#throne of glass negative

[hatereadings]

Throne of Glass

So I first found out about this series because these ACoTaR recaps I was reading mentioned that Sarah J Maas had a previous fantasy series that came out, and the protagonist was an assassin who didn't even kill anyone in the first book. You can check out the recaps here, if you're interested in other people's hate-reads.

The author of those recaps was so appalled by ACoTaR that she's probably never going to read another SJM book, which means that the burden of recapping them has sadly fallen to... well, people who enjoyed the recaps in general, but I think I'm the only one actually willing to do this to myself.

So, here goes! I'm going to start with Throne of Glass, because it was published first, but actually mainly because it's the most readily available at my library (If I have to return it, I might switch to The Assassin's Blade for a bit).

The dedication page is

To all my readers from FictionPress--for being with me at the beginning and staying long after the end. Thank you for everything.

This honestly made me curious enough to look things up, and, whaddya know, this book was originally a story on FictionPress! In 2012, peak fandom, so... credit where it's due, clearly some of us who were on FictionPress back then felt catered to.

That reminds me - I know these books are intended for teenage girls, and I'm going to do my best to respect that and view them from that lens. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that audience or what they need or want to be reading at that time in their lives.

That said, even WITH that caveat, there's going to be a lot of shit to talk about, so buckle up.

Chapter 1

RIGHT AWAY, I have issues with the worldbuilding.

After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment--though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines.

How on EARTH is this economical?! If someone is genuinely SO DANGEROUS that they need SIX GUARDS to accompany them everywhere -- how does it make ANY sense to put them to work in a mine?!?!?!

I'm going to ignore the fact that a white author is writing about slavery, because... it was 2012; a lot of us are guilty of Spartacus fanfic. We know better now, is the important part.

That was to be expected by Adarlan's most notorious assassin.

Okay. Some people have pointed out in the past that it doesn't make sense for assassins to be famous. I think that's something that's safe to gloss over in this sort of YA, though. I mean, what teenage girl hasn't wanted to be some kind of universally feared physical badass, whether that's an assassin or a mercenary or a serial killer? It's fine.

Still, if she's really so dangerous and such a Big Deal, then... again, why is she in the mines??? Why isn't she in an impenetrable cell somewhere??? You're literally paying SIX EXTRA full-time workers just to stand around watching her when they could be used to do, idk, anything else? Guarding the royal family, guarding the treasury, going to war against your enemies? This is like... Kingsguard level of security. Not something you'd want to spend on a prisoner.

There's a "hooded man in black" walking next to her. Does this sound like an executioner, or is that just me?

Apparently they take an unnecessarily circuitous route, going around and around in circles because the guy in charge... idk, wants to disorient Celaena? Even though she's been living there for a year? I really hope the people guarding her are supposed to be idiots, so she can seem like a badass genius in comparison; if this is the level of intelligence we're working with throughout the book, I don't know what's going to sustain me through this read.

The guy in the hood apparently introduced himself as Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Royal Guard, and she overheard that when she first saw him. Which might've been nice to include when we, the readers, first see him, but whatever. Apparently he's hiding his face from her to try and intimidate her, which has "five-year-old-boy-tries-to-scare-you-by-donning-a-frankenstein-mask" energy.

Celaena doesn't know why he's come to get her. She notices that her clothes are nearly rags and that her skin is dirty, and reflects that she used to be beautiful. Again, this feels more like YA convention than an actual, realistic response someone would have to being forced to mine salt for a year. Like, I can get having that response to suddenly seeing a bunch of non-miners and feeling the contrast between their clean clothes and your filthy rags, but having that just pop up idly while you're walking around your prison? It's a very hamfisted way of trying to stick in a bit of physical description at the beginning. And we get a full physical description later on, so why even bother?

"You're a long way from Rifthold, Captain," she said, clearing her throat. "Did you come with the army I heard thumping around earlier?" She peered into the darkness beneath his hood but saw nothing. Still, she felt his eyes upon her face, judging, weighing, testing. She stared right back. The Captain of the Royal Guard would be an interesting opponent. Maybe even worthy of some effort on her part.

Personally I would have added a line break after that quote, but that might just be a stylistic choice. I don't really have any bones to pick with the writing here; it seems like this is serving the wish fulfillment that a lot of the target audience really wants - a protagonist so deadly that no one is any match for them. Maybe for a more jaded audience, they'd think, "Mary Sue," and toss the book aside, but we embrace earnest enthusiasm here.

Oh, it'd be nice to see his blood spill across the marble.

Please don't tease. I know there isn't going to be any murder in this book. I can't take the false hope.

She'd lost her temper once before--once, when her first overseer chose the wrong day to push her too hard. She still remembered the feeling of embedding the pickax into his gut, and the stickiness of his blood on her hands and face. She could disarm two of these guards in a heartbeat. Would the captain fare better than her late overseer? Contemplating the potential outcomes, she grinned at him again. "Don't you look at me like that," he warned, and his hand drifted back toward his sword.

Okay, offscreen kill, but maybe I should try to be content with these crumbs.

They passed a series of wooden doors that she'd seen a few minutes ago. If she wanted to escape, she simply had to turn left at the next hallway and take the stairs down three flights. The only thing all the intended disorientation had accomplished was to familiarize her with the building. Idiots.

Celaena gets annoyed when Chaol won't talk to her, which is... kind of dumb? I mean, did you expect him to? You guys are enemies. Just keep up a one-sided banter like a normal prisoner and stop complaining.

She contemplates escape some more, then decides that it'd be too much trouble, so she'll wait. It's very convenient that all the guards are idiots; they've been walking so long that Celaena has the opportunity to infodump some worldbuilding on us. We learn that the kingdom they're in is called Adarlan, and it sends poor people, criminals, and "latest conquests" into the salt mines of Endovier, which looks something like the jail in Les Mis, with misery and whips cracking and all the stereotypical nonsense. Again, this is from over a decade ago; this shit would not fly today. That's not how you handle a discussion of slavery in this country.

Adarlan has banned magic, and anyone accused of practicing gets sent to Endovier.

Eyllwe is apparently a country that's at war with Adarlan, still resisting its rule, and any captured Eyllwe folks also get sent to Endovier. Okay, so... I know Rome did this too, but this is sounding less like Rome and more like Nazi Germany, with the work camps for prisoners. Maas is apparently of Jewish descent, so I'm not going to weigh in on whether that's a problem.

Celaena mentions that she was "betrayed and captured" one night and sent to this place, and then pivots to thinking about whether she's finally going to be executed. I mean, it would make sense; those 6 guards' paychecks have probably cost the crown a tidy amount over the past year.

At last, they stopped before a set of red-and-gold glass doors so thick that she couldn't see through them.

That is a ridiculously fancy door for a mine. Why.

They try to pull Celaena through, she's convinced they're here to kill her and resists, but they pull her in anyway. Uhhhh... what happened to

She could disarm two of these guards in a heartbeat.

?

I remember the inconsistency in ACoTaR. Wasn't expecting it to show up so early here, though.

A glass chandelier shaped like a grapevine occupied most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of diamond fire onto the windows along the far side of the room.

Okay, that's actually a really pretty description. I'd go as far as to say that 'spitting seeds of diamond fire' is genuinely a good turn of phrase. That said...

WHY IS THIS IN A SALT MINE?!?!?!?!

Compared to the bleakness outside those windows, the opulence felt like a slap to the face. A reminder of how much they profited from her labor.

Ah. For symbolism.

In case you were wondering, no, that's not a good enough reason. It makes no sense with the worldbuilding. Why on earth would ANYONE choose to build something so fancy here. Nobody just spends their time thinking, "I'm feeling very evil today. What exceptionally evil project can I spend a great deal of money on to show off just how evil I am? I know! I'll build an opulent room next to a slave pit!"

Also? Nobody is profiting from your labor, Celaena. I don't know how much salt costs, but every day you work costs your overseers a day's wages for each of SIX GUARDS. I don't think there's much profit being turned here.

The captain shoves her in, there's more guards, and then

On an ornate redwood throne sat a handsome young man. Her heart stopped as everyone bowed.

Ah. The love interest.

She was standing in front of the Crown Prince of Adarlan.

And that's the chapter hook!

Two questions:

How did they get the throne in there? I can't tell if it's more ridiculous if they literally had to build a new fancy room with a throne when they heard the prince was coming, or if the prince's entourage carries a giant throne with him wherever he goes so he can sit in it, OR if every single building in Adarlan has to have a Throne Room of sufficient grandeur just in case the Crown Prince decides to stop by. There's just no good explanation for this. (Although from a different perspective, there are only good explanations for this)

We literally just heard an infodump about how Adarlan is a toxic power. Are they really trying to make it believable that one of the leaders of this country is a decent enough dude to be a love interest?

So far, this feels like even more of a mess than ACoTaR was. I'm curious to know if that gets any better over the course of this book, or if it's somehow all downhill from here.

(next chapter)

[grace-reviews-books]

perhaps this is an unpopular opinion, but i'm not actually a huge fan of the throne of glass series, for many reasons. however two of them are because 1) all the characters got paired up in the end which was just wildly unrealistic and unnecessary and 2) the author resolved not one, not two, but THREE relationship conflicts through near death experiences

Just because a character nearly dies doesn't mean that suddenly those conflicts are no longer important! those problems don't just go away! long story short, i was real grouchy about it.

[galaxyofstars]

'sjm is a romantasy author and it's not that serious. it's meant to be fun" for you. i started tog when romantasy was not a genre. i remember waiting for QoS to come out. i went and bought it at the bookstore the week it was released. it was just another ya series (that i was obsessed with and loved). i witnessed the degradation of her writing after HoF. it felt like a betrayal. i started reading her when i was a lot younger, and followed her series for years. it's too late the obsession was already created. the betrayal was personal (sjm has no idea i exist). so no i will not get over it let me have my fun.

like. look. i love the concepts and ideas and blueprints for the characters. they're fun and you can have a good time reading them. i hated chaol and still read CoM and ToD. i hated rowaelin and still enjoyed the series. just when the quality is at the point where it feels almost insulting that she published it and expected people to pay money for it it pisses me off a little.

[pergaminaa]

Modern au:

So Dorian has this chair, which he has grown to hate.

It's a very comfortable spacious chair. It reclines with a press of a button and has many uses: for work, reading, sex, relaxation, and a lot more.

At nights when he's busy with dinner and Manon is finishing up work, she sometimes uses the chair. (un)fortunately, because she's oh-so exhausted and still tries to squeeze in work, she ends up falling asleep.

This is where Dorian is torn. On one hand, he wants her to rest and if she's sleeping then that's good. On the other hand, he doesn't want her to go to sleep without food. Also, he doesn't want her to sleep there, no matter how big and comfy the chair is. But also, Manon is a light sleeper and she will wake up if he carries her to bed which might disrupt her sleep later at night.

Decisions decisions, he eventually settles on waking her, because it is still early and if she goes to sleep now she will be awake by two or three in the morning which is not good. He can push their bedtime an hour or two later than usual which is a better solution.

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

How do you avoid fan favorite character syndrome that takes over the narrative? I’ve seen it even appear in mainstream media

The writers seem to have one particular character which is obviously the writer’s darling and they get most of the screen time and development.

It wouldn’t be a problem if other character were treated with as complexity and care by narrative. Yet the other characters very obviously aren’t allowed to show as much depth, flaws and versatility as they one character.

I don’t know if I’m being clear enough or if you know what I’m referring to.

I think I get what you mean!

So I think it's definitely a question of moderation. You need to make sure that the rest of the story matters, and that it's not being constructed around this single character. If the other characters aren't as interesting, make them interesting you are the writer! Make them blorbos! You have that power! But additionally, I think allowing stories to develop organically is actually very important. I think that's where you get the most interesting plot and character developments, and where you can most successfully emotionally impact, surprise, and engage your readers. That's when stories feel the most exciting, and most dangerous because it's like anything can happen and it's not actually predetermined from the very first page! So if you have a character that you love, who is dragging the story in a different direction, then it may be worth going back to the drawing board and considering the pros and cons. Would your story be better if you did lean into these ideas? Would it be more interesting? If yes, then go for it! There's no rule that you are only allowed to have a certain amount of fun, and anything above that limit is illegal. You just have to make sure you're not leaving the rest of the plot and characters in the dust to do it. New plot hooks and and arcs as a result of unexpected inspiration from a character you connected to more than you thought you would is a good thing! Follow that! Just also adjust everything else around the character so it's not flattened and only existing to show them off

[sunfl0w3rmoon]

Friend: “The stag made me think of throne of glass.”

Me: “Not James Potter? That’s who I think of when I see a stag.”

Friend: “Lame.”

Me: “LAME?? Did you just call James Potter LAME?”

Friend: “Haha, I’m just saying mine is better.”

Me: “Throne of Glass is NOT better than James Potter.”

[icallhimjoey]

https://www.tumblr.com/icallhimjoey/769345688851103744/i-asked-for-pyjama-vibe-joe-and-forgot-about-his

Ohhh can we get a soft pyjama and glasses Joey? Like him wearing the combo for the first time because it’s a new relationship and we looooove it. Or us stealing the shirt after freaky time. Or idek! The possibilities!

soft pyjama and glasses joey, at your service Wordcount: 2.1K

---

Not A Wink

“Wait, can you… wait here. Wait, no. Just. Yea… wait here and, also, um... yea, maybe... maybe close your eyes a second…” you pushed Joe away from your closed bedroom door, two hands to his chest.

Joe took hold of both of them as he laughed, easily letting you push him back, stepping backwards down the hall.

“What are you hiding in there that I can’t see?”

You were having a hard time hiding your own smile.

“No, nothing, I just… I’ve got to just check something, quickly. Just in case. Wait here.”

You were the cutest girl he’d ever met. Joe couldn’t quite believe he was allowed into the home of the cutest girl he’d ever met.

“Close your eyes.” You insisted, and Joe couldn’t help laugh more, his arms stretching as you walked back to your bedroom, touching until you were out of reach.

“I can’t see anything from here!”

“Close your eyes!”

Joe gave you a deadpan stare, shoulders dropping, but joy never leaving his face. When you waited by the door, hand on the handle, and looked at him in silence for a moment, he rolled his eyes and finally complied.

“It’ll just be a second,” you said, your smile evident in your voice.

Joe heard a door open, then soft footsteps, some light shuffling, and then silence. He wondered if he was going to be able to tell what needed a last minute wipe down. As if he was going to care about a crease in your bedsheets. You should see his bedroom…

“Okay, ready. You can open your eyes.”

Joe’d been a good boy and had really kept his eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to you stood in your doorway, both hands behind your back, biting down on your bottom lip as you smiled.

Cutest girl in the world.

“Yea? Am I allowed in?”

Joe got to see your bedroom exactly as you wanted it to look every day, but how you never managed to leave it. With everything in its place, no dirty laundry on the floor, no clothes on the clothes-chair, no half-empty mugs on the bedside table and, most importantly, the bed made.

You never made your bed. You’d do it once when you changed the sheets, and then left a rumpled mess behind when you rushed out of bed after sleeping through your alarm each morning.

“Wow,” Joe said, overdoing it a tad, just to fuck with you. “This looks like a hotel room.”

It didn’t. Not really.

“Thanks.” You smiled, ignoring his humorous tone and taking the compliment as if he’d really meant it. When you looked at him, you saw how his gaze had landed on where you slept in your bed. He pointed a finger as he raised his eyebrows.

“Is this from where you send me voice notes every night?” Joe took a step forward, his eyes on you as his index finger still pointed at your pillow.

You nodded, teeth digging into your lip. It was impossible to lose your smile.

“This is…” Joe started, looking at your bed for a moment, scanning the sheets and trying to picture you in that spot. No make-up, pyjamas on. Face in your pillow, phone in hand. In a short while, he wasn’t going to have to imagine that anymore. “This is sort of strange, isn’t it?” Joe mused, turning his face to see you stood in your doorway still.

“Why?” you asked, watching on as Joe sat down on top of the covers, acting like he just took a seat on a throne which made you giggle. “You’re making it strange.”

“It’s like I’m visiting a famous landmark.”

You grinned as you watched him sensibly bounce on your mattress a couple of times, getting a feel for it.

“It is like visiting a famous landmark.” You joked, and then quickly added. “Don’t leave a Google review though, I move around a lot in my sleep and I couldn’t bear the negative feedback.”

Joe laughed as he got back up, couldn’t help his arms reaching out to grab hold of you as your face beamed with pride at making Joe laugh like that. You bit your lips so hard, you nearly drew blood.

For a moment you just stood like that. Close. Holding each other, faces just inches removed, twin smiles about to burst. You weren’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

“Did you um,” you cast your eyes down to his button-down shirt. To his jeans. “Did you bring a more comfortable outfit?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I brought my pyjamas?”

“Were you planning on watching a film in jeans?”

Ha, he thought. A film. If he’d got the chance, he’d be watching you more than he’d be watching any film this evening. His eyes tended to stick to you with too much ease.

Like right now.

“Or is this a no-bottoms sort of evening?” you challenged light-heartedly.

Joe’s eyes scanned your face a moment as he grinned.

“I brought pyjamas.” He then said, leaning down a little in hopes of sneaking a kiss.

You let him sneak one without any fuss. Warm lips of a warm smile to warm lips of a warm smile.

“In your overnight bag?” you teased, having made a big deal of the backpack he’d walked in with earlier, before dinner.

“In my overnight bag.” Joe didn’t mind how the simple fact that he brought some things over was somehow entertainment he was providing you with. It was either that, or the bad puns he’d make, and a giggle at a pair of soft pyajama bottoms didn’t feel quite as embarrassing as an awkward joke would likely make him feel.

Joe was told to change whilst you made your way into the bathroom to take your make-up off.

You felt real butterflies about the prospect of having Joe over properly for the first time ever. This was the first time you had made plans that extended to the next morning. This was going to be more than just some raunchy touching in your living room before he’d leave just before or just after midnight to go sleep in his own bed.

You were going to be wearing pyjamas around each other.

Brush your teeth in your bathroom before you’d crawl into bed together.

Prepare and have breakfast in your kitchen the next morning.

You swiped a cotton round over your eyes and heard Joe move around in your flat. Just him existing on his own in your space made your stomach flip. Halfway through your facial cleanse, Joe suddenly appeared behind you, and for a moment, you smiled at each other in the mirror. He was still in his button down, but his jeans had been replaced with a pair of faded black joggers. For a moment you thought maybe he had a question about something, but before you could even ask, he stepped forward and casually placed a dark blue toiletry bag next to the sink.

So domestic.

You refrained from opening it and having a peek inside as you finished up in the bathroom, hair tied up, face clean and bare. You made your way back to your bedroom to change into your own pyjamas and found evidence of Joe left behind. His charger in the socket on the side of the bed where he’d be sleeping. His backpack to the side. His clothes semi folded in a messy pile on the dresser.

Looking at all of Joe’s things in your bedroom with the background noise of him pottering about in your kitchen made you smile so much, you wondered when your cheeks were going to grow sore.

So domestic.

“What do you want to drink?” he called across your flat, and earlier, when Joe had offered you a drink in your own home, it had solely been to make you laugh. This time, it didn’t feel so much like a joke as it felt like he genuinely wanted to do something nice for you. Get you a drink so you wouldn’t have to get it yourself. A simple sweet gesture that probably wasn’t meant to make you feel the way it did.

There were so many things about the beginnings of a new relationship that you didn’t like.

The risk of letting a new person into your life wasn’t lost on you. Letting someone in too quick, too soon. Revealing too much of yourself too quick, too soon. The vulnerability that opened you up to the possiblity to get hurt...

Scary stuff.

But the excitement of it all? The constant uncontrollable smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face. The butterflies wreaking havoc inside of your stomach. Giggly breathlessness that turned nerves into excitement. The way all of it could make you feel lightheaded in the good way?

Fucking gold.

With your body in a soft cosy outfit, you found Joe in your kitchen wearing an outfit not unlike your own. For a fraction of a second, the nervous thought of Joe getting to see you in your factory settings crossed your mind.

But then you saw his glasses.

Joe hadn’t yet worn his glasses in front of you, and stood here in your living area now, in a cream-coloured cotton long-sleeved shirt, you couldn’t help the way that made your eyebrows pinch together.

How could a man look sexy and adorable at the same time?

“Glass of–... uh oh,” Joe turned around holding up a freshly opened bottle of wine, but stopped mid-sentece when he saw your expression. “Sorry, was I not meant to–”

“No, no!” you cut him off, and tried your very best to keep the laugh that bubbled up inside. “No, that’s– yes. Yes. That’s fine, yea. I would love a glass, thanks.”

Joe frowned a little in confusion, eyes narrowing, but his smile unwavering.

“It’s just,” you hestitated telling him. Thought maybe he wouldn’t appreciate what you considered to be a genuine compliment.

“Just... a bottle of wine that you were saving for a special occassion that I wasn’t meant to open?” Joe made a face, and it was becoming a little bit embarrassing at how easily he had you in stitches. “Or what?”

“No,” you laughed, and Joe couldn’t help the slight muddled huff of laughter that escaped his nose. This really wasn’t helping the cute allegations. “No, it’s just that,” you tried again, grabbing two glasses from a cabinet and placing them down in front of Joe. “You look...”

Before you finished that sentence, you let your eyes dance over him. The flash of selfconsiousness across his face only endeared him more to you.

“A mess?”

“Cute.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting, but you definitely didn’t think the comment was going to make Joe blush so fiercely. Hadn’t anticipated him turning slightly shy as he put the bottle down, dropped his head to his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut whilst an arm reached to pull you in.

“Sorry,” you said through a giggle as you got trapped into a tight hug.

“Stealing my compliments now, are we?”

“I think it’s the glasses,” you gladly accepted the firmly pressed kisses to the top of your head.

“You think?” Joe pulled back a little and adjusted them on his nose as he looked at you through the lenses.

“Yea, I do.” You smiled, peering up at him, hoping that if you smiled and looked at his lips for long enough, he’d get the hint.

He did get the hint, but didn’t give you what you were asking for before he got both his hands on your face, both thumbs on your cheeks, both pinkies hooking your jaw.

“Guess I’ll keep them on then.” Joe managed to say through a kiss, and he said it like he’d be doing you a favour.

Which, he would be, actually. But he was joking, so you laughed against his mouth, and the giggle made Joe want to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. Squeeze your bodies together until they weren’t able to ever unstick again.

There was an open bottle of wine on the counter next to you, a TV waiting for someone to press play on its remote, and a bed eager for two bodies to occupy it all the way until the morning.

But Joe was kissing a cute girl in her kitchen, glasses bumping into her nose, and felt no rush to move out of the hold you had on him.

Cutest girl in the world.

Yea, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

---

The Taglist

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@take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea

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Add yourself

[dramagodesss]

nine : maybank attack

playin' the players

outside your lecture hall, the air was thick with late afternoon heat and the lazy buzz of campus life slowing down. students poured out of the building like water through a sieve, conversations echoing off brick and glass.

you pushed through the crowd, backpack slung over one shoulder, when you spotted him.

jj maybank.

leaning against a bike rack like it was a throne, baseball cap backwards, white tee a little too tight, like it wanted to piss you off. his grin appeared the second your eyes met, that signature spark already dancing in his gaze.

"lookin’ studious, winslow,” he called, straightening up as you approached.

you slowed. “what are you doing here?”

“waiting for you. duh.”

you raised a brow, skeptical. “why?”

he shrugged, stepping in beside you like it was nothing. “felt like walking you to wherever you’re going. maybe I just missed the smell of developer fluid and crushed dreams.”

you snorted. “darkroom?”

“darkroom.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you know it’s not glamorous, right? it’s red lights, weird chemicals, and absolute silence. not exactly a date.”

he gave you a full grin. “still sounds like more fun than whatever topper and kelce are doing.”

you sighed, adjusting your grip on your bag. “fine. but don’t touch anything.”

jj held up his hands. “i make no promises.”

you narrowed your eyes. “maybank.”

“what?”

“i’m serious. don’t even breathe on the drying prints.”

he mock-gasped. “me? a menace to the art world? never.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him from following you into the art building, into the dim hallway that led to the red-lit sanctuary of the darkroom.

the door closed behind you with a soft thud, and everything felt a little quieter. a little closer. and jj, with his golden boy grin and restless fingers, suddenly looked very out of place among the silence and shadows.

“whoa,” he muttered, eyes adjusting to the glow. “this is kinda… spooky. hot spooky. y’know?”

you smirked, already pulling your negatives from your bag. “welcome to my world, maybank.”

he leaned on the counter beside you, watching with interest as you clipped the film into place.

“so,” he said softly, after a beat. “do i get to see the ones you took of me?”

you paused, hands stilling mid-motion.

you didn’t look at him right away. instead, you clipped the last strip of film into place, letting it hang gently as you reached for your gloves.

“depends,” you said, voice light, “you want to see how you look through my lens?”

jj leaned in a little, voice a low hum. “always wondered that, actually.”

you glanced over, finally meeting his gaze. it was softer in here, everything muted in that eerie red glow, like secrets could be whispered and swallowed by the shadows.

“they’re not perfect,” you said. “you moved too much. couldn’t stay still.”

he grinned. “i’m a wild spirit, remember?”

you gave him a look. “you’re a pain in the ass.”

“same difference.”

you exhaled a laugh, reaching past him to grab a sheet of photo paper. your arm brushed his chest as you did, barely a touch—but jj noticed. his head tilted, something flickering in his eyes.

“y’know,” he said quietly, “i like this. seeing you like this. focused. a little bossy. kinda hot.”

you raised a brow, pretending not to flinch under his stare. “you flirt like a high schooler.”

“and you like it.”

you shook your head, setting everything into place for the first exposure.

you shook your head, setting everything into place for the first exposure.

“so serious,” jj murmured, his voice closer now. too close.

you didn’t look at him. “because this is literally a part of my grade.”

“and yet,” he said, like it was some ancient secret, “you still let me in here. alone. with all your precious work.”

“don’t make me regret it.”

you bent slightly over the enlarger, focused on lining things up. but he didn’t move. didn’t even pretend to go back to leaning on the counter. you could feel the heat of him behind you, the tension crackling like static in the dark.

“do you ever stop talking?” you muttered.

“depends,” he said softly. “do you want me to?”

you turned to glare at him—but he was already right there. barely a breath between you. and before you could say anything, before the warning or comeback could make it past your lips—

he kissed you.

not some drive-by peck. not a cocky smirk pressed to your mouth and gone again.

this was slower. longer. a little surprised by itself.

his hands didn’t go anywhere, not at first. he just leaned in, head tilted, lips warm and sure against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. like he was taking his time—because he could.

and god, maybe it was the glow of the red lights, or the smell of chemicals, or just the fact that it was jj—but you kissed him back.

your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. his breath hitched when you leaned in just enough to deepen it, the kiss dragging into something lazier, a little messier. still careful, but barely.

when you finally pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, lips parted like he hadn’t meant for it to go that far but wasn’t even close to regretting it.

you didn’t move away. not yet. the air between you buzzed like a secret.

jj grinned, breathless and boyish. “guess that’s what happens when i shut up.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to cool the heat blooming across your cheeks. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” he said, watching you with that same gleam. “but you like it.”

you turned back to the enlarger again, ignoring the way your heart pounded.

oh you were fucked.

rafe's phone

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[lukolathoughts]

The crazy woman in the attic

She glides silently across the deck, a pale spectre draped in a flowing white gown that flutters in a breeze no one feels. Her bare feet make no sound on the worn wooden planks, and her greasy, oil slicked hair streams behind her like seaweed caught in the gloomy moonlight. The ship groans softly beneath her, as if remembering something lost.

Her face is turned slightly downward, eyes shadowed yet distant, fixed on a point far beyond the ship’s railing—as though watching a horizon that no longer exists. A dark shadow clings to her, faint and unearthly, casting a melancholy sheen over the deck and leaving a trail of cold in her wake.

Sometimes, she pauses by the helm, resting a translucent hand on the wheel. Other times, she lingers by the lifeboats, lips moving in a silent litany. Always alone. Always searching.

The fog thickens when she appears, muffling the world into stillness, and though the sea may churn and the stars may shift, she walks on—eternally adrift in the ghost-light hours, a memory carved into the bones of the ship.

One of my favourite fiction novels is Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I love this gothic tale of female empowerment, secrets, romance and mystery. I studied it for A Level English Literature in Sixth form college back in the day and I have loved it ever since. I think this is because in my early teens I read novels by English author Catherine Cookson. These were romance novels set in the 19th century North-east of England and involved the upper and lower classes living in the manor estates or the slums of Newcastle respectively. These books were later turned into ITV dramas, for example, Sean Bean from Game of Thrones fame appeared in the Gambling Man in 1995. Many British actors got their big breaks appearing in Catherine Cookson dramas. My favourite one is The Glass Virgin that starred Emily Mortimer and Brendan Coyle. Mortimers character Annabella finds out she is the bastard daughter of a prostitute after being raised as a lady all her whole life. She is forced to leave the manor house with dashing groom Manuel (Coyle) by her side and work on a farm. The two eventually fall in love and Annabella reckons with her past. I especially like this one as it gives a romanticized notion that a big, strong, man will sweep in to save you. At thirteen, I found that idea appealing. Alas, dear reader I was too young yet to have discovered feminism.

Enter Jane Eyre, or 'plain Jane' her cruel cousins and aunt called her. Part of my A Level study was analysing whether Jane was plain, or she believed it due to being called plain her entire life. This is the kind of bullying I find abhorrent to this day. Jane eventually grows up after much maltreatment and a tough stint at a school for orphans, she takes a position at Thornfield Hall. She there meets the charming Edward Rochester. Here's me squealing in my tracks! Aha, a love story! How wonderful. This I can get on board with. Oh, it will be like the Sound of Music - minus the Nazi's. Rochester and Jane will go skipping off into the sunset singing Climb Every Mountain.

Our survey says - loud buzzer! Negative. Spoiler alert, there is something more sinister lurking above Jane every night. The floorboards creak with increasing intensity and Jane spots things from the corner of her eye. Edward reassures her she is imagining things and Thornfield is not haunted. Gaslighting 101 from our male lead. I still do not know what is going, but Jane is freaked out, and so am I. Why can’t Rochester be honest to Jane about what is really going on with his wife? Why all the lies and secrecy that literally ends up with Rochester losing his sight. There are consequences to your actions, Rochester.

Onto Eloise's instalment of the Bridgeton books 'To Sir Phillip, With Love." I love this book as I find book Eloise quirky and funny and Sir Phillip dark and mysterious enough to be unbelievingly sexy. I am going to spoil to fifth book here briefly, and by proxy the show. Let us talk about Marina. Oh, Marina. We last saw the universally loathed character of TV show Marina 'happily' wed to her dead lover's brother Phillip, after Colin makes a visit to Romney Hall to settle his 'unfinished business'. Marina is suffering from what I suspect is post-natal depression, possibly post-natal psychosis and the fact she does not love Phillip. Colin is too absorbed in himself to really understand the nuance of what is going on here and only really hears the word 'Penelope' that makes his head whip around like someone offered him a million pounds. The Nile is a river in Egypt, Mr Bridgerton (cough, Newton). In the books (spoiler) some years after the birth of her twins and the death of her love George, Marina dons a red dress and walks through the ghostly, morning mist and wanders directly into the estate’s lake. Sir Philip rescues her, but it is too late. She dies from fever a few days later.

Marina is dead and I'm assuming the producers of Bridgerton will go down this route in the show as the actress Ruby Barker has her own well documented mental health struggles as well as criticism of Shondland and does not want to be involved in the series. But the spectre of her will always be there, won't she? Eloise has no idea what she is walking into in the aftermath at Romney Hall with 'the ghost' of Marina floating about, emotionally at the very least. Colin and Penelope still have some unresolved issues when it comes to their relationship on the show and how Lady Whistledown saved Colin's ass from the fate of being married to a pregnant woman who tried to trap him into a loveless marriage. I'm sure some of this will be addressed shortly within the show, because frankly Colin should be kissing the ground Pen walks on and I'm sure she does occasionally make him do that.

I find that with Luke and Nicola, art literally imitates life. You can't make it up sometimes. Whether you think of Antonia as Marina - the ghost that wanders around the manor driving an invisible emotional wedge between them. Or Mrs Rochester, the crazy, vengeful woman in the attic who burns down the house. Or Cressida, the blackmailer, who wants money and infamy in exchange for silence. There are many possibilities to choose from. Even as I type this, Antonia is up to some shizz on social media, and I am determined to find out what is going on.

There has been a curious timeline of events since January 30th when Luke appeared out of the blue with Antonia after not being seen with her since July 2024 in Sorrento, where he left alone and two days before the holiday was meant to end. I still remember the shock of that night and thinking what the hell. We have examined Luke’s behaviour, demeanour and aura that night until the cows come home, and I do not intend to rehash old blog posts, however the whole thing really felt like an orchestrated PR set up pushed specifically by Antonia’s team (her parents) and a situation Luke was forced into. His ‘let’s get this done’ comment was a statement sniggered at by Lukola’s all over the world.  As well as witnessing Luke hand swatting Antonia’s hand away as they walked into the event.

Prior to this event, on 20th January 2025, Nicola and Jake papped photographs were released on the ‘carrot walk’ stroll. All of us Lukola’s laughed hysterically about that at the time. It staged and Nicola and Jake thought it was funny too. But what if this was a calculated strike by Luke and Nicola’s PR teams to take some heat of the impending shit show that was coming up with Luke and Antonia ten days later. I think that failed as everyone and their mother was shocked and horrified to see a angry Luke drag out a terrified and stricken looking Antonia. I always thought Antonia would smirk and gloat and relish to be seen with Luke again. Her behaviour seemed so anxious and peculiar; it almost seems as if she was forced into the appearance herself. I will return to this point shortly.

One month later 18th February Luke was solo papped in Kensington in London taken by papazzi photographer Josh Mawr, incidentally the same pap who took the carrot stroll pics of Nicola and Jake. The photos were shared by Deux Moi.  The fandom breathed a sigh of relief, he was alone. He was also alone at the Valentine’s Day event the week before. But he had not been without Antonia at the BAFTA after Party on Sunday 16th February. There was lots of speculation again about Luke’s ambivalent behaviour towards Antonia at this event also. Luke made a point of sharing to his SM that he left the event alone but got into a pasta bed and watched Love Island. Unfortunately, the fandom associate pasta with Antonia. I think we have pasta PTSD. But we also associate Love Island with Nicola, and her love for reality TV. What message was Luke trying to convey here?

Then we had the glory of the SAGS. The whole world was captivated by Luke and Nic and I honestly think after the event, Nicola panicked and went into her default setting of oh shit. We got some suspicious sightings of Antonia suddenly in the LA hotel that appeared to be old and the ‘buddy’ narrative from Nicola. Then Nicola follows Antonia on Instagram. The earth shook. This can’t be right, right? It’s a joke? Antonia eagerly follows her back. I don’t like to pit women against each other, but to me these screams keep you friends close, but your frenemies closer. Also, PR/contract obligation. Antonia gains some new followers, not many and seems to have a bit of actual work going on around the time.

Here comes the big kicker. On 18th March, Luke and Antonia are papped running errands. Antonia looks like she just rolled out of bed and Luke looks like he needs to take something for constipation. He’s also seen picking his nose and looking like rather be anywhere else in the world. Who was the paparazzi I hear you ask? None other than Josh Mawr. Third time lucky, eh Josh? These paparazzi pictures did Luke and Antonia no favours. But as someone just pointed out to me, patterns be patterning. Most appearances from the adjacents or paparazzi shots seem to be around the middle of the month.

A few days later on 21st March, Luke is spotted at his friend Young Blud’s Concert. A fan releases a photo of a furious looking Luke, with Antonia seemingly walking towards him. I have heard from sources a few things about what happened that night, but I cannot share those here. I can confirm that Antonia left the event after Young Blud’s set of four songs and Luke did not. It is interesting to note that the next day, Nicola was seen in the same area of Kensington where Luke was solo papped having a photo with a fan in a juice bar four minutes away from where Luke was papped.

Fast forward to this weekend, yes that right Saturday 19th April and we get a photo of Luke posing in Cyprus with the owner of the restaurant of where Antonia’s father is a chef. There is a lot of speculation about what might be going on here and analysing Luke’s face and clothes etc. Whether recent or not, Antonia is still NOT in the photo. She is still not allowed to post him. She is back to her old tricks of implying she is with him. Yesterday, she posted a selfie with a friend at the same restaurant where Luke was photographed on Saturday. Luke’s photo was shared by the restaurant, and he was tagged in it, as well as Bridgerton UK. How odd that the restaurant where Antonia’s father works at shares a publicity photo of Luke and tags Bridgerton as well? Not suspicious at all. Luke does not accept the tag. Then Antonia goes on a posting spree of random shit. But still no Lukey. How pathetic after over a year, you can’t publicly post your ‘boyfriend’. You push Luke and he pushes back harder. I do not think Luke’s PR team was involved with this as the post is still up and the comments towards Luke are not favourable. It’s all messy and weird and becoming an increasing headache. I also think Antonia’s parents have huge involvement here. They have gotten their pound of flesh out of Luke and for Luke’s sake, I sincerely hope he’s run for the hills and back to the cliffs of Dover.

Whenever I write a blog post, shit tends to hit the fan. I might very well be tempting fate here. There is a pre-Bafta party tonight in London that Luke and Nicola are expected to attend. I am bracing myself for what we will see. I hope it is another SAGS love fest and we will all be rejoicing, as Nic and Luke deserve it. Dragging along adjacents would be a stupid thing to do. I have been criticised again for insisting so strongly that Jake is gay. It is my opinion, but I am simply warning the Jakola’s because the press is coming up for What it feels like for a girl and it is already known to be an all queer cast. I have noted with some wry amusement, whereas previously the Jakolas insisted Jake was straight, now they are saying he is bisexual, and they are holding onto this for dear life. He could be, I do not know Jake. But from looking at his Instagram, I just don’t think he is. But I do agree, it is for Jake to tell us his truth and I’m sure that he will in the next few weeks.

My question is why is Luke so obsessed with keeping his Mrs Rochester a secret? What is Luke hiding in the attic? What is worth all this trouble? Is he protecting his Jane Eyre? We have seen Luke happy and this isn’t it. Granted it is only snapshots in time, but those snaps tell a story.

‘The night - its silence - its rest, was rent in twain by a savage, a sharp, a Shirley sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall.'" Description of Bertha, Jane Eyre.

PS. I did not call into work sick the other day because someone made a nasty comment on YT btw, I was upset going to work and had to calm myself down before going in. I am only human.

PPS. I can see that Jake is getting ready for an event now. I can feel a headache coming already.

[some-sort-of-firefly]

For @tamlinweek day 2, I chose to focus on the prompt of Spring Mythology and Celebrations. In ACOTAR, religion does have a focus, but we are only told about how the priestesses are revered. We are told about the Mother, and we know there were Gods before her. We know they still existed, even, in Stryga, The Bone Carver, and Koschei, the Old Gods. But they can't have been the only things worshipped. So I researched some old Spring festivities, and also took inspiration from Throne of Glass celebrating Beltane, though I chose to follow SJM using the old Scottish Gaelic for Samhain (Samhuinn) in Throne of Glass, and I used the same origins for the Bealltuinn of the Spring Court. I also looked at Imbolc, and took inspiration from some of the tales I found about flowers and The Cailleach. Being a spiritual person who doesn't celebrate anything or anyone specific, it felt really peaceful to research into older stories. Ones from the part of the world that I'm so close, yet disconnected to. This was easily my favourite prompt to write. I've always loved the idea of Tamlain, and exploring them platonically was so much fun.

Title: The Court of Beauty and Bluebells Word Count: 3360 Relationships: Tamlin&Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra/Elain Archeron (Mentioned) Characters: Tamlin, Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra Tags: Mythology & Folklore, Pagan festivals, Friendship, Cultural appreciation

Read HERE on AO3

It was hard to explain. The court, his beloved court, had begun to bloom again when she moved in with Lucien. It was a temporary arrangement, but Tamlin remembered the day fondly. Elain Archeron was not the shrinking violet everyone had been led to believe. Not that there was anything wrong with being shy. He just hadn’t expected someone as vibrant as she was. Even at his worst - and he was there quite often - her smile made Tamlin want to wax poetic. Made him want to smile too.

To learn! Elain had declared her intentions at his door with a wide smile, as Lucien shrugged every so slightly, a fondness in his gaze as he watched her. Tamlin had blinked, and let them in. Mostly because it was nice to have a friendly face in his home again. He had still been confused by the time they’d sat for tea.

“I’ve only ever seen the Night Court. Since being Made, I’ve only been able to explore one court. And even then, I wasn’t learning about it. I was just… there.”

Tamlin had sat there, listening to her talk about her former contentment. The complacency. It was something he could see in himself to some extent. Of course, he had never been torn between his brothers. They had all despised him equally, mistaking his softness for weakness.

“They confuse Nesta’s sharpness for hatred,” Elain had replied to that sentiment, making Tamlin nod a few times.

He knew many fae like that. Kallias’ coldness was mistaken for apathy. Tarquin’s dreams for naivety. He found it was a cycle that many struggled to break. No one ever mistook Beron’s cruelty for insecurity (though it was), nor Rhysand’s protectiveness for controlling. They only saw the negative traits of those they thought weak as something else.

That was the problem, in truth. Tamlin hadn’t asked for details at first. But after a few weeks, he’d found himself sat with her while Lucien went for a hunt. Like old times. She’d started speaking first. Soft, and then with more power behind it. He’d heard the whispers on the spring breeze before now, but hearing Elain tell the story certainly felt more… real. Nesta. The oldest sister. Not once defended. Only ever seen as a threat, something to tame.

“Were you worried they’d hurt you?”

“I was worried they’d make me into what they wanted, without any input from me,” she’d said, in little more than a whisper, as if someone may overhear. “So I tugged on the bond, and I pleaded for a way out. Lucien was there the next day.”

Tamlin could understand that, honestly. If he had a choice, he, too, would seek out Lucien. His unyielding loyalty and unwavering bravery made him the perfect person to have around in times of doubt. And he knew Lucien was a good male, and he wouldn’t pressure the female to accept the bond. Content to get to know her first.

Wait–

“Do you prefer female, or woman?”

“No one has ever asked me that before… I think, as I am now, female is fine. I am fae, and that is something I’ve come to terms with.”

Tamlin nodded, female it was then. Frankly, it was easier for him, after so many years of using it. But he would have tried, had she suggested otherwise. Tamlin found himself glad that Elain had chosen to get to know Lucien. In part because it had brought her here. And that felt like something special. She was truly wonderful. And quite funny. And, since they had a wonderful crop of rhubarb, he got to enjoy all the treats she made with it. And Tamlin was never one to turn down rhubarb crumble.

“So,” he started after they’d found a routine. “You wanted to learn about Spring?”

“Oh, yes! I feel like I’ve barely had a chance to explore fae life, and if I’m going to live among the fae, I feel I should understand.”

They started with Imbolc. It seemed the most fitting. It was the first festival of the Spring Calendar, marking the beginning while Winter still held the strongest power of the seasonal courts.

He took Elain to the altar of Imbolc, standing in the field of Lus an Chromchinn. He could feel her delight at the sight, and as she laughed, he found his gaze drawn to her. She was so wonderful, and even the daffodils seemed to turn to her. Why wouldn’t they? She felt as perfectly warm as a spring breeze. Perfectly bright as a morning sun.

“Your laugh sounds like bluebells.”

She turned to him, doe eyed and curious as her head tilted. It was a moment that passed between them as she considered how to respond to that.

“Bluebells don’t make sound,” she finally replied. She sounded hesitant, though, as if he truly did speak the truth.

Tamlin’s gaze softened, but his smile widened. He forgot, that being Made, she never would have experienced the true scope of Spring. Especially since she had arrived at the height of its sadness. Of course bluebells made sound! Of course they did! Flowers had a wonderful place in Spring. But they’d have to wait, of course. The bluebells didn’t come out for a few more months. So Tamlin continued to talk to her about Imbolc. He went into detail about the traditions and beliefs. He talked about the Old Gods who used to roam the forests of Spring.

“You know of the Gods who sacrificed themselves in the war.”

Elain nodded. He wasn’t surprised. Everyone knew, now. The Weaver of the Woods, Stryga. The Bone Carver, his name lost to history.

“Sometimes, I even hear the whispers of Koschei on the wind. It seemed to have stopped since the visions had slowed down, though,” she had explained, voice low.

Tamlin had just watched her, sensing the shift in her mood, and he reached to touch her hand, offering a silent support. That sounded… concerning. Especially when there were whispers of more war on the horizon. When Koschei collected women with power. Held them in a lake. Cursed them. What would his magic do to one such as Elain? What would he make her See? No, if it came down to it. Tamlin would be there alongside her, alongside Lucien. The Deathless may try, but Tamlin could only hope that her visions would keep her one step ahead of those whispers.

But enough about Old Gods of other realms! They were here to learn about Spring. This wasn’t the time for him to lose himself in his thoughts. So he got back on track to the Goddess he had wanted to talk about in the first instance.

“They weren’t the only ones. Long before Prythian was known as such, there were Gods for all things. While we may primarily worship the Mother, it is good to remember the history, and that which hasn’t truly faded. Imbolc is the celebration of the coming of Spring. It lays between the height of Winter and the height of Spring. We pray for guidance on how to plant, and when we should do so. The Cailleach is one of those Gods whose names have tried to fade into obscurity. But the funny thing about Gods, is that they only truly die when we stop speaking of them.

“The Cailleach is the land, Elain. She is no mythical being to disrespect the Mother Creator of Prythian, for she existed before. She is fertility, She is death and rebirth. That is why She is the Goddess of Imbolc. She symbolises the bridge of Winter into Summer. She is Wind and Water alike, and She guides us into Spring by walking the world and granting us sight to the most fertile land. She aids our weather, to help our crop grow. Respecting the Old Gods does not mean to disrespect The Mother. But understanding that The Mother is not the only Goddess of Her type.”

Elain’s eyes were wide, filled with wonder as she contemplated the existence of Gods beyond her belief. But Tamlin just smiled, letting her absorb the information. He knew it would feel like a lot. But it also felt important to let her know about the Old Ways. Tamlin was far too young to recall the Old Ways, and only knew what had been passed down in history books and verbal retellings, but he did his best to make sure the origins of Spring were properly respected.

Part of returning Spring to its former glory was to make the traditions rise again. To fill his people with hope for the future. Just as their court was the home of rebirth, optimism, and hope, so too would Spring resprout from the ashes of war and return to them with a flourish like never before.

They held an Intention rite. The way Spring celebrated was with fields of candles among the Lus an Chromchinn, and the wrote their wishes and set them alight. They sent their intentions to the Higher Beings, and they sat among the nature around them. And for the first time since Amarantha, Tamlin heard the giggles of the Narcissae as they felt the magic flow, and he opened his eyes to watch them. He nudged Elain gently, and gestured to one of the daffodils. From the centre of the flower came a tiny creature, with clawed fingers and pollen dipped feet that glinted in the fading light of sundown. The Narcissae didn’t have hair, rather from their head they sprouted fine antennae that seemed to leave trails behind them.

He heard Elain gasp in delight, and he turned to her to see a group of Narcissae playing in her hair. He smiled, wondering if the key to Spring had been Her all along. Lucien was a lucky man.

Thankfully, the lucky man in question was not late. For when the sun went down, Tamlin smiled and raised his hands. The power of the High Lord of Spring shook the forest, and the trees granted them with a pile of loose and dead branches, which were promptly set alight by the Sun Sprites that came to celebrate. Imbolc was not a particularly loud celebration. It was a meditative time, and Tamlin closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Spring.

He felt warm like this, surrounded by… by friends. Perhaps teaching Elain about their holidays was going to remind him how Spring was meant to be, too.

As the season drew on, the bluebells blossomed, and with them came the perfect opportunity for Tamlin to show Elain what he’d meant that day when he commented on her laugh. He dragged Lucien along with them, because he did feel like he’d been neglecting his friend in favour of Elain, which was far from his intention. Besides, he thought Lucien should also see what he meant. She truly sounded like the bluebells. It was fast becoming one of Tamlin’s favourite sounds. It had been so long since he had heard laughter in his halls, and he’d made it his mission to find out what else could draw it from her.

He was lucky Lucien was so patient with him. He’d known some males who would tear his head from his shoulders for merely looking at their mates, bond accepted or not. But Lucien knew him better than that. He had no intention of trying to ‘steal’ Elain. Especially since he had learned that one couldn’t actually steal someone that didn’t want to be stolen. Feyre had not been kidnapped, and Elain was trying to see if she and Lucien would work together.

Tamlin thought it was a wonderful match. But perhaps he was biased, because seeing his best friend with his newest friend made his heart sing. The Fates worked in strange ways, after all. He wondered if they had known this would come.

They entered the Midspring, the central area of Spring which truly came to life in the months between their beginning and end celebrations. Tamlin let a breeze open up the waterfall they would have to step through, holding it for Elain, and grinning as he let the water cascade over Lucien, earning him a startled yelp and a string of curses that made Elain laugh. Wonderful. Tamlin grinned, stepping through the waterfall into the meadows. Towards the edge of the carpeted floor, the blooms were a soft pink, having only just opened. But deep in the centre, the world turned blue. And as Tamlin led them into the depths of the bluebell fields, he shifted, taking the form of a stag. To show off, really, as he pranced through the flowers, careful not to trample them, lest he upset the spirits.

Elain laughed, watching him, and Tamlin trotted over, and nudged his head between her and Lucien. He shushed them, and then lay down, inviting them to sit in the centre of a perfect circle left in the bluebells.

Silence, and then the breeze came through, and a gentle chime began to fill the meadow, the bells ringing together in a gentle symphony as they celebrated the return of the eastern winds. It had always been one of Tamlin’s favourite sounds. It was a beautiful, charming little noise that was most definitely echoed in Elain’s laugh. He heard Lucien exhale, and his head turned to his friend, inquisitive. When was the last time Lucien had relaxed like that? Around him, or at all? But he looked at peace here, in the warming sun with Elain against his shoulder and Tamlin laying at their backs, protective. Not that anyone or anything would disturb the sacred peace of Spring anymore.

It was easy to fall asleep like that, the three of them basking in the meadow as the sun filtered through the tops of trees, setting the world aflame. The chiming of bells, soft and constant like the spring breeze. The world, quiet and still outside of their little bubble.

Tamlin had missed these moments. He had missed being carefree and just existing in his court. He’d spent so much recent time trying to rejuvenate it after its fall that he’d failed to take the time to admire Spring for what it was. Paying special attention to the observances of the lesser fae and nature sprites really reminded Tamlin what he fought for.

“They used to say mortals who picked bluebells became faerie-led,” he explained later, after the sun went down and the wind turned a little colder. They were walking back to the manor, and he thought it a good time to share such tales. “Fae who found them picking the sacred blooms would judge their intentions. Those who only plucked the flowers for pure reasons, or children, would be led back to the outskirts of their villages, blessed by their newfound faerie guide. We believe in Spring, that the Children of the Blessed may be descended from those mortals, growing up with not entirely faithful accounts of benevolent fae.”

“And those with bad intentions?”

Tamlin faltered at Elain’s innocent question, peering back into those large eyes as he hesitated.

“Ah… That is definitely a story for another day, My Lady.”

Lucien rolled his eyes, and mentioned something about slavery that made Tamlin’s nose scrunch in distaste. But it wasn’t like it was secret history. It was practically recent history. Just because Tamlin hadn’t been directly involved in that first war didn’t mean he hadn’t learnt about it. He just preferred not to remember. His family had sided with Hybern then, after all. It was a reminder of what Spring had been before him. Elain was understanding though, and dropped the questions for now.

“What other flowers are important to Spring?”

“Bealltuinn!” Tamlin declared, as yet another bonfire soared towards the skies.

It was the midpoint between the height of Spring and the height of Summer. The second of their baton-passing festivals. And it was, personally, Tamlin’s favourite. It was loud, and animated. A real celebration of the nature sprites and what they had to offer.

But first, what they had to offer to them. They fetched milk from livestock, and whipped it into cream mixed with their wine from the previous year. They laid it out at altars surrounded by flowers. Sunflowers and sprouting dahlias. Alliums to zinnias. There was such an array of colours, and those only came from the mundane flowers. Those Elain would be familiar with. Later, as magic took the world, flowers from the world of fae would take their place at the base of the fire.

Tamlin led Elain to the altar with their offering, and he knelt by it and set his bowl in the centre.

“Bealltuinn celebrates The Maiden Goddess’ transition to The Mother. It’s a way to celebrate the nature sprites for all they give us. And it brings forth the true beauty of Spring.”

“True beauty?”

Tamlin grinned, and gestured behind him. In the west of Spring, the sun was setting, and it threw its rays into the Spring Crimsons and the Glitter Hibisci. The world was bathed in red through the petals, and the hibisci were plucked by children who sprinkled the delicate pollen through the hair of their friends and family. Tamlin bowed his head as a young, chitin-winged fae approached him with one of the flowers, allowing him to sprinkle the pollen into his hair.

“And some for my friends?” he whispered in suggestion.

The young male laughed, and called over some more Aurae over. Together, they sprinkled Elain and Lucien with the glittery pollen too, wings fluttering in excitement. They rarely got to play like this. Lesser faeries were still generally ignored, in spite of Tamlin’s best efforts of including them. And the Aurae were still considered such. Because they weren’t considered as ‘useful’ as the Illyrians, or the Peregryns. All because they were a peaceful people. Tamlin didn’t think it fair. But he couldn’t change perceptions overnight. He could keep trying.

Tamlin was sad to see them go, but they had plans to spend some time in Dawn. He couldn’t begrudge Lucien some time with Nuan, of all people. Though he would miss them terribly.

He still felt more and more like himself every day. He hadn’t felt so… light since Amarantha. It had been more than a dark time. But he was coming to the realisation that neglecting his court had not been the answer. He’d been too quick to reject that which he’d never wanted. He’d just needed a reason to reconnect with the land, and return to being a friend to his people. He didn’t have to be High Lord all the time anymore. He could just be Tamlin. And he knew he still loved his lands. He’d always loved them. He’d just forgotten how to help them thrive. Telling stories almost lost to time. It made him feel like he truly understood himself again.

He had Elain to thank.

As Elain and Lucien visited more frequently, the court kept growing. Even when they weren’t around, Tamlin could be found at various villages, in various forests. He could be found frollicking with fae children, and discussing prospects with adults. He supported businesses and trade. He enjoyed seeing his people flourish. And it was nice not to feel so lonely anymore.

When Vassa and Jurian visited, he felt even more grateful to Elain and Lucien. Sharing their friends with him as they were was such a kind gesture, and it did wonders for him.

Rhysand never visited. Neither did Feyre. And while he did, sometimes, find himself thinking about their former relationships, it was no longer with grief in his heart. Instead, he was finally able to look back fondly on his former partner, former friend. Some relationships were never meant to heal. And that was okay. As long as he didn’t let himself dwell on the negativity. He could remember the good times. He could reflect on his own faults and behaviours. He could move on. He didn’t need their blessings to move on. He needed his own.

Spring was alive once more. It had never felt more like home.

Dividers and page breaks by @olenvasynyt

Banner by me following template examples by Tamlin Week

[hatereadings]

Chapter 2, part two

(previous)

“I couldn’t be happier,” she crooned as her jagged nails cut into her palms

Okay I actually REALLY like this line. The defiance, while we’re shown, not told, how pissed she is about his douchebaggery; and the reminder about her broken nails even though she normally likes primping and pampering herself and probably gets regular manicures when she isn’t in a pit.

It’s fitting that this all takes place in a mine, because I feel like I’m really digging through dirt to find these tiny pockets of useful ore. Why can’t the author just be consistent and write like this all the time?

We’re told the average life expectancy is a month but she lasted a year, which, again, I don’t have a problem with; I know it’s unrealistic for her to survive a salt mine longer just because she’s a special protagonist or whatnot (it’d be one thing if she survived in the wild or in a gladiator arena because she was so badass; that might actually be realistic), but like I said, I don’t actually take issue with the wish fulfillment side of the fantasy. Sure, she can be special and survive ridiculously long.

“Quite a mystery, I’m sure.” She batted her eyelashes and readjusted her shackles as if they were silk gloves.

Again, I do actually like her here. Is it realistic for her to have so much spirit after a year in the mines? Idgaf, she’s giving a good account of herself against the shitty Prince.

Chaol and Prince Dorian do the thing where they talk about her again as if she isn’t there, and then Kale gets mad when she doesn’t use the proper title when talking to the Prince. He just gets amused, and then he comes out with this line:

“You do know that you’re now a slave, don’t you? Has your sentence taught you nothing?”

Hooooooly shit.

Does he genuinely think being sentenced to the mines is some kind of character growth opportunity? Like… if it doesn’t kill you, you learn humility/your proper place in society? What is this even implying???

I’m as into redemption arcs as the next person, but his had better be intense to justify how much of a wet turd he seems to be right now.

To her credit, Celaena points out that all you learn in a mine is how to use a pickaxe, which, yeah, one would think that’d be self-explanatory. We then get a story about Celaena’s escape attempt 8 months ago. She killed her overseer and 23 other people (nice), and came less than an inch away from the exit. Then we learn something unbelievably stupid.

“…how far do slaves make it from the mines when they try to escape?” “Three feet,” he muttered. “Endovier sentries usually shoot down a man before he’s moved three feet.”

It turns out, the king of Adarlan ordered Celaena kept alive as long as possible, so that she could suffer longer.

THAT ORDER KILLED 24 PEOPLE!!!!!

Six guards every day, AND this?!?! Literally wtf. If you want to torture someone for a year, just do that! You’re a faux-medieval fantasy king; there’s no way you don’t have dungeons and a guy with a case full of shiny tools.

Im sure the king is a huge dickbag, and his son’s issues are all going to be his fault somehow; but this isn’t just being cruel; it’s being *stupid*. This is some Joffrey-level shit with the “I want to torment this teenage girl so I’ll make the dumbest possible decision over it.” I find it hard to believe his reign lasted as long as it did. Does everyone else in this universe just seriously suck at politics?

At the very least, this does actually explain why she survived so long. Unfortunately, while I'm glad she got an offscreen moment of badassery with the nice body count, we didn't actually see it happen; we were just told that it did. It doesn't count as seeing her do cool things on the page.

Anyway, Celaena tells them that her escape attempt was actually a suicide attempt, which, oof, but understandable. Prince Halberd gets this pitying look and this pisses her off, which, fair! Then we get this gem:

“Do you bear many scars?”…he smiled, forcing the mood to lift as he stepped from the dais. “Turn around, and let me view your back.”

WHAT THE HELL.

Bro WHAT.

Also, Celaena, what? "forcing the mood to lift" NO HE DIDN'T. You told him about your suicide attempt and he thinks he can just be like "ah, that's dark. Let's move on to lighter topics. Let me inspect your body like you're a racehorse. Can I see your teeth?"

And for some bizarre reason, Celaena actually does it, and he goes

"I can't make them out clearly through all this dirt," the prince said, inspecting what skin showed through the scraps of her shirt. She scowled, and scowled even more when he said, "And what a terrible stench, too!"

Look, darling. Paaaahhhhhverty!

Because I'm desperate to find some things to like about this book, I will say that it's nice that the hot female protagonist gets to be all gross and stinky in her intro. Normally that's reserved for men and women have to be pretty and smell like flowers at all times, even when it makes zero sense.

That said, Prince Doorknob has some serious groveling to do after his redemption.

"When one doesn't have access to a bath and perfume, I suppose one cannot smell as finely as you, Your Highness." The Crown Prince clicked his tongue and circled her slowly.

I feel like she's contributing a lot to his worldly education, but it doesn't seem like he's actually taking any of it in. And, honestly, what a wasted opportunity. He could have actually been a really sympathetic character from the getgo if we'd seen this as a moment when his shitty privileged opinions collided with the reality of what his father - and his entire country - was making people suffer. We could have seen him struggling to put on his composed mask but looking around uneasily, maybe feigning callousness with Celaena but refusing to meet her eyes, something like that. Wanting to look away but being forced to confront it, and then leaving all troubled, deep in thought, and maybe taking the opportunity to go out of his way to be kind to Celaena, giving her a proper bath and whatnot. Which could also move their love story forward, since he was spending extra time with her trying to redeem himself more, and she probably had all sorts of thoughts on what he could do with his position and power to make things better for everyone she'd seen suffering.

But, nah, he sees all this and his reaction isn't "Holy hell, what are we doing to people?!" it's "Ew, stinky."

It's realistic, sadly. But it isn't very likeable.

In less than a second, she could get her arms over the prince's head and have her shackles crushing his windpipe.

DO IT.

It might be worth it just to see the expression on Chaol's face.

No, it might be worth it SO YOU CAN ESCAPE, you dingus!!!! A prince is one of the most valuable hostages you can get, and one just walked right up to you! Get your shackles around his throat, threaten to kill him if they don't all lower their weapons and escort you out of the mines, maybe demand a fast horse and some provisions and winter clothes, and tell them maybe you'll drop him off once you get to some border or convenient forest if you're feeling generous. Seriously.

I feel like I need to save this as a reaction image for how much I'm going to be using it throughout this book.

But the prince went on, oblivious to how dangerously close he stood to her. Perhaps she should be insulted.

No, you should just recognize that he's an idiot. Like you and Chaol salad and everyone else in here.

"From what I can see," he said, "there are three large scars--and perhaps some smaller ones. Not as awful as I expected, but... well, the dresses can cover it, I suppose."

Oh, dread! Is this former slave not pretty enough for you?

"Dresses?" He was standing so near that she could see the fine thread detail on his jacket, and smelled not perfume, but horses and iron.

The dialogue tag makes it sound like he's the one wondering what he himself meant when he mentioned dresses. Pro tip - if you're going to write something like that, just put a line break between the quote and the description. Less confusion that way.

Also, someone who smells like horses when he has full access to baths has absolutely zero right to judge others for being stinky.

I get that this is supposed to be some kind of comment on how he isn't a pampered prince but actually does, idk, work or whatever; but given he wears a ceremonial sword and probably had to ride to get here, I don't think this is actually any evidence of that.

Dorian grinned. "What remarkable eyes you have! And how angry you are!" Coming within strangling distance of the Crown Prince of Adarlan, son of the man who sentenced her to a slow, miserable death, her self-control balanced on a fragile edge--dancing along a cliff.

WHY?!

Literally just grab him. What do you even have to lose?

Her on-page behavior contrasts so STUPIDLY much with everything we hear about her that allegedly happened off-page. She's a famous assassin, the best of the best, she killed 24 people in a day, but, nah, THIS is what she balks at, killing a guy who's done nothing but insult her and offered her zero reason to even keep him alive. Because she knows his name and he's kind of pretty, I guess.

Honestly even if she'd given her curiosity about the dresses/what the prince wants from her as a reason she's holding off on killing him, that would have made a tiny bit of sense. It would have been fine. But, no, we don’t get any of that yet. No sensible thoughts, just an empty lil pumpkin stuck on her neck.

"Watch your mouth before I throw you back in the mines," the brown-eyed captain said. "Oh, I don't think you'd do that."

Okay, so now we get the conversation where she's like "Yeah, y'all clearly want something from me, and it's pooooossible it somehow leads to an escape, which is why I'm not going to take my revenge on the king by killing his son." Which (a) should have happened sooner when she first thought about killing him, instead of waiting for paragraphs and paragraphs; and (b) is STILL STUPID, because maybe the prince just wanted to come see the famous assassin in person. And now he's going to leave and you're not going to escape. Whereas you could have escaped FOR SURE if you'd just TAKEN HIM HOSTAGE like pretty much ANY OTHER PRISONER would have done!!!!

Anyway, the prince says he has a proposition for her.

But perhaps his proposition could lead to escape.

You're throwing away a certainty of escape on 'perhaps'?

If she got beyond the wall, she could make it. Run and run and disappear into the mountains and live in solitude in the dark green of the wild, with a pine-needle carpet and a blanket of stars overhead.

It's an interesting dream, and sounds pretty enough; it would be nice to hear more about it and why she wants that, but I'm not getting my hopes up.

She could do it. She just needed to clear the wall. She had come so close before... "I'm listening," was all she said.

Not a terrible chapter hook, but kind of a terrible chapter.

[jbuffyangel]

So, welcome back. I just listened to part of your Acotar review and I'm glad someone else out there isn't right away a Rhysand hater. I see so much of that hate on tumblr and I'm like am I reading wrong? Is my brain not working. What are they seeing I'm not? He is not a bad guy. Does he act a certain way? Yes. Like I see so much of the negatively and it's like, can you calm down. At the end of the day, they're not real. Don't be so hostile. And are you going to talk about her Throne Of Glass series also. If so, I can't wait for that. It also gets some hate.

Hello!!! Thank you!!! Glad to be back. Yes, this is a Rhysand hate free zone. That man must be protected at all costs. I love him. I do not understand the hate either. Maybe it's my vampire loving background, but Rhysand doesn't even come close to a problematic dark & twisty love interest. Is he perfect? No. He wouldn't be an interesting character if he's perfect. He's made mistakes, but at the end of the day - he is a selfless hero who protects his family and loves Feyre with all his heart. That's my kind of fictional boyfriend.

I've heard the Acotar fandom can be a little punchy but I was forged in the ship wars of TVD and Arrow (although that wasn't much of a ship war). I'm battle tested and ready to defend Feysand.

I'll even go a step further. I like Lucien and Elaine together and Azriel and Gwyn. GASP. THE HORROR. I'm fine if Elain and Azriel hook up but I am fully entrenched in the "they are not endgame because MATES" camp.

Yes, I will read Throne of Glass. Soon or @callistawolf might murder me. I've made progress. I bought the book. Now I just have to sit down and like... read it.

[hecate-editing]

Making Characters That Make Sense

Walk-through character template & "how to" guide for writing complex, original protagonists.

If you google "character templates for writing", you'll get a lot of very basic examples that read like a grocery list: eye colour, hair colour, skin colour, positive traits, negative traits, etc.

And sure, filling out this kind of template isn't completely useless - but it's also not particularly useful, either. Choosing whether your protagonist has blue eyes or green eyes isn't going to determine whether readers connect with them or not.

Instead, I prefer to use the below template:

There's some fairly left-of-centre categories here, so in this blog post I'll be creating a character from scratch to demonstrate what each section means and how to use the template effectively.

Primary Goal & Raison D'Être

Fantasy Romance is having a bit of a tournament-to-the-death moment right now, with Hunger Games-inspired stories like Fourth Wing, Throne of Glass, The Savior's Champion, and The Serpent and the Wings of Night in high demand - so that's what we're going to work with in today's blog post.

The story premise and primary goal of the protagonist are almost always interconnected. In this case, the story premise is a tournament to the death - and the character's main goal is to win that tournament, obviously.

But where there's room for some originality is in the raison d'être. This loosely translates to "reason for being" or "purpose". It's the why of it.

For example: what motivated this character to risk their life by entering such a tournament in the first place?

It is sometimes helpful to look at similar stories when thinking about this category. Not so you can copy their protagonist's motivations - but so you can do something different.

The whole selfless-self-sacrifice thing, for example - that's done. At least in relation to this particular sub-genre. We can do better for our hypothetical Maera Mystfang character.

Actually, let's really turn the trope on its head and make her raison d'être incredibly self-centred.

Already, this is character is shaping up to be something a little bit different within the niche of tournaments to the death. Which goes to show how putting a little bit of thought can go a long way, even with something as simple as identifying your character's initial purpose.

Primary Obstacle

Every protagonist needs a goal - and every goal needs an obstacle. This is what gives the story some tension and keeps readers turning the page.

An obvious choice of obstacle for this hypothetical character, since we're dealing with a fantasy romance, would be that Maera starts to develop feelings for one of her fellow competitors.

This concept has definitely been done, but that's okay. Not every section of this list has to break the mould. Tropes exist for a reason and it is totally okay to lean into them sometimes.

However, just for funsies, I'm going to try and put a slightly different spin on this one too.

Instead of the obvious "I love one of the people I'm meant to kill", let's make Maera's (previously dormant) conscience be the problem. Her reasons for entering the tournament may have been self-motivated, but as she gets to know her fellow competitors - admires some of them, even - she starts to second guess those reasons.

Core Traits

A lot of character templates will divide personality traits into positives and negatives - but I don't think this is particularly helpful. It is far too one dimensional - not to mention unrealistic. The key components of someone's personality aren't usually so black and white.

In fact, most core traits are both good and bad at the same time - it just depends on the context.

Instead of being wholly positive or negative, try to think of three core character traits that can serve as two sides of the same coin, with both positive and negative implications to each.

For Maera, I've given her these core traits:

Self-reliant;

Rebellious; and

Good-humoured.

Her self-reliance means that she is incredibly capable - but it's also the cause of her selfishness. She's always had to look after herself, so she expects others to do the same.

Her rebellious attitude means she isn't willing to accept the status quo. But at times she is also a rebel without a cause, causing trouble just for the fun of it.

Her good sense of humour means she is fun to be around, but she also tends to not take things as seriously as she should.

Thinking of core traits in this multi-faceted way not only adds realistic complexity, but it also sets you up well for showcasing character development and growth throughout the story.

Fatal Flaw & Character Arc / Growth

You've probably read negative reviews that throw around terms like "Mary Sue" or "Gary Stu". People tend to be over-zealous with these terms, especially for Mary Sue, but the gist of it is that the character in question is "too perfect".

They're the chosen one, they're good at everything, all the boys like them, etc.

Some characters can get away with this just fine. Look at Aragorn. He's the ultimate Gary Stu but I still swoon every time he opens those damn doors. You know the scene I'm talking about.

Ooft.

But for the most part, you want to incorporate a fatal flaw into your protagonists - because this is what gives them room to grow.

And, no. "I was born to be King but I don't wanna" does not count as a fatal flaw.

Instead, think bigger. Think worse. Think about where your character starts versus where you want them to end up. Think about how you want the events of the narrative to change their world view - or even their initial goal.

For Maera, her fatal flaw is pretty obvious, given her initial motivations for entering the tournament. Similarly, her growth/arc is linked to her primary obstacle, which is developing a conscious.

Her journey throughout this hypothetical story might be learning to appreciate how her past shaped her, while also acknowledging that there are things she can do to ensure others don't have to go through what she did. By being shown acts of kindness, she learns to appreciate their value.

First Impression

Now that we've covered all the "big picture" stuff, let's get into some of the smaller details that give your character some texture.

The first impression category is a hypothetical exercise where you image how your character might appear to a room full of strangers. In dual, multi, or omniscient POVs, you might even get the opportunity to include this impression somewhere in the story.

But even for first-person narratives, it is still worth thinking about, because it will help to inform how other characters interact and respond to your protagonist (at least at first).

For Maera, I've written this first impression as: a fun person to have a few drinks with - so long as you keep a close eye on your wallet.

From this description, we can guess that Maera probably likes to have a good time, but also comes across as untrustworthy. Whether that impression is deserved or not is up to you, as the author, to decide.

There's also a lot of deeper directions you can take this first impression category, too. Like if most people react to Maera this way, but one particular character doesn't, then your readers are going to sit up and pay extra attention during that interaction. Especially when that person reacting atypically is the future love interest.

Spirit Animal

Ah, this one is a fun one!

I always encourage my authors to assign a "spirit animal" to their characters - especially when they're doing multi-POV.

There are two main reasons for this:

It will allow you to assign some very distinct adjectives and verbs with that particular character; and

It is an opportunity to flesh out some additional character traits beyond the core traits.

For Maera, I've chosen "spider" because she is solitary by nature, opportunistic, and patient.

But, more than that, I also like the idea of Maera being the kind of person who knows how to watch and wait. While her first impression might be "here for the good times", her joking façade is actually a mask she wears while carefully observing others.

For example:

Her words were laced with venom. She crawled her way across the rooftop. At some point, weaving lies had become more of a past time that a necessity. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. She didn't bother to conceal her predatory gaze. Inch by cautious inch, she crept forward. Her sanity was already hanging by a thread. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was spin a good story - truth be damned.

I've never outright compared Maera to a spider in these examples, nor have I made it blatantly obvious that that's what I'm doing. But by peppering these kinds or words throughout the story, I'll be able to subtly create a very distinct kind of impression for her character.

For comparison's sake, let's assign "cat" to the love interest. Examples of possible words to consider in this instance might be:

He clawed his way through the bushes. "What are you doing?" he hissed. The comment had some bite to it, that was for sure. He slunk away into the darkness. His still, unwavering focus was unnerving. He prowled towards her. In a few quick, agile steps, he'd made it across the parapet. He yawned and stretched out beside her.

Of course, not every single word you use in association with a character needs to be related to their spirit animal. But keeping a certain type of animal in mind - and finding opportunities to throw in some subtle messaging through language choice - can be beneficial on so many levels.

It helps to distinguish your characters from one another through the kind of language you use to describe them - but it's also just really, really fun way to add some bonus texture to your characters. Giving your readers some little easter eggs like this is never a bad thing.

Love Language

If you're unfamiliar with the concept of the five basic love languages, then here's a quick visual overview:

Love languages aren't a consideration that's specific to romance. They're important for friendships and familial relationships too.

Because thinking about what your protagonist values most in love is going to tell you a lot about who they are. Especially when you take the question deeper and think about why this is something they value.

For Maera, I've chosen "Acts of Service" because this ties in quite well to her character arc.

In terms of Maera's why, I could easily go with "because this was how she was shown love as a child" - and this is a good enough option most of the time. However, since her love language is very much tied into growing out of her fatal flaw, then I actually want to do the opposite.

Maera winds up valuing acts of service because this is something she craved - and wasn't given - as a child. She had to do things the hard way instead. Hence why she ends up appreciating the kindness of others so much. Such generosity is new to her - and precious.

Conflict Response

This is potentially one of the most overlooked character components. Conflict and tension is central to story telling, yet there is so little attention given to creating authentic, original responses to conflict.

The way I see it, there are three main considerations in regards to conflict response:

How your character reacts in the moment;

The unhealthy methods they use to deal with the aftermath; and

The healthy methods they use (or discover) to self-sooth.

When faced with conflict, Maera's immediate reaction is to antagonise. She doesn't like to back down and enjoys creating trouble.

However, in the aftermath, the conflict affects her more than she lets on. She stews on it - and her solution to that is to get drunk until she can forget about it completely.

But even though she sometimes forgets it, Maera has a more healthy coping mechanism at her disposal. When she is surrounded by nature - in the forest, by the sea, whatever - it calms her.

In addition to identifying your protagonist's various responses to conflict, it is also helpful to think about why. Again, this is a great opportunity to insert something unique into their character backstory.

With Maera, for example, let's think about why she finds nature so soothing. Perhaps, amidst a very bleak childhood, one of her fondest memories is of picking grapes in a vineyard.

Perhaps the elderly woman who owned the vineyard was very rude and abrupt - but also quite kind to Maera in her own way. Maybe she would sometimes stitch up Maera's clothes or feed Maera a hearty, meaty dinner - even though she didn't have to.

If you're struggling to think of a real, tangible, unique memory such as this - then it's always helpful to go back to the old classic of write what you know. Think of a real life moment or memory - something that's stuck with you, no matter how simple - then adapt it to your character.

To create this vineyard example, I simply drew on my experience of picking strawberries with my Nonna after school.

Mentor / Idol

I could write an entire thesis on mentors. Or, more specifically, the "death of the mentor" trope - both in its literal and metaphorical interpretations.

But, for the sake of brevity, let's save that sh*t for another time and focus on what's important for a basic (yet complex) character template. And that is:

The Formative Mentor (past); and

Transformative Mentor (present).

The formative mentor (or idol) is someone who influenced your character prior to the events of the novel. Sometimes they're a character the reader will meet, or other times, they're long gone before the novel even begins.

The transformative mentor is a much looser term. It doesn't necessarily have to be a traditional mentor character, but rather it is a character who heavily influences or changes your protagonist throughout the events of the novel.

For Maera, I want her earliest idol to be a random female sell-sword who she crossed paths with. Prior to meeting this sell-sword, Maera was living without hope for a future, surviving on scraps and petty crime.

But after seeing an independent and moderately wealthy sell-sword in her local tavern, Maera got a glimpse into the kind of life that might be possible if she learned to fight. With the right kind of skills, she might be able to earn some decent money for a change - and travel the world.

This is an example of how "mentors" don't always have to be a wise wizard who oversees your protagonist's training and education. Young minds are impressionable - and even distant figures can have a lasting impact.

Just look at all the women who cite Legally Blonde as the reason why they were drawn to law. Elle Woods wasn't even real - but for plenty of young girls, she made an impact.

Similarly, your protagonist's "present" mentor or idol doesn't necessarily have to be a wise wizard either. It can simply be someone who motivates them to change their world view or strive to be better.

In romance, it is more than acceptable to have the present mentor coincide with the love interest - especially in standalone enemies-to-lovers. I know this seems counter-intuitive, since the word "mentor" implies a power imbalance, but it makes more sense if you readjust your definition of mentor to be "inspires change".

However, for Maera, I kind of like the idea of pairing her up with a love interest who shares some of her flaws. I vibe with the idea of making him a bit self-interested too, although for different reasons.

So in her example, I've listed the present mentor as a selfless secondary character. The way I would envision this going is Maera and the love interest team up early on - but somewhere along the way a secondary character saves them both. They're both heavily influenced by this character before this character sacrifices themselves. The aftermath of this incident rattles both Maera and her love interest, and serves as the spark for growth.

I hope you found this template - and very long explanation - useful!

[valyrfia]

Oooooh I would love to hear your anti-romantacy thoughts (because same)

If you feel like sharing I will be sat

So, first little lore dump is I used to be a huge anti SJM person back pre-covid before SJM became uber popular like she is today and ACOTAR sparked this whole romantasy saturation. My negative review of Empire of Storms on goodreads was its own little corner-of-the-internet-controversy back in the day because I was like.....(SPOILERS FOR THRONE OF GLASS SERIES UNTIL THE PARAGRAPH BREAK) Rowan and Aelin came out of nowhere! This is bullshit! Manon is a lesbian! Dorian and Chaol are obviously in love! This magic system doesn't make sense! Why are these characters that meant so much to me as a teenager suddenly caricatures! Why is this world a bad patchwork of every other fantasy story ever!

I feel like 16 year old me didn't quite know how to explain why these things were bad or what the root problems were, but now seeing these root problems repeated widely across a genre....I can summarise in a list. I can go into greater detail if I won't bore anyone, but to sum it up:

Heteronormative as hell. This is my major complaint. Most romance in romantasy reads as thinly veiled conservative propaganda. Plus the weird insistence on using the words "males" and "females"

Bad FANTASY as a whole. Fantasy is my favourite genre because done right you can fold a whole lot of real world observations about our own society into it. Or, if you're Brandon Sanderson, you can write excellent magic systems based around rules and drawbacks. Super Special Girl meets Bad Boy and they have the most specialist powers ever doesn't do it for me really.

Following on: extremely dumbed down plots. Fantasy is about weaving elaborate plots together under a new system of rules, Romantasy is all about the romance. Don't worry about plots, just don't.

Blatant plagiarism absolutely everywhere? Every single book with dragons/wyverns from the past ten years needs to start paying some sort of monetary contribution back to the Eragon series and Dragonriders of Pern.

Really REALLY weird attitudes about race/class/beauty if you start looking at it too head on.

I am a girl with a deep love for ao3 and a fairly active account but it needs to be said.....a lot of these people who exclusively read romantasy have porn addictions. You know how depressing it is to see a favourite fantasy book of yours be rated low because "no spice" or "spice wasn't good enough". Like the spice is only one possible way of flavouring a delicious meal, I think we need to learn to embrace the vanilla too as a society.

The marketing of it is also just disturbing. And it is encroaching big time on fantasy as a genre rather than just accepting that it can be its own thing. Fourth Wing is NOT proper high fantasy, don't make me laugh. Talk to my copy of Priory of the Orange Tree please.

People can enjoy romantasy of course I won't hold it against them, it's just more an absolute hatred for the genre and people reading it refuse to engage with it critically when fantasy as a genre has ALWAYS been a mirror to our own society. Also, returning to my first bullet point, it's just mind-boggling heteronormative slop most of the time. Instead of trying to build a romance that can compel me, most romantasy authors are perfectly happy to go "she was a slight and slender and specially magically powerful girl, he was a hunk of a man, can I make it any more obvious?" and leave it at that.

[lotus-pear]

lotus. lotus. LOTUS.

you’ve read throne of glass???????

/pos btw i’m not about to explode you for reading it bc i realize now that this ask could come off really negative 💀

YES unfortunately i was forced into reading it by my bestie bc the deal was she read bsd and i read tog (we both ended up suffering bc now we're both obsessed with each other's series)

i'm on queen of shadows rn so it's supposed to start picking up from here...

[stromuprisahat]

Hi, how are you? I wanted to see if you could explain the Nikolai hate to me.

What I know isn't as much hate as contempt.

Nikolai is presented as a good, benevolent candidate for the Throne, who'll lead Ravka to bright future. An alternative to his corrupted family members, and the evil Darkling, who dared to attempt to take the power by force.

We're constantly reminded he's nice and clever, fair and resourceful, the fairy tale blond prince, swooping in to save the day.

Once you stop and scratch the gilding, you'll find something else lurking beneath. Without the rosy glasses of his fAriends, his actions introduce a weak, spineless and wilfully blind fool, who has solutions dropped into his lap either by others (The Darkling killing Vasily and gifting him the Apparat on a silver platter, Genya delivering the only real punishment of previous Tsar, incapacitating him enough to dispose of.) or by favourable events (The fact people simply listen to him at the end of R&R because he turned up, when chaos reigned. Or their support of his starving of Ravka. I won't even delve into his "political" solutions.).

My biggest pet peeve is the notion he "supports" Grisha by accepting them in his army and as a source of inventions.

He doesn't.

There were pogroms at the beginning of Siege and Storm. Ravkan Grisha were murdered by normies for being Grisha. There's no mention of any investigation, or even acknowledgement by Nikolai the Just. He's pointing out Grisha's loyalty should be to the Crown, and leaving their posts makes them deserters. Who cares said deserters were running to save their lives from Crown's subjects nobody cares to reprimand?

After the war he needs more magical canon fodder, so he sends badly trained Grisha into the field, even though not so long ago he protested against doing the same with too young otkazat'sya.

He chooses to abolish Grisha draft, completely disregarding practical reasons for its existence and negative social consequences of his decision.

He's no better than any of the previous "benevolent" Lantsov Kings, who didn't mind the witches as long as they were useful. He's not prejudiced himself, but he overlooks the real issues and acts as if a written law were the ultimate solution, control and enforcement NOT included. On the other hand once it's on the paper, it needs to be followed no matter how harmful.

Old fandom genius named him "Diet Darkling", for he's presented the hero of better future, but lacks the willingness to get his hands dirty in the process. All in accordance with the books' general philosophy of bloodless revolutions served up by already established power, because those are the most likely to want, support and fully accept change. *wink wink*

As I'm re-reading, I'm collecting my criticism aiming at him specifically under #anti Nikolai just to be safe (so people disinterested in that can filter it off). All of the above and something more is to be found there. (Cotton! Read cotton! :D)