#I think if I ever write ‘serious’ novels (not under my romance pen name) I’m gonna put them for free on the internet

[h0neyfreak]

***

[writing-for-life]

I’m A NaNoWriMo Winner - But It Doesn’t Feel Like Winning

I went over the finishing line today with a bit more than 52,000 words. Supposedly, that’s a cause for celebration. And in a way, it is. I wrote those words in one month. I wrote every day, sometimes a lot, sometimes only a paragraph. I persevered.

But in perseverance also lies a conundrum, because my goal for this NaNoWriMo had mostly been to relax. I didn’t want to work on current WiPs this year, because I didn’t want any additional pressure to push ahead with something that’s already cooking, or to even finish something. That’s why I decided to write fan-fiction. No plotting in advance, total start from scratch on day one.

I have published several (mostly steamy) romance novels, all under a pen name (if I told you, I would need to kill you, because this account is specifically for no-pressure-writing, pointless stanning and general shit-posting). I have social media accounts for my pen name, and I also have social accounts under my real name, where I post scientific writing/non-fiction/work-related stuff. I felt burned out, so I didn’t want to do any of these things.

And then this happened:

The “no-pressure NaNoWriMo” really backfired.

I’m not a plotter, so I usually start wherever my fancy takes me and develop it from there. It’s a process that has always worked for me, and it works for me because I spend time on it. A lot of time. Not just four weeks.

This one was different. I started with the intention to have fun and go right in with the steamy stuff. And then my own attachment to the subject matter got in the way, because I just couldn’t write it the way I normally would. So I didn’t. There’s still ample (gratuitous) sex, but it’s a lot softer and less explicit than I normally write. I’m fine with that, but it has its own challenges, so call that obstacle one.

Obstacle two: I wanted to keep it lighthearted, but my weird writer brain didn’t agree, and it turned really dark in places. Much more serious than I had intended. Which made the whole thing feel disjointed: Serious stuff - Fluff - Serious stuff - Fuckery.

Obstacle three: I got strange ideas that I needed to research, look into, develop, start plotting out (which the pantser in me hates, but needs must). And I still have a lot of gaps and plot holes to fill so the whole thing makes sense.

I now have 52,000 words, and they are nowhere near a finished novel. Not that it has to be a finished novel, but I want to finish it. And I also don’t. Because finishing it, and developing it into something I even remotely like, will require a lot of work (like an additional 50,000 words type of work). And do I want to put that work into something I just started for fun?

I could walk away from it now, post it here or on Ao3 and not give a hoot. I know there will be people in the fandom who don’t care as long as there’s enough you-know-what (which they have to wait for a bit, since this isn’t a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am short).

But I do give a hoot, because I care about writing.

Long story short: I don’t think writing will ever be a relaxing experience for me. Why do I love it so much when it gives me so much brain pain?

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

Play Brave

(Alright, so as it turns out I can’t write mystery, so I made it kinda fluffy with lowkey hints of the beginning of a cop show. I hope you like it tho.)

Master List

~~

“What you did was very brave.” The paramedic, a man whose name tag read “Wonpil”, complemented, dabbing the cut over your eyebrow with alcohol. “You’re lucky you aren’t seriously hurt.” 

“I just wanted to protect my friends,” You confess, “Lots of crazy people out tonight.” 

“Well, its a full moon, its Halloween, and everyone’s been cooped up for 6 months, I’m not really shocked everyone’s gone a little crazy.”

“Nurse Wonpil, how’s our little hero doing?” A new, yet familiar voice asks, which makes Wonpil roll his eyes. 

“I’m an EMT, not a nurse. And Y/n here is fine, some cuts and bruises, but nothing warranting a hospital visit, unless you get a headache that persists longer than an hour, then go see a doctor.” You nod at the EMT, jumping down from the back of the ambulance to spot the mystery speaker. 

“Detective-”

“Jaehyung Park.” You realize, “Everyone in town knows who you are.” You defend yourself awkwardly. He’s a lot more handsome in person, there's the hint of dark roots in his sandy blonde hair and his dark eyes are hidden behind big glasses. You wonder for a moment how people could think he’s intimidating. Yeah he was really tall, but he was kinda skinny and even in his dark clothes, didn’t look very threatening. “I thought you only worked as a violent crimes detective, I didn’t think a random dude with a knife would count.” 

“It’s Halloween, the entire precinct is working where they’re needed.” He shrugs, “Besides, I think someone attacking trick or treaters is a bad thing.” You couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up at his casual shrug. “Also, when Sungjin mentioned your name, I couldn’t help myself.” You freeze at his comment, more than just a little confused. 

“Me? How come?” 

“I read your book. “Something happened in Seoul” I’ve always liked mystery novels, so when I found out it was based on one of my cases, and you knew my Captain, I had to meet you.” He scratches at the back of his head nervously. “Kinda wish it was under more favorable circumstances.” You both laugh at his comment, and you’re thankful the darkness of the night is hiding your blush. 

“Me too, but it’s always nice to meet a fan.” The silence that falls between you is heavy with something you can’t quite place. “Anyway, the investigation?” You prompt. Jae nods, laughing sheepishly as he pulls a pen and pad from his pocket. 

“Right, you’re right. Where was I?” He double checks his notes, face falling serious as he refocuses on the case at hand. “Okay, your friends over there told me their version, can you tell me yours?” You nod, clearing your throat. 

“My friends and I were walking home from Fabel, the bar on third. I was closest to the street and Minju was about a step behind me and in the middle and her brother Minsung was next to her on the house-side. We were talking about our plans for the rest of the night, when I heard what sounded like running footsteps. When I turned around, I thought it was maybe someone we knew, this guy was running towards us. He had something in his hand, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I don’t know why but I put myself between the twins and this guy and next thing I know he’s slamming into me. I didn’t fall, but when he tried going after them again I panicked. I grabbed his jacket and yanked him sideways, right into the bus stop. I didn’t realize he had grabbed my arms until I was already falling. I hit the other glass panel and went right though.” Jae winces as you gesture to the cuts on your face. 

“Ouch.” He comments, “But Wonpil was right, that was pretty brave.” You huff at his words. 

“Didn’t feel brave. I just panicked, the twins have never fought anyone ever, and I can survive a few cuts better than someone can a knife wound.” Jae nods, although you can tell its tentative. 

“What can you tell me about the man?” You wrack your brain for a few moments, trying to recall all the small details. 

“He had a kinda long beard, like maybe five inches, and it was curly and grey. I’m pretty sure he was Caucasian.” Jae nods along as you speak, diligently writing. “I’m pretty sure I was taller than him, and he was strong enough to take me down with him, so he isn’t weak.” Jae nods again, glancing up at you when you don’t add anything else. 

“Is there more?” You shake your head, a little disappointed you couldn’t help further. 

“I’m sorry, everything happened really quickly, I’m shocked I remembered that much.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Did you see what happened to him after you fell?” 

“He just got up and ran away like nothing happened. Minju called the police right after.” You pause thinking about the events of the last hour and can’t help but find it a little funny. 

“What?”

“Nothing, I was just thinking, it’s Halloween, if you’re going to go around attacking people, why not wear a mask? Or dress up? This guy was just wearing jeans and a tshirt.” Jae lets out a small chuckle as well. 

“That is kinda strange. Thank you for the information, and the call.” He glances back towards his partner and the twins. “I think Brian’s going to take them home, I’m sure he could drive you if you like?” You wave off his offer. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m only a few blocks from here, I can walk.” Jae looks at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”

“Do you really think I’m going to let you just walk home alone after being attacked? Are you crazy?” He scoffs in disbelief when you don’t answer, turning back to the trio a few feet away. “Brian!” His partner sighs, reluctantly looking over. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“I’m going to walk Y/n home. It’s not far, I’ll meet you back here in 15.” Brian nods, flashing you a thumbs up before turning back to the twins. Jae turns back to you, a lopsided grin on his face. “Shall we?” 

You wave goodbye to the twins, who smile knowingly and wave enthusiastically before turning to lead Jae to your apartment. 

“So, “Something Happened in Seoul” how’d you get that kind of information from Sungjin?” Jae begins, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat as you walk. 

“Oh, we’re friends. I was working as a journalist at the time, so I was getting insider details.” You explain, trying not to glance over at him. He was very cute and it was very distracting. 

“So how’d you two know each other?”

“College. His girlfriend at the time was my roommate. He used to hang out at our dorm all the time to avoid his roomie.” Jae’s laughter echoes off the houses around you and you have to physically restrain yourself from putting your hand over his mouth to quiet him down. 

“I thought he and Dowoon were cool?” He wonders, tugging you closer by the wrist when someone on a bike rides past. You have to pray he can’t feel the way your heartbeat increases at his touch. 

“They are now. But in the beginning when Dowoon was still figuring out his major he just played video games all night.” Jae laughter is much quieter this time around. 

“So tell me, Y/n, how did you go from being a reporter, to writing a New York Times Bestseller?” You’re thankful, once again, for the darkness as your cheeks heat up again. 

“I always wanted to be a writer.” You shrug. “Nothing had really piqued my interest, until Sungjin told me how you had found the kidnapper. I thought it would make a really interesting story.” 

“And the romance? How did you come up with the idea of the reporter and the detective?” He glances over at you, a cheeky smile on his face. 

“I um, everybody likes a cliche.” You’re pretty sure he can see right through your lie, but let's be real, you were not about to say “well the real detective was really hot and I was basically writing fanfiction” because that would be embarrassing. “This is my complex.” You point to the coded gate a few feet away. 

“Ah, okay.” Neither of you move for a second, somehow feeling like this was some kind of date, and yet knowing it wasn’t. “So um, how about you give me your number so I can update you on what’s happening. Maybe you can write about it.” He refuses to look you in the eyes, but you’re pretty sure his cheeks are turning red. 

“Maybe you can leave yours with my publisher?” You tease, turning to the gate to punch in the code. 

“Maybe I can leave it with you?” He tries again, which makes you laugh to yourself. You tug open the gate, turning back to look at him. 

“I’m having a book signing tomorrow at the Public Library. Second floor conference room. Bring your book and I’ll give you my number.” Jae’s smile is contagious as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Alright, what time?” 

“Noon.” 

“Okay then, tomorrow at noon. Second floor conference room of the library.” He jots this down in his notebook with a nod. “I will see you then.” 

“Have a good night, Detective.” 

“You as well, Y/n, stay safe.” He closes the gate between you, his fingers lingering next to yours. He has a small, far-off smile as he stares at you. “See you tomorrow.” You tap his pinky with yours, some kind of silent promise to fulfill your end of the bargain. 

“See you then.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” You’re the first to move, taking a small step back, which seems to draw him back into himself. He offers you a small bow, and one last smile before heading back the way you came.

[thecozywhaleshark]

King of Hearts (pt. 1)

A/n: ok big oof big oof big oof I’ve just started this series and get ready folks it’s gonna be a real long one and a real steamy one and i’m excited to continue it

Word Count: 3962

Warnings: Escort Jin. A little smut (fingering). Swearing. It will only get worse from here. This is the tame part.

Summary: You are a famous writer who can’t exactly show up to an event alone... so you hire an escort... his name is Jin 

Staring anxiously at the phone before you, you tapped your fingers on your desk and tried to decide.

This was not the greatest idea you’d ever had. But it couldn’t be that bad, right? You’re not that pathetic … right? This is a thing people do… right?  And nobody would ever know… right?

You sigh and bury your face in your hands.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid book party. Stupid publisher’s meeting. Stupid erotica writer with no stupid date.

Of course, you could always show up alone, but that would spark questions.

A wonderful writer like you with no date? What a shame. So pretty too. How are you getting your inspiration? Are you between boyfriends? Do you have many one night stands?

Questions you didn’t want to deal with. How do you tell your sponsors and publishers and everyone who worked on making your books boom that you haven’t been on a date in over three years? Haven’t had sex in just as long? That your sex life was so dry even the desert probably pitied you?

You stared at the website open in front of you and moved your hand over your cell phone. It’s just one night. And for totally innocent reasons. You typed in the number, put it on speaker, and waited.

The phone clicked and a friendly woman’s voice purred through the speaker:

“Heart Escort Services, this is Cindy, how may I help you today?”

You swallowed. Of course her voice sounded like sex. Just like her trade.

Quiet, you don’t know anything about her. Don’t judge. You’re the one calling the line.

“Hello? Is anyone there? I swear to god Jeremy if this is you I’m going to report you to security because you can’t keep calling to listen to my voice and jerk off you mother-”

“Um, hello.” You stammer, and the lady on the other end goes quiet for a moment.

“Oh! I’m so sorry about that. Thank you for calling Heart Escort Services, how can I help you?”

You fiddle with the string of your hoodie and bite your lip. “Do you have male escorts?”

“We sure do! Do you have any specifics?”

You laugh nervously. “Someone handsome?”

She laughs lightly. “Honey, all our men are handsome. We are a highly sought after escort service. Not just anyone can be an escort.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” You can feel yourself blushing furiously even though you knew it was just a phone call. You bury your face in your hands.

Lord God please, smite me from above.

Honestly, you didn’t care who your date was. You could always tell your publisher at the next event that it ended up being a short term fling.

“Um, do you have anyone available on March 23? I just need someone to um… escort… me to an event? It’s from 7-10pm.”

You cringe. Did I really just say ‘escort me to an event’ to an escort service? Smooth.

Cindy hums on the other end of the phone and you hear flipping – probably some sort of planner for the escort’s events.

“Alright, we have three men available on the day you requested at the time. Would you like me to give you their names and descriptions?”

You don’t want to choose. You just want a date. “Um… no… I’m not too picky.”

Cindy chortles. “That’s a first. No really, honey I’m going to need more than that. You’re paying for the service right? Then it’s okay to be picky.”

Oh, well when she puts it like that…

“Uh, what or sorry, which? Of the three is the most sociable? It’s a really social night and I need them to be able to hold their own in a room full of strangers if that’s okay? And um, younger? I’m only 24…”

You hear more clicking and humming from Cindy as she decides. “Okay, hun. I have a 26-year-old Korean man named Jin. He’s honestly one of the more talkative escorts that we have. I’m sure he would do great at your event. Just so you know, if you want him the entire night it will cost extra..”

“No!” you almost shout, then quickly backpedal. “I mean, no. No, sorry I don’t want him for the entire night. Just 7-10.”

“Alright, 7-10 it is then. Where should he meet you?”

You thought for a second. You were going to need to walk in with him. The event was at the Cedar Valley Hotel ballroom on 2nd.

“Can he meet me at Christine’s Coffeehouse and Café on 2nd Street?” It was down the street from the hotel, at the end of the block. They could walk up and in together.

You heard some more typing and pencil scribbling before Cindy spoke again. “Jin will meet you at Christine’s Coffeehouse and Café on 2nd on March 23 at 6:45 pm. He will be wearing a black suit and a red tie. Please remember that we only take cash, and you will pay him for his time.” You nod and quickly scramble over your desk for a sticky note and pen.

Jin. Black suit. Red tie. Christine’s. 6:45pm.

Cindy tells you his charge and you write it under the time with a note to make a trip to the bank, surprised at how high it is.

Of course he is dummy. He’s an escort. This place is high rank.

High, but not unreasonable you reasoned. You had the cash. He must be really good at what he does. But so were you.

“Thanks, Cindy. Anything else I should know?”

She laughs again on the other end of the line. “You should really have considered taking him for the night. You, missy, are missing out.”

You find yourself blushing furiously again and hang up. Pushing your hands through your hair and letting out a long breath.

You’re really doing this. You just hired an escort. You laughed to yourself and got out of your chair. If only your mother could see you now. Wouldn’t she be so proud?

You walk over to your closet and begin to flip through it. Black suit. Red tie. Black suit. Red Tie. What did you have that matched that?

 ~ three weeks later ~

 You stepped out of your taxi and fidgeted with your dress, pulling the hem down. You hadn’t realized how much it had shrunk when you decided to risk throwing it into the washer instead of taking it to the dry cleaners, and now your originally knee-length black pencil dress came down only to mid-thigh. You checked yourself out in the reflective glass of the café.

Simply cut black pencil dress – classy with just a little bit of décolletage and leg on display.

3 1/2-inch heels – as high as you can go without falling while you walk.

Simple crystal earrings.

Loose low bun with just the right amount of face-framing.

Black and silver beaded clutch.

You walked into the café and headed to the bathroom.

Makeup on point. Just touch of the red lipstick – red to match his tie – and you’re good.

You step out of the bathroom, putting your lipstick in your purse and sit down at one of the tables by the window, glancing at the time.

6:37 pm. You’re early.

You sip a glass of water nervously, trying hard not to bite your fingernails.

Please be here. Please don’t be late. Please be at least cute.

You swirled the condensation left from your glass on the table with the tip of your finger and looked at your phone again.

6:39pm.

God, those three minutes seemed like an eternity.

At 6:45pm on the dot, the door of the café dings open and a tall, handsome man strides in. He has purpose in every step, and you can’t stop yourself from staring as he glances around the room, sees you, and turns on his heel coming your way, dropping into the seat opposite of you.

Damn. He’s hot. Like really hot. Stupid handsome hot in a suit and tie. Nobody looks that good in a suit. And shoulders. SHOULDERS. How the fuck –

“Are you y/n?” he asks casually, crossing his legs and looking at you with one eyebrow quirked.

“How-how did you know?” you stutter, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear.

He leans forward and gives you a grin. “We’re the two best-dressed people in this establishment.”

You look around you and laugh. You definitely were. Two people in formalwear in a place that suggests jeans and sweaters.

“I guess the formal dress would give it away.” You smile at him and he grins back, putting you more at ease.

Stupid handsome guy has a nice smile. Of course he does. Shut up, y/n.

“I’m Jin.” He holds out his hand. 

You shake it, trying to give him a warm smile and not look creepy or freaked out. “Y/n, but I see you already know that.” 

“I hear we’re going to an event? What kind of event?”

You fold your hands in front of you to stop them from fidgeting. “I will tell you, but you can’t laugh.”

He leans forward even more, resting his face in his palm. “Ooo, this sounds interesting.”

“I’m serious.” You try to pull a serious face and he sits up and folds his hands in front of him too.

“Serious.”

You nod. “Okay. So this event, it’s a publisher’s dinner. Fancy thing. I’m an author, and it’s important. Help’s me keep in contact with my sponsors and donors and team who made my publishing’s possible.”

“What kind of books do you write?” he looks genuinely interested. You hesitate and decide to tell him a half-truth.

“Uh- romance. Romance novels. Real cheesy stuff.”

He nods and you can see him trying to hide his smile. You give him a side-eye. “Shut up.”

He works his jaw and takes a deep breath. Trying to hold his laughter. “I’m not laughing.”

“Yeah, but you want to. I can see it.”

He smiles then, a big one this time. “Hey wait you’re the one who just referred to her own works as, and I quote, ‘real cheesy stuff.’” He makes air quotes with his fingers and you laugh.

“That’s because it is!”

“If you think it’s cheesy, why do you write it?”

You look back down at the table with a smile and swirl the water on your table in a squiggly line. “Because people like cheese, it sells well.”

He laughs. “I bet.”

“So anyway, I can’t exactly show up to this meeting alone. Everyone thinks that I get my ideas from experience… when I do not.” You blush and look down again.

“Because you use your brain.” Says Jin and you look up, surprised at his answer.

This is the first person to know what I mean without teasing me about my lack of a sex life...

“Exactly! Nobody wants to understand that I’m using my own brain and imagination and information that I researched and read instead of personal experience.” You roll your eyes and give him a big smile and he chuckles.

“Because people are idiots and want to think they know everything,” he replies and you nod in confirmation.

He gives you an easy smile. “So a publisher’s party for a cheesy romance novelist who just wants them to stay out of her personal life. Sounds fun.” He stands and offers you his arm. “Shall we?”

You softly place your hand in the crook of his arm. “Well now, don’t I feel fancy.”

He laughs and puts his hand over yours. “If we are playing a fake couple, we better start acting like one, dearest.”

You find yourself turning red again. Damn it easily blushing face stop it. “Of course… honey.”

He grins at you. “That’s the spirit!”  

Together you walk down the street and into the hotel lobby. The desk clerk gestures you on towards the ballroom and you easily are able to find it. Taking a deep breath you place your hand on the door and look at Jin.

“You ready?” He asks, and you nod.

“Let’s do this.”

“You forgot my pet name, pumpkin.”

You roll your eyes and open the door, giving him a sugary sweet smile over your shoulder. “Sorry, babe. Now come along dear, I simply must introduce you to my publisher.”

He grins and wraps his arm around your waist, and you can only pray you can pull this off.

~

You had been at the party for over an hour now, and Jin had been great. Really great. He introduced himself as your boyfriend, and he had been making it really fun as you played pretend. Currently, you were talking to a group of your publishers and sponsors, and Jin was winning them all over with his quick smile, easy charm, bad dad jokes, and of course, his good looks. The conversation had drifted from small talk to your books quickly, and you hated it. You hated when the attention turned back on you, and you hoped nothing too revealing would be said that outed your real writing to Jin.

“And the entirety of chapter 57?! Whoo! I tried some of that out with my husband, and I have no idea how Emilia did it! We only did one of the things mentioned you know, and I’ve never been more exhausted in my life!” chimes in Julia, your publisher, fanning herself with her hand.

“Emilia?” whispers Jin, leaning down to get to your ear. “The main character in one of my books, baby,” you whisper back and Jin nods, straightening up.

“Ah yes, Emilia.” He says louder. “I love her.” You bite back your grin as your publisher coos over him.

“Of course you do, who wouldn’t?! You’re such a supportive boyfriend for reading all your books!”

So far, so good. We’re safe.

“Y/n, you do write some of the best erotica I’ve ever read in my life. Where do you learn it all?” asks Marilyn, one of your sponsors, patting your arm gently.

Shit. I jinxed it. So much for hoping nobody brings it up.

Jin chokes on his drink and tries to hide it with a cough, grabbing your arm gently. “Sorry, ladies, gentlemen,” he nods at your publishing team. “I think I’m having a coughing fit. Y/n, sweetie, would you mind stepping out to get some air with me?”

You rub his back in mock sympathy. “Sure, darling. Are you okay?”  

“I just think I need some air, peanut.”

You can’t help your smirk as you show him to the balcony. As soon as you get through the glass doors and they close behind you, Jin doubles over laughing. “You write erotica?! You??”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Hey! That’s mean.”

He leans against the balcony rail and tries to steady himself. “Wait wait wait… sorry, but the lady who writes best-selling erotica… hired an escort?! Oh, my god.”

You sigh and lean against the railing. “Are you done?”

He gasps for air and wipes tears out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. I’m good.” He straightens his tux and takes a deep breath. “I’m a professional.”

You roll your eyes. “You sure act like one.”

He smiles at you, but it’s not mean. “You’re easy to be around. This is a fun job. Normally I have to work with a lot more stiff old people.” He makes a face and you laugh.

You both stand in the cold air in silence for a few moments and he takes off his jacket, placing it around your shoulders.

You try to ignore the shiver that does down your spine when his fingers brush your bare arms and look down at it and pick up part of it with your fingers, trying to act like it’s no big deal.

“What is this? Special treatment? I didn’t know I got the deluxe deal! Oh me oh my!”

He scoffs. “I may be an escort, but I’m a gentleman.”

You nod. “Very gentlemanly.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m so glad you noticed.”

You smile. “Are you sure you won’t be cold?”

He gives you a soft smile. “What? Oh, I’m fine. I’m very warm actually. Steamy. Especially now that I know a little of Julia’s sex life.”

You laugh. “I wish conversations got better than that, but unfortunately, when you write about sex, that’s all anyone ever wants to talk about.”

He nods. “I understand that. When you’re an escort, that’s all everyone wants to talk about too.”

“Wait.. isn’t it your job to talk sex?” you giggle and he nudges you with his elbow. “Usually there’s not that much talking” he winks and you laugh.

“Okay dude, TMI.”

“TMI?! You’re the one who writes erotica! Descriptively!” he cries and you laugh again as he shakes his head.

You are both silent for a few moments before he speaks again. “Okay, but, really, what happens in Chapter 57?”

You feel your lips quirk up in a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He looks at you incredulously. “You’re going to leave me hanging?”

“Yes, you just laughed at the fact that I write erotica!”

“I was surprised!” He defends, placing his hand over his heart. “You told me you wrote cheesy romance. I feel betrayed.”

You laugh and shove him with your shoulder. “It is a cheesy romance novel…. That just happens to have a lot of smut.”

“I told you about my sex life!” he accuses and crosses his arms, pouting. “I want to know about Chapter 57.”

God, he’s cute when he pouts.

You shrug off his jacket and hand it back to him as you walk away, smirking over your shoulder.

“Then you can buy it online or at a bookstore. It’s called Wildcard. I’ve heard it’s quite popular.” You open the door and gesture him to move. “Now come on, I think you’ve recovered from your choking hazard and I have more people I have to talk to.”

He puts his jacket back on and follows you back out into the decorated ballroom, mumbling about being left on a cliffhanger and what the frick was Chapter 57 and how you’re so mean to him, really princess, you can’t give your favorite escort a brief rundown?

You ignore him and link your arm through his again as you wade back into the room, getting called over almost immediately by your editor, who wants you to meet some more people.

~

At the end of the night, you take him to a secluded hallway in the hotel and pull the money out of your purse, watching him count it as you rub your arm nervously.

“Hey,” you say, and he looks up, raising an eyebrow. “I just, wanted to say, thanks… for saving my ass in there… you really did me a solid by being my date tonight.” You laugh and look away, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Well… you did hire me…” he trails off, tucking the cash into his coat pocket.

You blush. “I know, but still… thanks. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would.”

You flick your eyes to his briefly and he looks around the hall before striding forward and cupping the back of your neck, kissing you.

You gasp in surprise and he easily slips his tongue in. You find yourself clutching at the lapels of his coat as he deepens the kiss, his other hand sliding up the side of your thigh, under your dress.

You pull back and look at him wide-eyed as he slides his hand up towards your panties. “Jin?”

He smirks and continues to slide his hand slowly up. “You overpaid. I thought you didn’t want me all night?”

You feel your cheeks redden, but your gaze can’t leave his face. “I-I just tipped you.”

He licked his lips and pressed them back to yours before kissing his way down your jaw. “I think you wanted a little…taste, baby” he whispered huskily as he nips at your neck.

I should turn away. I should push him off. It was just a tip… but OH what did he just do to my neck?? god, do it again..

You moan softly as he works his way down your neck and cups you through your panties. Your heart pounds against your chest as you choose to ignore your logical mind and do something you’ve never done before…

Oh, what the hell.

…just let it happen.

You spread your legs a little further for him and moan in his ear as he begins to rub you through your panties.

“So wet for me? Already? And here I thought you just hired me as pretty eye candy,” he grins against your neck as you grab his hair, tugging his mouth back to yours, desperate for something, anything.

He slides his fingers under the side of your panties and you bite his lip when he teases his fingers up and down your folds, sliding against your slick.

“Ooo, you’re a feisty one, I see,” he smirks and nips your mouth right back, sliding his fingers slowly against you.

You had never been this turned on in your life, despite having past boyfriends who had tried and a few hookups… but none of them had ever felt this good. Had made you feel this good.

“Jin,” you moan, bucking your hips into his hand. “More.”

“As you wish ma ’lady” he nips harshly at your neck and you yelp, but he quickly lavishes over it with his tongue, soothing as his finger drags your slick to your clitoris and he begins to circle it slowly.

The back of your head hits the hallway wall, exposing more of your neck to Jin’s lips as you have to bite your own hand to stifle your moans when he slips a finger inside you.

He moans against your neck and pulls away from it with a pop, resting his forehead against your own.

“God, y/n, you’re so tight,” he whispers, pumping his finger in and out of you and then adding a second.

You buck your hips against his hand and he beings to curl his fingers up, grazing your sweet spot so deliciously as he begins to make out with you again to soften your moans.

He works you like this for a little while and you start keening, panting his name into his mouth while your hands clutch at his hair and shoulders to keep your balance standing up.

It’s all so much, too much, for someone who hasn’t been touched like this in years, and you find yourself burying your face into his chest when he presses his thumb to your clit with just the right amount of pressure and you come hard over his fingers, moaning his name.

He works you through your orgasm and as you come down you blush red again, realizing that you just let an escort, that you paid for, get you off in a back hotel hallway.

You hide in his shirt a few moments longer, trying to breathe until he gently pushes you off his chest and slides his fingers out from your underwear. You pull back, your hands still on his shoulders and he smirks seductively as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks, making you blush harder.

He then shoves that hand in his pocket and backs away from you, giving you a two-fingered salute with his other hand.

“See you around, y/n. That was fun.”

He winks and turns, strolling out of the hotel doors, leaving you open-mouthed, panting, and wondering why that had been the best orgasm you’d ever had.

~~

Part 2 

[dillydedalus]

september reading

there is literally no way it is september. impossible. anyway this month we have  horror, Fake Dating, the rashomon effect, a time war, and most importantly, no neutrals to be found anywhere

the old man & his sons, heðin brú (tr. from faroese by john f. west) published on the faroe islands in 1940 and the first faroese novel to be translated into english, this is a story about the dramatic shift in life style during the 30s on the faroe islands, from hardscrabble subsistence farming/fishing to market economy. interesting look at changing life on isolated isles, and a much lighter (and shorter) take on the stubborn autonomous subsistence farmer than laxness’s independent people. 3/5

the white shroud, antanas škėma (tr from lithuanian by karla gruodis - english/claudia sinnig - german) a modernist, fragmented, nonlinear novel about a lithuanian poet gone into exile, now working as an elevator operator in a new york hotel, who is involved with a married woman but might also be terminally ill. in between the present timeline, the book flashes back (both in the character’s own writing and in third person) to his youth in lithuania, his torture at the hands of the soviet regime, his time at a DP camp in germany and so on. quite interesting, with some great writing. 3/5

things we lost in the fire, mariana enríquez (tr. from spanish by megan mcdowell) really good collection of horror-ish short stories that also touch on gendered violence, child abuse, poverty and argentinian history (esp. dictatorship and disappearances) - some stories are more overtly horror, with clear supernatural elements, others are more ambiguous. i don’t read (or watch) horror stuff so i’m a bad judge of how scary this is - i found it more gruesome and upsetting than terrifying, but the dread is strong in this one. favourites: adela’s house (hungry haunted house), end of term and the title story (women & self-inflictred violence), under the black water (the poisoned oil-choked river is very bad but maybe.... there’s something worse in there). good, vividly gruesome, sharp sharp sharp. 3.5/5

axiom’s end, lindsay ellis i really like lindsay ellis, of all the ~youtube video essayists~ she’s probably my favourite and this book a) has a cool premise - aliens + conspiracies + alien communication and b) a really cool cover, and it’s lindsay, so i was super excited for this one. and it would be unfair to say i was disappointed with it; it’s a fun first contact romp with really good pacing, cool aliens, on-brand lindsay ellis humour and some interesting ideas on communicating with someone who is truly alien and incomprehensible. it’s fine! i enjoyed it and will definitely read the sequel, it’s just... i was hoping it would be AMAZING, and it just wasn’t. no huge problems (except for a few lines i would have liked to take a red pen to), just.... it was fine. 3.5/5 

zeno’s conscience, italo svevo (tr. from italian by william weaver) imagine you’re a businessman in trieste who does a little unsuccessful writing on the side and one day you decide to take english lessons to improve your business opportunities with the uk and your english teacher is JAMES FUCKING JOYCE who tells you that you need to keep writing. incredible. anyway these are the autobiographical notes of one zeno cosini, a hapless hypochondriac smug self-delusional fool, who just cannot quite quit smoking, marries the one sister out of three he least desires, & works as an accountant (for the man who married his most-desired of said sisters) despite his rather tenuous grasp on bookkeeping. my favourite scene is when his future sister in law (2nd most desired) complains lightly about her difficulties with latin, he tells her that he believes latin is a man’s language and even roman ladies probably didn’t actually speak it, only for her to correct him on a latin quotation. i will say tho that this book is way to long to maintain the endearingness and often drags. 3/5 tfw u write for an audience of one but that one is james joyce so fair enough

der hund/der tunnel/die panne, friedrich dürrenmatt dürrenmatt (in addition to having a cool-ass name) really fucking slaps!  his stuff is really good, and often really really wild. these three stories are all weird & slightly existentially scary, two degrees left of reality, and just. so interesting! we have a man stalking a street preacher and his monstrous dog, a train going through a tunnel for way too long (and it is very scary), and a man becoming involved in a pretend-trial (or is it) and becoming convinced that he actually is a murderer (or is he, really?). anyway, dürrenmatt.... slaps. 4/5

wow, no thank you., samantha irby a mix of memoir and comedy blogpost and social critique blogpost about growing up poor & black, dating while fat, chronic illness, and settling down in rural america. it’s fine. i haven’t read irby’s previous collections so maybe i’m missing that emotional connection, but i thought it was mostly...okay?? not especially funny imo & i prefered the more serious chapters of which there weren’t enough. 2/5

they say in harlan county: an oral history, alessandro portelli really impressive oral history about life in harlan county, appalachia, focusing on the labor strikes and conflicts in the 30s and 40s, but really exploring life and politics in the region from the first non-native settlement there to today. really interesting, sometimes inspiring and often infuriating and probably worth reading if you’ve ever listened to which side are you on. 4/5

rashomon & other stories, ryunosuke akutagawa (tr. from japanese by jay rubin) fun fact: if you read the short story “rashomon” expecting to get the, y’know, rashomon effect, you won’t get it bc the film actually takes its plot from the story  “in a grove”. anyway this is an interesting collection of classic japanese short stories, many of which are actually about unreliable witnesses/narrators. i particularly enjoyed “in a grove” and the truly disturbing “hell screen”, but found this particular collection just a bit too long. 3/5

women without men, shahrnush parsipur (tr. from farsi by kamran talatoff & joceyln sharlet) a magical realist feminist novella about 5 women in iran who all try to liberate themselves from men in one way or another, more or less successfully (one of them turns into a tree, another becomes undead), until they end up in a semi-utopian garden together for a time. disturbing in its depiction oppression and sexual/gendered violence. i don’t really know how i feel about it, but it’s a really unique and interesting reading experience; very fraught and ambivalent in the end. 3.5/5

take a hint, dani brown, talia hibbert i think this is the first actual pure genre-romance book i’ve read... in years??possibly ever? idk. anyway this is mostly a pretty fun & sweet story about ambitious & emotionally constipated phd student dani brown and security guy with tragic past zaf ansari, who begin a fake relationship for Various Reasons (as you do) and both develop Real Feelings (as you do, predictably). it’s mostly really enjoyable but man i’m really not used to Romance writing & it’s a lot. in the end everyone is very genuine & earnest & emotionally honest which.... not to be even more emotionally repressed than dani but i cannot deal with that. anyway given that 2020 truly is the gift that keeps on giving this was a fun fluffy delight & i might  read more from the series. 3.5/5

this is how you lose the time war, amal el-mohtar & max gladstone two agents (red and blue) on opposing sides of a time war (the futuristic techy Agency vs the eco/organic Garden - neither of them is Good or Bad exactly) start writing letters as they hunt each other through the strands of time’s braid and eventually (inevitably) fall in love. really interesting concept of time travel and different timelines (if, like me, you conceptualise past as down and future as up, this will trip you up so much), very lyrical writing that sometimes toes the line to overwritten but mostly really works. 3.5/5

DNF: the madman of freedom square & the iraqi christ, hassan blasim (tr. from arabic by jonathan wright, german tr. by hartmut fähndrich) bindup of these two short story collections about iraq. these are incredibly brutal, depressing & horrifying stories about a country in a constant state of war & struggle. couldn’t bear it, probably not ever & certainly not right now. 

allegro pastell, leif randt (audio) this is brilliant, bitingly funny novel about a millenial couple, tanja & jerome, and their on-and-off long distance relationship. they are privileged (and half-aware of it), attractive, successful, very in touch with their own feelings (couldn’t be me), self-reflective, faintly ironic in everything bc sincerity might be cringe, and you will hate them. these are people who perform their feelings rather than feel them, dissect all their opinions and impulses to the point of both paralysis and narcissism, engage in constant navelgazing and cannot form any relationship that isn’t based in constant evaluation and judgment. they pride themselves on their nonconformity but are really the greatest conformists of all, and the most square, boring, spießig people under the veneer of their urban liberal drug-and-club lifestyle. had so much fun with it even as i was constantly cringing at these people. 4/5

[feynites]

Scum Villain AU

Welp, fell down a rabbit hole of translations for novels written by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, and my brain would not let go of the idea for a Scum Villain sharkbait AU. I blame @pyrrhy also for being a fantastic enabler.

So, this is a thing now! But first, on Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, the general synopsis is that a book reviewer dies suddenly with his last thoughts being of how unsatisfied he was with the harem/stallion novel he just finished reading. He finds himself subsequently transported into the body of a minor ‘scum’ villain from said book, with the task of fixing/improving the story. Of course, the character he’s currently been cast as was, in the original novel, dismembered and killed by the protagonist.

In the interests of not having that happen, our intrepid hero immediately starts trying to suck up to the protagonist. He does a good job. In fact he does such a good job that the protagonist ends up falling in love with him, and therein lies the core of the story’s shenanigans.

If you wanna read the translations, it’s ongoing here at bc novels. For other works by the same author, there’s Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi, which also has an animated series) over here at Exiled Rebels Scanlations, and Heaven’s Official Blessing is being translated here at Sakhyulations. Translating is hard work so if you read and enjoy any of ‘em, it’s nice to consider donating to the sites, too!

Some of the above stories definitely fall into problematic pitfalls of the slash genre, though. While I am a big fan of the pacing and storytelling Mo Xiang Tong Xiu pulls off and love her characters, I’ve been forewarned on some issues too. As I’m still reading my way through I can’t give my personal assessment on a lot of that stuff or offer more in-depth warnings for everything. But it should probably be mentioned.

Warnings For This Fic in Particular: At the outset of our story, Uthvir is underage. No romance is gonna take place while they are, but when they meet Thenvunin is an 18 year-old posing as their teacher, and Uthvir is 15. This is a slow burn. I also follow the original plot points of the story pretty closely but change up the order/direction of some things, too.

Additional Notes: In the original novel, the story that the lead character gets sucked into is a fantasy/cultivation novel hybrid with elements from a whole thwack of other genres, too. I’m leaning more heavily into the fantasy stuff because I don’t have much experience with cultivation novels, just for reference, but it should be noted that a lot of the story elements draw expressly from Chinese culture and I can take no credit for them - just in case anyone who’s totally new to these genres reads along. Also, I took some liberty with the names of things, because just throwing in Chinese words seemed unfitting and I’m not following the entire script on world-building elements. (Plus, in the novel, the story’s author is notoriously bad at naming things anyway.)

Alright, my apologies for the huge stack of notes/explanations! Please enjoy reading. The characters Calain and Jhe’andal (not seen in this chapter but bound to appear later) belong to @pyrrhy, who’s graciously loaned them to me so I can mess around.

“Stupid author, stupid novel!”

  Thenvunin was not entirely surprised that those ended up being the last words he uttered in life. Though he is rather regretful about it. But at the time, processing the sudden failure of his ongoing health treatments had been harder than just fixating on the fact that, probably, the last book he was ever going to read in his life had been that terrible trainwreck of a harem fantasy novel.

  That popular disaster of a book, ‘Immortal Demon Way’. With records broken on copies sold, but most critics more or less agreeing that it was mindless dreck. Except, the problem was, it wasn’t really ‘mindless’ dreck. There had been parts that were really promising. That was the real tragedy of the entire mess. The story had plenty of interesting side-characters and concepts, some intriguing world-building, even the promise of genuinely engaging content. But all of it had been tethered to a truly terrible main plotline. A black hole of a plot that managed to be boring and offensive by turns, even if the protagonist did manage to come across as somewhat compelling once in a blue moon.

  Because ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was pure self-indulgent trash. The leading character, Uthvir, was one of those characters whose tragic life led them onto a dark path of retribution and conquest. Despite being pure-hearted in their youth, the constant mistreatment from people around them eventually blackened their heart, until they were the sort of person who wear a friendly smile while torturing a man to death. And naturally, over the course of the story, they managed to accumulate a truly massive harem, all filled with beautiful women. Even though the author - writing under an anonymous pen name of ‘Half-Demon Prince’, had come out and said that the character wasn’t exclusively attracted to women - that claim never manifested in the actual text. Which made the whole gesture feel quite performative.

  Honestly, Thenvunin probably would have never picked up the book if he didn’t need to review it for the site he worked for. He’d never been fond of harem works, where the hero collects love interests like they’re filling up a basket of flowers. It had less to do with the numbers involved, and more to do with the sheer fact that more love interests usually meant less development on any particular relationship. Plus, inevitably, there would be scheming plotlines within the harem, and Thenvunin had never liked reading about women causing one another to miscarry or murdering each other’s babies to try and keep ahead in ranking. Luckily, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ hadn’t included a lot of such content, and what was there had been easy to skip. Enough so that Thenvunin had found himself speed-reading most of the ‘romantic’ parts. A sure sign of failure, given that romance was his actual preferred genre.

  But yes, all in all, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was one of those stories he would have been happy not to think about ever again. And instead, it had ended up being his last thought in life.

  Well…

  In his old life, at any rate.

  But somehow, after he had died, he had found himself hearing an odd robot voice in his mind. Sort of like one of those automatic screen-readers.

  <Request processed… final request accepted… Welcome, Participant, to the ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project! Your dying wish has granted you access to this system. Starting points are tabulated at 100. Story goals - to improve the overall quality, reduce plotholes, and revitalize interesting conceptual material that was overshadowed by [Garbage Main Plotline.] This system is now receptive to inquiries.>

  W. ..what…?

   “...What’s going on?” Thenvunin had asked.

  The obvious question, really. He had felt panicked, or rather, like he should be panicked, but also like everything he could feel was very far away. Shock? He’d gone into shock before. It was a similar sensation, but not exact. But then again, there could be a lot of variables with that sort of thing. Everywhere around him just looked blurry, and pale. As if he was standing in a very modern office and wearing smudged glasses. He wondered if he’d survived after all, and if this latest disaster in his health had damaged his eyes so badly.

  It was a chilling thought. Or, it should have been.

  <Participant has been accepted for the currently-operating ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project. Activation words ‘stupid author, stupid novel’. Combined with a death wish, the pathways have been opened up for Participant’s consciousness to be transferred to the world of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.>

  World? What world?

  “I don’t understand,” Thenvunin said. “Am I in the hospital? Where’s my mother?”

  That last question was perhaps more embarrassing than he would have liked, but it didn’t seem as if he was feeling embarrassment too keenly, either. And his mother always came whenever he was hospitalized. Thenvunin was only eighteen, and had been sick all of his life. Naturally, his mother worried a great deal about him, and the hospital staff knew to inform her whenever he had a serious incident.

  <Participant has been accepted for the currently-operating ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project. Participant is currently being housed in a waiting room. Acceptance of admittance will trigger consciousness-transfer to feasible candidate for accomplishing compatible story goals. Refusal will result in immediate transference back to the participant’s native world. WARNING: Refusal not recommended. Participant’s corporeal status in native world has been determined: Deceased. Probable outcome of refusal is fatality.>

  Deceased…?

  Thenvunin reeled, and even with his current level of detachment, struggled to process it all. He tried asking the “system” more questions, but none of them seemed to garner satisfactory answers. Asking who had created it didn’t get him anywhere. Nor did asking how it knew anything about him. Asking what this whole ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project was just prompt a repeat of the ‘story goals’ - it sounded like he was being moved into a story in order to fix it? Like a sort of virtual reality?

  He had a great deal of trouble processing the whole concept.

  But then, there didn’t seem to be anything for him to do but accept it in the end, either. It could all be a trick, but, Thenvunin did remember dying. Or something that felt close enough to it that he couldn’t bring himself to take that risk. He was afraid of dying; afraid enough that he could feel it, even as he drifted in that strange ‘waiting room’.

  It was a feeling that followed him as he woke up in another strange room. But this time it was one he could see. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt like he had a terrible headache. The room around him definitely wasn’t a hospital, however. As he sat up, he could see sunlight streaming through several beautiful, open windows. The air smelled fresh, like the mountains he had visited once, before his father left. He sits up to find himself laid out in a comfortable bed, with a clothe on his brow, and a very light but comfortable robe on his body. The pale green fabric is the same colour as his eyes, but he only stares at it for a moment before his attention is arrested by something else.

  His body.

  Which is… definitely not his body.

  There’s a curtain of long, wavy hair falling down past his shoulders. His chest is broad and… chiseled? How could he possibly have a chiseled chest? And his arms are muscular, and long, and utterly devoid of the scars he had gotten from his car crash eight months ago, when he had tried to drive himself to the hospital and veered into a lamppost instead. Thenvunin is almost too shocked to move, but after a moment, he finds himself hurriedly pushing back the blankets and looking at the rest.

  His legs - !

  His legs look… they look good! Moreover, as he moves, he’s startled to realize that he doesn’t feel any pain. None at all, apart from his headache. Under other circumstances he would assume he was on some heavy painkillers, but obviously, this might not even be the case? He moves his legs and marvels at the ease of it, swivels his hips and feels nothing, and after a minute he cannot help but leap out of bed and begin jumping around, amazed and entranced…

  …And more than a little disconcerted. This body is totally, completely different from his own. He looks down at it and intellectually knows that he’s inside of it, but it scarcely feels that way. After a few minutes of either celebrating or panicking, or possibly both, Thenvunin finally locates a full-body mirror next to a dressing station in one corner of the room.

  He stares uncomprehendingly at himself.

  His eyes are the same, and his hair is the same - if somewhat longer, he thinks - and there’s a certain congruity between his facial features. But the man staring back at him is undeniably, completely different. He looks both strong and elegant, somehow. More muscular than Thenvunin would have ever idealized himself as, but the strength in those muscles is making him feel slightly giddy as he moves. And he’s tall. He’s not stooping over in the least, not struggling to keep his shoulders straight, feeling no pain from his surprisingly trim waistline…

  It can’t be him!

  He’s still trying to reconcile the idea when he realizes he has no clue who this character is, either. From the system, he gathered that he was going to be transported into an existing character’s body. But there are a few who might match the description of this one, and even more who were mostly undescribed. The only thing he knows for certain is that he is not Uthvir; they would not be so tall.

  Right?

  System, who am I supposed to be?

  <Congratulations on beginning your Death Wish Journey! Participant’s assigned designation is: Thenvunin Thenerassan. Status is: Project Virgin. Would you like some Beginner Tips?>

  He freezes in place, at the sound of the response which he can somehow tell is purely in his own mind.

  Did the system just call him a virgin…?

  How would it know?!

  Although it seemed to know everything. Thenvunin paused in embarrassment, before the rest of the message finally registered. His character is Thenevunin Thenerassan…?

  Wait, ‘Thenerassan’? That villain? The corrupt instructor who was always taking time to abuse and harass Uthvir, when they were still young and full of hope for the future? He’d never even realized the character had a first name! Though admittedly, he hadn’t read all of the author’s shared notes and ‘tidbits’ on social media. For a moment he is thoroughly offended. How dare this horrible character share his name!

  And then he remembers.

  Thenerassan…

  Thenerassan dies in this story!

  And not peacefully, oh no. After years of abusing Uthvir and then finally betraying them utterly at the grand tournament, the hero comes back seeking vengeance, with their heart blackened and ruthless. They utterly decimate Thenerassan’s reputation, until there is no one on earth who would pity him, and eventually end up taking him prisoner. Then they cut off his limbs, one by one, and blind him, and use their demonic blood to torture him until he can finally take no more and expires.

  And Thenvunin himself had once visited the story’s forums to express disappointment that this character wasn’t castrated, too. Considering everything he had done.

  He feels faint, going white as a sheet while he stares in the mirror. So consumed with terror that he doesn’t even hear the door to the room opening.

  “Brother?” an unfamiliar voice calls.

  Thenvunin whips his head around, and freezes in place. A new kind of fear gripping him, as he looks at this unfamiliar person. Presumably a character in the story. For half a heartbeat, he’s almost afraid that it’s Uthvir, come to drag him off for torture and death. But then his mind catches up with him. No, this is… that wouldn’t be right. This place, based on the descriptions, must be Thenerassan’s chambers on Quiet Peak temple. The author of ‘Immortal Demon Way’ had only very loosely followed the structure of a ‘cultivation’ novel, taking grand liberties with the various stages and processes of most established works. The Peaks, as he recalled, were little more than supernatural stomping grounds; like elite clubs for people who had attained immortality through cultivating their internal energies, and becoming incredible fighters.

  If he is at Quiet Peak, then he mustn’t be at a point in the story where this character has been ruined, yet. But that’s only one relief; he still finds himself looking at a concerned face he doesn’t recognize.

  “...Yes?” he finally ventures.

  The stranger comes into the room. He is a man. Handsome. Long dark hair, pretty brown eyes, middle-dark complexion. He could be any number of a dozen characters, really, but Thenvunin supposes he could narrow it down to the ones populating Quiet Peak. It was an early part of the story, so one he remembers fairly well.

  Before he can latch onto a guess, though, the stranger pauses and gives him an assessing look.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks. “Your disciples said you collapsed out of nowhere on the practice fields. Compassion took a look at you but couldn’t see any problem, either with your health or internal mystic energies. She advised that we let you rest…”

  “Ah,” Thenvunin says. “Um. Well. Yes, I… fainted.”

  The stranger raises an eyebrow.

  “You fainted? Have you been neglecting yourself in some way, brother?” he asks. He seems cordial enough, which further limits the possibilities for who he could be. Dark hair, brown eyes, friendly enough to check in on the unlikable Thenerassan’s health…

  “...Venavismi?” he ventures.

  The man blinks.

  “Yes?” he asks.

  Oh thank goodness.

  “I. Um. I seem to be… not feeling well…” he says. It feels like an odd thing to say, since technically speaking, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so well before in his life. He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a soft ‘bing’ inside his head, though.

  <Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert. Current Participant has OOC Restriction Locks still in place. OOC Restriction Locks can be removed once Achievement: Character Development has been obtained.>

  Thenvunin freezes in place again.

  What?

  <Please specify query.>

  What are OOC Restriction Locks?!

  <OOC Restriction Locks are a branch of Participant Autonomy Limitations. Violating locks will result in points penalties relative to the degree of violation.>

  Meaning… if he behaves out of character, he’ll be penalized?

  But Thenerassan is a monster! Thenvunin can’t act like that. It would be beyond the pale! And besides, how can he possibly change anything in this story if he has to act like an amoral reprobate the entire time? No, wait. There was more, wasn’t there?

  What’s ‘Achievement: Character Development’?

  <Certain limitations will be removed by the system once achievements have been obtained. To obtain Achievement: Character Development, Participant must earn points by completing actions that fall within the parameters of Participant’s behaviour as well as Character: Thenerassan’s.>

  What?! How am I supposed to do that, I’m nothing like that wretch!

  Thenvunin is still in the process of thinking furiously in his mind when Venavismi seems to decide that he must be rattled. He’s accustomed enough to being handled by nurses that being steered back towards his bed barely registers in his mind, until he finds himself being settled onto the mattress again.

  “...more rest, brother,” Venavismi is saying, genially. He seems to be about as nice as the impression his character gave off, in the story. Thenvunin always felt rather badly about his death. Which… he suddenly recalls, was Thenerassan’s fault. Retaliating in a fury after the accusations against him had landed, he had killed the first people who attempted to apprehend him, only for Uthvir to swoop in and put a stop to him. One of them had been Venavismi. Decapitated, as he recalls…

  He feels an inexplicable rush of shame. Not that he’s responsible for Thenerassan’s actions, but, well…

  “Thank you,” he says. “You are a very upright person, Venavismi, even if you can make terrible jokes sometimes.”

  <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -15.>

  What? Just for saying ‘thank you’?!

  <Character: Thenerassan would not thank Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would not compliment Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would also not display weakness in front of a potential rival. -5 Deduction. Deductions reduced by 50% due to mitigating factor: Plausible Disorientation.>

  Internally, Thenvunin fumes. Plausible?! He is most certainly disoriented, of course he is!

  But Venavismi does look very surprised.

  “Um. Thank you, brother…?” he ventures. “I think I had better get another healer to attend to you. Do you remember hitting your head on anything when you collapsed?”

  “Of course not, I don’t even remember collapsing!” Thenvunin snaps, flustered and unhappy with having lost points. Even though he doesn’t know what the points mean. He lets Venavismi bow his way out of the room, the atmosphere awkward and disconcerting, and then finally just drops his head into his hands.

  What do all these points even mean, System?

  <Would you like to see Beginner’s Tips?>

  …Yes. Yes, I would, if that will explain this whole confusing mess!

  <Beginner’s Tips have been activated! Additional Mode: Character File Recognition has also been activated. New characters will now appear with their names provided by the system, in the event that Character: Thenerassan would be able to recognize them. For a cost of an additional 100 points, Easy Mode may be activated. Warning: current point levels insufficient to make payment. Regarding point system: actions furthering project goals generate points. Lock violations or insufficient story progress will incur penalties. Negative point status will result in Participant’s ejection from the project.>

  Ejection from the project…?

  In other words, then, if his points go into the negatives, he’ll be sent back home.

  Where he’s… dead.

  And what happens if I die during the course of this project? He wonders, thinking of the chilling prospect of Thenerassan’s canonical fate.

  Death of the Participant will result in ejection from the project.

  So… death, again.

  Thenvunin lets out a shaky breath.

  He would… yes, he would definitely rather avoid that, all things considered. But by the time a healer - whose name Thenerassan apparently would not have bothered to know - comes to his chambers, he doesn’t feel much closer to regaining his equilibrium.

   ~

   Thenvunin takes an entire day to rest from his ‘mysterious illness’. In the evening, one of his disciples comes with something more substantial for him to eat. Desire, or ‘Squish’, as the narrative had nicknamed her. She is a pleasant girl, and a teenager, though how old she exactly is would depend on when he’s arrived on this scene. Assuming it’s prior to Uthvir’s descent into hell, she could be anywhere between fourteen and nineteen. Thenerassan - the original - had lusted after this girl, behaving inappropriately the entire time. Seeing the girl come into his rooms, Thenvunin is appalled twice-over by that particular story element. Here Thenerassan was supposed to be her mentor, but he had scarcely seemed to teach her anything except that authority figures weren’t to be trusted! And then she had joined Uthvir’s harem, all full of scandals and intrigue, and… admittedly, Thenvunin had rather lost track of her character after that.

  He didn’t recall her has terribly complex. Mostly just sweet, and devoted, a simple ‘childhood friend’ style love-interest. Though he’s surprised when she comes in, and he notices that she lacks the typical ‘dainty’ appearance of such a girl. Instead she is heavy-set and… well, fat. With a round face and broad nose, and a tumble of curly dark hair. She is still quite beautiful, and obviously more than strong enough to handle the training at the peak, but Thenvunin doesn’t recall imagining her this way at all from her description.

  Then again, Half-Demon Prince, the author, hadn’t been as typically prone to describing the female characters’ measurements and ‘charms’ as most writers in the genre. There had been a lot of fanart… perhaps the standard interpretation of this character was based more on a popular fanartist’s work, than on all the possibilities contained in her description?

  But then, why should the ‘project’ choose an atypical interpretation, rather than the most common one?

  He supposes that all has to do with how the system even works, and on that front, it has remained entirely silent.

  “Teacher, will this meal do?” Squish asks him. Respectful, but a little distant.

  It suddenly strikes Thenvunin - Squish was Uthvir’s only childhood friend. The protagonist. If he is to survive this ordeal, it seems absolutely paramount that Uthvir not want to kill him.

  “This meal is fine,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He focuses intently on Squish’s face. “Tell me, how old are you this year?”

  For a moment, he’s almost afraid that the system will tell him that was out-of-character. But it remains silent, and Squish’s expression turns somewhat reluctant.

  “Sixteen,” she tells him.

  Sixteen… which makes Uthvir fifteen. Three years. Thenvunin has three years to undo Uthvir’s hatred of him. But this also means that Uthvir has already spent two years around the Original Thenerassan. Being bullied, being starved, being beaten, being left out in the cold… Thenvunin pales at the thought of all the rampant child abuse. His only, minor consolation is that Thenerassan hadn’t liked to dirty his own hands. He had preferred to simply encourage the other disciples’ bullying, or to dole out punishments that simply resulted in Uthvir’s misfortune, by doing things like handing out complicated assignments too close to curfew. The other Thenerassan had been concerned with appearances, at least, and the reputation of his sect. It was probably the only reason why he hadn’t just immediately tossed his poor disciple off the mountain.

  “My parents have said that they will outright refuse all petitions for my hand until I am twenty,” Squish says, jarring Thenvunin out of his thoughts.

  He blinks at her.

  “Sensible of them,” he replies.

  <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -5.>

  Oh, for-!

  He doesn’t bother to ask what that is about, realizing in a rush of nausea that this interaction must seem like he is digging into his student’s personal business to figure out if he can browbeat her family into handing her over to him. What a sick man the original truly was! He has to fight the urge to clarify things, knowing it will only cost him at the moment.

  How many points do I have left? He wonders.

  He isn’t entirely addressing the system, but it answers for him anyway.

  <Current point total: 80>

  Since he got here, he’s only managed to lose points…

  Squish stares mildly back at him. He lets out a breath.

  “Do you know where Disciple Uthvir is?” he asks, attempting to sound as neutral as possible. Neutral cannot really be out of character, right? If Thenerassan was always spitting furious every time he mentioned Uthvir’s name, surely the other mentors at the peak would have had to notice?

  Thankfully, that assessment seems correct, as there is no warning or ‘ding’.

  Squish’s expression turns wary.

  “They’re still doing the tasks you assigned them this morning,” she replies. “They’ve been working as hard as they can.”

  Thenvunin purses his lips. Scowling, but not at his student; he’s just trying to figure out how he can start to repair things, when one of the most concrete aspects of Thenerassan’s character was his ardent hatred of all things Uthvir.

  “Send them here,” he decides.

  <Warning->

  How can it be OOC? This is entirely self-serving! He argues. If I don’t get on Uthvir’s good side, I’ll die horribly. If the original Thenerassan knew that, don’t you think he’d start being nicer, too?

  <Beginner Tip: motives attributed solely to the Participant will not be considered in assessments of OOC Lock violations. Participant must also be advised of total points devaluation in the event of Character Identity Compromise. Revealing Participant’s nature as a transplanted outsider to non-Participant individuals within the project will result in Total Project Reset and ejection of all current participants.>

  Thenvunin swallows.

  The food on the lovely tray in front of him makes him slightly nauseous. Squish looks suspicious, but after a moment, she can only nod obediently and leave to go get Uthvir. She looks as though she might say something to him, for a moment. But after a moment passes, she only shakes her head, and then leaves.

  So now he needs to think of something that the original Thenerassan would do, that will put a stop to all these abuses - or at least, begin to - without losing him any further points. He has no idea how difficult it will be to regain points, since he hasn’t gained any so far. And that ‘Easy Mode’ that the system mentioned before seems like the sort of thing he might like to unlock, but he’s definitely not going to do so when it will bring his point total remotely close to 'zero'.

  By the time Uthvir shows up, the food has gone cold, but Thenvunin thinks he might have happened on a solution. He has moved from his rest bed to his desk, unable to sit still. But he finds himself somewhat frozen again when he finally sees them.

  Uthvir.

  The terrible demonic tyrant who will eventually slaughter hundreds. Who will build a massive harem of beautiful lovers, all vying for their affections. The sharp, dangerous, deadly protagonist of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.

  …But, they’re just a child.

  Or a teenager, but Thenvunin’s a legal adult and feels very adult compared to the tiny figure who walks into his chambers. They’ve cut their hair, he notes. He forgets what age they did that at in the story, but thinking on it, it probably wasn’t long after they arrived on the peak. Their uniform is ill-fitting but clean, pulled from standard storage. They have large, red eyes, and soft features. Really, they look younger than fifteen.

  But what catches most of his attention is the large blemish on the top of their cheek, and the ugly cut at the corner of their jaw.

  Thenvunin stares at them while they shift in place. Waiting to see what kind of torment he has in store for them, no doubt.

  I can’t do this. How can I be cruel to a child?

  <Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert.>

  After a moment, Thenvunin clears his throat, and reminds himself of his plan. He makes certain his features retain a cold look, with great effort, as he reaches into a pocket of his robes, and retrieves a little jar of healing salve that the healer left with him. Uthvir’s wary expression does not abate as he tosses it to them; but with their reflexes, of course they catch it.

  “It is disgraceful for one of my disciples to go around looking like that,” he declares, lifting his chin and pursing his lips to keep from saying anything else. Poor thing, poor thing, oh you poor little thing… “From now on, there will be no more transgressions to call my good character and teaching into question.”

  Uthvir seems to pale at his assertions.

  “Teacher,” they say, hurriedly. “Please don’t turn me out. I swear, I will not - I will not provoke them anymore. I know I have been slow at learning how not to, but I think I have made progress... I will redouble my efforts! Please, I have nowhere else to go...”

  Thenvunin frowns at their fright, before realizing that Uthvir does not recognize what the healing salve is; they probably think he’s conjuring up an excuse to kick them out of the sect. But even Thenerassan couldn’t really do that - despite his best efforts, Uthvir’s acceptance onto the mountain was the doing of Mana’Din, the Peak Leader.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he snaps, and they fall immediately silent. “Do you not even know what a healing salve looks like?”

  The OOC Warning remains mercifully silent, but Thenvunin feels like he is dying on the inside.

  Uthvir stares uncomprehendingly down at the little jar he gave them.

  “This… is healing salve?”

  They don’t even know what it looks like! I can smell it from here, but they’re clueless?! They’ve never seen it before?!

  Come to that, Thenvunin hadn’t seen it before, either. But apparently he still has some sense memories from the Original… which would also explain why his coordination isn’t completely shot, even if he still feels like a ghost sitting in someone else’s body.

  Uthvir doesn’t have the excuse of transporting themselves between worlds, though. They should know what a salve smells like even better than he does. Or they would, if Half-Demon Prince hadn’t given them such a reprehensibly deprived childhood. The realization makes his heart crack in half.

  “I expect you to use it,” he says.

  He braces himself…

  At the ominous ‘ding’ in his mind he nearly dies inside; but to his surprise, the system’s tone isn’t its usual ‘points deducted’ one. It takes him a moment to really register what it’s saying.

  <Congratulations! Points toward Achievement: Character Development earned, +10.>

  ...How many points do I need to get the achievement?

  <Beginner’s Tip: Achievements are unlocked at 100 points gained, determined from the moment achievement challenge is set..>

  That’s… that’s not so bad, actually. Thenvunin would almost feel good about it, if he hadn’t just been unreasonably cold and cruel to an injured teenager.

   ...He's going to have to do this at least ten more times. He takes it back, this is terrible.

  But Uthvir looks uncomprehendingly at the salve for a moment longer. Before they seem to remember that they’re in the same room as their villainous instructor, and then quickly drop into a bow.

  “Thank you, Teacher,” they say.

  “Hmph,” Thenvunin replies. “You can go.”

  Uthvir doesn’t waste any time in getting away, probably grateful to escape without having something unpleasant happen to them. Once they’re gone, Thenvunin drops back onto his bed, and puts his face into his hands. His shoulders shake, as tears begin to form in his eyes, and spill through the cracks of his fingers.

  It’s just a story, he tells himself. Even if it’s different to experience it firsthand, all these people are just characters in a book. It’s not really real.

  Is it?

~

Thenvunin manages to knock his point totals down to 65 before he finally begins to feel confident in manipulating the OOC Locks. Though he still hasn’t managed to earn any new points, he’s figured out some things about the system, and how they seem to be lost.

 For one thing, witnesses are required. Thenvunin can do any number of out-of-character things in private, but the system will only notify him of a ‘ding’ if there’s someone present to see it. Which is a good thing, because Thenvunin finds himself breaking down in private quite a bit. The system will also generally warn him if there’s someone liable to witness his out-of-character moments - and whatever else might be said, he does appreciate that. Particularly when he’s been weeping in his rooms, and one of his disciples or another immortal from the peak is on their way to find him.

 It’s not that he’s thoroughly miserable, though. It’s just a lot to take in.

 Quiet Peak is a really beautiful place. Thenvunin doesn’t think he’s ever been anywhere so lovely before in his life. The peak is situated in a long chain of mystical mountains, and is one of several sacred peaks where spiritualists who have achieved immortality live and congregate. It’s a place replete with nature. Thenvunin’s home is one of several small buildings - almost a village unto itself - situated around a large main temple. It’s summer when he arrives, so the air is clear and warm, with the occasional cool breeze whirling its way around the mountain paths. Lots of small animals fill up the natural spaces of the area. Birds and rodents, foxes and stranger, more fantastical creatures from Half-Demon Prince’s imagination, like Phantom Lemurs and wolves made of branches and vines, held together by ambient nature energy.

 To a normal person, some of the animals would probably be quite dangerous. But Thenvunin’s body, as he ascertains, is more than just fit and healthy. He seems to have all the supernatural powers of the immortals in the story. Along with a mystical sword that the original Thenerassed would have pulled from the peak, a blade that was manifested from his own innate energies.

 Thenerassan - or rather, Half-Demon Prince - had called the blade ‘Swan’s Grace’. It’s one decision of the old Thenerassan’s that Thenvunin doesn’t mind. The name seems to suit the sword, which rests easily in his grasp, even though he’s never held a sword before in his life. It’s a beautiful thing. Pale and elegant, with a white handle, and a purple tassel tied with enchanted beads that help bolster spiritual energy.

 It’s one thing for Thenvunin to know that his body seems to remember how to do some things, though, and another for him to really feel comfortable doing them. The more Thenvunin thinks about upcoming events, the more he finds himself sweating under his collar. There are battles to be fought. Actual battles. Situations where making even the tiniest slip-up could result in death. Thenvunin doesn’t think it’s enough to simply rely on his reflexes, reflexes can’t provide strategies or help him think his way through more complicated situations, or really decide how to apply the skills that he - apparently - now has.

 So, when the Peak Leader, Mana’Din, comes to investigate his ‘recovery’ from his mysterious illness, Thenvunin doesn’t waste much time before requesting access to some of the secluded mountain caves that are used for those attempting higher levels of cultivation. Or attempting to regain spiritual equilibrium. He remembers the caves from the books; they were frequently mentioned, and Uthvir even retreated to them on occasion, when a difficult battle had depleted their strength.

 Mana’Din is, like Squish, quite different from what Thenvunin had expected, but still well within the bounds of her character description. The Peak Leader is a petite woman, dark-skinned and placid in her countenance. She wears a white half-mask, and an elegant white robe, and regards Thenvunin with what seems to be genuine concern. Almost immediately, he likes her. Though sensing the amount of energy contained within her aura is somewhat disconcerting; Peak Leaders are very strong, of course. Mana’Din is no exception.

 In the original story, she was yet another character who died at Uthvir’s hands. Though, more tragically than the original Thenerassan. Uthvir had challenged her for control of the peak. Mana’Din had fought gallantly, but in the end, after all that had led to that moment, the peak’s forces were so weakened that she was no match for a full-powered and determined Uthvir. She as one of the few female characters in the story who actually died, rather than simply falling into Uthvir’s harem after being defeated. Some readers had been quite unhappy about that.

 As he invites her to take his morning tea with him, Thenvunin feels another pang of inexplicable guilt. The original Thenerassan’s machinations were a huge component to the weakening of the peak - and to Mana’Din’s inevitable downfall.

 “Venavismi told me about your collapse. I came to check on you while you were still unconscious. Forgive me, I would have come to check as soon as you woke, but preparations in the valley took longer than expected.”

 Preparations in the…?

 Oh! Thenvunin’s pleased to realize that he actually knows what Mana’Din is referring to. The tournament, still scheduled a few years from now, will take place in the valley south of Quiet Peak. Because of the potential dangers of the event, the Peak Lords themselves oversee all the preparations, creating shields and checking the security, and making certain that all possible precautions can be taken. It’s a long endeavour, which is why tournaments are not held more frequently. As an expert in placing barriers, Mana’Din’s skills in particular would be required.

 The thought of how badly the tournament still goes puts another twinge of guilt in Thenvunin. He has to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning that extra security will most definitely be needed.

 “Are things going well?” he asks, instead.

Mana’Din waves dismissively.

 “Of course,” she says. “I’m more concerned over you. I don’t know whether it’s good news or bad news that the healers seem baffled by what’s happened. Do you think it was some sort of attack?”

 Thenvunin clears his throat, and shakes his head.

 “It did not seem that way to me, though it was… disconcerting,” he replies. Lifting his tea cup, he takes a slow sip. The warm liquid helps to settle his nerves a little, as he prepares his rehearsed lines. “My concern is for the equilibrium of my internal energies. Healers may not notice everything on such a front. If my leader is willing, I would like to retreat to the Secluded Caves, to better attune myself to what may be going on within my body.”

 He braces himself. But fortunately, Thenerassan had generally worn a mask of courtesy around his leader; there is no ‘ding’.

 Mana’Din makes a contemplative sound, and then inclines her head.

 “If you think that would help, then certainly,” she says. “I will gladly open the caves to you. But do you think there is a chance you could unbalance your energies? You should not be left to go alone, in that case.”

 Mana’Din is blunt. Thenerassan would have taken offense at the implication that he could unbalance his own energies via meditation, but Thenvunin can only see genuine concern in her expression. Spiritual unbalancing is very dangerous. It can lead to explosive and self-destructive behaviour, as well as lashing out. Left unchecked, it can, as he recalls, cause madness, permanently damage an immortal’s abilities, or even lead to death. And while the original Thenerassan may have been an immortal of indeterminate age, who was very accustomed to cultivating his internal energies, Thenvunin himself is… not.

 However, his inexperience could be glaringly obvious to any witnesses who see him try to practice. And if people start to become suspicious, then it could lead to his discovery as an intruder, and then the dreaded ‘project reset’.

 Thenvunin’s not sure what the bigger risk is. He hesitates.

 Mana’Din seems to read his silence as offense. She lifts a hand.

 “Please don’t mistake my concern for doubt. This is a mysterious situation, so, taking some exceptional precautions may be wise,” she tells him. When Thenvunin hesitates again, she purses her lips, and taps the side of her teacup. “Perhaps a compromise? There are certain segments of the cave system that are more open than others. Many of Battle Peak’s disciples are currently using them in early preparation for the tournament. In the event of some calamity, being in that system would probably make it easier to find help, rather than simply using the more traditional caves allotted to our peak…”

 The original Thenerassan would have found such a suggestion offensive, Thenvunin thinks again. But would he have protested to his leader? Complaining might seem uglier than just capitulating, or even taking advantage of the situation. Something niggles at the back of his memory. Something about Thenerassan and the caves and Battle Peak… but he doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, as Mana’Din looks at him expectantly.

 He puts on a tight smile.

 “I suppose, under the circumstances, that would be reasonable,” he concedes.

 Mana’Din relaxes a little, and offers him a more genuine smile in return.

 “That’s a relief. I’ll worry a little less, now,” she approves. Nothing dings. Thenvunin lets out a silent breath, and sips more of his tea.

 Really, Thenvunin can’t help but think. How did it escape your notice that the original Thenerassan wouldn’t have been worth worrying about to begin with?

 He doesn’t ask that out loud, though, of course. Despite his repugnant nature, the original Thenerassan currently retains a spotless reputation, marred only by occasion rumours of his ‘harsh’ teaching methods. And that reputation is currently very useful to Thenvunin, who is not looking to ruin it by being an actual child-abusing monster. Even if the system is making that challenging for him.

 Mana’Din tells him he can set out for the caves in a few days’ time, after she has established things with Battle Peak. That’s a good development, he thinks, but it still leaves the matter of Uthvir up in the air.

 While Thenvunin has been doing what he can to try and mitigate the bullying going on, it’s an uphill battle with the OOC Locks tying his hands. The original Thenerassan had a lot of disciples, though, as Thenvunin recalls, most of them will die as cannon fodder during the tournament. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. Even if they’re mostly a gang of bullies, barring Squish and Uthvir, they’re still children. Well, teenagers. And they’re following the lead set for them by their teacher. Thenvunin is a bit lost at sea on what to do about it all. However, he knows for certain that if he leaves things just as they are, with the senior disciples in charge, it won’t go well for Uthvir.

 The trouble is figuring out how he can mitigate that without breaking character.

 He’s still turning the matter over in his thoughts later the same day, when he finally decides that, caves or no, he needs to get some practice in.

 Despite his lingering troubles with adjusting to having a totally new body, the fact that he actually has energy and a shocking absence of pain keeps making him antsy. All the beautiful nature around him, the strength in his limbs, the air in his lungs, it makes him want to do things. His fingers itch to see what the sword at his belt can do. His heart speeds up at the thought of actually being a warrior, a guardian, someone who can fight and protect people and be gallant and strong. The giddiness he feels over it is even enough to push back his worries about dying, and he finds he doesn’t feel any guilt at all in basically stealing all of these things from the original Thenerassan.

 With all that in mind, Thenvunin sets out before evening to find a more secluded spot on the mountain. He has to travel for a while to do it, heading down and into the woods, with Swan’s Grace on his person. The sword feels light, and he finds he often notices its absence more than its presence. He wears green robes that blend in with the pale leaves of the willowy trees that grown in the region, and passes over a woodland stream, before finally finding a good spot.

 After triple-checking to make certain that he’s alone, Thenvunin draws his sword, and takes a deep breath.

 He swings it.

 It slices elegantly through the air.

 Another swing. His body remembers motions that Thenvunin has never made before, and after a few more attempts, he finds himself falling into patterns that feel natural. Sword-fighting forms. He pays attention to the way his body moves, or tries to. But it’s exhilarating enough that he soon finds himself distracted by the sheer joy of it all. Swan’s Grace sings, metal through wind, and as his spirits rise Thenvunin finds flurries of air whip up around him. The original Thenerassan was strongly attuned to the wind element. It seems Thenvunin is, too, as the gusts of wind follow his movements, and make the fallen leaves around him dance.

 He is so enraptured, he never even notices the tiny figure who stumbles upon him. Arms burdened with firewood, eyes wide as they see their teacher practicing his forms.

  ~

  Uthvir freezes in place and stares dumbfounded for a moment.

 They have seen Master Thenerassan demonstrate techniques before, of course, but such demonstrations have tended to be very simple and mechanical so far. Put your feet here, hold your practice sword like this, sit this way, don’t move like that, and so on and so forth. They have yet to actually see their instructor fight - and of course, they still haven’t. But as they watch, they feel a sudden insight as to what that might look like, and it seems somehow wholly unexpected.

 If they ever had to guess, Uthvir would never suppose that Master Thenerassan’s techniques were so… so…

 Lovely?

 They feel almost like a voyeur, somehow. As if they have stumbled upon the man bathing rather than practicing. The most shocking thing is probably the look on his face, though. From their angle Uthvir can only see part of it, but it seems as if Master Thenerassan is smiling. Smiling as he dances with the wind and strikes out with his sword, moving through forms so complex that Uthvir can only even recognize half of them.

 Something in their chest aches with longing.

 They want to be that graceful, and powerful. They want to be a master who can rely on their own strength.

 They watch, fascinated, until it starts to occur to them that if Master Thenerassan is out practicing in the wilderness by himself, he probably doesn’t want to be seen. Maybe there are some secret techniques that he’s doing? Uthvir’s fear of getting in trouble gradually starts to overcome their interest, and they pull back, retreating the same way they came by and being careful to walk in the footprints they already made, to avoid stepping on twigs or crunching leaves. Every once in a while they glance back, unable to help themselves until Thenerassan is finally out of sight. Then they resolutely keep going, as their heart hammers excitedly in their chest.

 They feel as though they have just gotten away with some kind of mischief. Even though, taken at face value, they don’t even know what they mischief would qualify as.

 Master Thenerassan could probably enlighten them if he actually caught them, though. And probably assign them even more chores as punishment. Sneering at them from behind his fan.

 Although… he seems to be more patient with Uthvir than usual, these days. Maybe Uthvir is actually making fewer mistakes? They’ve found the thought very heartening, even if the other disciples still seem to hate them as much as ever. Except for Squish, of course. Master Thenerassan gave her a new training manual the other day, and she promised to let Uthvir look at it, too. They were going to go this evening, but then Elandaris cornered them and told them to go find firewood.

 A lot of the older students shirk their chores onto Uthvir. At first, they’d hoped doing things would be a good way to make friends, but it seems they’re always doing them wrong. Uthvir’s not entirely clueless, although sometimes it feels as though they are. They like to think that it’s the amnesia at fault. The first thing they can recall in life is running, confused, out into the road in one of the southern cities, and nearly falling straight into Lady Mana’Din. They don’t even know how they came by their amnesia; they were first brought to Quiet Peak as a mystery to solve, rather than a disciple to train. The only belonging of any real value that they can claim is the necklace they were wearing at the time Lady Mana’Din found them.

 Uthvir never takes it off. They’re deathly afraid of having it stolen. The simple leather cord it’s on is nothing special, but the amber-gold stone, rough and uncut, always feels a little warm against their skin. Lady Mana’Din thinks it might be a Spirit Shard. The only other person they’ve ever shown it to is Squish, and she likes it a lot, too. Uthvir knows she’d be thrilled if they gave it to her, but they can’t bring themselves to part with it. Even if they don’t know why, it’s… theirs.

 As if drawn to the current of their thoughts, the necklace in question slides out from under their over-sized collar. Uthvir pauses, shifting the firewood in their arms so that they can reach up and tuck it away again.

 “Hey!”

 They look up, startled, at the sound of an unwelcome voice.

 Elandaris!

 Hastily, Uthvir finishes shoving their treasure away again, and takes a wary step backwards. They nearly lose their balance, burdened with the firewood in their arms. Elandaris seems to be alone; they don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 “I’ve nearly finished,” they say.

 “Took you long enough,” Elandaris replies, marching determinedly towards them. He points at their chest. “What’s that?”

 “What’s what?” Uthvir asks, playing dumb. “The branches…?”

 Before they can react, Elandaris reaches out, whip-fast, and yanks the piece of cord around their neck. Uthvir fumbles and their treasure pops back out of their collar, as their heart speeds up.

 Oh no!

 The older boy’s expression twists in a mix of anger and triumph as he reaches for the spirit shard. Uthvir manages to whirl away in earnest then, though, dropping the firewood they’re carrying. To their horror, the branches and logs fall directly onto Elandaris’ feet.

 A disciple of Elandaris’ level isn’t going to be as fragile as most mortals, so Elandaris is at little risk of having his foot bones broken. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still a painful thing to have an armload of wood dropped right onto his shoes.

 “I’m sorry!” Uthvir immediately exclaims. Elandaris reels back, cursing, before his face twists in anger and he lashes out and punches Uthvir clean across the face.

 The force behind the blow is more than enough to send them staggering.

 “You clumsy oaf!” Elandaris exclaims. “How dare you! You could have injured my feet. That would set my training back. Are you trying to sabotage me?!”

 “No!” Uthvir assures him, spreading out their hands. “No, of course not! I would never! It was an accident, you grabbed me and-”

 “Clumsy piece of shit!” Elandaris accuses again. “Either you did that on purpose, or you are a waste of training! Come back here!”

 Uthvir’s attempts to move further away are thwarted by Elandaris grabbing them. They try and counter his grip, but the older student is faster, and pulls at their treasure instead.

 “And where did you get this?” he demands.

 “It’s mine!” Uthvir insists, reflexively.

 “Yours? Where would you get a spirit shard?” Elandaris demands. “Even a cheap-looking one like this should be beyond the means of a beggar’s child like you. And don’t tell me someone gave it to you! I know no one would. You have no coin and you have no friends, so the only answer is that you stole it.”

 “I didn’t steal it!”

 Elandaris hits them in punishment. Uthvir knows they shouldn’t argue, but this is their treasure. If Elandaris thinks they stole it then he’ll take it away.

 “I didn’t steal it!” they insist, through the pain. “It’s always been mine, it was found with me, Lady Mana’Din knows!”

 “Liar!” Elandaris accuses. He tugs at the cord, and Uthvir struggles back. A few well-placed kicks send them falling backwards, though. Despite their efforts to train their skills, the extra chores that are always being given to them take up most of the time they would spend practicing. They are behind; they know it. And they don’t have much recourse, though their heart lurches in pure alarm as they feel the ties on their leather cord finally give out.

 Elandaris seizes their treasure.

 Uthvir falls down, and trips over the dropped firewood.

 “No!” they protest, scrambling to get back up. “It’s mine, it’s not-”

 “Shut up, you little liar!” Elandaris snaps back, and lands a kick against their stomach. Uthvir grabs his leg, too desperate to back down. They scramble to try and reclaim their necklace. The defiance makes Elandaris even more furious, however, and after a moment they are both rolling through the undergrowth. Uthvir loses track of where their treasure even is, if it’s been dropped or if the older student still has it, as Elandaris gets them pinned and begins pummeling them.

 “How dare you!” he snarls. “You sneaky little thief!”

 Uthvir tries to cover their face, finally going purely on the defensive. They brace themselves for the beating.

 But Elandaris only lands a few uncoordinated hits before he suddenly stops; crying out in pain.

 Bewildered, Uthvir risk looking again.

 Elandaris is holding his hands up. But there is a large, crimson gash on the back of one of his wrists.

 “How did you do that?” he demands, shocked at the sight of his own blood. “Did you stab me?!”

 Uthvir swiftly shakes their head.

 “How could I?” they ask.

 It must be the wrong thing to say, though, because Elandaris just looks angrier. Like he thinks they must be tricking him. Uthvir only feels confused as he lefts his fists again. They brace themselves, but this time they keep watching. So they see quite clearly as his hands come down, and…

 A leaf.

 A simple leaf, being carried on a swift wind, whips by and slashes Elandaris’ hands again, before he can bring them down to hit. He lets out another cry of pain, and finally scrabbles back off of Uthvir. Bleeding from both hands.

 “What are you doing?!” he wails. “You’ve cut me! You wretch! How did you cut me?”

 “It’s not me doing it,” Uthvir tries to explain, raising placating hands. “It’s…”

 The leaves?

 They glance down to the ground, and the two unbroken, perfectly-shaped, but blood-edged leaves lying not too far away. There are techniques that can make even flower petals as sharp as darts, especially in the hands of wind practitioners, Uthvir knows. They’ve read as much as they can, when they’re able to. But in that case…

 There’s only one person who could do this sort of thing.

 If Master Thenerassan wanted to stop Elandaris, though, he could simply come and tell him to stop?

 This must be a lesson, then. Or a test. Uthvir curses their own stupidity, as they wonder what the correct response is. They never seem to know the right answer with these things. But if Master Thenerassan doesn’t want his presence to be known, then… it’s probably better not to tell Elandaris?

 Maybe Elandaris is supposed to figure things out for himself? He is also a student, after all.

 Uthvir remains silent, and the two of them fall into a wary stand-off. After a moment, they push themselves back to their feet.

 “Give me back my treasure,” they demand, helpless to let the matter go.

 Elandaris’ expression twists. He looks down, but then, to Uthvir’s growing dismay, seems to realize that he doesn’t still have it.

 “I dropped it,” he tells them. Then he lifts his chin. “Which is just lucky for you, because if I hadn’t I’d be taking it to Master Thenerassan right now, and you’d be getting kicked off the mountain for thieving.”

 Uthvir balls their fists, but doesn’t dare make a move. The corners of their eyes itch.

 “I’m not a thief!”

 For a moment, they think Elandaris is going to try and beat them some more. But there’s blood still pouring from his cuts, and the sight of it seems to make him hesitate instead. After a tense second, he turns on his heel.

 “You just wait,” he says. “I’m telling Master Thenerassan all about this anyway, about how you tried to break my feet and bloodied my poor hands. And then that’ll finally be the end of you!”

 On that note, Elandaris races off. Uthvir thinks they would be terrified of his claims, except…

 Except, Master Thenerassan must alright know. Mustn’t he?

 And he… he stopped Elandaris.

 They just feel confused, as they pause and look around. No matter how they search, though, they can’t seem to see their teacher anywhere. They give up looking for him after a minute - if he doesn’t want to be found, they don’t suppose they stand much of a chance - and instead start searching for the necklace. Their ribs and stomach and face all hurt from Elandaris’ blows, but they can’t just leave it behind. They try and retrace things, but even though they search high and low, pulling aside plants and checking around stumps, and even looking in spots that seem unlikely places, they can’t find it before the sun begins to set.

 Their treasure…

 Uthvir is so disconsolate, they finally slump on the ground, and let a few tears escape.

 “I lost it,” they whisper. “I’m so sorry…”

 They aren’t even sure who they’re apologizing to. The words just seem to fly out on their own. They take a minute to cry, holding themselves upright on shaky limbs. Before they finally sigh, and resign themselves to the truth. They still have to bring the firewood back. And now that they’ve lost so much time, they’ll probably have to spend all of tomorrow making up the difference on their chores. The ones they can’t do in the dark, anyway. They sniffle, and brush off their cheeks. Trying to dry their eyes as they finally pick up the dropped firewood, and then stagger back towards the mountain path.

 Into their pockets, they tuck a pair of blood-stained leaves.

  ~

  Thenvunin feels like he must be the worst person in the world.

 He had been surprised when his practice had been interrupted by voices. Raised in argument, by the sounds of it. For half a second he was irrationally afraid that he had been caught, and that something about his practice had been so inherently wrong that he was on the verge of being discovered. But then he’d realized the voices were further off than that. And then he’d recognized them, too.

 Uthvir and… Elandaris.

 Oh no.

 As he hurried over, Thenvunin found himself recollecting the scene he was encountering. If it was the one he suspected, anyway. The one where Elandaris stole Uthvir’s precious necklace, the only remnant of their forgotten, tragic past. The one item that could still bring warmth to their cold heart, even when they were at the height of their dark ways.

 In the original story, Uthvir had eventually regained the necklace when Elandaris died in the tournament.

 Thenvunin watches as the two students struggle through the undergrowth, though, and sees the necklace in question stuck in the middle of a nearby fern. From his angle it’s quite clearly visible. The golden shard is a bright bit of light in the dark green foliage. Most of his attention is soon caught by the fight, however, and his first impulse merits several insistent warnings from the system.

 Thenvunin’s fists clench and unclench. Thenerassan wouldn’t have stopped Uthvir’s mistreatment.

 System, how many points will I lose for just marching out there and stopping it anyway?

 <Assessing factors… likely point deduction is 40.>

 What?! 40 points? He only has sixty-five as it is! That would… that would put him so close to complete failure…

 His mouth goes dry. Is he really just going to stand here and watch this happen?

 No. No, there has to be a way to interfere. Even if he can’t stop it directly, there must be something he can do. He thinks. There’s a technique, he remembers. It was one of the cooler things about the original Thenerassan, in with all his depravity and scumbag qualities. Precision was something he was actually good at. He could whip around tiny things with enough speed and subtlety to make even the most innocuous strips of paper or blades of grass into weapons.

 Of course, the original had mostly used this to inflict secret torments on Uthvir. Thenvunin can only hope it will work in reverse, as he plucks a leaf from a nearby tree. Keeping out of sight, he lifts the leaf to mouth, and blows. The first attempt goes wide of the mark, though. Drawing in a determined breath, Thenvunin grabs another one, and tries again. As Elandaris raises his fists, Thenvunin focuses precisely on where he wants the wind to carry the leaf. He feels the energy in his body, and the energy in the world around himself. And just like that, it feels as if he is remembering how to do something, rather than learning it for the first time.

 The leaf slashes Elandaris.

 Thenvunin is a little shocked at how much blood it draws. His bullying disciple pales, shocked in turn at the sudden blow.

 Even so, Thenvunin doesn’t hesitate to send the second leaf. Uthvir looks as though they’ve been through the wringer. Elandaris finally backs off at that, but Thenvunin frowns deeply at his tirade. Already wondering how to manage that upcoming situation. He thinks he can handle it, though, so long as he focuses on Elandaris’ own misconduct. After all, the original Thenerassan would have known that Uthvir had some possessions, and that accusing them of stealing such things wouldn’t hold any water. He probably just would have been annoyed that Elandaris was wasting his time with information that he couldn’t use.

 But then he hears an ominous ding.

 <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -20.>

 What?! But - but, how? It was only a couple of leaves! Neither Uthvir nor Elandaris could possibly know who sent them!

 System, I object! There’s no way that should have counted towards a deduction!

 <Assessment accuracy is at 100%.>

 But no one even knows it was me!

 <Assessment accuract is at 100%.>

 Thenvunin feels sick. 45. He’s down to 45 points now, and all he’s earned so far is 10. This is a nightmare! He keeps still, fretting over having less than half his starting points, as Uthvir begins to search around for their lost treasure. It takes him a few minutes to even register what they’re doing. And when he does, he feels another lurch in his gut.

 There, he thinks at them. Keeping his hiding place, yet trying, at the same time, to mentally project some knowledge of the necklace’s location towards them. It’s right there! Look over there, Uthvir, come on, you can find it!

 He could just pick it up and give it to them. But he absolutely can’t, he knows. The thought of losing any more points right now just makes him feel sick to his stomach. So instead he stays locked in place, while he watches Uthvir search and search, their bruises purpling from where Elandaris hit them. Do they still have healing salve left? He tries to think of ways he could get them more, at least, to keep from cracking and doing something impossibly foolish. But he feels as if he is on the verge of it anyway, when Uthvir drops to the ground and begins to cry.

 Oh, no! Thenvunin thinks, swallowing hard as his own vision goes a little blurry. Oh, no, Uthvir, it’s alright, it will be alright…

 He doesn’t know how he manages to withstand it, until Uthvir finally gathers up the firewood, and limps off alone.

 It’s only when they’re gone that he moves himself. Walking quietly over to the fern, and plucking the spirit shard necklace up from where it had been dropped.

 <Congratulations! A pivotal scene has been completed. Important Item: Uthvir’s Treasure has been obtained. +100 points awarded. Achievement: Character Development has been obtained! OOC Restriction Lock has been removed.>

 Thenvunin is so struck by relief at the sudden, unexpected points gain, that he almost doesn’t notice the necklace vanishing from his hands. But an object just vanishing is actually strange enough that it almost immediately distracts him from the bizarre rush of success.

 Wait, system! He protests. Where did it go?

 He has to get that back to Uthvir, somehow!

 <Beginner’s Tip: Important Items may be stored within the system until Participant decides to use them.>

 Thenvunin blinks.

 So… you have the necklace?

 There’s no answer, but that seems to be the correct assumption.

 System, could you please give it back?

 He’s thinking he might just be able to sneak it back into Uthvir’s possession, somehow, before he gets a response.

 <Using an Important Item at this juncture will cost 100 points. Would you like to use Item: Uthvir’s Treasure?>

 What?! Thenvunin draws in a ragged breath, and then lets out it again. He lifts up a hand to rub at his face. What sort of system even is this? He only just earned those points! And without them he’ll be down to less than half again. And will it undo his achievement? He… he can’t…

 He swallows.

 …No, he finally answers the system. He can work this out. He’ll get Uthvir their treasure back, it’ll just… take a bit longer than expected. All he has to do is earn enough points to feel comfortable, and then he can spare the 100 points needed to return it. And in the meanwhile, he can focus on making things better for them, now that he can actually act with some freedom. He’ll make it up to them later, he vows.

 …Somehow.

 The situation still seems bittersweet somehow, as he finally dusts himself off, and makes his own way back.

~

It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that the loss of their treasure leaves Uthvir disconsolate.

 When they get back, they can’t even bring themselves to tell Squish. She just thinks Elandaris was picking on them again, and it takes a lot of effort for Uthvir to convince her not to go try and break his knees. But they’re already in enough trouble as it stands, and Elandaris has a lot more influence with Master Thenerassan than either Squish or Uthvir. Though…

 In light of what happened with the leaves, Uthvir’s not sure what to make of the situation anymore.

 Master Thenerassan doesn’t like them. They’ve known that since their first week of training, when he more or less told them so. Most of the disciples at the peak come from good families. Quiet Peak is very well-respected, and the potential to ascend to immortality and prominence is enough to catch a lot of people’s interest. Of course, not everyone has the aptitude or discipline for it. Even a prince wouldn’t be able to join the sect if he lacked the potential for training. But while Quiet Peak looks after its residents, serving the region also doesn’t exactly pay well. So all things considered, most of the applicants who get accepted come from families who have enough affluence to spare them, enough connections to actually get them there, and who also have the potential needed to be considered for training to begin with.

 Sometimes, though, masters who are out on trips will cross paths with individuals who seem to have very noteworthy potential. These people can be of all sorts of backgrounds; what matters is just that they have the makings of a good disciple. According to the tenets of Quiet Peak’s sect, there shouldn’t be any discrimination of people based on where they came from originally. Once someone sets themselves to the path of ascension, then, one’s place along that path is more pivotal to rank and influence than their birthrights or privileges.

 That’s not really how it works, though. Uthvir is one of only a few disciples with a poor background, and the only one serving Master Thenerassan. When Mana’Din had decided to offer them a place on the peak as a student, Master Thenerassan had warned Uthvir not to expect that the idealism of the tenets would shield them from reality - that someone like them, regardless of their spiritual potential, was a pity case. A servant more than a disciple, not somebody who could actually learn and achieve full mastery someday.

 Uthvir wants to, though. Even if it’s unrealistic, even if it’s impossible, they want to be strong. They can’t help but think of what they saw in the trees, before they ran into Elandaris. Master Thenerassan, moving with the wind.

 A knock on their door startles them out of their thoughts. Their arrival at the temple was unexpected, so, when they were first set up they were given an old wood shed for a room. Lady Mana’Din told them it was temporary, but they’ve been there ever since. Uthvir actually likes it, though. The thought of sleeping in the barracks, with the other disciples, makes them feel cold dread down their spine. Even if it was the same barracks as Squish, they’d probably never sleep soundly again.

 When they call out to the knock, it’s Squish who opens the door. Uthvir relaxes a little, seeing their friend coming in with some clean bandages over one arm, and a lantern in one hand.

 “It’s late,” they say.

 Squish hangs the lantern up on the hook by the door, and shakes her head.

 “I only brought a few things,” she says. “I won’t get in trouble, it’s Venavismi who’s on the evening watch tonight and he’s a soft touch.”

 Uthvir swallows, but can’t really find the energy to argue. They cause a lot of trouble for Squish. She doesn’t say so, but the others have told them often enough. Even Master Thenerassan has said so.

 “Here,” Squish says, handing them the bandages. “Do you still have that jar of salve?”

 Uthvir reaches under their blanket, and grabs the little jar to confirm it.

 Another strange thing, they think. Master Thenerassan is often scolding them for not meeting standards, but he doesn’t usually give them the means to do so, either. The salve is really good, too. Uthvir has to fight the temptation to use it all up, rationing themselves and making sure to cover up any injuries that would be visible, first. But it feels warm and smells spicy, and makes the aches fade away. Squish takes the jar from them, which has them frowning.

 “Don’t use it all,” they warn.

 “I’ll use just enough,” Squish assures them, and then sets about helping them tend their wounds.

 It’s always been like this. When Uthvir first came to the peak, Squish looked at them like she’d seen a ghost. But then afterwards, she was always helping them. Even when other people were very clear that everything Uthvir did was wrong, Squish never turned away or stuck up her nose. They could only conclude that she was the kindest person in the world.

 That made them think on the strangeness of Master Thenerassan’s behaviour again, though. So far as Uthvir could tell, no one had really changed their attitude towards them since they had arrived at the peak. Lady Mana’Din was kind, like Squish, but she also very busy. She said hello to Uthvir whenever she saw them - which wasn’t often. The other disciples were either indifferent to Uthvir, or else actively disliked them. Master Thenerassan despaired of them ever showing any talent, and was just waiting for them to make the final, crucial error that would finally let him get rid of them.

 So why had he given them the salve? Maybe he really was just sick of looking at Uthvir’s bruises and thinking they were an embarrassment. What was going on with the leaves, though? And come to think of it… there have been other things, too. The past while he hasn’t given Uthvir any chores to do. The other disciples have, but not Master Thenerassan. He hasn’t snapped or snarled at them for a while, either, or boxed their ears for speaking out of turn.

 It’s nothing really big - but it’s why Uthvir has been hopeful that they’ve been doing better.

 So… have they?

 Are things different because they’re finally getting some stuff right for a change?

 The only trouble Uthvir can find with that thought, is that they don’t think they’ve been doing anything differently. It makes them anxious not to know what they might have done right, because if they can’t figure it out, then how can they keep doing it?

 “Squish,” they ask, as she carefully applies a thin layer of salve to their bruised cheek. The tip of her tongue is pressing out, just a little bit, as she concentrates.

 “Hmm?”

 “Have you noticed anything… different, about Master Thenerassan lately?”

 Squish pauses for a moment, frowning a little. She doesn’t like their chief instructor. Uthvir knows that, although she won’t tell them why. They’re almost expecting her to just tell them that she doesn’t want to talk about ‘that man’, like usual.

 After a moment, though, her brow furrows a little bit.

 “I have, actually. He seems less…” she trails off, and makes a face like she’s trying to think of a term suitable for a student referring to their teacher.

 This is a frequent problem whenever Squish talks about Master Thenerassan.

 “Shit?” Uthvir suggests.

 Mostly to make her laugh. They’re just in the wood shed, after all.

 And it works! Squish snorts, and grins a little. Then she seems to think about it, as she goes back to applying the salve, and shakes her head.

 “Don’t say that where the others can hear. Disparaging our ‘illustrious’ teacher will just get us into trouble,” she warns.

 “I know,” Uthvir says, quietly. “I was just joking. It’s a great honour to serve someone like Master Thenerassan.”

 Squish snorts again.

 “Don’t say that, either. It makes me want to point out all of his failings instead.” Switching to their other side, she starts rubbing some salve onto the bruises there. Uthvir holds still, and fights back a wince whenever her fingers brush over and especially sensitive spot.

 “Lazy,” she mutters. “Insincere. Vain. He barely teaches, I don’t think he can take credit for the success of any of his students, even partially. He just treats us like servants, unless someone else is watching. I wish he’d fall off the peak so someone else would have to take us on instead.”

 “Squish!” Uthvir protests. “That’s ungrateful!”

 She gives them a flat look.

 “I’m incredibly ungrateful for him,” she confirms. Uthvir wants to laugh, although they know they shouldn’t. It’s mostly her tone. Well, that, and the little voice inside their head that whispers that they’ve never liked Master Thenerassan very much either.

 They used to. When they first arrived they thought he was magnificent. Regal and handsome, like a portrait of everything a master of Quiet Peak should be. That impression lasted for about five minutes.

 Then he opened his mouth.

 “But,” Squish says, tugging their shirt open to get at the bruises on their chest and stomach. Uthvir tries to stop her - they’ll waste salve - but she just bats their hands away and starts applying it anyhow. “You’re right. He does seem different, this past little while.”

 Hmm.

 So if Squish has noticed it, too, then maybe it’s not that Uthvir has actually gotten better at things?

 “Do you think he had a revelation?” they wonder.

 Their friend shrugs.

 “I don’t know. I heard he fell down and hit his head. Maybe it’s a miraculous head bump situation, like in some stories? Something knocked a negative block out of his skull that’s gone unnoticed for decades, and now he’s finally able to channel ‘niceness’ again,” she jokes.

 Uthvir gives that prospect some serious consideration, though. It might not be as silly as she’s making it sound. Oh, it wouldn’t be exactly that, obviously. But what studying Uthvir has done has taught them that spiritual energy can behave in really unpredictable ways. If it didn’t, then it would be a lot simpler for people to train and deliberately control it, cultivating it at a steady and consistent rate throughout all individuals. It would be like working with uniformly sized blocks, always knowing the measurements and therefore knowing how many you need in order to build what you want. But instead, it’s like growing a forest full of trees. You can know what kind of seeds you’re putting down, can try and get the trees to grow in certain ways, but in the end, no two forests will ever grow exactly the same.

 And Uthvir has overheard a lot of stories, from everywhere around the peak, really. Things can get very quiet, so gossip is inevitable. One of the favourite topics of all the disciples tends to be stories about bizarre things that have happened to people during training, cultivation, meditation, or combat.

 There are a lot of stories about people whose erratic behaviour, odd quirks, or particular training struggles turned out to be the cause of some kind of spiritual block that was literally ‘knocked loose’ by something hitting them, or by them falling over, or getting struck by accident. Probably the most popular story is the tale of one ancient master who fell down the temple stairs and nearly doubled his spiritual potency.

 Uthvir thinks that one might be a dirty joke in disguise, though. There are a lot of references to ‘bouncing all the way day’ in a pointed fashion that tends to provoke giggles. They think it’s a pretty tame dirty joke, in that case - but that’s beside the point. Many of the stories sound like they’re supposed to be true, even if some of them are just rumours or have all the facts jumbled up.

 “...Do you think that really could have happened, though?” they ask Squish.

 She pauses. At first she looks like she’s going to just say ‘no, of course not’, and laugh. But then her face scrunches up, as the same thought process seems to occur to her.

 “Stranger things have been known to occur,” she finally concludes.

 The whole idea makes Uthvir feel strangely hopeful, and also a little bad. Has Master Thenerassan been having difficulties this whole time, then? And no one noticed? That’s sad. Now that Uthvir thinks about it, though, it doesn’t seem like very many people are close to Master Thenerassan.

 Squish finishes up, and puts some bandages over the salve to keep it from wiping off while they sleep. Uthvir offers to walk her back to her barracks but she waves them off, and only takes the lantern with her as she finally has to go. Uthvir lets out a long breath, finally feeling the aches from their beating subside; but also keenly feeling the absence of their treasure, and its usual, subtle warmth.

 Their blanket feels cold as they settle down. They stare at the moonlight through the cracks in the wood shed door, and think it might just be easier to puzzle over the ineffable ways of their teacher, rather than dwelling on the bitter sense of loss.

  ~

  The next day proves to be a very strange one for Uthvir.

 They wake up late. Which alarms them; they must have overslept, and they have so many chores still to do, they’re bewildered and at a loss that no one kicked open their door and dragged them out to get them. The possible reasons for why that might not have happened aren’t heartening; is Master Thenerassan going to declare that they’ve been neglecting their duties, and finally kick them out?

 Is that why no one woke them? Because there’d be no point?

 Or are they going to get punished for being lazy and sleeping half the day away?

 They hurry out, hastily securing their outer tunic, before they make themselves stop and tie their belt correctly. They can’t afford any more mistakes today! They think quickly, checking the time to find that it’s past noon, and then pelt towards the kitchens. Calling apologies, only to find themselves turned hastily away from their usual scrubbing jobs - jobs they’d neglected yesterday, in all the chaos and confusion.

 “It’s alright, Uthvir,” one of the older disciples tell them. Not one of their fellows. Uthvir comes up short, full of dread rather than reassurance, even as she pats their shoulder. “We’ve got it under control. Master Thenerassan sent word not to expect you today.”

 Uthvir’s heart sinks into their stomach.

 Oh no.

 Oh no.

 What if yesterday was a test? And they failed?

 In a flurry of anxieties, they head for the stables next. But again they find themselves turned away; cordially informed not to worry, that they aren’t expected. They think they even see Elandaris inside, mucking things out with a black expression on his face. Only for a moment. Then they’re shoo’d away. As they head for the temple steps instead, they’re getting ready to plead for their life - or, well, their life at the peak at least - when someone calls out to them.

 Uthvir stops, and then drops into a polite-but-rigid bow as they see Young Master Venavismi jogging towards them.

 Venavismi is the youngest of the currently ascended masters at the peak. His duties include guarding the grounds, and…

 …And escorting unwelcome persons out of the temple.

 Uthvir feels like their doom is cheerfully jogging towards them. Some part of them just wants to run, thinking that this must be it. They’re getting kicked out. They don’t even know where they’ll go, or what they’ll do. They’ll end up on the streets, and the other disciples have been very fond of telling them exactly what sorts of things that would entail. They’re as stiff as a statue by the time Venavismi catches up with them.

 “Hey, Uthvir!” he says, jovially. “Your master wants to see you. He’s at his studies, but he asked me to keep an eye out for when you got up.”

 Uthvir swallows, and takes a minute to register what’s actually being said. In specific, they have to blink, and realize that Venavismi isn’t talking about escorting them off the mountain.

 “What?” the ask. They’d been so convinced that disaster was on the way, now that it hasn’t come, they aren’t sure how to respond.

 “Master Thenerassan wants to see you,” the older disciple repeats. His expression turns towards worry. “Are you alright, little sibling?”

 “Of course,” they say, and manage another hasty bow. They’re still probably in trouble, but maybe… maybe if they’re being talked to, first, then there’s still a chance to salvage things. “Of course, I’ll go straight away. Thank you, Elder Brother.”

 “No problem,” Venavismi assures them. He still looks concerned. “Here, let me walk you. I’m heading that way anyhow.”

 Uthvir can’t exactly dissuade him without being rude. They go with him towards Master Thenerassan’s home. At a few points they pass some of Uthvir’s fellow disciples - the dark looks they’re giving Uthvir seem amplified, and it actually makes them grateful that the guardian is with them. Even if Venavismi likes to make a lot of inane small-talk.

 “So how are your studies going?” he asks.

 “I am progressing slowly,” Uthvir admits.

 “Oh. Well, everyone usually has to go at their own pace. When I was your age, Lady Mana’Din told me that it was better to measure one’s spiritual progress against their past self, rather than their peers. Look to where you have come from where you started, rather than concerning yourself with how you stack up to the other students.”

 “That sounds very wise, thank you for the advice,” Uthvir recites politely. Their thoughts are flying all over the place, though, and in truth, they barely hear most of what Venavismi says as he chats at them. All the way past the mountain garden and over the little bridge to the familiar grounds of Master Thenerassan’s home, and then even inside, as Venavismi is the one who knocks and loudly calls out.

 “Brother! I brought your little student!” he says. “Are you still reading?”

 There’s a rustling sound from the study.

 “Yes, I’m in here. Send them in, please. Thank you,” Master Thenerassan calls back.

 Venavismi gives Uthvir a pat on the shoulder.

 “There. Go on,” he encourages.

 They steel themselves, already rehearsing apologies as they make their way into the office.

 The windows are open, Uthvir notes. And the desk has been moved. They can hear some pleasant birdsong, although everything sounds rather ominous to them under the circumstances. Swan’s Grace, Master Thenerassan’s sacred sword, is in its wall stand. Their teacher himself is sitting so that he can face the window; closing some manuals that Uthvir doesn’t recognize. A small tray of snacks is resting on the desk. Though most immortals of Master Thenerassan’s calibre don’t require food for sustenance anymore, many still eat for the pleasure of it.

 Uthvir’s empty stomach rumbles a little, and they nearly recoil from themselves in horror.

 “Sorry!” they blurt.

 Master Thenerassan raises an eyebrow.

 However, to their shock and confusion, he then slides the plate of snacks towards them. Until it’s at the edge of the desk nearest to them.

 “Have you not eaten yet, Uthvir? I didn’t think Venavismi would bring you in such a rush. Have some of this, and take a seat,” he instructs.

 Uthvir hesitates.

 Not to be disobedient, but only because they feel like this must be some kind of trap or trick. They wait too long, and they see Master Thenerassan’s smooth expression shift towards something like irritation. Or what they think must be irritation, anyway. Hastily, they do as told, before they can get scolded. They fold themselves down across from his desk, and scoop up one of the sweet powdered rolls from the plate. In such a hurry to obey that they bite into it before they think about manners, and send a scattering of crumbs down their front.

 “Sorry,” they say again, through a mouthful.

 Their cheeks burn as they realize their second slip-up.

 But Master Thenerassan just leans forward, and pointedly sets the plate of snacks directly into Uthvir’s lap.

 “There,” he says. “No need to get crumbs anywhere, I had my fill of those anyway.”

 Uthvir swallows. Their mouth feels dry with terror and confusion, but asking for a glass of water at this point would be beyond idiocy. They feel like they should refuse the offer, to be obligingly polite and deferential, but Master Thenerassan hasn’t really give them room to. He regards them strangely for a moment. Unsure of how to react, they take a more careful bite of the powdered roll, with care to make sure all the crumbs on their shirt land on the plate.

 Master Thenerassan pulls a fan from his sleeve, and opens it. He lets out a long breath, and leans back. It looks as if he might be deciding something. Uthvir can’t escape the thought that he is, in fact, deciding their future.

 Their fate.

 “Uthvir,” he finally says, after what seems like a small eternity. The sweet roll tastes like ash in their mouth. “I owe you an apology. I have been a negligent instructor.”

 To Uthvir, Thenerassan’s words sound incredibly ominous. Like the beginning of a speech that starts with ‘I have failed you as a teacher’ and ends with ‘you are no longer going to be my student’. They swallow, and fight back a cough, and put aside the plate in their lap to drop into the lowest bow they can manage.

 “Master Thenerassan, please, you are the greatest instructor I could ever ask for!” they say. “I’m sorry I slept in. I didn’t mean to. I won’t make excuses, but I would never let it happen again, it wasn’t my intention-”

 “Uthvir, stop, stop,” Master Thenerassan gently interrupts. They look up to find him motioning at them.

 Warily, Uthvir straightens back up again.

 The smile he gives them makes them feel even more lost at sea.

 “I am not angry with you, Uthvir,” he says, firmly. “You are not in any trouble. On the contrary, if anyone should be punished, it should be the Master Thenerassan who has taught you these past few years. He has done disgracefully. And so, some things around here are now going to change.”

 Uthvir blinks.

 They are utterly lost. What is going on? What is this leading to? Is it a test? A trap?

 Master Thenerassan looks at them strangely again. Then he sighs, and puts his fan up to hide some of his expression once more.

 “The other students have been mistreating you,” their teacher asserts.

 Uthvir automatically shakes their head in denial.

 “Yes, they have been,” Master Thenerassan says, firmly. Angrily, they think. They swallow and duck their head. What’s going on? What are the right answers? For the past few years they haven’t ever been a favoured pupil, but they thought that they had at least figured out how to manage certain interactions. There were patterns that they could predict; that made it easier, even if it always seemed to end in something unpleasant for them anyway.

 But now all those patterns are gone.

 “I will not permit it to continue,” Master Thenerassan says.

 Uthvir bites the inside of their cheek, and keep their gaze averted. So are they being sent away, then? To stop it from continuing?

 Another long sigh reaches them.

 “...In a few days, Uthvir, I will be making a personal journey to attend to my health. While I am away, I do not think it would be very wise to leave you disciples under Elandaris’ charge. I know he is the senior among you, and that is ordinarily what I would do, but… I, ah. Have been burdening him with too much responsibility.”

 Uthvir blinks. The memory of blood-stained leaves beats through the panic in their mind.

 Tentatively, they look up at their teacher. But Master Thenerassan is holding his fan, still.

 Health? They wonder. Immortals don’t really get sick, but there are things that can injure, poison, or otherwise impeded them in ways similar to illnesses. And spiritual ailments can happen too, of course.

 Does this have something to do with his odd behaviour? And his fall? Is… were they and Squish actually right?

 But then, Uthvir thinks, maybe he’s going to reverse the process? Maybe he didn’t accidentally remove a block. Maybe he just addled his skull a little. They feel guilty for thinking that sort of thing could make an improvement on the man.

 Although… maybe Elandaris just did something to make him really angry? Maybe this isn’t about Uthvir doing better, but Elandaris doing worse?

 Master Thenerassan carries on, heedless of their thoughts and speculation.

 “Obviously, I cannot simply leave the training of my disciples to the wolves for several weeks. But it would be too much to burden any one Sibling of the peak with handling all of you. So I have made arrangements for you all to attend different teachers, while I am gone. They have generously loaned some of their time for this cause. I will tell everyone, of course, but for now you can know that you and Desire will be answering to Master Venavismi while I’m away.”

 Uthvir blinks.

 Venavismi?

 That’s… not bad? And they’re serving with Squish? Master Thenerassan put them together on purpose?

 “Oh,” is all they can manage at first, in their surprise. Then they remember their manners, and duck their head. “Thank you very much, Teacher.”

 “Hm. You should thank Master Venavismi for his time, but don’t worry about thanking me,” Master Thenerassan says. “All you need to do is make sure you go to him and tell him if anyone is bothering you. It is not good for the other disciples to shirk their duties onto you. Chores are distributed throughout the peak as part of training. Every disciple must learn how to balance the necessities of daily life with the pursuit of loftier goals. But right now, things are unbalanced. Uthvir does all of the chores, and barely has time to focus on their spiritual cultivation and practice. The others do none of the chores, and do not build up their characters. So don’t think you’re doing them any favours by keeping quiet about their mistreatment towards you.”

 Uthvir’s eyes are wide.

 Again, they flounder. Not knowing what to say. But the habit of thinking that if there’s a problem, then they must be to blame for it, is an old standby. They immediately start offering apologies again; and rendered uncertain, again, when Master Thenerassan makes them stop that.

 “You are not in trouble,” their teacher reiterates.

 “But I… hurt their training?” they venture. Isn’t that what they’re getting at?

 Master Thenerassan looks vexed.

 “No, Uthvir. I am saying that they have hurt your training, as well as their own. And that I have failed you by letting this go on so long,” he declares.

 Uthvir feels like someone just opened up the floor underneath them. They stare blankly ahead, and then blink a few times.

 They… he… what?

 “...Really?” they venture at last.

 Master Thenerassan’s expression vanishes behind a wave of his fan again.

 “Really,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “But it falls to me, now, to try and fix this. That will take us some time, I fear. And some things cannot be endured; you can no longer sleep in that filthy wood shed, for starters.”

 “I don’t mind it!” Uthvir insists, hastily. Please, no, not the barracks…

 “The barracks are also unacceptable, in your case,” Master Thenerassan tells them. As if he could read their mind. They wobble in place a little, still missing the floor. Except, bit by bit, they’re starting to wonder if they’re floating rather than sinking. If this is a good feeling, rather than a bad one.

 “Fortunately, there is a room by my garden that I do not use,” their teacher continues. “It has its own door to the outside, so there is no need for us to disturb one another. I’ll expect you to have your things moved over there by the end of today. Otherwise, you should focus on your studies until I leave. There will be no more chores until Master Venavismi assigns you some, after I have gone, to try and make up for some of the imbalanced time.”

 Uthvir stares.

 …What?

 As Master Thenerassan looks back at them expectantly, they remember themselves yet again. Dropping into another hasty bow.

 “That is too kind!” they insist.

 “I think I have explained why it is not,” Master Thenerassan retorts, quietly. Almost more to himself than to him, they think. Before they can think of how to respond, he motions at them to sit up again, using his fan to gesture. “Stop bowing. And finish that plate of food, you are much too malnourished. I have some training manuals for you and Desire, I expect you to give hers to her before I go. Master Venavismi will give you guidance if you need it, but I should still point you in the right direction, so I expect you both to read these manuals while I am gone…”

 Uthvir listens. They really do, even though it also still feels like they’re floating away in shock and confusion. They sit in Master Thenerassan’s office, and eat sweets, and listen to birds, and are given two crisp new manuals to tuck under their arm, and a key to a room that leads onto Master Thenerassan’s own garden. They try the shed, first, thinking that makes more sense, but no. The key doesn’t fit there. Instead it opens a door to a quiet little space that looks like it was originally meant to be a meditation room. Uthvir doesn’t know why Master Thenerassan would dislike it enough to not use it; there is a lot of pleasant light and fresh scents from the garden. But someone has put a new bedroll into the corner, along with a chest for keeping clothes in.

 Uthvir leaves in a daze to go and get their things. It doesn’t take long, they don’t have very much. The little room still seems sparse and empty as they set down their blanket and put away their spare uniform, and use the extra drawers to hold all their training material and their little tin of healing salve.

 Moving their belongings reminds them of what’s missing from the count of items.

 It’s a sad thing in with several confusing-but-ostensibly-good things. So Uthvir’s not sure how it works out that they end up sitting on their blanket in a corner of the strange room, with their knees up their chest, crying as quietly as they can.

 And when they’ve finished, they feel tired all over again. Even though they overslept already. Their bones feel hollowed out, and the lack of comforting weight at their neck still seems wrong, but… but, as they settle their damp cheeks against their knees, a wave of relief washes over them. It feels the same way that the air does after a storm has broken. And so, with instinctive desire, and a strange sense of balance, they fold themselves into a meditative pose and settle more deliberately into their corner. Closing their eyes as they focus on their breathing, and then on the flow of their spiritual energy.

 Their teacher instructed them to practice.

 Even if nothing else makes sense, Uthvir supposes that this, at least, probably should.

  ~

  Thenvunin can’t help but fretting, when the day actually arrives for him to leave and head for the caves.

 It still seems like a good plan. Or maybe just the best he can come up with. But there seem to be endless complications to everything. He had assumed things would get simpler once he wasn’t getting ‘dinged’ by the OOC Lock anymore - and in a sense, that really is a benefit. What he’d failed to consider, though, was that there might still be consequences for acting ‘strangely’.

 Case in point - the first morning after the lock had worn off, no less than three of the original Thenerassan’s colleagues had asked if he was ‘feeling alright’. Master Tasallir had looked at him as if he might be having some kind of manic episode, one of the peak’s healers had just ‘swung by’ to check on the currents of his spiritual energy, and then Uthvir had seemed positively terrified during a simple interview where all he tried to do was fix their bullying issue and move them to a better place to sleep at night.

 He had scared them witless and he didn’t even know how.

 They still seem uncertain around him. Thenvunin has been giving them space - and that hasn’t been hard, at the end of the day. He has plenty to deal with in trying to wrangle the other disciples at the moment, who are even more confused that their ‘teacher’ has started behaving differently. At least that makes some sense, though, because Thenvunin isn’t particularly trying to be nice to them.

 Oh, he’s not being cruel. But being ‘too nice’ to Squish reads in a way that makes his skin crawl, considering the Original Thenerassan’s ‘niceness’ towards her. And as for his bully students, well, obviously there’s a need to backtrack on some of the damage that’s been done to their values and discipline. Which means actually punishing them for being vicious little beasts.

 Thenvunin’s never been a teacher. He went to school, once, for about four years when his health was good. Otherwise it was all homeschooling. So he even finds himself pouring through the Original Thenerassan’s notes, not because he thinks it would be a good thing to emulate the man on a lot of things, but because it… at least gives him an idea of what he’s working with? And what the general structure of things should maybe look like. Unfortunately, most of the Original’s notes just read like the diary entries of some kind of madcap social climber. Who has good connections, who has money, who has relatives who’ve ascended, and things like that.

 Otherwise, he didn’t seem to bother with a lot of necessary work.

 Thenvunin ends up going to Master Tasallir, who is an ascended scribe and the person in charge of the peak’s records and archives, and mustering up an excuse of losing some of his teaching materials in order to access back-up records in the archives. Tasallir still seems to think he might be deranged, but less than he had before, when Thenvunin had attempted to offer him an actual friendly greeting.

 The man does make him nervous, though. He can’t even remember reading about him from the original book, and yet for some reason he is… unreasonably good-looking? Like someone cast him out of precious metals and ivory and then brought him to life via wishes. He is quite possibly the most meticulously groomed person Thenvunin has seen on the entire peak, which is saying something, and every time her speaks to Thenvunin he looks like someone has jammed half a lemon in his mouth.

 Thenvunin cannot take it personally. He thinks he would look the same way at the Original Thenerassan, and has no idea what sorts of transgressions his alter-ego might have committed before Thenvunin pulled a body snatch on him.

 But the long and short of it is that he spends several days running around in a mad panic, earning no points and feeling as if he is somehow just making everything worse, as he tries to actually teach his students and beseeches the other mentors at the peak for assistance and is perpetually asked if his ‘spiritual equilibrium’ is alright.

 So on balance, despite his nervousness over leaving - and what could go wrong in his absence, if that little villain Elandaris gets his hands on Uthvir again - he thinks the trip will be good.

 He can study, He can practice his abilities. He can make plans. He can come back, and hope that any major shifts in his ‘general temperament’ might be attributed to a successful trip; like the way some people seem to come back from vacations with entirely new outlooks on life. Or maybe, if he gives them a few days, people will start to forget what the Original was really like. Even just a little bit.

 …That’s a long shot, but he can hope.

 One silver lining to the whole scenario that he hadn’t even anticipated is that, since he is going to a section of the sacred caves that is not typically used by Quiet Peak, Lady Mana’Din gives him a map of the cave system with his path outlined for him. She also gives him a special pass key, which is little more than a strip of paper with a password written on it. But when Thenvunin presents it to the waterfall opening of the cave system, the water parts, and the entrance is revealed to him; and every other path along the way is also opened by his innocuous-seeming strip of paper.

 Thenvunin begins to feel some unease about the situation as he makes his way to the cavern system of Battle Peak.

 He’s never been in a cave before. Only really seen them on television and in movies, which doesn’t really do the darkness of them justice. Not that there’s no light; openings up towards the surface let in bright shafts of daylight, but any time a cloud rolls past them, they darken. And there are some lanterns, but still, they don’t illuminate everything. Many passageways seem shrouded in a deep darkness, and the darkness feels strange to him.

 Old, somehow.

 It reminds him of the practice that some peaks have of binding cursed spirits and demons beneath mountains. Like the dungeons below a castle. Thenvunin does not see anything, or hear anything, or even feel anything more than the odd sense of the ‘energy’ in the place. There are pools of calm, and waterfalls of light, and there are small bodies of still water - clear, somehow - and there is darkness.

 Only the darkness bothers him, until he thinks about how much time he is going to be spending here.

 Then he is very glad that he brought along so many books.

 Every so often he passes a cave that he suspects is occupied, but he doesn’t see any occupants until he gets to the segment of the map that marks the Battle Peak system. He doesn’t get lost or turned around too many times, thankfully. The caves are supposed to be a ‘natural’ place, but they do still have markers for the pilgrims that come.

 When Thenvunin is the Battle Peak system, he passes by a small chamber. Filled, unexpectedly, with daylight. An unfamiliar figure mediates in the middle of the room. They do not seem to take note of Thenvunin’s passage, and after a while, he decides it would be best just to leave them to their self-reflection.

 Other than that, he doesn’t see anyone until he’s actually made it to the cavern allotted to him.

 The space is something of a relief. Though it’s still obviously a cave, it has light. Not as much as the one he saw the meditating disciple in, but enough to give him a glimpse of the sky through the high opening. Water trickles down one side of the cavern wall, and some moss is growing around the opening. Thenvunin can feel the air move a little.

 It startles him, how much of a relief that is. Like a friendly touch that he had missed without knowing, ever since he came inside the caves. He moves to the middle of the chamber, and takes a deep breath. Spreading his arms out and feeling the air across his face.

 I can do this.

 Though after a moment, it occurs to him that he isn’t entirely sure how to start.

 The meditation he witnessed earlier rises in his memory, and after a moment, he supposes that’s as good a place to begin as any. He sets the bag he brought into a corner of the cave - Master Venavismi had blinked at the sight of it before he left, asking if it wasn’t traditional to take nothing at all; but Thenvunin managed to say it was only for the trip - and then he settles in a good spot to feel the breeze, and begins.

 Once he starts in on things, he finds that, like with the leaves he had thrown at Elandaris, many things are more like waking up a memory than trying to attempt something new. Even though Thenvunin is sure he’s never done any of them before. He manages to pass several hours without feeling like he’s been in a hard stone cave for that long; not noticing the memory of hunger, or feeling pain from the cold stone floor. He alternates between mediation and cultivation, practice and pondering. He takes breaks to read some of the manuals he brought and makes notes, and notices the light changing from day to night, before the habit of sleeping catches up with him.

 But that just leaves him feeling antsy and uncertain. And in too much darkness to read anymore.

 Sounds from one of the other chambers draws his attention. Thenvunin considers that it might be wise to watch some of the other disciples here, to see what they’re doing. To figure out what he should be doing. He gets up, and dusts himself off, and heads back out of the chamber. A little wandering leads him to a side passage, that descends right down next to the cavern he was in. That’s where the sounds seem to be coming from, along with the steady trickle of running water. He makes his way down, hesitating when the distant lantern light fades, and he has to proceed in darkness. But it only lasts for a short while, before he sees a light at the end of the passage.

 The sounds become clearer. It sounds like someone… groaning? Sparring, perhaps? Thenvunin almost thinks for half a second that he’s about to walk in on something inappropriate instead, with the heavy nature of the panting that he hears, but… serious disciples of Battle Peak wouldn’t use the sacred caves for trysts, would they?

 That would be too scandalous!

 Thenvunin’s face feels hot at the thought, and he’s definitely hoping he doesn’t see anything untoward at all as he reaches the bottom, and takes a look around.

 The first thing he notes is that there is only one person in the chamber. It’s a wide space, bigger than the one he had been in, but with more dark patches. A lone disciple is standing just off to one side, with his back towards the passage. His shoulders are hunched; and he is the source of the heavy breaths.

 Thenvunin hesitates. Something niggles at the back of his mind, a sense of something he should know, but also a rush of reflexive worry. Thoughts of being in hospitals, of seeing other sick and injured and struggling people.

 This man is unwell?

 And then the system provides him with a name, hovering in text just below the stranger’s shoulder. Like a caption in a film.

 <Battle Peak Champion: Master Calain>

 Thenvunin freezes.

 All the colour drains out of his face as sudden recognition dawns.

 Oh no. Oh no. No, he remembers this now! From when the original Thenerassan was discredited in the story! Battle Peak’s champion was Thenerassan’s rival while they were students, serving under the same teacher. They had bitterly despised one another, and Thenerassan had nursed a grudge ever since the fallout of their constant fighting had seen their teacher hand his tutelage over to Mana’Din at Quiet Peak, in order to separate them. Bitterness at being the one chosen to leave rather than stay, Thenvunin had assumed.

 A spark of hatred that had bloomed into an opportunistic murder, when Thenerassan had gone to the sacred caves for self-reflection, and found Calain lost to the haze of spiritual imbalance. A training method gone badly awry. At the time, the murder was considered self-defense; Calain had lashed out and in defending himself, Thenerassan had killed him by mistake. But as the black marks on his reputation grew, it became clear that the murder was deliberate. Calain’s state only provided a plausible excuse.

 And Master Calain’s sister was a member of Uthvir’s harem. One of their favourite wives, even. So of course, Uthvir had taken great care to avenge the death of her brother, along with every other payment they drew from Thenerassan’s blood.

 I can’t be here, Thenvunin thinks, all at once. He turns to leave but in his hurry, and the dark, a loose pebble flies away from his shoe.

 Calain turns. Ragged and wild, like an animal. Thenvunin feels a rush of shock as he sees his skin mottled with darkness, as if covered in dozens of bruises. He can scarcely take in anything else about the man, as fear overwhelms him, and he moves to keep running.

 Calain makes a sharp motion. There’s a flash of warning. Reflexes alone save Thenvunin as he leaps back, and barely avoids the sword that cuts across his path.

 <Dawn’s Radiance>, the system helpfully tags it.

 I don’t care about the names of swords right now! What am I supposed to do?! Thenvunin wonders back. He doesn’t get an answer, isn’t even really expecting anything that helpful, before Calain roars at him and charges. His sword whipping through the air and flying to his hand, as his eyes gleam with wild, erratic energy.

 Thenvunin flees in the opposite direction.

 “Calain!” he tries, as the two of them begin to race in circles around the chamber. “Calain, it’s me, Thenvunin!”

 “I’LL KILL YOU!” Calain roars.

 Right, yes, no, the Original Thenerassan may have known him but they weren’t on good terms. Familiarity isn’t going to help. Thenvunin keeps running, and dodging the occasional onslaughts of Calain’s sword, as he tries desperately to think. I need to get help!

 He attempts to turn back up the passageway, but the sword blocks his path. And then it cuts towards him, and in a sudden, vivid moment of clarity, Thenvunin knows that if he doesn’t do exactly the right thing right this second, he is going to be speared on that blade.

 Before he can really think about it, about what he knows or what he can or can’t do, he turns, and in a smooth motion, draws Swan’s Grace.

 The blocking move comes effortlessly. Calain’s sword strikes against his own with enough force to push him backwards, but even though there’s a ton of energy behind it, it’s erratic and unfocused. Thenvunin narrows his eyes, and in a sharp, deliberate gesture, knocks the weapon out of the grasp of Calain’s distorted spiritual energy, and sends it clattering across the chamber.

 Right in time for the weapon’s owner to charge him like a zombie from a horror film.

 Thenvunin’s ready, though. He feels impossibly calm - like he’s floating out of this body again, like he’s just a director telling it what they need to accomplish - as he turns the flat of his blade to deflect part of Calain’s charge, and then smashes a palm up the underside of his jaw. The energy around them ripples, and Thenvunin’s own bats his attacker away with a rush of wind that howls through the chamber.

 Calain smacks against the cavern wall; Thenvunin immobilizes him quickly, enabled mostly, he thinks, but the pure chaos of the other man’s aura, and the incoherence of his intentions. He sits on his back to hold him down, while Calain bucks, and keeps Swan’s Grace ready to deflect in case he should manage to summon his sword again.

 But then, reality sinks back in, and Thenvunin is once again at a loss.

 What… what he should do?

 He can’t hold Calain down forever. But he can’t kill him, either. Even if it weren’t for the situation with Uthvir later on, Thenvunin’s never killed a person before. Trying to tell himself that Calain’s only a fictional character doesn’t seem to work very well. Not when he’s spasming and struggling like a very real, ill man, caught in some kind of terrible seizure.

 “Help!” he tries calling. “We need assistance! Is anyone there?”

 He thinks he hears something, or maybe a few things. But minutes pass and Calain is getting harder to restrain, and the bruising on his skin is looking worse by the minute, unless that’s just Thenvunin’s imagination. But it seems almost like… like he’s changing. Like the imbalance is…

 Oh.

 Oh, no. He remembers now. Imbalance one’s energies bad enough, and death can result. Calain body is being destroyed by the energies inside of it. Like a cancer.

 But as Thenvunin remembers that, he also finds himself remembering something else. One of Uthvir’s wives went through something similar, didn’t she? Sabotaged in her training by a rival. But Uthvir saved her. In the sort of novel that Immortal Demon Way was, not saving their own wife wouldn’t have fit the power fantasy bill. So Uthvir had used their own spiritual equilibrium to restore hers. Thenvunin even remembers the description of the technique, although he also recalls it being described as very dangerous and liable to damage both parties if it backfires…

 It’s seeing Calain spit up a mouthful of blood that finally makes up his mind.

 “For the record, I’ve never done this before. So if it doesn’t work, I am sincerely trying,” he says.

 Then he summons up his focus, and presses his fingers to specific points on Calain’s back. Digging in, and mustering up the energy he needs, and feeling out what the over-abundance of energy in the other man is. Then he starts channeling in a counter-balance from his own stores.

 It feels strange. Like bleeding, almost, but not quite. Thenvunin’s arms tingle and his focus blurs a little. But he takes calm, steady breaths. If there’s one thing he does know, it’s how it feels when something’s going wrong in his body. And this feels tiring, and risky, but not like he’s committed a disaster yet. A soft glow emanates from his touch. He’s so focused, that he doesn’t notice when Calain stops struggling.

 He does notice when the mottling on his skin begins to fade, though.

 Thenvunin keeps up the process until he feels like he’s starting to lose his own balance. And then he finally pulls his hand away, and stops.

 There’s a long moment of utter silence.

 Then the system chimes in.

 <Congratulations! You have successfully completed a character quest. +50.>

 Fifty points? Just fifty, for all that? Thenvunin doesn’t know if he’s more surprised that he got anything at all, or offended that this was somehow worth fewer points than just stealing poor Uthvir’s treasured necklace.

 Calain turns, and looks at him with eyes that seem bloodshot, but otherwise normal.

 “What?” he says. “Thenvunin?”

 He sounds simultaneously offended and bewildered. Thenvunin figures he can let the other man go, now, and does. Only starting to release him before Calain is shoving him off in return, and moving warily away from him.

 Thenvunin folds his arms, unable to fight back his annoyance. It might be understandable that almost everyone hates him, here, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t getting sick of it, too.

 “What’s that look for?” he demands. “I just saved your life! That was a risky move, you know. I’ve never done anything like that before. And you were trying to kill me the entire time, too!”

 Calain’s brow furrows. He looks confused.

 Thenvunin curses his luck.

 “Oh please don’t tell me you have short-term memory loss?” he snaps. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?

 The comment seems to smooth out some of Calain’s features, though. The other man extends one arm outward, and Dawn’s Radiance flies back into it. Thenvunin stiffens; but after a second, Calain only sheaths the blade back at his hip.

 “I remember,” he says, clipped and obviously still wary.

 The two of them stare one another down.

 “...Why?” Calain finally asks, breaking the silence.

 Thenvunin straightens out his clothes, which had been sent somewhat askew by the fight, and hesitates on how to reply.

 “Why what?” he asks, in the end.

 It just seems to make Calain more annoyed, though.

 The effect is somewhat undermined by the fact that the man is bizarrely pretty, though. Thenvunin is beginning to wonder what’s going on with that. When he read the book, he had sort of imagined Master Calain as being a rugged, muscles-upon-muscles, thick-and-hairy warrior type. Barrel-chested and stocky and square-jawed, the sort of man who fought bears under waterfalls. But on reflection, he supposed that the man’s reputation had been described more than his looks. And his sister, Calantha, was a remarkable beauty; dainty and fair, and actually described in an atypical amount of physical detail.

 On that reflection, Thenvunin realizes that Calain looks essentially like a male version of her. He’s still obviously fit and broad-shouldered, taller than Thenvunin himself. But he’s delicate-looking too, with a princely sort of countenance. A pretty face, long eyelashes, soft mouth…

 The contrast between expectation and reality is a little unnerving.

 Still. Calain is glaring, and he does at least have the eyebrows to pull that off.

 “Why would you do that?” he asks, looking Thenvunin up and down. As if he’s half expecting some vipers to suddenly come soaring out of his pockets or something.

 Thenvunin sighs, internally, and reminds himself that there’s no point in getting annoyed. People are just going to be suspicious. The only person to blame for it isn’t here, because Thenvunin has taken his place.

 “I’ve been… thinking about a lot of things,” he says. “Things I regret. About the past. About who I’ve been. I don’t want to be that person anymore, Calain. I’m trying to bury the Thenvunin Thenerassan you knew, and do a better job with the future than he ever would have. I would like to turn over a new leaf.”

 Calain looks suspicious, still.

 After a few more minutes of staring contests, Thenvunin gives up. He feels bad, now. Tired. Here he was supposed to be building up his spiritual energy, and now he’s set himself back instead. Not that he regrets it. After a moment he finds himself looking Calain over again, and while the other man may still be expecting some kind of trick…

 Thenvunin just saved his life.

 Maybe he can be proud of that, even if no one else is?

 “I’m in the cave at the top of the passage,” he mentions, gesturing. “If you run into difficulties again, come and find me.”

 Calain’s expression wavers, while Thenvunin starts to head up. It’s only then that he finally hears the sound of voices calling. Battle Peak disciples approaching from the opposite end of Calain’s chamber, by the sounds of it. After a moment of considering, Thenvunin just decides to keep going. Let them look after Calain, now. They’re his colleagues and he’s probably more comfortable with that anyway.

 After a while he hears Calain finally turn and answer the calls, and then the voices move further than Thenvunin can properly hear. He finishes making his way back up the passage, and heads into his own cavern again. Settling down, reviewing the last manual he read, and focusing on figuring out just what all he did to himself, and how he should probably reverse it.

 It’s good practice, he tells himself.

 Come morning, he has changed his mind entirely. Exerting that much energy in such a strange way was absolutely not worth it. He should have just killed Calain. Maybe this sadistic system would have given him more points. Probably, he thinks. And then he wouldn’t be feeling like someone filled his head with bees and tied all of his muscles into knots.

 The second day he gives up on progressing a few times in favour of just quietly weeping in the corner of his cavern.

 Eventually, though, Thenvunin finds himself getting back on track. The buzzing in his skull abates, and he manages to smooth out all the aches in his own body, with a deliberateness that makes him envious even while he’s doing it. If only he could have done this while he was alive! Just - fix himself! Heal himself, oh, that would have been a dream come true. The number of nights he had spent awake wishing he could just will his bones better��

 It makes him a little emotionally unbalanced. He has to start some things over again, and switches to sword practice for a while instead.

 A few times, he thinks about going to check on Calain. But he hears no more strange noises, and after a while, he decides against it. He doesn’t want to jinx it, he managed to get away without killing the man this time, but what if testing his luck just means he ends up doing the whole thing over again?

 Sometimes he can tell, without really seeing, that there are other disciples moving around the caves. But mostly, things just stay quiet, and never sees anyone. Hears things, feels things, but doesn’t see things. He forces himself to put his attention to what he needs to do, what he came for. After a while he loses track of time entirely, but, he still has a strong sense that he should stay put for now.

 Until, one evening, he abruptly finds that he doesn’t anymore.

 Time to go.

 Without sparing much thought to question it, Thenvunin gathers up his things. He hesitates, warring with himself over it; but then he turns towards the passageway leading down to the big chamber. It’s still daylight outside the caves, and that makes him feel bolder, even though it doesn’t change the light levels in the passage any.

 When he makes his way down, he sees Calain sitting on a flattened stone in the chamber. Eyes closed.

 “Brother,” he calls. “I’m leaving. Just so you know. Good luck with the rest of your endeavours.”

 It would have been irresponsible, Thenvunin thinks, to just leave without letting the man know that a potential source of help had gone.

 Calain doesn’t give any acknowledgement of having heard him or not.

 After a minute, Thenvunin can’t help but sniff in annoyance. Muttering a little to himself about rude people and ingrates before turning on his heel and making his way all the way back up that damn passage again, before consulting his map to find the quickest route out.

 Once he’s out, getting back to Quiet Peak will be simpler than leaving it. He can just use his energy to fly his way there on his sword. A genre trope that always seemed a little odd to him, but when he tested it out during one of his attempts to master a few basic abilities, he suddenly discovered the appeal.

 Of flying, at least.

 The map leads him to an opening that heads straight up and out of a wide side passage. Thenvunin takes it, and lets out an audible sigh of relief as he finally comes clear of the cavern rock and breaks out into the trees and open air again. A slightly frigid wind blowing past him, carrying just the faintest hints of snow, while the trees sway. He lets his energy carry him up above the tops of them, as he stretches his arms out again.

 That was a success, he thinks. He does feel somewhat better about himself and his abilities now. Even if that whole debacle with Calain still feels vaguely traumatic.

 He turns towards Quiet Peak…

 …And halts, going cold all over again.

 Flames lick upwards from the direction of the temple. While the sky towards the opposite horizon is grey, closer to the peak, the air shimmers with an eerie red light. The next gust of wind that blows his way carries ash instead of snow, and right as he sees it, he hears the first distant chime of the temple’s alarm bells.

 He forgot.

 How could he forget?!

 The attack! The attack on the temple, when Uthvir was fifteen. One of the most formative moments in Uthvir’s pre-Hell development, one of the first ‘big’ fights, a pivotal moment before the tournament that actually seemed to make the story really kick off the ground.

 The attack!

 Demons have come to Quiet Peak.

[illeee-girl]

La La(chimolala) Land Chapter Fourteen: The Confession from Your Lips, Part 2

jimin x reader genre: fluff that gets a lil serious word count: 1.5k warnings: none

[Inspired by La La Land]

Read on Wattpad

Read on Ao3

You’ve read your fair share of novels. You’ve thumbed through a sufficient amount of the classics. You’ve wrestled with Shakespeare and done battle with Tolstoy; you’ve basked in Austen and delighted in Bronte. You should, in every sense of the word, know how to describe the feeling of love. Is it a blossoming flower, or an incessant rainstorm? A lighthouse standing above a turbulent sea, or the thrashing waves below?

Now, standing here, in your apartment, no description seems adequate: no portrayal passable, no sentence satisfactory, no sonnet sufficient. It doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise that it leaves you speechless, but it is astounding that your pen doesn’t seem to be able to move across the paper.

It’s just, you suppose, indescribable.

“I still expect you to say it, you know.” You glance up at him from where your notebook is positioned on his chest, pen at the ready in your hand.

He kisses your forehead.

“I meant in words.”

Now your nose.

“Jimin, I need to write this down.”

“For posterity?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“For research!” You refuse to indulge him in his innuendo. “I’m serious, Jimin.”

“Using my real name twice? I guess you are serious.” You feel his chest swell under your notebook. He looks at the ground and welcomes a mischievous smile onto his lips. “It’s too bad I’m not in love with you.”

“PARK JIMIN!”

He falls into you, laughing. “I’m sorry, Jagi, I’m sorry. I saw the opportunity and I had to take it, you know.”

“I know,” you smile, somewhat weakly. “I’m just . . . I’m already stressing over when you have to walk out that door and fly back to Korea—when we have to go back to the way things were. So I just . . . I need to hear it from your lips. Just this once.”

“There are so many things I could say about lips right now, but I will refrain.”

“Thank you.”

“And I can assure you, I won’t tell you only once. Just ask the boys. I’ve been saying it nonstop.”

“So they all knew before me?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise, though you’re not exactly shocked. They are all extremely close.

“I had to make sure . . .” his voice trails off as he gathers his thoughts. “Jagi, I’ve told you about how I tend to jump in to relationships too fast. I come off too strong. I get so obsessed that they burn out before they even begin. I’ve definitely thought I was in love before, but I know now that it was all just infatuation. I never really got over that ‘teenage dream’ vision of love—I was just too immature, I think. I wanted romance for all the wrong reasons . . . selfish, I-feel-insecure-and-need-attention reasons—”

“You still require a lot of attention,” you interrupt, “but proceed.”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t really be me if I didn’t. Anyway, it was hard for me to figure all of this out. I needed to talk through it with my hyungs, and I needed to meet you. From the moment I saw you—I know that’s a cliché, but it’s true—it was a much different feeling, a much different experience. My brain said: ‘OK, this is someone who’s very, very different from anyone from your past. She’s incredibly smart. Fearlessly driven. Kind of introverted, and sort of clumsy. She both balances and mirrors you.’ And I thought, ‘Good point, brain.’

“So I gathered up a little more courage every time I saw you, while keeping reality in the back of my mind. Sometimes I pushed back on my emotions too hard, a sort of overcorrection, I think—you saw that that day up in the hills at the music video shoot.

“But, with time, I grew to love you in a much different way than I’d ever ‘loved’ anyone before. In all honesty, the best thing I can equate it to is the way I love my hyungs. But it’s different, for obvious reasons, and, in many ways, it’s much stronger. My heart didn’t really speak to me like my brain did—it just beats faster when I see you, speeds up even more when you smile, and threatens to explode when we touch.

“That’s certainly cheesier than anything you’ve ever said to me,” he continues, “or anything I’ve ever said to you—but it’s true. You make my brain and my heart happy.” He pauses, partially for effect, you presume, but mostly to gather his breath. “Should I keep going?”

You look up from your notebook, where your pen has been traveling at a speed well above the posted limit. “Never stop,” you say.

“This is all pretty much what I told Yoongi. We were sharing a hotel room one night in Japan and he had a sudden compassionate streak and let me talk his ear off about you. So I told him the thing I just said about my brain and my heart, and he goes: ‘No, no. Don’t listen to those things. They’re idiots.’ And then he went off on how his brain isn’t actually an idiot, but his heart is, and then said something about how both my brain and heart are probably idiots, which I graciously ignored. But then he said something interesting: ‘Ignore your brain. Ignore your heart. What does your gut say?’”

You pause writing. “And . . . what did it say?”

“Well, first of all, it said: ‘I’m not a gut, I’m a rock hard set of abs.’”

“BOY I WILL FIGHT YO—”

“Sorry, sorry! So anyway, it—”

“Wait, hold on. Let me catch up a bit.”

“Are you going to write down the thing about the abs? ‘Cause that’s a very important detail, I think.”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine,” he acquiesces.

You take a few seconds to scribble down a bunch of what Jimin’s just said, and now you’ve filled an entire spread with notes. “Now,” you blink—slightly flirtatiously, but mostly in sheer anticipation. “What did your gut say?”

“It didn’t actually say anything.”

You groan. “Aw, Jimin, come on. All that build up for nothing? I just made a whole box labeled ‘gut,’ now what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Draw a crap ton of butterflies in it,” he bats his eyelashes a little, “’cause that’s what I felt.”

“We need to make a rule where we have to put a dollar in a jar every time we say something ridiculously cheesy to each other,” you suggest.

But your own gut is fairly filled with those flittering insects as well.

“That’s a fair idea,” he admits. “But you better swing by an ATM tomorrow, because I am about to make you say all sorts of things . . .”

“Finish your confession, you dork.”

He grabs your wrist, forcing you to stop writing and drawing your gaze into his dark eyes. They’re tired, but happy, but serious. You know you’d never be able to begin to fathom all of the emotion—and devotion—that lies within them. But still. You want to dive in. Swim around. Never leave.

He brushes a strand of your hair out of your face, eyes never leaving yours.

He leans in.

“I love you,” the words brush against your ear with lingering beauty—with meaning that has somehow always been there, wonder that pulses through the present, and intensity that will never fade. His lips are soft, like the petals of a flower—something you knew already but seem to have forgotten. His arms wrap around you, and your fingers find their home in the hair on the back of his neck. “I love you,” he goes on, “and even though we still have quite a bit to figure out about our lives, I know that, no matter where I am, I will love you.”

You hold his puffy cheek in your hand. “And I will love you right back.”

It’s a moment of contentment of the best variety, so captivating and dynamic that the rest of the world—the past, the future, and the present beyond the space that holds you both—melts into oblivion.

Then, Jimin’s stomach grumbles.

He orders you both some Pad Thai, and settles down on the couch next to you while you finish your episode of Crash Landing on You. An exhausted Jimin falls asleep on your shoulder just as Yoon Se-ri and Ri Jeong Hyeok watch the first snowfall.

[drinkupthesunrise]

I mean it wouldn't even even really be much of AU, but definitely here for Wedge/Mon Mothma, long distance relationship, because that pairing has definitely been in my head.

To, what I’m sure is absolutely no one’s surprise, this got a little out of hand. Properly AU, because the only other fic I could think of was the love letters on I really want to write one day, and I want to do that justice. So instead of that, have something that is really very id-ficcy and contains too many feelings about having the person you adore live far away from you. (to be ao3ed later, I’m sure. now on ao3!) Also! Tagging @sassysnowperson and @harusamemosuke as the other people I’ve dragged onto this ship somehow.

Theymeet in the comments section of a blog post about D H Karver’slatest romance novel.

Lookingback, it’scertainly an odd start to a relationship. The fact that it goesanywhere is something near a miracle.

Butsix months later, Wedge spends almost his entire day in contact withher. She’sthe first person he messages when he wakes up, and the last person hetalks to before he goes to sleep. His friends are all highly bemusedby the situation, wondering why Wedge is now almost surgicallyattached to his phone, wondering who the mystery woman is.

Wedgedoesn’t have an answer to that.

Hedoesn’t really know himself.

.

WedgeAntillesMorning,Mon. Sleep well?

MonShit.…I might have worked all night.

WedgeAntillesIt’sstill morning? :DThothat’s not good, what on earth were you doing? Something importantenough to justify you being up all night?

MonInsome ways.I’lllive Wedge, this is hardly the first time.

WedgeAntillesIknow, but doesn’t mean I like it. You should take better care ofyourself.

MonAsyou keep telling me.Toobad I don’t actually have you to look after me.

WedgeAntillesPhysicallydragging you to bed is beyond me, I’mafraid.Gohave something to eat and then try and get a nap, okay Mon?

MonCan’tmake any promises, but I’ll try.

Hestill doesn’tknow much about the particulars of her life, what she does for a job,what her last name is, what she looks like. None of it matters,because he also knows her as well as he knows anyone else in theworld. He tries to stop himself falling for her too hard, knowingthat he’s only got a limited picture of who she is. But thefeelings are there, no matter how hard he tries to stop them.

Itdoesn’tmatter what she looks like, or what she does. He knows the truth ofher, and that’s all he needs to know.

Hesent her a photo of himself, seven months in. It’s a candid one thatTycho snapped, of him at one of their community activism events. It’sreasonably flattering, though he only meant to send it so she had anidea of what he’d looked like.

WedgeAntilles

WhatI did today.

MonIsthat you, on the right?

WedgeAntillesYeah.… why?

MonYou’revery handsome.

Wedgeremembers blushing. He remembers trying to wave her off, but she’dbeen quietly insistent on the truth of it. He’d asked for one in return, but she’d never sent one back. 

.

WedgeAntillesSo.Look. No pressure, but my friends and I are coming to London in threeweeks for personal reasons, and I was just wondering – do you wantto have dinner?Iunderstand if you don’t, I know you’re busy.AndI’mjust some random guy off the internet.

Mon(Mothma? Unconvinced)Wedgeyou’rean important part of my life, not some random guy off the internet.Whenare you here? There might be something I can’tget out of, but I’ll try.

WedgeAntilles25thMay. It’s a Friday.Youprobably have better plans for a Friday than me.

Mon(Mothma? Unconvinced)Can’tthink of anything better than spending time with you, don’t putyourself down.I’llhave to check with my aide.AmI good to pick the restaurant? Where are you staying? What do youlike?

WedgeAntillesI’measy :D Surprise me.

.

Wedgetexts Mon throughout the day, though they are both busy, and thereplies are sporadic. As the day draws to a close, Wedge feels thebutterflies starting to form in his stomach.

He’snot nervous. Well, maybe a little, but it’s a thrill, not a deeprouted anxiety. He can’t quite believe he’ll finally get to meether.

Allhis friends know where he’sgoing. He leaves to his fair share of ribbing, but he really couldn’tcare. He makes his way down the escalators to the tube, cursing thelack of signal means he can’t text Mon, his usual strategy to dealwith his dislike of crowds and hustle and bustle.

Hedrums his fingers against the overhead rail as he waits for his stop.

Monhas picked a restaurant not far from the Palace of Westminster. Itmakes Wedge wonder whether he’sgot it right about her identity. He’s starting to think that it isn’ta coincidence she shares a name with the leader of the oppositionparty. He doesn’t really want to think about it that hard, hasn’tpressed because he doesn’t want to know. He’s trusted that she’lltell him what he needs to know.

Nowhe will find out anyway.  

Heclimbs up from the tube, around the corner, checks his phone. He hasa text from her confirming that she’sthere. He sent her a photo, a selfie snapped off earlier that day, soshe knows what he looks like. He hopes that she’ll spot him.

Hepushes the door open. It’s more rustic than he figured, closer to apub than a restaurant. He glances round, looking for a woman at atable on her own. He can’t see one clearly. He moves into the tables,trying to look in the crevices.

“—Antilles?”

Ahand is at Wedge’selbow. It’s not a woman’s hand, it’s a man. He smiles warmly atWedge. “Yes?” Wedge replies.

“Mon’sthis way, if you’ll just follow me.” The man leads Wedge to atable behind a partition. There’s a woman sitting at the table. Awoman who is familiar.

Aclose crop of red hair sits atop a long, pale face. Her shirt – asalways – is white, with a single red and silver broach pinned to herchest the only spot of colour. Her mouth is pulled into a soft smile.She’sknown for her neutrality, her position as a figurehead, the unitingfront of her party. There are others who fight her battles for her.

“Youknow, you could have told me,” Wedge says, as he sits down. “Ihad my suspicions.”

Montucks a strand of hair behind her ears. She’snervous. “I didn’t want to scare you off,” she says. “Andthen… it just seemed easier to explain in person.” She smiles athim, and Wedge feels his stomach flip. Then she turns. “It’s okaySinjir. He’s clearly exactly who he says he is.”

Sinjir,the man who brought Wedge over casts an asparaging eye over Wedge. Hecrosses his arms. “Ifyou say so. He doesn’t look like a threat. Call me if you needanything.”

Heturns on his heels and leaves, and finally, Mon and Wedge are leftalone.

.

Fifteenminutes in, Wedge’sphone goes off.

“I’vegot to get this, sorry.” Wedge answers it, and lifts it to his ear,knowing that despite the caller ID saying Tycho, it could be any oneof his friends who’s decided to give him an out. If he doesn’tpick it up, they’ll all come down there. “Yes?”

“Hereis your fifteen-minute-emergency get out call, Hobbie is primed tomake up some Grade A bullshit if you need it.”

It’sWes. Of course it’s Wes. “Tell your boyfriend to stand down, I’mfine.” Wedge runs a hand back through his hair. “I’ll keep youguys posted on when I’ll be home, don’t do anything stupid whilstI’m gone.”

Wedgehangs up. He puts his phone back in his pocket. When he looks backup, Mon is giving him an odd look, one eyebrow raised. “Myfriends,” Wedge explains with a wave of his hand. “Promised tocall and give me a reason to get out of this if it wasn’t goingwell.” Mon’s eyebrow remains raised. “Their idea,” Wedge tagson. “I knew it would all be fine.”

“I’mglad you have friends who look out for you like that.” Mon’swords are soft. There’s an undercurrent that Wedge is familiarwith, having felt it many times himself. There’s only so much youcan do for someone who lives that many miles away from you. It’sreassuring to know that there are people in their corner, who can bethere for them when all you can offer is kind words down a line.

Wedgefights the urge to reach over and take her hand. “They’regood eggs. Pain in the backside too, but they’re good.” Wes,Tycho, Hobbie – they’re the best friends a guy could ask for,really. And then Wedge laughs to himself.

“What’sso funny?” Mon asks.

Wedgegets himself under control. “Youknow how we met? Talking about D H Karver’s novels?” Mon nods.“This is ridiculous, I’m warning you.”

“Goon.” Mon smiles again, and Wedge is determined to make her smile asmuch as he can that evening, because her smile is so delightful.

“So,it’s a pen name, we all know that. But no one knows who she is,she’s mysterious as fuck—” Mon laughs as Wedge swears without acare. “You know why? She’s actually my friend Hobbie.”

Monlooks at him for a moment, trying to decide if he’sserious. “Your friend Hobbie, the same one who took ten years torealise he was head over heels in love with his best friend, is famedromance novelist D H Karver?”

“Apparentlyso.” Wedge shrugs. “I only found out last week, when the guyswere interrogating me about you – sorry, I tried not to say toomuch – and Wes burst out into violent laughter when I told them howwe met.”

Monstares at him for another long moment, before her face crinkles upand she starts laughing. It’sjoyful and jubilant and Wedge can’t help but join in. He laughswith her, grateful that he’s with her in that moment, to see herreact and not to have to rely on the tools of text and emoji for herto convey her delight. “That’s amazing,” she says. “What acoincidence.”

.

Theyfinished eating long enough ago that they should probably be movingon. Dinner has been more delightful than Wedge ever even dreamed itwould be. At some point, he slipped over to Mon’sside of the booth to show her some pictures from his day, and henever left. He’s stayed by her side, the two of them brushingagainst each other constantly, sharing touch with ease.

Hewatches her. More than he probably should. He wants to remember her,the way her face lights up as she talks, so he can picture it later.If he looks long enough maybe he can commit her to memory.

Shepauses in the middle of her speech. “Sorry,I’m going off on one again.” She looks back over and Wedge iscaught staring.

Heducks his head, feeling as the heat covers his cheeks. “Sorry,”he mumbles. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Doesn’twant to be that guy, who can’t clamp down his feelings, who makesit weird.

“Youdon’t need to be embarrassed,” Mon says. She places a hand on hisknee, squeezing softly, and then runs her hand along the outside edgeof his thigh.

Wedgeis from a circle of touchy-feely friends, who live in each otherspockets and will fit four of them on a two-person sofa. But thisfeels different. It’snot some bullshit heteronormative nonsense, where it’s differentbetween a man and a woman, because Wedge is about as straight as awinding country road. It feels different because he wants Mon,because there is this connection between them, and Wedge hopes tohell and back he’s not misreading this.

Helooks back up at her. Her smile takes his breath away. He tries togather up the courage to say something, thinking if there is a momentwhere he could, it is now. But the words stick in his throat. Theuncertainty haunts him. He’drather things just stayed like this. He doesn’t know what to do ifshe disappeared out of his life.

“Wedge?”she enquires.

“It’sokay, carry on.” Wedge smiles back at her. He reaches for her hand,the one that’s on his leg, tangling her fingers in his. “I likehearing you talk.”

.

Theytalk a little while longer, and then Mon suggests a walk, around andalong the river. Wedge, who has no wish for this night to end, agreesreadily. Mon takes care of the check, despite Wedge’soffer to go half with her – she chose the place, she pays, that’swhat she says. He can pay next time.

Wedge’sheart jumps at the thought that there will be a next time.

Monmakes a striking figure in her long white coat. She’staller than him, and gains another inch or so from the low heels onher shoes. Wedge doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t have manypreferences when it comes to looks. Mon is an objectively lovelywoman – she’s not a classic beauty, but there’s something abouther features, her character, that makes people believe in her, towant to do anything for her. Wedge knows her better than that, andthe feeling only gets worse as you know the strength of her heart andconvictions.

(She’solder than him too. That doesn’t bother him either. His friendshave always says he’s an old soul.)

Theystep out, and there’sa chill in the air now that comes with the late evening. “You knowaround here better than I do,” Wedge says, looking at the way thewarm light from the streetlamps catches in her hair. “Lead theway.”

“Alright.”Mon offers her arm. It takes Wedge a moment to realise she’soffering it to him, and then he accepts it, linking his arm throughhers.

Theysettle into step easily. Mon points out relevant important landmarkswhen they pass them, but mostly they walk in quiet. She leads himround, and then down to Westminster Bridge. They stop halfway acrossit, pausing to watch the river.

“Idon’t like London much,” Wedge admits. Mon lives here, representsone of the many London constituencies, and he doesn’t know ifshe’ll take offence. “It’s too busy for me. But from here, Iguess I could.” It’s quiet, and he can see the stars above, andMon is by his side, and Wedge thinks that he’d like anywhere, ifonly she was with him.

“Theriver is one of my favourite places,” Mon says. Her hand rests inthe small of Wedge’s back. “Especially at this time of night. Icome out here sometimes, just to think. Spent a lot of time textingyou from this exact spot, actually.”

Wedgelifts his head up to the sky. “Irecognise the stars,” he says, finding the constellations the sameway he did in all the pictures she sent. He thinks of all those latenight messages, stray thoughts that crossed her mind, accompanied bya snapshot of her view. He turns his head to look at her, only tofind she’s already looking at him. “Thanks for sharing this withme.”

“I’vewanted to for a while.” Her fingers reach up, brushing Wedge’shair out of his face and behind his ear. As her hand pulls back, herfingers graze across the line of his jaw. Wedge wants to lean intoher touch, but it’s so fleeting, been and gone before he has timeto reach up and keep her hand here. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“WishI was here for more than an evening.”

“You’rewelcome to come back,” Mon suggests. “Or I could come and visityou. I’m sure I could find some excuses to be north of the border.”

“Notsure how welcome you might be, given how hard you campaigned for theunion.”

Monshoves him, playfully. “WedgeAntilles, don’t tell me you’re a nationalist.”

Wedgelaughs, leaning back into her. “Ifear politics may be a dangerous thread of discussion.” He shrugs.“Eh, I don’t have any stakes in that game. I’d like you tovisit. I’d like to spend any time with you I could. I’d certainlylike to see you more than once a year or so.”

“I’llmake it happen. Find a date. You’re really not that far away,really.”

“Scotlandmight as well be another country from London, honestly.” Wedgelaughs. “I’d take another date.” He pauses, when he realiseswhat he’s said.

Monmust catch his wariness. She reaches over, tangles her fingers inhis, and speaks before Wedge can backtrack. “Thiscan be a date, if you want it to be.” Her grip tightens. “I’dlike it to be,” she says, voice soft and sweet, and so utterlysincere.

“Oh.”Wedge gasps.

Shelikes him. She wants this. Wedge isn’tthe only one with a mess of feelings he doesn’t know what to dowith. This evening has been exactly what Wedge has wanted to think itwas.

“Iwant that.” The words are awkward, but Wedge reckons it’s ablessing that he gets them out at all. “I—” He forces himselfto look at her, to meet her eyes. “I like you. I’ve liked you fora while now. I just… I didn’t want to put that on you. But I’dlike to date you, very much.”

Thewords feel clumsy in his mouth. He hopes that he gets enough acrossthat she understands, the way she’salways understood him.

“Ilike the sound of that,” Mon says back.

She’ssmiling, and Wedge feels the tug of desire. He steps forward,bringing them closer. “Can I—” He inclines his head towardshers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,”Mon says, before closing the gap herself.

Theymeet and it’sall Wedge has dreamed of, in those quiet moments where hisimagination got away from him. There’s nothing inherentlyspectacular about it, but it feels like home. It feels like they’vekissed a thousand times before, but no less exciting for that fact.

Itends too soon. Wedge pulls back to look at her. Two bright spots ofred colour her cheeks. Her smile is bright, reaching right up to hereyes. She looks giddy with it all. As is Wedge. He’sso happy right now, happier than he ever remembers being, filled withan infectious joy.

Andso he kisses her again.

.

“Idon’t want to go.” Wedge scuffs his feet along the floor, knowingfull well that he should be responsible. It’s late. He’s tired.His friends are probably starting to wonder if he is coming home thatnight.

“Well,you don’t have to.” Mon cocks her head at him. “You couldalways come back to mine. My sofa’s free, if you want it, or I’vegot an empty half of a bed.” She blushes, looking away, a littleembarrassed. “If you don’t think that that’s moving too fast.”

“Youdid point out we’ve basically been dating for six months or so, wejust didn’t know it.” Wedge reaches in his pocket for his phone.“I’d love to, I just should probably check that my friends aren’twaiting up to interrogate me – which they will be – and let themknow I’m fine.”

“Youdo that.” Mon squeezes his hand as he steps away. He dials Luke,given that it’s Luke’s flat they’re all crashing in. Also, Lukeis unlikely to give him the full dose of grief. If he’s the one whoactually picks up his phone.

Wedgelistens to the line ringing, and prays that his exceptional run ofluck holds. Luckily, it does. Luke lets him go with minimal fuss,thanks him for calling, and ignores the way Wes and Hobbie areheckling in the background. It leaves Wedge to turn back to Mon, witha wide smile. “I’mall yours,” he says.

“Excellent.”

.

Wedgewakes the next morning, in a bed that isn’this own, a warm body along his side. He blinks his way toconsciousness slowly, stretching out.

Besidehim, Mon mumbles a noise of displeasure, and nestles closer to hisside. She throws a leg over his thigh and an arm round his waist,determined not to let him go. Wedge lets himself lie back into it fora moment, enjoying the physicality of her lying beside him, knowingthat its absence will haunt him later. He runs his hand over her arm,tucks his nose into her hair.

Theylie like that for a while. Wedge doesn’twant to ever get up, to leave the comfort of her arms. But he has atrain to catch. “Mon.” He pokes the soft flesh of her upper arm,as deliberately as he can muster. “Mon, darling, I’ve got to getup. I’m booked to get out of London by midday, because past me wasan idiot who didn’t think this through.”

Shegrumbles, clutching him even tighter. “No.I’ll book you on another train. A flight. Whatever.”

Wedgeallows himself to consider it for a moment. To stay with her, in thisbed, ignoring the world and their responsibilities. It would bebliss.

Butthey’donly buy themselves some scant hours. Wedge has a number of thingsfrom his event yesterday that need wrapping up, and a weekend’sworth of chores to do. Mon has – christ, Mon probably has goodnessknows how many things she needs to do.

“Ican’t,” Wedge murmurs back at her. “Next time.”

Monuntangles herself from him. She stares at him, her red hair rumpledand falling every which way over her head. She’slovely like this, Wedge thinks, unguarded and completely herself.“Next time,” she says. “I’m clearing three days of myschedule and we’re not leaving the bed.”

Wedgelaughs, and ducks into kiss her.

.

Wedgeends up dashing across Euston station for his train, to where Wes,Hobbie and Tycho are all waiting in the first carriage for him. Theytug him on a moment before the guard signals for the train to depart.“Surehope your lady friend was worth it, Wedge,” Wes teases, as theymake their way to their seats.

“She’sworth the entire world,” Wedge replies, not caring what amount ofshit he gets for waxing lyrical over her. As they sit down, Wedgepulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s got a text waiting.

MonMothmaMissyou already x

Wedgesmiles softly to himself, knowing he must look lovestruck.

WedgeAntillesMissyou too.Ilove you.

MonMothma…you couldn’t have said that when you were here????

WedgeAntilles… sorry?

MonMothmaIlove you too.Callme when you get home safe.

WedgeAntillesIwill.

[mercurialscoundrel]

20 Questions Tag

@indecentpause tagged me for these questions! It took me a while but here it is!

I’m going to tag my usuals - @ceabrams and @emjayrey. 

1. Is there any scene from any piece you’ve written that actually scared you? If so, describe the scene.

I’m not much of a jump-scare-horror person, but I do like the kind of horror you get on Twilight Zone or other cerebral horror stuff.  I have a short story called Return of the Iron Lung coming out on my Wordpress on Saturday, and it’s quite possibly the scariest thing I’ve ever written.  At the same time, it’s very calm, just uncanny and filled with polio.

2. What genre do you feel most awkward writing?

I’ve tried writing straight up romance before, but it always feels like there’s no tension or really problems.  Most of my romantic subplots either quickly move towards serious dating/engagements/marriage or they break up and never get back together. 

3. How many different types of writing do you write? Types of writing include novels, short stories, poetry, song lyrics, etc.

I write novels and short stories.  Sometimes I dabble in flash fiction.

4. How old were you when you first started writing?

I don’t remember. I do, however, have a Space Jam diary filled with stories (and hurricane tracking...?) that indicates I started no later than 1996. I was quite young, in that case. 

5. How confident are you in your writing?

This question makes me feel self-conscious, so obviously not very confident. 

6. Have you ever written and posted anything that was very personal to you?

I’ve had a really bad relationship with my dad, and there was a scene in my 12-book series where I really got into the relationships with a character’s parents.  Even though it really didn’t fit in the story and was eventually cut, I am still very glad to have written it. 

I also wrote this story about my grandmother, who I fancy as a secret necromancer. 

7. What inspired you to start writing?

I really liked reading, and I wanted to be an author so that other people could enjoy my crap.  Teachers probably encouraged me, too.

8. Which of your OCs do you relate to the most?

I feel like I have to be able to get into my main characters’ heads pretty well.  In my long series that will probably never see the light of day, I had an OC who was almost a self-insert but not quite. 

9. Have you ever written self-insert fanfiction?

From fifth grade through some of high school I wrote a massive, MASSIVE series of a self-inserted Gargoyles/Bonanza crossover fanfic.  If that’s not the most embarrassing fanfic you’ve ever heard of, I want to hear about it.

10. What is your favorite piece you’ve ever written about?

That short story about polio is pretty high on that list right now.  The Mercury Dimension, which is currently available to beta read, is also my best work to date.  If you’d like to beta read it, pm me or reblog or message or whatever.

11. How frequently do you actually sit down and write?

I usually write in between bouts at work, like during lunch break or when I’m waiting on an incubation and have literally nothing else to do.  One of my longest, shittiest experiments has several 30 minute incubations in a row, but I have to do it in a different building so I can’t do anything but write in the meantime. 

12. How many hours at a time do you do research on your writing?

Depends.  Sometimes it’s like 8 because my writing has been based off my scientific work before.  Sometimes it’s like 30 seconds because I just become a wiki-level expert before subsuming the concept. 

13. Do you like to branch out in your writing or do you tend to stick to what you know?

I hate tropes, so I tend to be ambitious and look for really new concepts. 

14. What would your antagonist of your current WIP say to you if they saw you in person?

Haha, my antagonist right now wouldn’t say anything to me because my position in society is too low. 

15. Do you consider yourself your OCs’ god or just kind of a guiding hand (or other? If other, please list)?

I see myself as someone who is able to channel the OC’s actions from another realm.  It’s like the creative process is pulling information from an alternate universe, timeline, or existence.  Reading and writing is almost like a seance for a world that I cannot otherwise experience.

16. What do you think you’d be doing with your time if you’d never gotten into writing?

Probably more work. 

17. Have you ever written a smut piece?

Once I had this brilliant plan to come up with some smut to sell on Amazon under a less serious pen name and make some quick cash.  I don’t know what happened to that sad sack of shit story, but I can guarantee it wasn’t good smut. I haven’t tried before or since.

18. What was the first thing you ever wrote about?

Rabbits trying to steal carrots from a local farm so they could have seeds and start their own farm. 

19. What is the most creative creature you’ve ever created for world-building?

Good lord, just fucking beta read The Mercury Dimension if you want the answer to this.

Otherwise, my methanogenic meklups from Take a Deep Breath are really out there.

20. Tell me one random fact about your WIP that you have yet to tell your followers.

Well, I don’t really have many followers - at least none for my WIP - but the main character in The Mercury Dimension is married.  You find this out in chapter 2, but I think married characters are actually pretty rare in books.  It’s so much more common to have a romantic subplot where the characters fall in love and get married rather than having married characters deal with the difficulties of staying married. 

[engazed]

Part 1/ 2. Hi, so this will be coming from out in left field, but I was wondering in general, and you are the only person I can think of to ask. I just read this long explanation of why artists and writers won't read others work (short story: lawsuits/money). I know that somewhere out there you are a published author. Did/Do you read a lot of other fanfiction in Sherlock or other fandoms? Would reading fanfic (or just other fiction books in general) have the potential to cause you legal issues?

Part 2. It just seems so crazy to me. I would assume that most authors also really enjoy reading, so if reading has the potential to get them sued, why would anyone ever publish?? But then there would be no new books and nothing for other authors to read… It’s a really roundabout philosophical question, but I’d love to hear your opinion on it if you have any free time.

PS: side question I just thought of. Is the lawsuit potential why you write under a pseudo name online? Do you publish books also under a pseudo name? If you just prefer general privacy then lord knows I would never fault anyone on that. I have a massive weirdly possessive rant about why celebrities should be left alone in their personal lives and paparazzi are pretty much the worst people on the planet. But I won’t subject you to the whole thing lol. Anyway, your thoughts? Just in general :)

Thank you for the question. I was a little surprised by it, not because it is ‘out of left field’ (writing and talking about writing is absolutely by bread and butter) but because, while I don’t know the article you read (or was it a Tumblr post?), or the author of the post who said artists and writers don’t read others’ work, the advice/explanation is entirely wrong-footed. I’m serious about that. Professional writers and do read others’ works. They have to! It’s part of being a professional. You have to know the profession you are in. How else do you do that if you don’t know your colleagues and their works?

For example, one of the responsibilities of a writer–particularly a successful one with a strong sales record and reputation–is to read another author’s work for the express purpose of writing a review. If the novel is a work of mystery, for instance, then the publisher will reach out to another mystery novelist to help promote it, and reading and reviewing is exactly how that happens. Pick up any recent publication, and flip it to the back. You’ll see pull-quotes from reviews by critics and authors alike that go on about how wonderful the book is. Endorsing others’ work part of being a published author. You can’t do that if you’re not actively reading their work, now can you?For another example, imagine you are a burgeoning writer. Maybe you have one or two small publications, or none at all, but you’re serious about writing, finding an agent, and getting that book out into the world. How do you know you’ve got a book worth reading? How do you know your book will sell? You have to know the market, and you can’t know the market if you’re not reading! Say you’re a romance novelist. You should be reading romance! You should know the genre well, the conventions, the tropes, the pitfalls, the innovations. When you are first reaching out to agents, they’ll ask you for ‘comp titles’ (works you would compare yours to) as a way to capture their attention. How can you compare your novel to another in the genre if you’re not actively reading the works in that genre? You can’t!

How do you learn to become a good writer if you don’t read good writing? Hell, if you don’t read bad writing? If you don’t develop a sense of taste for the good versus the bad? How can you learn how to develop a character across 85,000 words, or construct believable dialogue, or pace the novel through hills and troughs, or create the perfect plot twists if you don’t read and study the masters in their craft? Impossible. Any author worth her salt will tell you that she keeps a stack of books by her bed. (Right now, I have three.) Any writer of notable quality will tell you that he reads more than he actually writes. Any writer who says differently is giving you bad advice.

The suggestion that reading someone else’s work will influence you–poison you–and that you’ll end up stealing their ideas is entirely misguided. Literature is the history of homage. We are constantly rewriting old stories, and putting our own spin on it. Constantly. How many versions of the Cinderella story exist throughout the world and throughout history? Too many to number. How many iterations exist of Holmes and Watson? We see them in Mulder and Scully, House and Wilson, Bones and Booth, and probably dozens and dozens more. Original ideas are never unadulteratedly original. We are influenced by every story we’ve ever been told, sometimes to a small degree, sometimes in greater measure. It’s what is new that you bring to it that makes it unique and fresh and worthy of being read.

My assumption, though, is that the post you refer to may have been talking about intellectual property rights. Holmes and Watson, for instance, belong now to the public domain, and we the public do as we like with them. However, Homer Simpson, for instance, is still under copyright, so you can’t just steal the name Homer Simpson, along with his character and traits, and publish it as your own. But that is a deliberate theft, and yes, you can be sued for it.

There’s the story, for instance, of the woman (Nancy Stouffer) who accused JK Rowling of stealing her concept of Harry Potter, particularly with regards of similarities between the protagonists and the word muggle. The burden of proof fell to Stouffer to prove that Rowling had indeed discovered her work prior to writing Harry Potter, which she could not. 

Trying to protect yourself from lawsuits by not reading anything in the genre you write is foolish. You may as well not write anything at all. And publishing fan fiction online is not illegal (though selling it to a publisher and profiting on it may be). I don’t know how many people are publishing their fan fiction for profit, but the few cases I’m aware of do so only after changing characters’ names and other identifying details. Because really, the story is their own. The writing is their own. If you’re legitimately plagiarising, you deserve to be caught and sued. But that’s not what most of us are doing.

As is obvious, Engazed is indeed a pseudonym! It is one of two names I use online for writing. One of my reasons for writing under a pseudonym is to keep my online identities separate from my professional writing identity, because I do primarily publish under my own name. However, even in that world, I have a ‘literary’ name and a ‘genre’ name. My pen names online are about privacy and safety. Pen names in my professional publishing is less about privacy and more about branding. I’m trying to sell myself as well as my book, and there’s a persona that I need to maintain for that. I do not hide behind pseudonyms for fear of lawsuits. Pseudonyms aren’t actually very good hiding places! If you’re hit with a lawsuit, they’ll find you. But once again, that is not my concern. I write because I love to write, and what I write is original and good, and something people want to read. But I wouldn’t be any good at all if I wasn’t constantly reading as well. Books were my first teachers, and will continue to be. So please don’t fall into the trap of believing that not reading is good idea! It’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard.

[rieshon]

Fall 2017 Preview

Another season, another... season.

1 Houseki no Kuni: This might be one that looks silly in three months but it's definitely the show I'm most excited for right now. 3D anime has been nothing but good to me for the past few years and has proven to me that both cute girls and the spirit of Japanese anime can be preserved in 3D. This one has got an out-there concept and aesthetic and I can't wait to see what they do with it. Add to that the best voice cast of the season and you've got yourself a hype.

2 Blend S: This is going to be amazing. Just look at what it says under the title in the logo. [x]SADISTIC [x]TSUNDERE [x]IMOUTO [x]ONEESAN [x]IDOL. It's got all the ingredients: adorable character design, a blondenblu, and a cafe theme which automatically makes me think it's better because of subconscious influence from Gochiusa. It can't miss!

3 Konohana Kitan: Cute shrine shenanigans! Blend S is my pick for cute girls doing cute things this season but this show doesn't look like it's going to lag very far behind. The director is the guy responsible for a couple of criminally underrated classics: Ebiten and Nagasarete Airantou.

4 Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou: This looks like it could be what I really wanted out of Made in Abyss: cute girls having slow adventures at the end of the world. The ever-masterful Fudeyasu Kazuyuki is penning the adaptation, so it's got everything going for it. A definite AOTS contender.

5 Mahoutsukai no Yome: This looks like one of the most... serious? shows of next season? I'm not really sure how to put it. It actually looks like it has an interesting plot and setting and stuff? Anime has broken my brain's ability to think about fiction outside of the frame of cute girls. Girls do look cute though!

6 Kino no Tabi: Kino is one of those things I've always heard about being really good but never had anything to do with. Never saw the old anime (it was already old when I started watching anime in 2004) or read any of the novel, but by all accounts it's one of the best LNs out there. Kuroboshi Kouhaku's stock couldn't be higher right now, so it's as good a time as any to do a new adaptation of it. Ao-chan and Ayaneru is a power duo in the cast department so I have high hopes for this one.

7 Imouto Sae Ireba Ii: I recently read the first volume of the LN this is based on, and honestly, I thought it was kind of bad. But if there's one thought I had while reading it, it was "this should really be an anime and not a book." There's literally no plot to speak of, it's just sequential vignettes of characters doing random things like playing a tabletop RPG or going to Okinawa because reasons. That makes for a shitty novel, but sounds like it'll be right up my alley for an anime. Plus Oonuma Shin is directing, and you know he's one of my all-time favorites.

8 Boku no Kanojo ga Majimesugiru Shobicchi na Ken: Now this, lads, is anime. It's an anime about dirty jokes starring Yuuki Aoi, how can it NOT be good?

9 Himouto! Umaru-chan R: I keep forgetting this is coming next season entirely. Umaru is one of those shows that firmly occupies a distinct "second tier" of cute girl doing cute thing shows. Not bad by any stretch of the imagination, and I have fond memories of the first season, but just lacking that je nais sais quoi that your Gochiusas and Hidamaris have. Looking forward to more Kirie-chan, who is best girl.

10 Two Car: When I see the title of this show (it's つうかあ in Japanese) I just hear the train driver from Densha de Go announcing that he's passing through a station. Everyone thinks of the same thing when you mention an all-girl sports anime based on an obscure or fictionalized concept; I don't think I even need to mention it by name. That's right, but I don't think this will be nearly as lewd as Keijo! No but in all seriousness, it's gonna be Garupan but with sidecars. I just wish the girls wore lewd outfits or something instead of race suits. What can I say, I am simple man.

11 Kujira no Ko-ra wa Sunajou ni Utau: Looks fantasy as fuck. Ishiguro Kyouhei is directing his first anime since the best show of last year, Occultic;Nine, and the usually capable Yokote Michiko is on the script (although I haven't actually liked anything she's written since uh, I guess Sekkou Boys would be the last one...) Still, this kind of artsy-fartsy show looks like a good followup to O;9 for Ishiguro so I'm interested in how it turns out.

12 Dies irae: Everyone says the game this is based on is a masterpiece, or whatever, but all anyone is going to talk about with this show is it's that one crowdfunded show. If it turns out to be bad everyone is going to feel real stupid. The character designs look pretty ugly to my taste, although Nabatame Hitomi's character is pretty cute. Man, when was the last time Naba-nee played a major heroine?

13 Ousama Game The Animation: Ah yes the Osama Game. Death game stories are always way too far up their own ass; I think the only good one I've seen was Akuma no Riddle and that was solely good because the entire cast was cute girls. There's some pretty cute girls in this one too but it looks like most of the main cast is dudes. Nice to see Pine Jam continue to raise their profile though.

14 URAHARA: The joshiryoku is takai with this one. The art looks aesthetic but the PV makes it look kind of cheap and doesn't inspire confidence. I'm not sure if Takahashi Natsuko has ever written an original anime of note so it's up in the air how this one turns out.

15 Wake Up, Girls! Shinshou: Ah WUG, or as it's known in the business, Yamakan's Folly. Funnily enough, Yamakan isn't even bothering to direct this one and I'm really interested to see if that's a good or a bad thing. WUG is definitely at the bottom of the tier ranking for idol anime but it's kind of taken on a life of its own, with the 3D version of the Wake Up Girls being pretty successful. The first anime was just okay; it'll be cool if they could pull an actually good one out of their hats.

16 Lovelive! Sunshine!!: Why do I continue to subject myself to aidorus. The first season of Sunshine was garbo and I hated it for just being the exact same thing as the original but worse. And yet I'm going to happily watch the second season because it's gonna have more Yohane in it, and Yohane is love, Yohane is life.

17 Yuuki Yuuna wa Yuusha de Aru -Washio Sumi no Shou-/-Yuusha no Shou-: Yuyuyu may have left a sour taste in a lot of mouths with the way it ended, but it was a complete story that actually, you know, ended. I'm really not sure we actually need more stories in this world, much less a prequel. We all already know what the twists are now so I'm not sure how they'll make it compelling. The second part of this weird production actually is a sequel but I think I want that even less than I do a prequel. Just leave the memories alone! At least it's got Hanabee.

18 Netojuu no Susume: Dork romance. Almost certainly a short, but Fudeyasu is writing it so it'll surely be good for a laugh.

19 UQ HOLDER! Mahou Sensei Negima 2: HIKARU KAZE WO OIKOSHITARA NANI GA MATTEIRU NO KANA AMEFURI DEMO HEIKI NIJI NI NARU YOOOO KARAFURU HAPPY MATERIARU GO!! KIMI NI KITTO AERU NE CHIISANA YUUKI WO SAKASEYOUUUUUUUUUU

20 Omiai Aite wa Oshiego, Tsuyoki na, Mondaiji: This is clearly shoujo bait but I'm a total sucker for cute teacher chan-nees and this one looks cute as hell. It's the first show that airs in the season so I'll probably end up checking it out just because of that, but I don't expect to finish it. It's probbaly going to end up being a weird abusive relationship because shoujo.

21 Shokugeki no Souma San no Sara: Unfortunately I won't be watching this since Tane-chan's role was recast. Nothing against Rierie but da Tane was literally half the reason I even watched this series (the other half being Alice who never gets enough screentime anyway).

[hope-for-olicity]

When a King is Really a Queen 4/4

Oliver Queen writes romantic suspense novels under the name Olivia King on his way to reveal his true identity he meets one of Olivia King’s biggest fans, Felicity Smoak, and she is not very happy.

This is based on the Hallmark Movie “A Novel Romance.”  I’m writing as a bit of a love letter to all the amazing romance writers that bring me happy. I so hope you enjoy!

Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read this story! I greatly appreciate. I hope you all enjoy the conclusion! Also available on AO3.

Thanks especially to @almondblossomme for proofing, supporting and suggesting!

                                                      Chapter 4

Felicity woke up the next morning to her phone buzzing. She grabbed it and groaned “I’m not ready to talk yet Oliver.”

“Oliver? Who’s Oliver? This sounds very promising!” Donna could barely keep the excitement out of her voice.

“Mom! Sorry...I was….dreaming. What time is it?” Felicity turned to look at her alarm clock and jumped. “Oh my God Mom! I’m totally late! I forgot to set my alarm.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I called then.”

“Yes, thank goodness!”

“I just wanted to call and thank you for the advice. Quentin and I talked and turned out that he found out from the doctor that he has a heart condition and it kind of freaked him out and he started thinking that it would be better for me if I didn’t get attached to him. As if I wasn’t already attached?”

“So, you are all good?” Felicity was standing in front of her closet trying to decide what to wear.

“Yes, honey all good now. How about you?”

“I’m okay. Sorry Mom, I’m just feeling a little frazzled. I’m running late and we are hosting an Olivia King event at our store today…”

“Olivia King! Oh, you must be so excited! She’s your favourite.”

“Yes, very exciting.” Felicity said dryly, she really wanted to tell her Mom but she just couldn’t yet.

“Ok hun. Good luck and give me a ring later to tell me how it all went.”

“Will do. I’m glad things worked out. Take Care. Love you. Bye”

“Love you. Bye.”

Felicity threw her phone on the bed and quickly ran to the bathroom to begin getting ready.

*****

“Oh, Oliver thank God you are here!” Thea walked into the dinette where Oliver was finishing his breakfast.

“I am here. What’s going on?” He smiled at his sister.

“What’s going on? So silly Oliver. How was your date with Felicity? Did you manage to woo her away from the other guy?”

“We didn’t talk about the other guy actually. But she could start being serious with him if she likes. She ended our date early when I came clean about being Olivia King.” Oliver couldn’t hide the disappointment from his voice.

“Oh Oliver, I’m so sorry.”

“I am too.”

“So, you are just giving up? I thought you really liked her.”

“I have to respect her wishes” he said solemnly

“And what exactly are her wishes? What did she say?”

“She was shocked. She said she was sorry too and left saying she would see me today.”

“Oh, Ollie I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, but really it’s my own fault.”

“Well, yes.  But we all make mistakes. If you really care for her, you have to try. Maybe try to talk to her after the event?”

“I’ll try but I’m not feeling overly optimistic. She looked so sad and hurt. Thea and I did that.”

“Well Mom and I will be there for you today, no matter what happens.”

“Thanks Speedy, that means a lot.”

*****

Caitlin had not lied, when Felicity arrived at Happily Ever After some of the shelving had been moved and chairs had been put out for the event. She looked at the podium where Oliver would stand. She wondered how the big reveal would go over.

Truthfully, if she had not met Oliver beforehand she would have been pleased as punch to discover Olivia King was a man. She loved the idea of a man writing romance and he wrote it so well. She really had had no inkling that Olivia King was a man.

“Hey you. Feeling any better today?” Caitlin handed Felicity a coffee.

“Thanks so much for this.” she held up the coffee cup, “it really helps.”

“Have you decided what to do?”

“I have.” Honestly, she hadn’t realized she had until Caitlin asked.

“And…”

“And I’m going to forgive him. He didn’t lie to be malicious and I believe he’s sincerely sorry. So, I’ll forgive him. But that doesn’t stop the fact that I feel foolish and I am still hurt.”

“It will just take time.”

“Exactly. You know me so well Caitlin. Thank you so much for helping with my mini freak-out last night. I’m lucky to have you as my friend.”

“Anytime! Now let me catch you up on everything here.  The event starts at five, the Queens will arrive around four thirty, Moira says there is plenty of buzz around town so we are expecting a crowd. The caterers will drop off the finger foods and coffee around four fifteen. I think we are all set.”

“Is there anything I can do now?”

“Sure, there is a box of pamphlets for Oliver’s publishing company in a box at the cash, they can be put on the chairs and some on a table.”

“Sounds great. I’ll get right on it!”

“Felicity, you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm of me.”

“I’m going with fake it till you make it today and I’m sure this coffee will go a long way to getting me there.”

*****

Felicity was just settling things with the caterer when the Queens arrived. Caitlin walked up to her, “Do you want me to handle all this?”

“No,” Felicity shook her head. “I’d like to talk to Oliver now. Get it out of the way.”

Felicity walked across the room to greet the Queens, she was glad she had worn her heels today, the click they made gave her confidence she didn’t have at the moment.

“Felicity,” Moira gave her a warm smile. “That pink dress looks lovely on you.”

“Thank you, Moira. And thank you so much for your help with this event. The place looks great thanks to all your efforts last night. Sorry, I wasn’t here to help.”

“No worries, darling, Caitlin and I handled it all. Felicity, I don’t believe you met my daughter Thea,” Moira turned to Thea, “Thea, this Felicity Smoak she owns this lovely store with her friend Caitlin Snow.”

“It’s so nice to meet you Felicity, I’ve heard nothing but good things.” Thea smiled at Felicity.

Oliver must not have told her, was all Felicity could think. Thea moved a little to the right to reveal her brother. “Oliver,” Felicity tried to smile and ended up nodding.

“Felicity,” he nodded in return.

“Thea why don’t you come with me and I’ll introduce you to Caitlin.” Moira guided Thea away.

Felicity was about to speak, when Oliver cut her off. “We don’t need to talk, if you don’t want to - I mean I understand if you are still mad.”

“Oliver how about we step outside for a moment. It’s getting rather stuffy in here with all the people. I could use some air.”

“Sure.” He walked over to the door and opened it for her.

They were both silent for a moment.

“Oliver, I want you to know I forgive you.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I am so very sorry Felicity. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it up to you.”

“Thank you. I’m just going to need some time. Right now, I still feel foolish and a little hurt.”

“Of course. I am so sorry that I am the cause. I will give you all the time you need. I just hope someday you will reach out again.”

“I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep Oliver. Besides you just met me, I’m sure I’ll be easy to forget.”

“Felicity, I will not forget you. I knew from the first moment I saw you on the plane you were someone special. I have the butterflies too and there is definitely sparkage. I will wait until you are ready.”

Felicity was shocked. She really didn’t know what to say. Suddenly the store door opened and Caitlin stuck her head out. “Hey guys it’s about time to get this show on the road. The crowds are getting restless. Felicity and I will do a welcome and then we will ask you to speak.”

“Sounds great,” Oliver said as he and Felicity followed Caitlin inside.

Oliver watched Caitlin and Felicity stand at the podium and welcome everyone to their store. He was so glad this was the chosen store. He liked the fact that his books were being sold here. He noticed Felicity began to speak on her own so he paid special attention.

“As many of you know Olivia King is my favourite author, I know I’ve recommended her books to you on numerous occasions.” Some in the audience laughed. “Well, today it is my distinct pleasure to introduce you to Olivia King although it turns out Olivia King is a pen name, let me introduce my, I mean Oliver Queen to fill you in.”

The audience clapped loudly as Oliver Queen was a bit of a local celebrity in his own right.

“Thank you. Thank you very much and I’d like to thank Caitlin and Felicity for hosting this event. I’m sure you are all wondering what I’m doing up here.  Well there is no easy way to do this so I’m just going to say it - I’m Olivia King.”

There was stunned silence for a moment before the murmurs of people expressing their shock.

“I realize this may come as a surprise but I want to be honest.” He looked around the room and was relieved to see the friendly faces of John and Lyla in the audience. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer and when I discovered my mother’s novels as a teen, I knew this was what I wanted to write. But I also wanted to know if I was any good. I didn’t want people to buy my books because my name was Queen. So, I changed it to King.”

Oliver noticed his audience was listening intently, they had not stormed out. Good sign, right?  “I also wanted to take this opportunity to apologize for what happened in my last book.” The audience began to clap.

Once the applause died down “I can only promise that it will be fixed in the next book.” Even more applause. “Okay, thank you all so much for coming. I’d be happy to sign your books if you like, the line forms right next to Caitlin and Felicity. Thanks so much for coming and understanding.”

Oliver felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His secret was out and they didn’t hate him. Now he just had to hope the press showed the same understanding, he had not missed the reporters in the audience and he knew his publisher had released a press release during his speech.

He looked over at Felicity, he just hoped she could move passed the lie.

“Oliver!” Oliver turned to see John and Lyla heading towards him.

John clapped his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, “Good job up there man! I think they will still buy your books!”

“Thanks! I have to say I’m relieved.”

“I’m relieved too Oliver, so glad you are going to fix this Julia mess!” Lyla said.

“I am. Good to see you Lyla!” And Oliver pulled her in for a hug.

“You are still coming to our place from here right?”

“Yes! Can’t wait for barbecue and the chance to hang out with the digglets.” Oliver smiled.

John in a little closer “So was that THE Felicity.”

Oliver nodded.

“We will talk about that later.” John smiled approvingly.

“Oliver I am so proud of you!” Moira appeared with Thea by her side.

“Thanks Mom. And thanks for all your support. Both Felicity and Caitlin mentioned what a help you were.”

“Oh it was nothing.” Moira brushed off the praise.

“I’m so proud of you big brother!” Thea leaned in to give Oliver a hug. “And you better fix whatever the hell is going on with Julia!”

Oliver stepped back “I will I promise. Looks like there is a line of people waiting to meet me,” Oliver smiled and then looked over at John and Lyla “See you in a bit. The store closes at six so I shouldn’t be too late.”

*****

Oliver discovered fairly quickly that he loved meeting his readers! They had so many interesting questions about his favourite thing to talk about his books. It was so nice to hear what they liked and what they didn’t like.

The time went by quickly and soon the line was done and it was time to leave. Oliver stood and looked around for Felicity.

“She’s near the door saying goodbye to one of our regular customers.” Caitlin looked at him as though she was judging him. Oliver knew then that she was of course, Team Felicity.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her you know. I really do like her. If only I had a do-over.”

“I know you like her. And she really likes you and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Felicity this excited which is why I’m going to cut you some slack. You aren’t the first man to lie to Felicity, her ex did a real number on her. And she still thinks she should have seen it coming. So while lies are bad for everyone, Felicity takes them especially hard.”

“Thanks for telling me. She asked for space so I’m going to try to respect that. Wait for her to reach out to me. Do you have any other ideas?”

“No, I think you are doing the right thing. I really hope she comes around to you. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“Thanks Caitlin and it’s nice to officially meet you,” he held out his hand “I’m Oliver Queen.”

Caitlin shook his hand, “that’s right we haven’t been introduced yet!”

Felicity walked back toward them. “Did I miss something?”

“No, Oliver and I were just introducing ourselves!” Caitlin laughed.

“I’m so sorry! I meant to introduce you two.” Felicity looked at the both of them.

“No harm done. We are now acquainted. I should be off but I want to thank the both of you for pulling off a truly amazing event. I can only hope it attracts people to your store.”

“Thank you.” Felicity blushed and thought remember he hurt you, ignore the butterflies.

“Well, I’m off.” He looked at both Caitlin and Felicity, “I’ll be in town for a couple of more days if you need to get in touch with me and my number stays the same once I go to New York, you know in case you need to talk to me about anything.”

He waits for a minute, when Felicity says nothing he turns away.

*****

Oliver can smell the barbecue and hear children laughing as he heads towards John and Lyla’s backyard.

“Hey everyone, sorry I’m late.”

“No problem man, just getting things on the grill now.” John gives Oliver a welcome smile.

“Lyla is inside just finishing up the salads.”

“Sounds great!” Oliver tries to sound enthusiastic but he’s still disappointed about how things went with Felicity.

“So, dare I ask, where is Felicity? I kind of thought she might come with you.”

“She only found out about me being Olivia King last night and she is still processing. I hurt her John and I feel awful about it. I would give anything to turn back time and tell her right away on that plane.”

“Give her time, she will forgive you.” He handed Oliver a beer from the cooler next to him.

“Oh, we talked today and she said she forgave me. Which I am very grateful for but she still needs some time. I’m going to respect her wishes.”

“That sounds like the right call. And it sounds like you really care about her. So she is definitely worth the wait.”

“Worth the wait? Johnny, you better not be talking about my dinner! You should know by now that you don’t keep a pregnant woman waiting.” Lyla smiled and walked over to give Oliver a hug. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I just go here.” Oliver hugged her back. “How much longer until this one comes?”

“Maybe one more month, I’m ready for it to be now.” Lyla smiled.

“Lyla’s been having a lot of lower back pain with this one. So, I think she’s just about done,” John rubbed his wife’s lower back.

“So, no Felicity?” Lyla asked.

“You told her?”

“We’re married. You know I tell her everything.” John smiled.

“He’d better. I have met Felicity before. I go to her store to buy your books actually, she seems very nice. She’s also a contributor to Smart Bitches Trashy Novels website”

“Of course she is,” Oliver couldn’t help but smile at that. “She is amazing and I hope one day she’ll let me have another chance.”

“I hope so too Oliver. Please tell me you told her before today?”

“Yes, last night at dinner but she was blindsided. We talked today and she forgave my lie but says she needs time.”

“Well then time is what you give her.” Lyla gave Oliver a reassuring smile. “So on to my pressing problems are you going to fix this crap you pulled with Julia?”

“Definitely. I think I’m just as upset as my readers. I’ve already begun working on the next book. I’m actually heading back to New York City tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it Oliver and I’m really proud of you for telling the truth to Felicity and to your readers today.” Lyla smiled

“I agree with Lyla that was a huge step. And with that I’m happy to say it’s time to eat!” John looked at his children further in the backyard “Come on guys let’s go eat!”

*****

Two Months Later

Oliver arrived back in Star City with a finished manuscript. He planned to turn in what he considered to be his final copy to his editor when he went back to New York after New Year’s.

As he came out of baggage claim he was happy to see his Mom and Thea waiting to greet him. His mother hugged him “So glad to have you home!”

They made their way back to Oliver’s family home. He had just finished unpacking when Thea stuck her head in the doorway. “Hey Ollie, it’s nice to have you home.”

“Thanks Thea. It’s good to be here. Do you know what time dinner is? I wanted to run a quick errand.”

“Please tell me that errand has something to do with Felicity Smoak because she’s totally been all mopey face since you left.”

“Felicity’s been all mopey face? How would you know that?” but Oliver could not hide the interest in his voice.

“Mom and I go to the store quite regularly now. And she always tries to put on a big smile when she sees us but really, it’s fake. Whatever you did to her needs to be fixed Oliver.” Thea said seriously.

“I hurt her Speedy and she asked for time and I’ve waited for her to reach out.”

“But? Please tell me you were about to say ‘but.’ I need you to say ‘but!’”

“But…” He smiled at his sister. “I’m tired of waiting so I’m going to bring her a peace offering. It’s Christmas and I’m hoping that will work to my advantage.”

“Oh Ollie I love it! Can you tell what the peace offering is?”

“Nope. That’s between Felicity and I.”

“Ollie!”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” he winked. “So, do I have time to go before dinner?”

“Even if you didn’t, I’d make sure dinner is delayed for you! Go Now! Go do the peace offering thing!!!!”

*****

Felicity and Caitlin were looking at their projected numbers for the store. They really were doing better than last year at this top.

“We were so lucky to get that Olivia King event.” Caitlin reminisced.

“Yes, we were.” She knew where Caitlin was going with this and did not want to go there again.

No, she had not contacted Oliver. The longer she had waited the more it seemed impossible. She still liked him but by now she was sure he’d moved onto to some New York socialite. She had waited too long. Her fear of being hurt overrode her chance for happiness. Not every man was Cooper. Why couldn’t she remember that?

“You know he might…” Caitlin stopped when they heard the bell for the door opening.

“Saved by the bell, literally” Felicity said under her breathe. She turns to greet their new customer and is stopped in tracks. There, in the flesh was Oliver Queen.

Oliver had thought about calling or texting first but he was afraid she would ignore him. He felt he had been patient but he needed to remind her that he was there and he was still very interested.

They both stood there looking at each other for minute before Caitlin rushed out from behind the counter. “Oliver! So nice to see you! I’m just heading out for the night, Felicity is closing, I’m sure she can help you find what you need.”

Caitlin rushed past Oliver, neither Felicity nor Oliver had broken eye contact.

“Night,” Caitlin called as she dashed out the door.

Oliver finally broke the silence. “Hey.”

Felicity licked her lips, his eyes darted to watch, “You came back.” She sounded almost surprised. “I mean, of course I knew you’d come back to Star City your family lives here, but you came back here, to the store, to my store, where you knew I’d be, to see me, please stop me!” She looked at him desperately.

He quickly walked forward until they were only separated by inches. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

She felt immediately calmed. How could this man make her heart race one minute and calm her the next?

“Felicity, I know I was supposed to wait for you to contact me but since I was in town, I thought I’d take the chance.”

When she said nothing, he decided it would be best for him to keep talking. “I brought you something. I wanted to get your opinion. If you have time of course.” He took the messenger bag he’d been carrying off his shoulder and took out a leather case, he offered it to her. Felicity took it.

“What is it?” Her heart was racing. All she could think was he came back. He came back and he might like me. It might not be too late!

“It’s the manuscript for my next book. I’m giving it to my editor in the New Year. But I was wondering if you could read it first? I need to know if I fixed it. I tried my best to due Julia justice. But I wanted you to read it as I value your opinion as an expert in the field. You know the field of romance and of course the field of being a woman and being a brave, smart woman like Julia.” He looked down sheepishly. “Now I’m rambling.”

Felicity looked down at the manuscript  in her hands. “You are trusting me with this?”

“Of course. I can also send you an electronic version if you prefer but I thought for this conversation it might help to have something tangible to hold.”

“Oliver. Wow. I’m overwhelmed.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do this.  I just thought maybe you would like to and I would really like to get an opinion of a reader, the publisher led me astray the last time. And….”

“And?”

“And I really wanted to see you. I miss you Felicity. I know we don’t know each other well but there is something about you. I’m so sorry, that I lied and hurt you. I promise not to lie again.”

“Oliver, you know I’ve forgiven you for that lie. Honestly, I’m surprised you remembered me. I thought with all the sights and sounds of New York, you would forget the lady who works in a bookstore in the small city.

“Never.”

“Never?”

“Never. So, would you be up for reading the manuscript? Feel free to make notes on that, it’s your copy.” He looked at her hopefully.

“Of course! I would be honoured. I’m flattered that you would ask.” She couldn’t be sure but it looked like Oliver Queen might be blushing.

“Please, keep in mind this is a first draft so don’t judge me too harshly for my spelling or grammar mistakes...I’m not perfect.” His voice got lower as he finished speaking.

“I promise not to judge you. I will start reading tonight. I can’t lie I’m more than a little excited. It’s the perfect Hanukkah gift!”

“Hanukkah! So, you are Jewish.” Oliver looked pleased.

Felicity was a little confused by his reaction. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no absolutely not. It’s just I’m really glad I didn’t say it was a Christmas gift, I wanted this to go well. Did it go well?” he asks timidly.

“This went very well Oliver.”

“Okay then.” Oliver smiles. “I’ll leave you to your reading.”

“I will text you as soon as I finish. Would you like to meet to discuss? Is your number still the same?”

As if Oliver would change his number! He’d been waiting for her to call for months! “Yes, my number is the same. I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks again.” He turned and walked toward the door. He stopped in front of the door and looked back “Good night and Happy Hanukkah!”

*****

Felicity stayed up all night reading and continued at work the next day. She really couldn’t put Oliver’s book down. It was magnificent. It consumed her.

She sighed as she read the perfect ending and was just putting the pages back in the leather case when Caitlin came up behind her, “So?”

“Oh Caitlin! It was so wonderful! He fixed it and made it even better! I thought he might say it was a dream but no, he took a different route. I don’t  want to spoil it for you or break Oliver’s confidence so I can’t say more except, except this might be better than any other book I’ve read.” Tears of joy were in Felicity’s eyes.

“Wow. Are you sure? I mean you are a pretty well-read person. I mean you said nothing would ever beat Persuasion, you know because that letter that Captain Frederick Wentworth wrote saying how he waited for Anne Elliot.” They both sigh. “So this is quite the declaration.”

“Yes, and I meant it! I have to call Oliver!”

“Yes, do that and tell him you’ll see him tonight.”

Felicity looked confused. “Tonight? I was going to see where he was and go see him NOW.”

“Trust me Felicity you need some sleep. Go home sleep then meet Oliver. Trust me, your thoughts will be much more coherent after some sleep.”

Felicity’s first thought was to disagree but then she yawned. “Okay. I’ll text and ask him to meet me for dinner.”

“Excellent plan!”

Felicity hugged Caitlin. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life!”

“I know! Aren’t you?” She winked.

Felicity was about to open the door to leave when she heard Caitlin, “wait! Wear that new green dress you bought. You will look smashing!”

“Always looking out for me! Thanks so much!!”

******

Oliver felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He was surprised he had just left his Mom’s place to meet John and Lyla and their new baby. He only gave Felicity his book yesterday. He looked down surprised to see Felicity’s text.

Felicity: Dinner tonight?

Oliver: Yes

Felicity: Let’s give Verona’s a do over. I’ll make the reservation for 7?

Oliver: I would love a do over. See you there.

Felicity doubled checked her alarm clock was set and snuggled into the blankets to catch up on some sleep.

*****

Felicity arrived at the restaurant first. She looked around at all the lovely holiday decorations as she waited for the hostess. She smiled she really did like the wallpaper here.

“You are admiring the wallpaper again, aren’t you?” Oliver had come up behind her.

“Well, it really is nice wallpaper.”

“It’s nice to see and you look amazing.”

Felicity blushed.

“It’s okay that I said that right?” Oliver really did not want to do anything to ruin his do over.

“Yes, and thank you. It’s good to see you.”

The hostess arrived and sat them at the same table as last time.

“I swear I didn’t request this but I’m glad. I really do want a do over Oliver. I’m even going to order the same thing as I really wanted it and well…”

“Yeah, we didn’t get to eat,” Oliver said looking down.

Felicity reached across the table and lifted his chin. “Hey, that’s not going to happen this time. I want to talk about your book but first there is something I need to tell you about me. I don’t trust easily. I had a couple of bad experiences and my last boyfriend lied a lot. I know you aren’t him, Oliver. I even understand why you didn’t tell me and you apologized.”

Oliver opened his mouth to speak and Felicity touched his hand.

“No, please let me finish. I accepted your apology months ago and I meant it but I was too chicken to call you once the hurt had worn off. So, I want to apologize to you now, for not calling and doubting that you really wanted me to. You did want me to call, right?” Felicity asked, suddenly a little panicked.

Oliver held her hand in his, “Yes, I wanted you to call. But there is no need to apologize to me. How about we move on to what I hope, fingers crossed is a happier topic - my book.”

The server arrived just at that moment to take their orders, “Saved by the bell,” Oliver joked.

Oliver gave their order the same as their last visit and they both watched the server walk away.

“So….” Oliver was nervous. What if she didn’t like it? What if he didn’t fix Julia?

“I don’t think it would be an understatement to say YOU DID IT OLIVER! You fixed it and in the most genius way! She was playing her awful husband to bring him down - so, so, awesome and I love that we didn’t know her plan at first but you thought maybe...the suspense was killing me!”

“Really?”

“Really, I started reading it when I went home last night and didn’t stop until I finished this morning! I wanted to come see you right away but Caitlin insisted I sleep so I could form coherent thoughts and you know, not looked crazed and bug eyed.”

“I wish I could have seen you when you finished reading! I can’t believe you stayed up all night! You didn’t have to do that! There was no rush.”

“Oliver, I couldn’t put it down. I loved everything about it. Julia was brilliant and going undercover having her own bookstore, and the little girl calling her a princess!”

“So, you don’t mind that I used that?”

“Absolutely not! It was like I was in your book! I was in a book! Do you realize how amazing that is for a reader? Oliver everyone is going to love this! Don’t change a thing! I’m so proud of you!”

Oliver flushed with embarrassment. “It’s okay if you have some criticism you know. I can take it.”

“But I don’t! I am being honest. When I finished reading I told Caitlin I loved it more than Persuasion - and Persuasion is my favourite book of all time.” Felicity was practically beaming with excitement.

“Persuasion? By Jane Austen?”

Felicity nods emphatically.

“Wow. I really don’t know what to say.”

“Ask me what I love most about Persuasion.” She looks at him pleadingly.

“What do you love most about Persuasion?” He asks tentatively.

“He waited for her. I always thought that was the most romantic thing. And Oliver Queen you waited for me and this is by far is the closest my real life has come to being like a novel.”

“I’ll always wait for you Felicity. You are worth waiting for.”

At that moment, their food arrived. Once they finished eating Felicity suggested they go for a walk. She truly did not want the evening to end.

As they walked past the stores decorated for the holidays, Felicity couldn’t resist saying “I’d really like to see more of you, perhaps you would be willing to see me when you visit Star City? And maybe I could visit you in New York?” This was probably the boldest question she had ever asked but she couldn’t resist.

Oliver smiled “Or maybe I could move to Star City and we could visit New York together?” He said with hope in his voice.

“Yes, that sounds perfect!” she was so excited. She took hand. “Oliver?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so very glad that the King was really a Queen. Like what I did there?” she smiled.

Oliver laughed for a moment and then stopped. He stepped in front of Felicity and caressed her cheek with his hand. “Just to be clear, this Queen really likes a certain Princess.”  And with that he captured her mouth in what he was sure was an epic romance novel kiss - at least the way he wrote them.

And of course they lived happily ever after!

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Blog Tour: Damnable Grace by Tillie Cole

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EVEN THE BROKEN, THROUGH LOVE, CAN FIND GRACE...Secrets never stay hidden.The burden of guilt never lifts from the heart.Born and raised in The Order of David, Sister Phebe knows nothing but cult life. Head of the Sacred Sisters of New Zion, Phebe was groomed from childhood for one purpose: to seduce. Prized as a harlot, as a New Zion whore, Phebe is taken from the doomed cult by Meister, the notorious leader of the Aryan Brotherhood. Taken as his possession. Taken to be the woman who will obey his every sexual demand. Under his heavy hand, Phebe finds herself in a place much worse than she could ever have imagined... with absolutely no one to help. And no glimpse of hope. Xavier ‘AK’ Deyes is content with his life as Sergeant-At-Arms of the Hades Hangmen. Leader of the infamous ‘Psycho Trio’ and ex-special ops sniper, AK knows how to fight. Experienced in warfare and schooled in military operations, AK is vital to the Hangmen. When his Vice President needs help retrieving his missing sister-in-law, Phebe, from a Klan-funded trafficking ring, AK volunteers to go in. AK remembers the redhead from New Zion. Remembers everything about her from the single time they met—her red hair, blue eyes and freckled face. But when he finds her, heavily drugged and under Meister’s control, her sorry condition causes him to remember more than the beautiful woman he once tied to a tree. Saving Phebe forces hidden demons from his past to return. A past he can never move on from, no matter how hard he tries.As AK fights to help Phebe, and in turn she strives to help him, they realize their secret sins will never leave them alone. Kindred broken souls, they realize the only way they can be rid of their ghosts is to face them together and try to find peace.Despair soon turns to hope, and damaged hearts soon start to heal. But when their deep, painful scars resurface, becoming too much to bear, the time comes when they must make a heavy choice: stay forever damned; or together, find grace.Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for age 18 and over.

“Well?” Ky asked.Tanner ran his hand over his head. The brother hadn’t attended one of our cookouts or slutfests in weeks. Not that he ever entertained himself with sluts—still too hard for his piece of pussy down in Mexico. He’d been busy trying to track down Meister. Unlike most of the white-power shit Tanner and Tank grew up with, this Meister was untraceable and off the grid. As much of a computer whizz kid as Tanner was, Meister was proving to be one slippery fucking snake to pin down.“Gotta be honest, I didn’t think I was anywhere close to finding anything on this prick.” Tanner nodded toward Tank. “We knew of him, of course. I knew he had dealings with my father and uncle, just never met him myself. He’s Aryan Brotherhood, but works closely with the Klan. And there’s nothing on him. No email traces, no invoices, no texts. Nothing.”I gritted my teeth and glanced at Styx, who was listening closely. Ky wasn’t originally gonna tell the prez about the plan to get Phebe, because of his fucking wedding, but that didn’t last long. Styx knew something was up with his VP. He read him like I read Flame and Vike. So Ky fessed up, and Styx was all for the plan. He’d had to push his wedding back by a month anyhow to get the pastor Mae wanted to conduct the ceremony, so he had time to kill.“But you found something?” Ky translated as Styx signed.Tanner sighed, the black circles around his eyes showing how hard the brother had been working. “I got something.” He shook his head, and my blood ran cold. I knew whatever he had found wasn’t good.Tanner opened the file in front of him and threw a photograph toward the prez. Styx looked at it, then gave it to Ky. “Some middle-of-nowhere ghost town?”Ky passed the picture around. Vike handed it to me, and I studied it. It was an aerial shot, and the picture was grainy, but from what I could make out, it was just a huge piece of land scattered with decrepit old buildings.I passed the picture along. “Fucker owns this?”Tanner faced me. “Yeah, or at least his father did. He’s dead now, but the deeds are still in his father’s name. Been in the family for decades. Took me a while to trace it.” He shook his head. “Meister is notorious among the Klan. Right, Tank?”“Yeah,” Tank agreed. “Never met him either, but we’d all heard of him. Prick has been mobilizing for years for the race war they think is coming. Real serious, Oklahoma-City-bomb shit. From what we’ve heard, the guy has a one-track mind when it comes to advancing the white race. You think Hitler was fucked up? Well, imagine if he had a kid who was one built motherfucker, with a fucking carbon copy of his psycho mind; and you’ve got Meister. Fucker ain’t even German. Just wishes he was, spouting German phrases around like he’s born and bred Berlin. Delusional asshole.”“This ain’t gonna be easy,” Tanner finished, looking at me, Vike, Flame, Hush and Cowboy. It was the five of us who had agreed to go looking for Phebe. Hush and Cowboy nodded at me to let me know they were still in.“So he’s in this ghost town?” Ky asked, translating Styx’s sign language again. “If so, we’ll all just go in and get him, make the fucker talk and tell us where he’s got Phebe.”Tanner sat forward. “He ain’t just living in the ghost town or hiding out. That’s where he has his enterprise.”“Enterprise?” Ky echoed. It was his own question this time.Tanner nodded. “From what I can tell, it’s a fucking brothel. Members of the Aryan Brotherhood, Klan, or Klan sympathizers, can go there for a night or a few days at a time.” Tank shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Ain’t sure, but I’m thinking it ain’t just getting your dick sucked and fucked. It’ll be real fucked-up shit. If Meister’s reputation is anything to go by, we would be walking into an organized, armed hellhole.” Tanner’s eyes darkened. “I get the Klan has a reputation for being full of backward rednecks. I ain’t gonna lie—growing up, most of my father’s cronies were that way. Thick as fuck and couldn’t do shit without screwing it up. Skinheads, lower-ranked soldiers, you know?”“But there were some members that weren’t,” Tank continued. He cast an embarrassed glance at Tanner. “We weren’t, for starters.”Tanner nodded. “It’s not the norm, but some of us were good. Smart, strong fighters, or just outright fucking psychos. The skinheads and rednecks are the foot soldiers. The likes of us, the likes of Meister, are the fucking SS. The planners, leaders, the generals—the ones who believe in the cause so much that they’re fucking lethal with what they’ll do, what they’re capable of. Meister is true Aryan Brotherhood; he’s preparing for war. He’s the real fucking deal.”“And now he’s in our neck of the woods to stir up shit?” I asked.Tanner nodded. “Comes from northern Texas. Never moved our way before. But the Klan are building day by day, joining forces with other white supremacist gangs—like the Brotherhood—and with the shit that’s on the news twenty-four-seven, blacks and whites at each others throats, he’s moved to the headquarters.” The brother’s jaw clenched. “To my father and uncle, who’ll be protecting him from being found out by the feds.” He sighed and ran his hand down his face. “From what I can figure out, this ghost-town brothel of his has only existed in the last year or so. He’s looking to fund something.”“They ain’t dealing guns?” Cowboy drawled. “I thought that’s what Rider said the contract with the cult was for?”“Rider was sure it was guns. At least it was when he was dealing with the Klan—it was all about arms. The Klan was selling them on and taking a cut.”“His fucking twin,” Hush spat. “He changed the arrangement, didn’t he? When Rider was locked up in cult prison?”“Think so,” Tanner said after a few seconds of silence.“Then what the fuck are they dealing? What was Judah giving them if not Israeli guns?”“Women.”

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.

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[edc-creations-blog]

It Started in Paradise by Nicki Night

Stunning, sensual Puerto Rico is the perfect place to combine business with pleasure. Yet Chloe Chandler can’t indulge her attraction to Donovan Rivers when they cross paths at a convention. Heir to an exclusive Long Island venue, Donovan is vying to host the same A-list gala that her parents’ restaurant hopes to gain. And as events director for her family’s empire, Chloe’s loyalty is being tested by an intense longing for a man who’s determined to win both her…and the client.

An in-demand bachelor who plays by his own rules, Donovan never stops until he gets what he wants. Falling for his beautiful competitor will anger their families, but Chloe has already sacrificed too much to please others. Now Donovan intends to show her everything she’s been missing—including the heat of his embrace. But when the competition comes between them, will their ambitions force them to lose out on love?

  Desire In a Kiss by Nicki Night

Ambitious, charming and heir to a food empire, Christian Chandler has no problem meeting women. If only more of them could see beyond his family’s fortune… On impulse, he creates a fake dating profile and quickly connects with petite powerhouse Serenity Williams. She’s smart, down-to-earth and ignites his fantasies from their first encounter. He has to tell her who he really is. But how can he admit the truth to a woman for whom honesty is everything?

Serenity has transformed her life—dropping a lying ex and starting her own nonprofit—and is finally ready to date again. Online, “Chris Mullins” is perfect. In real life, he’s even hotter. From extravagant dates to black-tie balls, Serenity’s falling fast…and then devastated to find she’s been taken in by another fraud. To rekindle their trust, Chris must prove that what they share is the deepest passion she’s ever known…

  It Must Be Love by Nicki Night

Jewel Chandler’s list of boyfriend requirements is extensive—and Sterling Bishop doesn’t meet any of them. Sure, the wealthy businessman is gorgeous, but he also has an ex-wife and a young daughter. Sterling knows he’s the only man for Jewel, and the sexy heiress’s efforts to keep him away only fuels his determination. When steamy days melt into desire-fueled nights, Jewel wonders if he’s truly the one for her.

  Intimate Conversation with Nicki Night

A born and bred New Yorker, Nicki Night delights in creating hometown heroes and heroines with an edge. As an avid reader and champion for love, Nicki chose to pen romance novels because she believes that loves rocks and she delights in writing contemporary romances with unforgettable characters and just enough drama to make readers clutch a pearl here and there. Nicki has a penchant for adventure and is currently working on penning her next romantic escapade. Nicki is a member of Romance Writer’s of America (RWA) and the New York City Chapter of Romance Writer’s of America.

  BPM: What made you want to become a writer? How long have you been writing? I’ve been writing for many years. I’m an award-winning journalist, award-nominated author, I’ve written screen plays and engaged in many other forms of writing for more than twenty years now. However, I’ve always been in love with creative writing and have been doing that since I was a kid.

  BPM: How do you think you’ve evolved creatively? Wow! In so many ways. I’ve always been adamant about honing my craft. I’ve taken writing courses, gone back to school to acquire an MFA in Creative writing, completed a certificate program to become a creating writing teaching artist. I teach writing as an adjunct professor and have taught writing in schools to students in grades K-12. Everything I’ve done to hone my skills, invest in the world of writing or learn more about the craft has helped me to evolve as a writer. Teaching keeps the evolution flowing because I’m always entrenched in the technique and craft. I have evolved most as a result of my graduate studies while acquiring my MFA in Creative Writing. During this time I really stretched my writing muscle and began writing in several other genres such as poetry and literary fiction. I’m serious about being the best writer I can be therefore, I’m serious about learning, teaching and investing in my craft constantly.

  BPM: How has writing impacted your life? Writing is like breathing for me. It gives me life. I’m blessed to have the talent, skill and ability to do this because it’s something that I absolutely love. It’s a passion the became a profession. Now I write and teach writing to students and people of all ages.

  BPM: What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books? What surprised me the most initially and continues to do so is how receptive readers and the industry has been to my work.

  BPM: How do you find or make time to write? I just make it happen. I squeeze writing in at all times of the day and night. I write everywhere–at home, in Starbucks, Panera Bread, parks, vacation, airplanes, trains, automobiles–anywhere!

  BPM: Are you a plotter or a pantster? It depends on the genre. With romance or contemporary fiction, I’m more of a plotter/panster. With poetry, I’m a total panster. I write whatever comes out of me. With literary fiction, I’m a total pantster, because the character totally leads me through the story.

  BPM: How did you choose the genre you write in? Have you considered writing in another genre? I write in several genres, contemporary fiction, romance as Nicki Night, poetry, literary fiction, motivational inspiration and I’m working on a proposal for a YA novel inspired by the youth I’ve worked with over the years. I’m a writer to the core and I have the pleasure and ability to flex my muscle. However, there are genres that I do not and will not touch because they are not my area of expertise and I only write in genres where I believe I can do the storylines justice. I DO NOT write sci-fi, fantasy, or paranormal.

  BPM: Tell us about your most recent work? Available on Nook and Kindle? My most recent work is It Must Be Love by Nicki Night, available anywhere books are sold. It’s a wonderful love story about a woman named Jewel Chandler how has this ‘must have’ list for the man of her dreams. Here comes Mr. Sterling Bishop, representing everything that Jewel insists she doesn’t want in a man. He has Jewel second guessing every standard she’d even set for her love life.

  BPM: Give us some insight into your main characters or the speakers. What makes each one so special? I try to really delve into who my characters are at the heart and make them multi-dimensional. I like for my characters to stand up on the page and be in the reader’s face. I want readers to walk away feeling like they know them as people. I like to play with their wants, desires, fears and goals while making them both larger than life yet completely relatable. Like Jewel, in It Must Be Love. Every woman, at some point had a list of what we wanted in our significant others. And like Jewel, most of the time, we don’t get what we thought we wanted. She ends up learning a lot about herself.

  BPM: Share one specific point in your book that resonated with your present situation or journey. Like Jewel, I had this list of what I wanted in my perfect man. I thought this list would be what would ultimately make me happy. My mother even told me I’d probably need get married because of my list. But I learned that love doesn’t come from a list of words.

  BPM: Are there certain characters you would like to go back to, or is there a theme or idea you’d love to work with? There are several characters that I’d like to revisit and see what they are doing these days. One of those characters includes Lexi from my very first book, Mountain High Valley Low, under my name, Renee Daniel Flagler. It has been at least 14 years since that book came out and I think of Lexi and Brian often, wondering what would be happening in their lives now.

  BPM: Is there one subject you would never write about as an author? I don’t really think any subject is off limits. I’ll try anything that fits into a good story well.

  BPM: Have you written any other books that are not published? Plenty. I have some much coming. My agent is shopping my book called The Second Wives Club. I have a book of poetry that’s being shopped and several fiction novels in the works at various levels of completion.

  BPM: What projects are you working on at the present? I’m always working on more that one project at a time. Right now I’m finishing up a romance book for Harlequin by Nicki Night titled Sealed With a Kiss. I’m in the midst of my first non-fiction called DreamJourney: Seven Principles for Professionalizing Your Passion, and have also outlined several other fiction projects.

  BPM: What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you? I’m all over social media and don’t mind being contacted there. Also, email always works for me.

  BPM: How can readers discover more about you and your work? As I said before, I’m all over social media as both Renee Daniel Flagler and Nicki Night. I’m on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and my websites are ReneeDanielFlagler.com and NickiNight.com.

IG: @Iamnickinight Website: http://www.NickiNight.com Twitter: twitter.com/nicki_night FB page: https://www.facebook. com/AuthorNickiNight/ Amazon Page: https://smile.amazon.com/ Nicki-Night/e/B01HZQ3MG0

      Nicki Night’s Chandler Series It Started in Paradise by Nicki Night Stunning, sensual Puerto Rico is the perfect place to combine business with pleasure.

[fabulizemag]

Quan Millz talks candidly with Fabulize Magazine

I think I first discovered Quan Millz and his books on Facebook. I kept seeing these outrageous book titles such as, “Crack Hoe Dreams” and “Pregnant By My Mother’s Gay Husband”. I thought the titles were just memes people were making up as jokes but to my surprise, these were actual book titles being sold on Amazon — and Millz has a steadily growing fanbase.

By now, you’ve probably seen his books on various platforms being talked about and the same words are used to describe him and his books; ratchet, ghetto, women-hating, low-class etc. While there are some who can find validity in these critiques, I found it interesting that no one took the time to speak to the author themselves.

Not all black women to read these books but a lot do…Women are 99% of my fan base

Now, urban fiction is not a new genre. Street literature has been around since people were able to publish their own books. For you younger whippersnappers, back in the day, titles like Coldest Winter Ever, The Game, and Black were some of the infamous works from Triple Crown Productions; a publishing company that produced ( that are still available on Amazon) hood novels that were sold on the subways, out of the trunk of cars on the streets and if you were lucky, in black-owned bookstore that was tucked all the way in the back of the shelves. These books and novels have always existed, but with social media being so visible it’s easier for creatives to debut work and go viral off of controversial content and that’s exactly what Quan Millz is doing.

Quan Millz talks candidly with Fabulize Magazine

Millz fanbase and creative team are comprised of mostly black women and if you were to ‘judge a book by its cover’ you might not believe that at first which is the interesting irony from his critics. I’ve been following him on Facebook and black women are his biggest supporters. In fact, I’ve seen numerous black women contribute ideas and give him feedback on the projects he’s working on. This is why Millz doesn’t feel these critiques are fair and feels all the negative press he gets are from people who relish in respectability politics. He also thinks there are other authors that are jealous of his success; after all, he’s been mentioned on The Shade Room and other popular blogs and continues to generate sales. Are his critics overthinking his work, or is Millz pimping out black, stereotypical strife for profit?

I was able to catch up with Millz who took the time out to talk to me about his books, his failures, what inspires him, his future projects and how he views “Wokebook” ( the black social justice warrior side of Facebook).

Do you think your work is misogynistic? Intentionally or unintentionally?

QM: Misogynistic in what way? I think that’s where I am having a hard time trying to understand how I am promoting misogynoir or whatever that means.

Misogynoir means using stereotypes that are used to demean black women in ways that are violent, sexual and or classist. Do you think your work is popular based on how you portray black women even though it’s entertainment?

QM: Ohh! I portray all spectrums of black womanhood and black manhood. In fact, that’s one of my criticisms about contemporary urban lit; it’s too narrow in its scope of the portrayal of black people. Not everyone lives in a housing project or a ghetto, but not everyone lives in a middle class, suburban neighborhood. My stories draw from real life experiences of things that have happened in the news. Now, I will confess there are perhaps some comedic or satirical elements to my writing. But take for instance Crack Hoe Dreams, I wanted to show the pathology of how a woman goes from being normal to a full-on crackhead or drug addict [while explaining] her experiences [and] the evolution of her addiction. Addiction doesn’t happen overnight. I also deal with a lot of colorism in my books. Gutter Hoe Dreams is about an abusive, “light-skinned” aunt who terrorizes her dark-skinned, morbidly obese, supposedly mentally challenged niece. I do play on tropes and certain common storylines/characters but that’s only because these are current, identifiable issues that black people deal with on an everyday basis. I don’t understand why people like to pretend that colorism isn’t still very much rampant in the black community.

Colorism is very real

QM: Yes, also what people need to realize about the street lit/urban fiction genre is that it’s designed to be digestible by the masses. I try to weave in larger social themes, but I also try to still incorporate everyday colloquialisms that resonate with people. None of my books are overly cerebral. I write simple and direct but try to be expressive with language. I think honestly that’s why I have such a popular, growing fan base. So many urban fiction writers love writing over-the-top thug romance stories that in reality fantasize the very pathologies that I try to erase through my characters and have them overcome them. I do not like glorifying drug trade, kingpins, etc. I hate alpha male thug romance stories. But the reality is there is a strong demand for that type of literature and I respect it. I just choose to write the stories I want to write that I feel reflect realities for a lot of black folks who live in the working class and poor neighborhoods. Sorry if I’m rambling I just…ughh. I’m kind of heated because I already have to deal with controversy within the urban fiction writers’ community for my choice of titles. I get it though. But then I don’t like it when these stay woke cultural elitists see it as an opportunity to tear down writers and the readers who write urban fiction and street lit.

What advice would you give to writer and aspiring publishers? How do you build your online community and fanbase?

QM: Write what the fuck you wanna write. If people like it, they’ll continue to read it. But also learn how to write for the market.

How do you come up with plots and storylines? What inspires you? What influences do you have or use to create characters?

QM: I don’t focus on storylines. I focus on characters and the adversities I want them to overcome. That drives the plot. From there, everything else falls into place.

How old were you when you published your first book?

QM:32. I’ve been writing since late 2014. I started after my business and co-author, N’Dia Rae, got me into writing. I started under a different pen name and failed miserably. I had no idea what I was doing. None of those books are on Amazon anymore and I will not reveal to you what the pen name was.

Where are you from? What was your childhood like? Where do you live now? What life experiences have/do you use to write your books?

QM: I was born and raised in Miami, Florida. I graduated from the University of Florida in Gainesville, lived in Atlanta, then moved to Chicago. Now I spend most of my time between Chicago, Los Angeles, and Miami.

How long does it take you to write a book? Depends on if the spirit of creativity.

QM: Sometimes I can write a book in less than a week. Sometimes, it takes damn near three months.

What’s the hardest thing about writing books?

QM: Being able to tell an emotionally gripping story and draw people in from the very beginning.

What’s the biggest complaint /worse feedback you get about your work? What is the best?

QM: I haven’t gotten serious, serious complaints. My readers, for the most part, enjoy my work to the fullest.

Who do you think is your audience?

QM: Describe them in 4 words. Black women. Lol, black men hardly read, unless its nonfiction 48 Laws of Power type shit.

Who are your favorite urban fiction writers? What writers and authors do you admire?

QM: Sista Souljah and K’wan right now are my tops. I tried to get into some other authors, but they primarily write urban romance. Ain’t nobody got time to read about thugs with big dicks. That shit is wack to me.

Do you have any friends and family who feel you are taking their personal lives and turning it into entertainment?

QM: Nope, not at all.

How do you choose your cover titles?

QM: Honestly, they just come to me. And a lot of them reflect common says and aphorisms in the hood.

Do you feel obligated to showcase the black and minority communities in good/positive light?

QM: No, I do not because I am a creative and I write stories that reflect the reality that people live. Only 4% of Black American households are worth more than $200,000 or more. So this whole faux Huxtable narrative that black bourgeois intellectuals and artists like to push onto people is nothing more than rehashed respectability politics.

How do you market your books online? What has worked best for you? What are some mistakes you’ve come across in marketing your books?

QM: I use a variety of methods. Social media advertising works best. I’ve actually developed a very comprehensive launch marketing strategy for my books, but I will not delve into the specifics of that because it’s too detailed and I’d be damned if I am going to give out trade secrets, lol. All I will say is, social media engagement is very important.

What are the topics you refuse to write about?

QM: I’ll write about any and everything so long as it piques my interest and readers find it interesting.

Do you want to expand your empire to tv, film or music? Do you see yourself writing in other genres?

QM: Yes, that is actually the goal to get into television. Although I see myself making films here and there, I actually prefer television. Seems more up my alley as far as being able to stretch out a plot. Don’t see myself ever getting into music. As far as other genres – honestly, no. I prefer the African American Urban Fiction market because it’s gritty and underground. Besides, I like writing for black folks.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

QM: In five years I see myself with a multi-million dollar publishing house. I would also like to get into real estate. Long term, I would like to tone down the writing a bit and focus more on African American urban young adult fiction because a lot of teenagers do read street lit novels. See for me, I love writing cautionary tales – entertaining, cautionary tales.

What’s the difference between cautionary tales and urban lit?

QM: Well, I am saying it’s my style of writing in the context of urban lit meaning, I am writing with the intent to try to weave in some sort of larger social message. Not all of my books are like that, some honestly were just written simply for the sake of making money. I plan on eventually taking those books down.

So you work is limited time only?

QM: No, certain books like My Bad White Bitch.

So are you going to give Quan Millz a chance? What’s your favorite urban lit book?

Urban Fiction Author, Quan Millz Doesn’t Like ‘Stay Woke Cultural Elitists’ That Discredit Street Lit I think I first discovered Quan Millz and his books on Facebook. I kept seeing these outrageous book titles such as, "Crack Hoe Dreams" and "Pregnant By My Mother's Gay Husband".

[unscriptedguidelines]

Fast Lane: Part I

By T. East So here's a snippet of the urban romance novel I'm writing....for fun, once you reboot this, add your own paragraph to the ending of this part ✨🙌🏾 Part I Kash Sometimes in a world where you don’t know what people value more, money or loyalty, you have to grow up and faster than most. Sometimes you have to fight through many obstacles and sometimes you have to bite the bullet and make it out somewhere. I am a living testimony to how you make it in this world. My name is Kasha Saraine Delancy but everybody calls me Kash or KJ for short. I am the Princess of Charlotte….more so the Charlotte Drug trade. My parents were Daniela Martinez-Delancy and Kashon Delancy, the Queen and King of the QC. I say were because some pussy ass bastard who felt like they were too powerful took them out in a car explosion when I was 5. I never really got a chance to love and know them but they were my heart. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, also my parents bestfriends, My aunt Carmen is my mother’s sister and definitely took me in and loved me like her own daughter. My uncle Terrence was my father’s best friend and protects me like no other. Their twin daughters Jayelin and Kayelin are my best friends and we ride this life out like the thuggettes that we are……..well I’m speaking too much. I think WE should tell you this story… … Kash “Ain’t nothin’ to a boss, we ballin’ when you see us..” -Duffle Bag Boy ​“Students, make sure you turn in those final papers to me by tomorrow evening. I wouldn't want any of you lacking before graduation next week”, said my Economics professor. I grabbed my things and walked out of class with pure joy written on my face. This was my last class of my senior year and I couldn't help but to be too proud of myself. I was 20 years old and graduating from Johnson C. Smith University with a degree in Business and a minor in Hospitality/Tourism. Yeah, your girl is a beauty but what’s beauty without brains ya know? I was relieved and happy that now me and my best friends could put our plan into action. See, me and the twins wanted to open up our on string of strip malls, including a House of Kash boutique, a Paradize spa chain by Jay, and a Tomboy sneaker/heel boutique by Kay. I was so lost in these thoughts that i did not notice the non moving object in front of me. It was too late by the time I looked up and I fell flat on my butt with my phone and books droping. “Oh man, little ma, are you good?” said the deepest baritone voice I’ve ever heard. Getting up and rubbing my butt, I looked deeply into the most gorgeous set of hazel eyes. I stepped back and took in this person at a glance. “Little ma, you staring a little hard.” he laughed. I shook off my embarrassment and glared at him. “Well I wouldn't be staring if you hadn't been in my way” I spat. He tilted his head and looked at me sideways. “Well if I recall, it was you who wasn't looking up ma and with all due respect you can leave your attitude on the ground cause I'm not beat for it.”. I shook my head and gathered my belonging and proceeded to walk away. I was about to graduate and I definitely did not have time for the foolishness. I could feel a pair of eyes on me so I swung my long ombre natural hair to the side and looked back. Sure enough, Hazel eyes was staring so I put a jump to that trunk I got back there and strutted off. ​I was cruising in my BMW X5 down South Caldwell street when I decided to hit up the twins for a late lunch. “Kaaaaaaay!” I yelled into the car speaker. “Kash, why do you have to yell mama? Usted esta loca, mama,” she laughed. I smiled and got to business. “Look, I finished. The deal is done. Let’s meet for lunch and tell your sister be on time please. We are finally ready.” I said. There was a short pause before Kay spoke. “Kash, I’m so proud of you baby. This is the day you’ve been waiting for and the moment me and Jay have been longing for. Let’s get this money. Live fast…” she said. “And die slow….” i spoke back. “We all we got” we both said in unison. I smiled at the phrase that Jay came up with years before. I got off the phone with her and cruised through downtown to our favorite restaurant, McCormick and Schmick’s. It was a high priced restaurant but it was perfect for this moment. No more struggling, no more bad days……it was on from there. Kay ​After hanging up the phone from Kash, I immediately got down on my knees and praised God because we were finally making moves. Let me introduce myself though, I’m Kaylen Brianna Martinez-Jones but most know me as Kay. I am a 5’4 Dominican and Black bombshell with a coca-cola body shape. I rock 22 inches of my REAL natural hair that is lightly colored blonde and it rests atop a firm but plump derriere. I am the brains of the trio and definitely the most observant. I peep things with these hazel-brown eyes from afar and near and I make sure we don’t ever get into serious trouble. And by serious trouble I mean……well I’ll let Kash tell you the rest. I graduated from the University of North Carolina with a degree in Computer Science and a degree in Business. I always thought I would be a computer analyst for a firm or for the FBI but my real passion is shoes. Growing up, I was always daddy’s little girl so I caught the tomboy persona from him. I have a LOVE for heels, just like any grown woman but I also had a love for sneakers just like any grown man. I always had the first hand on any retro Jordans or any hot new sneaks that were coming out. Speaking of Jordans, I need to hit up my connect about this OVO Jordan pack that Drake is releasing. I know that Kash has an unhealthy obsession with Drake so this would be a great graduation gift for her. I hit up Rell on my iPhone while I pulled out clothes to meet up with the girls. “Kay Bay, what’s the deal lady?”, yelled Rell. I chuckled because Rell was your typical hood nigga. “Man Rell why the fuck you yelling, son? Look I need the scoop on that OVO pack I’m looking for. Who, what, when, and where?” I inquired. “Look, I got the pack but you have to scoop it from the dude I always cop from. I am currently out of town on family business shawty. “ he said. I rolled my eyes because whenever Rell said that, that meant he did some hot boy shit and he had to get out of dodge. “Alright Rell but make this the last time you do this. I pay you too much money to be dealing with strangers. What’s his info?” I grabbed a pen and paper. “Aight, his name is Jus and he’s a real cool dude, shawty. I told him that you meeting him today at 2.” I glanced at the clock and noticed it was 1:30. “Damn Rell!! When was you gon’ tell me?” I yelled. I hung up before he answered and rushed to shower and get dressed. I threw on a pair of YSL ripped washed skinny jeans and a black racer back Beyonce “Surfboardt” belly tank. I threw on my matte black pair of Louboutin Red Bottoms and grabbed my black Marc Jacobs tote bag and headed to my garage. I hit the locks on my black and chrome 2015 Audi A5 coupe and headed down South Blvd to meet up with this guy. As I was driving, I contemplated on my life at hand. At the young age of 19, I was already successful in my endeavors. I graduated college early because I was a genius if you would say. But my genius mind had nothing to do with my hustle. I inherited the hustle strictly from my dad. My dad was the infamous Terrance Jones, the right hand to Kash, my godfather and a man who once ruled the Charlotte drug world with an iron fist. My dad was his right hand and best friend, more so like brothers. While Uncle Kash handled the business, my dad was the enforcer. His assassin mind and cold heart made him one of the top killers on the east coast. Fortunately I didn’t inherit that dark side from him, but I couldn’t say the same about my twin Jay. Although we were daddy’s girls, we were spitting images of our beautiful mother. Carmen Martinez-Jones was a beautiful dominican bombshell but played NO games. I was blessed to have two parents that were ride or die totally. At times, I prayed for Lil Kash because I know she missed her parents deeply. But I knew we were about to make Uncle Kash and Aunt Dani proud. The sounds of beeping horns broke me out my thoughts. I channeled my focus on the highway as I pushed 80 going towards Southpark mall on the Southside. I was leery meeting this guy Rell hooked up because I didn’t trust anybody that wasn’t La Familia. Hell, I didn't even trust Rell but as long as he kept being on point with the sneakers we wouldn’t have any issues. I pulled up to the mall and valet parked my whip. When I stepped out, I had the attention of all the men in the vicinity. I whipped my hair to the back and strutted towards Maggiano’s,the upperclass Italian restaurant. When I reached the hostess, she smiled at me. “Hello, Miss Kay. How are you?” said GiGi. I smiled and hugged her. “I’m well, Gi. Can you set me up at my usual spot? I’m meeting somebody and I want to see them before they arrive.” I said. She nodded and led me to my special table. I ordered a glass of Cupcake Moscato and proceeded to online shop on my iPad. A girl couldn’t get enough of shoes and clothes as it seems. I looked up and saw a tall gentleman walk up to Gigi. I couldn't get a good look at his face until they started to walk up this way but when I did, I almost lost my nerve and my panties. This man stood at 6’4 and had the skin of perfectly roasted almond. His waves were making me sea sick and his swag was on one thousand. When he got closer, I noticed the Balmain jeans that slightly hung off his hips and the red Balenciaga sneakers on his feet. He filled out the Givenchy T-Shirt nicely with his muscles and tattoos that went on for days. I was so caught up that I didn’t notice that him and GiGi was standing right before me. “Miss Kay?” said GiGi. I sputtered and coughed. “Yes please sit down” I said. He smirked and sat down and his Curve Men cologne wafted under my nose. “Sup ma? I’m Jus.” he reached out his hand. I looked and tilted my head. “Do you have my shoes?” I asked. He shook his head and took back his hand. I was in no mood to have conversation. Jus I didn't know what I did to God but I thanked him for sitting this beauty in front of me. Shorty was looking right in those YSL jeans and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was working with back there. But I knew one thing, the woman I was looking at was going to be my wife and the mother of my children. Her features had me wondering what she was mixed with but the movement of her lips had me mesmerized. “Look ma, Rell said you needed the OVO pack but honestly, I need your number.” . She turned her head to the side and smiled a smile that shook my whole world upside down. “Listen Jus—“ . “Actually, its Justice ma,”, I licked my lips and smiled at her. “Well JUSTICE, I appreciate the flattery but obviously it gets you nowhere. Honestly, I just want to talk about the shoes.” she spoke to me. “Now Rell told me you had the Drake OVO pack and I am trying to acquire that for my best friend since she’s graduating”. I sipped my drink. “Well congratulations to her, and yes I have the OVO pack. But before I give you that, I need two favors from you.” She frowned. “And what favors are those?”. she said. “Please give me your number and you and your friends come to my brother’s birthday party tomorrow night at Cameo”, I said. She thought for a few seconds and smiled. She then proceeded to gather her things and stood. “You know when you walked over here, I thought you had substance. Guess I was wrong.” She then sashayed her way out of the restaurant. I was sitting in complete shock for a few minutes when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the waitress who showed me in. She gave me a smile and dropped a note in front of me. Jus, Those shoes and my best friend mean more to me than your lack of substance. I will see you tomorrow night. Please put me down for 4 people. and by the way, the name Justice suits you. xoxoxo Kayelin (not Ma) 704-555-8438 I smiled and laughed. Lilttle ma definitely was going to be a challenge but for some reason, that was a challenge I willing to make. I left the restaurant and hopped in my range truck. As I left out of the mall area, my iPhone rung. “Talk to me” I said into the speaker. “Boy every time I call you, wounding like you on some boss shit. “ I laughed outloud. Only person who call me and get away with saying dumb shit like that was my brother Kaide. “Nigga what the fuck do you want?” I said between laughs. “Maaaaaaaan I’m calling you to see if you were ready for little brother’s party tomorrow.” said Kaide. I sat back and my thoughts drifted to our other brother, Jordan. I am the oldest of us three boys. My name is Justice Koran Santiago and I am the oldest brother to Kaide Martine’ Santiago and Jordan Edward Santiago. My mother raised me to always look out for my brothers and that’s what I am trying to do. But sadly, my mother never got her wish because 6 yeas prior I fell into the trap of my slick talking father, Johan Santiago. My father was the son of a Colombian drug lord, my grandfather Jose Lete’-Santiago. But my father didn’t take the drug lord route, instead he became one of the top assassins in the world. And his oldest son didn’t fall too far from the tree. I am the leader of my own assassin group and my brother Kaide was right there beside me. I took contracts out from the biggest names in the world. I have killed people for presidents, senators, entertainment stars and even gold digging ass housewives. My only rule is that I do not hurt, touch or kill children. I could diminish the innocence of a child. Another reason why I halfway listened to my mother and didn;t let my brother Jordan get involved with any of the stuff Kaide and I did. I steered my brother right and sent him off to college. Jordan just finished up his undergrad years at Howard University with a Bachelor’s in Science and a Bachelor’s in Chemistry. I was such a proud big brother and I knew my brother was destined for greatness. Now don’t get me wrong, I was proud of Kaide. Not many people knew but Kaide had his degree in business and was trying to open up some event planning businesses. He was actually in the talks with 3 sisters from Charlotte who had business called the Conglomerate. But this business we were in was tricky. And I know it could not last forever. “Ay Jus, I meant to tell you, I met the girl of my dreams today, fam. I know I did.” I laughed because Kaide was truly a ladies man. SO him saying that perked my attention. “Oh really bro? What did she look like?” aide started rambling “Son I swear she was a reincarnate of a love child of Aaliyah and Selena. Shorty bumped into me and I promise you not, she melted in my arms dawg” he yelled. I laughed because I never heard him speak like this. “Well seems like me and you both my brother. Well I invited my future to the party tomorrow with some of her friends.” Kaide chuckled. “That’s funny considering the fact that Jade will be in attendance tomorrow”. I shuddered and frowned at the thought of my ex. “Listen we will handle that when it comes up but more importantly, we have a contract to be fulfilled by Saturday. Lets get it done.” I could hear Kaide sigh through the phone. “Sayless. I’ll catch up with you later.” I ended the call and mentally prepared myself for this week’s activities. Jay I rolled over and looked at the sun gleaming through my window. I tried to sit up in bed but the pain that shot through my body was enough to make me lie right back down. The night I had last night was surely enough to make a grown man tremble but I had no emotions. Well unless it came to my off and on and off again boyfriend Taz. I looked over to see if he was still there but of course he wasn’t. I got up and made my way to the bathroom to take a shower to numb some of the pain away. I also checked my texts to make sure my sisters Kaye and Kash got in safe last night. Last night was a close call and we could never be that close again. I might as well let the beans slip and let you know that we were hit-men or hit-women if you will. We will under the control of my father Terrance and I made damn good money. But I made so much money that I couldn’t figure out why I had such a shitty love life. Speaking of my love life, I was hearing a voice coming from inside my bathroom that I knew belonged to Taz. I tip toed to the door and eavesdropped. “Baby look, I’m sorry but you know what it is. I promise I’ll come over in a hour and pound that pussy out for me. Let me hear her purr for me.” I barged in that bathroom and threw his phone. “Purr motherfucker PURR. Do me and YOU a favor and get the fuck out of my shit now.”, Taz ran after me as I stormed back into my bedroom. “Baby please don’t do this. You know I was just playing with girl, I was gon’ get right back.” he whined, mimicking a Lloyd song. “Nigga if you don’t shut the fuck up copying other niggas shit. I am sick and tired of your bullshit. You disrespect me all day long and act like that shit’s okay. Newsflash BITCH, it’s not okay. I am completely disgusted with your dumb, STD catchin’ ass. Grab your dick, and sashay your weak ass out my crib”., I angrily spat at him. I glared into his eyes and a quick flash, his eyes turned to black. I turned to grab my cellphone and felt a hard WAP to the back of my head. “Bitch, you think you gon’ talk any kinda way to me and think ima let that shit ride. Get your ass up and lay on that bed.” he yelled. For some odd reason, I obliged to his words and laid on the bed. I was scared as fuck to know what he would do if I didn’t and since my guns were not accessible, I did my best to try to make it through this ordeal. As Taz started pounding his fists into my body and my hands went flying back to protect myself, my thoughts drifted to my sister and Kash. If only they know how I was acting right now, they would wonder how the hell was I one of my dad’s best assassins. But the truth is, my inner self was not that worthy of such a brave title. I had insecurities for days, starting with the fact that I kill people for a living. For a while, the people I killed kept popping in my dreams and then I became numb to the bloodshed. The bloodshed helps me numb myself to the insecurities and problems I have, especially with men. As I kept drifting into my thoughts, I didn’t realize Taz had picked me up in the car and dropped me in an alley. He kicked and beat me some more before he stole my keys and my car and sped off. I was slipping in and out of consciousness, praying that God loved me before I went to hell when I heard a voice calling to me. I tried to turn my head but the pain in my head prevented from doing so. I felt myself being lifted into a car and hearing two different voices. “Jordan, man what the hell? How are we going to explain this to Jus?” said one voice. “I don’t know Kai, but we can’t leave her there like this man. She needs help. Let’s take her to Carolinas Med, quickly.” said the other. I could hear the other guy suck his teeth. “Man you’re right. But I don’t want to hear Jus’ mouth man. We were supposed to meet him 30 minutes ago.” While they were talking, I just kept replying the memories in my head. I kept thinking of my sister, Kash, my parents, and my family. I knew that if something happened to me, blood will shed. My father and brothers will tear the streets with the rest of the crew, bodying anybody in sight if something happened. The funny thing is, I also kept thinking of the voice I was hearing in the shadows. It was like something kept drawing me to it. The sweet, melodic baritone voice kept telling me to fight and that everything was going to be okay. I just simply laid back and let the darkness consume me. Stay tuned for Part II