#tried to save the 'not to be a lesbian but' reaction image and instead pulled up a video of harry fucking styles

[mlentertainment]

tumblr images broken jesus christ

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (6/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 2,259

masterlist

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

a/n: content warnings in this chapter for a brief description of bruising

six.

Emily left the house and began running, thinking of nothing other than the feeling of her feet on the pavement. She ran in wide circles around their neighborhood, ignoring the people who waved at her from their yards, and, slowly but surely, she felt some of the tension seep away. When she finally stopped for a breath, Emily realized her phone was ringing. It was Hotch. Her finger hovered over the ‘decline’ button before she sighed and pressed ‘accept.’ Even after all that had occurred between them, she trusted Hotch to not interrupt her solitude unless it was absolutely necessary. “Emily?” It was Carrie on the other end of the line. She sounded frantic, and Emily felt her stomach drop. Shit. What now?

“What’s the matter?” She turned back in the direction of the house, setting a brisk pace. There was a short pause, and Emily could hear Carrie’s breath coming in gasps. “It’s… it’s Hotch. He came back from getting Jack and he fell and he’s not getting back up. I think he’s breathing but I’m not sure.” Emily began to run, still holding her phone to her ear. “Is Jack okay?” “Yeah, he’s with me. You’ll be here soon?” Her voice wobbled and she sounded every inch herself, a girl who had been hurt so much more than she’d admit. Emily wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and hug her. “Of course,” she said instead, breaking into a sprint. “I love you.” Later, after the adrenaline had passed, Emily would consider why it had felt so perfectly natural, the obvious way to end the call. Later, Carrie would say “I love you too” and Emily would get to pull her into a deep hug. Later, it would become second nature, a routine call and response. Now, though, Emily simply ran. It was no longer the peaceful activity it had been before. Each footstep conjured awful images: Hotch hurt and bleeding, Emily too late to save him. It was the dream all over again, only this time it was Hotch she had failed. Shaking hands made fitting the key in the lock difficult, but Emily steadied herself long enough to open the door. Carrie was waiting for her in the entryway, worrying her lip hard enough that Emily could see a drop of blood forming. “He’s in the bathroom. I tried to move him, but…” Emily put her hands on Carrie’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes, trying to tamp down on her panic for Carrie’s sake. “You did what you could, okay? Go take care of Jack.” Hotch will be fine, she wanted to say. No lying, a very Hotch-like voice admonished her, and Emily almost cracked a smile at how familiar the exchange was. Carrie looked at her, eyes shining with tears, and Emily forced herself to let go, though not before giving Carrie’s shoulders a last, light squeeze. I am still here. Hotch was lying face-up on the tile floor, dressed only in a t-shirt and shorts. His skin was pale and his eyes were closed, but he didn’t look peaceful. Instead, his expression was one of weariness, crinkled lines folding around his eyes and mouth set in a frown. Emily crouched down to feel his pulse, pressing two fingers against his neck and sending a prayer to long-abandoned gods. And thank whatever deity might be out there, he had a pulse. It was faint but insistent, and Emily thought she had never felt more relief in her life. Even in Italy, knowing it was over, hadn’t felt quite like this. Emily threaded her arms under Hotch’s, using her whole body to pull him up into a sitting position and moving him carefully until he was leaning against the bathtub. He still hadn’t uttered a sound. Next, she got a washcloth from the pile next to the sink, wetting it under the tap. The only sound in the room was the steady flow of water, and Emily began to talk just to fill up the rest of the silence. “Don’t ever do that again, Hotch.” She was crying now, letting out the tears she had been loath to let Carrie see fall. “What was I supposed to do without you?” As she knelt to press the washcloth against his face, Hotch stirred, opening his eyes a fraction and then grimacing. Emily pressed the cool compress against his forehead, closing her eyes in a futile attempt to stem the flow of tears.

“Can you stand up?” Hotch gave a valiant effort, lifting himself a fraction off the floor before collapsing back down on it. His pained groan told Emily he was definitely hurt, but hopefully it was nothing more than a couple bruises. 

“Okay, where does it hurt?” Hotch gestured to his back, wincing at the movement.

“Here?” Emily reached out to touch his torso, but his hand flew out to stop her.

“There’s something you need to know,” he said, voice little more than a whisper.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, retracting her hand, Hotch following suit a moment later. What could he possibly need to say that couldn’t wait? If he was seriously hurt, every second that passed was a second he wasn’t getting help. 

“Obviously, these aren’t ideal circumstances, but I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t trust you,” he said, then smiled wanly. “Plus, I suppose there won’t ever really be a perfect time.”

“Hotch– Aaron, whatever it is, I’m here for you.” She wouldn’t have made that statement even a month ago, but so much had changed since then. He was still her boss, but Aaron was also her partner, even if neither of the traditional senses really applied. 

Hotch seemed to struggle with the words for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before speaking.

“I’m transgender.” he said, then continued without pause, as if stopping would rend him of all the courage he had just gathered. “It’s just... I’m wearing a binder.”

Emily clamped down on her initial reaction of surprise, knowing how much she hated it when others reacted that way. Instead, she stayed focused on figuring out his condition, assessing the situation with this new information.

“Okay,” she said, infusing the word with as much love and care as possible. “Can I help you get it off?” 

He nodded and turned his back towards her, shoulders relaxing minutely. Gently, Emily grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled first shirt and then binder over his head. Aaron hissed as the binder peeled off of his body, revealing skin underneath that was just beginning to mottle. In a few hours, the bruises would all be blue and purple.

“Jesus, Aaron.” It was an unpleasant sight, though Emily was glad that it seemed to be the only damage.

“It feels better now,” he assured her. “The pressure was the worst part.”

Nonetheless, Emily monitored him carefully as she helped him up and into their bedroom. After Aaron had settled himself in bed, dressed in the same GW Law sweatshirt he had been wearing that first night, Emily finally let her questions spill out.

“How did this happen?” She kept her tone as free of concern as possible, though she couldn’t entirely erase the traces of worry. As far as she knew, Aaron wasn’t prone to fainting, so something was clearly up.

“This morning I woke up and I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything, not when we still hadn’t solved the case,” he explained. Emily mentally kicked herself for not noticing that Hotch hadn’t joined them at breakfast. 

“And then we found her and I thought the feeling would fade. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how much she looked like Carrie.”

“You should have told me.” Emily knew it was hypocritical to ask that Hotch open up to her when she was terrible at communication herself, but she hated knowing that Aaron thought he had no one to lean on. 

He continued on as if she hadn’t interjected. “I’m no doctor, but I would guess that the combination of anxiety and not eating led to the fainting.”

Emily nodded, ready to accept the explanation, but Hotch wasn’t finished.

“Plus, I may have been wearing my binder for longer than is strictly advisable,” he admitted in a rush, not meeting her eyes.

And with that, he brought the conversation around to the topic the two of them had been studiously avoiding. It wasn’t that Emily didn’t want to talk about it, but rather that she didn’t know how. She had never planned on this moment. But then again, she had never expected to find the family that was the BAU.

Still, the Bureau wasn’t exactly a good place to be gay, let alone transgender. JJ was the only person she had come out to, and even then Emily had known that it could spell the end of her time at the BAU. Aaron had put his faith in her, and Emily could picture all too well the terror that must have accompanied the decision.

She wanted to return that confidence, she realized. Even as they had grown closer, Emily had been guarding herself, unsure of how he would react. But she was finally ready to be vulnerable.

“Aaron, I have something to tell you as well.” He looked at her quizzically, and Emily forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m a lesbian.”

“What?” Emily felt a flash of hurt that he hadn’t hidden his surprise, but that feeling was quickly replaced by doubt.

“Weren’t we sharing secrets?” She tried to keep her tone lighthearted, but her bravado had faded, replaced by a quaver in her voice.

“Oh-- yes. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Emily’s first instinct was to press, to ask why he had been so surprised. Her determination was what had gotten her this far in life, her belief in never giving up. But she also felt, now more than ever, that they had time ahead of them. Her questions could wait for another day.

“I’m going to go check on Carrie and Jack,” she told him instead, leaning down and pressing an impulsive kiss to his forehead.

As Emily descended the stairs, she heard soft voices coming from the living room. When she entered, Jack was playing with the stuffed jaguar that Emily had seen Carrie pack not so many weeks ago, zooming it through the air and chattering softly to himself. Carrie was sitting on the floor with him, smiling weakly, but her facade shattered the moment she saw Emily.

She began sobbing, hiccuping as she stood up and held out her arms. Emily strode forward and wrapped Carrie in a tight hug. She could feel Carrie shaking as she sniffled against Emily’s shoulder.

“He’s going to be alright?” Carrie asked, then hid her face in Emily’s hair as if she couldn’t bear to know the answer. 

“Yes,” Emily whispered, rocking them back and forth. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I was so scared. I saw him on the ground and he looked like… he looked like…” Her sobs overtook her, and Emily pulled her closer, taking deep lungfuls of air until she heard Carrie’s breathing begin to match hers. 

Jack toddled over to where they were standing, tugging at Emily’s shorts until she broke away from Carrie. He motioned upward and she obliged, scooping him into her arms. 

“Why are you sad?” he asked, looking at Emily and Carrie in turn. Emily hesitated. In the grand scheme of things, what had happened to Aaron wasn’t significant at all, but Jack’s world was still so small.

“We were just a little scared, buddy,” Emily said, bouncing him lightly. With a watery smile, Carrie leaned over and touched his nose, provoking a giggle.

“Where’s my dad?” 

“He’s upstairs,” Carrie said, only sniffling a little. “I’m going to go see him. Do you want to come with me?”

Left on her own, Emily’s mind wandered to thoughts of Carrie. In so many ways, she reminded Emily of herself. She was smart and stubborn, had seen too much and knew it. But Emily was determined that Carrie would have the support Emily had craved, the kind she had gotten from Matthew and John but never from her own mother. 

Eventually, Carrie returned without Jack, coming to stand in silence next to Emily. She was toying idly with the jaguar, eyes fixed on it instead of looking up.

“Danny was so still,” she said after a while, and Emily nodded, though it wasn’t really a statement that required affirmation.

“You know, sometimes I wonder why I got a second chance and he didn’t,” Carrie continued, voice rising and words beginning to pick up speed. “ I wasn’t the good child. The last real conversation I had with my parents was an argument. When I walked into that bathroom, I thought maybe God had realized his mistake and was going to take this away from me as well.”

“No,” Emily said firmly. “I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe that you’re not a bad person for being the one who lived. You might always believe that Danny should’ve survived, but the best thing you can do now is live for him.”

Carrie nodded slowly. “I can do that, I think.”

Emily smiled. Once again, she felt acutely that there was no need to rush. There would be time for questions and revelations. There would be time to make mistakes and get things right. There would be time enough for them to heal.

taglist (ask to be added!) @robins-gf, @catgrantknows

[artificialqueens]

I Remember You Differently (Trixya) - Chapter 1 - goth

One more high school lesbian AU for the good people of this blog. It’s the end of senior year, prom season, and Trixie thought she was finally over her crush on Katya from freshman year drama class. She was wrong. Kim is over it before it even starts.

A/N: This is the first, shortish chapter of what I intend to be a slow-moving, though not entirely slow-burn, multichapter fic. I have more of this written in advance, among a few other fics depending on the response. Hope this piques people’s interests.

Lunchtime at high school is an enigma. Trixie discovered this as a freshman, though she ruminates on it late into her senior year.

Some things never change. Not the terrible paint job on the walls, nor the ever-present smell of weed in the bathrooms. She’s thankful her popularity has changed, though. For the better. Even if it is meaningless — she discovered that as a junior.

Trixie’s selling prom tickets during said enigmatic thirty minutes. On normal days, the minutes disappear before she can finish her food. Today, like it has for the past week she’s been stuck doing this, the clock down the hall takes its sweet time to strike 12:30.

That is the enigma. Time never moves how you want it.

Trixie’s scrolling through Pinterest when she hears someone’s Doc Martens stomping towards the booth. She looks up, and is almost the first person to have a heart attack on campus.

A girl’s voice — deep — deeper than Trixie remembers it, is all Trixie hears when she regains her senses.

“How much are tickets?”

“Twenty.”

Trixie knows she responded too fast. Unbelievable. Of all the fucking people.

It’s impossible to look anywhere but everywhere on the girl. Trixie has to relearn her image. She looks so different.

Her platinum blonde hair, with dark brown roots, rests at angular shoulders in huge, messy curls. It used to be entirely dark brown, and down to her chest. She’s wearing all black. She used to dress like her strange Russian grandmother. Her eyes look black, piercing, with all the black eyeshadow, and the mascara coating her huge lashes. She used to wear glasses.

Trixie’s mouth goes dry.

The girl twiddles her fingers and briefly looks to the empty space to her right. She’s planning a swift exit. Trixie doesn’t want that. She leans closer, spread fingers drifting forward across the table.

“I can get you a discount.”

Kim, Trixie’s best friend and booth-partner, looks up from counting tickets. “What?”

Trixie ignores her question and stares ahead at the girl. “How does ten sound?”

The girl, is in fact, the girl she’s had a crush on, on and off, since freshman year. It sounds desperate. Trixie knows. It’s why she’s glad to hardly ever see her, or even really think about her.

When she does, it feels like a train-crash within the body.

Katya. Her name is Katya. She acts like they’ve never talked before. In retrospect, they only made it past being acquaintances, not all the way to genuine friends. But they had laughed together, cried together (stage-crying, they met in drama class), and almost got a detention together.

They were dumbass freshmen back then.

“Thanks,” The corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and Katya steps closer to the table. A voice in Trixie’s head starts to yell, hopeful Katya will place her hands on top of hers. She doesn’t. Instead, she reaches into her small black satchel and rummages around for cash.

Trixie stares at Katya’s hands.

They have each other’s phone numbers. Neither of them text each other. Trixie’s eyes flicker down to her hips. Katya has a different phone sticking out of her pants pocket, and that solves her end of the puzzle. Trixie’s answer for her own distance being that she’s a pussy.

“How many are you buying?” Trixie tries not to sound too dismayed.

“Just one.” Now she has to try not to sound too joyful.

“You’re going alone?”

Katya once explained how to get to her house, but it was so elaborate and confusing, Trixie flat-out asked why she didn’t just tell her the address. Trixie was endeared. Utterly. And trying desperately to not appear that way.

She came off like a dick. Maybe that’s why Katya never talks to her.

“Um, no. No, I’m going with friends.”

Trixie can see the embarrassment in Katya’s eyes and feels her stomach sink. Going as a group is fun, it’s what everyone doing, it’s what Trixie and Kim are doing. She’s confused as to why it would embarrass Katya.

It confuses her so much that she speaks without thinking.

“Do you want to go with me?”

She’s saved from witnessing whatever Katya’s reaction is by a small hand smacking her bicep.

“Trixie, what the fuck?”

Trixie turns to look at her attacker, Kim, who’s familiar confused and aggravated expression tells her that she’s done something stupid. “What the fuck?” Kim repeats, “We already reserved our table, which took three days, our party bus is full, and all our dresses and suits are coordinated. Are you serious?”

Trixie blinks at her best friend for a couple of seconds before the full impact hits her. Fuck. She wants to melt into a puddle under the table. Alternatively, Trixie squares her shoulders, plasters a smile on her face, and turns back around.

Katya’s face is so red, Trixie thinks she must be sick. Or angry, or -

“God, Trixie,” Kim gets up, rubs her forehead, and she slings her backpack over her shoulder.

She looks between Trixie and Katya and rolls her eyes. “I’m going back to lunch.”

“See you later.” Trixie’s voice is shaky. This is a disaster. She clears her throat, and tries not to wring her hands on top of the table. Looking straight-ahead at Katya, Trixie wills herself to have composure in the face of likely denial.

“I’m serious. I think it’d be fun, we haven’t hung out in forever.”

Katya’s unreadable, aside from the blush across her face, which Trixie is trying very hard to ignore, and she figures Katya’s working out a response that isn’t a simple yes or no. Maybe she’s trying to let her down easy. Or trying not to sound too excited, like Trixie back in freshman year.

She’s not sure why that voice in her head suggested the second one, but she’s finding herself getting carried away in the hopeful delusion when Katya finally speaks.

“Could I hang out with your friends too?”

Trixie sucks in a breath. Katya didn’t say no. Katya sort-of said yes, in a way, and she’s overcome with relief, but it’s short-lived.

Katya was lying about going with her friends, Trixie realizes, analyzing the way she responded. Her heart hurts as much as when she listens to Dolly.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

A faint smile plays across Katya’s lips, shyly, before she all-out grins. Trixie smiles back. This exchange has been exhausting for her emotions. Trixie’s calm now, breathing gently.

Out of what feels like nowhere, Katya’s waving a ten dollar bill around and lets out a brief laugh.

“Could I have the ticket, please?”

Trixie laughs as well, nervous, and she registers it sounding similar to Katya’s. Fuck. All she’s done is freak the poor girl out. “Right. Right.”

She reaches over to grab a ticket to trade with Katya’s bill, and signs a receipt for her. She wishes they both held onto the bill longer, if only to touch Katya’s hand.

Embarrassing.

“Bye, Trixie.”

“Bye, Katya.”

Trixie watches her leave, around the corner, stomping off like a madwoman. Just like she remembers her. Trixie giggles. All that’s really changed about Katya is her style. And her body, but Trixie will try not to dwell on that.

She leans back against the wall to console herself, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Trixie hears a pair of Doc Martens again, and ignores them. Too many girls wear those fucking boots here. She’s not going to pretend she’s being haunted by the ghost of a love lost, that was never had in the first place.

It could be anybody else.

“Trixie?”

Of course it’s not.

She curses under her breath when she opens her eyes. Trixie looks between Katya and the receipts on the table, assuming she must’ve spelt her name wrong. It’s too many letters.

Trixie readies a pen. Before she can start writing, Katya leans in so close and fast she almost knocks their foreheads together.

“It’s nice seeing you. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

Trixie swallows when Katya pulls away. It’s too slow, and yet too quick, at the same time.

Just when Trixie recovers, Katya winks. This girl has been out of her life for a year, a year, and all of a sudden it’s like Trixie never got over her. Not even a little. Trixie rolls her eyes, despite the pink across her face that must blend in with the pink of her dress.

The bell rings before Trixie can respond verbally, like a normal person, and Katya backs away. She disappears in the crowd of teenagers.

Kim is gonna kill Trixie. If Katya doesn’t do it first.

[snowdropsandtigers]

I'd love to see you talk about the Black Magician Trilogy! I don't have a specific date in mind, so feel free to slot it in wherever, but it's always exciting to find other fans!

I am so sorry thisis late. I planned for it to be up at the end of January and then gotbusy, and it had been so long since I’ve talked to another fan Ineeded to figure out where to start.  I knew it would be a longpost—I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it long out offeeling rusty, but I knew it would be if I really got into it. Sohere it is at last.

Before I get intothe books themselves, I want to spend two paragraphs on somethingthat defined my experience with the series: the Black Magiciantrilogy forums I joined as “LittleRaven” during the mid2000s. Idedicate this post to its members. Wherever you are now, I love you.

I love the BlackMagician trilogy* the way I love Harry Potter. The books still feellike home to me. Part of the reason is the fandom: while Harry Potterfandom does have that sense of familiarity and coziness as I rememberdays past, it was in the Black Magician trilogy fandom that I found acommunity. Specifically, in the Black Magician trilogy forums (June2006-October/November 2012) hosted on then-platform Forumer (Ithink.) This was the first time I was ever an active part of fandom.I’d left reviews on fics, sure. I’d joined Yahoo Groups andoccasionally commented. I’d even written/plotted one or two ficsfor my earliest fandoms, Pokemon and Sailor Moon, though I neverposted them. But in the forums, I meta’d. I squeed. I posted mypoetry. I shared and even modded one of the subforums for a fewyears. (I was The Librarian of the fanfic/original fiction section.) We even talked about social issues with the books and the fandomresponse, without it ever becoming a war. It was one of thefriendliest fandoms I’d ever known, and small, so everyone kneweach other. I joined the first summer—probably the first monthtoo—after nearly two years of barely finding any fanworks for oneof my favorite series in the world, and I was not disappointed. Therewere years I didn’t show up a lot, but I always came back. ThenForumer sold its forums to Yuku and Yuku closed it down. It said thatmembers had been sent an invitation, and that it would reopen theforums as soon as one of the administrators made contact. I don’tknow why—to save space? In that case, the forums must have beenwiped from the Internet years ago because both our administratorswere long gone. One of the moderators, another member who, like me,had been there since the beginning, tried to contact the admin who’dstuck around longest and had no luck. I only knew this because Iremembered a member’s FF.Net alias and made a desperate attempt tofind out what was going on. I still miss it. The place had sloweddown a lot, but was still active everyday, and occasionally an oldermember would peek back in. Even when it seemed like we had saideverything we could about the books, we could still chat about otherfiction and even a little about our lives. The series would cycleback into discussion regardless, especially when the prequel and thesequels began coming out. (I really regret that it happened before Icould finish the last book and talk about it.) I’ve never been socomfortable in a fandom before and I haven’t been since.

Traces remain, atleast. We had a website with fanart; Trudi Canavan even commented inthe guestbook once. It was up the lasttime I checked, though my bookmarks were lost in a crash and I’veforgotten the link’s URL. (I searched before posting and it’s frozen. :C ) I remember Sheepy-Pie creating character plushies and thatshe gave some to Canavan at an event. They were so adorable! Iremember Lady Laura and Kasloumor and j-mercuryuk, Ronan, Akkarin,Lorlyn, ShadowEmpress, Lady Vinara, andso many others; I’ve only mentioned the people who stick out forhaving been there the longest or in the periods I was most active.

Now, the seriesitself. At fourteen, I was hooked by the heroine and the classpolitics; I don’t think much of the fantasy I’d read before thendealt with the latter, and while a marginalized protagonist wasnothing strange, Sonea’s reserved personality for most of the booksand her alienation worked on a different level for me**. She was aworking class girl on the edge of poverty being displaced into theslums. The tension of the two different lives she was pulled tobefore she became a magician got me and really grounded hercharacter. Grounded is the right word, really. She had old friends inthe slums she still loved but was distant from, and it made sensewith her background and the world-building. She remains distrustfulof the magicians and the higher-class world they’re connected tothroughout the entire series. She’s never popular, though sometimesrespected. She was hated and harassed, and often isolated to apainful degree, but she had people who cared. This sounds a bitvague; let’s say the second book—The Novice, for anyreaders unfamiliar—is a bit like the fifth book of Harry Potter, ifHarry was more isolated from his loved ones and more conscious of whyhis environment is working the way it is.  If instead of having afriend group where it’s “us against the world” adventures, he’dhad friends in different places—literally or figuratively—whohelp when they can, complicated by the difficulties of plot andsetting and life choices. I love Sonea’s reactions throughout:practical, carefully responsive to genuine attempts to reach out,perceptive, intense empathetic, blunt, impulsive, and very strictabout her personal code of ethics. Also, she liked poetry and thenarrative didn’t use that to create a hazy image of her as wispyand romantic. I liked that detail!

And she could besoft without being soft—she would help someone, she would treatpeople with respect for their humanity, but it didn’t mean she hadto be forgiving and throw herself into them. Or that she had toforget. If she didn’t fight someone, or didn’t fight the wayothers might expect, it was well-grounded in her personality, and  nomatter what she always resisted in whatever way she could, regardlessof it being glamorous in even the fictional kind of way. She hadtenacity. Sonea is a prime example of Goodis Not Soft. She was sensible, tough, and kind. As I said,empathetic. The way the first two books moved the plot while buildingher character made the third book work very well for me as payoff. Itwas always my favorite: the nature of the plot twist and Sonea’sresponse to it made perfect sense for who she’d been until now, andthe love story is one of my favorite executions of my favorite kindof ship, the heroine/antagonist. In large part because this was herstory. It wasn’t his story, or their story as a couple—althoughhis characterization, and that of everyone else, was well-served andcared about—but hers.  The books cared so much about Sonea’sinteriority and never subordinated her to the needs of plot, theme,or another character. I could believe why she loved and respected him(again, for the unfamiliar reader: the romance is not at theforefront of the story at any point.) I could believe why she wouldmake the decisions she made, in and out of romance, based on what shethought of the world and what she thought of herself. She’s soinformed by everything that came before, so solid. And I love thatshe made them; Sonea drives so much of her own story, especially inthe first and third books. She’s so active in the last one! Evenwhen she’s not as in charge of her life, I love how the books, assaid above, care very much about exploring her point of view in everysituation. Having limited choices, limited agency, doesn’t everreduce her to a prop: she remains three-dimensional, our clearprotagonist.  Sonea is well-rooted in her background, in the plot,and in the class politics story the narrative is interested intelling.    

The sequels aren’tas much about her, but they do present a believable trajectory forher character. Sonea is older, still fighting the world around herbecause she must, and because she cares, and taking support where shecan as soon as she recognizes it. The way she handles her son isperfect. And while I don’t have a rosy opinion of her new loveinterest, I love that the romance didn’t come with a capital R!It’s just someone she grows to trust and care for and wants to havesex with. I came away with the distinct impression that he loved herand she just liked him all right, and that that was just fine by thenarrative. Positive even, a good ending that left her story in aplace of renewal and refreshment. The sequel trilogy does well byher.

Another thing ofnote: I hadn’t realized it on the first read-through, but betweensome cultural details, the physical descriptions of Sonea and otherKyralians, and the author saying on her website (in a FAQ or a blogpost) that she was influenced by anime and Japan for Kyralia, Soneais the first POC and WOC protagonist I ever encountered in fantasyfiction, outside of anime/manga and Disney Princesses. I’m glad shewas done so well. I won’t say I’m without reservations on raceand this series, though; but I’ve never felt qualified to talkabout it. I am a brown woman, but I’m unsure of exactly whatcontext to place the series in, so I don’t know how to talk aboutthe ways it interacts with that context. I’ll just say that beforethe sequel trilogy, it bothered me that the darker-skinned Sachakanswere associated with slavery and decadence. I did think the sequeland prequel improved on this very much.

Something else thesequels did better with was the queer stuff. I liked Dannyl andTayend in the first trilogy, but they get a whole lot moreexploration in the second. And Lilia is one of the few lesbianprotagonists I’ve found in fantasy fiction. I did have issues withthe twist in the Naki plotline, but I’m glad she got a goodgirlfriend in the end. And a mentor in Sonea! If I remember it right;I don’t think I’ve reread the books since The Traitor Queencame out, and I’m not sure I reread that one. I think I was toobummed by losing the forums at the same time, and not having a placeto immerse myself in anymore.  So I don’t know how much I can sayabout the execution. But I did think Canavan did a fine job with hercharacterization, and I’m glad she went for more representation,more queer characters and more queer relationships that get narrativeattention and depth.  

I’ve gone on solong and I didn’t even talk about the prequel! I focused the poston Sonea and the prequel is set centuries before her time.  Iremember thinking it was a very effective setup for the futureconflicts Canavan had developed and would continue to develop in thesequel trilogy; I love that she’s so committed to the ramificationsof her political world-building on the characters and the plot. Itfelt, as her other works have done, bittersweet and real.

 Overall, I thinkTrudi Canavan does an excellent job of following fantasy tropes tocreate something that sets itself apart from the rest. Her scope isepic and personal, grounded in the characters, who are grounded inthe world-building. Everything is so well-integrated, feels socohesive. This is one of the most, if not the most, loving and richexecutions of the “poor orphan child with mysteriously powerfulmagic” stories I have ever encountered.***

It’s been a longtime since my last reread—probably since 2012, when the last bookcame out. I feel the urge to go back. Thank you so much for this ask!I hadn’t talked about these books in literally years; I was myability to do that had gone stale, and here I am, being so happy totalk about why I loved them. This has been a wonderful time to write.I’m only sorry it took so long to get out!

*It’s been aseries for years now, but I keep defaulting to “trilogy” when Ithink about it. I’ve been a fan for a long time. I greatly enjoyedthe rest of the books, but the original trilogy does occupy a spaceas as the trilogy for more than half the time I spent infandom, if memory serves. (And now I’ve checked, I remember thatthe sequels are called The Traitor Spy trilogy. So there’s thattoo!)

**Now I realizeshe’s a precursor to Emma Swan. I love finding connections betweencharacters I love. Although every time I connect someone to Emma SwanI always add “if Once Upon a Time’s narrative cared about herlike these other narratives do with their heroines!” Every time.

***I also lovedAlison Croggon’s books (The Naming and sequels—I thinkit’s the Pellinor series) for this, and talked about it on the BMTforums. I wasn’t the only one who loved them! They do have a moremythic, Tolkien-like tone and story than the Black Magician books,which are more overtly human-scaled. I compare them because they’reboth careful and detailed about their stories, and their narrativesshow love for the heroines by exploring their interiority, from painto joy, with dedication and respect.