Finding out that you, bwaldorfs, one of my favorite blogs is ALSO A RORY X LOGAN STAN? As if I could love you more? All I’m going to say is I dated a “Jess” down to the taking off with no notice, it’s not cute. I think people really hate Logan because of the Christopher parallels but Logan has SOOO much character development throughout the series and Rory created her own mess with the boat thing, if she had been honest with Logan up front I doubt any of season 5 would have happened
omg i love you 🥺 another shameless plug for my main @stallison because now that i know i have some followers here who also like rory/logan i’ll start posting some rogan gifsets there soon (and also some for my other fandoms)!
Hoy, dollinks, I've had a rough few days, so I'm entertaining myself by sharing a little bit of that book I'm writing. It's Sunday morning, so most of you probably won't even see this, but to those of you who do: Please enjoy this excerpt, in which Bedevere tells Lancelot that he is aro/ace (which they don't actually have a word for but is still a thing). ----- Arthur found the other kingdoms of Cymru reluctant to support the Saxons' war. Taking Bedevere and Lancelot with him, he rode out to persuade them. Every time he returned to Camelot, he looked a little more disheartened. Privately, Lancelot did all he could to comfort his prince. In public he could only stand by and watch him suffer. Many nights, the three of them huddled around a campfire in the woods. When Arthur shivered, Lancelot offered his own cloak. Bedevere looked on in disapproval. Winter came fast in the foothills. Cold rain and sharp winds made mockery of their campfires. Arthur sat closer to the sputtering flames, huddled deeper into his cloak. One night, when the rains had abated but the wind howled down out of the mountains, Arthur slept fitfully, shivering in two cloaks and three blankets. Lancelot crouched nearby, feeding the driest twigs he could find to the fire. The green wood snapped and smoked. Bedevere stood over him, silent and surly. "Why do you dislike me?" Lancelot asked abruptly. "I don't." Bedevere waited for Lancelot to stand before he continued. "But if you hurt Arthur, I will cut you into little pieces and light you on fire." "Oh." Lancelot looked down at their sleeping prince. "Well, I have no intention—" "Your intention is irrelevant. Only your actions matter to me." Lancelot thought that point fair, and he said so. "If I hurt Arthur, I'm sure I'll want to be cut into pieces and set on fire." Bedevere made a small noise of amusement. "You really do love him." He shook his head. "You never saw Camelot without him. It was a colder place before he came to us. He has this way of lighting up the whole world, just by being there." Lancelot studied Bedevere's fond smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you loved him, too." "We all love him. Not the same way you do," Bedevere added before Lancelot could comment. "When you first arrived, I knew you would be trouble, the way you seemed to fancy everyone." Somehow, Lancelot managed to hold back his relief. "You don't fancy Arthur?" "If I fancied anyone," Bedevere replied with a shrug, "I expect it might be him. But I don't, and I haven't, and I don't think I ever shall." Lancelot gave Bedevere a sidelong glance. "I can't imagine a life like that," he said, "but to each his own." "Likewise." For a long while they stood together in silence, trying to warm their hands over the sputtering fire. Arthur grumbled to himself in his sleep. At length, Bedevere said, "I won't go easy on you if we become friends." "I expected not." "It's my job to make you fighting fit." Bedevere nodded toward their sleeping prince. "When he is too much himself, you will need to protect him." "Always," Lancelot promised. They kept watch the rest of the night, shivering as the wind buffeted them, feeding a dying fire.
So it’s that day of the year where I remember the INTENSE ANXIETY of having to give out valentines in school, but I’m assuming some of you like romance-y things. So here’s an excerpt* from the book I’m writing. (It’s a little long. I’ve added a read more.)
*romance not guaranteed, though an attempt is made
—–
Uther paused, frowning at his son. “Why do you look suddenly ill?”
Reluctant, Arthur drew nearer to his father. “I can’t go to Cameliard in deep winter. Lady Gwen will surely be in residence.”
Uther looked at his son and, finding him in earnest, gave a hearty laugh. “You can go,” he said, “and you will.”
“She hates me!” Arthur objected.
“I find that unlikely.”
“Indeed?” Arthur made a broad gesture with one hand. “Then why does she take her warriors and ride out every time I visit Cameliard?”
Uther grinned. “Perhaps you should ask her yourself.”
Arthur decided to take his father’s advice. He rode with Kay to Cameliard, and they met with Leodegrance, who insisted they stay, as the weather had turned for the worse. He bade them dine with him at his own table, and Arthur could not refuse.
Leodegrance seated Arthur across from Gwen, and between two of his younger daughters. Glancing down the table, he saw Kay smothering a silent laugh. Arthur scowled at him, and Kay had to fight all the more against his mirth.
“Where is your faithful shadow?”
At the sound of Gwen’s voice, Arthur froze. Slowly, as though to avoid drawing too much attention, he turned toward her. “At Camelot still.”
“A pity.” Smirking at him, she broke a piece of bread in half. “I shouldn’t have thought he’d ever let you out of his sight.”
“Well, you see, Kay and I actually are competent knights.”
Gwen smiled a smile that bared her teeth. “Will wonders never cease.”
Arthur could not remember so awkward a meal. He and Gwen exchanged barbs while he tried not to admire her in her court finery. Gwen’s sisters leaned a little away, a silent plea for escape. Farther down the table, Kay choked twice on unspent laughter.
If Leodegrance regretted seating Gwen and Arthur near one another, he gave no indication of it. He chatted mostly with Kay, who maintained a tone of friendly respect throughout the meal. Kay kept subtle watch over Arthur until everyone retired for the evening. Gwen herself showed the guests to their rooms. After they had left Kay at his door, Arthur slanted a sidelong look at her.
“My lady, may I ask you something?”
Gwen’s long strides slowed. “If you must.”
“Why do you dislike me so?” Arthur peered up at her, hoping for an honest reply. What he saw was surprise.
“Do I dislike you?” Gwen said. “I hadn’t realized.”
Ignoring their verbal sparring, which Arthur decided could count as something entirely different, he had evidence enough. “You’ve avoided me these many weeks.”
“I have.”
Something in Gwen’s decisive tone only confused Arthur further. He stopped walking and he waited for her to turn to face him. “Why?” All earnest curiosity, he gazed up at her.
“Because.” Gwen shook her head at him. “It’s that ridiculous mustache you’re trying to grow. Please stop. I can’t look on you without wanting to laugh.”
Arthur touched his upper lip. As much as he wanted to defend the thin crop of stubble he had managed to cultivate, he knew her words to be true. “My lady,” he said with a slight nod.
“That’s it?” Gwen said, eyebrows arching in skepticism. “You’re resigned to setting a fashion for clean shaven faces?”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Arthur’s lips. “Anything for you, my lady.”
“But…?”
Arthur bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. “If I change my appearance for you, I may be inclined to ask permission to court you.”
“You wouldn’t.” Gwen’s stare sharpened. A muscle in her jaw clenched, and her nostrils flared.
Her anger surprised Arthur. “Why should I not?”
“If you dare go to my father and—”
“Gwen,” Arthur interrupted. “Lady Gwenhyfar, most radiant lady of Cameliard, you misunderstand me. I would ask you, not your father.”
“Well.” Gwen eyed him with new regard. “So long as you do not go to my father without my consent,” she said, “I’ll not have to raise the sword of my ancestors from its resting place and use it to gut you.”
“That’s fair.”
Gwen laughed. “You are so strange.”
“From you, my lady, a compliment.” Arthur bowed.
“It’s really not.”
His eyes shining, Arthur bobbed upright again. “May I, my lady?”
“Court me?” Gwen’s mirth faded. “You are in earnest.”
“I am. And you’ve even seen me undressed already.”
“That was hardly my fault,” Gwen reminded him. Her eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you and Lancelot…?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t about Camelot attempting to annex Cameliard, is it?”
Arthur’s face crumpled into a frown. “Is it odd that I admire your suspicious nature?”
“Arthur Pendragon, everything about you is odd.”
Arthur beamed at her. “Another complement! Surely I am blessed.”
Shaking her head, Gwen gestured. “Here is your door. I bid you a restful evening.” Her lips twisted into a reluctant smile. “You odd little man.”
“So cruel, to mention my height!” Both hands clasped over his heart, Arthur fell back against the closed door. “Good night, radiant Gwen.”
Arthur smiled to himself while he took his tonic and undressed. Gwen had not rejected his suit. Filled with hope, he wrapped himself up in unfamiliar blankets and snuffed the candle.
