice.

Aemond slammed his fist on the table as he stood, raising his chalice, “Final tribute.”

You glanced up at him, silently begging that he control his anger. He looked down at you, but looked back to Aegon with a smirk, “To the health of my nephews… Jace… Luke… Joffrey…”

Tension quickly began to fill the room, drowning everyone under its waves. A part of you prayed to the Seven that Aemond would just bite his tongue this once. That he would sit down and have a laugh with you or ask to be excused for the evening.

But Aemond continued on with his tribute, “Each of them handsome, wise… strong”

The devilish smirk played at his lips, and while you usually enjoyed seeing Aemond like this, you wished for such torment to end.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three strong boys—”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace spoke heatedly from his spot next to Helaena. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra attempted to cut in and silence their children, only for the boys to speak over them.

“Why?” Aemond crossed away from his seat, standing rather proudly, “Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Before another word could be said, Jace viciously approached his uncle and delivered a right hook to his jaw. Only Aemond’s head turned, and not a drop of wine spilled from his goblet, still in hand. The sudden fight caused a great commotion to come from yourself and others.

The next thing you saw was Aegon pinning Luke to the table, and Aemond easily shoving Jace to the floor. The Queen yelped at her sons to quit, as guards seized the younger boys.

“Aemond!” You spoke crossly, grabbing his arm.

The Queen moved to his opposite side, glaring up at her son, “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother,” His gaze looked from his mother to you, as he tugged his arm out of your grip, “Though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Daemon quickly stepped in between his nephews and his stepsons, glaring between both groups. As Rhaenyra bid her sons and their betrothed to go back to their chambers, Daemon turned to meet Aemond’s glare. A sigh escaped Daemon as everyone else in the room awaited for something to occur.

It surprised you, how similar Aemond was to his uncle. You wondered to yourself if the Rogue Prince was once as strikingly handsome as Aemond was. Of course, you had heard the stories, but it was hard to imagine anyone being more handsome than your friend and prince.

“To your rooms,” Alicent looked between all of her children and you, “Now!”

A moment later, Aemond looked to the door and began making his exit. Swiftly, you curtsied to the remaining members of the royal family before fleeing after the prince. It would be better to calm him now than allow his rampage to continue.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“What desire filled you to act like such a cunt?”

“I simply complimented my nephews-”

“You know what you said, what you implied… do you wish for your father to have your?” Your brows furrowed as he crossed away from you, “or for your uncle to take your head like he did Vaemond’s? You can not be so childish!”

Aemond moved away from you, his anger wishing to get the best of him. Even if his nephews had upset him so, you could not justify such words and actions after the King’s departure from dinner this evening. You stood diligently, waiting for an apology or even a plain response.

“Childish?” Aemond straightened his posture as he spoke, “Childish?”

Finally, the blonde-haired prince spun around to face you. His jaw clenched, just like his fist. You could see all the rage, the desire to scream at you, his eye glaring at you while reflecting every emotion that whirled inside him.

“Childish, that is your claim? Hmm?” Aemond sneered, “Childish is what I would call Aegon as he continues his drunken vices or the lords of the court who think silly words and flowers to tempt you into a marriage. No, childish is something I would call my bastard nephew, Lucerys, while he laughs at a pig being placed in front of me at supper tonight!”

Just as a tear escaped from his violet eye, Aemond turned away from you. You could tell from the tension in his neck that he despised sharing such thoughts with you.

“I… I understand what—”

“No, you don’t understand!” He shoved your hand off his arm, “You are a fine lady of the courts, I am a Targaryen Prince! A prince that no one in this damn family seems to respect.”

With a sigh, you began to approach him again… You were much softer and gentler with your tone and movements. At first, you placed a hand at the top of his back, rubbing simple circles to comfort him. Once the tension left his back, you tucked your arms around his waist, hugging yourself close to his frame.

“I respect you, my prince.”

Immediately, your words began to calm him, his breath evened out into fuller breaths. Then, you took your cue to continue to calm his spirit. “You are a Targaryen Prince, the most accomplished of them all. You ride the largest dragon. You have trained both mentally and physically to be the best of them. And if they don’t care about that,” You removed yourself from him and moved to stand before him. You gently intertwined your fingers as you gazed up at him loving you, “I care about it. You have my respect, you are my prince…”

Aemond’s hands squeezed tighter at your words. Though his demeanor had not shifted, you could tell that your words had affected him. He thought for a moment more, nodding as if agreeing with him.

“You have always been loyal to me,” His brow raised, “Why?”

You bit your lip in contemplation. There were many ways to answer the prince’s question. With a sigh, you began to answer him, “Since we were children, I could see your potential. Your very being exudes a type of power that Aegon nor your nephews will ever have. You are the best of them, and I have always seen that. You deserve the world and more in my eyes.”

Aemond was silent, and only a hum of contemplation showed that he had even acknowledged what you had said. Then he dropped your hands, his brow furrowing. You took this as a sign of dismissal. It was understandable that he would like to spend the rest of the evening alone.

Your steps were light as you made your way to the door. The tension from earlier has dissipated and allowed the natural sway of your gait to return. As you approached the exit to the chambers, you were stopped.

“My lady?”

At his request, you turned to face the man, “Yes, my prince?”

“Exactly how long have you known me?”

“Since we were… seven? Whenever Queen Alicent requested that I serve as her ward.”

“And how long have you been in love with me?”

Suddenly, all breath abandoned your body. Your jaw dropped in shock at his statement and a wave of nerve brushed over you. All words and movement were lost upon you, so you stayed frozen in time.

Aemond, however, seemed quite amused at your shock. His typical cool and devilish manner had returned to him as he began to stalk toward you. A smirk played at his lips as he continued his teasing, “I apologize, did you not hear me well enough?”

“Huh…” You pressed your back to the door, “I-I’m afraid I don’t understand the sentiment behind your question…”

“It is a rather simple question though,” Aemond rebutted, “How long have you been in love with me?”

A few quick strides later, Aemond stood before you, leaving no escape from his gaze. He would get an answer, one way or another, “My lady, did you think your affections would go unnoticed by me? By my mother?”

“I… I…” A blush crept over your face. How you wished to cower away and into your private chambers, wishing the conversation had never made the shocking turn.

“Speechless, are we?” Aemond smirked, dipping his head to your height, “I hope you are not so speechless when I ask your Lord Father to take you as my wife.”

At his words, your heartbeat increased once more, confusion evident on your face, “Wife?”

“Ah, she speaks…” Aemond tutted, raising a hand to cup your jaw as he admired your features, “Yes… my wife… I assume that you would enjoy such. Of course, you can still continue to prattle and dote on me as you do now.”

A giggle slipped past you at his teasing words. Finally, the realization of it settled in, “Is that eagerness, my prince? If it was, I would think you quite enjoy, if not even desire my affections.”

“That I do,” He chuckled to himself as his nose brushed against yours, “I desire you, the object of all my affections.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed and would like to see more aemond or hotd content.

[gogobootz1]

Paperback Writer

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finds a stray journal at the Hard Deck, he makes it his personal mission to return it to its owner. But not before reading what's inside.

Word Count: 2.4k

Top Gun Masterlist

You've spent the last four hours at this bar and still haven't come up with a thing. The newest page in your notebook stares back at you, entirely blank. Well, blank, save for the water ring your mojito has left on it. Only the ice cubes have been left for a while now, and you sip sadly at them as you stare off at the water. Maybe a beach day will inspire you.

Sighing, you close your notebook and push it toward the wall. You don't want to think about the deadline that is slowly closing in on you. A new book, and only about two months left to complete it. It had been three, but you've spent the last month at a complete loss.

This whole night, going to dinner, going to a bar, has been with the intention of finding inspiration. You still haven't found it, so now it's time to find your way home. Pushing yourself away from the table, you peel yourself from your chair and settle up with the nice lady at the bar.

You look out at the ocean again on your walk home. It's extremely nice of your agent to let you stay at her and her wife's beach home. Pam had granted you this accommodation in the hopes it would kickstart your writing. To the extent of her knowledge, it has. She's been worried about you after you argued with the publishing company over a sequel. You fought tooth and nail for the opportunity to work on something totally new. After the commercial success of your debut novel, however, they were reluctant to pass up their chance at a sequel.

Your publishing company clearly hadn't been expecting such an exorbitant amount of copies to sell. Frankly, neither had you. By some stroke of luck or divine intervention, Taylor Swift picked up your book, read it, and posted it on her Instagram story. Stores could hardly keep it on shelves after that.

Now your publishers are simply hoping to milk the cash cow. You can't really blame them, but soon, when you don't have a second novel to give them, they're going to blame you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Thanks for cleaning up, you two," Penny calls from behind the bar. Maverick had practically begged Bradley to stay and help so that he and Penny could start their date early. After some negotiating, he happily acquiesced.

"No problem, Penny," Rooster calls back, sending a smug look at Pete, who narrows his eyes at him. They're just about finished wiping tables, and he can tell Mav is more than ready to leave.

Bradley turns to wipe the last table but stops when he sees a leather-bound journal sitting near the window. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands.

"Done. Let's go, Pen," Mav says, rushing his girlfriend. Penny finally drops the rag she'd been wiping the bar with.

"I've still gotta lock up," she says, lightly mocking.

"I can do it, Penny," Rooster says, not taking his eyes off the journal.

"Thanks, kid," Mav smiles, whisking his girlfriend away. "Keys are on the bar. I owe you one!"

Bradley just barely hears Penny's protests as Pete rushes her out. He figures he'd better get home, himself. Giving the table a cursory wipe, he heads toward the bar to grab the keys.

Suddenly his eyes land on the lost and found bucket. Most of the Hard Deck's patrons are locals and regulars. The bin is almost always empty, and when it isn't, people always come back for whatever's inside.

Bradley looks at the journal again. Surely no one would be coming back for this tonight, though. And would they really notice if it had been flicked through? Letting his curiosity get the best of him, Bradley takes a stool at the bar and starts reading.

After a few pages, he starts to realize just what the journal is. It's no diary, none of the juicy details of someone's personal life that he had nosily been hoping for. No. It's a book, or some sort of story, at least. It's a good one, too. Bradley takes a sidelong glance at the clock and finds he's stayed for an hour longer than he intended.

He grabs the keys and locks everything up for Penny, not bothering to put his find in the lost and found.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bradley can’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, but he's certain that it wasn’t before he’d read the vast majority of the journal. His neck is stiff from crashing on his couch, but he has a new interest in finding whoever wrote this. 

He hasn't been that interested in a book in a while, and he'd be remiss if the author doesn't get their work back. Especially when the work is so incredible. Bradley's never considered himself the most avid reader. He only reads when he's got the time and wouldn't rather be watching the game. This book, however, has him hooked. He thinks it should be on shelves, selling out all over the world. He only needs to find this person to tell them that.

Where do people write their names in their journals?

He makes a face, confronted by his own stupidity, and flips to the front page. Sure enough, on the back of the cover is a woman's name and address. Bradley's not quite sure if people knock on each other's doors nowadays, or if that's entirely creepy, but he's willing to find out.

Once his fist is inches away from her door, Bradley hesitates before knocking. Is it creepy that he's here? Is it creepy that he read the journal? He's willing to admit that one. Should he tell the author he read it at all? Maybe he should pretend he didn't. Can he fake being a Good Samaritan when he really wants to ask this woman about her writing? He doesn't have time to answer these questions for himself before the door swings open on its own.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You recoil when you realize someone's standing on the front porch. "Hello?" You're certain you don't know this man. He's too pretty for you to know him, and you'd at least remember him if you did.

"Hi," he responds stiltedly.

You look at him questioningly, "can I help you?"

"Yes! Actually," he holds up your journal, "is this yours?"

"Oh my god," you snatch your notebook out of his hands, "Where'd you find it?"

"You must've left it at the bar last night," he shrugged.

"Well, thanks," you smile, putting it in your tote bag.

"No problem, yeah. Wouldn't want to lose all that work," he nods. You look up suddenly.

"You read it?"

The man grimaces when he realizes he's outed himself. "Sorry," he cringes, "I'm too nosy for my own good. But can I just say that this is incredible? Really! This could be a book!"

Your face falls, and you look at him blankly, "it is." 

"No!" He shakes his head. "I mean- well, yes, it is. And that's a great attitude to have, but what I'm trying to say is that you need to find a publisher. This is-"

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. Reaching into your giant beach bag, you grab your sunglasses and shove them onto your face. Stepping out onto the porch, you grab a real copy of your book from your bag and plop it in his hands. "That’s really not my problem right now, hot stuff. Have a good one,” you lock up your house and start walking towards the beach.

He doesn't follow you until a few seconds later.

"You mean you're already a published author?" You hear from behind you. You roll your eyes and keep walking, but he easily catches up. "What I read was just-"

"The prototype to what seven million American women have already consumed? Yeah," you nod.

"Holy shit!" He says, and you just hum in agreement. "So wait, what is your problem then?" You stop in the middle of the path. You haven't even said it out loud yet.

"They want another one," you admit quietly.

"That's great!" He says excitedly. You slowly turn and remove your sunglasses to level him with a glare, "...or not?"

"No, stranger, it's not great."

"I'm Bradley," he interrupts.

You barrel on, "You know when they want the sequel by?" Bradley shakes his head. "The end of next month!" You practically shout, and he cringes.

"And how much do you have done?"

Your face falls. "One," you say reluctantly, holding up a solitary finger.

"Chapter?" He asks hopefully.

"Word!"

Bradley grimaces, "What's the word?" You huff.

"'The' and the thing is, I don't even like it. I'm gonna go back and delete it." You give an exaggerated shrug, seemingly distraught.

"That's probably a bad idea," he says gently.

"Oh? And what do you know about writing novels?" Your tone is biting.

"Not a damn thing, but I know a thing or two about speed. At a certain point, you just have to keep going," he offers.

"Thank you for that wisdom, speed racer," you snap, sauntering away.

He stands there stunned. 

“Wait!" Bradley jogs to catch up to where you're still marching onto the beach.

As soon as he's next to you, you barrel on. “How am I supposed to give them a sequel to a story I thought was over?” 

“Huh?” He feels like he's still playing catch-up as he matches your pace.

“And I told them - I swore to God that if they made me write a sequel, I'd probably end up accidentally plagiarizing any given Remington Steele episode. But, nooooooo they insisted,” you vent.

“Remington Steele?” Bradley raises a brow.

“Okay, you don’t get to judge my 80s preferences when you look like that!” You gesture to his general appearance, Hawaiian shirt, porn stache, and all. Not that it's not working for you.

He holds his hands up in surrender.

"I've done everything. Really. Everything to try and inspire some writing. I go outside," you gesture to the outdoors around you. "I've switched the font on my computer to comic sans," Bradley visibly grimaces in response to this, and you nod at him. "Hell, yesterday I went on a run."

"I don't feel like that's all that abnormal," he ventures.

You look at him, stricken, "I've never been on a run."

"Never?"

"Not in my life," you confirm. "It didn't even help, and now my legs hurt."

"It does kind of seem like you're hobbling," he nods.

Your eyes widen, "Gee, thanks," you bite out.

"You can probably chalk it up to poor form," Bradley tries to console you. "You're supposed to land on the front of your foot when you're running."

You shake your head. "They always want to teach you something," you mumble.

"What was that?" He looks over innocently. The two of you stand at the entryway to the beach. You decide it's time to make your goodbyes to the near stranger you've confessed half your current life problems to.

"Look, that's very nice of you," your words lack some sincerity. "You seem like a nice guy, and you're very attractive, but I don't really want to get better at running. What I want is to get better at writing, which is my job, and usually, I can do it. But right now, I'm broken, so what I will do is lay in the sun and crisp like a piece of fried chicken. Bye, now!" You say cheerily, placing your sunglasses over your eyes and bounding away towards an appealing-looking plot of sand.

All Bradley can do is watch as his new favorite author walks off. He drives home and finishes the official, hand-gifted copy of your book in one sitting.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A week later, Bradley is once again at the Hard Deck. This time it's Mav's birthday, and the whole squad is celebrating before they all go their separate ways. The Navy gave everyone a month off after the Uranium mission, so this is simultaneously a celebration and a goodbye.

He steps out onto the deck to enjoy the ocean view. Bradley is pleased to find a familiar figure that lies a few meters away from the bar.

"Let me guess, you're crisping like a piece of chicken again?" You hear a voice call from above you. Suspicious of the intrusion on your private beach sulking session, you look up to find the handsome man who'd tried to return your journal the other day.

"Actually, I'm boiling like a lobster," you correct.

"Ah, my mistake," Bradley nods sagely. "Mind if I sit?"

"Okay..." you agree, silently questioning his motives.

"I had an idea," he starts. "The main character in the first book," you nod, encouraging him to continue. "You mentioned her younger sister."

"I did," you agree, not understanding where he's going with this.

"Write the new book about her," Bradley says simply, shrugging.

You stare at him for a moment, processing this thought. After a bit, your jaw drops. How did you not think of this yourself? A slew of ideas pop into your brain, and you lunge for your bag, hoping to grab your journal and write them all down.

"Are you okay?" He asks. You hold up a finger, silently asking for him to give you a second. In a hurry, you scribble down a giant bulleted list. You can't help but wish your hand moved as fast as your brain. Bradley gives a weak call of your name, concerned by the new burst of hyperactivity. It pulls your attention away from the final bullet point you've just made.

"I think you're a genius," you breathe out, looking at him in awe.

He seems shocked, "it was just an idea."

"No, no," you remain firm, "you're brilliant, and you've just saved my life." A grin pulls across his face at your words. "Pam is gonna be so stoked," you say, standing and starting to pack your things. You pause all of a sudden and reach for your notebook again. You scribble something else and tear out a sliver of paper.

You hand it over to him, and his gaze flicks over a series of hastily written numbers. Your phone number. Bradley slowly stands up.

"Breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, dessert, movie, ice cream, drinks- whatever you want, on me," you say in a rush. You take about two steps toward your car, hoping to call Pam and confirm that you can go in this creative direction before his voice stops you.

"How about a date?" He asks, looking after you.

You turn over your shoulder and smirk, "That was the idea."

____________________________________________________

Rooster taglist (open): @tallyovie

I hope everyone is having another very Top Gun summer <3

[mintywolf]

(I wrote this on the train coming home on August 26th although I am just getting around to posting it now because time is a weird soup.)

So okay.

****

I haven’t written a personal journal post in a long time but I want to write down EVERYTHING I can remember about my adventure to NYC to see the Critical Role cast so I don’t forget. It was SUCH a moving experience and I’m so glad I went even though I was scared.

So okay my big goal for this year was to finish the first chapter of my C3 prequel fan comic A Long Road Home (southerngothiccomic.com), have a print edition made, and meet Laura and Marisha at a convention so I could give copies of it to them in person. When the CR cast announced they were going to be at Anime NYC this year I figured that was the closest they were probably going to get to me in Virginia. (And getting autographs at NYCC is reportedly like hunting a unicorn so I figured this would be my best chance.)

I was also terrified, and almost talked myself out of it because I was nervous about giving them the comic, even though I already had a badge and it was what I really, really wanted to do. I know the cast loves to see fanart — and also, it has been revealed, reads the fanfic — but it’s also a pretty well-known taboo for a fan to show their fanfic to a creator and a graphic novel is an unholy hybrid of the two. I was also worried that it would seem presumptuous of me to present them with a fanmade prequel graphic novel because there’s almost certainly going to be an official one at some point, and afraid that at best they might politely tell me they couldn’t accept it (for the reasons that comic writers aren’t “allowed” to read fanfic), and at worst they might be kind of annoyed that it exists. Either way I’d be REALLY sad, and in the weeks leading up to the con I worked myself up into an irrational panic about this. Fortunately my friends managed to talk me into not backing out (and spoilers: it turned out okay in the end!) but I was still very scared.

Also I was so focused on the comic stuff that I forgot until after GenCon earlier this month to think of what I wanted to actually have autographed. I decided to get a big print of the chapter one cover from INPRNT, assuming that since I ordered it two weeks in advance with an eta of 5-7 days that would be plenty of time for it to get to me. Well, reader, it was not. (But please do not let me dissuade you from using INPRNT! To their credit when I contacted them and asked if I could upgrade to rush delivery, they expedited it for free. Unfortunately even with rush shipping it just missed me, arriving at my house while I was on the train to NYC.)

Pâté on the train going to see his biological parents. (Laura and Marisha.)

When I saw that it wasn’t going to arrive in time I was starting to panic because there is nowhere near me to have art prints made. It’s a 15 minute drive (past the alpaca farm) just to get to the nearest grocery store. Grasping at straws I was kind of like Should I . . . draw something? On paper?? With real media that I haven’t used in like 10 years??? I only have 3 days!!!

Fortunately my life was saved by @emphaticembroiderer who had the brilliant suggestion of sending my art ahead to a print shop in NYC and picking it up before the convention. There are indeed MANY of those in New York and I managed to find one that was open on Saturdays and able to make my print on short notice. (567 Framing on W 14th street. The owner, Jack Hu, did excellent work and was very kind!) By that point I was frazzled and didn’t want two of the same print so I decided to be self-indulgent and had this one made. Not my showiest piece but it is one of my favorite things I’ve drawn. (This turned out to be the correct decision.) It’s a 6 1/2 hour train ride from here to there (and it got a little delayed along the way) so by the time I got there it was after 5 and the print shop closed at 6:30 so I zoomed over there straight from the train station to pick it up. It turned out BEAUTIFULLY, and the owner was pleased with how happy I was with it and that he’d been able to help.

He enjoys that he is included.

Then I went and checked in to my hotel and that point really just wanted to lie down on a bed but I had plans to take Pâté to see Hadestown on Broadway that night because I wanted to make the most of my trip. (Also it’s important for our scrungly son to receive a cultural education.) In keeping with the theme of the weekend I wore the Laudna-themed sundress I made for GenCon with one of the poppies in my hair. An usher told me they liked my ensemble. :) I had decided to go for a front row mezzanine seat because I didn’t know when I’d ever have this opportunity again and I didn’t want to risk my miniature self being stuck behind a tall person. It was perfect; I could see everything and the performance was AMAZING. Pâté had a very good time too.

The next day was the CR panel and autographs!! I decided to wear my 1950s Laudna cosplay from GenCon. I had some doubts about it when I got there because without the rest of 50s Bells Hells the theme isn’t as clear and outside of a DnD-focused convention the recognizability of a CR character is kind of low, let alone an AU variant on one. But once I found the Critters my Pâté poodle skirt was appreciated. :)

This is Rach @dadrielle, Astoria @astoriacolumnstaircase, Abby @overnighttosunflowers, and me as 50s Hells at GenCon!

And okay I know this said a lot but it’s true, CR fans are the NICEST fandom to be a part of. <3 If you’re ever standing in line for a CR thing by the time you get there you will have new friends. (For comparison the other-fandoms cosplayers I saw at the hotel and on the way to the con didn’t even return my smiles, even though we were all clearly going to the same place.) I fell in with a group of people who were near me in line (including an amazing Owlbearman cosplayer) and we decided to all sit together. The panel was really great. I don’t remember everything that was asked because of everything ELSE that happened later that day but they hinted that Big Things are coming (including multiple live shows!! Please come to Richmond! Or DC! Or at least somewhere on the East Coast!) for the 10th anniversary and Momlan stepped up to the mic during the Q&A segment and revealed that Sam has achieved his childhood dream . . . to become a minotaur. :D

With the mindset of making the most of this trip I had intended to try to get a spot in line to ask a question but I was hesitant about being on camera (even in cosplay) and while I was dithering about it like 50 people got in line. (I was also Suffering by that point because my rockabilly Laudna shoes have like 3 inch heels and after walking from the hotel to the convention center I didn’t have the fortitude to dart over to the line in them.)

My question, which I hope to submit next time there’s a Q&A opportunity, was this: For Marisha. We’ve seen Delilah’s influence manifesting in Laudna’s fashion choices recently. Now that she has the means and the freedom to do so, what kind of clothes would she choose for herself?

(Because I am a little sad that — until a possible post-campaign oneshot — we’ll never get to see a high-level Laudna costume that’s totally of her own design and I’m really eager to know what it would look like! Let her be spooky and free!)

Afterwards the cosplayers were being rounded up for a photo shoot but I was anxious to get a good spot in line for my autograph with Laura at 2pm so I stealthed away with Ken (@elissabrat), a Jester fan I had met in line, who knew where they were and had one with Travis at the same time. When we got there we were told No, go away and come back in an hour and a half, because it was still only 12. So we went to the Artists Alley where we found a girl named Lea whom we had also met in the panel line and collected a few other stray Critters (Ken has a boisterous and inviting personality and importantly, is very tall, preventing the rest of us from getting lost in the crowd) and we wandered around seeking out all the CR fan artists we could find. (There were a lot! It was great. I got some prints.)

by Cait May and Maliveth

Around 1 we decided to go back and see what the line situation was. Before we parted ways I exchanged twitter handles with Lea, who looked at my profile and said “Wait . . . this is you?”

She told me she was a big fan of my comic and looks forward to it every week! and we were both kind of like !!! at each other for a moment. I had never met someone who recognized my art in the wild before. (On ANY other day this would have been the most amazing thing that happened to me, haha.) I was so touched to meet her. <3

I took out the two books I was carrying and explained why I was there and we all got hyped up about it. And it made it feel a little less daunting, to know that there was someone there who understood the quest I was on and how close I was to the end of it.

I was like 5th in line for Laura and since it was still early I got to participate in that bonding experience integral to every con, sitting on the floor in cosplay, with a very good Vex behind me. (Hilariously, even after the dig at them — or maybe unaware of it — in the most recent episode, there were a lot of Funko Pop resellers around us, haha.)

I sent word to Southern Gothic Discord to remember me fondly in case I died here. In fact I'm not entirely sure that I didn't.

It felt like there was a disproportionate amount of fanfare revealing my print because I kept it how it was packed by the printer, wrapped in paper in between two pieces of cardboard so it wouldn’t get bent, so there was this whole ceremony of peeling back the tape, turning under one of the cardboard protectors, unfolding the paper, and turning over the print. But Laura loved it. She made like a happy sob when she saw it (it was really cute) and she looked at it for a long time taking in all the details and said it was beautiful. <3 <3 <3 (No matter how much we love and ship Imogen and Laudna, NO ONE loves them or is shipping them harder than Laura Bailey. She asked if I was going to bring it to Marisha too and was careful picking out a spot so there'd be room for both of their signatures. :))

I told her I was really happy to meet her because I’ve been a fan since BloodRayne (so, um. 20 years) and she said “oh wow, that was OG days!” And she gave me just a really kind look like she understood how much it meant to me to be there.

Then I gave her the comic. You all were right, I was worried about nothing! because she is the sweetest and she loved it. I very nervously pushed it across the table and said it was a comic I had made and wanted to give her. She picked it up and started turning the pages and was surprised when she saw what it was. “Wait, this is a whole novel! You made this?”

I confessed that I had, and she asked how long it had taken, I told her about a year (it was actually longer; in the moment I kind of forgot not how many pages there are in the first chapter but how many weeks are in a year) and she looked just really impressed that I had made it and touched by how much work had gone into it. She said she couldn’t wait to read it and seemed really excited to hear that it’s still going online! (So no pressure on me there if she's keeping up with it now, haha. o.o) And she kept looking between the book and me like she couldn’t believe it.

Then she asked me if I would sign it for her. :')

Somehow I survived long enough to do so! (a little wobbly because my hands were shaking) and someone (I think it was the ticket scanner) made a joke about how I was the first person to give an autograph at a signing, haha. And then she came around the table and gave me a hug. <3 <3 <3

After that my soul was still on the ethereal plane but the rest of me managed to find my way (after a brief wrong turn) to Marisha’s line. (There was a really good Keyleth and Caduceus in line behind me and they kindly noticed and returned the Pâté sticker that fell out of Marisha’s book).

She recognized my cosplay as 1950s Laudna right away! which was very validating after my earlier indecision haha. She loved the Pâté skirt and thought the scissors embroidery on my collar was adorable. She really liked the art too and was kind of like “Awww” about the book like in an “aww it’s an Imogen and Laudna thing” kind of way (she also liked the glass bottle windchimes on the cover and I love that she noticed that detail because Laudna’s penchant for turning things other people have thrown away into arts and crafts is one of my favorite aspects of her character) until she opened it and started looking through it.

Then she said, “Wait, this is actually really good," and she asked me seriously if Liam “Art Dad” knew about it (I said he had liked some of my other art on Twitter but I didn’t know if he knew about the comic) and then she said — still looking at it, more to herself than me — “We’ll have to add it to our art catalogue.” I don’t know exactly what that means (and I don’t want to get my hopes up too high by speculating; I was too !!! in the moment to ask and now I’m going to be wondering) but . . . it sounds . . . exciting??

They also both enjoyed Pâté and his lil sunglasses. :)

I had gone up with the intention of asking my other burning question: How does being cold-blooded affect Laudna in cold climates? If she gets too cold will she enter a state of brumation like a lizard? Will she freeze solid?

But I forgot. And it really wouldn’t have been the right moment. Maybe when I come back with Volume Two. :)

You’re supposed to pay extra to get a quote put on there but they both did it anyway without even asking. I think they must be really pleased when someone brings them something personal that they’ve made to have signed and not something they’re planning to sell.

After that I just kind of floated away from the con even though it was only like 2:30 haha. Nothing else could have happened there that would have equaled or improved upon that experience. Although I did adopt a Tentacle Kitty. The vendor (correctly) guessed “you look like you’d vibe with our spooky collection” so I had to get a new buddy for Pâté. (50s Laudna, still readily identifiable as a witch wherever she goes.) Also I saw a very chill emotional support pomeranian in a backpack.

(On the way back I saw the mark of the Traveler graffiti’d in green on the sidewalk. Truly a blessed day. :P)

Afterwards I just sat on the bed in my hotel room amid the floof of my crinoline wondering what even is my life for the next few hours and being like !!!! at Discord. Then I met up with Abby (whom it was wonderful to see again!! thank you so much for coming to see me) for dinner and had a really lovely time going over the What Just Happened of it all and talking about Imodna over strawberry pancakes. As one does. Perfect ending to an amazing day. <3

It was SUCH an incredible, exhilarating experience, thank you everyone who pushed me into not giving up out of fear. Laura and Marisha are SO nice and gracious in person and it was just so rewarding, after all the work and love and time I’ve put into this comic, to be able to finally bring it to the people who inspired it! And to see it appreciated and admired by them! It was more than I ever could have imagined.

This fandom is the best. My heart is so happy and full of love right now. <3 <3 <3

[the---hermit]

15|09|2023

My last few days of rest before going back my studying routine next week are still pretty slow, but I feel a bit better compared to the other day. I have a bit more energy and I put that mainly into writing letters to friends and crocheting. My cardigan is very slowly taking form. I finished the back and the first front panel (which I winged and I will find out if it will look good onle once I am done with the whole project so cross your fingers for me). I am now working on more mushrooms, which will be of different sizes since the hook I was using is about to break and I had to switch to a bigger one. I also ordered more yarn for the sleeves since what ai currently have will only be enough to make the other front panel. At the store they told me it could be of a slightly different shade, but I am hoping it will be fine.

Cozy hobbit autumn activities:

Reading a short story every morning while I drink my tea

Writing letters to friends

Rewatching Coraline and enjoying every minute of its spooky cozy vibes

Crocheting while listening to audiobooks or watching movies

Finishing a graphic novel late at night

Reviewing Irish on duolingo before bed

Picking up again my bullet journal and making new spreads to stay on top of my upcoming study to do lists

📖: The Burning God by R.F. Kuang, Of Ghosts And Goblins by Lafcadio Hearn, The Sculptor by Scott McCloud

🎵: 12 Fractures by Pierce The Veil (ngl I've had this on repeat for two days)

[lovewash3d-doll]

•.*🩰*.•.Tips on How to Write Consistently .*•🩰*•.

………………………………………………….………………………

I am a person that especially struggles to write consistently: I’ll have a month-long writing phase where I write every day and then months without scribbling a single word. Over the years, I’ve developed some tips and techniques to initiate my writing phases even when I’m in the pirouettes and twirls of stress or a lack of creativity. They may be helpful to you or anyone attempting to write a little more!

1) Mentally Schedule Writing Time 🩰

Scheduling writing time is beyond adding it to your to-do list or planner as it is often left unchecked and forgotten—I’ve very guilty. Instead, you have mentally schedule it and put it in your mentality that you will write today! Tightly affirm that you will write and put it high on your priorities for the day! If writing is an afterthought, it will also be an afterthought before bed and the following day. Determination is really key and so is sticking to your word!

It’s also important to plan writing at reasonable times and for reasonable durations. I tend to plan to write after I finish my schoolwork but, I always end up too worn out and tired and simply slip into to bed. Instead, plan to write at a time where you know you won’t have any distractions or other tasking taking priority. If you’re seeing a friend later, grab your laptop or pen in the two hour period before. If you’re busy for the day, wake up an hour early or sacrifice some of your phone scrolling time for a quick few paragraphs.

Additionally, don’t expect yourself to immediately write for long periods of time or write very much. Unrealistic, unattainable goals can very easily kill your spirits so it’s important to be realistic. Start with 30 minutes and with the goal of writing one scene and naturally, as you get more in the mood, those 30 minutes will expand to an hour or even longer and your story or piece will have a fresh page written soon enough.

2) Books, Movies, & Music🩰

Before attempting to write, I always try to create the perfect atmosphere even if I may not particularly be in the mood! If I want to get in a creative mindset overall, I love reading a book in my genre or watching a tv show or movie that relates to the topic or plot line of my story. I mainly recommend reading a book since absorbing writing is a great way reinforce oneself to write. I also create music playlists for every story and listen to a couple songs before my writing session! It definitely sets the tone and puts me in the mindset of my story!

3) Do a Writing Challenge 🩰

One of my grandest periods of consistant writing was thanks to a writing challenge I did! For a Creative Writing Class project, I decided to follow the writing routines of several authors and blog about my experience. I dedicated at least half an hour every day and my results were fruitful. Not only was it a fun experience but, it also reinforced me to write and I got a lot of insight into different approaches! Any writing challenge is a very good motivator and I highly recommend it! For my challenge, I specifically pulled writing routines from this book (linked).

4) Journal Sessions 🩰

If you especially struggle to carve out large portions of time for your writing on a daily basis, a great tip is using a journal! Whenever you have 10-15 minutes of down time, let your stream of consciousness flow and write any scene or stanza or any part of your larger piece. Don’t worry about its quality: it’s simply important that you scribble something down. Once you have a considerable amount of time to focus on your writing, transfer your notebook writings to your laptop and edit away! After a few quick journal sessions, you’ll have a decent amount of material that you can mold into draft. It’s a lot easier to edit than to stare at a blank page!

5) Trip to Barnes & Nobles 🩰

This is a very niche tip that only applies if you are planning on writing a novel and looking to publish! I love Barnes & Nobles and sometimes, when I’m in a large writing slump, I love visiting a store and taking in the smell of fresh books and tracing book spines on the shelves. Looking at new releases and imagining my own book on those shelves really motivates me to go home and pick up my pen! It reminds me of my goals and sends me into a larger writing phase!

I hope this helps! Reblogs are appreciated! 🩷

XOXO,

lovewashed doll🩰

[study-with-aura]

Tuesday, April 9, 2024

Today went very well. I am glad that I was able to catch up on my posts during my break earlier. I am now eating my evening snack, and then I will get ready for bed before spending a bit of time with my parents until it is time for sleep.

I am not quite sure if I am a fan of statistics quite yet seeing as conditional probability took me a little longer to understand, but I do think I finally figured it out so it made sense in my brain. On the other hand, the book that I am almost done with is so good. They mentioned the father of taxonomy, who I only recently studied in Biology. Yes, I forgot his name, but it isn't important as he did a terrible thing by assigning value to a person based on their race and said that there were four races, and technically even five, and then he assigned them an order and why they were in that particular order. Apparently, that was one of the ideas behind race realism which is pseudoscience at best in which geneticists even say there is no actual scientific backing for despite how it is often displayed. Although, I am finding this out from this book, with what I know in general, I trust it. Sometimes non-fiction can be difficult to read, but when it's written like this, and because I like history, I don't want to put the book down. It's strange that I somewhat remember hearing about some of the events mentioned in the book, but I can't recall it perfectly. I was only 7 then!

Tasks Completed:

Geometry - Learned about conditional probability + practice + learned to check for independence with conditional probabilities + practice + honors work

Lit and Comp II - Reviewed Unit 23 vocabulary + read chapters 54-55 of Emma by Jane Austen and finished the novel + took quiz on Emma (12/10)

Spanish 2 - Copied and studied clothing vocabulary

Bible I - Read 1 Samuel 13-14:1-15

World History - Learned about Anne Frank + read some of Anne Frank's writings + learned about Nazi ideology

Biology with Lab - Completed virtual mystery "lab" story (14/15)

Foundations - Read more on thoroughness + took next quiz on Read Theory + read steps of Monroe's "Motivated Sequence" + read about the psychology of persuasion

Piano - 60-minute piano lesson + practiced for one hour

Khan Academy - Built into coursework

CLEP - None today

Streaming - Watched Greatest Events of World War II in Color episode 3

Duolingo - Studied for 15 minutes (Spanish, French, Chinese) + completed daily quests

Reading - Read pages 323-376 of Accountable: The True Story of a Racist Social Media Account and the Teenagers Whose Lives It Changed by Dashka Slater

Chores - Laundry

Activities of the Day:

Personal Bible Study (2 Corinthians 6)

Ballet

Pointe

Journal/Mindfulness

-

What I’m Grateful for Today:

I am grateful that my piano teacher was very proud of me today for having three of my pieces fully memorized and almost a fourth!

Quote of the Day:

Without music, life would be a blank to me.

-Emma, Jane Austen

🎧10 Pieces from Romeo and Juliet, Op. 75 - Sergei Prokofiev

[starscribes]

StarScribes Introduction

About Me

Star (she/her)

Married

Middle School Teacher

I have a lot of responsibilities and don't get much time to myself but when I do I spend that time watching TV, writing, reading, playing D&D, playing video games (the Sims 4), and spending casual time with my family

US located

I used to be @houndsofcorduff but then I disappeared and started a simblr blog and now it's time to get on writeblr again

Writing

Mostly fantasy of varying levels, although I have dabbled in science fiction (I like to watch sci-fi more than write it - that's where my name came from actually, the Stargate franchise)

My favorite author is Brandon Sanderson

No, I don't think I'll ever publish anything, just scribe vibing

I love worldbuilding, magic system building, monster building, etc

Warning: I rarely finish anything I start

Blog

Ask game, tag game, ask, etc friendly

Reblogging stuff I like about writing

Posting snippets of my own writing

Participating in Nanowrimo (buddy me: stargatetribe)

Main/Simblr: @starandsims

Thanks for visiting and learning about me!

WIPs under the cut

Current WIP

Crescent Unbound - A stand-alone fantasy novel following Astrid Vale, a girl left orphaned by the last battle between good and evil. 20 years later she awakens an artifact with great power, it whispers of the return of evil. She must return it to the Chosen One so that it can be used to banish evil once again, but the quest is not as easy as it may seem.

Main Series: The Destiny Chronicles

Overall Synopsis: A generational series that follows a variety of supernatural beings: The Devlins (monster hunters); Seers (see the future), Sandmen (travel/control dreams), Mages (control a variety of magics), Cruth (control elements), and hybrids. Follows certain individuals chosen by Destiny to stop a great evil, and involves a lot of crossover until the end when everyone meets up for the big bad battle.

Book One: Retrospection - 1976 Earth - Russell Walker is a 16-year-old Seer dating Alexis Devlin a 16-year-old monster hunter. When she reveals his identity as a Seer and subsequently explains he's being hunted by a Seer-eating monster, they run away together - unfortunately not to fall in love but rather to save his life.

Book Two: Otherworld - 2007 Otherworld - Maxine Devlin was born into a family of monster hunters, but after 17 years she still hasn’t been allowed to fulfill that role. She has read every journal her ancestors have written and knows everything there is to know about monsters…or so she thinks. After her uncle and cousin go missing, she takes it upon herself to investigate and find them. Very quickly she finds herself in over her head as she travels to a dimension called Otherworld, where she discovers there is much more to magic than she once assumed.

Book Three: Shades of Night - 2010 Shadow - Sebastian Devlin has been to other dimensions before - technically just the one other than the one he was born in. That doesn't make it any easier though when he's dragged through a portal by the monster he's hunting. On his own this time, he'll have to find a way home, if that's even possible. Before he can do that though, he'll have to solve this new dimensions monster problem.

Book Four: Lost in Atlantis - 2011 Atlantis - The Devlin family is back together on a special mission to search the dimension of Atlantis for a particularly dangerous monster - the one that's been hunting Sebastian. The dimension of Atlantis has been abandoned for centuries, but almost immediately they find a single survivor, an impossible face from the past.

Book Five: Vengeance at the Door - 2013 Earth - Sebastian Devlin the monster hunter has become the hunted, chased across multiple states and dimensions by a horrifying visage either of his imagination or reality. Now in Boston, he's just trying to live off the radar of any monster or creature. As the patients at the mental hospital where he works begin to see the same visages he's been seeing, does he run again? Or get himself slaughtered?

Book Six: Heartwood - 2015 Shadow - Janina Heartwood is a good little sister, she picks food off of her brother's plate, puts leaves in his hair, sticks up for him, and trusts him to the edge of the world. After a mysterious man reveals that her brother, Jake, is adopted and descended from a line of monster hunters called the Devlins, she follows him to another dimension to protect him. Now she, Jake, and her boyfriend, Ethan, find themselves trying to destroy an evil entity known as the Sluagh. Janina fights shapeshifters, gremlins, pirates, and more to protect her brother, but will it be enough?

Book Seven: Bring Me a Dream - 2015 Earth - Reynolds McNeil is a Sandman slowly turning into a Nightmare just trying to live out his final few months keeping his friends out of trouble and protecting his little sister from his scary world. Instead, he gets kidnapped and taken to an underground fight ring for augmented humans like himself.

Book Eight: Dream Treader - 2016 Unnamed Dimension - Rescued at the last second by their thought-to-be dead brother, Reynolds and Louie discover there's a lot more to their strange powers than they thought. Things continue to get complicated as they are hunted by a different kind of enemy determined to rid the world of Destiny's chosen - them and their friends.

Book Nine: Moonlight Dreams - 2017 multiple dimensions - Still on the run but now without their leader, Reynolds and his friends try to learn everything they can about why they're being hunted. In the process they rescue their leader, who now must accept that it's time to start the endgame and bring together all of Destiny's chosen before they're hunted down.

Book Ten: Among Infinities - 2017 Isfyd - Carson has lived his entire life in the middle of a Civil War, and most of that was on the wrong side. Although he's on the right side now there are few who believe he's anything other than a spy. When Carson discovers there is a real spy out there he must discover the spy's identity before he's found guilty himself.

Book Eleven: Diplopia - 2018 Isfyd - Carson, now a prisoner of his mother and in the process of resisting her brainwashing, discovers this isn't the first time she's brainwashed him or erased his memories. Exploring his memories and his old home reveals answers and more questions.

Book Twelve: Splintered Crown - 2019 Earth- Freshly rescued, Carson and his friends flee to Earth to find the one thing that can stop his mother and her army - a girl with no idea who she is or how to use her powers, and absolutely no interest in joining their rebellion.

Book Thirteen: Destiny - 2020 Earth - Earth is invaded by soldiers from Isfyd, it will take all of Destiny's chosen to defeat the great evil they've been waiting for. The Devlins, the McNeils, the Moons, and Carson and his friends are the only chance this dimension has. It's looking increasingly like it won't be enough.

Other WIPs

Hounds of Corduff - 1800s Isfyd - A four-book series following the three Cruth apprentices of Corduff as they battle with and against each other in the middle of propaganda and other lies forcing them each further away from the truth.

The Elder Mage - 1976 - 2015 Various dimensions - a series of short stories following Denham Moon, who some would call Earth's most powerful mage. He's been entrusted with bringing together Destiny's chosen at the appropriate time, but he's mostly just procrastinating since he's pretty sure he won't make it through that appropriate time.

Old Gods - a 9-book series following Em'het, a curious and multi-talented boy with great magics who fights the gods to save his family, but after several years of doing the same thing over and over again he wonders if there's a point to any of it if the gods he faces just keep getting stronger and smarter.

Prince of Fireflies - a TV series that follows teenage twins Charlie and Riley as they attempt to keep their younger brother Liam out of trouble with his mysterious light powers. They're mostly unsuccessful.

The Peculiar Adventures of Michael Mallory - an unnumbered book series that follows 9-year-old Michael Mallory after he sneaks aboard his older brother's spaceship. While in the process of trying to return Michael, Nicholas Mallory and his crew are attacked and forced to hyperjump without their navigation machines online. Now they're lost in space, who knows how far from home, and somehow raising a 9-year-old.

The Disappearing Place - just one book - 12-year-old Martin Ramsey has a bad habit of disappearing, blinking in and out of existence seemingly at random. His brother Bartholomew tries to help but ends up making things worse when he starts disappearing too. In a wacky time-traveling dilemma the brothers have to figure out what is happening and why to try and get back home, while continually randomly jumping in and out of time and space.

[writtenbyaris]

my creative writing process as a planner 🌟

the idea:

story ideas come to me at the most random and inconvenient of times. right before i fall asleep, when i'm in the shower, during my classes, etcetera. my main rule is to always write them down, whether it's in my notes app or a slip of paper or a journal... i'll forget it if i don't.

i try keeping it simple at this stage and not thinking too deeply about it, otherwise it becomes quite overwhelming. sometimes ¡'ll make a pinterest board depending on what the idea is. if it's more of an aesthetic, then i can make a moodboard out of it to help inspire me more. however, if the idea is a plot of some sort, that can be a bit more difficult.

character and world building:

this is my favorite part. once i have an idea set in stone and i'm ready to work on it, i begin building the characters and the world around it. i figure out the mechanics of the idea and how it can relate to characters and the world they're in.

at this point, i'm definitely making pinterest boards, playlists, and picrews to feel more immersed in the skeleton of the story.

i still keep it as simple as possible, and try to enjoy it. when i try juggling too many things at once, i end up wanting to abandon the project. slow and steady is the key for me :)

creating the story:

now we get down to what being a writer actually is.. transforming the idea into a story. i have to at least come up with one major plotline to start. i usually write in my journal during this stage, but sometimes i'll use notion to organize everything and keep track of it all.

oftentimes, the main plot will come to me when i'm working on character and world building. sometimes it's even the idea that first popped into my head. the story is usually influenced by dreams i've had, my own every day experiences, and other media i consume.

arcs, subplots, themes, etc:

this stage is for the smaller details that are vital for the story to flow and actually work. it's like a puzzle that's finally coming together.

for me, a story isn't a good one without arcs and themes, so those are of utmost importance. subplots are necessary to make the world more immersive, give readers insight on the characters, and keep the story naturally flowing. everything has to be woven back in to the main plot or idea, though.

i will say, this is the stage that tends to give me the biggest headache :P

zero draft:

jumping into a first draft as a heavy planner is too scary for me. so i came up with the idea of a zero draft. basically- zero expectations.

this is the backbone of my story. in this stage, i'm basically just taking myself through the steps of the story. i organize the plot and subplots into chapters, and with each chapter i go through all the beats of each scene. literally every. single. thing. that happens.

i don't usually include dialogue in this phase, but i do mention when a character will be in a conversation. all the focus should be on putting a needle and thread through the story and tying it all together.

first draft:

the first draft is somewhat easier for me because i do a zero draft. so, i know everything that will happen in a chapter and just have to utilize my writing abilities to make it rhythmic.

this is the first stage where i write dialogue, so it tends to be corny. a lot of my writing can be cliche and basic as well. that's what editing is for though!

i usually stress the most when writing my first draft, because it's the first time the story is actually being written in the format of a novel. by the end, it's not always very good either. but i do not look back at all, which means absolutely no editing until the first draft is finished.

and so on…

once the first draft is finished, then comes draft two. it's enjoyable to be able to read your own work all over again, though it's sometimes embarrassing as writing does improve with practice.

i focus on one chapter at a time-reading slowly, editing, filling in plot holes, fixing anything that changed later in the story. i try to catch as many details as i can.

usually, after as many rounds of editing one likes, the draft would be sent to an editor and beta readers. then i'd look into publishing companies (can you tell i haven't gotten to that point yet? lol)

are you a planner or a pantser?

[bourbonificould]

What do you think the ericsons kids like to read in their spare time? Who's reading fantasy novels and who's reading the old shaekespeare books from English class and Who's reading I Spy books and such?

Clementine just reads whatever she can find really. She's quite open to pretty much any genre and likes to read when she's on watch. Louis/Violet sometimes leave a book in her room, so she reads it and asks them about it to tease or impress them.

AJ definitely reads all the cool comics that the kids used to sneak into the school from stores in the cities. Perhaps a Disco Broccoli comic as well. Sometimes he'll ask Clem to read him an actual novel, but only things with names he's never heard of before.

Louis is the one who has the comic stash that he gives off to AJ. But sometimes you'll catch him sitting around in the main rooms just reading something like To Kill A Mockingbird, and actually be kinda invested, like making his own lore for the characters to yell about at dinner.

Violet reads the cute love stories. She doesn't like to admit it, but a little lovey dovey book stash is definitely sitting in her room somewhere. If you catch her lacking, you'll hear her crack a giggle or two, and she loves asking Clem if they wanna try any of the romantic things.

Willy doesn't read. Ever.

Brody likes writing her own stories, but much like a lot of people, she never actually finishes the damn stories. Her drawer is a mess of half stapled booklets that have at least 10 scrapped pages.

Omar has his cook books obviously, but generally he'll read a drama or a comedy comic. Something that fits his laidback style.

Aasim has already read like half of the library. He'll generally read back on his own massive journal diary thing. He doesn't tell anyone, but the stuff he writes is from his point of view, so he'll find himself cursing himself out and scratching over a page from 6 years ago.

Mitch reads Shakespeare sometimes, and calls him stupid for writing in this weird style, but still finds himself invested in the story. When a character dies or is in a deadly situation, he thinks its cool and makes sure to bookmark.

Marlon is sick of reading. Like genuinely sick. It's all he ever does in the office, whether its a book or if its his own notes. Throw a book his way and he'll fall asleep on page 5.

Tennessee takes books from Violet's stash. He doesn't really understand it all too much, but he thinks its nice. AJ gives him comics too, so he has his hands in both pots, sometimes asking AJ about stuff that he reads.

Ruby is all about the comedy. From kid's books to general nonsense stuff, she's not afraid to burst out into laughter at the sight of a funny passage.

[mrhaitch]

hi mr.haitch!

as someone who's interested in academia, do you think you can speak a bit about your experiences and journey? it's something i've had my eye on for a bit but honestly don't even know where to begin and idk if i'm just having a mini life crisis because i'm feeling unfulfilled in my current field.

I think I've spoken about this before, but I'll do it again. Please note that I am currently not in academia at present, although I do have plans to return. Currently I'm teaching functional skills in English and maths to kids in their late teens (many of them with severe emotional, behavioural, or learning disorders) so this will be more of a retrospective.

(Be warned, it's long)

Let's get one thing very clear: I was a bad student and my road into academia is and remains crooked. I had bad grades in highschool, an appalling attendance record, and spent a great deal of highschool in detention. It is a miracle that I finished highschool, and a further miracle that I was accepted by a college, and fluked through my A-levels.

I never paid attention in class unless it was something I cared about. Homework was a mythical concept, I never participated, rarely engaged, and generally treated school with disdain.

And I didn't get better until I was in my twenties.

Some of it was anxiety, a lot of it was arrogance.

So fast forward through my undergrad years where I oscillated wildly between workaholic frenzy (political philosophy, existentialism, philosophy of religion) to staunch absenteeism (philosophy of language, socratic philosophy). In my final year things kind of clicked, I knuckled down, got into a few fights with my lecturers, forced my grades up, and came out with a good enough grade to get onto a masters course.

This was largely in thanks to my writing, which I'd become increasingly dedicated to, completing and submitting my first (and thankfully unpublished novel) in the process. During my master's I revelled in the greater degree of independence, how I could direct and engage with the material in my own way, and how it connected with my passions (creative writing). I still had an arrogant moment, failed to prepare for an assignment and failed it. The failure capped my overall grade at a pass which sank any hope for a scholarship.

Dejected and pissed off, I then took the first job that came my way and gave up on academia. I languished in the service industry for four years and thought I'd amount to nothing more. Some political nonsense happened towards the end, I pushed back against the wrong people who promptly tried to fire me under false (and illegal) pretenses.

Haitch pushed me to look into doing my PHD again. I applied, teaching out to one of my old MA teachers to be my supervisor and he accepted with far more enthusiasm than I could've hoped for. I got a loan from the government and vowed to throw myself at my PHD as hard as I could, and I did.

From 2019 until early 2023, I worked five days a week (plus some time in the weekends) on my thesis and my writing. 8-5 every day with my nose in a book, or plugging away at a manuscript, or drafting papers. I lived and breathed it every second. I kept a journal where I pushed myself to work harder and harder to achieve what I felt was my dream. During that time I was determined to come out with my experience and qualifications than I could possibly need for an entry position. I shadowed my colleagues when they taught classes, exchanged emails with academics I admired, published more short fiction.

Brick by brick I built a portfolio and a modest reputation. Then I was invited to speak at a prestigious convention in the UK. I met legendary literary agents, famous authors, hung out with people I admired, and had a chance to read some of my work to an audience and discuss its themes.

I taught for two years, while at the same time working two other contracts for various outreach bodies teaching and supporting kids from deprived or disadvantaged backgrounds.

And I still can't get a permanent position.

I've been shortlisted once or twice, and knocked back at the first hurdle a whole bunch.

Academic positions are like gold dust scattered down the back of a unicorn as it leaps over a double rainbow. It is hard to get a job teaching and researching at a university, especially in the humanities. It is endless rejection with minimal feedback, banging your head against a brick wall over and over wondering if you felt it move or if you've just softened your skull.

It's hard, very hard, and takes a lot of commitment and a lot of sacrifice, with zero guarantee you'll get anyway.

But you do it because you can't imagine yourself doing anything else.

The eagle eyed amongst you will recognise this as the same conclusion I reached about writing, and they're right. It's the same. Often thankless, frequently difficult. A feeling of toiling alone in the dark, waiting for someone, anyone to peer into the well you fell down.

But as hard as it is, if that's the path you've chosen, a part of you doesn't care. You do it anyway. You do it in spite of what it costs you, and the little it gives back.

At least, that's how I see it. Thank you for attending my rambling, somewhat doom-laden, TED talk.

[rabbitindisguise]

If you're struggling to pay attention to things that aren't TikTok, and already know you have ADHD, I have many fine wines coping mechanisms that might delight the palate brains of those interested in reading novels again:

Quiet, dim rooms (earplugs if needed) that will be undisturbed for 2-5 hours (for real, put up a sign that says "EMERGENCY interruption only" and lock it)

Stim toys (many kinds can be used while reading!)

Picking a book you're interested in, could be short or fast paced or have dragons in it. (Hint: it should be allergic to the NYT bestseller list)

Taking many small breaks, or doing "a page a day" challenges

Letting your mind wander and just keep reading, even if you missed a whole chapter and don't know what's happening anymore or anyone's names (it's exciting! Who knows what will happen next!!)

Read two books at the same time, so if you get bored with one you can switch to the other one

Blocking all the people who tell you that you should be reading more books and take a nap instead (cannot express how much this works 👍)

Getting weird with it (reading upside down, while kicking your feet, while eating, while practicing piano, etc)

Audiobooks

eReader, so you can take it with you places where you get bored (even if you don't end up reading you'll be Thinking about it)

Put it in plain sight

Sleep with it under your pillow and read before bed/just after you wake up

Wrote fanfic before you're even halfway through

Spoil the whole thing for yourself and go "no way!!" and read to figure out how that happens

Go to the library and get like 10 books off the shelf in the hopes there's one you'll like (read in the library so you don't have to return anything)

Ask a librarian for a recommendation on a topic you're interested in

Read non fiction for a change, or fiction if you're trying to read more non fiction

Record titles/notes of your favorite books in a journal or something

Give yourself a little treat for every book you finish (can be another book)

Write funny comments in the margins of your books

Use a bunch of highlighters for your favorite bits (even easier in an eReader where you can leave notes on the highlight)

Hope this helps!

[sarcasmsweetie]

Insecurities

A requested bonus scene for "A Better Life"! And my first request! I had a blast with this, and wound up doing a whole cannonball into insecurities instead of just dipping a toe in. Woops...

Request: would you mind writing about something in the a better life series where the reader is a little insecure and az reassures her?

Word count: 3.4k

Azriel x Archeron Sister

Masterlist

Taglist: On hold until the shadowban is lifted (as no one gets notified when I post with the ban still in place)

When Mor wants something, Mor gets it. Unfortunately, what she wants is to celebrate my visit back in Velaris with a night out at Rita’s. This is my first time back since Nyx was born, so I was hoping for a quieter evening in with everyone. “Quiet,” however, is not a word in Mor’s vocabulary. As Feyre and Rhys stayed home with their son, they promised me they’d spend all day tomorrow with me to make up for their absence tonight.

While I thought I wanted the quiet night, Rita’s proved to be fun as well. Mor hadn’t dragged me onto the dance floor just yet, so I enjoyed sitting in the booth beside Nesta, chatting with her and Cassian about anything and everything. Especially Nesta’s latest book recommendations.

“When you go home, I’ll pack up a few things for you to take back. Don’t think I didn’t notice how bare your shelves were when Cassian and I visited last month.”

“Ah, so what you’re saying is you’re going to send back a miniature library of romance novels, with a spice level no lower than 4 out of 5. Shall I also prepare a journal for my reviews so we can talk in length next time we see each other?” Cassian laughed, thinking I was joking, but Nesta’s eyes brightened in excitement.

“Not just reviews, but I want stream of consciousness. I can’t be there by your side to gauge your reactions, so I need to know everything about what you like and what you don’t so I can strengthen the next haul, ensure every book is to your liking.”

“Then for this first round, throw in a few mystery novels as well if you have them.” She raised an eyebrow and I shrugged. “I like to see if I can figure out the answer before it’s revealed.” Nesta looked to be deep in thought, mentally cataloguing everything she’s read and what could fit the “mystery” criteria.

Grabbing my drink, I noticed Azriel watching with mild interest in our conversation. Varian and Amren were speaking quietly to one another on one side, while Mor tried to convince Elain to try her tequila cocktail on his other.

“I’ve got a few mystery novels I can add to the collection. Maybe in your journal, you can note when you think you’ve figured it out and we can compare who solved it quicker.” I raised my glass to him, and he raised his beer in response.

“While I don’t like my odds, Spymaster, I’ll accept this challenge.” We both smiled as we finished the last of our drinks. Taking a glance around the table, I noticed everyone else’s glasses were low. As Elain and I each were on the end of the rounded booth and she was still trying to decline Mor’s invitation to try her incredibly strong drink, I took the initiative to get everyone’s refills. “I’ll go grab us another round.” Amren smiled as she finished the last of her wine as Azriel tried to stand to help. “You’re wedged in, Az. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in a minute.” He nodded, though with a slight hesitation, as he moved to settle back into his seat.

I moved around some of the stray dancers on the edge of the dancefloor to get to the bar, thankful there was a space opening up at the bar as I approached. Stepping in quickly before anyone else could, I waved down the closest bartender and requested everyone’s drinks. As the bartender began to make everything, I organized my coin purse to pay for the drinks and leave a hefty tip. I took a few minutes to look around my surroundings, smiling softly at the dancing couples and the groups of people laughing around the bar. A flash of blonde caught my eye, and I watched as Mor made her way to the center of the floor, dancing briefly with everyone she moved past. My smile grew at the image, though my eyes glanced back to our table. Elain was seated bit closer to Az, presumably so she wouldn’t have to move again when Mor came back from dancing. My smile dropped a bit, though I knew things weren’t like they used to be between them. She was writing with Lucien, and I knew Azriel was trying to get to know me better. But I watched the easy way they spoke to one another, the way they engaged so effortlessly. I watched as he chuckled over something she said, and I felt something tighten in my chest. It was easy to guess they were commenting on Mor as they were both watching her dance, a simple and safe topic, but that didn’t wipe away the sting of jealousy I had watching them together.

“Do you think the Shadowsinger will ever make a move on that female?” I tore my gaze from the table to the couple at the bar beside me.

“Who knows? We never see him with anyone, though it would be a shame if he lets this one slip away. They look so pretty together, don’t they? Opposites attract, and all that.”

They provided a bit more commentary to one another about my sister and my mate, suggesting ideas of their relationship simply being more private than others of the Inner Circle, before they collected their drinks and moved somewhere else. I didn’t watch where they went as my gaze fell back on the two in question.

They did look quite attractive. Elain was always light and petite, which I could agree paired well with his darker and larger build. Having always been the tallest of the sisters, I was always closer to the men’s height of our village, never really knowing what it was like to look up to someone or struggle to meet their eye. I also packed on a bit of muscle since moving to Winter due to maintaining the cabin and Fenrir’s stable all on my own. Feyre and Nesta had a bit of muscle themselves, but I always believed they had the build of dancers whereas mine feels… thicker than what they have. Elain, on the other hand, was as feminine as one could be, focusing primarily on “traditional” tasks a female would take on and not anything that could build a strength that could threaten the strength of the male on her arm.

My brain fell down the rabbit hole of thinking back to every encounter I’ve witnessed of the two of them, remembering how there’s always been an easy connection there. They never had to argue in order to be seen, to be on the same side. They never had to fight in order to keep the other’s attention. One simply exists and the other is in their orbit. If Nesta never said anything about the mating bond, would they still be together? Or would he have realized on his own what he had done and stepped away, chose me?

I was brought out of my musings by a bump to my back. Turning, I noticed the bartender sliding a tray holding all of our drinks towards me. I apologized for zoning out, handing over the payment and tip, and headed back to the table. Along the way, Mor caught up with me, sliding an arm over my shoulders while grabbing her drink for herself. She helped me pass out everyone’s drinks before saying she’ll take the tray back to the bar for me.

“You don’t have to trouble yourself with that, Mor! I’ve got it.” She smirked at me.

“Trust me when I say that this is no trouble. In fact, you’re doing me the favor of giving me an excuse to chat up the cute new bartender Rita brought on.” She winked as she sauntered off, and most of the table chuckled.

I tried to at least remain aware to the conversations around me as I nursed my drink, but I kept falling back into the thoughts of not belonging here, of not being enough. Nesta nudged me, brows slightly furrowed, but I tried to shake her concerns away with a smile. “Just tired, is all. Not used to nights out like this.” Nesta didn’t look convinced, but Elain nodded along like she understood.

“I normally don’t come out, either. What would you be doing now if you were still in Winter?” While Elain has been getting better at asking questions since our confrontation last time I was in Velaris, I noticed she never called Winter my home – just referenced it as a place I was currently staying at.

“I’m attempting to knit socks.” I chuckled to myself as I looked back down to my drink. “Right now, I’d be snuggled up on the sofa in front of a large fire, trying to figure out why I just can’t get socks right. Something about the way they curve at the heel is apparently baffling to me.” I shrugged as I thought about what else my nights would entail. “Tomorrow would have been a brunch day with Viv, so when I inevitably get fed up with the knitting, I’d move to the kitchen and bake something for those at the manor. There is a common fondness for ginger biscuits, so I’ve been toying around with some of those flavors. But now that I’m building up my own library, I imagine more reading in my future.” I glanced back up at Elain and she had a small smile on her face, though the same could not be said for everyone else at the table.

Before letting any possible looks of pity settle in my skin at my isolation, I swallowed back the rest of my drink. “And I believe this is where I’ll call it a night. Tell Mor I said good night and thank her for inviting me out, would you?” I kissed Nesta’s cheek in goodbye, squeezing Cassian’s extended hand at the same time, then nodded at Amren and Varian (genuinely shocked they were still here).

Elain stood to hug me goodbye, asking if I could join her in the gardens tomorrow. I agreed with a smile, mentally sorting through a possible schedule with Rhys and Feyre that would allow me time to break away, and we both watched Azriel stand from the booth before Elain could slide back in. “I’ll walk you back.” I was fully prepared to turn down the offer, content to wallow in my own self-pity, but the stern look in his gaze made it clear he wouldn’t accept any arguments. Biting back a sigh, I nodded and followed him out. As we neared the exit, my eye caught the couple from the bar, both of whom looked shocked he was leaving with someone other than Elain as they moved their gaze between myself and my sister, whispering to one another as they watched. Crossing my arms over my chest, I felt myself shrink a bit under their judgments, clearly not impressed with Azriel’s choice of company.

Once we were out the door, I only felt one pair of eyes on me instead of dozens. I kept my gaze forward, not wanting to look at the source of my anxiety. “Thank you for the offer, Azriel, but I can walk back on my own. I don’t want to take you away from your evening.” From my sister.

“Like you, nights out aren’t really my thing. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along in your escape.” Ah, so I’m just an excuse to leave as well. “And while I know you’re still here for a week, I was hoping you wouldn’t be opposed to me stealing you tonight for a bit longer? Walk around the city, just us?” Startled, I glanced up at him to find his gaze intense and locked on my own. “Please?” Doing the one thing I didn’t want to do, I stared into his hazel eyes and found myself agreeing without thinking. The smile he offered in response was so bright, I had to look away.

“Lead the way.” We were quiet as we walked, and I took the time to observe my surroundings. When I lived here, I never came out at night, which I’m learning was quite the shame as it truly is beautiful. Not just the sky, but the people became livelier at this time, all enjoying an evening under a clear, bright night. The moon lit up everything around us, and it’s like the buildings came alive as well under the moon beams. He walked me to a bridge over the Sidra, and I found myself in awe at the clear water reflecting the sky, as if the stars of Night lived in the water as well as the sky. I contemplated reaching out to see if I could actually scoop a star from the water, but decided to save that possible embarrassment for another day.

“This is my favorite place to go when I have something weighing on my mind.” I glanced at him, wondering what he was worried about. Was I so lost in my head that I didn’t even notice he was upset as well? He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed in front of him. His head was facing forwards, but his eyes were focused on me at his side. I felt myself slipping back into old roles, preparing to be a mediator for a possible argument he’s in with someone or soundboard for frustrations in trying to solve a problem. I didn’t know the tells of the Spymaster to know which role he needed of me now, but I’m pretty certain that I have experienced next to every possibility with three younger sisters always needing something.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about what’s weighing on you?” He turned himself to face me fully, though his features didn’t change to help me pinpoint what I could do to help.

“I was about to ask you the same questions. You’ve been quiet, in your head. And it’s more than just being tired. I thought maybe a place that helps me sort things out could do the same for you.” I blinked at him, trying to wrap my head around the abrupt change.

“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s just… I do the listening, I don’t do the talking.” He eased his elbow onto the railing, relaxing into the position as if he was beginning to settle down for a long conversation.

“I get the sense that maybe it’s time for you to do some talking.” His eyes shifted, and he glanced down. “If you want to talk to someone else, that’s fine. I suppose I did just assume you’d open up to me…” I bit my lip, unsure of what to do.

Instead of talking, I moved closer to where he was and mirrored his previous position that allowed me to look over the Sidra instead of looking directly at him.

“I think that’s part of the issue.” I could practically feel his gaze on me, which made me focus more on how the skyline and water blended seamlessly into one another. “I don’t know how to open up to you.” I swallow, wondering if I should say what’s on my mind. “I suppose the only way to open up is to just do it, so thank the gods I have a few drinks in me to keep pushing me forward, but…”

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes only to envision him and Elain next to each other in the booth. Next to each other on the love seat. Next to each other at the dining table. “I wonder what you would have done if Nesta never said anything.” With my eyes still closed, I didn’t see him go still, but I could feel his stillness all the same. Something in the air shifted, and I let my shoulders droop. “It was so easy for you and Elain to be together. You brought her out of her shell, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that she lightened something inside of you as well. It’s why I never said anything when I still lived here. I couldn’t possibly be the selfish one, inserting myself into your narrative because I thought I should be there with no regard to what you and Elain wanted. It wasn’t just me involved in all of this. You cared for her, you chose her. And I wonder if Nesta never said anything, would you still be by her side because it’s so effortless?”

My words echoed around in my head as I continued to see him and Elain together behind closed lids, continued to compare myself to my younger sister in ways I never did before this bond snapped in place. He remained silent, and that tightness in my chest grew stronger the longer he kept quiet. I opened my eyes, vision blurry with tears wanting to spill, and decided it was time to go.

“Thank you for showing me this place, but I should head back – “

“I choose you.” I froze, back to him, when he finally spoke up. “I choose you as I should have from the very beginning. But even if Nesta never said anything, I know I would have still chosen you. You said it seems effortless and easy between Elain and I. In some regard, I suppose that’s true. But that’s because no decisions were ever needed between us. Nothing was ever at stake because we were never supposed to be together. I will continue to grovel for all of our days for the pain that I’ve caused you, but I know now what I should have known then, and that is that I don’t want effortless.” My brows furrowed as I turned to him, and he shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.” I watched him for a moment as he tried to form the words he’s struggling with.

He began pacing, alternating between rubbing his face and pulling at his hair as he tried to explain himself. “I want to be challenged. I don’t want you blindly agreeing with everything I’m saying, but questioning what I say, having different opinions on what I think so that we can have a deeper connection, a deeper understanding of each other. I want someone who asks questions when I’m talking about my day, disagrees with my theories of books, someone who calls me out on my bullshit. I don’t want the ‘easy and effortless’ life you claim Elain and I could have had because that was so… empty. We talked about the most mundane things because we didn’t know what else to talk about.” He turned and looked at me, eyes softening. “I want to read by your side in front of a large fire while you succeed in knitting your first sock. I want to join you in teasing Cassian when we tell him that Fenrir is the superior version of himself. I want to hold you in my arms when we can’t sleep as I take you flying and you tell me about recipes you’re trying out and how they’re different from when you made it in the human lands.” He gave up on pacing to move in front of me, grabbing my hands and holding tight. “I want you to be the one I go to when I’m happy, sad, furious with my brothers and their stupidity, when I’m exasperated with my brothers and their stupidity…” He gently raised a hand to wipe away the tears from my face. “I’ve chosen you, and I’m never going back on that. And I will be here when you’re ready to choose me, too.”

His words bounced around my head as if that would make it easier for me to process what he said. He remained silent, thumb continuing to wipe tears as they fell, eyes moving over my face as if committing this snot-filled moment to memory.

I choose you.

The hand that still encased in his tightened its grip slightly. “I choose dinner.” His brows furrowed and I fought back a smile. “With you. One of these nights while I’m still in town. Maybe we can talk about some of these books and theories you have.”

“It’s a date.”