#sorry for just throwing 600 words of fanfic at you but i just had to share lol

[atanx]

okay I NEED you to elaborate on your headcanon about kuze being mana’s uncle because I absolutely can see it but I wanna know your context specifically (im @designernishiki btw)

Hi! Thamks for the ask! :3

Okay so admittedly I didnt come up with it myself, but I read it in this and thought yo why the heck not that shits epic?? Just the idea of Kuze having a niece and being a pretty good uncle?? Good shit right there!

I even started writing a little bit, dunno if I'll ever continue it but here:

It starts with his sister. His sweet, shy sister he never really knew, he never really talked to not because they didn't like each other but because she was five years younger and they had virtually nothing in common.

Throughout the years, they'd lost contact, yet, as Kuze's boxing career is falling apart, a letter arrives. Where Akira got his address from, he doesn't have a clue, but he remembers her handwriting.

They meet at Cafe Alps to catch up. He doesn't recognise her in the beginning, but she recognises him.

"Hold her for a second, would you?", Akira shoves her baby into his arms.

"-Oi!", Daisaku complains, mostly because his hands are made for boxing, for hurting, and he most definitely does not know how to take care of a baby.

But Akira leaves to go to the bathroom before he can get another word in.

Daisaku looks down at the potato. Babies are so ugly. They're deformed, weak and disgusting with drool and snot and even less pleasant bodily secretions everywhere. They scream and they're annoying, but - this isn't his baby. This is Akira's baby. He doesn't have the responsibility of having to do everything right. He won't have to suffer through the majority of the baby's tantrums.

The baby's big eyes follow his finger as he boops its little nose. It scrunches up its face in a way he must admit it decently adorable.

"Oh, you got an attitude.", he remarks with amusement. "That's a good thing. I like you."

The baby stretches out its tiny, tiny hand to play with his finger and he lets it.

Daisaku is overcome by wonder. It's so small, so weak and helpless, yet this is a human. This will one day grow up into an adult. What he is holding in his arms is a life. A pure, young, innocent life.

"I see you've become acquainted!", Akira teases him as she sits down, not making a move to take the baby back.

"Aa. It's got spunk."

His sister chuckles.

"What's it's name?", Daisaku asks.

"Kuze Mana.", Akira responds, looking at the baby with a lot of fondness. The little shit starts gnawing on his finger. He lets her.

"Eh? You're not hitched?"

"Nah, she was an accident, but I wanted to keep her."

"Huh."

"So, Daisaku... How have you been holding up?", Akira asks him, tone becoming a tad bit gentler. "I heard about what's happening with your boxing career."

Kuze clicks his tongue. "Don't believe everything you hear. Reason why things are going downhill is that I did something the Championship doesn't like so they're forcing me to lose. Bunch of fuckers."

Akira hums. "And what, you're just going to let them walk all over you?"

"Pf. As if. The reason I started up boxing is because I wanted to fight people stronger than me, not get tossed around by losers I could defeat in my sleep. I could tough it out, but... This isn't about strength or perseverance. Getting back in the bosses' good graces is gonna take a long time and then it's one wrong move and I'm in the doghouse again.", Kuze snorts derisively. "This is more showbiz than boxing. No, I think I'm done with it. Only question is what happens after."

"Do you have a job in mind yet?"

"No. That's most of the problem.", Kuze admits. "Like hell I'm gonna start an office job or anything like that. Don't exactly have qualifications either."

Akira looks him over critically. "I guess so."

"I have received an offer.", Kuze states, staring at the table. "He said my strength and potential was wasted there."

"Eh? Is it the Yakuza?"

Kuze looks up in shock. "How did you know?"

Akira smiles. "I've had a couple of friends who were in there."

"I see.", he states, still uncertain of what she thinks of it.

[verai-marcel]

The Sweet Taste of You (RDR2 Fanfic, Incubus!Arthur x Fem!Reader, 18+)

Summary: On a foggy night in St. Denis, he finds you alone in an alley and he's entranced. The taste of innocence, mixed with the aroma of desire sprinkled with a dash of fear when you see him approach, is a heady combination, and Arthur cannot resist.

Author’s Notes: For @ana-xor, winner of the 600 follower giveaway! Thank you for such a fun and naughty request, this was a pleasure to write. 

Tags: medium honor Arthur, incubus!Arthur, switching POVs, smut, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie

Word Count: 3602

AO3 Link is here, cowfolks.

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He felt it, deep in his belly. A craving, an emptiness he could no longer ignore.

He hungered.

Getting up from his cot in the dead of night, Arthur Morgan quietly grabbed his satchel and left camp on his horse.

Galloping through the fields and forests, he made his way to Saint Denis, down a familiar road, winding through a dark alley, to a door on the backside of a nondescript building. A red lantern hung above his head as he knocked quietly three times.

A slot slid open and a pair of kohl-lined eyes blinked at him. A lilting, accented voice called out through the door.

“Welcome, Mr. Callahan. The usual?”

“Feelin’ a bit… more.”

The door opened, revealing a woman with tan skin, a dress that wrapped attractively around her body, and alluring eyes.

“Come into the foyer, please. I’ll get Lara and Tanya for you tonight.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you, Madam.”

***

Blinking against the early morning rays, Arthur slowly sat up, careful to not wake the two ladies sleeping next to him. He checked their pulses to make sure they were okay; he was always careful, only took what he needed and no more. After one close call years ago, he knew better than to risk it. If he was feeling… peckish, he always asked for two.

Pulling his clothes on, he snuck out of the room, leaving an extra two dollars on the table for them when they woke up, and headed downstairs.

“Did you find them to your liking?”

Arthur nodded at the madam. “Yes, they were very fine.”

“Did you wear them out?”

“Yeah, sorry. Had, uh, a lot of energy.”

She smiled knowingly. “Of course. See you next month.”

***

Riding back to camp, Arthur felt better than he had all week. He had stretched his limits, knowing that he should have fed last week, but with everyone relying on him to bring back money for the camp, he hadn’t found the time.

Can’t push it like that again. Too risky.

He remembered what his father had told him, after throwing his mother’s journal at him. 

“You’re a freak. But you’re my freak. So better learn how to take care of yourself. Your ma left this for you.”

As a teen, he had read his mother’s journal, confused by all the advice she had written. He dismissed it all as the writings of a woman at the end of her life, losing her mind to a deadly fever.

It wasn’t until he had nearly drained a woman of her life, watching her lips turn blue before stopping himself, that he took it seriously. He pored over the journal again, committing everything to memory. Never again would he make a mistake. He never wanted to see a woman drained of her life because of his other side.

His father had called him a demon. He was half right.

***

It was a late night, but you hadn’t finished washing all of the clothes that had been dropped off today. You were the newest hire, and thus lowest in the pecking order.

So there you were, a single electrical bulb above your head as you cranked the handle of the washing machine, watching as the suds and water cleaned the last of the linens of the day. While you turned the handle, you daydreamed. An image of a strong, big man taking you into his arms, kissing you, perhaps giving you love bites on your neck… you sighed. Working late nights like this, you figured you didn’t have a chance to find a man any time soon. But you could dream.

When the linens looked clean, you took out the sopping wet pile and brought it to the wringer. Putting it into the machine and turning the crank to squeeze out all the water, you continued to daydream, your thoughts turning to more lurid activities. Imagining a man between your legs, his strong hips moving in a steady rhythm, you were distracted enough to not notice that the cloth had finished running through for a few turns of the handle. 

Taking the linens to the clothesline area, you hung them to dry. Glad that you were finally done for the night, you exited out the back door that led to the alley and locked up. 

Looking around for any muggers, you quickly walked down the alley towards a main road that would take you home. Turning the corner, you ran into a wall and stumbled.

Or at least, you thought it was a wall. You looked up, craning your neck to see a big man with a five o’clock shadow and a worn black hat. His hand was holding your elbow, keeping you steady as you regained your footing.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir,” you quickly said, your heart pounding. He was tall.

“Not a problem, miss.” He had not let go of your arm. “Are you alone? May I escort you somewhere?”

You blinked. “Erm, could you take me to the main road? I can go from there.”

“Of course,” he said as he let go of you, his voice feeling like soft fur against your skin. He offered his left arm. You glanced at the guns on his belt, and realized that if someone did try to rob you, he’d take care of them in an instant. You also came to the conclusion that if he had wanted to rob you, he would have already done so.

Taking his arm, you let him lead you out of the alley. He gallantly escorted you to the main road, looking around for anything or anyone that could come near. You felt safe, a strange sense of trust developing in your heart. He was a stranger, what were you thinking?

But when you reached the main road, he turned to you and held out his hand. “My lady.”

You took his hand, and he raised it to his lips and kissed your hand like a real gentleman. When his eyes met yours, your breath caught. They were the most beautiful color, like gemstones sparkling in the light of the streetlamps. 

"Th-thank you, sir."

"My pleasure," he said softly, his lips against your skin, and you felt a zing of desire jolt through your body as he said it. 

Quickly pulling your hand out of his, you scurried away, afraid of how he was affecting you. But you knew, in your dreams tonight, you'd be thinking of him, and wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against yours.

***

Arthur watched the woman walk down the road and felt his hunger grow. He realized that the small taste he had taken was like a drug, and he wanted more. 

She had tasted of innocence, desire, and a dash of fear. A heady concoction to his demon-side, and he needed more. 

He needed her. 

All of a sudden, he didn't want to go to the Madam tonight. He knew he should, knew he needed to feed. 

Shaking his head, he made his way to the dark alley. 

After five steps, he turned around and left. He was hungry, but he wanted someone specific, and no one else would do. 

***

Another late night, as per usual these days. You were glad that business was picking up, since that meant you would be paid more, but being alone at night was a bit nerve wracking. As you locked up the back door, you felt a tingling on your neck. Quickly turning around, you saw the man from last night, approaching you slowly. 

"What do you want?" you asked, proud that your voice wasn't shaking as much as you felt. 

"Just wanted to make sure you were safe," he said, holding his hands out placatingly. 

You tilted your head. "Why would I not be?"

He shrugged. “It’s late, and I got to thinkin’, what if some robber came across you?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “So… what do you want?”

The man held out his arm to you, just as he did the night before. “Just want to make sure you get home safely, that’s all.”

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t born yesterday.

The man looked down and smiled. “Alright, you got me. I want to get to know you better too.” Then he looked up at you, and the earnest look in his eyes moved your heart. “May I escort you home?”

You swallowed. Taking a chance, you walked up to him and took his arm.

“Alright.”

***

You found out his name was Arthur, and he was also working late nights recently. He seemed like a decent man, just doing errands for a few businesses to make ends meet.

Throughout the week, he came by and escorted you part of the way home. And every night, you let him get closer and closer to your actual apartment. Chatting with him was delightful; he was charming, funny, and he listened to you with no judgement. He didn't offer advice unless you asked for it, and when he did, his advice was thoughtful and realistic. Too many men just talked down at you, and hearing Arthur speak to you like a fellow human being and not some kind of lower creature was a breath of fresh air. 

At first, you only let him take you to the main road. Then it was down the main road to the side road that led to your building. Then it was down the side road too. 

And tonight? He came up the stairs with you, and stood at your door.

"Well, guess I'd better go," he said, a little sad. He held out his hand, like he always did. You put your hand in his, but tonight you were feeling bold. Pulling him closer, you went on your tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. 

Arthur blinked, surprised, and touched his cheek, as if he couldn't believe. 

"Sorry, was that too forward of me?" you asked, suddenly regretting your decision. 

"Not at all," he quickly said, and took a step forward, putting a hand against the door jamb, trapping you against the door. "Does that mean I can be more forward with you?" 

You nodded, your heart in your throat. 

With his other hand, he held your chin, tilting it upwards as he leaned down. He glanced at your lips before he moved that last inch to kiss you. It was a tentative touch at first, a light brush of his lips against yours. 

As you responded in kind, he moved closer, pressing his body against yours as he encouraged your mouth to open up for him, his tongue tasting you. The kiss became a heated inhalation of your desire, and you gave him what he demanded. 

"Can I come in?" he asked in a whisper. 

"Yes," you replied, quickly pulling out your keys and opening the door. 

***

He quietly followed you into your dark apartment. Seeking the one electric lamp located near the door on a small desk, you stumbled a bit as your hands reached for it. 

Then it was suddenly on, and you found Arthur standing next to it, his hand on the switch. 

"How'd you find it so easily?" 

He shrugged. "I can see well in the dark."

You raised an eyebrow, but ignored the sudden chill down your spine. So he had good vision, so what? You turned around and shut your door, locking it. 

As the lock clicked, you felt Arthur come up behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one arm against the door. 

"So darlin'," he drawled as he pressed his body against you, "Last chance to tell me to get out."

He pressed his lips against the nape of your neck and breathed in. His voice dropped, and his next words came out in a raspy murmur. 

"Because if you don't, I ain't lettin' you escape."

Desire pooled between your legs just as a small shiver of anticipation laced with nervousness went through your body. You gasped softly as you felt his lips travel up your neck and around your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive skin as he pinned you against the door with just his hips. You could feel his excitement against your rear, and wiggled experimentally. 

"Eager li'l thing, hm?" Arthur teased. He pulled away from you and guided you to your bed on the other side of the room. Standing, staring at your bed, you tried to turn to face Arthur, but he put his hands on your shoulders and kept you in place. 

"Let's get you out of these clothes," he said as he reached around to unbutton your blouse. His hands wandered down, each button coming undone and revealing more of you, his fingers brushing against your chemise. You stood still, unable to move as you reveled in the feeling of his hands sliding the fabric down your arms. He pulled your blouse off and tossed it aside, then he went for your skirt buttons. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath on your ear as he took off your skirt, his hands gripping your hips as it fell from you. 

In only your chemise and drawers, you felt so exposed. You lifted your arms to cover yourself, but Arthur quickly grabbed your wrists and set them at your sides. 

"No hidin' from me," he rumbled. "Lemme see everythin'." 

You kept your arms down as he pulled the chemise straps down your shoulders. The soft fabric brushed against your nipples as he slid it off you, and he hummed in appreciation. 

He cupped your breasts, his fingers teasing your sensitive buds. You cried out softly with pleasure; his hands were warm, almost hot, and it felt so good in the cool air of the night. 

Soon his hands wandered down and untied the ribbon holding up your drawers. They slid down your hips, Arthur's hands following them so he could caress your thighs, then your ass, grabbing and squeezing, almost too rough in his handling. 

"Beautiful," he murmured. 

Then he suddenly bent you over. Your arms shot out, reaching for the bed for balance. He caressed the small of your back, then your ass. You felt two fingers begin to explore your pussy lips, spreading the juices that had been flowing from you since he laid his lips against your skin. 

"Naughty girl, so wet already. I've barely begun, and yer already like this?" 

He slapped your ass. You yelped in surprise. 

"Such a pretty voice." 

You heard him unbuttoning his fly. Then felt him, hot and hard, nudging your folds. He pressed harder against you, and your body took him in, stretching to fit his thick cock. Mewling helplessly, you lay your head on the bed, resting on your forearms, gripping the bed sheets as Arthur slid in all the way, his hips flush to your ass. 

"Good girl," he praised as he pulled almost all the way out. One breathless moment passed. 

Then he slammed back into you, one hand covering your mouth to stifle your scream as he took you slowly at first, then built up to a breakneck pace.

“That’s it darlin’, you feel so good,” he praised as his hold on your hip tightened.

You weren’t sure how much time passed as he fucked you, his hand traveling from your mouth to your hair, grabbing at it and pulling back to make your back arch, but at some point your knees buckled and you fell forward onto the bed. Arthur fell with you, bracing his arms on either side of you as he kept himself inside of you. 

One arm wrapped around your shoulders, his other hand still holding onto your hip as he rolled his hips slower, entering you from this different angle. His deep rumbles of pleasure vibrated against your back.

“Can’t get enough of ya,” he murmured. He started to nibble on your neck, his tongue darting out to taste the sweat on your skin. “Yer like whiskey.”

Soon his pace slowed to a stop and he staggered up and away from you, as if he was drunk. You turned over to see him standing above you, his eyes glazed over as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

You shakily stood up and began to help him. As he pulled his suspenders and shirt off, your fingers traced the contours of his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms. You ended up brushing your fingertips across his abdomen and watched as he dropped his jeans to reveal his powerful legs. He stepped out of his jeans and toed off his boots, kicking everything aside before he looked at you, a small smile gracing his lips as he noticed that you were staring at him, desire written all over your face. 

Arthur stood before you in the dim lamp light, naked and glorious. Toned muscles and skin that was criss-crossed with scars filled your vision, and you didn’t think any other man would ever do for you. He was everything you lusted after and more.

“You ready fer more, darlin’?”

You nodded.

“Good. Lay down.”

You did as he bade, watching him climb on top of you and rest himself between your legs, his arms around yours, his hands digging into your hair. He rubbed his shaft against your folds, against your core, and your hips answered in kind, the two of you undulating together, drowning in pleasure.

Then he re-angled his hips and pushed into you. You hooked your legs around his waist and reached up to dig your fingernails into his back. You pulled on him, urging him deeper, deeper, until his body was flush with yours, his cock making you feel so very full.

Arthur held your face in his big hands. “Look at me,” he whispered.

Your eyes focused on him. He looked hungry.

“Delicious,” he murmured before kissing you.

This kiss was nothing like anything you had felt before. This kiss was erotic, electric, an explosion of passion that left you breathless as he drank you down. It was as if he was inhaling your soul.

When he pulled away, his eyes roved your face as if he was searching for something.

“How you feelin’?”

“Wonderful,” you said.

“Not tired?”

You shook your head.

He smiled. “Good.”

Then he kissed you again as his hips pumped in a steady rhythm. He let out a satisfied moan, tucking his head into your neck to give you little love bites. 

“So sweet,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “I could just eat you up.”

You felt his grip tighten before he started to pound you into your bed.

“Want to make you mine, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “Can I?”

Wrapped in his arms, his body on top of yours, feeling him thrust into you over and over with no intention of stopping, you clung to him, arms and legs keeping his body on top of you, your desire driving you to your decision.

“Yes, take me Arthur! Please, make me yours!”

He let out a wordless sound of lust as his arms held you tight, muffling your cries with his shoulder. You bit down on him, and he muttered expletives as he moved faster, chasing his pleasure inside of you.

“Take it all, sweetheart,” he growled as he spent himself deep in your body, thrusting a few more times before staying still, enjoying the feel of coming with you around him. Then he reached between you two and started to play with your clit.

“Ar-Arthur!” you whimpered, and he kept stroking you, his cock staying hard as he rocked his hips slightly. You felt your climax growing like a wave, and when it came crashing down, you covered your moans with your hand as you spasmed under him.

Arthur smiled devilishly and fucked you again as you came, tearing your hand away from your mouth and kissing you once more, another soul-sucking kiss that heightened your climax and made you cry from the intensity. You swear you saw stars for a moment before Arthur moaned and came inside of you again.

“Damn,” he muttered, panting as he fell next to you, holding you close to him as he caught his breath. “Yer somethin’ else.”

When you didn’t respond, he suddenly sat up and took you by the shoulders. 

“You alright?” His eyes were a little wild, his tone was beyond concerned, almost panicked. 

“I’m fine, I feel great,” you replied sleepily. “Just a little tired.”

Arthur caressed your cheek oh so tenderly. “Good.” Then he kissed your forehead. “I’m glad.”

You fell asleep, wrapped up in his arms, a soft humming sending you to the deepest sleep you’d ever had in your life.

***

The morning sun lit up her skin, a beautiful color that he could not hope to capture in his sketches. So Arthur kissed her shoulder and tucked the covers around her before getting up quietly. 

He recalled a passage of his mother’s journal, and smiled softly to himself.

One day, you might find someone special. You’ll crave her like no other, and no other will do. If you find her, treasure her. Care for her like you would a garden. For if you do, you’ll never have to hunt again. Her love will feed you for the rest of your life.

Getting dressed, he kept looking back at this woman that he had laid claim to, and started planning. 

He knew planning wasn’t his thing, but he had a purpose now.

Get out of the gang. And get back to her.

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End Notes: AND HE GOT OUT AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER. THE END. Did I look up the history of laundry on Wikipedia? You better believe it. Hope y’all enjoyed this, especially you, @ana-xor! Thanks for your patience!

[teaveetamer]

My Issues With TFioS (and Other Elements of John Green)

Alright I’m just going to preface this with two things.

It’s been about six years since I’ve read the entire thing through, so my points are probably not going to be as detailed or precise as they were when I first read it.

If you enjoyed the book, identify with the fanbase, or like John Green in any capacity... Great! You might want to skip this one. This is definitely not the post for you. I’m going to put all of my more controversial thoughts under the cut so if you don’t want to see them you can just move on.

I brought up the book in that other post because I felt it had relevance to the discussion of “authors using characters as a mouthpiece”, but that’s only a small part of my issue with the book itself. I suppose I could have used a fanfiction example, since there’s more than enough fodder there, but I brought up The Fault in our Stars specifically because I feel comfortable criticizing a book in a way that I don’t feel comfortable criticizing fan works. John Green is a public figure that produced a paid product, made money, and does this professionally, while most fanfic authors are amateurs that provide free entertainment and just do it for fun.

Now with that said, we move on to the meat of the post.

Some Background

Perhaps this is not a little known fact, but I absolutely adore love stories. I don’t have incredibly high standards for them by any means, and in fact I actively enjoy them even when they aren’t the deepest, most thought provoking pieces. Someone got me a copy of Red, White, and Royal Blue for my birthday this year and I read the entire thing cover to cover in a day (and I seriously recommend if you’re looking for a pretty easy read with a lot of gay).

The only thing I love more than love stories? Tragic love stories, of course. If anyone has followed my fanfiction or main blog for any amount of time then you know that I love a little bit of tragedy. Usually with a happy ending, but not always. So when one of my friends shoved (and I mean literally shoved) The Fault in Our Stars  into my hands and billed it as a “tragic but heartwarming love story” I thought it would be perfect for me.

I was sixteen at the time, the target age demographic, and I was always looking for books with smart, well written teen characters. At this point in my life I’d never heard of John Green or his fanbase before. I tell you this because I disliked the book as I read it, but I think John Green and his fanbase are a major factor in why I disliked it so much I’m willing to sit down and write a blog post about it six years later. Granted, that’s not all on the book, but it is a factor.

Needless to say, I was not all that impressed by it. At some points I was downright infuriated, really.

My Issues With the Book

In summary, it feels very meh and overly pretentious. After about two chapters I just wanted to put it down, and the only reason I pushed through is because my friend insisted that it got better. She said it was funny, relatable, and intelligent, but I found it to be none of these things.

The impression I got was that the author, whoever he was, fancied himself terribly clever and he wanted everyone to know it. You know the type, the kinds of people that go around and assure everyone of how smart they are? It feels like it was made for haughty teens to brag about how intelligent they were because they read a “deep” book.  The book itself, despite being a surface level of “witty”, didn’t really have anything to say. In the end it reads like a thirty-something year old man bragging about how smart he is and waxing philosophical about the nature of life (and... Breakfast food..?) and using a fictional teenage girl to do it.

That’s why I brought up the “mouthpiece” thing. I didn’t want to read a book about a thirty-something dressing up his thoughts as a teenage girl. I wanted to read a book about a teenage girl.

Speaking of Hazel Grace… I don’t know if this is a common experience, but can anyone else tell when a man writes a female character? I find that I usually can. Men have a particular voice when they write, and especially when they write women. Every single page hammered me over the head with the fact that this was a man who was trying (and, in my opinion, failing miserably) to write a relatable teenage girl. And, in my opinion, he parroted a lot of very upsetting, dangerous mentalities for young women.

There were quite a few “I’m not like other girls, and not just because of the cancer!” moments (a mentality that I find wholly problematic coming from other women, let alone a man writing for a woman) that just had me rolling my eyes straight out of their sockets. She doesn’t care about shoes, see! She reads books! Isn’t that awesome and unique? Because, apparently, women are not allowed to do both.

These problematic mentalities extend into the book’s romance plot, too. Augustus is, frankly, one of the creepiest motherfuckers I’ve ever had the displeasure to read about. Not only is his aggressive creepiness portrayed as romantic, but Hazel reacts exactly how men wish women would react to their advances. Unfortunately I don’t have a copy of the book in front of me so you won’t get much in the way of direct quotes, but some examples include:

He stares at her, completely unblinking, for the duration of their cancer kids support group meeting… before they’ve even so much as spoken a word to each other. Which also features this gem of a quote: "A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well." which just perpetuates the disgusting misconception that women are okay with being creeped on as long as a guy is attractive. Spoiler alert: We fucking aren’t.

He repeatedly refers to Hazel as “Hazel Grace”, despite her introducing herself as “Hazel” and asking him to just call her “Hazel”. And not only does he ask for her full name, he demands she give it to him. This rings all kinds of alarm bells for me, because you know who else does that kind of shit? Christian Grey. And it’s manipulative, disrespectful, and downright rude. It is essentially saying “I hear your desires, but I would prefer to address you how I want to address you, not how you would like to be addressed, because my ego is more important than your comfort”.

Hazel is perfectly fine with getting into a complete stranger’s car and spending time at his house mere minutes after meeting with him and after all of the questionable shit he just pulled.

Continuing this book’s litany of problems with women, let’s talk about Isaac’s (ex)girlfriend. The book treats their breakup as this massive betrayal, then even goes on to justify vandalizing her property because of it.

I’m sorry, but no.

You, as an autonomous human being, have the right to end a relationship with someone else whenever, wherever, and for whatever reasons you designate, regardless of previously expressed emotions or promises. How and when she did it was not the most ideal, but she’s an emotionally immature teenager, and there’s never going to be a good time to do something like this. What was she supposed to do, keep pity dating him because she felt sorry for him? Wait until someone invented technology to cure blindness? Assuming she did actually break up with him because of his disability… Are her reasons shitty? Sure. But she’s allowed to have them.

And you know what? He’s allowed to be mad about it. His anger might be completely understandable, if not totally justified. But you know what else? That does not give him the right to take revenge on her by vandalizing her property.

I would have no problem with this scene if it were honest about what it was: a bunch of teenagers with under-developed frontal lobes that are angry and feeling vindictive. But it’s not that. It’s depicted as not only completely justified, but heroic. I’m sorry, no. You are never heroic for harassing another human being.

And Augustus’s dumb little speech to her mom is such garbage. You really expect me to believe that a grown woman was so pwned by some jerk teenager’s super witty justification for destroying her property that she just went inside and, idk, watched TV? Didn’t call the police to report the crime that he and his friends were actively committing against her? Bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, that scene is pretty egregious, but that doesn’t even begin to cover my issues with this book’s pretentious dialogue. If you told me that they ran every word in this book through Thesaurus.com then I would believe you without hesitation. The one hook, the draw, the thing that kept me reading was supposed to be the relatable characters, but they just aren’t relatable. They’re not realistic in the slightest. Seriously, go read any line of this book out loud and tell me how ridiculous you feel. I kept expecting Augustus to pull off his skinsuit and reveal that he was secretly a robot trying to imitate human speech the entire time.

I’m not sure how far I can go into this point without giving you direct quotes, but half the stuff that comes out of these characters mouths is pseudo-intellectual nonsense. “Put the killing thing between your teeth so it can’t kill you”?

It’s not a metaphor.

Putting an unlit cigarette in your mouth is still stupid. I guess it won’t give you lung cancer, but really? It’s still not a great idea.

Augustus has to go buy these cigarettes, which means he’s actively going out and giving money to an industry that has been funding pseudoscience and suppressing health initiatives that would prevent people from suffering what he did (i.e. fucking cancer).

Here’s a clue: Tobacco companies don’t actually care about what you do with the cigarettes. Their transaction stops as soon as you put the money in their hands. I could purchase a hundred packs and throw them in the garbage, and the only thing they know is that they got about $600 from me. Way to “stick it to the man”, asshole. You’re not clever.

With the exception of the Isaac’s-girlfriend thing, all of that is in chapters 1-4, by the way. This book turned me off so thoroughly that early.

So by the time the Amsterdam trip rolled around I was already not enjoying this book, but then this thing happened and it was just the final nail in the coffin for me. You probably know what I’m talking about already, but if you don’t… The Anne Frank Museum kiss.

I honestly cannot even articulate how incredibly tasteless and disrespectful I find the entire thing, and not only does that happen, but it’s followed by an r/ThatHappened “and then everybody stood up and clapped!” Seriously?

There are smarter, more well-versed people than me that have covered this topic, so I’ll leave the analysis for why that’s all kinds of wrong to them.

Those are really my big gripes, though there’s a few smaller ones (like Augustus throwing a pre-funeral like are you a psychopath? Why would you put the people you love through that???) that I’m not going to touch on because they weren’t all that instrumental in putting me off. Instead I’ll move on to the external factors.

The Fanbase

So I finished the book, a little miffed at having just wasted my time, and immediately told my friend that I didn’t like it much, and that I would be returning her copy the next day. Feeling pretty meh-to-slightly-negative about it, but whatever, it happens.

I was essentially met with “wow I can’t believe you didn’t get it.” and “Oh well maybe you’ll finally understand how deep it is when you’re older” from my friend. Which is really just one step away from the wow can’t you read?! BS that I’ve been seeing more and more frequently these days. So immediately I was pissed. All that aside, I was sixteen, the target age demographic? If I didn’t ‘get it’ then John Green was doing a pretty piss poor job of conveying what it is.

So I went online seeking something. Either validation that I wasn’t wrong and that I didn’t miss the point, the book just wasn’t great, or an explanation of what this it was that I’d missed. And let me tell you... Spotting a negative opinion of this book was like looking for a unicorn. There were a few, and many of them were met with the same kind of thing I had experienced. Vitriol, insistence that they were stupid or that they didn’t get it (again, with no explanation of what it was), and, apparently, a lot of harassment and threats.

I discovered that John Green’s target audience had a tendency to be… A bit obsessive. Lots of young, impressionable teenagers that were willing to jump on an opposing opinion with zealous outrage. If I had any interest in pursuing any of John Green’s other works or John Green as an internet personality any further, then it died in that moment. Absolutely nothing turns me off like a rabid, spiteful fanbase.

Now by this point I was already in the rabbit hole, and I began encountering a lot of criticisms of John Green and the things he’s said and done in the past. I did not like what I found.

John Green Himself

To be extremely blunt, the guy put such a bad taste in my mouth that it retroactively soured my opinion of The Fault in Our Stars even more. Since this is a post about my opinions on the book, I’m only going to be discussing things that affected my view at the time I read it. These are all things that happened six years ago, and I have no idea what this man has been up to or what he’s said about any of these topics since.

Let’s just get this out of the way… John Green writes the same book over and over. There’s always a quirky, nerdy white boy that is invariably cisgendered, and almost always straight. He is always an outcast with only a few friends, though apparently never directly bullied. He always meets an edgy girl that he falls in love with the idea of. Usually there is a road trip somewhere in there too.

The Fault in our Stars admittedly doesn’t follow the exact same framework, but it’s close enough in a lot of ways. Instead of the Quirky, Too-Smart-For-His-Own-Good cisboi being the PoV character, it’s the love interest (Hazel also fits this description, albeit a female version). Hazel and Augustus are both still outcasts. Hazel is attracted to Augustus because he’s Deep and Edgy and A Little Larger Than Life. The road trip is a flight to Amsterdam.

Looking at the man... Yeah the entire premise starts to come off as some weird self-insert fanfiction. I can feel the “I was a quirky, bullied teen and I wish this is how my high school life had been!” energy coming through absolutely every pore and every molecule of ink. Every character reads like John Green. John Green has written book after book and the main character always appears to be John Green in a slightly different teenage skinsuit.

And that’s fine, I guess. A little lazy, but I guess it’s working for him since he’s making hella bank? It’s certainly not enough to put me off the guy, just not something I’m interested in reading, and not something I find compelling.

What put me off for good were some of his comments. Dude skeeves me the fuck out. I’ll just go over some of the highlights I found at the time, and why they upset me so much when I heard them.

“Nerd girls are the world's most underutilized romantic resource.”

As a nerdy girl that has been stalked and harassed by men because I’m “good girlfriend material” (aka I like video games and traditionally masculine stuff and I’m pretty! I must be a unicorn!), this statement is disgusting.

I don’t care if it was a joke. I don’t care if he wasn’t being serious. This is the kind of shit that men think is a compliment because they think it makes “quirky” girls feel “unique” and “special”, but that “complement” is also an insult. You know why? Because it makes female interests all about how men perceive their sexual or romantic viability.

John Green’s penchant for writing “special” and “unique” girls (while simultaneously shaming “typical” girls, but I’ll get to that in the next point) and depicting them as the ideal woman just reaffirms my feelings about this quote. I think, on some level, John Green has no idea why this is such a bad take. And that’s not even getting into the fact that he called human beings resources. Women are not objects that exist to be a plot device or for your gratification. Fuck right off with that shit.

“She was incredibly hot, in that popular-girl-with-bleached-teeth-and-anorexia kind of way, which was Colin’s least favourite way of being hot”

This is just one quote of many that shames people with eating disorders and weight problems (on both ends of the spectrum, “too fat” and “too skinny”. Another fun one being: “there’s the weird culturally-constructed definition of hot, which means ‘that individual is malnourished, and has probably had plastic bags inserted into her breasts.’")

Know what this line is? It’s called “negging”, and it’s a popular tactic of incels because it works. You make someone seek your approval by intentionally giving them backhanded compliments to undermine their self esteem. The idea is that the more you insult them, the harder they’ll work to try and impress you. It doesn’t work on everyone, but you know who it does tend to work on? Insecure younger people (usually girls). You know who John Green’s target audience is? Insecure teenage girls.

As for the actual substance of the quote… I hate it. He’s shaming a woman for the choices she makes over her appearance. Which are, fun fact, none of his damn business. Also the idea that “skinny” and “anorexic” somehow need to go hand in hand is just wrong, insulting women for a mental health disorder they have no control over is offensive, and using a serious mental health disorder (did you know that anorexia is the most deadly mental health condition?) as an insult is disgusting.

Coming back to my earlier point about shaming “normal” girls, this quote is just the tip of the iceberg. He repeatedly shames women in his books for looking or behaving “typically”, while quirky girls are lauded as the ideal. Quirky girls are “weird and interesting” and normal girls are “boring”. If this was intended as a compliment, it’s a shitty one. If you have to shame one group to make another feel better, it is not a compliment. You are lowering all women when you pull that shit. You teach them that in order to feel good about themselves another group has to be made to feel worse.

And hey, maybe the pretty girl likes her teeth bleached because it makes her feel confident? Why can’t bleached teeth girl and anime t-shirt girl both be beautiful and unique and confident in their own right? Why is it “powerful” for anime t-shirt girl to wear her nerdy clothes, but scorn-worthy for bleached teeth girl to like bleaching her teeth?

What John Green is doing is simply replacing one ideal (skinny pretty girl) with another (quirky cute girl), and then he pretends like his version is somehow “woke” because it’s not based on physical appearance (though all of the women in his books are also physically attractive. Hmmm. Guess “nerd girls” are only “viable resources” when they aren’t hard to look at?).

And trust me, I’ve been down this path. I’ve been taken in by guys who try to make me feel ~special~ by putting down other women, and it leads to absolutely nothing good. It doesn’t make you feel better. It just makes you feel angry and resentful, and that’s not a place you want to be in. In fact, this was a mentality I had recently escaped from around the time I picked up this book. Seeing someone with as much influence as John Green parroting this specific brand of toxic shit to exactly the audience that would be most likely to feed into it? I was never going to be able to like the guy, sorry.

I know some people are able to “separate the art from the artist”, and I might have been willing to do that had the book actually been good… but it wasn’t. So in the end the book just looked worse for all of the author’s shortcomings.

So yeah, in summary: The book was mediocre at best, the author pushed all of my angry feminist buttons, and elements of the fanbase were annoying, condescending, and spiteful. I didn’t like the book in the first place due to the myriad of problems plaguing it, but everything else just made it look so much worse in hindsight.

Anyways, this probably got kind of ranty, but it was cathartic and I did make this blog to vent about dumb stuff. I think this qualifies.

[freetobeeyouandme]

At the Edge of the Forsaken Forrest - Chapter 1: The Envoy

Archive of our Own

So, I haven’t written proper fanfic in ages, but I’m gonna do whatever I want in 2020, and right now that is writing a multichapter van der Stoffels fanfic. I hope y’all like fantasy, because that’s what you’re getting. Also just a heads up, but I won’t post more than the first chapter here on Tumblr because I’m not sure how much sense crossposting makes, plus I’m not sure if the posts, which would include a link to Ao3 will show up in the tag. But I can (and will?) post about having posted so y’all’ll stay updated.

__________

Chapter 1 - The Envoy

Jens hated the Library. He didn't hate libraries per se, that was an important distinction to make. Libraries were awesome. They had vast collections of books that included historical accounts of the Kingdom of Amae that went further than current history books’s "Amaians hate magic, they would like to exterminate every single mage that has ever walked the earth, and they are basically very, very evil," which, while true, wasn’t exactly the nuanced take Jens needed. What he needed was not to accidentally offend the first Amaian envoy visiting Maers in centuries. And Libraries were quiet, ambient places, perfect for some last-minute cramming like this – usually at least.

No, Libraries were great. 

The problem with this particular library was that his study partner had decided that making out with his secret boyfriend was a far more valuable use of his time. Which would have been fine any other day, except 'secret' here meant that Robbe didn't want Jens to know about the guy, but utterly failed to really keep him a secret. For one, he made up excuses that were flimsier than the 600 year old history tome Jens was currently fighting his way through. Then there was the fact that Robbe was the worst when it came to finding secret places for hidden make-outs, so Jens had actually run into them before – Jens was just better at backtracking and disappearing quickly than Robbe was at keeping secrets. And lastly, to Jens's charging right now, Robbe seemed not to understand how the acoustics of the library worked. Which was why Jens could hear them kissing and whispering to each other, although, to his relief, without being able to understand what they were saying exactly. If he had, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. As it stood, he couldn’t say anything, because then Robbe would know that he knew, and neither Jens nor Robbe were ready for that conversation. The whole thing was a mess.

It also didn’t help that Jens wasn’t really interested in the text, just thought that he maybe shouldn’t spend the days before their guests arrived just lazing off. Joining Robbe in the library to read up some more on Amaian customs had seemed like a great idea, because that meant even if his studying didn’t go so well, he could at least have the satisfaction that he tried something. But he hadn’t taken into account how distracting a study partner could be.

Or, well, he had expected to get less done with Robbe by his side. What he hadn’t taken into account was the stupid portraitist’s apprentice to also choose the library to practice his sketching, giving him and Robbe the perfect excuse to disappear between the rows of shelves for some secret making out.

Jens didn’t begrudge Robbe his happiness, but as another loud giggle interrupted him mid paragraph, he got very close to just taking the book and throwing it into their general direction. Instead, he sighed, lay his head on his arms, and stared at the clock on the wall. It had been ten minutes. Was that enough time to finally call Robbe on his bullshit excuse? No, Robbe could have two more minutes. Then Jens would ask if he had found what he was looking for, and then they could, for a time, go back to studying. That was a good compromise. 

A thump made him jump. On the other side of the table Yasmina had appeared, throwing a couple of books and papers onto the table in her rush. 

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "I ran into my mother and Lady Alderliesten and they had matters of utmost importance to discuss." She sighed and started paging through the books without sitting down first. Finally, she seemed to realize that something was off. She surveyed the table and asked "Robbe?"

"Looking for a book," Jens told her, eyebrows raised to convey that that was not what Robbe was doing. 

Yasmina raised her eyebrows back, and then called into the depths of the library: "Robbe?"

There was a beat of silence before Robbe called back “Yeah?” followed by something hushed and quick directed at Sander.

“Have you found that book you were looking for?” Yasmina asked.

“Er, no,” Robbe said, stepping out from between the rows of shelves while straightening his clothes. He was only marginally red in the face, his hair was not exactly messier than usual, but his lips were definitely kiss-swollen. It took Jens everything he had not to bury his head in his hands with a loud groan. Who exactly was Robbe trying to fool?

“What were you looking for?”

Robbe sat back down, pulling at his sleeves. “Uh, just something about atmospheric energy. I found it in a footnote somewhere and I thought it might be helpful.”

Robbe could barely keep his face together during the lie, and Jens decided it was better for himself to stop looking at this train wreck of a situation. He couldn’t exactly concentrate on the words on the page, but it was easier than having to look Robbe in the eye and pretend he believed him.

Yasmina finally sat down too. “Have you read Claasen’s chapter on it yet?”

“Uh, no.”

Yasmina snapped her fingers, a large tome appearing in front of her and crashing down with an even louder thump. Whatever her mother and Lady Alderliesten had had to discuss with her must have really pissed her off, if she was willing to risk the ire of old Master Glas just to let off steam like this. She leafed expertly through the pages until she found what she was looking for and then shoved it in front of Robbe.

“Here. I found it really helpful, especially their idea that it’s all so fluid.”

“Thanks,” Robbe said, reluctantly pulling the book closer.

For a second they were all quiet, Robbe pretending to read Claasen, Jens trying and failing again to get into tome the old librarian had recommended to him, and Yasmina angrily sorting through the papers and books she’d brought.

“Alright,” Jens interrupted after a moment, closing his book. “What did Lady Alderliesten say that got you so pissed off?”

“I’m not pissed off,” Yasmina said.

“No, you are,” Robbe agreed with him.

Yasmina sighed, dropped her papers, and leaned back. “Fine. But it was nothing. My mother and her were just talking about how apparently the Amaians had reached Beg Eikon and would get here bright and early tomorrow, and how exciting that was. And then my mother started to lecture me about being careful around them, which is so useless because she probably won’t even let me leave the house alone with them in the castle.” Yasmina shook her head. “It’s so stupid. Sure, they’ll look at me differently because I’m a mage, but there’s very few people in Maers who can’t do magic, so it’s not like the Amaians will be able to avoid it. They decided to come here, so they’ll have to deal with that. I don’t see why we need to stop being ourselves just because they’ve decided to get back into contact with their oh-so-despised neighbors.”

“At least you have an excuse to avoid them if you want to,” Jens said. “You can just hole up at the Academy and pretend you have important studies to conduct. My mother is making me sit in on the negotiations, and she wants me to show them around when they arrive.”

“Poor you,” Robbe said.

“You’re welcome to come along if you want to.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

Jens pouted at Robbe for a moment, then failed to keep his face in check as he had an idea. “Come on, it would be fun. You could show them around the Academy. Can you imagine how uncomfortable that would make them?”

Yasmina shook her head, her anger breaking apart as she started to laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be diplomatic and not offend our neighbors, your highness?”

“I’m being the most diplomatic and no one’s going to be offended by me showing them the castle thoroughly.” He winked. “Doesn’t mean I can’t also have my fun.”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “Do I have to?”

“Please,” Jens said.

“Oh, yes, please,” Yasmina chimed in. “I promise I’ll be there for you to run into. I’m not going to miss that.”

Robbe still didn’t look convinced.

“Please,” Jens begged again.

“Please,” Yasmina asked.

“Please,” they both repeated. “Please, please, please.”

“Fine!” Robbe said, loud enough to make Master Glas’s small, red-faced frame appear from between the shelves.

“Children!” he chastised.

“Sorry,” they all whispered without the least bit of repentance. When he was gone again, Yasmina couldn’t help but snort, and Robbe joined in, giggling quietly.

“So, tomorrow?” he whispered to Jens.

Jens simply widened his eyes and shook his head. He didn’t want tomorrow to come, ever. But Robbe seemed to have taken a liking to their plan, and only laughed harder.

-

The arrival of the Amaian envoy was a slow and excruciating affair. Early in the morning a runner arrived form Beg Eikon, declaring that the envoy had left the estate and would arrive in Sterrebeg soon. Nothing they hadn’t already known, but the runner made it official, which was why after getting dressed appropriately for such an occasion, everyone who was anyone at court collected in the throne room, waiting for their arrival.

The waiting part had been okay. Jens spent most of it talking with Robbe, Jana, and Amber, who were all there with their families. He caught a glimpse of Yasmina’s mothers, but she herself seemed to have taken the offered excuse and either stayed home or at the Academy. At the same time that another runner arrived, announcing that the envoy had reached the castle gates, Moyo rushed in through a side door with his two younger sisters, a worried look on his face. But Jens didn’t get the chance to ask if everything was alright, because his mother was ordering him up the dais.

Below, Robbe made a sarcastic Good Luck! face at him, until Jana elbowed him in the side. Lord IJzermans, Duke of Iliers, come to Sterrebeg solely for the Amaians and usually not really interested in his son’s doings at court, leaned over to reprimand him. Jens watched Robbe roll his eyes, then got pulled closer to the throne by his mother.

“Focus,” she whispered.

And just like that, the envoy and his party arrived.

There were 20 of them, about a dozen knights in light traveling armor led by a bunch of pompous looking courtiers. Jens only gave them a quick once over, because they were only decoration, much like the various noble families to the left of the dais and the knights and scholars to the right were just decoration to his mother. They even looked the same, all wearing similar outfits in the colors of their respective country – red and gold for Amae, yellow and black for Maers – and even the style was the same.

Truly relevant was only the person leading them all, dressed in the Maerian yellow and black for the occasion. Maybe the two people following directly after him too, considering that they were allowed individuality in their clothing choices. The one on Jens’s right was a boy about his own age, with short, dark hair and the “Look I can grow a mustache!” type of facial hair, wearing a grey so dark it was almost black. It made the sheathed, gleaming sword at his side only stand out more. The one on the right, slender, clean shaven, with unruly brown hair, was wearing blue with only a hint of red.

Jens had no idea who they were, but they didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. There only the envoy mattered, and Jens would have recognized who he was even if he hadn’t known who the Queens of Amae had sent to represent them. The intricate golden circlet on his head gave him away, as it was meant to do. His Royal Highness, Prince Kes of Amae, Duke of Eilington, etc, etc. Like Jens, he had a lot of titles, and since Jens could barely keep his own straight, he hadn’t bothered to learn more than two of Kes’s. He was a prince, a duke, and of the magic-hating House de Beus, which had ruled Amae for eternity. That was all Jens needed to know.

Like most of his entourage the prince was dressed elegantly but simple, wearing a low-collared doublet that would have looked right at home in the Maerian court, if the Amaians weren’t still lacing their clothes. Unlike his attaché, he could grow an actual moustache and a small beard, which made him look older than he actually was – which was Jens’s age. It was a showiness that Jens neither understood nor felt impressed by. He hadn’t been the biggest fan of the idea of Prince Kes to begin with, and he liked the real-life version of him even less.

The prince’s party stopped halfway towards the dais, but the prince and his attachés only stopped a few meters before it, the appropriate distance, and bowed.

“Your majesty,” the prince said.

Jens’s mother rose and went to meet the prince on equal footing in front of the dais. She bowed too. “Your highness, I presume?”

“Kes of Amae,” he said. Smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is wholly on Maers’s side,” his mother replied.

Jens wanted to gag. He for sure did not feel pleasure at this meeting, and he knew for a fact that the court and the people were equally divided on the issue. Maers had done well without Amae the last couple of centuries and when the newest Amaian monarch had written to the Queen of Maers, it had been more than a surprise. But apparently Queen Annelies and her wife had decided, upon taking the throne two years ago, that they would pursue a different kind of politics when it came to magic, and that involved working together with their neighboring countries again. There was not much Amae could offer Maers, but his mother had explained that it couldn’t hurt to listen.  

Jens was not sure he believed that, and so he simply let the empty pleasantries of his mother and the prince wash over him, zoning out as he so often did in these kinds of situations. His gaze inevitably drifted to the prince’s attachés. The one in black seemed uncomfortable standing where he was, his hand resting casually on his sword and his face a barely controlled mask of polite blankness. His unarmed friend stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back like Jens, his eyes wandering everywhere. They met Jens’s briefly, icy and intense.

Jens swallowed hard and stood up even straighter, trying to look like he was paying attention while looking around, the same way the Amaian did. It was a futile effort, because the Amaian had somehow already caught him off guard.

He turned back to his mother and tried to pay attention again.

“-lunch,” his mother was saying. “You must be weary from your travels, so I’ll let my son show you to your apartments, where you can refresh yourselves. And maybe he’ll show you around the castle a little once you’ve done so, if you desire.”

“That is most gracious of you,” the Amaian prince replied.

"Jens," his mother beckoned him.

He stepped off the dais until he was a step above the prince and bowed courtly. "Your Highness."

The prince bowed back. "Your Highness."

The prince’s dark eyes held his, much less intense than his attachés, and this time Jens was prepared. Unlike the prince’s attaché, he wouldn’t let the prince get so much as a pinky underneath his mask of blank civility. If anything, he would get underneath the prince’s skin. He gestured at Robbe behind him and said, “I hope you won't mind that I have asked the Marquis of Nevas to join us?"

The prince took one look at Robbe's light-green, high collared doublet and the linen sleeves. "A mage?"

"Does that bother you?"

The prince’s face remained calm, telling Jens more about him than open disgust would have. Next to him, his mother inhaled sharply, clearly unhappy with his course of action. He'd get a lecture tonight about not immediately and aggressively provoking their hostile guests, but he'd known that would come the moment he had invited Robbe to come along. It was worth it not to have to spend two hours or so with the Amaians alone.

"Absolutely not," the prince said, having the audacity to smile. "In fact, we're most interested in learning more about the ways of our neighbors, and since magic is a big part of that, I’ll take it as a sign of friendship that you’re so willing to share this part with us."

Behind him, the attaché with the sword shifted, contrary to his prince's words clearly not looking forward to spending some hours with Robbe. The other one remained even stiller than the prince, his face a perfectly sculpted mask of polite blankness. His eyes now zeroed in on his companion, then the prince, then Robbe, briefly met Jens's own again, and then stared back at Robbe intensely. 

This one, Jens decided, was not only the most unnerving one of the Amaians, but also the most dangerous one. The one with the sword was easily predictable, and as to the prince’s thoughts he could at least guess at. But this one he could not read at all. He’d managed to get underneath Jens’s skin so easily, and yet he continued to slip out of Jens’s grasp. If asked, the only thing he would be able to tell them about this guy was that he was an asshole, based only on the fact that he was a mage murdering Amaian.

Jens couldn't wait for the day that this whole negotiation business was over, and he was rid of them again. 

"Well," he said, returning the prince’s smile, "Shall we, then?"