#so i’m not saying that we can’t or shouldn’t have diversity within the genre

[starbuck]

it has to be said: people who only support revenge when Inigo Montoya does it are fake revenge fans… he’s cool and fun about it and also extremely justified… what about characters who are cunts about it and ruin everything and aren’t valid in the slightest? you either show up for them or you aren’t there at all.

[yoonpobs]

difficult | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: fluff, mini angst, super cute, mutual pining

words: 3, 812

summary: you're difficult and yoongi just wants you

“I can’t believe it,” Jimin whistles. Taehyung mirrors his sentiment but with a look of disbelief.

“Me neither. But here we are.” Taehyung states matter-of-factly.

You were silent, not because you had nothing to say—but because you couldn’t believe it either. How did you allow yourself to fall into this trap? A trap you’ve spent your entire life training to avoid. And you would consider yourself someone that was dedicated to their craft and you truly were. But you were still susceptible to guilty pleasures and you just found your match.

“Why is no one stopping me? Why isn’t anyone telling me to get a grip of myself?” You cry.

Jimin looks at you sympathetically even if he knows that you hated being pitied. Taehyung at least avoids your gaze but the tell-tale signs of a frown appear on his face when you see the furrow of his brows.

“You know … you’re allowed to feel this way, right?” Jimin says carefully and you were more annoyed with the fact that he was walking on eggshells with you when you’ve long passed that stage of prudent navigation around each other. And you knew exactly why he sounded the way he did.

“I’m not. I’m supposed to be an impenetrable fortress that cannot be shaken by anything let alone anyone. I am an unyielding, resolute woman that refuses to be tied down by society’s narratives.” You say all at once.

Jimin and Taehyung blink at you. They expected this—but it still surprised them that you vocalised their thoughts.

Jimin clears his throat.

“Let me rephrase that,” He says sternly, “You’re allowed to feel, period.”

You shake your head because you’ve fallen too far—too hard. And you needed to get a grip of yourself because you didn’t work hard perfecting the flawless expression of bitchiness and temptation to be taken seriously amongst a Board of Directors filled with men. People like you couldn’t afford to feel.

Especially when the world never feels for you. For women.

“Do you hear yourself Jimin?” You exasperate as you throw your hands in the air in frustration.

“____—” Taehyung attempts to reason with you, but as always, you never let him get a word in. He knows you don’t mean any malice because you’ve built your walls so high that you think everyone is out to get you—but he just cares about you. He wishes you’d let him.

“No. You don’t understand guys. People like me? We—I—can’t afford to slack off. Not now and not anytime soon. I hear you guys and I wish I could understand where you’re coming from but frankly, I won’t ever be able to. You have the liberty of picking your battles because this world is yours. I had to fight my battles on my own to claim this world as my own and I’m nowhere near deserving of that role yet. I can’t feel.”

Their eyes soften at you and you avoid their gazes. You didn’t want their pity, and you didn’t want to sit in a tight office with their stares so heavy on your own.

“You deserve to be happy,” Taehyung says sadly.

You don’t respond, but you hear the chairs in front of your desk move against the hardwood floor. Then, you hear the opening and closing of your doors and you’re finally alone. Like how you do best.

You don’t allow another thought as insignificant as the one that threatens to overtake you to pass through your mind as you quickly tend to your pending projects.

The name of a certain man lingers very vaguely, though.

It annoys yet terrifies you how much you needed to consciously play your cards just right when you step into another board meeting. You thrived when you spoke at the podium, and no man—even the most bigoted—could deny that you were a born leader. But that didn’t mean that they liked that fact. In fact, most of them despised the idea that a woman as young as you was even allowed in the same room as they were. You wished you could yell at them, cry and shout until they understood that you were deserving.

You couldn’t, for very obvious reasons. But until you could—you needed to be smart.

“Mr Lee, with all due respect—liquifying the compartment company will not bring us the projected profit that you’ve pitched in the previous meeting.”

You’re level-headed and cool when you attempt to reason with the older and very stubborn man. He was old, and stubborn, which was never good news for you.

Mr Lee, the Chairman’s younger brother, simply scoffs at you, and you try your best not to let your eye twitch.

“What? Do you have a bachelor’s degree in business?” He sneers.

You blink.

“I have a double Masters in Business Administration and Finance.”

Mr Lee stiffens, and you briefly see Seokjin, the fellow nephew of Mr Kim, holding back his snorts at your declaration.

“I am qualified to be making this statement, and if you don’t believe in just words—which you really shouldn’t—here are the documents and projections from my end.” You distribute the analysis you took upon yourself to complete over the weekend and worked overtime to finish it as you handed it around the table.

Mr Kim, the Chairman, who was a far better man than everyone else in the Board of Directors, offers you an impressed smile as he flips through your booklet while you stand straight with your shoulders rolled back. A stance you often took to show that you knew your shit.

“This is very … meticulous. Great work as always, ___.” Mr Kim compliments you.

You don’t let it show on your face but you’re pleased with the way Mr Lee grumbles under his breath like a petulant child.

“Very well. We’ll keep the compartment company as it is,” Mr Kim declares and everyone else in the room shuffles to collect their belongings as the meeting comes to an end, “Meeting adjourned.”

+

“You’re absolutely badass,” Jin whistles at you as you walk side-by-side, your folders snug against your chest.

You hide your smile but acknowledge it regardless.

“And you were … there. As usual.”

He snorts and you know he gets where you’re coming from. Jin was simply present at the meeting but he wasn’t actually present. His heart had no place in the business world but instead in a world filled with fine dining and diverse cuisines as he worked up a storm in the kitchen. But as every father—who is the Chairman of a country’s largest exporter—he had pushed that dream onto Jin from a young age.

But Jin was Jin, and you knew Mr Kim simply kept him here for the sake of it; fully aware of his son’s aspirations and determination of becoming a chef.

“You should just take my position. You’re so good at business talk—I didn’t understand half the shit you were saying the entire time.” He says.

You shrug.

“I mean, that’s the goal. But let’s just see for now,” You hum as you reach your office, and you still when you see the person waiting for you inside.

Jin takes a peek over your shoulder and spots the same person who has you looking so tense. He whistles at you as he stuffs his right hand in his pocket while offering you a consoling pat on your shoulder with his left before he stalks off.

“Good luck!” He calls out, and you internally groan at the oncoming interaction.

You brace yourself and put on a brave face as you step into your office, doors clicking, signalling your guest to turn around at the insinuation of your presence.

“Mr Min, what can I help you with?” You don’t look at him when you place your belongings on your table and you nearly miss his scoff with the way you attempt to busy yourself with any mindless activity that you can find on your desk.

“Mr Min? Not Yoongi anymore?”

You ignore his bitter tone and look at him with a reserved stare, raising an eyebrow as if to question his statement.

“Are we not co-workers?” You reply coolly and he scoffs much louder for you to hear.

“Co-workers … yeah,” He shrugs, leaning forward, “Do you usually kiss your co-workers?”

You are still at the sudden declaration and nearly drop the pen that was in your grip. He’s suddenly inches closer to you despite the relative distance of your desk between the both of you. You try to ignore the heat of his body, but it’s entirely too suffocating for you to pretend like he isn’t there.

“Don’t give me that nonsense,” You wave him off and you steady your voice because you weren’t ready for him to see you break. You allowed yourself too much space to be vulnerable and you needed to stop.

He sits back into the chair and folds his arms across his chest with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, this is not what we’re going to do.” He says, suddenly much firmer than he was a moment ago.

“I’m sorry?” You ask, clearly confused.

“None of this detached, emotionless attitude with me. I see through this facade and it’s not cute. You’re going to speak to me like an adult and address the very obvious feelings you have for me, and likewise. You’re not allowed to deflect like you always do because I expect you to be honest with me because you’re clearly not being honest to yourself.”

You blink up at him and your heart starts beating more rapidly within your chest as it betrays your stoic appearance.

Maybe that was why you fell for Yoongi in the first place. He didn’t tolerate you. Specifically, the shit that you pull on him. You were well aware you were a stubborn, hard-headed bitch that could be emotionally reserved 99% of the time when you interacted with others. And sometimes your bitchiness was uncalled for, but most people were too terrified to say anything about it to your face.

Yoongi?

He had no problems letting you know what he expected from you and how he thought of you from the beginning. It should’ve irked you. Based on your strict line of principles that you upheld—a man projecting his own thoughts of you that he had in his head, directly to you, should’ve been dehumanising, disrespectful even. But you never got that from Yoongi. He was brutally honest. And you appreciate honesty.

But sometimes it made you squirm.

“I … sorry, what? Are you insane? I don’t have feelings for you.” You narrow your eyes at him and hope you sound convincing enough.

But you knew Yoongi well enough to know that he saw through your blatant lie.

“I said: don’t deflect. You’re deflecting.” He scolds.

“You’re being unnecessarily distasteful right now,” You roll your eyes.

“Am I? Or am I just telling you the truth that you’ve been trying to deny for the past week that you’ve been cowardly avoiding me?” He’s calm when he makes the accusation. And it wasn’t even an accusation because it was the plain truth.

You burn, both in anger and in humiliation.

“What do you know about me Yoongi? Aren’t I just the company’s hot-headed bitch?” You snap, remembering the first words you heard from Yoongi.

“You are a hot-headed bitch, and I know you’re scared of admitting that you have feelings for me because you think feeling makes you weak.”

You ignore the fact that he admitted that you were a bitch, but Yoongi wasn’t the type to lie, nor was he the type to kiss ass. And you hated that he was still brutally honest, even when speaking about a topic so … intimate.

“Look, I don’t know where you’re getting this information from but you need to leave.” You stand up to walk towards the door so you could open it for him but he grabs your wrist before you make it there.

He turns you around to look at him. Properly look at him, that is. You’ve been avoiding direct eye contact with him because as good of a front you’ve worked on to put in front of him, you were human. And as a human, you were bound to have a weakness.

“You don’t get to walk away from me—this conversation—because you hate confrontation,” He frowns at you and you turn away to avoid his heavy gaze.

“Yoongi, can we not do this?” You sigh.

He chuckles dryly, using his right hand to nudge your face to look at him. It should’ve been demeaning, but you felt nothing like you were disrespected. You hated to admit it but you liked it. You liked it a lot more than you’d admit to anyone.

“No. We’re doing this. You’re going to address your feelings for me and actually work for what you want—and that’s clearly this,” He gestures between the two of you and you glare up at him.

“I told you! I don’t have any feelings for you.” You snarl at him, teeth bared like an animal but he just laughs at you like you were pathetic. You hated how small you felt in his presence but yet you were still whole.

“You don’t kiss a person you don’t have feelings for—you don’t hold someone you don’t have feelings for like they’re your safe space. You don’t have feelings for me? That’s funny because you did all of those things and you’ve never once complained when I reciprocated.”

You fumble with your words as the tip of your ears burn a bright red, which Yoongi easily catches.

“You don’t turn into a tomato if I was lying to you. You’re not like that, right? You’re self-assured. Ms-I’m-An-Impenetrable-Fortress,” He mocks.

“S-Stop acting as if you know me, Yoongi. You don’t and you never will.” You struggle against his grip on your wrist but he simply tugs you closer until your faces are inches apart.

“I don’t?” He scoffs, “Then tell me, why do I know that you confide Jimin and Taehyung for advice but never take it anyway because you’re too damn stubborn?”

You were about to retort but he’s quicker with his response.

“Then tell me, why do I know that you walk with your head held high into meetings but exit with your tail tucked between your legs because you’re afraid of sounding too dumb, too incompetent?”

You freeze.

“Then tell me, why do I know that you pull away from people not because you’re repulsed by them but because you’re afraid of forming actual bonds in the fear of being abandoned?”

You internally curse when you fear your eyes burning, and the lump in your throat becoming too much to bear.

“Then tell me, ___, why do I know you feel the same way about me but you’re too scared of looking dependent to do anything about it?” He whispers the last part when he pulls you tight against his chest.

You don’t fight him anymore, and you relax into the firm expanse of his chest and it terrifies you that it feels so much like home. A warm space you find comfort in.

You don’t even realise the first tear escapes your eyes until you feel Yoongi’s dress shirt turn slightly damp under the skin of your cheek. You’re mortified when you realise you’re crying and you attempt to pull away but his hands find their way around your waist to hold you tight.

“Don’t,” He whispers, “Don’t pull away from me.”

“Yoongi … I-I can’t,” You stutter, voice shaky.

He wipes a thumb on your cheek to wipe away the continuous stream of tears that you don’t bother hiding from him anymore.

“I worked my ass off to be taken seriously here and—and … if I get a boyfriend they’re going to think that I’m reliant, I’m weak, dependent on a man.” You ramble, but he just listens to your nonsensical statement as he rubs soothing circles on your head.

“I want you to rely on me, to depend on me. Stop thinking that you need to fight your battles alone. I’m here—I’ll be here. I’ve always been here but you need to let me be there for you.” He says softly.

You peer up at him with swollen eyes and he thinks you look beautiful. You always were beautiful. When you were commanding a meeting; when you were focused when you were angry; when you were laughing, and when you were sad. He was in for all of it.

“But ... the Board of Directors—”

He shushes you with a light kiss to the corner of your lip and you feel your stale heart flutter.

“I’m not here to be your saviour. I’m here to be your equal. I want to help you as much as you’ll help me. And believe me when I say you’ve helped me. The Board of Directors? Relationship or no relationship, they’ll be the same bigots that unfortunately dictate the policies in this company. The only person that has the ability to change anything in this situation is you ___.”

You feel your resolve breaking but you should’ve known that you’ve never had any resolve when it came to Yoongi. You were always weak around him. And maybe you needed to start accepting the fact that you were allowed to feel weak, to feel dependent on someone.

“What if you leave me.” You whine.

He snorts before rubbing a thumb between your furrowed brows.

“Then I leave. But we don’t know what’s going to happen if we don’t try,” He says and you realise how close he’s gotten to you to the point you feel his breath on your lips.

“That’s not comforting to hear the slightest,” You complain.

“And nothing about a relationship is easy. But I’m willing to be with you. I’ve always been ready—it’s you that needs to make the decision, ___.”

You finally lock eyes with him and you see nothing but sincerity. Yoongi could be crass, and often mistaken as a dick. But he was just honourable. He wouldn’t lie to anyone or sugarcoat the difficult truth. In fact, he never made you feel inferior to him even when he was straightforward. He never treated you differently because you were terrifying—but he treated you how he would with anyone else. And that was comforting. While everyone else walked on eggshells with you, he was fearless with his declarations.

Even now.

“I like you. I have no qualms in admitting it. And I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me,”

You don’t reply but kiss him. And there are no explosive fireworks, and time still flows—but it feels familiar. It feels like a territory that you’ve known all along, a little rough around the edges with the time spent away, but a place you can allude to comfort.

He responds by licking into the seam of your mouth as you allow his tongue to lick behind your teeth, a small whine caught in the back of your throat as you card your fingers through his hair. The hands-on your waist presses you tighter, flush against his body.

He pulls away first, resting his forehead on your own.

“I need to hear you say it. None of this tip-toeing anymore.”

You offer him a small smile.

“I-I …”

He watches you stutter with a hooded gaze but nothing about his stare makes you feel pressured. It was more comforting than anything, and the way he still held onto you like you mattered—but weren’t fragile—allowed you some semblance of peace in retaining your identity. This arbitrary idea of what you thought you were and how people perceived you. It was difficult to unlearn an idea that felt very personal to you after years of mastering its art.

You’re still unsure of how to react but you’re so sure of how you feel.

“I like you. I-I want to try.” You wail.

He’s alarmed by the sudden change in tone from your end and at the way you tug at the collars of his shirt. Not aggressively, but a little desperate. Not in the way that’d make him scrunch his nose in distaste but in a way that told him that this was you being vulnerable. Being open.

He wipes at your cheeks with dried tears and looks at you so honestly that it scares you. But in a way, you were fearless because you were terrified of everything. Mostly of disappointing others who held you to such a high standard, but it was a valid fear regardless.

“I’m not some fragile woman that you need to fix and I want you to understand that,” You pull yourself together and tell him sternly. He listens because Yoongi has never been presumptuous.

“I’m my own person and I won’t change the way I act to be with you—and if you’re looking for a cute … dainty, soft girlfriend then…” You whisper, “That’s not me. I’m tough. I’m a bitch and I’m stubborn. Our arguments are going to suck because I have a response for literally everything so—!”

He shushes your rambling with a finger to your lips and a raised eyebrow. You pout at him under his finger and he finds you adorable. He decides to not say anything to preserve his head—but soon. He’ll tell you soon.

“Are you done?”

You huff under his finger but he looks at you fondly.

“I’m not one for normality. I don’t care about what you think I’m into because I know that I’m into you. I’m in this, ___. Stop thinking that I deserve some idealistic image of a woman that you have in your head. I want you, and I thought me coming here to speak to you about your feelings was a clear testament to that.”

You try to hide your blush but you fail.

“And stop being so conscious of how you act around me. Be tough. Be independent. But don’t be afraid to be cute and vulnerable too, okay? I like you in all ways that you decide to present yourself in. Just … trust me. Trust this.”

“Okay.” You nod.

He grins at you.

“Does that mean I can hold your hand on the way to work?” He teases.

You avoid his eyes and look to the side, but the slight curve of your lip gives your answer to that question away.

“I guess …” You mutter.

He hugs you closer and squeezes you until your feet leave the ground. He tackles you with kisses all over your face and you can’t help but giggle. You feel happy. You feel secure.

“Cutie.”

You deliver a smack to his chest but he just laughs.

[joonsgalaxy]

true care |07.5 (m)

→ pairing: bodyguard!Jungkook x female reader

→ genre: fake dating au, fluff/romance, angst, smut

→ word count: 2.3 k

•  summary: your (endearingly) shy bodyguard—hired by your father—would do anything for you. even though you roll your eyes at his persistence and pretend there’s no need for him to follow you to every and any place you go, there might be many more hazards in your life than you let on. and you might end up needing him in more ways than you—or your father—would ever think.

! warnings: mentions of toxic past relationship throughout the series; mentions of guns, alcohol

↠ chapter 7.5: you’re my painkiller

chapter list

a/n: it’s been a whileee. i know. this chapter is kind of an introduction to the 8th one. or basically a part of it. i just really really wanted to post something. i’m rusty. hope it’s not too bad. love, kyu

Jeongguk had run it in his mind a million times before. He hadn’t been counting exactly, but he was almost certain the number was rather accurate. He had explored all of the possible scenarios, all of the hazardous circumstances that could occur in various surroundings. That was what he ought to carry out as a bodyguard. And that was how his brain worked anyways.

He’d think a lot, calculating his every step in all those imaginary situations. Perhaps, he’d overthink a lot, but to be fair it only seemed to be an appropriate trait of his personality for this kind of a job. Fact is, you can never particularly know in what kind of a mess you’d end up. He was obliged to be prepared for anything. He was being paid for it. Well, not only for that, apparently. Jeongguk also had to pretend to be your boyfriend, at least around your friends.

But this night wasn’t about that, not anymore...

He was embarrassed. Deeply embarrassed. He had been before—when you saw the neighbourhood he was living in for the first time—and he was now—when it was the second time of you being here. This time, though, it was eminently different. This time you were inside the house. Inside his humble apartment. Sure, he’d move to another place soon (thanks to the rewarding job), but for now he couldn’t offer you much, except the view of the old playground for kids through the window and a cup of coffee that was probably at least three times cheaper than you were used to having. You refused the offer of coffee, though. And Jeongguk had no idea if you were being honest, when you said it would only magnify your anxiety. Perhaps everything that Jeongguk owned wasn’t good enough for you. It only made sense.

Is there anything he can help you with? ‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘I’d like to change—these clothes stink.’

He'd never think that you, by your own will, would express the eagerness to come to his place. Would borrow his clothes for the night without a smidgen of hesitation. This was rather... peculiar. Unexpected. Not in a bad way. Certainly not. This small apartment, where he spent his tolerable and not so tolerable days in, was the place you'd try and find some solace at. At least for the night. And that meant something, right? Had to.

'I don't want to go home,' without any effort, it seemed, of hiding the anguish within you, you let Jeongguk know your immediate thought once the incident was over. You had already given your statements to the authorities, and Jeongguk could see how drained you were from all that had been occurring that evening. 'Can we go to yours?'

He was taken aback by the request. Please, you added, when he found himself hesitating.

He couldn't say no to your soft voice and jaded eyes. Perhaps he should've.

And yet, here you were. There was no going back now.

As you were sitting there in his own shirt and sweatpants, he thanked God everything ended well that night. He wasn't sure how he'd be feeling now if anything had gone wrong. If anything bad had happened to you. There shouldn't be any kind of sentiment involved in this job, sure, but hell, Jeongguk was certain he'd lose his damned mind if anyone hurt you in any way. And not only because it would mean he failed at his responsibility to protect you, but also because... he was smitten. Kind of pathetic, if you think about it. Ridiculous, really, for he'd only met you a few weeks back.

The sigh you let out whipped him back to reality.

'I'm fine... you're fine... Mr. Ri is completely fine,' you said; the words were laced with certain kind of confusion, as if it wasn’t true. 'And still, there's this unpleasant feeling in me. I can't get rid of it.'

Jeongguk was sitting across the room from you. And even though his studio apartment was tiny and there wasn't much space between you two, his feet were itching to move even closer to you. He wished he knew how exactly he could comfort you.

'It's... disgusting. And all over me.'

It was so quiet. Unusually quiet in the room. Not even the annoying buzz of mowing the lawn could be heard. Nor the roars of cars pulling into the parking lot. It was as if the world around you needed to take a break too.

The walls in the building were basically paper thin. Jeongguk could usually hear some sort of sound at any given time of the day. The clatter of dishes in someone’s sink; the vexed parent reprimanding their child; the friction between a couple coming to life in a form of a loud quarrel. And sometimes it would comfort him in a way. Remind him of how diverse the world really is. Of how many different stories are unfolding around him. Just how many various things people have to deal with, all of them just as important. Quite humbling.

Even though it was silent at the moment, he didn't miss the sounds. The only thing he was certain he would miss when you leave his apartment, was your voice.

'Honestly? I'm glad I'm not home right now. I would most definitely lose my mind. My dad...' Anxiously, your fingers toyed with the hair tie on your wrist. Pulling, releasing, pulling, releasing. 'He would be asking me a million questions. Or he would just straight up avoid me.' Over and over, your skin was slapped with the result of your distress. Jeongguk wondered if you even felt it. Felt the sting of the stretchy thing making contact with your soft skin. Perhaps it was numb.

It was something you'd do a lot when being fretful—repeat certain movements absentmindedly. He'd seen it during the party; the night you looked breath-taking, the night you forced him to sit at the same table as you, even though it was not planned by the event organisers. He would still look back on it from time to time. Still was wondering why you did that exactly.

'You know, I think I've mentioned this before, but I've gone through something similar in the past. The reason behind my disagreement on my bodyguard carrying a gun with him...'  

Jeongguk couldn't remain still on the chair while you were in such an emotional turmoil. He shot up from the seat and crossed the room, gingerly plopping down on the bed right beside you. And though he deliberately left some space between you two, his hand dared to land onto yours; he carefully set it aside from your wrist that could already be seen irritated by the hair tie.

You glanced at him, and the look in your eyes was rather soft, grateful perhaps. Even so, Jeongguk drew his hand back, placing it in his lap. He would sooner slam his head against the door than make you feel uneasy by his close proximity. You already seemed so fragile.  

'We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready,' he assured you, when you stayed silent for a few another seconds.

'During your service,' you said after a while, 'did you see lots of violence?'

'There wasn't much during training. Though, I went on a couple missions that could be classified as pretty serious, I guess.'

'Were you scared?'

He thought about it for a moment, let the silence hang in the air akin to a fog above fields in the mornings. He figured there was no point in hiding anything. 'Yeah. There were moments I was terrified.'

Gently, in a shy manner you ran a hand across his duvet on the bed. 'How did you deal with it?'

For him, this felt deeply intimate. Almost inappropriate. You were finding out about his personal stuff in his own apartment. Your skin was touching the fabric he would later tuck himself into. And the necessity to ignore the closeness for the sake of both of you was crushing him.

'I kept reminding myself of what I was there for. I tried to turn deaf ear to the emotional side of myself. To use the rational one.'

'Did it work?'

'Sometimes.' Jeongguk shrugged. 'There were moments I almost lost it. There were moments I watched someone else losing it. Those missions... They were not for the faint hearted. But no,' seeing the worried look on your face, he quickly added, 'it wasn't all guns and death, don't get me wrong. Mostly waiting, watching, hiding, holding one's breath. Well, that one because of all the smoking other guys did.'

He saw a faint smile flicker upon your lips. That made his heart warm.  

The boy could tell there were a bunch of messy, hurtful things happening to you in your seemingly ideal life. And he could also tell that a handful noxious thoughts were tormenting that mysterious mind of yours. He had a feeling you were your worst enemy, as cliché as it might sound.

You were a private person, didn't let just anyone in, so he could only see the tip of the iceberg.

'You didn't pick up smoking then?'

'Nah.' Jeongguk should his head. 'Not because it's gross,' he felt the need to add, 'or that I think I'm above all that. Quite the opposite, to be frank with you. I know if I start smoking, I may never stop.'

'Oh?' You looked a little surprised. 'Your will, to me, seems to be made of titan.'

A corner of Jeongguk's lips twitched in an ironical smile.

'In a way, it certainly is. But I'm only human. I've seen the strongest men get hooked up on that shit, like finishing the whole pack of smokes in two hours and then losing their mind over the fact that there's none left. The withdrawal and the stress that came with it made them vulnerable, they lost their vigilance. You need to stay sharp at all times on this kind of job. I need to stay sharp on this kind of job.' He vaguely gestured toward you. 'So yeah, maybe I have the will not to pick up smoking, even if it could help me feel nice for a moment, but my body isn't addiction-proof, and that's when it gets tricky.'

There was a gentle nod from your side of the bed. 'It's good to be able to admit that to yourself. Not everyone can do that, even if it doesn't seem that complicated.'

'That's true.'

Jeongguk saw you getting lost in thought for a second. Then you chuckled in a derisive way; you were mocking yourself. The sound made the boy's heart ache a little. 'All that talk about you being in the military...' you began, 'and you're working for me now. Like who honestly cares what I've been through, when there are people such as you, responsible for mine and others' safety? You risk everything. For others. My God.' A sigh escaped your lungs. Jeongguk didn't know what to say. Who cared about what you've been dealing with? He did. But he wouldn't tell you that. Not now. This was already getting too personal. 'Most of the time I feel lost, and I feel this sadness just kind of sitting there on my shoulders, and... do I even have the right to feel this way? My life is pretty much perfect.'

'Nobody's life is perfect,' Jeongguk reminded you, adding, 'You have every right to feel. No matter what sort of feeling comes over you. No matter when or where. It's only natural. You’re only human, too.’

‘Yeah. I just feel like...’ You hesitated. ‘Like I don’t possess control over anything in my life anymore.’

Jeongguk exhaled a long breath. Decided to try and lighten the mood up. ‘You know you’ve still got control over me.’ He was your father’s employee after all.

You snorted with laughter. A success.

‘Just give me any order and I’ll do it.’

You looked at him almost challengingly. ‘Any order, huh?’

Jeongguk nodded, innocently.

It didn’t take much time for his mind to go back to the night of pure indecency between you two. It hit him like a train. All the orders uttered by your soft, slightly tipsy, yet remarkably alluring voice. All the risky and obscene actions he did there right beside you in the back seat of your car.

He felt his cheeks bloom in red.

Were you thinking about the same things as him right now?

The playful smile on your face morphed into one that didn’t seem as obvious, but Jeongguk thought it certainly looked just a dash more wicked. ‘Yeah?’

Even if his heart was starting to pound in his ears, and even if he knew there definitely was a possibility he would appear as a total idiot, he answered, ‘Yeah.’

Everything felt still in the moment that came after. What now? Was he a bad person for secretly wishing you would ask him to do something filthy again? For wishing he could feel that same adrenaline rush once again? Was he a bad employee?

There was a shift in the air. He watched your smile falter. And then your eyes, as captivating as ever, followed their way from Jeongguk’s orbs to his lips.

He thought his heart would jump right out of his throat.

‘Then kiss me.’

[panda-noosh]

somewhere in the trees {zuko x reader}

Words: 14.4k 

Summary: Rules are rules - other kingdoms are not meant to mingle with the Fire Nation. Zuko knows he’s in trouble when he comes across an Earth Bender hidden deep within the trees just outside his home.

Genre: angst

Warning: panic attacks

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i haven’t written for Zuko in ages and it hurt me. 

---

Zuko listens to the drums.

  Dull, throbbing, making his ears pop every few seconds. He leans his head back against the wall, trying his hardest to catch breath that shouldn't have left him in the first place, because he's been doing this for years – for as long as he can remember, in fact.

  Showing his face to the people of the Fire Nation shouldn't be such a hard task when he was raised in the palace, when his father is king and his mother is queen and the world knows him by name. Showing his power should be easy, but when he stands next to Azula, he can't help feeling inadequate, and he hates that. It makes his heart race with a mixture of horror and embarrassment; Azula stands beside him, shoulders drawn back and head held high, and she just does everything so naturally, like she was made for the stage. In a way, Zuko was also made for the stage – he just hasn't quite mastered how to show that yet.

  This particular show took its toll on him more than it ever has before. Azula was gaining some male attention that quickly turned on Zuko; the three burly men fighting for his sisters affection had taken it upon themselves to chastise Zuko for his limp arms, and his lanky frame, and the scar covering one side of his face. They didn't know the true story – gods forbid someone find out the true story – but they jeered him for it anyway.

  Azula had done nothing to help.

  So Zuko left. He scrambled off stage and darted into the woods, and that's where he finds himself now.

  He presses his head against his knees. Around him, a bird chirps, but Zuko doesn't look towards it. He keeps his head down, inhaling and exhaling, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of his chest. He even presses a hand against his collarbone, trying desperately to feel his pulse, to make sure everything is in order because it really, really feels like something is wrong. Maybe it's a panic attack – Zuko has heard of those only a handful of times, and it's always when his father is laughing about them. He thinks people who can't control their nerves are weak, and Zuko has always laughed along with him because he just wants to please the man, he just wants to prove himself, he just wants to be like him.

  The thought draws Zuko up short. His eyes squeeze closed, and he shakes his head, back and forth, back and forth like an animal in distress. The idea – the thought – of ending up like his father is enough to make his breathing stutter, and he's dragged right back to square one before he can even get a hold on himself.

  “No,” he whispers. “No, no, no, no.” On and on, tiny words escaping his mouth. The birds around him chirp and soar. The grass beneath him tickles his ankles. He wonders if he's allergic, if maybe this is just some kind of medical reaction That would be easier to explain to his father.

  “No.”

  “Bloody hell, I heard you the first time.”

  Zuko yells.

  He scrambles away from the wall, shoving himself into a pile of stray autumn leaves. Nettles stab into his exposed arms, and he cries out again before scrambling away, his eyes darting to and fro for the source of the mysterious voice.

  He sees nothing. Just birds and grass and trees.

  He licks his lips. “H-Hello?”

  “Hello.”

  He flinches back. “This isn't funny. Where are you? Show yourself now!”

  “Oooh, the prince finally found a set of vocal cords.” There's a small titter of laughter. Zuko scowls, clenching his fists in the grass. “I don't really like fire benders in my forest, if I'm being completely honest. Your powers don't really suit this kind of area.”

  “You're in our woods – the Fire Nation belongs to me and my family!” Zuko looks around again. “Where are you?”

    “Your woods? When was the last time you came out here and chased off some meddling fire bending teenagers, huh? 'Cause unless you've slipped past me somehow, I've never seen you here before in my life. I'm only being nice now because you're having a panic attack.”

  Zuko's chest constricts. Again, he rests his hand upon his collarbone, tracking the quick thump of his heart. He can feel his pulse in his throat, is made aware of his weakening legs now that he's stood up. His breathing is still slightly laboured, but his confusion has distracted him long enough for his body to settle down for the time being.

  “Where are you?” He knows he's being repetitive, but there's nothing else he can think to say right now. He's stood in this forest on his own, and yet there's a random voice talking to him from nowhere. He's starting to wish he'd never left Azula's side.

  Another laugh echoes through the trees. Zuko flinches back, tugging his hands into his chest; his palms heat up with the warmth of his powers surging to the surface, but he holds it back – there's no point wasting his energy when he doesn't even know where to use it.

  “You're actually kind of cute, you know,” the voice says. “The young prince of the Fire Nation. An idol. Should I feel honoured that I've seen you so vulnerable?”

  “Stop playing these games!” Zuko snaps. “Show yourself now, or I'll get the guards out here to take you from this forest by force!”

    Another laugh, but it's followed by the crinkle of leaves. Zuko spins around, flames immediately engulfing his hands in preparation for whatever protection he is going to have to give himself.

  But then he sees you.

  A little shorter than him, smiling manically, half-knelt in a pile of leaves. You're wearing riding gear, a thick leather vest with matching trousers that show Zuko you're from the Earth Kingdom. He's struck with confusion – what is someone from the Earth Kingdom doing in the forests of the Fire Nation?

  Slowly you rise. Zuko takes a hesitant step back, but he doesn't feel as threatened as he once did, not now that he can see you.

  “I like to make a dramatic entrance every now and then, even though it messes with my knees,” you say, brushing brambles from your trousers. Zuko notices the vines curled round your wrist, disappearing beneath the sleeves of your leather vest. “How do you do, Prince Zuko?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  You roll your eyes. “Goodness me. Why do you get to ask all the questions and just ignore mine?”

 “Because this is my kingdom, and I'd advice you to cooperate before things take a bad turn.”

  Your smile wavers. What was once a manic, cheshire-like grin trembles at the edges, and Zuko hates that he feels a little guilty for it; you look to be around his age, dirt smeared across one of your cheeks. There's a leaf sticking from your hair, a sign to Zuko that you've been living rough these past few weeks. Weeks? Years? Zuko can only guess as to how long you've been here.

  “Well okay,” you mumble. “Clearly little Prince Flame hasn't taken his afternoon nap.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I live here.” You speak through gritted teeth, the first sign of outward annoyance you've given to Zuko since you first appeared.

  Zuko narrows his eyes. He still holds flames, but you've long since stopped looking at them. Instead, you focus your eyes on Zuko, and he's shocked to see the confidence there, burning behind your irises. He isn't sure whether you see him as a threat or not, but you're certainly not showing any signs of fear.

  Zuko tilts his head. “That isn't possible. We would have known if someone from the Earth Kingdom was living here.”

  You shrug. “Take that up with your men. I've been perfectly content living in my trees.”

  “I wish you wouldn't call them your trees. This is Fire Nation land, and you're currently trespassing.”

  You groan, throwing your head back before you stumble to the side. Zuko takes a step back, holding his hands up a little higher in his attempts to ward you off – in truth, he doesn't even know why he's so fearful. He hasn't seen your power – you might not even be an Earth bender, but there's always a chance.

  “You're so boring,” you say. “I personally think the Fire Nation needs a little bit more diversity, don't you?”

  Zuko stays silent. Something ticks in his jaw. The mere idea of another one of the kingdoms mingling with the Fire Nation nearly makes him laugh – the Fire Nation doesn't make friends outside of the Fire Nation. That's been a rule for as long as Zuko has been born.

  “Of course, it goes both ways,” you continue, lazily waving a hand. You catch a butterfly, uncurl your fingers to reveal it in perfect condition, sitting pleasantly in your palm. “The Fire Nation can come visit the Earth Kingdom whenever they want.” You level a gaze on Zuko. “As long as you're on your best behaviour.”

   Zuko swallows. “My sister will be furious if she finds you here.”

  “Oh, goody!” you exclaim. “Is Azula coming to visit? Should I put on something a little nicer? How does she like her potatoes cooked?”

  Zuko growls. “Do you ever take anything seriously? You do realise you're committing a crime right now, don't you?”

   “I've known that for a very long time,” you reply. “I've just grown to not. . . what's the term? Give a shit?”

  Zuko's eyes widen. His father taught him how to react in a situation like this – when a commoner is disrespecting him, he has every right to punish them however he pleases, because he's prince and that's one of the perks of being a prince.

  But he stares at you now, that smile on your face, the way you walk back and forth in the leaves, and he can't bring himself to say anything. He just watches you closely, hands still engulfed in red hot flames.

  He swallows again, flicking a glance over his shoulder. “Do you have a name?”

  You pause your pacing, tilting your head. “You have an interest in my name?”

  “I have an interest in the names of people who trespass on my land.”

  You smirk. “So you've just admitted to me that you're going to use my name against me? Tout to your father, yeah?”

   Zuko closes his eyes. “I won't tell my father anything. I just want to know-”

  “Y/N.”

  His eyes snap open. “Y/N.”

  “Y/N L/N of the Earth Kingdom,” you clarify. “Eighteen years old, orphan, run-away, all around bad person.” You stretch your arms out and grin. “What a fine pleasure to have your company in my humble abode, Prince Zuko.”

  Zuko silently questions his own sanity when he lowers his hands, dismissing the flames he'd once considered his only protection; now, he doesn't even fully believe you're a threat.

  You smile, letting your own hands drop. “Truce?”

  “How can you actually live here? How can you really make this place your home?”

  “I like nature, Zuko.”

  “And I like fire, but I don't live in flames.”

  “Then how much can you really like fire?”

   Zuko frowns. “You're very weird.”

  You chuckle, and it's a pleasant sound that forces Zuko to halt his grin before it becomes obvious. “So I've been told. I think the death of two parents can do that to a person.”

  “How did they die?” He isn't sure if this is too personal, if he should just back up and leave the conversation at that – he hasn't had the chance to talk to a normal person in quite a while, and his communication skills have become rusty throughout his time locked behind the mahogany doors of the palace. Sure, he enjoys talking to the maids and the cooks, but how real can a conversation be with someone who works for you?

  You continue walking back and forth. You continue to smile. Your voice still holds that humorous edge to it when you say, “The Fire Nation killed them.”

  And in that moment, Zuko wishes he had just kept quiet.

  His stomach reels. His mouth snaps shut, his prepared follow-up question escaping his mind. He stares at you, how you never once waver, how your smile never flickers, and he wonders of your sanity.

  He clenches his fists. “I'm . . . I'm so sorry.”

  “It happened a while ago,” you reply, kicking a stone onto the toe of your boot before burying it beneath the leaves. “I don't remember it all that well. I've been told stories, though.” You look at Zuko and slowly shake your head. “Terrible, terrible stories. Nightmare inducing stories. Stories that include your father-”

  “I'm sorry.”

  You shrug, going back to your pacing. “But what can I do about it now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Y/N...”

  “I don't want pity, either. I just want you to turn and leave me to my own devices, in my own little forest, all on my own.” You stare up at the sky. “This is where I belong, Prince Zuko. I'd appreciate it if you respected that.”

  Zuko knows this is just an excuse, a way to get him out of your sight so you can go back to breaking the law with no consequences. He knows, as prince, he should be dishing out your punishment and taking pride in doing so, but he can't find the strength. He imagines you, a little baby, so innocent and vulnerable, parentless because of the things his people had done out of pure selfishness.

  He bites his lower lip and says no more before backing away. He turns on his heel when it becomes clear you've lost interest in him, slowly making his way back to the palace, back to his life of luxury, back to pretending that everything is fine and the world isn't a corrupt shithole.

  ---

  If there is one thing Firelord Ozai sees as important, it's making his family look as close-knit as possible in the eyes of the Fire Nation.

  Meal times are often practice for this kind of thing, and Zuko hates it. Even when the world is not watching their every move, Ozai likes to make sure his two children are pristine and perfect. He shoves all arguments and all tension out of the way, replacing it with a false sense of happiness.

  Zuko is ruining that image today, and he can't help it.

  It has been three days since he paraded into the woods and found you lurking amongst the brambles. It's been three days since you told him of the happenings that resulted in your parents deaths. It's been three days in which Zuko has been unable to get a grip on his guilt.

  He sits at dinner now, his legs folded beneath the table. His shoulders are slumped, and he's been jabbing at his roast beef since he sat down, having yet to touch a single fine cuisine on his plate; it's an expensive dish, but he can't even bring himself to be grateful for it.

  Azula coughs. “Father. Surely you've noticed Zuko's a little down in the dumps recently?”

  Zuko has to resist the urge to kick his sister. At the head of the table, Ozai frowns, fork lifted halfway to his mouth as his eyes settle on his youngest son, his biggest disappointment. Zuko doesn't even look up from his plate, but instead tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible by scooping a pile of peas into his mouth and straightening his shoulders in the most subtle manner he can manage.

  Ozai slowly lays his fork across his plate and forms a tent with his fingers. “Is this true, Zuko?”

  Zuko wants to scream that Ozai doesn't really care, because he doesn't. The Firelord has put him through hell from the moment he was born – he only wants to keep up appearances. He wants to play Happy Families whilst his men and his army go out and destroy real happy families for the sake of rank and reputation.

  The realisation burns bile into the back of Zuko's throat. He swallows it down, looks up at his father and says, “I'm fine. I don't know what Azula's talking about.”

  “Oh, but look!” Azula waves a hand over Zuko's packed dinner plate. “He's barely touched what the chefs have so kindly served him today. Usually he's the first one finished.”

  Only because I want to get away quicker, Zuko thinks.

  Ozai raises a brow. “This is true. Has something been heavy on your mind recently, Zuko?”

  Zuko shakes his head, chewing on a bit of roast beef purely as an excuse to not answer. His voice will break. His father will know.

  But his father knows anyway. Ozai always knows.

  “I don't like it when you lie to me, son.” His voice is low, heavy. “There's too much mistrust in your heart, and it's a problem.”

  “I don't mistrust anyone,” Zuko says. “I'm just not hungry. I've been feeling a little bit ill.”

  Azula snorts, opens her mouth to say something, but Ozai raises a hand and she goes silent immediately.

  “How can you ever expect to rule over the Fire Nation if you can't even handle a simple stomach bug?”

  Zuko's head snaps up. “Father, really. I'm just-”

  “Do you expect me to hand over everything I've worked for to a boy? A boy who is bed-ridden at the first sign of an ache?”

  “I'm fine, father. I just don't feel like-”

   Ozai stands up. Zuko doesn't understand why he is so angry, why the conversation has taken such a sudden and twisted turn. “I am paying people to train you into a Firelord, Zuko, and clearly they are not doing a very good job.”

    Zuko's eyes widen. “They're doing a wonderful job, father. You're right. You're absolutely right. I need to-”

  But Ozai is already clicking his fingers, and servants are already rushing inside the dining hall. Azula stifles her laughter beneath a gloved hand. Zuko's heart thunders in his chest, a million miles per hour, a million thoughts that he cannot bring himself to organise.

  A servant named Beatrice arrives at Ozai's side first. The Firelord doesn't even look at her when he says, “Find Zuko's tutors and kill them. They're not doing their job. They've wasted my hard earned money, and I won't have it.”

   Zuko belches. “Father, no. Please!”

   Beatrice looks between father and son, her eyes wide.

  Ozai clicks his fingers and points to the door. “I've given my orders. Now go, or else you'll be facing the same fate.”

   Beatrice squeaks, bows and scrambles out of the room. Zuko can only stare after her, hands trembling in his lap – that feeling is coming back, that thumping of his heart, the sweat pooling in his palms. His breathing will disappear soon, become some ragged thing that causes physical pain in his chest. Soon, he won't be able to hide it and he'll be back to square one.

  But he can't stop trembling. He can't stop the screams that echo in the back of his mind, the image of his tutors – tutors who have worked so hard to help him become someone he was never meant to be – being brutally slaughtered because Zuko had one bad day.

  Ozai's face is stone. He stares dead ahead, sniffles and says, “Dinner dismissed. Both of you, go to your rooms. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night.”

  Zuko pushes his chair back and darts out of the dining hall, his stomach reeling even though there's barely anything there. Servants ask after him, unaware of the brutalities happening to their co-workers in the next house over. He ignores them, feeling nothing but relief when he finally bursts into his room and locks the door.

  He crumbles to his knees as soon as the door is closed. His body deflates, and a sob erupts. He claps a hand over his mouth, squeezes his eyes closed, says a silent prayer that someone will have mercy on them poor souls, poor, poor souls.

  He knows it's useless.

  It's useless, and he needs something. He needs something, anything to get his mind off it. He can't be in this palace. He can't sit there and listen to the casual chatter of the servants outside the door, the casual patter of footsteps in the hallway coming from people who are either oblivious or just don't care.

  So he gets up and climbs out his window. His legs are too long and his movements are too clumsy, and he ends up kicking the window beneath his own. He quickens his pace when this happens, knowing time is dwindling, knowing it won't be long before whoever occupies that room comes knocking on his door to ask if he's alright – he should probably just climb back inside and feign ignorance. It would be the safer option.

  But as soon as his feet touch the soft brambles, he's running towards the woods and he can't stop even if he tried to. His lungs are burning after only a few seconds, despite his skilled stamina – he's having a panic attack. The running is not helping, but he can feel the stress leaking from his system and he savours that feeling of deflation even as his lungs burn and scream for a mercy he cannot give them because he does not deserve it.

  Lives are being taken because of him. What right does he have to be treated kindly, even by himself?

  Soon, Zuko finds himself surrounded by the familiar greenery he was caged in only three days ago. He falls against the wall, presses his hands into his eyes and says, “No, no, no.”

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

 Zuko doesn't flinch this time, because he knows who it is. He wanted you to appear. He wants to hear your voice.

  He doesn't look up. It takes you a moment, but you finally drop from the canopy and land in front of him; he can't see you, but he feels you staring at him.

  A branch pokes him in the leg.

  “You look a little down, Princeling.”

  Zuko opens his mouth to say something, but words fail him. He instead digs his fingers into his eye sockets a little more, as if this will push all the memories and all the thoughts to the back of his mind – yet another array of horrors he will be forced to deal with later.

  You hum. “Okay, you look a lot down. What happened? Was the steak not medium rare?”

  Zuko doesn't respond. He senses your hesitancy when you slowly kneel down in front of him, gets a shock when your hand rests on his knee.

  “Hey. Look up.”

  Zuko does just that. His eyes meet your own, and he's startled to see you're not smiling. It takes him a minute to even realise you're the same person he spoke to three days ago. You don't quite look the same when you're not grinning from ear to ear, spewing some stupid information that Zuko really doesn't need to know.

  Now, you've got your head tilted and your lips are pursed, and you look genuinely worried for him.

  “Did you know,” you begin, voice a mere mumble, “that people from the Earth Kingdom are actually really, really good listeners?”

  Zuko's heart lifts. His voice is croaky when he replies. “I didn't know that, no.”

  You shift until you're sitting beside him, shoulder pressed against his own. The two of you stare into the forest, the darkness slowly taking shape between the trees as night falls upon the forever glowing Fire Kingdom. Back in the city, people will be lighting lanterns with their hands. His father will be getting ready to address his people – his worshippers – for their good night call.

  “Well we are.” You stretch your legs out in front of you and tap Zuko's knee, gesturing for him to do the same. He hesitates before lowering his legs onto the grass, stretching them out so they surpass your own, exaggerating the height difference between you both.

  You frown. “That's not fair.”

  “I think good height runs in the family.”

  You swat his shoulder. “What do you mean, good height? Do you think being short is bad height?”

  Despite himself, Zuko smiles. “Your words, not mine.”

  You scoff, folding your arms over your chest. “And here I was thinking you were a better man than your father.”

   Zuko's smile collapses. His heart collapses. His fathers words slam back into his mind, and tears are suddenly rising to the surface.

  He looks away, tries to hide them, but you're much quicker than he is. You lean forward, catching his eyes just seconds before the realisation seems to dawn on you. Your own eyes widen, jaw dropping open for a second.

  “Zuko. Woah, okay. What's the matter? Did I say something?”

   Zuko swipes a hand beneath his eyes, shaking his head. “It's nothing.”

  “That's clearly not true.” You move in front of him, knees pressing into the dirt but you don't seem to care. You continue trying to catch his eye, fingers tightening on his knees which are, again, pressed into his chest. “Zuko, why are you here? What happened?”

   “What happened,” Zuko whispers. “What happened, you ask. What happened, Y/N, is what always happens!”

   You flinch back at the steady rise of his voice. “I don't understand.”

   Zuko clenches his jaw. “It's all my fault.”

  “Zuko, you're not making any sense-”

   “They're dead, and it's all my fault!” He isn't sure where it comes from, but a roar of frustration is pulled from his mouth. His hands erupt into flames. You gasp, pulling away from him as he throws the fire against a nearby tree.

  It goes up in flames.

  Zuko's eyes widen. “Oh, sh-”

  You throw your hands out, and immediately the flames are dispelled. You don't even look towards the tree you've just saved, instead keeping your gaze steady on Zuko.

  He looks back at you, eyes wide. “I'm so sorry.”

  “You're angry, is what you are,” you correct, crawling back towards him. “Put those hands away, will you? And take some deep breaths, for the love of god.”

  Zuko trembles. “They're dead, Y/N. Because of me.”

  “You're still not making any sense.”

  “Do I have to? I think I like it more when people can't understand what I'm saying – it makes it less difficult to mess up.”

  You frown. “Well, that's not a very good way to live your life.”

  “It's better than what life is like now.”

   “In what way?”

  You don't tell him he's wrong. You don't call him crazy for thinking like this. You don't look at him like he's got three heads, or like he's some deity, and maybe that's why Zuko's breathing goes back to normal, why he looks you in the eye when he explains the entire situation.

  You nod along to his words, letting him know you're listening even when the story gets hard to tell. Zuko's throat closes up when he describes his fathers voice and the anger, and how he could do nothing about it. He's been trained from such a young age to never defy his father – the scar on his face is enough proof of what will happen to him if he steps out of line.

  When Zuko is finished, he looks away. You go quiet. The only sound is the pleasant chipper of the insects burrowing in the grass; not even the birds are out, having long since taken the darkness as a sign to settle down for the evening.

  Finally, you sigh and say, “Sounds like a tough night.”

  “I should have done more,” Zuko croaks out. “I just wish I knew how to.”

  “You were scared.”

  Zuko flinches. Another thing his father has taught him – it's not right for the future Firelord to be scared of anything. This mindset alone drives Zuko into stupor, a sudden overwhelming urge to defend his own bravery rising to the surface.

  But he looks into your face, and you're smiling a little bit, a little softly, and your head is tilted as you wait for his response. You don't mean any harm by your words – you're just telling the truth.

  Zuko looks back down. “I am. Very scared.”

   “That's alright,” you say. “Ozai is a scary man. Or so I've heard. I haven't really seen him in person, and I don't like to judge people, but he did order the death of my parents, so I think I have a right to say that.”              

       Zuko flinches again. “It's terrible what he's doing, but you can't blame yourself for his evil, Zuko. You're just a boy-”

  “I'm meant to rule this kingdom when he passes on.”

  “Bloody hell, one can only hope that's sooner rather than later, eh?” You nudge Zuko, laughing. He just glares at you. You snap your mouth shut and utter, “Sorry.”

  “What happens if I end up like him?”

  You raise a brow. “What? Killing innocents?”

  Zuko nods, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in his throat. He's never spoken about this to anyone; he isn't sure why he thinks talking about it with you is a good idea, but the words are coming far more easily than they ever have before. He kind of wants to savour it while it lasts.

  “Zuko.” His name is a sigh when you say it. “I know you're upset, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

  His eyes snap up. “Why is it?”

  “Because you're in this state.” You gesture towards him, pointing out his curled form, the tear stains on his cheeks, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions. “If someone else being a monster disturbs you this much, I think you'll be driven to insanity if you were to do it yourself.”

   “But I'm his son-”

  “Don't remind me. I might be forced to wipe you out.”

  Zuko closes his eyes. “It's just a fear of mine. I don't think it's irrational.”

  “No fears are irrational. Some are just . . . more justified than others.”

  Zuko sighs and leans his head back against the wall. It really is getting late, and he knows his disappearance from the palace will soon be noted, that he will be in big trouble when he gets back, but he doesn't want to leave. Your hands are still resting on his knees, and he uses that as his excuse to stay seated on the grassy floor – you're keeping him there. You and you alone, and maybe there's more truth to that statement than he wants to believe.

  Zuko doesn't open his eyes when you start moving around. He feels your back press against his feet when you spread out on the grass, and when he finally looks down, he can't help his flicker of amusement at the sight of you laying on your back in the leaves, looking up at the moon. Only one side of your face is completely illuminated, your hair trickling out around you. Zuko takes a strand of it, curls it around his finger.

  “Whenever you become Firelord,” you begin, voice quiet, “you won't forget me, will you?”

  The question is so startling, but there's a peaceful ring to it that stops Zuko from flinching away. “Whenever I become Firelord,” he replies softly, “you'll come and live in the city. You'll have your own little cottage.”

  “Can I have pets?”

  “As many as you want.”

  “And plants?”

  “Of course.”

  You hum, closing your eyes. “Yes. Let's hope Ozai carks it sooner rather than later.”

  ---

  Zuko's life inside the city does not improve, but at least he's found an escape.

  He doesn't like being driven to the point where he feels he must leave his home to be peaceful. He hates that his chambers are no longer good enough, that the only person who can chase his sour thoughts away is a criminal, living illegally in the woods of the kingdom he is meant to rule over in a few years time.

  It makes him feel so weak, like perhaps he isn't up for the job he's been trained for his entire life.

  This mindset does not stop him, however. Feeling weak and inadequate is nothing in comparison to the haunting helplessness he feels when he's left alone with his own thoughts; you're the only person who can chase those away right now, and Zuko isn't ashamed to admit it.

  He also isn't ashamed to admit that these past few weeks have directed him to feelings he never thought safe to feel. He still doesn't think they're very wise, still thinks he doesn't deserve them. That pleasant little fluttering that springs up in his chest when you laugh – what has he ever done to deserve that? Nothing. He's the prince, and that's it. He's a title, a face to flaunt until his real duties begin, and even then, it will always be the commoners doing the hard work.

  But he can't help it, and he's too tired nowadays to fight it off.

  He walks through the woods once again, leaving the flames behind. The lanterns have been lit earlier than usual tonight, so Zuko has to duck behind carriages and bushes on his way to visit you, lest he be seen by night time dawdlers.

  He gets there eventually, though, and his hardship with getting here in the first place all seems worth it as soon as you hop down from your tree and land in front of him, that manic smile plastered on your face.

  This time, he smiles back.

  “Oh, would you look at that,” you exclaim, poking the corner of his mouth. “You look particularly pleased tonight, Princeling.”

  “I am. And you will be, too.”

  You raise a brow. Zuko tries not to blush under your gaze as he gets to work setting up everything he managed to bring with him tonight – a blanket, stolen from the back of one of the expensive sofas in the lounge room; some fruit cut up into tiny squares; slices of fresh ham, stolen from the kitchens without the cooks even realising Zuko had paid them a visit. He even took the risk of pinching a few of the freshest slices of bread, and he lays them out on the blanket now, his fingers tingling from the cold. A little bit of extra thought sends flames through his bone marrow, warming his hands up enough to allow him to set the food out in a nice array.

  He looks up and grins when he's finished. You look back down at him, one eyebrow still raised, your hands on your hips.

  “And you go on at me for being a criminal.”

  Zuko rolls his eyes, grabs your hand and drags you down beside him. You laugh, knees clashing against the blanket, and Zuko watches you shuffle closer to the basket to get a closer look; so often you pretend this kind of thing does not affect you, but Zuko can see the small smile playing on your face, the way your fingers trace idly over the goods he's brought.

  It warms his heart.

  “You can dig in, you know,” says Zuko. “I brought it for you.”

  “All of it for me?”

  Zuko shrugs. “I was hoping we could have a bit of a midnight picnic. No one will miss this stuff back at the palace.”

  You grunt before grabbing a slice of ham. Zuko joins you, and the two of you chat and joke as you fill your mouths with sandwiches and fruit, vegetables cut into little strips that make you laugh because you feel like a little kid again, pinching carrot sticks from the vegetable platter your mother always had out for guests. Zuko listens to you retelling these stories of your childhood, listening for any sign of sadness in your voice, any sign of resentment, but there is none. You laugh and throw your head back, and your eyes twinkle in amusement; you talk about your parents like they're still alive. You talk to Zuko about your parents, as if he isn't part of the Fire Nation, a crucial cog in the machine that once killed the people you love.

  With a mouthful of apple chunks, you say, “My mum would have loved you, I think.”

  Zuko pauses. “Really?” He can't think of a single reason as to why anyone would love him.

  “Yeah,” you reply. “'Cause you're nice, and you treat me well. Honestly, my mum wasn't hard to impress from what I've heard – all you needed was good manners and a good attitude towards her kids, and she was basically adopting you for herself.”

  Zuko smiles. “She sounds lovely.”

  “I'm sure she was.” You pluck at a piece of lettuce, caught between two slices of bread. “I think I would have liked to know her in person, not just through what other people have told me.”

  Zuko swallows the lump in his throat and looks up at the moon. “She's watching over you.”

  “You think so?”

  He points towards the sky. You tilt your head, following his directions. “My uncle Iroh always tells me to look up at the moon when I miss someone I've lost. He told me that's where all the good souls go – to the moon.”

  You chuckle quietly. “Not the stars?”

  “No. The moon. They're all up there, like little astronauts. Living amongst the rocks and the craters.”

  It goes quiet then. Zuko looks over, his heart thumping a little when he sees you, head tilted towards the sky, eyes closed. He wants to kiss you so badly right now, but he holds himself back. He watches you from afar, and that's good enough.

  You inhale deeply before opening your eyes, a slow flutter of eyelashes, accentuated by the slow pull of a smile forming on your face. You turn to Zuko and say, “Your uncle is a wise man. I'd love to meet him some day. When I'm allowed in the city.”

  Zuko nods. He doesn't know why, because he knows it will be a mighty long time before you can ever step foot in the city walls, before he can ever show you off to his family and friends. He nods, but it's more of a hopeful thing rather than an agreement. You smile sadly and turn back to the food, and Zuko knows you understand.

  ---

  Zuko is smiling.

  Perhaps this is the first red flag that sparks in the back of his uncles head. Perhaps Zuko's happiness is enough to make his uncle – and everyone around him – suspicious.

  But Zuko doesn't even care. It's dark, the city lit up only by the lanterns flickering along the street. A few drunken party-goers stumble along, but the light is too dim and their vision is too skewed for any of them to take notice of the prince walking amongst them – strolling amongst them, shoulders drawn back, a tiny smile playing on his face. His eyes are glittering. His heart is full, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Zuko doesn't feel like curling up and hiding from the world.

  Until he hears Iroh's voice.

  He was made aware of his uncles impending city visit a few days prior, but had been much too distracted by a certain Earth bender to make arrangements. His heart plummets when he hears it, the smooth way his name is spoken from lips withered by age and too much smiling.

  Zuko freezes in the middle of the street, hands stuffed in his pockets. It's such an un-princely way to stand, and maybe that's the second red flag Iroh catches onto. Iroh has always known Zuko better than his own father. Zuko has no doubt in his mind that the old man can see some discrepancies in the way Zuko is carrying himself.

  “It's a bit late to be out, isn't it? You'll catch a cold.”   Iroh slowly emerges from beneath a bridge. He's smiling – as per usual – and his hands are tucked into the oversized sleeves of his grey robe – as per usual.

  Zuko turns his head slightly and says, “Uncle. I think the same could be said for you.”

  “I'm fine,” says Iroh. “I've got an excuse to tell Ozai when I get back. You, however, look like you just plan on throwing caution to the wind.”

   That's exactly what Zuko plans on doing.

  “I was just going for a midnight walk.”

  Iroh narrows his eyes. Zuko shifts under his gaze, suddenly desperate to get away.

  “The palace guards permitted that?”

   Anger edges under Zuko's breastbone. “The palace guards permit whatever I tell them to permit.”

  Iroh hums. “I believe they permit what your father tells them to permit, and Ozai certainly wouldn't permit you free reign of the city in the middle of the night.”   Zuko's shoulders slump. He turns to fully face his uncle. “Don't tell anyone.”

  “Where were you, Zuko?”

 “The – The woods. I was in the woods.”

  Iroh's eyebrows shoot up. “What did you see in the woods that has you smiling so big?”

  There's no going back now – Iroh has noticed his expression. Whatever explanation Zuko gives now will drive him deeper and deeper into the mud, and he isn't sure he can afford that with his status. He looks back at Iroh and hollows out his cheeks – this is the man who knows him better than he knows himself. If he can't trust Iroh, then who on this earth can he trust?

  “I was visiting a friend.”

  Iroh pauses. “Friend? You have friends?”

  “Uncle!”

   “I'm just curious! Why can't this friend of yours see you – oh, I don't know – in the day time?”

  “They're not exactly allowed within the city walls,” Zuko mumbles.

  Iroh, again, pauses. During this stretch of silence, Zuko's stomach turns itself inside out. He clenches his fists at his side, resists the urge to tell his uncle to mind his own business, because that's what the old Zuko would have done. The young Zuko, the one with so much unaccounted for rage. Now, however, Zuko is trying to keep himself calm, taking deep breaths as he waits for his uncle to say something – anything.

  Finally, Iroh says, “Ah.”

  Zuko's eyes snap up. “What? You won't tell my father, will you?”

  “The Firelord will find out eventually. I know my brother well, Zuko, and fugitives living on his land-”

  “Y/N isn't a fugitive,” Zuko insists. “They're not causing any harm. In fact, them woods would be nothing but smithereens by now if they weren't there.”

  “Is that right?”

  “And they're kind, too, Uncle. They have this wonderful way with words. They make me feel so normal, and – and I haven't known what that feels like for so, so long.” Zuko shakes his head. “You have to promise me you won't speak a word of this to. . .”

  Zuko glances down at his uncle and trails off. Iroh is staring up at him, an amused smile pulled tight across his face. His eyes are crinkled into crescents, cheeks flushing red with the effort it takes to suppress a burst of laughter.

  Zuko steps back, folding his arms over his chest. “Don't look at me like that.”

  “I'm not looking at you like that.”

  “Yes you are! You look like you're going to laugh in my face.”

  “Why do you always have to rip the joy out of the worlds greatest things?”

   Zuko groans. “Just promise me-”

  “So this Y/N person makes you happy?”

  Zuko pauses. He isn't sure why the question makes his heart lurch in his throat, why he's suddenly swarmed with embarrassed butterflies. Slowly he lowers his hand against his abdomen, biting his lower lip as he processes how to answer without throwing himself completely into the deep end.

  But then he thinks of your face, and your smile, and the feel of your hands against his because Zuko warms you up when it's just a little bit too chilly for an Earth bender. He counts how many nights he's sat in bed, counting down the seconds until he hears his fathers chamber door close so he can hop out of his own room and see you.

  “Yes.” His voice is a croak, barely there, like he's been screaming into the void for the past ten minutes. “Yes, Y/N makes me very happy.”

  Iroh steps forward, places a heavy hand on Zuko's shoulder. “Get to bed, Zuko. I'll keep this between us.”

  Zuko looks up. “Uncle. . . If anything happens to Y/N, I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself. I don't think I'll be able to come out of that.”

  “I understand. No harm will come to your – what did you call them? Friend?”

  Zuko blushes. “Friend.”

  Iroh smiles, small and subtle. “No harm will come to your friend.”

  ---

  The crowd screams.

  Zuko closes his eyes, trailing a hand through his black hair in any attempt to tame it from the bed-head he's been cursed with this morning. It's eleven am, and Zuko overslept due to his late night endeavours. His father had been furious, his sister had been suspicious, but neither of them had time to chastise him.

  Now, he stands by the balcony and waits for the signal to start.

  Azula stands beside him, fixing her make up using the reflection from an empty platter. Her hair, as per usual, is done to perfection, piled a top her head, kept in place by an abundance of hair pins hidden beneath her dark locks. Zuko looks at her and scowls – he's never been able to pull himself together in quite the same way.

  Ozai stands by the balcony doors, getting ready to present himself to the people screaming his name outside. They all hate him; Zuko knows this for a fact. They hate his cruelty and how they have to tiptoe around their own lives to ensure they don't make him angry – but they show up in their numbers anyway, because there's a chance of them getting slaughtered if they don't.

  “You don't look prepared.”

  Zuko looks towards Azula. “What?”

  She gestures to his clothes. He's wearing his fire robes, though they've shifted a little, revealing a lick of collarbone that he awkwardly stuffs back into his collar. “You look like you've just crawled out of bed, Zuko.”

  “Because I have.”

  “You say that like it's a good thing.” Azula rises to her full height. “Do you go out of your way to embarrass this family, or does it just happen?”

  “I slept in. It was an accident.”

  “Mm.” Azula flicks his ear. “Make sure it doesn't happen again.”

  Before Zuko can reply, the announcer is calling them forward. Ozai does only a single swift check of his shoulder, making sure all his ducks are in a row, before the balcony doors are thrown open and Zuko and his family march in front of the waiting crowd. The screams get impossibly louder. The world shrinks to this moment and this moment only, and Zuko feels his cheeks glowing bright red under the critical gaze of complete strangers.

  He concentrates on his breathing, even as he waves and smiles to the people staring up at him. He has to, or else he'll lose it – he lost it last time. He can't afford to make a fool of himself now.

  Ozai speaks into the microphone, voice booming across the screaming crowd. Zuko stands straight backed, arms behind his back, his breath skipping every few seconds-

  Then his eyes meet yours.

  His smile falls. In one second, the demeanour he's been trying to build up, the charade he's been trying to play is completely wiped out and replaced by terror, confusion, panic, all rolled into one. His breathing leaves him in a single breath. Azula glances at him, raises a brow, hisses a warning under her breath, but Zuko can barely hear her over the sound of his own heartbeat.

  You're stood near the front, hands curled around the barriers. By your side is Iroh. He's leaned in, whispering in your ear, talking to you like you're a good friend. You're no longer wearing the vest and the trousers that made you stick out as an Earth bender, but instead wear a pair of oversized Fire Nation robes. There's still a leaf in your hair. Zuko wants to laugh.

  But he doesn't. Honestly, he can do nothing but stare, the crowd making him feel claustrophobic. He wants to be down there. He wants to be beside you. He wants to know how in the hell Iroh managed to get you past the city guards, why he bothered to get you past the city guards.

  His father continues speaking. Zuko fiddles with his thumbs behind his back, waiting for the moment he can scramble off stage and meet you in the middle; you're looking up at him, a grin on your face as Iroh whispers in your ear. Iroh suddenly turns and points in Zuko's direction, but you're already looking at him and Zuko's eyes meet your own, and it's really like nothing else in the world exists.

  Zuko can't contain his excitement. A slow smile stretches across his lips, one you return almost immediately. You bounce on your heels, grabbing Iroh's sleeve and pointing up at Zuko, and he risks it all by giving you a little wave – you grin even brighter and wave back.

  That's what cracks him.

  He turns to Azula before he can think better of it, leaning in to whisper, “I'll be right back.” There is no chance for her to ask what he is doing, because Zuko has already turned and is speeding back through the palace, making his way through crowds upon crowds of special guards, and cooks who call his name with the same confused tenderness they've always given him. He rushes right past them, darts through the back doors of his home-

  Iroh is already one step ahead.

  At the end of the back alley behind the palace, Iroh ushers you forward. You look up, eyes meeting Zuko's, and then you yelp, sprinting towards him. Zuko laughs when he catches you, arms wrapping round your waist, body moulding into yours like he was made to be in this exact position. You nuzzle your head in his neck, arms wrapped right around his shoulders.

  Nothing else exists. Nothing else in the world.

  “You're here,” Zuko breathes against your neck. “How are you here?”

  “Iroh found me,” you reply. There's something in your voice – not exactly emotion, but something similar, something that tugs at Zuko's heart and makes him tighten his grip. “He said he could – he could disguise me, or something. I'm not gonna lie, Zuko, I thought he was mental.”

  “A lot of people do.” Zuko draws away first, glancing at Iroh who stands to the side. The thing about Iroh is, he never gets awkward. He stands around whilst his nephew and this complete stranger hug and greet each other in a more-than-friendly manner, and he just looks proud. He looks on with a small smile on his face, hands folded in front of him, not a care in the world.

  Zuko clasps him on the shoulder. “How did you know where to go?”

  “Because I know you, Zuko.” And it's such an Iroh response – it doesn't even need a reply.

  Zuko turns back to you. His eyes click with yours, and he can't help it when he reaches forward and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your neck. You close your eyes, a rare and brief moment of vulnerability – it's nice. Zuko feels like he can protect you when you're like this.

  “I want to show you everything,” he says.

  Your eyes flick open. “I want to see everything.”

   “Come on. Before my father finishes his speech.” Zuko grabs your hand and darts back into the palace – there is no shame in his movements, not like he once expected there to be. Now, he parades through the cooks and the cleaners and the royal guards, and he introduces you to each and every one of them. His hand remains in yours, and you do not fight to remove it.

  You instead look on in awe, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Zuko stares at you any chance he can get, marvelling the way such little things take you by surprise – the vase Zuko has seen everyday for the past eighteen years forces a gasp from your lips. You trail your fingers along the mahogany wood that Zuko once believed to be distasteful. You sigh in pleasure when sinking down into the sofa that Zuko thought was getting a little worn out from time and well-use.

  Finally, however, Zuko leads you to his bedroom, and his nerves return.

  He feels stupid for being nervous. He's an eighteen year old man, soon to be the Firelord of his own nation. Bringing someone special – are you someone special? - into his rooms should not be something that fazes him, but it is. The butterflies crawl into his stomach, and he has to drop your hand to disguise the sweat that sheens along his palm. You glance at him, raise a brow.

  “Problem, Princeling?” Zuko purses his lips. You tilt your head. “What's behind that door that's got you so nervous?”

  “I'm not nervous,” Zuko lies. “I was just – uh – this is my bedroom.”

  You nod like it's no big deal, standing there expectantly. Zuko glares at you for a second longer, because he's fully aware that you know exactly why he's nervous – you're just choosing not to say anything, refusing to put him out of his misery in that blunt way you always seem to manage.

  He sighs. “You'll kill me one day.”

  “Shall we go in or do you just want to show me a picture?”

  Zuko pushes the door open. You step inside before him, surprising the prince when you reach back and grab his hand, dragging him in after you. He's been in his room every single day, often locks himself inside just to clear his head, but he's looking at it behind a completely new lens now; he becomes aware of the small mess cluttering the corner, the little bottle of ink on his desk that has fingerprint smudges wrapped round it, the single sandal thrown carelessly to the side as he had no time to put it away this morning.

  And then there's you, standing amongst all of it. Already your fingers are trailing along the dark red wallpaper, eyes scanning the double bed with it's slightly creased sheets and abundance of pillows. There's a tiny smile on your face.

  You turn. “My aunt used to tell me that a bedroom is the window to someone's soul.”

  Zuko blushes. “I think your aunt was mistaken. I haven't had a single say in the running of this room since I was born.”

    “No, no. I think she was right.” You point to the sandal. “Clearly you were in a rush this morning.”

   “My bedhead would have been enough to give that away.”

   You step towards him and run your hands through his dark hair. Zuko scrunches up his nose, glaring, pretending he doesn't love the feel of your fingers scratching against his scalp, pretending he doesn't love your body being so close to his.

  “I like bedhead on you, Princeling,” you say softly. “It makes you look a little less perfect.”

  Zuko raises a brow. “And that's a good thing?”

  “It is when you spend your whole life looking pristine.”

  “I don't look pristine all the time.”

  “That's a lie.”

  “Should I be taking this conversation as a compliment?”

  You grin. It's only then does Zuko realise your fingers are still embedded in his hair, and your body is still dangerously, dangerously close to his own. His fingers twitch, the sudden urge to draw you closer flooding him in two seconds flat. It's difficult to keep himself contained when he can smell the earth and the soil on your clothes – your Fire Nation clothes.

  He looks down and plucks at the red collar of your robes. “Iroh did a good job with this.”

  You pull away. Zuko has to bite his lip to hide his disappointment, though the disappointment dwindles when you twirl for him, robes billowing out around you. “You like them?”

  “You're just the kind of person who suits everything, I think.”

  You scoff. “You know, me calling you perfect wasn't me trying to get a compliment out of you.”

  “I complimented you because I'm a nice person.” He pauses. “And because it's true – you do suit everything.”

  You hum, glancing down at your new wardrobe. “I appreciate it. It doesn't really feel right, though. I kind of miss my Earth Kingdom clothes.”

    “Of course.” Zuko takes your hand. “You won't have to wear Fire Nation robes forever. We can go back to me visiting you, and then-”

  Your head snaps up. “You're not sending me off already, are you?”

  Zuko's eyes widen. “What? No, of course not! I just thought-”

   “You made such a big deal about me coming into your room, and you're already planning my departure.” You pull your hand from his, folding your arms over your chest. “I feel betrayed.”

   Zuko glares; you're doing it again, teasing him. Teasing him because you're you, and that's what you do, but teasing him because he's easily teased, and you know that. You know that, because he's opened up to you in ways he's never opened up to anybody in his entire life.

  He loves you. He knows he loves you. He's known from the moment he realised he couldn't wait to see you again, couldn't wait to risk everything by climbing out his window in the middle of the night just to see if you were still awake somewhere, waiting for him.

  He stares at you now, examines the amused smile on your face as you wait for whatever flustered reply he always gives. You fluster him so easily, and yet Zuko has never been good at that kind of thing.

  He gives it a go now.

  He grabs your hand, draws you forward and kisses you.

  He only meant for it to be a short peck, something to get a feel for the waters. But your response is too quick, and you're melting against him much faster than he expected, and he's plummeting, plummeting, lost in seconds.

  He doesn't register the moment your hands start trailing through his hair. He doesn't register the moment you start pushing against him, guiding him deeper into his own room as if you own the place. He doesn't register the moment he spins and presses you against the wall, his lips still moulding into your own.

   Suddenly it's just happening. Suddenly his stomach is just in knots, and Zuko realises with a start that he's dug himself far, far too deep into this hole, and there's no going back. He's fallen in love with someone from the Earth Kingdom. He's fallen in love with someone he has no chance of ever being with.

  But even as the thought passes through his head, he pushes it away. He's Prince Zuko; he's the shy, easily-embarrassed, anxiety-filled prince that his own nation mocks, but he gets what he wants. Perhaps it's the spoilt rich-kid side of him that has gifted him this drive, or maybe it's just his lips on your own, but he swears to every god that has ever witnessed his life unfold that he will keep you with him. He will not let anything bad happen to you.

  You pull away first, a splutter escaping that you quickly silence by pecking his lips one final time. Zuko laughs against this tiny kiss, chasing your lips when you pull away. You place a hand on his chest and say, “Give me a minute.”

  “Good?”

   “Unexpected.” You fan yourself. For the first time, Zuko has made you flustered. He beams, and you glare at him. “Don't do that! You could have said something first!”

  Zuko curls a strand of your hair around his finger. “That would have ruined the surprise.”

   “Has anyone ever had the nerve to tell you just how much of an ass you are?”

  Zuko grins, slowly leans forward and pecks your lips. “Only you.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the chance is stolen when Zuko's bedroom door opens and a royal guard steps inside. Zuko scrambles back, running a hand through his mussed-up hair; you stay against the wall, hands curled against your chest, an amused grin forming on your face.

  The royal guard raises a brow, glancing between the two of you. Zuko claps his hands to get his attention back. “What do you want?”

  “Uh...” The guard shakes his head. “Your father's finished his speech and wants to speak with you. As soon as possible, if you will.”

   Zuko's heart thunders, only this time it isn't because he's holding you in his arms. He glances over his shoulder; you meet his eyes, raise a slow brow in a silent offer. You're telling him you'll leave. You're telling him you don't mind going back into those woods, living the rest of your life in the trees you seem so attached to. You're telling him you don't mind, but your hands are trembling against your chest, and then you take a slow step towards him, curling your arm against the small of his back.

  He knows you don't really want to go. He doesn't want you to go, either.

  Zuko turns back to the guard and says, “I'll be there in a minute. Tell him I won't be on my own.”

 The guards eyes widen. “Prince Zuko-”

  “This isn't a debate. Deliver my message, and I'll make my way to the throne room as soon as possible. As requested.”

  The guard swallows, flicks one final gaze in your direction before he bows and exits the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Zuko deflates as soon as he hears the click, slumping back against your warmth. You catch him, curling an arm around his middle, pressing your face into his spine.

  “Don't do anything you'll regret, Zuko. I won't have it.”

  “Do you want to stay here?”

  You pause. “I want to stay with you.”

  Zuko's heart soars. He gently touches the hand you have against his stomach, intertwining fingers. “Then  it's decided. You'll stay with me.”

  ----

  Zuko has never brought someone home to meet his parents. Zuko has never had anyone to bring home.

  A summer fling here and there, a young romance sprouting from the casual touch of fingers, people finding him attractive because he has the word 'prince' tacked on to his name; none of it really meant anything. He never once thought these relationships would grow into something worth flaunting in front of his father.

  Now, he holds your hand and walks into the throne room, unsure how to introduce you, unsure what this is. He's kissed you once. He's felt the affect you have on him, but is that enough for him to label this as a relationship? Will his father even approve?

  Does he need his fathers approval?

  Zuko shakes his head, hollowing out his cheeks as you and him enter the throne room. Ozai has yet to appear, though there are two guards flanking either side of the single throne set upon the dais; there used to be two, but since the death of Zuko's mother, Ozai has removed his mothers throne. More space for his power to radiate.

  You squeeze Zuko's hand, lowering your voice to a whisper when you say, “Is that air conditioning I feel?”

  “You don't have to try and lighten the mood.”

  You frown, pulling away. “Fine. But just so you know, you look like you're going to burst a blood vessel.”

  Zuko opens his mouth to respond, but the door on the other side of the room is thrown open before he gets a chance to. His father says nothing. His face is stone, passive as he approaches his throne and sits down. His hands curl round the curved ends of the arm rests, and he stares directly at Zuko.

  Zuko knows what to do. He's been trained for this his entire life, so it comes naturally to him when he lets go of your hand and steps forward, dropping to one knee. You stare at him with an open mouth, unsure of what to do, but Zuko does not put that burden on you – he lets you stand.

  Ozai says, “Up.”

  Zuko rises. “Father. You requested to see me.”

  “That I did,” says Ozai. Zuko's stomach turns when he notices Ozai's eyes haven't left you. “I asked for my son, and my son alone. Where was the message distorted?”

  “Nowhere,” says Zuko. He takes a step back and wraps an arm around your waist, feeling immediately guilt when your tense body presses against his; he left your side for only a second, but it's clear you're terrified. “I wanted to introduce you to Y/N. I wanted to talk to you about some arrangements.”

  Ozai's left eye twitches. “Zuko, this talk wasn't for you to orchestrate. You left the balcony during the morning announcements. You embarrassed your sister and I, and now people are asking questions. I did not call you in here to discuss what you want.”

  “Part of my explanation for leaving involves Y/N.”

  “That isn't a good thing, Zuko.”

  Zuko's grip tightens – he was prepared for loose threats, but they shake him up nonetheless. You glance at him; Zuko can feel your eyes burning holes into the side of your head, can feel your ribcage expanding and dropping at lightning speed beside him. He rubs a small circle into your hip, and you melt against him a little more.

  “Introduce yourself,” Ozai suddenly says.

  You pause. “Me?”

  Ozai scowls.

  “Oh, me!” You stumble forward, but your hand darts behind you and grabs Zuko's wrist, needing to keep some form of contact. “Uh, good morning, Firelord. Firelord? Your Majesty? I don't – uh...” You turn to Zuko. “Help?”

   Zuko just nods.

  You scowl and turn back to Ozai. “Firelord. My name is Y/N L/N. I'm a – uh – friend of your son. A good friend. Really good friends.” You pause. “I'm in love with your son.”

  Zuko's breath skips. He curls his fingers tighter round your own, a silent message portrayed through nothing more than skinship: I love you too. I love you too. I love you so much.

  Ozai keeps his scowl, but he has not yet dove from his throne, has not yet ordered your death, and Zuko is going to take this as a good sign.

  “In my forty three years ruling this nation,” he says slowly, “I don't think I've ever seen you before.”

  You stiffen. “Really? That's odd. I – uh – pay my taxes and everything, so-”

  “Y/N is from the Earth Kingdom, father.”

  It happens in seconds. Zuko has barely any time to blink before the royal guards are dashing forward, and suddenly you are in their grasp, and your startled cry is echoing off the throne room walls.

  Zuko lurches forward. “Stop!”

  Ozai rises from his throne with a swift calmness that makes Zuko ill; you're thrashing in the guards grip, feet kicking from the ground, but they only hold you tighter. There is a guard at Zuko's elbow, a spear In front of his nose that stops him from getting any closer to you.

  “Father,” Zuko pants. “You must hear me out. You have to give me a chance to explain-”

  “You know the rules, Zuko,” Ozai says calmly. “This little infatuation of yours is a criminal. We do not tolerate criminals here.”

   Zuko shakes his head. He doesn't know why, doesn't know what he's disagreeing to, because his father is technically speaking the truth – you are a criminal, and Zuko knows that, but the rules you have broken are so unfair and so stupid that it makes him angry to hear that label be pinned to your name.

  He looks over. There are tears glistening on your waterline, though you have now gone limp in the guards arms. Your shoulders are pulled back, mouth pulled into a tight line as you try to fight off the rising panic he knows you are feeling – you're trying to seem strong, unthreatened. Zuko remembers the way you had so casually agreed to go back to the woods on your own, how prepared you had been to go back to such a horrendous way of life – was this your way of telling Zuko you were prepared to die, as well?

  Death. Zuko can't even bring himself to think of it. He has to stop this. He promised to keep you safe.

  Slowly, he turns back to his father. “You don't want to do this. Not really.”

  “Now we both know that's not true. I have killed plenty, and I will kill again. That is my job as the protector of this nation.”

   “You're insane if you really believe that.”

  For a second, Ozai pauses. Zuko has never spoken to him like that. “Watch your tongue, boy.”

  “You've always wanted me to be tougher.” Zuko steps forward, fingers curled at his sides. “You're always telling me to be braver, to stop being such a wimp. You've always wanted me to follow in your footsteps, and now I'm prepared to do just that.”

  “Stand down, boy – before you make a fool of yourself.”

  Zuko grits his teeth. His stomach churns, a feeling he's never before experienced slicing through every bit of patience he gathered before walking into this throne room; he prepared himself for hostility, an argument, an explanation his father would never make sense of, but now you're being held by royal guards and Ozai is threatening your life and Zuko can't hold himself back any more.

  He takes another step forward and lets his hands erupt.

  Ozai's eyes widen. Royal guards rush forward, but Zuko is quicker – he sends his hands out in front of him, creating a circle of flames on the ground. Guards jump back, yelping in shock because Zuko – the wimpy little prince – has never shown this side before.

  This wimpy prince turns back to the Firelord and says, “You always thought I was weak, father. The truth is, I just never had anything to fight for. Now that I do, I'm not going to let you destroy it.”

  “Zuko,” you croak out. He closes his eyes. “Zuko, don't do this. Don't-”

  “Shut them up.”

  The royal guard backhands you. Zuko's eyes snap open, and it's reflex when he throws his hands out. He doesn't even think, doesn't will his power to the surface – it's just there, present in a way it's never been before, and the royal guards robes set alight. He screams, letting go of your arms; you crumble to the floor, revealing the slash now embedded in your cheek thanks to the guards ring.

  Zuko darts to your side and grabs your arm. “Are you alright?”

  “Don't do this,” you repeat, clinging to him. “I'll be fine, Zuko. I'll be okay if I have to leave, but I can't see you dead. I won't.”

  Zuko smiles weakly. Tears flood his eyes. “Why do you think I would be any different?”

  “You're the prince,” you whisper.

  Zuko closes his eyes, tracing his thumb along your cheek bone. “So you like to remind me.”

  “Zuko-”

  He spirals up, whirling on his father yet again. His hands spring out, but Ozai is in front of him – much closer than Zuko had once anticipated. The Firelord snatches his sons wrist and twists; Zuko's knees buckle, but he catches himself and forces flames into his palm. Ozai flinches back, giving Zuko just enough time to spin back and throw a fireball against the marble floor. The dais cracks, the throne falling on its side. Flames swallow the plants set up for decoration. The golden doors start to smoke.

  Around him, his throne room crumbles under his sons power, but Ozai stays kneeled on the floor.

  “Come on, father,” Zuko taunts. “You've forced my hand, but now you won't finish it?”

  Ozai licks his bottom lip; blood is pouring from a cut Zuko hadn't even realised he'd made.

   “Look at you,” Zuko spits. “Everybody fears you. You've made everybody fear you, and yet you can't even look me in the eyes right now.”

  “Zuko!” you cry out. “Stop this now!”

  “Listen to your thing, Zuko,” Ozai growls.

  Zuko clenches his fists. “Don't you dare.”

  Slowly, Ozai lifts his head. Blood coats his fingers, his chin, his busted lip the source of it all. His robes are singed, the tan skin beneath bubbling with blisters nobody has ever seen on the Firelord, because nobody can bring themselves to imagine Firelord Ozai losing in a battle involving fire bending; he's the master of it. He is the person every fire bender wants to be.

  But Zuko stands over him now, and his own power is overwhelming him. It mingles with his anger, exaggerated by his dire need to protect you.

  “Is this all it takes?”

  Zuko frowns. Ozai's words do not click.

  “What are you talking about?”

 Ozai slams his hand into the marble and yells, “Is this all it takes?”

  Zuko stumbles back. “I don't – I don't understand-”

  “A single Earth Bender is all it takes to bring your power to the surface.” Ozai laughs, a bitter sound that mingles with the gurgle of blood pouring into his open mouth. “I have raised you from day one, tried to bring this out of you from day one, and all it takes is me threatening your little infatuation for you to finally succumb to it. I feel like a fool.”

   Zuko's breathing quickens. He doesn't know how to reply, having not expected the conversation to take this kind of turn.

  Ozai shakes his head before turning his attention to you. Zuko steps to the side protectively, lowering one of his hands; you reach up from the ground, hooking your index finger through his before you say, “This cut on my cheek feels really deep.”

  Ozai scowls. “How did you ever fall in love with my son?”

  Zuko doesn't need to look at you to know you're smiling through your response. “I really have no idea, Firelord. It just kind of happened.”

  “Y/N is staying with me, father,” Zuko says. Ozai closes his eyes, running a thumb along his bottom lip. “Y/N will stay with me, or I will go with them – whatever happens, we're staying together. You either lose your heir, or you lose your pride and admit this rule you have is wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “I know,” you grumble. “Gods forbid anything you do is wrong.”

   Ozai lurches forward. Zuko's free hand erupts into flames; the Firelord pauses, growling at his son. And Zuko knows he's being treated well here, because he's seen his fathers fury. He's been on the receiving end of his fathers fury, knows that Ozai can hurt him in so many different ways if he so chooses – but he's not. He's staring at his son, contemplating something Zuko can't read.

  It makes him nervous. He tightens his grip on your finger, because that's what soothes him nowadays.

  “I've laid out my conditions,” Zuko growls. “All you have to do now is choose which one you prefer.”

   The room goes eerily quiet. Zuko can hear his heartbeat. He can hear the blood pumping through his body, but louder than anything else, he hears your giggling behind him. It keeps him rooted to the spot. He has to fight off his own grin when you shuffle forward and press a small kiss to his palm – a silent good luck. Or maybe it's a goodbye. Either way, it sends Zuko's heart into bliss.

  Until Ozai looks up and says, “If Y/N is what it takes to make you into the Firelord you're meant to be, then I will only be putting myself at risk by sending them off again.”

  Zuko stares.

  That's all he can do as his brain struggles to process the words his father has just spoken – spoken so easily, with no catch whatsoever. His heart thunders. His hands grow sweaty, to the point where you're scowling up at him, wiping your palm on his robes.

  “You're serious,” Zuko says, some of his previous formality slipping. “You're being serious right now.”

   “Don't make me regret it,” Ozai growls. “And don't think this is the end of anything, son. The way you spoke to me today-”

  “Very bad boy, yes.” You jump up from the ground, sway a little as you wrap your arms around Zuko's shoulders. “I'll make sure he sits in the corner and thinks about what he's done.”

  “You're a curse, Y/N L/N,” Ozai growls. “The Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom aren't meant to mingle; one day, we will burn you out.”

  “Goodness, I hope so,” you reply, before giving the Firelord a cheery thumbs up. Zuko is still in a daze, making it easy to steer him out of the throne room. “Have a good night, Firelord! Thank you very much for this. Thank you!”

  The throne room doors close. Zuko snaps back to himself just seconds before you hop into his arms and squeal in his ear.

  Your legs are wrapped around his waist. His hands are under your thighs. Your fingers are trailing through his hair. It takes a few seconds, but then your lips are on his.

  Everything is happening. It's happening, and it's allowed, and Zuko cannot believe what he's just done actually worked. He can't believe he's actually still alive.

  He kisses you back. You slip down his body, drag Zuko backwards until your back is pressed against the wall and he loses his mind. His hands slip to your waist. He pulls you closer. The royal guards awkwardly look away, but Zuko doesn't even care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

  “Gods,” he breathes against your mouth. “Y/N, what have we just done?”

  You snap back, hands curling into Zuko's robes. “Me? I did nothing! It was you that decided to go all bat-shit crazy on the Firelord!”

   “Keep your voice down.” He kisses you again.

  You laugh against his mouth, pushing him away. “This is insane. This isn't right. There's a catch in there somewhere.”

   Zuko groans, slumping his head against your own. “Why can't we just focus on the fact I've just nearly wiped out an entire room of people?”

  You mess with the hairs at the back of his neck. “Is the Princeling tired?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Why don't we go back to your chambers and you can have a nap?”

   Zuko raises a brow. “My chambers?”

  “Your chambers.”

   Zuko scoffs, grabs your hand and says, “Our chambers. And a nap sounds delightful right now.”

  ---

  Zuko remembers days like this.

  More specifically, he remembers his dread.

  The butterflies, how he had to concentrate just to breathe properly. He remembers Azula sneering at him from across the balcony, telling him to straighten up his shoulders and look the part of the prince he was meant to be.

  Now, he stands on the very same balcony, and he feels none of that. Azula is not present. The only person by his side is you, holding his hand, wearing your dark green Earth Bender robes. Your hair is pinned back with a fancy pin in the shape of a leaf, and as Zuko waits for the screaming crowd to die down, he reaches over to touch it.

  You shoot him a glare. “I swear if my hair falls out of place-”

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  You purse your lips, look away and say, “Okay. Love you.”

  He chuckles. “Love you too.” He turns back to the crowd. They have yet to fully settle, but he starts anyway – if he were to wait for complete silence, he would be stood there all day.

  “Good morning everyone,” he starts, just as he always does. “I know a lot of you are confused as to why I have called an announcement today. I apologise for any inconvenience, but this is not something I can hold onto any more.”

  The crowd murmur. Zuko inhales deeply, his breathing hitching. He squeezes your hand, his form of comfort.

  “As many of you know, Y/N is born from the Earth Kingdom. They wears their Earth Kingdom robes with pride. They practice Earth Bending in the streets. They brings diversity to our streets of fire. My father made it clear before he died that the Fire Nation were to be seen as superior, that any mingling with any of the other kingdoms was forbidden, wrong.” He levels his gaze. “I am making it my goal to change that mindset.”

  The crowd go quiet. They're uncertain, but Zuko had expected nothing different; for years, it has been drilled into their heads that every other nation is doing something wrong. That's all they've known. Zuko is aware he'll have to be patient to get through to them.

  You squeeze his hand, whispering, “You're doing amazing.”

  Because you've said it, Zuko believes it.

  He straightens up his posture and continues. “From now on, the borders of the Fire Nation will be open to people from every kingdom. Security will be put in place to ensure the safety of the people inside the city, but we will no longer be segregated from other kingdoms – it's unhealthy, and it's wrong. We as a nation can only improve when we welcome other cultures into our own. That is the only way we can grow and learn, and we have been stunting that growth with the ridiculous laws my father put in place.”

  The crowd breaks into murmurs. Zuko glances over to see you smiling – a brighter smile than he's seen you wear in quite a while. You've always told him you don't mind, that you don't expect him to change the laws of the Fire Nation just for you – but it's clear to him now that being the only Earth Kingdom citizen has been eating away at you for a while now. It makes him realise that perhaps you've felt a little more lonely that you've let on in the past.

  He turns back to the crowd. “From here on out, the law of no contact with other kingdoms is dropped. I suggest you all start working on your greetings.”   And before anyone can say anything more, Zuko bows to the crowd and walks back into the palace, you following behind him.

  The glass doors shut. Someone tries to talk to him, a voice in the back of his head that doesn't matter, because his one thought is focused purely on you.

  He spins round, cutting the guard off when he grabs your hands and says, excitedly, “Did I do a good job?”

   “A perfect job,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “You're very good at this public speaking thing. It's quite attractive.”

  Zuko rolls his eyes, nibbling your shoulder in warning. You scoff and push him away, and it's then that Zuko gets a good look at your face.

  There are tears in your eyes.

  His expression falls. “Y/N...”

  You swipe your hand beneath your eyes. “What? Don't do that voice. It scares me.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  You groan, throwing your head back. Royal guards awkwardly shuffle round the corners of the room, but Zuko pays them no attention. He reaches forward, pulling you towards him so he can rub your tears away.

  “Did I do something wrong? Was there something else you wanted me to say?”

  “No! Zuko, no. No, you did wonderfully out there.” You shake your head, sniffling. “It's just . . . you did wonderfully. I'm so proud of you. And I was just . . . I was stood there beside you, listening to you speak, and I just. . . It became real, you know?”

   Zuko frowns. “Please explain.”

  “It became real. My aunt can come and see me. My people can come and see me stand beside the Firelord – me. The little orphan who nobody could take in because everyone in my village was too poor to feed another person.”

  “So you are just with me for the title.”

   You roll your eyes. “That's just an added bonus.”

   Zuko chuckles, bundling you against his chest. “We're making a difference, Y/N. That's what we always promised we would do.”

  “It's going to take a while for everyone to get used to it. We're going to have to put extra security in for the first few people who come from other kingdoms.”

  “We'll sort it out. We always do.”

  You hum against his chest. “Yes. We always do.”

[nrhodact]

A Deadly Education:Things I did and didn't like about it.

I've only read book one so don't come for me about shit that happened in book 2.

Ok pros

Anything can kill you. I like that in a book cause it makes the stakes high and I like to see characters struggle.

The worldbuilding was better than a lot of YA books. Which makes it debatable if I should put this in a pro because YA isn't known for good worldbuilding. It sucks a lot of the time 😬

El and Orion have nice chemistry. Again, can't say a lot of cishet pairing have good chemistry but it's a low bar to cross in the cishet YA genre.

The pacing is not too slow. Info dumps can make it seem like a drag but outside of that, there aren't boring parts.

Orion and the setup for book 2 is interesting.

I found El's narration entertaining, but this could be a con for people who don't like snarky and rude characters.

Now on to Cons

The worldbuilding is good but it is info dumpy as heck...a lot of the info throws the "Show don't tell" rule out the window. Sometimes it's reasonable because we don't know why somethings happen but a lot of the time, the worldbuilding could have been shown to us. If you don't care about in depth worldbuilding and can't stand info dumps, this might not be for you.

El and Orion are the only characters with depth. Chloe starts to have depth but it's near the end of the book, so it sets up potential and she shouldn't flip her ways early in the book so I'll give her a pass. Everyone else...no excuse. El's two friends she makes are shallow. We don't know much about them, except for a little bit about their families and what they're good at, but I struggle to explain what their personalities are like because a large chunk of time that could've been used to get to know the characters is skipped and the other parts are vaguely used to talk about El trying to work on an assignement and make a possible alliance with them. That is also told to us for the most part. I know this is from a 1st person point of view but I feel all the time skips should have been taken out to get to know other characters. Same goes for all the other characters. We know their race, languages they speak and their abilities. That's it. It's diverse but is the diversity that good when everyone except the mc and her (white) love interest are the only ones fleshed out? This is book 1 but you can flesh out more than 2 characters within a novel over 300 pages.(Even if diversity doesn't matter to you, the supporting cast is NOT developed)

El's destiny to be bad but would never actually act upon it because she'd have a bad conscious is predictable. This would be fine if it wasn't constantly brought up about how she struggles with it (psoiler alert, it isn't a struggle cause there aren't close calls. It's being mad, reminding us about how powerful she-she could wipe out the entire school if she wanted to- but tells us she won't because she wouldn't be able to live with herself. Yadda yadda. I was rolling my eyes by the third time she reminded us. We get it, we get it. It's not the special. Maybe if she had taken someone's mana and hurt somebody but then regretted it, I'd believe she was actually struggling to not become evil and destructive. But it didn't happen so I already knew she would never do anything bad the entire book. The romance was predictable too but I won't hold it against Naomi because what cishet romance isn't predictable. If you don't realize two people are going to be together by the end of the series you are very lucky. Ignorance is bliss.

Skip this next con if you aren't aromantic. The "We're not dating!" Line and the many verions of it, El uses is beaten over the readers heads. A.lot. and no they aren't dating by the end of book 1 but Orion is in love with her and...well...we know where this is going....

And the "Just friends" line is used too. That cursed line. I'd say skip this book unless you have a high tolerance for this or are an aro that likes romance.

A lot of the problems El and other students faced were resolved fast. I didn't find that satisfying but the final problem (being vague cause spoilers) seemed like things could go south, unnimportant characters died. (Not calling that a spoiler cuase they weren't relevant to the plot, no joke. ) but that didn't last long either.

Now I'm done. I know the list of cons was longer than pros but again, this what I found as a con. Maybe you won't or don't care that much.

[hireath24]

Everything wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant Part Three

Disclaimer: This is part three and will continue from pages 97 to 150. Part one can be found here. Part Two can be found here. Part four can be found here. These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or that has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways.

Page 99: Saying ‘wine will make you feel better’ really gives off the wrong impression when this is a book targeted at young kids. I mean, it’s written for the YA genre which is typically categorized for ages 12 and up. 

Page 101: I’m so fed up of people talking badly about Nesta. Having Amren say ‘That’s if she shows up sober’ when she has walked in to see Feyre, Cassian and Azriel all drinking wine? Feyre and Cassian being ‘drunk’? Double standard! Unfair! 

Page 102: So Elain managed to become a seer with the cauldron, right? So… Are there other people - sorry, Fae - who are seers? Why does the cauldron affect people in different ways? 

Page 107: Amren was turned into a High Fae in the last book, which means that she no longer has to drink blood as food. But why did she ever have to drink blood? I don’t think it was ever explained. Why?

Page 108: Elain asks Amren if she could have taken on a male form and Amren replies with ‘Before, in my other form, I was neither. I simply was.’ Was that supposed to be SJM’s cheap shot at adding some gender diversity? Because I would have loved to see Amren be this non-binary power house asexual dragon but who has time for that but she uses she/her pronouns throughout the entire series and this is the only mention of her being able to switch between genders. 

Page 112: ‘…A few drunk revelers spotted us and fell silent. Felt Rhys’s power, perhaps my own as well, and found somewhere else to be for a while.’ Why would they want to find somewhere else to be as soon as their High Lord and High Lady show up? Why are they showing fear at the feeling of their power? Aren’t Feyre and Rhys supposed to be the good guys? This reads a lot like the people of Velaris are scared of them…

Page 115: ‘Gentlemales’ GENTLEMALES. GENTLEMALES. GENTLE FUCKING MALES?!?!?!?!

Page 116: ‘Indeed, some people were turning our way.’ This is just… This word is useless in general but in this book? I don’t think it was edited properly. 

Page 118: ‘A scene. This was about to become a scene in the worst way.’ SJM does this quite a lot in this book. These little two sentences where she says something and then expands on that something. It was used twice before already and I didn’t write it down because I thought it was just a writing choice but… it’s a poor one. It feels like a way to get the word count up somehow and, quite frankly, it’s bad writing.

  Page 118: Feyre is annoyed that Nesta is asking for her to pay her rent? How else does she suppose that Nesta should pay for her rent? She had a home that was taken from her back in the human world (that was taken from her because of Feyre, mind you) and all she asks is that Feyre pay her rent because she doesn’t have a job in fairy land? That seems pretty reasonable. Feyre shouldn’t be mad. 

Page 121: ‘But those were her deaths to claim.’ Why does everything have to be paid with death? I think it would be a lot more empowering if Mor would meet with those who wronged her, say something about them and her and just walk out of their lives entirely? SJM should start preaching forgiveness a little bit more but, hey, that’s just my opinion. Plus, this is really making Rhys seem like a bad ruler. Wanting to kill his enemies? No. 

Page 122: ‘Keir is coming soon, isn’t he.’ Yeah, no, this wasn’t edited. 

Page 122: ‘When.’ 

Page 125: ‘Az has a list of kingdoms most likely to cross the line.’ I’m wondering why the Night Court is in charge? Why does Rhysand get to decide which kingdoms and courts cross the line? Why does he get to decide where the line is? 

Page 126: As I said for Page 118, Rhysand says: ‘Tempting. So damn tempting to tell…’ See what I mean? 

Page 126: If Rhysand deals with conflict by fighting fire with fire, then his court is going to fall apart. Why is he allowed to get away with attacking Tamlin the way he did? What are the basic rules of the court - any of the courts? Surely the people wouldn’t want an insufficient ruler so do they get a say in it? WHY ARE THE HIGH LORDS ALLOWED TO ACT LIKE BLOODTHIRSTY BEASTS?! 

Page 126: ‘Too long. She’d been cooped up within the borders of this court for too long.’ Wow, once you tune into it…

Page 127: I really want to make one thing clear. Not every piece of dialogue has to have a tag attached to it. Sometimes things work much better if you just use ‘I said’ or ‘he/she/they said.’ At least then it would mean less lines such as this ‘I laughed again. ‘Certainly not Amren. Not if we want peace,’ I added.’

Page 127: Also, Rhysand ‘want(s) peace’? Bullshit. Not seven paragraphs ago did he laugh about Mor wanting Tamlin dead and a page ago he was tempted to tell ‘the High Lord of Autumn that his eldest son coveted his throne.’ Do not think for one second that Rhys is a level headed ruler. SJM has a tendency to tell us that he is rather than show it. 

Page 128: ‘…Even the wine I’d returned home to drink couldn’t dull.’ Teaching young, impressionable people that alcohol might solve some of your problems. Great. And what - Feyre can say this but Nesta can’t drink? 

Page 129: ‘Decadent - it felt decadent…’ I really wished I had never picked up on this.

Page 129: Feyre keeps complaining about the amount of work she has to do but here she is shopping with Elain? When her people are scared, heartbroken, without a home and in mourning after the war?

  Page 129: ‘So different. This place was so different…’ ON THE SAME FUCKING PAGE?!??!

Page 131: So I guess that nobody ever told SJM that a character description goes beyond eye colour, hair colour and clothes? 

Page 133: ‘I might ease that grief, make the pain less.’ Feyre’s powers allow her to do that? When, why, how and fucking what?

Page 134: ‘I was lucky - so tremendously lucky.’ 

Page 134: Rhys was dead and he was brought back to life, right? It wasn’t like with Feyre’s death where she was still slightly conscious because she could hear what was going on, no. No, with Rhysand’s death, he really was dead. But he was brought back to life and somehow… feels nothing from this? I would love to see if there are times where his body becomes slightly misty and ghostlike, if his veins turn black under his skin because they had stopped working during that brief moment of death. I would have loved to see something other than just him feeling a little bit tired!

Page 134: ‘How.’ 

Page 135: I’s very clear to me that, for whatever reason, SJM wanted Feyre to be able to paint but she has no idea how to write about it. Whilst Feyre is painting, we only read about her need to create and what the end result looks like. Even during her process we hear nothing about light and perspective and I’m not a painter but there’s a true science behind it. And where is she getting the paints from? Rhys was able to give her some with his magic but from where?

  Page 138: It disgusts me that Feyre thinks that she can solve the people of the Night Court’s problems by teaching them how to paint. These people went through a war! And before that it was Under the Mountain! Painting and creating art in general can help with recovery from mental illness and trauma and PTSD and depression and everything else, but there comes a point where therapy is needed. Memorials are needed, ceremonies are needed. How are people supposed to paint what they feel when they can’t understand what they feel? It’s bullshit and, really, quite a childish thing to even suggest. How is this a ruler? 

Page 139: Why do jigsaw puzzles exist. Why are they called jigsaw puzzles. SJM is not a high fantasy writer. 

Page 140: ‘Good thing indeed.’ You guys know how I feel about this word by now, right? 

Page 140: ‘Indeed, each seemed like a different decade.’ So the fashion changes with time, does it? Great! Tell me more. Tell me why and how and when. Also, indeed.

Page 143: ‘The females bring their jewellery. I bring my weapons.’ But Cassian is a feminist, right? Yeah, no, guys, it’s alright. He’s a feminist, it’s all fine. 

Page 146: ‘You being too drunk to climb the stairs last night.’ I’m really not okay with the amount of casual drinking in this book - and not only that but the way it’s treated. Nesta is shamed for it, Feyre mentions that even wine can’t help her, Rhys makes jokes about his friends being drunk. It sends a really bad message. 

Page 147: ‘Illyrian baby indeed.’ 

Page 147: I’ve said this before but someone should really tell SJM that every scene in a book should further the plot. This has been three pages of bickering, useless drivel about a bed being too small for Cassian and cheap jokes about alcohol. The entire thing could be cut and the story wouldn’t change. 

Page 148: ‘Indeed, as Feyre emerged from the kitchen hallway…’

Page 148: ‘Strange - so strange to see…’

Page 149: ‘Indeed.’

Page 150: ‘Mor was instantly on her feet, offering - insisting on wine.’ This is just teaching kids that you need alcohol to be able to have a good time! Which isn’t true in the slightest! And it’s wrong on so many levels - especially insisting that everyone has wine! Peer pressure?? SJM deals with sensitive issues so badly (see what I said in another post about Rhysand and sexual assault) that it’s… It’s hard. Yikes.

[parasighting]

Top 20 albums of 2020

New place for Parasighting (here you can find the old blog), as it seems that Facebook and several social media platforms in general don’t very much agree with Blogger. Oh well, if we don’t change we die, isn’t that what they say? So, this will be the new place for posts from now on, including the Rodon Underground playlists (that is, if I manage to wrap my head fully around how Tumblr actually works). For now, and as a fitting starting post, here are the best 20 albums of 2020, always in my opinion and always in a mood for fisticuffs:

1. Fontaines D.C. - A Hero's Death

This normally shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it’s not like we haven’t had our fair share of scares in our lifetime when we’re dealing with a sophomore album following after an explosive debut. Last year’s Dogrel gave everyone what they wanted/expected, since basically it was, more or less, a gathering of all the great singles Fontaines D.C. had released in a 2-year period prior to that. As it seems, we are indeed dealing with an absolute gem of a band that, this time around, did anything but staying safe with an already tried-out and successful formula. Instead, they chose to give all weight to feeling, proving their songwriting genius at the same time. A Hero’s Death doesn’t contain intended typical radio hit songs (although it plays a lot on today’s radio, something hopeful for the music industry in general), instead it’s full of meaningful introvert compositions saturated in melody and atmosphere, while Fontaines D.C. themselves, despite their huge and abrupt success the last years, keep a low profile and support their material exemplary. This record is music history, and one to be mentioned for years or even decades from now in music in general.

Listen to A Hero’s Death

2. C.O.F.F.I.N. - Children Of Finland Fighting In Norway

Many have wondered about the air in Australia. Or the water. Or maybe it’s the crazy wildlife that makes one either to be on their toes all day or to “yolo” it like there’s no tomorrow. These lads right here sure seem to be the latter. It would be futile to try and get right now into the history of Australian music and what this country has offered the world, especially when it comes to garage/punk. So, it shouldn’t surprise us that C.O.F.F.I.N. have released this record this year but, then again, uncontainable excitement gets usually mistaken for surprise. It’s not that they had been under the radar or something until now, but Children of Finland Fighting in Norway is the flag all Turbojugends around the world should gather behind this year. This album is the Apocalypse Dudes of the band and, mind you, I’m not talking about copying Turbonegro or anything like that. I’m talking about the spontanity and the pure energy that is emitted here throughout. The band, although they surely step on the foundations of (especially the scandinavian) rock ‘n’ roll history, the final result can’t be mistaken with any other band. A look on the videos the band has put out will give you a total idea that here we’re dealing with original Aussie craziness, and that is something not to be messed with, if you ask me.

Listen to Children of Finland Fighting in Norway

3. Napalm Death - Throes Of Joy in The Jaws Of Defeatism

I don’t think that the name Napalm Death needs much introduction, even to those who have little contact with the extreme sound in general. Pioneers of hardcore punk, grindcore and so many sub-genres at their birth, they have been shaping much of the contemporary extreme music scene through the years. And, in order for this to be achieved, it couldn’t be without constant musical unrest and experimentation. Shane Embury & co returned in 2020 with their 16th album, in which they push their (and music’s in general) boundaries to new territories. Of course, this in no way means that it is a soft or mellow record, even for Napalm Death standards. Instead, the band incorporates even more diverse elements from bands that one could say have been their followers, only to prove once again that they are the true pioneers. Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism is a full record where something exciting happens each minute, and this is the chance for any listener that (maybe has been living in a cave up until now and) hasn’t yet captured the grandeur that a band like Napalm Death exhales.

Listen to Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism

4. All Them Witches - Nothing as the Ideal

What is “rock” anyway? If there was a faceless recipe, then everyone would be able to just follow the rules and do it. Instead, through the over-production in today’s music, it’s damn hard to find something original and spontaneous, as most bands can’t do anything better than copying a “recipe” or reverse-engineering their idols, at best. And this is why bands like All Them Witches shine brightly and justly from within the pile. Nothing as the Ideal elegantly showcases that this band basically carries a significant amount of all the weight of today’s rock music. Yes, they started off having been labeled as “stoner” or “desert” or whatever, but the signs were always there. Dying Surfer Meets His Maker was the first blast, but, with this one, All Them Witches establish themselves among the leaders. After all, how can you go wrong with a band that sounds better playing live than on their studio recordings?

Listen to Nothing as the Ideal

5. Hurula - Jehova

It’s safe to say that the name Robert Petersson is nothing short of a landmark when it comes to Swedish punk. Showcasing some fine moments of hardcore skate-punk with Epileptic Terror Attack, hardcore rock ‘n’ roll with Regulations, melodic punk with Masshysteri (among others), finally Hurula is his personal musical vehicle, where he is in absolute command of everything. And, although this is already his fourth full-length release and, thus, it’s not like we had no idea about the potential, Jehova proves to be his grand opus so far, in a sort of unexpected way. The general orchestration remains “rock”, but the multiple melodic layers all over make for a unique experience for the listener who is not limited within specific musical genres or styles. The Swedish lyrics throughout might make it a bit unaccessible to many, but don’t let this minor detail keep you from discovering an incredible record.

Listen to Jehova

6. Wailin Storms - Rattle

Wailin Storms are a “where had they been hiding up until now?” case. Although they released their debut album not before 2015, Rattle is already their fourth one, and what a kick in the head it was for me discovering them last year! Going through their discography in retrospect, one should not be surprised, of course. The North Carolina rockers always carried their certain and specific type of lyricism amid their heavy and, at times, almost noise/sludge guitars. Fitting all this alongside the mystical atmosphere and Justin Storms’ agonizing vocals, the speakers exhale a strangely attractive as well as condemning dark beauty through the speakers. Many things come to mind as to what one could say Wailin Storms sound like through their definitely personal identity; in my ears, it’s kind of like the Black Angels jamming with Unsane and smoking whatever Electric Wizard passed them through. If this doesn’t make you want to check out Rattle, I have no idea what could.

Listen to Rattle

7. The Hawkins - Silence Is A Bomb

All those that know me, also know what a huge sucker for swedish rock ‘n’ roll I am. But, ever since the great scandinavian rock ‘n’ roll revolution by Gods like the Hellacopters and Gluecifer started to happen, a lot of things have also happened in the meantime. Especially to the younger rockers, the aforementioned bands now carry a “classic rock” label, but then again that kind of makes sense if you were born around the years Supershitty to the Max! was released. Time for the new generation to show what they’re worth, then. Through the flood of copycat and mediocre bands (justifiably, in a way), luckily from time to time there will be one or two cases to stand out, and these four kids from Arboga, Sweden surely make the cut. Although their debut album three years back was definitely a beautifull high-energy record, Silence Is a Bomb is what adds a special kind of maturity in rock ‘n’ roll, while still maintaining its edge. The Hawkins take their Hellacopters, but they also add several doses of Queen in them, maybe making the final mix too soft for purists; but who cares about them anyway?

Listen to Silence Is a Bomb

8. Chubby & the Gang - Speed Kills

It feels like nothing short of a fresh breath of life, a feeling that there is still hope in this damn world, when debuts like this one right here appear out of nowhere. Chubby & the Gang are just some kids from West London who, with Speed Kills, give you, if not something else, a feeling that here we’ve struck pure gold. Carrying a hardcore tone, apart from that they’re just a bunch of absolutely fresh and fun punk rock ‘n’ rollers, and, if this is not exactly what we need these days, I just don’t know what is. With gang vocals throughout the whole record and with the average running track time below two minutes, this band has automatically climbed near the top of my bucket list of bands I want to see live at first chance.

Listen to Speed Kills

9. This Is Nowhere - Grim Pop

Plainly put: In a fair world, This Is Nowhere would be globally greeted as one of the greatest bands of today’s psychedelic heavy rock; and this is not an exaggeration. Then again, them being from Greece and their members being scattered in three different countries are not factors that objectively help. Even at that, it’s astonishing how they’ve obviously achieved a certain chemistry between them through the years in order to achieve such a feat, like Grim Pop definitely is. Their two previous albums contained a significant amount of all the mystical energy the band emits on stage, but, if you ask me, there was always something missing; something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Well, with Grim Pop, it’s like everything is finally falling into place. This Is Nowhere have irrevocably and definitively left terms like “stoner” or “psychedelic rock” behind; instead they have unrepentantly dived into the ‘60s, distorted everything they found there through their personal prism and created an inviting sound vortex ready to suck you into its very own black hole. Who cares if we never return?

Listen to Grim Pop

10. Στράφι (Strafi) - Παραδομένοι στη Γιορτή (Paradomeni sti Giorti)

If you asked me some years back, I could never imagine myself including a street punk record in a yearly music list. I have to admit that Strafi being from my hometown Larissa played its role; but this role played a part only for me to take note of them. Because genre-wise, the band’s sophomore release is just perfect. Having gone over the somewhat general “shyness” of their beautiful debut album, here the band presents an absolutely confident and sturdy face. The sound production contains no faults, the compositions are meaningful and inspired, the lyrics carry a level of poetry rarely found in the genre (and yes, one would have to speak Greek in order to enjoy them, unfortunately for many). Really, this is one of the cases that there’s not much to be said, as music takes over all the talking. We need more music coming straight from the heart, and Strafi are here to deliver exactly this.

Listen to Παραδομένοι στη Γιορτή

11. Minerva Superduty - In Public

Another Greek entry, one that the world definitely has to discover. I find it a bit strange how Minerva Superduty started their discography, which was with an instrumental metal record that, amid its creativity, left the listener with a somewhat lack of closure and fullness. 2016′s Gorod Zero came to showcase a new potential for the band, and In Public, coming just days before last year’s end, fulfilled this potential to the fullest; well, until their next album, at least. Minerva Superduty merge their mathcore foundations with Converge-like hardcore and, under just 20 minutes, they deliver the absolute soundtrack for the chaos 2020 has left the world with. Do not let this gem pass by.

Listen to In Public

12. Yovel - Forthcoming Humanity

Blackmetal is a genre that has been through a lot. Of course, through its extremity, it has given way to experimentations that could never have taken place within other kinds of music but, on the other hand, this very extremity has always served as a twisted fortress for far-right and generally fascist ideologies. Yovel emerged in 2018 to rectify this problem and restore part of blackmetal’s infamy. Hɪðəˈtu had made clear of these intentions of the band, but Forthcoming Humanity drops like a milestone to declare that this was anything but a one-time wonder. Yovel take blackmetal forms and orchestrations but add atmospheric (not shoegazey) elements borrowed from folk music and create a concept album that speaks loudly against racism, fascism, bigotry, oppression. Interludes dressed with poetry and melody give place to wrecking sound outbursts and, if there is one thing they do, that’s passing on the message clearly and successfully. Yovel are here to stay, and that’s one encouraging thing about extreme music today.

Listen to Forthcoming Humanity

13. Oily Boys - Cro Memory Grin

Ahh Australia again. And a debut that has surely turned heads. Oily Boys come from Sydney and this is their hopeful debut, that being an understatement. This new band delivers an outburst of a record, bringing to mind New York hardcore at one time, taking you to sick psychedelic noise rock at the next. It all feels so cold and unhospitable in here, yet something urges you to look at it straight in the eyes. Of course, there are a lot of Converge elements in here, but this never stays in that place, as, before you know it, it jumps to post-punk and to other experimental lengths, always maintaining a chaos that may be baffling but, then again, you don’t exactly want for it to fall into order. Fans of Old Man Gloom will also find many things they like in here. Bizarre listen for bizarre times. It’s an uncomfortability we just cannot ignore.

Listen to Cro Memory Grin

14. The Good the Bad and the Zugly - Algorithm & Blues

The Norwegians with the funny and long name (one can only wonder after how many beers it was conceived) struck for the fourth time in 2020. Although their debut Anti-World Music in 2013 made an impact in the scene breathing Turbonegro with a hardcore twist, personally I can’t say the same for the next two albums; it always felt to me that something was amiss. Maybe it was that humor was taking over a bit too much or something. Mind you, the Good the Bad and the Zugly are not a joke band by any chance, but the playful sarcastic elements were always a basic ingredient in their overall sound. Coming on to Algorithm & Blues then, I think this time around thay have managed to balance it all out perfectly. With Ivar Nikolaisen being the lead vocalist of the mighty Kvelertak for a couple of years now, this might be a factor that has made the band mature compositionally. Algorithm & Blues is more melodic, more substantial, more sing-along-y, but it never loses its humorous charm, preserving the band’s identity. And with song titles like “Fuck the Police” and “The Kids Are Alt-Right”, you know they’re also on the right side.

Listen to Algorithm & Blues

15. Pallbearer - Forgotten Days

One of the most tired genres of extreme music is definitely doom metal. Ever since the “stoner” plague came into existence, the world has been saturated with kids that, discovering the pentatonic scale, thought they were the new messiahs drowning us in a sea of boredom. It was not all bad of course, but, having to surf through oceans of mediocrity in order to find something that stands out, can be quite tiresome. Pallbearer from Little Rock, Arkansas surely did stand out at the start of the last decade but I think it’s taken them a while to perfect their craft. Alas, Forgotten Days. The monster riff that starts off the opening title-track is more than enough to set the mood straight. Black Sabbath riffology, Candlemass atmospheres, even Electric Wizard and Cathedral hooks; all done in a modern manner breathing life into the genre which, with bands like Pallbearer, can look hopefully into the future. The incredible cover artwork and the lamentful lyrical themes revolving around family loss surely add to the big picture. This is the definite release of 2020 for doom fans.

Listen to Forgotten Days

16. Video Nasties - Dominion

Another debut of another band to definitely watch out for. Video Nasties from UK start off looking like they know exactly what they’re out for. The whole image is brought out from ‘80s horror video tapes and this is enhanced by the movie samples all over the place paying homage to John Carpenter. Musically, here we have some exceptional death/black ‘n’ roll, and what a pleasure it is when done right. Yes, the band takes a lot from Swedish melodic deathmetal but, to my relief, they surely sound like they detest metalcore and its sub-genres as much as I do. Dominion is an absolutely enjoyable record that flows beautifully, always maintaining its theme and atmosphere and calling for repeat plays. Fans of death, black, thrash and extreme genres in general will surely feel at home here. Sometimes it’s as simple as that.

Listen to Dominion

17. The Frights - Everything Seems Like Yesterday

The Frights from San Diego, California started in 2013 as garage surf punks carrying their own distinct feeling and melody. They were always enjoyable with the lyrical themes being more esoteric, something that set them apart from the usual stuff in the genre. At first, the songs of Everything Seems Like Yesterday were intended to be released by the band’s main man Mikey Carnevale as a solo effort, but something apparently changed his mind. Many were obviously surprised by this new acoustic direction the name Frights has taken, but, setting aside specific expectations, the best thing one has to do is appreciate the artistic worth independently. And how rewarded they’ll be doing that with this album! Everything Seems Like Yesterday is a beautiful introvert, substantial and entirely acoustic album, ideal to keep you company after a hangover or through many types of hard times. It’s one of those times that this type of quiet sounds just liberating.

Listen to Everything Seems Like Yesterday

18. Umbra Vitae - Shadow of Life

With Jacob Bannon from Converge and Jon Rice from Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats on board, here we’re dealing with nothing short of a super project. And especially when Bannon (apart from all his many other musical projects) decides to venture into death/black metal areas, this is absolutely something you don’t want to miss. Shadow of Life is anything but your average deahmetal fix, and it demands your undivided attention throughout. Explosive in its grim and dark temperament, and with stunning artwork dressing it perfectly, this is an album that grabs you by the throat. Not that you haven’t offered it willingly in the first place.

Listen to Shadow of Life

19. Idles - Ultra Mono

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for many years, there is no way that you’re ignorant on the Idles phenomenon. After Brutalism and Joy as an Act of Resistance, I don’t know what we all expected from them. It’s not the easiest task to surpass two albums that have set new standards in today’s punk music (”punk” being used as broadly as possible, as a term). And, to put it bluntly, Ultra Mono doesn’t do anything like that, like, it would be something impossible, especially so soon. Then again, Idles are a band just incapable of releasing a bad record and, although it didn’t make it to the top spots of 2020′s list, Ultra Mono is an Idles-trademarked sharp and edgy album (musically and politically) that preserves them at the top where they indicate to the rest of the world where music is going.

Listen to Ultra Mono

20. Protomartyr - Ultimate Success Today

Protomartyr from Detroit have always served their unique blend of post-punk. In Ultimate Success Today, they continue their gloomy journey in symphony with this dark world. Joe Casey, always carrying a Nick-Cave-like vibe in his tone, delivers his grim lyrics atop the heavy basslines, the strange drumbeats and the almost free-jazz saxophone. Always melancholic and dystopic, Protomartyr is the band this world needs and deserves.

Listen to Ultimate Success Today

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Meaning of Choices:  chapter 4 [end]

Akogimon’s words scraped against Ken’s mind. To decide if he were human or not – that would settle all of this, one way or another. Either he was Piemon’s son or he was human. A human couldn’t survive the poisoning but being a Digimon meant that he’d be what he never wanted to be again. There had to be that middle ground, the way through it all that only he could chart.

But he also knew his time to do so was running out. In here, inside of his own mind, he couldn’t quite feel how hard he struggled to breathe, but he was aware of it, when he turned his mind that way. He didn’t dare take his attention off of Akogimon for a second to focus there, though. He had to do this here and now.

“Time’s ticking away,,” Akogimon pointed out. “Akigaramon won’t be able to bring Sorcerimon. Sorcerimon doesn’t care about helping the spawn of Piemon. Especially not you, the spawn of Piemon that already tried to capture him once before. You’re all on your own here.”

“That’s wrong,” Ken replied without a moment of thought. But even as he said the words, he knew they were true. “I’m never alone.”

Oh. Yes. How could he be, when he had Wormmon? When he had Daisuke? When he had all of his friends? He hadn’t always been sure that they were his friends, but now he knew the truth. They were there for him.

More memories filtered in – of the day not that long before when Koushiro gathered them all together and told them. Told them that some of them weren’t human, that some carried the blood of Digimon. And that he was one of those, second-born son of Piemon.

That had been shocking in and of itself. Not just that he wasn’t quite human, but that he had a brother – that Ishida Yamato, Chiguumon, was that brother.

“His name is Anbumon,” Akogimon spat out, and Ken’s head jerked up. He hadn’t known that he’d said the name, let alone how revolted Akogimon would look at the sound of it. “The least that you could do is refer to him by his true name and not that.”

“That is his real name,” Ken murmured. “He told me so himself. Anbumon is the name of his dark side – like you are for me.”

“We are your true selves. The parts of you that you seek to deny.” Akogimon shook his head, sneering. “But you can’t do that anymore. Your time is up.” He began to stride forward. “And my time is now!”

Ken raised both hands, but not in surrender. “No!” He dug his heels in, certain now of what he could do and of the path that lay before him. “You’re part of me, yes. You’re the worst parts of everything the Kaiser ever was or could be.”

“Glad to see you finally admit it,” Akogimon said with a smirk. “Now are you going to let me out or do I have to take over and fix this mess myself? Don’t think I won’t.”

Ken smiled. “Oh, that won’t be happening. I said you’re a part of me – but you’re not all of me. All of me is made up of everything I’ve done or could do, the good ad the bad. I am human – and I am Digimon. I’m both.” He set his feet and raised his head, certainty flaring from the deepest parts of himself. “My name is Jinshinmon!”

Cold. So cold. Daisuke knew that this was far deeper than any natural snowstorm would cause – that was part of Sorcerimon’s power. It had to be. But what he couldn’t get his head wrapped around was how it didn’t feel cold. It did but it didn’t – he wasn’t sure of how to think about it, so he didn’t bother doing so.

He straightened himself up and blinked. He couldn’t see through the snow but he knew that somewhere on the other side was Sorcerimon and somewhere deep inside him lurked Akigaramon, waiting for the chance to do some damage, and far closer than Daisuke really wanted him to be.

But he didn’t care. Akigaramon wasn’t going to get out because he wasn’t going to let him. Sorcerimon wasn’t going to stop him because he couldn’t.

His inner virus screamed and wailed and snarled in echoing rage. Let me out! Let me do this! Do you want your precious Ken to die? That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? And he’s not helping! Make him help! I can do it! I can!

“No, you can’t,” Daisuke replied, biting off every word. “Because all you would do is kill Sorcerimon and that’s not going to help at all.”

Huh. It normally shouldn’t have taken so little effort to speak with a snowstorm raging all around. He raised one hand and pushed forward through the snow, then glanced down. There was Wormmon cuddling against his feet, staring up at him with large and terrified blue eyes.

Clarity had come with the cold. He felt it but it didn’t bother him anymore. He could only hear Akigaramon has a faint screaming voice now. He wasn’t cold at all – it was like a small sun lit inside of him, burning away everything that he’d feared.

He bent down and picked up Wormmon, holding him close. “Are you all right?”

“It’s cold!” Wormmon chattered. “We have to get out of here!”

“We will,” Daisuke promised. Another name whispered itself in the depth of his heart. He didn’t say it, not yet. But he moved forward until he crossed out of the blizzard and caught sight of Sorcerimon.

The ice mage stared back at him, then stared at his snowflake staff. “That should have frozen you,” he said, more than a little dumbfounded. “My cold is too much for any human to bear.”

“Well, you’re probably right,” Daisuke agreed cheerfully. “And it was kind of annoying for a little bit there. But I think you forgot something – I’m not human!” He grinned and Sorcerimon stepped back. He gripped his wand tighter and started to raise it, tiny swirls of pale blue energy forming around it.

But Daisuke shook his head. “Nope. Wouldn’t advise that. See, there’s something I figured out in all that cold. It’s a little weird, but I know it’s true. And you do too – I’m a Digimon. I’m the crafted offspring of Apocalymon.” He’d never said it before, not out loud. It felt oddly good not to deny it anymore. He still needed to get used to it but saying it made it easier. “And nothing you can do is going to bother me in any way.”

“Don’t you want me to heal Akogimon?” Sorcerimon demanded, fear lacing through his voice. Daisuke nodded.

“Of course I do. But you also said he won’t need it – because he’s a son of Piemon and he can survive the poison. But he’s what he is no matter what. He’s not going to die if you don’t come.” He hadn’t known that before. He didn’t regret having come on this mission and it would certainly make everything easier if Sorcerimon did come back with him. But Ken would survive regardless. Daisuke wasn’t going to think otherwise.

Sorcerimon continued to stare. Then he slowly lowered his staff and the snowstorm faded away. He met Daisuke’s eyes with his own.

“What is your name?” He asked it quiet and firm, and Daisuke grinned back at him.

“Motomiya Daisuke – but you can call me Taiyuumon. I need you to come help Ken. Will you do it?”

Sorcerimon’s gaze flicked from Daisuke to Wormmon to something in the distance. Then he looked back at Daisuke. “Yes.”

Daisuke’s grin widened. “I thought you would. I think we should hurry, though.” Deep within, a sensation he’d never felt before unfolded itself. He’d been told he could evolve. No one knew what would trigger it – until now. Now he knew what he needed his wings or – he needed them to get to Ken. He gently set Wormmon down and turned his attention inward. There was the power, waiting for him. Akigaramon still existed, but could do nothing.

For now, his dark self whispered. For now.

Daisuke ignored that. He touched the power within and the data that created him now changed, light enfolding him, and then his wings spread outward. The world seemed smaller, or he’d grown larger.

“Taiyuumon evolve to Giyuumon!”

Behind his mask, Sorcerimon’s jaw dropped. Never before had he seen anything like this. Angels were known to be beautiful, but often hid their faces behind their helmets. Now he knew why.

All the Chosen were there by now. Those who couldn’t help stayed back out of the way, keeping a watch to see when Daisuke would return.

Jou stiffened. Everyone turned towards him at once.

“Something wrong?” Taichi wanted to know. Jou looked down at Ken. He didn’t have the equipment that being in a hospital would get him, but he and Koushiro had a few special devices built to help those of mixed human and Digimon blood. Now he stared at one of those readings.

“He’s – not as bad off as he was,” Jou said at last. “He could still use help but – I don’t think he’s in danger of dying. Something changed.”

Yamato’s lips quirked. “I wonder what it was.” That, they all noticed, was in the clear tones of someone who had a good idea of what that might have been.”

His eyes shifted quickly from Jou to Sora, both of whom nodded ever so slightly. They too were Viral Breeds – they knew what someone like them had to go through at some point.

Daisuke had been gone for hours. He’d sent the occasional message back but so far nothing to indicate that he’d found Sorcerimon. All of them were a lot more worried than they really wanted to show.

Without warning, all of their Digimon started to look up. Jou, Koushiro, Miyako, Sora, and Yamato did as well, with the human Chosen a breath afterwards.

He came from above, a glorious angel that had to stand a good seven feet tall, covered in red and blue armor, with flames embossed on the shoulders and lightning wrapped around his waist. It should have looked ridiculous. It didn’t. His wingspan could easily have enfolded the entire team, and his smile was as bright as sunlight and as familiar as morning.

“Daisuke?” Miyako gasped, staring in shock. “Is that – you?”

“It is!” V-mon declared, leaping up from where he’d been nuzzled next to Ken. “It’s Daisuke! And he evolved!” For a brief second the little blue dragon pouted. “I wanted to see that!”

Daisuke’s grin didn’t fade as he landed, setting Wormmon next to Ken. “Sorry. But I wanted to make sure that we got back here in plenty of time.” On his shoulder there rode Sorcerimon. He slipped off and moved over towards Ken, who had just begun to move, as if Daisuke’s return stirred him.

Perhaps it did, because even as Daisuke moved closer, Ken’s eyes opened. They were a little fuzzy at first, but they cleared within moments, especially as Sorcerimon began to chant a healing spell. The pain still visible faded and the wounds faded away. Ken looked down at himself, then at Sorcerimon.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “And for what I tried to do when I was the Kaiser – I’m sorry.”

Sorcerimon sniffed. “I have been assured that you won’t try it again. You had best not.”

“I won’t.” Ken assured him, then glanced over to Daisuke, his eyes widening and he swallowed briefly. “Oh. Daisuke.”

“Giyuumon right now,” Daisuke corrected, flexing his broad wings. “I figured out how to evolve! And I know my real name!”

Ken ducked his head and smiled. “So do I. I – it was interesting. I’m not even sure if it really happened.”

“If it involved your dark side, then it probably did,” Yamato told him, moving forward. He regarded ken for a few seconds. “I’m Chiguumon, brother. And you are?”

Ken stared back and swallowed. “Jinshinmon – brother.” He raised one hand tentatively and Yamato took it. For a few seconds they simply stood like that, before Yamato nodded.

“Any time you want to talk, let me know. Anbumon can be a pain and I bet your dark side’s not any better. At least mine knows how to shut up most of the time.”

Ken’s lips twitched a fraction as he unsteadily got to his feet, leaning on Daisuke. One giant wing folded around him in support as he reached to pick up Wormmon.

“Are you all right?” Ken murmured. “You went with Daisuke, didn’t you?”

Wormmon nodded, curling against Ken. “I was worried about you. I wanted to stay with you, but…” He ducked his head. “I should’ve protected you better. I’m sorry.”

Ken raised one hand to rub in between Wormmon’s antenna. “That’s all right,” he assured his partner. “You did the very best that you could and I’m fine now. Better than fine.”

He tried his best to hold back a yawn but didn’t do very good at it. The rest of the group looked much the same way, except for Daisuke. He was probably riding high still on the euphoria of his first evolution. Ken tried not to stare too openly at him, and suspected he wasn’t doing all that well at that, either.

“Well, if everyone is alive and going to stay that way,” Taichi said, pushing himself to his feet, “then I think we should get to bed. This has been a long night.”

“What about Alarumon?” Ken asked, glancing around for the Digimon in question. “Where did she go?”

Daisuke frowned. “I don’t know. I think she ran off before the others got here.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for her,” Palmon promised. “She’s kind of like a cousin of mine so maybe she’ll listen to us.”

Ken wasn’t so sure if he believed that. But he would make a note of the area here and try his best not to come back. Maybe Alarumon would be better if she didn’t have to see him. And it wasn’t as if he needed to be here anyway.

But he’d bring that up another time. For now, he leaned against Daisuke and took careful steps towards the exit television. Then he paused and shifted to whisper into Daisuke’s ear.

“Do you think – you could take me flying tomorrow?” He loved flying with Stingmon but this was different – this was Daisuke. And some very beautiful wings.

And an amazing smile that Daisuke smiled back at him, familiar even in a slightly unfamiliar face, and Daisuke whispered, “Whenever you want.”

The End

Notes: I was really tempted to have their dark alter egos take over but I’ve done that before, so I opted for a happy ending instead.

When I chose Ken's true Digimon name, I started with the definition of "kindness". While the direct translation is "shinsetsu", I chose to go with "jinshin", because that means "human nature, human heart, sympathy, human spirit", and all of those are exactly what Ken needed here. And what he needs in general.

Daisuke's true Digimon name means "sun". As in that which banishes (bad) darkness. Could there be a better name for this guy? Probably, but this is the one that I like the best. His evolved form’s name means “prosperity”. The opposite of what Apocalymon would want for him.

[truerequitedlove]

Dan and Phil Versus The World

pff bingo: interactive introverts & glass closet

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, introspection, reality/non-au

Word Count: 3k

“I mean...we’re not in the closet. Not really,” Phil says.

“Phil, this is the closet.”

read on ao3

~•~•~ 

The idea had started simply enough. 

“We should go on another tour.”

That had been the start, one night, far too soon after their last tour’s end. It had come after a long night of drinking, and of talking, and of planning. 

The night had been filled with plans, but they weren’t the sort of plans that Dan and Phil would write down. These plans were softly spoken plans filled with taboo words whispered through a veil of liquid courage. Words like ‘branding’ and ‘coming out’ and ‘privacy’ and ‘us’ and ‘them.’

‘Them.’ 

This particular word had become taboo quite a long time ago. It always sounded just a bit wrong. Like talking about someone behind their back. Like generalizing a group of diverse individuals. A few years prior, they would have been fine with doing so, but it felt strange then. It was early-2017, and they were still riding the leftover waves of TATINOF’s massive success.

Dan and Phil were just finishing their first-ever world tour, and they’d seen these people. These millions of faces that supported them. They’d hugged hundreds of them. They’d heard their stories. Stories of finding happiness in silly gaming banter and finding courage in quotes from videos that Dan barely remembers scripting. They had read through letters. They’d watched smiles and tears spring to the faces of audience members. They’d moved closer, closer, and closer to them.

And “them” was just a less taboo replacement for an even worse word. “Fans.”

Neither Dan nor Phil quite liked the word “fan” in the context of their audience’s relationship to them. It felt weird, uncomfortable, inauthentic. It felt like Dan and Phil were sat on a pedestal, and the faces of their audience were far, far, away in the nosebleed seats. Their audience didn’t deserve to be there, be put down, and Dan and Phil didn’t deserve to be idolized past the point of their own humanity. 

Dan and Phil wanted to move closer to them. They wanted to find the right distance. They wanted to explore the idea of “them and us.” Of audience and entertainer. Of how close would become too close.

So, that thoughtful night in 2017, Dan said, “We should go on another world tour.”

And Phil--just the same amount buzzed and just the same amount lost in messy thoughts--agreed.

Then there was Interactive Introverts, and it was everything. It was ambitious and entirely different than their last stage show. It was authentic, real, laid on the solid foundations of a theme that Dan and Phil both cared so much about.

Before either of them could blink it was happening. 

~

Dan recounts the messiness of the months before the tour began where he sits in the back of the tour bus.

He blinks.

He must be giving off ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes today, because he has the entire back of the bus to himself. The rest of the crew seem to be either napping or chatting quietly in the front area of the bus as they pass by the endless American pastures outside.

The American leg of the tour has been odd. It’s not stressful flights and cramped cars and booking dozens of hotel rooms, but it is a lot of one environment and one crew for an extended period. Dan loves the crew. In fact, they’re honestly the closest friends he and Phil have right about now. Still, it’s difficult to be around people all day every day in such a confined space. Luckily, they’re all human, so when one of them is giving off fierce ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes the others understand. It’s just Dan’s turn today, he supposes.

Sometimes, most of the time even, Dan doesn’t mind the closet. The doors are glass, and he can pretend they aren’t there. Other times he slams face-first into the glass doors. Today’s one of those days.

It’s the weekend of gay pride back in London. He sees it all across Twitter and Instagram. It makes his chest ache in an odd way.

So, he sits and gazes out the window at the plain countryside. He thinks about the video he failed to finish and all of the mess that had taken up his time this year. He lets himself emit the ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes. He doesn’t really have to energy to speak when he’s using it all to mope instead.

Of course, there is one person who’s immune to Dan’s ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes.

This person collapses against the couch beside him, carrying his pillow as he always does. Dan teases him about security blankets, but he’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t precious. He props his pillow up against Dan’s shoulder before leaning against it and sighing.

Dan looks over at him. “Hello,” he says softly. Dan can speak to Phil. Phil doesn’t drain Dan’s energy the way that others do.

“Mm,” Phil hums in reply. He’s wearing his glasses. “You’re bein’ loud,” he grumbles.

Dan’s lips turn up despite his less than jovial mood. “Shut up,” he says, amused. He’s had that same complaint spoken into silence enough to understand what Phil means. It means something like ‘you’re being too quiet, you’re thinking too much, and it’s noticeable’ in sleepy Phil language. 

“It’s your fault,” Dan teases. “Shouldn’t be listening in on my private thoughts.”

“Oh,” Phil says. “I thought we shared a consciousness.”

“I fucking hope not,” Dan says, lighter. “I don’t know if I want to see the innermost workings of this mind, Phil Lester.” He taps Phil’s forehead to make his point.

“Please,” Phil says, obviously a bit too tired to properly give his all to the banter. “You’d be honored.”

“Mm,” Dan hums, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

“Mhm,” Phil replies, agreeing. “So, since I can’t read your mind, tragically,” he says. “What’re you thinking about?”

Dan shifts a bit on the couch, and Phil whines a bit, resituating himself against Dan.

“We have a hotel tonight, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Phil answers, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re thinking about, then?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Phil says, grinning.

“Well that is decidedly not what I was thinking about,” Dan says.

“That’s sad for you,” Phil says.

Dan properly giggles this time. “Shut up,” he says again, a bit loud. “I’m just thinking about...us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m just glad we get to be together tonight,” he says.

Phil could reply with a joking comment on their inability to be separated for even the length of a night’s sleep, but he doesn’t. He’s glad they get to be together, too. It’s been quite a few nights without Dan, and Phil knows what he means. It’s not just being together, it’s being alone together.

“Me too,” Phil agrees softly. He glances at the hallway and confirms that no one is within the range of seeing. So, Phil presses a kiss to Dan’s lips and grins a little.

Dan grins a bit as well.

~

Phil assumes too much. He expects nonverbal communication. He expects public secrets and common knowledge of things that haven’t been discussed. 

It’s only gotten worse since he’s been with Dan because Dan is good at unspoken truths. He’s good at communication that dances around a topic without looking it in the face. It’s gotten them in trouble before, certainly, and Dan has figured out when to drop the pretenses. He knows when to look an issue straight-on.

Phil still likes to dance around things. He likes to avoid conflict and confrontation, especially when he or someone else stands to get hurt. He justifies this to himself by assuming that everyone else understands whatever it is that he doesn’t want to explain. He expects mind-readers.

He recognizes these analytic thoughts, as he thinks them. It’s therapy talk, repeating itself. Phil’s fear of confrontation is something that’s often brought up with his therapist. As Phil sits, staring out the window of the tour bus and feeling mildly sick, he misses her. He won’t be able to see his therapist again until they return home, and he’s sure he’ll have endless things to bring up with her.

There’s a funny thing about a fear of confrontation, Phil finds. Recovery consists of confronting the fear of confrontation. While it’s oxymoronic, at least Phil’s done one of the steps.

Confrontation is an easy thing to fear, but Phil can’t help feeling like he has good reason to fear it. He grew up gay. He spent so long actively avoiding confrontation about his sexuality. It feels almost second nature now. He’s not sure he knows how to confront it. He doesn’t want it to be a big deal.

Phil never came out to his parents. He was never into the pretty girls at his school, he never talked about them, and he brought around male friends who would stay the night and leave the pull-out couch bed untouched. It was obvious that Phil was seeing men, and that he had no real intention to see women.

Or so he had thought.

The memory still brings about anxiety, even though his family couldn’t be more accepting these days. He remembers his mum confronting him after it became too obvious. He remembers thinking that it all had been silently acknowledged and that he would never have to talk about it. It was stupid, in hindsight. Obviously, his sexuality would be a big deal to his family, whether he wanted it to be or not.

Phil still falls back into those habits.

Sometimes he’s too careless with Dan. He thinks it’s obvious that they’re in love. He convinces himself that everyone knows, they just don’t talk about it. He wants to kiss Dan when people can see. He wants to book one hotel room with one king-sized bed for both of them and let it slip by without mention.

People like to mention things, though. They like to talk about things.

Phil thinks he and Dan are obvious, and maybe they are. Still, he knows that if he were to kiss Dan square on the mouth in front of their crew, questions would be unavoidable. 

Phil doesn’t really know how to be in the closet, but he knows that he wants to protect this beautiful, perfect, and private thing between him and Dan at all costs.

He stops himself there, turning away from the window. He doesn’t want to think any longer.

“How much further?” he asks, sounding just a bit impatient.

“Just over an hour,” someone replies.

~

Just over an hour later, Dan’s coming up with an excuse for him and Phil to go immediately to the hotel. It’s only one in the afternoon, and there are things to see in this city, but they need to be alone. Alone together. Dan says something about filming a video, and Phil holds back a sigh because they do have to film, and he’d forgotten.

They can film tomorrow. They enjoy filming, anyways. They get an excuse to hang out alone together. And the gaming channel is so easy compared to everything else they want to work on for youtube. The editing's a bitch, but it gives them something to do while traveling these long American roads.

The crew talks with each other about plans, and Dan and Phil slip into the hotel. They check in to separate rooms in the lobby, but they go to the same room with all of their things. Later, they’ll compare rooms and decide which is better to stay the night in. They’ll order room service and laugh and maybe film something. For now, they just need a moment. 

The hotel room’s door closes, they put their things down on the floor, and Dan sighs.

Phil’s not sure exactly what’s bothering Dan, but it makes perfect sense as soon as he says it.

“I want to come out, Phil,” he says, standing by the door of the hotel. He stares inward, blankly. He’s not looking at the room or anything at all. He’s thinking so much that it seems he can do little else.

Phil sighs, walking back to where Dan stands. It’s definitely not an unfamiliar conversation topic between them. It’s much the opposite. Dan had plans to officially come out this year. He has plans to come out, but things keep getting messy and scary and confusing. 

“I know,” Phil says softly. “You will. We will.”

“I know,” Dan says. He’s still not looking at anything, and his eyes are unfocused.

“I mean...we’re not in the closet. Not really,” Phil says, perhaps in an attempt to cheer Dan up. They’ve never been ‘in the closet,’ really. At least, not in a long while. They just keep certain things private. It’s been a long time since either of them have pretended to be someone they aren’t.

Dan sighs. “Phil, this is the closet.”

Phil frowns. “How do you mean?”

Dan shrugs, walking into the room. “Just, like, the whole Dan and Phil ‘brand’ or whatever.” He uses finger quotes around the term ‘brand.’ His voice is tinged with irritation. “Like, this tour, and the last tour, and our YouTube channels. We’ve, like, put ourselves in this, like, glass box. Like, yeah, people know, but they don’t know. And if--and when we come out, all of that...that glass is going to shatter.”

“Is that a good thing?” Phil asks. He gets what Dan means, but his brain is so slow today. He doesn’t want to talk about glass closets and sexuality and how the hell they’re going to navigate their relationship if they keep it in the spotlight. If they talk about that then questions will come up that Phil doesn’t have the ability to answer.

All he wants is to lie next to Dan and be unseen for a little while. There’s the possibility here for a fight, but Phil’s not sure that either of them has the energy.

“It’s just this tour, trying to be authentic, Dan and Phil…” Dan trials off and sniffles, and it catches Phil off guard. He goes to say more, but tears start slipping down his cheeks instead and he looks away from Phil.

“Dan, whoa whoa, hey,” Phil’s voice is suddenly much softer. “Why are you crying?”

Dan shrugs, sitting down on the bed. A dam seems to have broken, and he chokes a bit. “It’s a lot, Phil,” he cries.

“It is,” Phil answers. “But it’s good, isn’t it?”

Dan shrugs again. “I--I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Phil says softly. He stands and kicks off his shoes. He then strips off his jeans and t-shirt. He desperately needs a shower, but it can wait. He kneels down and unzips Dan’s shoes. Dan lets him pull them off and toss them messily aside. As he watches Phil, his tears pick up. Phil tugs his jeans off next, and by the time his t-shirt is gone Dan is properly bawling.

Phil sits beside Dan, both of them stripped of their dirty, uncomfortable, tour bus clothes. He lays back on the bed, and he holds his arms open. Dan reaches up to futilely wipe his eyes and lets go of one more sob before falling into Phil.

Phil wraps his arms around Dan, and they lay there. 

Phil strokes his hand up and down Dan’s shoulder, and Dan buries his face between the duvet and Phil’s shoulder. He cries for a while, saying nothing. Phil just holds him and hushes him softly. 

It is a lot. The tour, their careers, the closet. It’s all quite a lot, and Dan needs to cry about it. Phil’s sure that he will too, once he has the energy.

“Phil,” Dan says quietly. “Sometimes I wish we could just run away together.”

“Yeah?” Phil asks, smiling sadly.

Dan nods. “Mhm. Find a tiny little house somewhere to live in and, just, start over. Just like, buy a fuckin’ cafe in France and live out our lives as old gay baristas.”

Phil giggles softly. “Sounds nice,” he says.

“Doesn’t sound ungrateful?”

“Not to me, but I might be biased.”

Dan smiles a bit at this. They look at each other. Phil reaches to brush away some of the tears that continue to slip down Dan’s cheeks.

“Isn’t it...isn’t it weird that tomorrow night you and I are going to get up on stage and play out this, like, version of us and then we’re going to come back here and be...us?”

“I mean, isn’t that the entire point we’re making here?” Phil asked, smirking.

Dan smiled the slightest bit. “Shut up.”

“Plot twist.” Phil giggles. “Dan blows his own mind.”

Dan grins properly this time, pushing Phil away by the shoulder. “Phil?”

Phil grins, rolling back to his spot just against Dan. “Yeah?”

“Did we just make an entire stage show about the glass closet?”

Phil bites his lip, moving his eyes over Dan’s face. “No,” he says.

Dan grins. “Oh? Okay, good. Was worried there for a sec.”

Phil leans in and kisses Dan on the lips. “You think too much,” he says when he pulls back. “We’re us, you know? No matter how many people are watching. That’s what the show’s about.”

Dan’s eyes flick back up from Phil’s lips to his eyes. “I like us best when we’re alone.”

“I like us wherever we are.”

“Sap.”

“Maybe.”

They have the night to themselves and they make the most of it, even if it means missing the sight-seeing available outside. They end up staying in Dan’s room, ordering room service and getting a little more than tipsy. They mess around a bit, press kisses to hot flesh, and drag it out for as long as they can. The next hotel stay is a while away, and they have to make up for the lost time. When they’re done they fall asleep a bit too early.

Dan wakes up at the annoying hour of two am. Unable to fall back asleep, he grabs his laptop and turns on the lamp. Phil remains fast asleep beside him, and his soft snores are comforting. Dan pulls up a word document entitled: “Basically, I’m Gay.”

Soon, he hopes.

[erinoddly]

Okay, I fumed about this some in the rant I just posted and then deleted, but let’s talk more about this specific issue:

English scholars and gatekeeping literature.

More specifically: Upholding outdated values of what makes a piece of literature ‘worthwhile,’ in this case specifically surrounding collegiate English communities. I’m aware that there are more than likely others outside of the college community who feel the same, but I’m going to talk about what I know.

Last semester in one of my classes, a debate started up. This debate was surrounding the following statement said by one of my classmates:

“Ebooks, self-publishing, and fanfiction are killing literature.”

At first, I thought that there was no way that statement would stand. I mean, it seems so outdated. But the thing was, only a couple of my classmates tried to argue against it. Almost everyone in the class agreed. And among those who did argue, the majority argued against the ebook point, one or two argued against the self-publishing point, and no one argued against the fanfiction point. I was the only person in my class who tried to argue against all three of the above points. And I’m pretty sure that the other people who argued against any of the points....weren’t English majors....

I became an English major thinking that people who studied literature did so because they had an appreciation for it. And I had always had this naive view of the world, where people would want the things they appreciate to be shared with a wide audience, not locked away where only a select few can enjoy it. I thought that this would be especially true for English majors, since so many of our discussions are about the roles and treatment of minorities in society, about classism, about equality.

But instead, I came across more people than I would have liked who seem to actively want to keep literature out of certain hands just because they have a list of criteria of what makes a piece of writing ~*worthwhile literature*~ and if it doesn’t hit every criteria, then it’s worthless and “killing literature” (and trust me, that phrase has me rolling my eyes so hard it hurts. Humans have always been storytellers and we always will be. Literature isn’t dying any time soon. Only your outdated ideals of what it ‘should’ be are.)

So. Let’s start with the idea that Ebooks are killing literature.

The classmate who said this works at a locally owned used bookstore. So I wholeheartedly understand the idea that online shopping is killing local businesses and that being able to buy books in an electronic format is making people less likely to buy physical copies, especially at smaller bookstores. That’s a valid fear that a lot of people have. And I’m not going to get into whether or not that’s factually correct because that isn’t the point (also I’m too lazy to find the research on it.)

The fact is, whether or not they’re killing small bookstores, ebooks make literature more accessible.

My mother has bad eyesight and needs a new prescription on her glasses. But she doesn’t have insurance and can’t get in to see an optometrist. But she absolutely adores reading. So guess what happened when I told her she could get the Kindle app for free on her computer? She lit up like a Christmas tree. It’s so much easier for her to read because 1. she doesn’t have to bend over a physical book and hurt her back and 2. she can make the font as large as she needs to in order to not strain her eyes. She also found books from her favorite authors that were electronic only. And yeah, there are a lot of ethical dilemmas about Amazon. I’m not saying there aren’t. But ebooks can be a better alternative for people with bad eyesight. And there are probably plenty of other disabilities that ebooks help with. Hell, I prefer ebooks sometimes because there’s so much more you can do with a computer interface that makes note taking, highlighting, bookmarking, using indexes, etc. so much easier than a physical copy of a book.

But, you know, it’s funny that my classmates (who are usually young and have decent eyesight) don’t complain about audiobooks killing literature as well. Even though a lot of them prefer listening over reading. But then again, a lot of them find the books they want to read for free on youtube and listen to them there instead of buying an audiobook. But I guess that’s okay.

This isn’t even bringing up the point that ebooks are less expensive than physical books. I grew up poor. To me, buying a new book is a luxury. So I get new books way less often than I would like to because I feel like I can’t justify the expense. I mean...upwards of $20-$30? For one book? But I can get ebooks online for $1-$5 sometimes. It’s so much easier to justify buying a new ebook every now and then than it is a physical book, though I still like to buy in person when I can.

Now the next point: Self-publishing

Okay. This one hits hard. My class was discussing this one as if the only authors who self-publish are the ones who were too awful to be accepted by traditional publishers. Which is bullshit. I’m not going to get much into this point because I’m writing this on a writeblr account and this community has talked a lot about traditional vs self publishing and I’m not going to rehash the same arguments.

But there are a couple of things I want to bring up.

Not everything that’s traditionally published is good literature. *cough*50shadesofgraygettingpickedupbyapublishingcompany*cough* And not everything that’s self-published is awful. One of my favorite series of all time was self-published. And sure, it’s got its flaws, but so does any piece of literature.

Getting published traditionally isn’t a matter of skill. You can be a great writer and never get picked up by a publisher if you’re not writing the right thing at the right time or if you’re not lucky or this or that or whatever. And there are some not so great authors who do get published.

And let’s be honest. The publishing industry is a complete mess in need of an overhaul right now. There have been at least two diversity scandals that I’ve heard of just within the last few months, one of which was making major headlines. And this definitely throws a wrench into the ‘getting traditionally published’ idea, especially for authors of color, LGBT authors, or authors that are trying to bring more diversity into mainstream literature. If you aren’t meeting a white man’s ideals of what diversity should be and are lucky enough to get picked to be their token diverse author of the year, you’re not going to get much in the way of marketing, if you’re even lucky enough to get published to begin with. But most of the diversity issues are around POC specifically and I feel like it isn’t my place as a white woman to talk about this any more than I already have.

And even with all this in mind, some people choose to self-publish over traditional publishing. It doesn’t automatically mean that they got rejected and took it upon themselves to share their masterpiece with the world despite the publishing industry telling them it’s a piece of shit, or whatever the gatekeepers think.

And the last point: Fanfiction

okay. listen. i’m done with this argument. we shouldn’t have to defend the existence of fanfiction. and I’m tired of arguing with people over whether or not it’s a literary genre or not. because it is. end of story. i’m not taking any criticism at this time, thank you.

It opens the door to new writers.

Some readers are more likely to read about characters they already know rather than trying to get to know brand new characters, but can also serve as a gateway to introducing to people to reading literature.

Some fanfics are written better than a lot of traditionally published literature than I’ve read.

Fanfic writers don’t even get paid, even when they crank out a fanfic longer than a novel. Like? What saints

It feels like, and I may be wrong but, fanfic writers tend to have more consistent one-on-one interaction with fans and those fans (no offense) in some cases tend to be...how do I say this....extremely entitled.

People have been writing fanfiction for who knows how long. It isn’t exactly new. But just as the internet is making it easier to access traditional literature, it’s making it easier to access fanfiction as well.

And a host of other things. FANFICTION IS NOT KILLING LITERATURE YOU PRETENTIOUS ASSHATS. YOU JUST WANT TO PRETEND THE ONLY FANFIC WRITERS ARE CRINGEY PRETEENS WHO DON’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE. And you know what?? So what if preteens are writing fanfic? That doesn’t mean it has no literary value. And it’s teaching them lessons and helping curate and improve their creative writing skills. It’s like you expect writers to just pop out of the womb with a quill in hand, a cigarette between their lips, twirling their fucking handlebar mustache as they discuss the value of metaphors in Paradise Lost with the doctor before writing a masterpiece as their family takes them home from the hospital for the first time.

TLDR; we can’t argue that something is ‘killing literature’ when literature isn’t dying. The medium is shifting with the times, just like everything else, while some people’s close-minded ideas of what constitutes ‘good’ or ‘worthwhile’ literature is stagnant. It’s irresponsible, as literary scholars, to gatekeep literature. All you’re doing, in the end, is shaming people out of reading in general, let alone reading what you believe are the correct things to read in the correct ways of reading them. You can’t argue the value of minorities, class differences, and diversity in literature and then also try and claim that only certain types of literature are allowed, when narrowing down those types blocks the very people you believe literature is supposed to uplift from accessing it.

[bangtansmutcentral]

[Please Read]

We would like to start off by apologising to our members and followers for making you have to witness this. It is in our opinion totally unnecessary, but since we’re getting these asks we need to address them.

We would like to say that whoever is sending these could have acted like an adult and contacted us privately and expressed their concerns. We were never hostile or unapproachable so we don’t understand why hide behind an anonymous ask. Either way, it is done.  

Since I (admin sue) started working on the network alone, before inviting my friends to join, I’ll be speaking for the 3 of us. 

After getting theses asks we didn’t know what to make of them, because we literally didn’t know what they were talking about, but after going to said network to see if something was going on, we saw a post, that didn’t mention any networks, talking about stealing content, not having their own ideas, taking advantage of what they’ve worked so hard to accomplish and we did NOT think it was about us, since we NEVER stole anything. But it is obvious, after getting these asks, that they are talking about us.

For what I understand, ---net, is a writers network that work and share smut content. Our network was made to gather and share ALL KINDS of posts. You can see that if you go on our application form and find the following: 

We never intended to be a writers only net. We have writers of course and it is a big part of what we share but we are definitely not a writers network and as we grow, we hope to make the net even more diverse. 

I’m from the side of tumblr that is more visual, and I saw most pages I followed close due to the policy changes on tumblr and because of that, what is left in smut is mostly writing. That is why we have more writers than other creators, but we are not a writers club or writers network. We will hopefully encourage people to get out of their comfort zone and try new things and express themselves in different ways, other than writing, while of course keeping and giving the deserved space writing has.

I’ve been blogging for 2 years now and my personal blog has over 26k followers. I’m not saying this to brag, that is definitely the last thing I want to do, but I want to show you that I’m not after a following or attention at any cost. Of course we want to see whatever we create succeeding, but we’re not in this to steal anything from anyone, generate hate or compete.

The network was made because I wanted a new project that would bring all smut content to one place. I miss having this diversity of content on my feed and wanted to create something I would enjoy as well as help other people come together since nowadays it’s harder to do that here. Plus, having my friends join me on this made it a very special and fun idea. 

We never owned any networks, or were a part of them in any way. My page for example is more visual contente than written, so I didn’t even know of these writers networks. To see how this is true, I went on my blog and asked smut creators to get in touch with me for a new project, then searched for some smut blogs and messaged them one by one asking if they would be up for a net because I didn’t even know if anyone would be interested, let alone, think that there was already one! Even though we know all the networks for sharing pics and gifs, smut networks were something we never knew existed (and now, seeing that they do exist, I think that there is space for all of us, in our own way). Here is how I went about it:

I even messaged one of the ----net admins, as a creator (without knowing that she had a net), asking if she wanted to join us, and that’s when we found out they existed! She even told us that they already used ‘---’ and I apologised and changed our visual identity completely so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings. I changed our #, header, icon, everything. I just didn’t change the name because we would have to create a blog from scratch and we already had started promoting the page everywhere. The name was created randomly, if we knew there was a net with a similar name of course we would want something completely different because we don’t need to feed off of other blogs success or image. We are just not that kind of people. We want to start small and slowly learn about our members, our followers and what content is best and how to navigate the net. At the time I didn’t even give it much importance since it was just a name… for me personally it wasn’t something worthy of a fight. But apologised and changed everything else as soon as I could. Is that me being unfriendly and rude? Is that the behaviour of someone that wants to steal something from anyone? ‘

When I started setting up the blog (after changing the items), I din’t know the first thing about a net, or anyone that I could ask about it, so I just went around all networks I could find (---net included) to see how a network works basically. I found out that the rules are basically the same, the application forms as well and the aim of all of them is to share creators content. We didn’t think we were stealing anything by making similar rules to everyone. I personally wouldn’t mind if someone took inspiration from my page or even copy-pasted word by word of my rules pages for ex. For me, it is not stealing content, it’s just rules... I wouldn’t mind at all, but of course that is personal. 

The 3 of us are finishing our masters degree, so we see tumblr as a hobby. We have the utmost respect for everyone and everyone’s work but it is just our hobby. One of us is in her exam period, the other finishing her thesis, I’m having my mom over for summer so we wouldn’t have time to keep the blog running if we didn’t queue posts, and since we’re 3 admins, 3 posts are ideal (one for each) and of course alphabetically through our members because that’s common sense.

This was mostly so in this busy month the blog wouldn’t die. We didn’t think that that would cause such a problem.  If this net is really talking about us, they could have reached us and talked to us in private without causing such a commotion. We were never hostile to anyone, never offended anyone in anyway so we don’t understand why they did things the way they did, but then again we are all different people. If what bothers you anon, (and assuming you’re associated with the net some way) is that our acceptance post has similar rules (because that’s the only thing we’ve put out so far, so you must be talking about that… we’re a few days old… we literally have done nothing yet), you could have reached us and said so and we would have gladly changed it. It would however remain very similar, since we share mostly the same kind of content and every network has pretty much the same acceptance rules. Also a members page, a navi page, a tag system.. how did we copy you on that? That’s how all the networks I saw work! And how did all nets start? Didn’t they start by looking at other nets to see how this ’network thing’ works and basically start the same as them, since the rules are all the same, and then find their own place and change things over time? Someone said that it is disheartening to see others gain from what they’ve worked hard to create. What have we gained? How have we used their creations to gain anything? Because we’re queuing posts? We can change the way we worded that, but we will keep queuing from our members because we don’t have time at the moment to keep the blog going otherwise.

The disclaimers are similar? But of course they are! We hope people have common sense but some things are triggering and must be advised against. I myself for example, have some triggers that I don’t want in my net!

We really don’t believe that this is aimed at us, it really can’t be, because we have an acceptance post out so far and nothing else. The rest is just the normal things every net has as I said before, so if this is all a misunderstanding and since no one from the net reached us, we would like to apologise if their post was directed at someone else.

Lastly I’d like to say a few things:

We wanted a page with a variety of content, a variety of individuals, have thought of ways to encourage visual creativity and fun stuff to do in the future. We wanted to create a feed that we missed having. We just wanted to have fun and meet new people. 

We find this absolutely unnecessary. People have better things to do than to be reading these long arguments. We are a small page that wanted to do something for us and for the people that choose to follow us. Most importantly, we didn’t mean any harm. We can see that ---net has a very beautiful page and I’m sure full of talented people and it was NEVER out intention to copy or disrespect anyone. As I said before we are not a writers club so we won’t be as similar as it might seem. We are as similar as all networks within the same genre are. 

We think that if this was aimed at us, it could have been dealt with privately. We are not animals that can’t be talked to, we were and always will be open to learn and grow with everyone and apologise if we hurt anyone even if not intentionally. But since it started publicly and without us even knowing, and now getting all this hate, it’s only fitting that it ends publicly as well. We will not be addressing this anymore. We are only a few days old but already cherish our members and followers very much. With that being said, if you are a member of ---net and feel like you shouldn’t follow us or be a member, for believing that we did something we didn’t do, you are free to leave us. Though it pains us, we understand that trust is earned and being with a net for so long and then seeing these accusations, you can only think the worst of us, so we won’t make it hard or awkward for you if you want to leave. I actually considered deleting the network because this is causing way too much anxiety that I personally don’t need in my life right now, but my dear friends and admins here talked me out of it because we didn’t do anything wrong. Through all theses years here, I NEVER disrespected anyone, my page was NEVER involved in anything bad and we only spread love, positivity and have fun, so thinking that someone can think such bad things of me is almost unbearable. 

ps. English is only my 3rd language so please excuse any mistakes such a long post might contain.

Admin sue

In name of Bangtan Smut Central Netwok.

[thequeerblr]

by Brittany B. | 10/30/2019

The Queerblr is honored to present the cover art for Grimmer Intentions, the second installment of the Tales from the Grim series by Jodi Hutchins!

She screwed up. She broke protocol. She saved a life. Grim Reaper Margo Petrov may have resurrected a drowned surfer on the brink of death, but she isn’t earning any awards or receiving employee of the month from Corporate; she’s under more scrutiny from the Grim governing body than ever before. Since she has a massive secret that could spell disaster if revealed, she sure as hell doesn’t want to be in the spotlight, in any form.

Margo vows to keep her head down and stay out of trouble, reaping her quota of spirits lest she cause more problems for herself and the woman she saved with an illegal blood bond. She certainly shouldn’t be opening doors to the Fae lands or offering her neck to an Empusa woman suffering from bloodlust, but Margo’s laundry list of bad decisions keeps growing. With the threat of becoming decommissioned by Corporate looming in her periphery, Margo stumbles deeper into the politics of her people and soon realizes their intentions are far worse than she initially thought.

I MEAN LOOK AT IT!

I don’t normally talk about the cover art of a book in my reviews, but when I read The Grim Assistant in July, I remember really enjoying the cover art because it is vastly different than most of books in its genre. The wispy Grim Reaper on the horizon and the singular silhouette of a woman along the water is starkly different than often scantily clad, provocatively posed women of both the romance and paranormal genres. The cover is not only refreshing, but intriguing to new readers, too. The old saying goes “don’t judge a book by its cover,” but when the cover is refreshing to look at, chances are you’re going to be more inclined at least flip through the pages. And when you flips through the pages of this one (or read the excerpts available online), I promise you won’t be disappointed.

And when you place the cover art of both books side by side, it is abundantly clear that you’re reading the same series because we have the same wispy reaper and a woman silhouetted on the water’s edge and small details on both women that are crucial to their particular story arcs:

I’ve had the pleasure of reading Grimmer Intentions and, let me tell you, I thoroughly enjoyed it! The book takes place immediately after the ending of The Grim Assistant. Grimmer Intentions follows the perspectives of two characters that readers met in the first book who couldn’t be more opposite and they both have substantially different and dire circumstances they deal with throughout the book.

My two second review of Grimmer Intentions is that the tension is on point, the characters are unique and varied, the main two protagonists have distinct individual character arcs and organic chemistry that grows from frenemies to lovers with the help of some precarious situations. This book further develops the world the Hutchins established in The Grim Assistant and sets up the series for another installment and introduces a fun new cast of diverse queer characters. Grimmer Intentions isn’t even out yet and I’m already excited for the whatever book three holds for the Tales from the Grim series.

Without further ado, here is an exclusive excerpt from Grimmer Intentions:

  Grimmer Intentions Jodi Hutchins © 2019 Published by NineStar Press All Rights Reserved

A gentle breeze caressed her face, soft and rippling like the ocean that lay beyond the sandy beach. The sand nearly scorched the bare soles of her feet, and the sun poured warmth over her back. Glancing up, Jackie took in the otherworldly hues of the sky, visible brushstrokes lining the silver clouds.

A lucid dream, she realized. Months had passed since she’d experienced one, and the revelation along with the strange recent events of her life left her with a deep foreboding. Glossy water licked the shore, spilling over the sand before receding back. She’d been to this dream beach before, nestling herself under the ever-present warmth from the sun and enjoying the calm. Meditation brought her to the same place.

Serenity. Peace. Tranquility. These qualities kept bringing her back to the only place she could find her balance. She was free from the physical stressors of keeping her beast at bay, holding back the bloodlust associated with her being, and splitting her two lives apart. Nothing bad would come of her here in her safe place, and she didn’t have to veil herself in a disguise, depending upon who she was around.

A murder of crows flew overhead before dipping into the ocean. With each wave, they bobbed along with the oddly colored water. Streams of dark blue swirled with gray dappled with white brushstrokes. The painted landscape elicited a smile from Jackie, and she continued her walk down the beach. Puffy white clouds obscured the tangerine-tinged sun, causing thick rays to shimmer over the sand. Oh, how she wanted to paint the scene in front of her, to capture the elegance of the orange-glazed sand or the crows afloat on the water’s surface. Light flickered in her line of sight, and she yanked her gaze from the bobbing black birds to the assaulting ray.

Jackie squinted to see where the glint had originated from. None other than Margo the Grim lounged against an overturned lifeguard stand, shaving a piece of driftwood with a thick pocketknife. The sun reflected on the metal surface and shone into Jackie’s eyes again as she started toward the enigmatic woman.

The scenario was very similar to when the two women met for the first time in Brent’s home. Margo’s lip ring had caught a glimmer of light, shining directly in Jackie’s eyes. Shortly after that, Margo had accidentally called her a vampire, and upon Jackie correcting her, Margo’s response had been rude, leading Jackie to kick her in the leg. She assumed this is where her subconscious conjured the action from.

But this is different, Jackie thought. She’d dreamt of people before but couldn’t recall the last time she’d brought someone within her place of serenity. Of course, Margo was Jackie’s own doing, her own mental depiction of the Grim, dressed in red flannel pajamas, not that Jackie could ever imagine Margo wearing such an outfit to bed. Margo appeared so out of place but completely where she belonged.

“Hi,” Jackie said as she stopped next to the lifeguard stand.

Margo looked up and smiled wide. “Well, isn’t this fucking weird?” Her cerulean gaze was the strangest color Jackie had the pleasure to see. Margo’s eyes reminded her of a precious stone she found at the beach one day, the vibrant azure kyanite calling to her from beneath the tawny sand. She still had the rock, tucked away in the tiny tin box beside her pillow along with a few other gems. However, a fire shifted alight within the woman’s eyes, casting flames in the irises, something Jackie had never witnessed before meeting Margo. Whimsical. The last word Jackie would ever associate with the woman sitting on the ground had become the only descriptor relatively close to defining Margo in that moment.

“Sit with me,” Margo offered, scooting over.

Jackie settled beside Margo, who lifted her arm and wrapped it around Jackie. Surprisingly, she found the contact incredibly comforting, and she nestled into Margo’s side. This was definitely new.

“There’s something to be said about the beauty of a crow’s shadow,” Margo muttered, her voice far off.

Jackie smiled. “What does that mean?”

Turning to face her, Margo offered her a crooked smirk. “I don’t know but it sounded good, didn’t it? It makes about as much sense as me being here. I feel like I stepped into one of your paintings.”

The black bird hopped over, tilting its head to gaze up at Jackie. She held out her hand and the creature jumped onto the presented palm with a flutter of their wings. “I have to admit, I love crows. I think my background is to blame for that. Pretty sure all good Empusae have to love black cats and crows.”

Margo chuckled. “I think that’s a prerequisite, yeah?” The crow fluttered away.

Sighing, Jackie relaxed against Margo, placing her hand on Margo’s thigh, surprised when warmth spread through her from their contact. “Usually when I have these dreams, I’m the only cognitive individual. I mean, besides the occasional talking animal. Why are you here?” Jackie didn’t expect an answer because she didn’t know why Margo was here. Obviously, the woman beside her wasn’t really Margo, not in her dreams. The woman next to her was nothing but a figment of her own imagination, no matter how her subconscious rendered the real Margo.

“I don’t know.” Margo averted her gaze. “I wanted to be with you.”

“With me?”

Margo blinked, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth. “Yeah. I don’t know what any of this means. Fuck, maybe I’m having an existential crisis.” Margo laughed loudly to her own inside joke that Jackie didn’t get. “There’s just something about you, and I can’t figure out what it is. I don’t think it’s only because of the whole bitey thing, which is amazing, by the way.” She smirked, cupping her hand under Jackie’s jawline. “You’re incredible.”

Jackie flung her hair over a shoulder. “You’re just addicted to me.”

Sincerity passed Margo’s face. “Yeah, I think I am. I wanted to text you but thought that would’ve been too weird.” She smirked. “Not that this is any less weird,” she said, glancing around at the painted seascape in front of them.

Jackie also gazed out at the water lapping at the shoreline, noting the soft brushstrokes of white foam lingering on the water’s edge, the textured grains of sand at her feet. The calming rush of the ocean lolled Jackie into a comfort, one she sought when she came to this spot to be alone, to meditate. To share the intimate location with anyone besides the occasional talking animal was something she wasn’t accustomed to.

“Jackie.”

She turned to Margo again. “Yeah?”

“We can’t be a couple.”

A painful pang drenched Jackie’s brief serenity. “What are you talking about?”

Margo frowned, her expression uncomfortable. “I have to leave; well, I might have to leave the country.”

“Why?”

Leaning forward, Margo wrapped her arms around her knees, bunching up her pajama pants. Jackie never imagined witnessing fear on Margo’s features, but she couldn’t deny the dread marring her expression. “I can’t tell you, but I have to leave America. There’s so much going on with Corporate, and leaving might be my best option, for everyone’s sake.”

“You have to leave here?” Jackie whispered. No, she rationalized, this all stemmed from the talk she had with Ezra—the conversation about weird things happening with the Grim. Jackie shook her head, as if to shoo away the weird dream. It didn’t work.

Margo peered up at the textured sky as a cotton candy cloud drifted by, her face pensive. “Yeah, maybe. Probably.” She lowered her head and looked at Jackie. “If it comes down to it, I won’t have a choice, Jackie.”

“Yes, you do, there’s always a choice. Why can’t you just stay?”

“Seriously, you have no idea. That’s not your fault; it’s mine.” She paused, shaking her head, then parting her lips as if to speak again but glanced down at her hands instead. Firelight twinkled in her eyes before she vanished from Jackie’s dream completely, a vapor of mist left in her wake. A chill crept into Jackie’s being, and she wrapped her own arms around herself as the cloud where Margo sat dissipated.

“I have some sick sense of creativity,” she said to the crows meandering in the sand a few feet from her.

One of them bobbed its head at her and winked a black button eye. “I concur,” the crow rasped.

Jackie withdrew her flip-flop from her right foot and threw it at the crow, rolling her eyes as she forced herself to wake up.

Grimmer Intentions will be released on December 9th and is available for pre-sale on NineStar Press. If you choose to pre-purchase the book through NineStar Press, you’ll get access to the book three days in advance (December 6)!

The Grim Assistant has a second book for the Tales from the Grim series! Come on over to thequeerblr.com to see our book cover reveal and exclusive excerpt of Grimmer Intentions, by Jodi Hutchins! by Brittany B. | 10/30/2019 The Queerblr is honored to present the cover art for Grimmer Intentions…

[eurosong]

Undo my ESC - 2019, SF1

Hello there, folks, and welcome to the first part of Undo my ESC, where I take a look at the field this year and, for each country, make a feasible change – as small as, for example, minor tinkerings with the staging, or as big as a different song completely winning a national final. It’s all light-hearted and just my opinion, of course. Allons-y... Cyprus: We start off completely in the deep end. I loathe “Fuego”, and this repackaged Fue2.0 is no better and is indeed perhaps worse to me given that I hate desperate attempts to catch lightning in the same jar. I also find Tamta a very unsympathetic character. I don’t know what I’d do to improve this, other than replace the internal selection with a national final with some songs actually in Greek and with local character. Montenegro: Things do not improve... but at least the solution is easier! Montenegro had a decent national final in which literally any other song would have been a better choice. I particularly liked “Nevinost”, and so did the unfortunately out-voted expert jury, so would be tempted to give D mol’s ticket to Tel Aviv to its artist, Ivana Popović, instead. I do find D mol to be sweet kids though, so the other part of me would be sad to rob them of their time in the limelight and would instead have taken the 90s throwback and bizarre random background sound elements out of their song, replaced the score with one that emphasised the traditional musical elements, and kept the lyrics in Montenegrin.

Finland: Three strikes and I am almost out. I really struggle with the new UMK format – I understand the logic behind it, just as I did when it was a thing in the UK in the early 90s, but I think it only really works if an artist has a wide-ranging repertoire. If not, then you end up with 3 samey songs that only appeal to people who like the music styles that artist makes. I’m not an EDM fan and I would have taken the relative flop of Saara Aalto last year as indication to return to a multi-artist UMK. Plenty of artists from previous years who could be worth a spot in one such.

Poland: I was disappointed by the disappearance of Poland’s national final, but I can’t say I was too surprised after a few underperforming years. I have to commend the Polish broadcasters for going for something popular within their own country, without being overly preöccupied as to how it would play outwith their borders. Pali się is one of those entries that I don’t like much but which I respect. My changes would be to remove the pointless English intro and outro, which, if one were not paying attention, one might not notice actually being in English. I’d also try to make the song a little less linear, as the song feels mostly confined to one pace.

Slovenia: Finally, we come to a country where I can change next to nothing. Many people I know were disappointed that “Kaos” was not elected as the Slovenes’ song. Whilst I found it an earworm, I really didn’t like her haughty, “I’m only in EMA to promote my new disc” attitude – and I really preferred the delectable, contemplative and intimate “Sebi.” It’s pure elegance in simplicity, and I wouldn’t need to change a thing.

Czechia: I appreciate the Czechs’ creätive way of bypassing the expenses of a traditional national final – whilst still giving fans a choice – by holding their selection online. Really cute this year was the way they tried to equalise differences in funding by making the candidates’ official video be a low-budget affair filmed in their flats. I liked quite a few songs of their selection, with the eventual winner, “Friend of a friend”, middle of my rankings. I would, of course, opt for my #1 of the NF to win instead, the delightful slice of “Bohemiana del Rey” style that was “True Colours.”

Hungary: Hungary’s A Dal has the cachet to attract a number of returning artists, so it was not surprising that, eventually, it would be won by someone who’d triumphed before – and I’m delighted it was Joci Papái, one of the biggest revelations of the Hungarian NFs for me. Yet, as is often the case with folk coming back to take a second bite of the cherry, the sophomore effort comes short of the first – “Az én apám” is lovely, touching, but lacks the bite and edge that “Origo” had. I might have JP come second and hopefully return for a second victory in 2020/1 with something a bit stronger, and send in his place the soaring but melancholic “Madár, repülj”.

Belarus: Life is too short to do some things, and whilst I try to listen to pretty much every national final song, one of the things life is too short for is intensively following the Belarusian national finals with their hundred-odd auditions. I saw a few, though, and they were a rum lot. Musically, Aura’s touching “Čaravala” was probably the best of those I heard – but was also strangely won over by the unpretentious, fun ode to tubers that was “Potato, aka Buľba” and depending on my mood, I might give it the nod either.

Serbia: Beovizija had a great lineüp yet again, and there were a number of songs I would have been happy to have gotten the win, including the eventual winner, but also those of Saška Janks, Extra Nena and Ivana Vladović. The latter’s beautiful “Moja bol”, with strings to die for, was my favourite on the night, but in retrospect, I’m not sure I’d replace the equally stunning “Kruna.” I’d be tempted to send it in its acoustic version though, where Nevena’s lovely voice stands out even better.

Belgium: Ô, Belgium. I adored “City Lights”, and so my expectations were really high. This is nice enough, but a bit beige, and doesn’t quite deliver, especially the way the enjoyably tense verses lead to an anticlimactically limp chorus. I’d change that with something that actually feels like a pay off to the verses and the Walloons would have a better shot of shining again.

Georgia: I have to say that, once again, I find myself being one of the few people I know who has some love for Georgia. Whilst it wasn’t truly my cup of tea, I appreciated and enjoyed Iriao’s song last year on some level, and the same is true of Oto’s – he has a powerful voice and it’s a strong, if rather unsettling song. I think, though, that I prefer the darkly ethereal Sevdisperi zgva, which sounds like what I imagine would result if Björk were tasked to write a Bond tune.

Australia: After a few years of rumours, Oz finally jumped on the national final train, and, credit where it is due, it was one of the most intriguing national finals of the year. It was as if SBS had decided to atone for its aggressively MOR pop picks of previous years by actually showcasing some musical diversity. Unlike a lot of folk, I don’t dislike “Zero gravity” – it has a meaningful lyrical background and some quirky charm. But there’s no question about whether I would replace it and with what. I still get chills every time I listen to “2000 and Whatever” – the sheer, irrepressible burst of positive energy and the power of its “kulila miranyi” still give me goosebumps. Damn straight one of the best song of the entire year.

Iceland: Given the amount of hype Hatari have received – and how fans flooded videos of its competitors with comments about how they shouldn’t “fuck up” by picking them instead – I may be one of the very few who would change the result there. Yet, I almost definitely would, even though I typically like lesser-heard genres at Eurovision and like the heavier, industrial musical style. And yet, I find this quite trying. It seems like a very knowing, art school student pastiche and I’m not here for their “above the contest” feel or the BDSM gimmickry. I’d be tempted to replace this with the low-key but lovely “Hvað ef ég get ekki elskað”, or to at least pare back the OTT disdainful irony.

Estonia: It feels almost like another era when I was a firm exponent of the idea of Eesti being Beesti. Three years of immense disappointments will quench that type of fire. Whilst leaving behind the stunning Spirit Animal in 2017 and opting for a generic poperatic vocal exercise in 2018 were excruciating, this might be the biggest let down yet – a land of so many talented musicians having to rely on an Avicii pastiche sang with no small difficulty by a reedy-voiced Swede. I found Eesti Laul very slim pickings this year, and found the other two frontrunners to be rather bland too – even the delightful Sandra Nurmsalu came with a tune that, whilst pleasant, sounded less nomadic epic and more toilet tissue commercial backing track. I would have gone for Kadiah’s delicate “Believe” as my pick instead.

Portugal: FdC was once again one of the best national finals, and the one for whose result I was perhaps most anxious. There were a few songs I really liked, like “Pugna”, “Mais brilhante...” and “Inércia”, but when the dust settled, there was only one song I wanted to see winning – “Telemóveis,” of course, which I was delighted to see prevail. I have some real worries about the bizarre staging distracting from the message and emotional power of the song, though. There’s so much going on, and it might be enough to push people from being entranced to being weirded out. I’d get rid of the spoons, sort out the clothes and try to make things impressive without being so extra.

Greece: I actually really like Greece this year, even if I’m still pissed off at what they did to “Don’t forget the sun” in their dubiously axed national final last year. Her voice is beautiful, the music is uplifting and anthemic, the æsthetic is curious and a bit culty, but at least memorable. The one thing I don’t like? The lyrics, which sound like a bunch of motivational Instagram quote clichés loosely knitted together. Sing something actually meaningful, preferably in Greek.

San Marino: Lord, I’m not going to start because if I do, I shan’t stop. All I’ll say is that San Marino’s “troll nation” status is wearing thin for me. Unbelievably, hundreds of talented people came out in numbers last year willing to represent them, and yet they went with a song written supposedly in 5 minutes but probably in half that. I’d have invited Sara de Blue back instead to make up for the bizarre fiasco that was last year’s 1in360. And the automatic qualifiers:

France: If France’s national delegation aren’t rethinking their voting system after this year, then they ought to be. It’s the opposite of Sweden, where the juries really have the power and the televote is scattered – all you need is a frenzied following to overturn a low jury placement. I liked a great number of Destination Eurovision’s selection this year. I would have taken pretty much ány single one of them over the snivelling, bombastic, self-aggrandising drivel that is Roi. With regards to what to send in its place, I’m torn between the powerful “Là haut”; the adorably, quintessentially French “Allez leur dire”; or the energetic, indefatigable earworm that was “On cherche encore”.

Israel: Boy howdy, Israel sure want to do their level best to avoid fluking a 1979 and winning on home ground, eh? I heard there were many big names who sent songs in, though I’m unsure if any of them would have helped to make the stormy Kobi seem more sympathetic. I think I would have opted to let Ketreyah perform for the hosts instead.

Spain: After a great national final last year, I was really disappointed with the subpar quality of the so-called eurotemazos which were anything but. Miki’s song was the best of a bad lot and at least he didn’t have the hideously negative attitude some of the other people, who seemed surprised and aghast that the winner of a contest related to Eurovision could end up performing there. I’d try to give Miki a song that matched his energy with at least a bit more lyrical depth.

Join me in some days when I evaluate what I would change with SF2!

[fandom-glazed]

music asks!

FAVORITES 1. what are your favorite bands? Lord Of The Lost, Porcupine Tree, Nightmare, Frost*, newer: Scarlet Dorn 2. what are your favorite singers? Lady Gaga, Steven Wilson, Zia, Lorde, newer: Down To Eden 3. what are your favorite albums? Thornstar by Lord Of The Lost, In Absentia by Porcupine Tree, To The Bone and Transience by Steven Wilson 4. what are your favorite songs? Six Feet Underground by Lord Of The Lost, Trains by Porcupine Tree, What I’ve Done, In The End and Numb by Linkin Park, My Demons and Ricochet by Starset, From The Flame by Leprous, Lovesongs (They Kill Me) by Cinema Bizarre, Would It Matter by Skillet, Hyperventilate, Experiments in Mass Appeal and Snowman by Frost* 5. what do you think the best popular song of the year is so far? I honestly don’t know. 6. which genres of music do you tend to like the best? Prog, Metal and any heavy stuff (not including “brutal” Death Metal - on a daily basis), Indie, Alternative, Soundtracks 7. what is the best concert you’ve ever been to? Either the Steven Wilson To The Bone Tour concert(s) in Hamburg 2018, or the Lord Of The Lost MEGA tour concert in Munich 2016 8. song of the year? My personal songs of the year (not released in 2019) at the moment: Kiss Me by Rob Vischer, While This Way by Árstíðir .2: 2019 still has to deliver! 9. album of the year? See 8.2 10. what are the best songs your parents have gotten you into? Anything by Keane, Evanescence, Depeche Mode,... 11. how did you first find out about your favorite band/singer? My own, like, nothing I inherited from my parents, favorite band was probably Cinema Bizarre and I found them through their first single being played 24/7 on Viva. 12. when/where do you first remember having heard your favorite song? I don’t remember anymore, sadly. I first heard Trains on a train station. 13. about how many times have you listened to your favorite song? I have absolutely no idea, any number I’d name would be too low. 14. if someone asks you what music they should check out, what are your go-to recommendations? I always assume my taste in music is nothing most people would care to listen to, but I’d say everyone should check out Steven Wilson(’s projects) at least once. And I’d promote my favourites in Lord Of The Lost till I die.

NOSTALGIA 15. what songs give you the most nostalgia? Anything by Evanescence, Keane, 80s music in general, The Corrs, Kylie Minogue, HIM... 16. what kinds of music were you raised on? Mostly 80s stuff, some rock, much pop, my mother brought some jazz as well, unfortunately. 17. what are your favorite songs that have ever been popular? See 15., probably :D I love almost every song by Gaga, I’d say she’s definitely popular! 18. who were your favorite musicians as a kid? I adopted my parent’s favorites, mostly The Corrs, specifically their drummer Caroline. Eisblume. Cinema Bizarre. Though that was already in my teens. 19. how did you feel about music as a kid? Music is and has always been my love and a great hobby. 20. what was your first concert? if you haven’t been to one, what do you want your first concert to be? I was six years old and I remember my dad telling me to say I’m seven so the security would let us in. It was The Corrs and I think it was either in the Hanns-Martin-Schleyer-Halle in Stuttgart, or in the Olympiahalle Munich. We went to several concerts in that year. (So that’s where I got that from!)

PERFORMANCE 21. how do live performances, whether they’re from your friends or professionals, tend to make you feel? Like in another dimension. 22. singing in the shower or singing in the car? I don’t drive, so, rather in the shower. But mostly at my desktop, extremely loudly. 23. if you were to become a musician, what kind of musician would you be? I am a pianist/multi-instrumentalist, but I think I’d never want to be a professional. 24. if you could pick one instrument to learn how to play, what would it be? If improving on the piano doesn’t count, like, learn something completely new, I’d say, maybe the harp, the cello (though I tried it some years ago). 25. what is your singing voice like? what singers do you remind yourself of? I don’t have a super special singing voice (I’m told otherwise), but I hit all the notes thanks to my trained hearing. I don’t really remind myself of someone particular, but I can make my voice sound like different singers like Scarlet Dorn, Lorde or the singer of a band, I just discovered, Trees Of Eternity. 26. have you ever been involved in any music programs? which ones and for how long? I have been member of my music school’s programme/ensemble. 27. which instruments do you know how to play? what’s your skill level? I’ve been playing the piano for 13 years, if I’d kept up the hard work I put in it until 2016, I’d be rather high-skilled, I started to play the guitar some years ago, but I was never really sufficiently active. I also began playing drums and even cello, but due to price and neighbours I couldn’t continue. I am an autodidact singer and I can play the bodhran. 28. if you took music lessons as a kid, are you glad you did? if not, do you wish you had? I am glad I took piano lessons, but I wish I had started taking guitar lessons sooner. I’d be much better by now and I also adored my teacher as a person. He kinda reminds me of my actual mentor now.

SOUNDTRACKS 29. how do you feel about video game soundtracks? I love video game soundtracks. 30. what soundtracks do you enjoy listening to the most? It changes from time to time, but at the moment I love the Mass Effect: Andromeda soundtrack and also the Dragon Age soundtracks, as well as most of the Marvel movies’, Ghibli movies’ and Game Of Thrones’. 31. which soundtracks do you think are objectively the best (or what are some that you think deserve appreciation)? I’d say check out Trevor Morris, Joe Hisaishi and Ramin Djawadi and you’re on the right scent. 32. how do you feel about musicals? I absolutely love musicals and used to visit some as often as I could with my aunt. 33. do you have any favorite composers, including classical ones? See 31, as for classical ones, I love Rachmaninov, Bach and Chopin. 34. are there any soundtracks or kinds of soundtracks that you just can’t stand? Can’t think of any at the moment. 35. what are your favorite songs/soundtracks from movies? I stared to obsess with Under Stars by AURORA from the ME: Andromeda credits, I love the Misty Mountains, The Marvel Avengers theme and the Harry Potter soundtrack, actually I can’t possibly remember everything to write it down.

LYRICS 36. what are some songs whose lyrics you relate to? Ou, that’s a personal one. There are many. But to name a few: Would It Matter by Skillet, Covered In Gold and Walls Of Utopia by Oh Fyo!, Don’t Hate Me and Prodigal by Porcupine Tree, Pariah and Hand Cannot Erase by Steven Wilson, No Me No You by Frost*, almost everything by Scarlet Dorn as well as Black Halo and most of all Cut Me Out by Lord Of The Lost 37. pick a song and analyse its lyrics. Can’t do, shouldn’t do, probably. 38. which songs do you think have the best lyrics? There’s just SO many. 39. what are some songs whose lyrics you think most people just don’t get? Six Feet Underground by Lord Of The Lost, not your typical love songTM, Harmony Korine by Steven Wilson, also so much by Steven Wilson. 40. are there any musicians whose lyrics you particularly tend to like? Steven Wilson. Next! :D 41. do you prefer songs that have good melodies or songs that have good lyrics? Good melodies, generally. But once I got hooked on by the sound I live for good lyrics.

CHALLENGES 42. name five songs you like that were released in the 90s. Join Me In Death by HIM, Walking In My Shoes by Depeche Mode, Rosier by Luna Sea, Viva Forever by Spice Girls, Enter Sandman by Metallica 43. name five songs you like that were released at least 50 years ago. I could name you some classical compositions... 44. write a parody of at least a verse of any song you’d like. Reign, reign on me, reign on me, reign on me. Reign, wash away, triangles and tears, blur all your plot and reign on me. 45. name 5 songs you can’t stand. Despacito, Despacito, Despacito,... 46. look at your country’s song charts, listen to the first unfamiliar song you can find, and share your opinion on it. I didn’t know and didn’t like any of the first eight I looked at. That’s how much I love chart music! 47. turn a song lyric into a pickup line. Until the end of night... (listen to Blood For Blood by Lord Of The Lost. I won’t explain any further.) 48. name the last 5 songs you listened to. While This Way by Árstíðir, Loreley by Lord Of The Lost, Ten Feet High by Andrea Corr, a song I mixed and mastered, Sinking Ships by Trees Of Eternity

RANDOM 49. what are your favorite album covers? In Absentia by Porcupine Tree, Thornstar by Lord Of The Lost, Hand Cannot Erase by Steven Wilson, Resist by Within Temptation, Milliontown by Frost* ... 50. any cover versions that you think are better than the original? I mostly like the cover version and the original. 51. how often do you listen to music? 24/7 52. do you collect vinyls? if so, what have been your best finds? I do have some by Lord Of The Lost and Steven Wilson. 53. if you could meet any musician you’d like, who would it be? Steven Wilson. By faaaar. 54. how do you feel about classical music? I love classical music. 55. would you ever want to have a career in music? I am, in fact, an aspiring audio engineer. 56. if you had a stage name, what would it be? My stage name for audio productions and art is nadzumi. 57. on a scale of 1 to 10, how important is music to you? 11. 58. how do you feel about rap music? Don’t like it. Only a few songs. I like Eminem. And I found the influence in Linkin Park very interesting. But I’d rather stay away. 59. what do you think the best “era” for music was? I’d say the 80s, some of the 90s and now, because there’s such a diversity, everyone will find something they can love. 60. how has music affected you as a person? I’d say I am music. (Music has affected everything.) Feel free to ask away any number if you want me to answer it in more detail!

[brynwrites]

Ask compilation time again!

Topics covered:

Writing experiences you haven’t had yourself

Nonbinary characters

Figuring out how many novels your plot requires

When you get stuck on an idea

Finding your target audience

Token diversity 

Also:

I promise to (attempt to) tag spoilers

Something I can’t even fathom

A nice message, but not from a moose, unfortunately

I haven’t updated my ask queue page, so if you don’t see your ask there then it’s probably collecting dust in my inbox xP

Writing experiences you haven’t had yourself

Anon asked: I’m currently writing a story and a secondary character is someone who has been abused. I’ve done lots of research and I’m continuing to do so (reading psychology reports, peoples own experience, whatever I can find) as I haven’t gone though the abuse my character has but someone recently told me I shouldn’t write this character because I haven’t gone through it myself. I don’t want to through this character away because he plays a massive role in the development of my mc. Any advice?

1. Ignore this person. They probably mean well but they aren’t helping anyone by gatekeeping. 

2. Try to find beta readers who have a close connection to the the abuse this character faces or who have also done large amounts of research so they can double check things for you.

Nonbinary characters

Anon asked: I want to write a novel with a non binary protagonist, because I feel like it would really fit them and the plot, but I don't really know much about non binary identities. Could you maybe explain a few of them...? I just feel like this question is better answered by a nb person. I've been thinking about making them genderfluid, but I don't know if that would be fitting.

In all honesty, nonbinary people don’t tend to fit in their labels well. Within any given NB label, presentation, pronouns, and more varies drastically. There’s really no wrong way to write a nonbinary character as long as they act like any other fully formed human being. This wiki site has some basic definitions, and these two posts [ x | x ] I’ve written recently cover more.

One thing I will say here though is this: Nonbinary people are not made up of anything different from binary people -- they have the exact same brains which grant the same strengths and flaws and loves and fears and everything else that humans experience -- and therefore they’re the right characters for any plot, setting, genre, etc. That’s not to say that we as writers don’t often get feelings that certain characters have a particular identity or so on, but I see a lot of times were someone thinks a story is right for a nonbinary protagonist particularly because there’s something plot relevantly ‘weird’ with the protagonist's gender or gender expression. Nonbinary characters should not be limited to stories where their nonbinary-ness is a important to the story. 

Figuring out how many novels your plot requires.

Anon asked: How do you know if your plot will be enough for a novel or multiple novels (even after outlining)?

1. How many climactic peaks does it have?

2. How many distinct character development arcs does it have?

Each novel needs to rise in tension until reaching the climactic point, in which the character fulfills or denies their development. At the start of the next book, the tension may or may not fall quite a lot. If instead, you have a dramatic fall of tension somewhere in the second half of act two, that’s no good, nor is having a character arc which ends at any point prior to the climax. 

Learn more splitting up a series into individual books. Learn more about character arcs.

When you get stuck on an idea

Anon asked: Hi! I have this problem when I write something I get stuck on something and don’t see other options, for example, if my first idea for some story is to start it with description of morning I will stick to it and will rewrite it over and over again but don’t even consider and option to start is somehow else. I hope it doesn’t sound strange and that you can understand it. So how to start seeing other options and not get too attached to something?

Whenever you go to rewrite anything for the first few weeks/months (depending on how often you’re rewrite things), stop and brainstorm at least five other options you could use in place of rewriting whatever you originally had. Don’t let yourself rewrite the original until you have these five options written down. 

To challenge yourself further, every few times you do this brainstorming, write out one of these new options in full instead of rewriting the original concept, even if this means you have to write entire chapters you won’t end up using. You’ll learn a lot by making yourself move outside your comfort zone and eventually your brain will start to do the brainstorming on its own. 

Finding your target audience

Anon asked: Hey I'm sure this could apply to writing as well but I'm currently writing a webcomic and as much as I want to advertise it on my blog I'm not sure if people would be interested because overall it's about teenage life, nothing more nothing less and I'm not sure how interesting of a concept that is to anyone. I also started out as a fandom blog and I'm pretty sure a lot, if not all of my followers followed me because I post about the fandom and nothing else.

Every concept is interesting to someone. I don’t know which fandoms you focus on with your fandom blog, but I would suggest looking for fandoms for contemporary YA books (on the ‘less romance’ scale) and similar slice-of-life teen-oriented stories, and connecting with the people in those fandoms on a personal level, because they will be your target audience. 

They will almost certainly only follow you for the fandom blogging unless you become friends with them. Genuine friends who are also your target audience will support your original work to hell and back, and they’ll form a platform for you which other people will be more willing to climb on once they see your original work is already being adored by others.

Token diversity 

Anon asked: Hello! What are some ways to tell apart checklisting from being diverse? Like, putting in POC and mogai characters just to say you did and earn brownie points from the audience? I appreciate the input, thank you <3

My general opinion is this: If you (and the groups represented) can’t tell that diversity is being shoehorned into a book for the sake of brownie points, then it’s diversity, no matter what the author meant it as.

If it’s a well researched and positive representation and it does good for the people it represents, then it’s good.

Working backwards from this definition, some things which might trigger alarms would be:

The use of negative stereotypes.

Diverse background characters supporting an able-bodied cishet white cast.

Members of the represented group telling you that the diverse characters from their group are bad representations.

Diverse characters being less fleshed out or more commonly killed off compared to the other characters.

Tagging spoilers

Anon asked: Friend, could you tag incoming spoilers please, I havent yet got to read these latest Riordan books and wanted to keep whatever queer stuff would be there for a surprise, and whoever the character would be as well

Sorry about that! I will try to tag spoilery content better in the future.

I can’t even fathom

Anon asked: How old are you? Boy or girl?

Excuse you, I'm an immortal Norse trickster deity (without the bestiality), and you do not ask deities their age, thank you very much.

Definitely not moose

@isnotmoose​ said: Hi, Bean! This isn't a question, I just wanted to say hi and hope you were having a good day (or night) :) I also love your blog, it's super helpful!

I’m not sure if you’re calling me a bean of if that was an auto-correction, but either way I approve this message very much. You have a wonderful day/night yourself! <3

[sjjms]

pretending | part 5

pairing: yugyeomxreader length: 2.3k words genre: fluff/angst summary: how hard could it be to hide that you're in a relationship?

preview part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 final

Yugyeom has been involved in a car accident, those words, were on replay as your body collapsed to the floor of Daeho’s office. You had made it this far, without breaking down in front of others. Would you be able to walk into a hospital like this? “Just release it…” You whisper as your head hit the glass. It wasn’t even done on purpose. “Release it so I can go to him.”

“You know that we can’t.” You knew! It was the company’s way of covering their ass and it was a shitty way too.

“Let me go…Let me see him…” These tears flowed down your head falling to your knees. You couldn’t live like this anymore, you didn’t want to be separated from him any longer. This week had already been painful enough without seeing him.

“Here,” Daeho responds to your outburst by putting something into your hands, you glanced over to see your phone returned to you. “There’s a voicemail.” Voicemail from Yugyeom? He couldn't have...

Tapping on the notification for the voicemail, you placed the phone on your ear. “Y/N. It’s me. I’m calling from the manager’s phone since ours have been taken away… so you won’t even hear this for another week. I’m sorry for telling everyone, they would have found out on their own. They always do… hopefully, you have or will forgive me. Let's say you have forgiven me… I have a question to ask you, I’m not sure whether I should wait until we meet again or to say it now… Marry me. Because I don’t want to spend time apart from you like this ever again. I want us to live together, wake up in the morning with you by my side, dance together and sing together. Maybe we could both drink the bottle of wine in your fridge together for once. Ah… I’m rambling. We’re almost at the venue for the concert, I’ll see you soon okay? We can make it through another week… I love you.”

It was Yugyeom. His voice, his beautiful goddamn voice that you'd forgotten how it sounded. The phone fell out of your hand onto the carpet, “What did it say?” Daeho gently bends down beside you, handing you a tissue to wipe away your tears.

“He wants me to marry him.” He’s a jerk… for saying that and then getting into a car accident. Was Yugyeom out to break your heart this whole time? No one proposes over the phone. Except for Yugyeom apparently. “I’m going to the hospital.” You pulled yourself up from the floor, wiping away the water from your eyes.

“You’re going to need a disguise.” Cameras shouldn’t even be at the hospital, they should be there for the discharge. Not even then. Then again it depends on the type of situation a celebrity is in if it's something small they usually don't’ bother. A car accident…

You picked up your phone and took the mask from Daeho’s desk. Strangely you always found a mask on his desk, it was probably yours, you usually drop one or leave one in the car by accident. “This should be enough.” If it wasn’t you were going to have to run into the back of the hospital, or climb to the roof somehow. “Or we’ll have to create a diversion somehow.”

“I don’t think any cameras will be at the hospital, there’s been a scandal.” Your eyes looked to Aera lost, she’d been listening in the whole time apparently. She showed the article to you, involving a top star. Maybe she was right.

“Let’s go then before they realise they have something to report.” You mutter because you showing up would be some sort headline, in one of the online blogs.

X

“Going in daylight is better than going at night.” You mutter as you looked out of the car window, there was no sign of a news van or a reporter. “People are more likely to blink twice if you’re out in the open. It’s predictable to go at night.” You thought that would be known common sense.

“So the plan is we both walk in and hopefully find Jaebum since he’s supposedly waiting for us. All without any doctors or nurses asking. Got it?” You nodded, it was simple. You pulled up your mask even more and opened the car door. It was going to be difficult to breathe for the next few minutes but it would be worth it.

“Plan B is I faint right?” You whisper walking the length Aera was, you had to keep up with her somehow. Maybe walking at a quick pace wouldn’t actually catch much attention, since many people had loved ones in emergency accidents all the time.

You didn’t even know why you were so nervous, your heartbeat increased the closer you got to the hospital. Even your breathing increased, it would all be over in a short few seconds. You could see Jaebum through the glass doors, the end goal was in sight as they say. As the doors opened you walked across the hospital floor as fast as your legs could possibly take you, running into his arms.

“How is he?” You ask breathless pulling away from his arms, realising you were about to make a scene if you stayed there any longer. Jaebum grabbed onto your arm pulling you away from the main area, Aera followed the two of you.

“He has a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, he’s lucky, even when the hit took place on Yugyeom’s side. He keeps asking for you.” Was he? When you were in the hospital you didn’t ask for Yugyeom. Well, you didn’t exactly know what was happening plus Yugyeom was on a plane. He couldn’t exactly come visit you if he was up in the air.

“How long will his recovery take then?” It's bound to be weeks. Yugyeom wasn’t going to be happy about not being able to perform, he was probably going to be bored within the first week being over. A dislocated shoulder meant he wasn’t going to be able to do most of the choreography.

“Up to 4 months before he can resume dancing. He won’t be able to do much unless he wants to risk it. He is really not happy which is why we are glad you came because you’re pretty much the only one that can calm him down.” You weren’t sure whether to be flattered by that. You stood in front of the room, seeing through the small window he was sitting up his arm in a sling. A hint of a smile on his lips looking at Bambam do something funny. “Bambam is in there with him.” The one they had called first to try and calm him down if you weren’t allowed or couldn’t make it here.

You carefully slide the door open, his eyes lifted up to stare at you in the doorway. You hadn’t seen each other in a week and after hearing that voicemail, you weren’t sure what to think. Bambam quickly made his way out of the room, the door shut behind you. “It’s been awhile.” You whisper lingering at the door, you needed a push from someone. Even when you were the one who cried in Daeho’s office on his floor wanting to come here. “I’m sorry I left… I should have stayed to hear you out.” But you also expected more from him after what he said to you.

“I’m sorry as well, we should have talked it through first.” Just looking at his face and how sorrowful it looked could convince anyone to forgive him. You'd already given your forgiveness to him. You moved quickly into Yugyeom’s arms, not realising his shoulder was indisposed at the moment. “Ow!” He took a sharp breath in as it happened but adjusted accordingly. “I missed you.” He whispers planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“Did it hurt?” The car accident? You had fortunately never been in one. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like.

“I didn’t break my promise. I wasn’t the one driving, a drunk person ran a red light to crash into us.” You knew. It wasn’t Yugyeom’s reckless driving that did this it was someone else's. You were relieved although you wished Yugyeom was the one driving, that way he wouldn't have been in this hospital right now.

“Is that all you can think about?” You smile a little, he just had to prove a point that he still could keep his promises to you.

“No, have you listened to your voicemails?” He brought it up. You heartbeat picked itself up, you still thought he was a jerk asking you over the phone. Especially when he was involved in a car accident because he could have been in a much worse condition than he was. “Your heartbeat tells me yes…” He whispers. You were going to make him wait for an answer. In your head, you were still undecided but your heart already had already decided for you.

The door opened with Jaebum coming into the room, “The reporters have heard.” Your eyes widened as you lifted your head up. It was the cue to go then, you moved in to kiss Yugyeom on the lips. His lips had to be soft, didn’t they… enough to make you want to stay.

“I’ll wait for your answer,” Yugyeom mutters as your cheeks flushed with colour, you adjusted the mask on your face before turning around to look at Jaebum.

“I’ll see you in a week.” One week. You silently sigh taking one more look at Yugyeom, his smile reassuring you he was okay and you could make it through the week. You left the room to meet Daeho and Aera, you were already about to cry.

“Ready?” Daeho asks you nodded following him as he made his way with Aera down the hallway. Time to go home and sit alone for the umpteenth time. You should really consider a TV subscription then again the shopping channel got interesting sometimes.

X

A few days later

The empty wine glass sat in front of you as well as the unread script which was supposed to be memorized for Monday. You had no plans on reading it until it was at least a day before, then again Daeho would making sure you would know about it tomorrow. Hearing the security code be pressed in you jolted up, who was it? Yugyeom was in the hospital, for surgery due to his career requiring him to do a lot of shoulder movement. Your phone had been given back to you so you had been able to monitor Yugyeom’s progress. You were no longer alone, Yugyeom still wasn't allowed his phone so you only had updates when one of the members was with him.

Your fingertips reached for the wine glass to throw at the person, what if was a stranger? Maybe you should call Daeho, you watched the door open and a figure appears. “Put down the wine glass. It’s Yugyeom.” You narrowed your eyes unable to recognise him through his disguise. A huge scarf covered pretty much his whole face up to his eyes and a big jacket covered him to fit in with the rest of the public. “Have you been discharged or are you a runaway?” Placing the glass on the table you walked over to Yugyeom to help take his things off.

You slowly unwrapped the scarf as it fell onto you, you felt Yugyeom’s free arm wrap around your waist pulling you in. “You’re not supposed to be here.” You smile relieved he was. He returned your smile and moved his head down to kiss your lips.

Pulling back, “I know.” He smirks. “You have me for 4 days.” 4 days? Then again that time would have been spent in the dorm, you noticed the bag on the ground. He wasn’t messing around with you.

“I wonder what we’re going to do for 4 days.” You mutter in the same tone as his.

“I can think of plenty of things to do…” He trails off bending down to kiss you on the lips again. You push his chest back a little looking at him seriously. Your eyes caught his attention and you travelled down to shoulder which was in a sling.  

“You’re injured. You can’t even dance.” Yeah… how was he going to cope? When he couldn’t dance he would become grouchy and pass on his mood to everyone surrounding him. There was a long road ahead of him.

“Who says I can’t…” You glared at Yugyeom as everything was finally off of him, on your apartment floor which you would have to clear up later. “I will take good care of myself because it means I can back to doing what I love. Properly.” You gulped a little catching on to one drift of the meaning when you knew he meant both of them.

“Let’s just go to sleep. I just want to be in your arms for a while.” You whisper, Yugyeom looks down at you catching your thoughts. His head nodded, he too felt like that was the right thing to do. Grabbing onto to his free hand you pulled him with you to the bedroom.

Your head rested on the pillow as you watched Yugyeom take off his sling and then his shirt, both actions done carefully without moving his shoulder. “How have you stayed in shape when all you’ve done for the past week is lie in bed and eat?” You ask slightly baffled at his body, still maintaining the shape from the last time you’d seen him shirtless.

“I ate healthy food. Since I wasn’t allowed to come here to do it with you.” You laughed at his comment pulling the pillow over your face out of embarrassment.

“You asked?” He was one of a kind.

“I was bored out of my mind most of my stay there.” The pillow was pulled down away from your face, Yugyeom pulled you into his chest you could already hear the sound of his heartbeat. The soothing sounds that could calm you down in any situation. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

You smile to yourself, closing your eyes, content with this warmth. “I love you too.”