Of Dragons, Griffons and a Unicorn
Hey y’all,
Before I dive into my November gems with you, I need to take a moment of almost 4.000 words of self-indulgence and simply a breather from the last few weeks.
This has been one exceedingly un-fun week, and as I am starting to write this, it’s only Wednesday. First of all, I have not slept a full night for a week now because, well, life pushed me, I pushed back harder, and we keep shoving each other still. I am in a state at once connected to and untethered from. There are two entirely different audio books that keep playing in turns and on repeat on my phone (of which I will introduce one in a minute, and the other one quite soon). I find myself dissecting them like an augur to glean an omen, a sign, that what I am doing is the right thing to do. Because I could do with some cosmic pointers.
My flatmate will move back to their home country and a family member has to undergo surgery this week.
Then today (Wednesday) a senior public servant I have to work closely with threatened me with taking legal action for something which is actually not actionable nor even something I did or failed to do (as I have verified with some of my senior colleagues, who are old hands at this game, but it’s always so heartwarming and uplifting to have a direct threat that looks like it could ruin a career in one’s inbox). All because he is older, in power, and cannot regulate his workload, control-freakishness, or handle stress in a manner that doesn’t mean venting on others. I mean, I’d be embarrassed to be such a cliché. If I went off the handle like that every time I had a really bad day, my office would have gone up in flames not only once last year. But here we are.
Luckily, there is this, and you. Let’s talk about other aspects of life, and books.
Nearness, closeness, distance. It is challenging to find the right amount of them, in form of sharing time with someone, exchanging personal information, being vulnerable with new people who cross our path, while maintaining balance regarding our own wishes and feelings. It can create fears of giving away something we will not get the expected or appropriate form of reaction for, which is perhaps not the right attitude to have when entering the whole process. It is crucial we narrate ourselves to others, again and again, lest we remain untold in our own life’s story. Wordless, speechless, unexplained, and unknown. I know I need the connection badly, and accordingly sometimes must consciously let people in, because the alternative harms me just as much, or even more. So of course sharing is, inevitably, bracketed by the longing to be known.
So, the exchange of vulnerabilities is perhaps not my personal favourite method of fostering closeness. (Demonstrative affectionate gestures and sharing a laugh about awful jokes are vastly superior, no?) Yet sometimes, when the first nervousness of the new quietens down, curiosity sets in and the jokes are done with for the moment, it is all there is. Then it can become a steam cooker for making us connect, and thus for attraction. It is certainly useful in a narrative, that old hurt/comfort fan fiction trope, but I suspect that I personally tend towards it for lack of a more driven plot as a writer. However, much as I am wary of this method’s potency in interpersonal relationships, I enjoy to share this occasionally vulnerable blog with you. And now and then, out here, people I let step closer (or who accidentally happen to storm the ramparts, with questions pertinent, impertinent and poignant, sometimes maybe quite without their own intention) will get to know about it, too. Both the pressure cooker, and this blog. Especially if I let them close enough to want them to stay.
(‘Really stay,’ as Cat says in Lana Popović Harper’s In Charm’s Way, and knowing me a little you are probable quite able to infer that it is indeed an innuendo. I know a fair bit about the allure of women with a good pair of shoulders like Cat’s, so I completely understand Delilah in the book. I see you, girl…)
It does not happen all that often—but it does happen—that I find myself intrigued enough, I begin seriously pondering if someone’s life could mesh with mine, how the day-to-day, living together, travelling, and even a partnership might look like. When that blend of common interests, shared laughs and physical attraction comes together just right to get that zest to it. At that point, the issue with the right amount of distance raises its head. It becomes essential to resist an urge to just make myself fit into their lives and plans. Pause and take stock, and douse the fire. What do I actually want? Does the timeline work? Do needs align? And it’s such a bitch if you already really like her. In romance novels, we of course may safely presume that, while there will be immense drama, with a climax at about seven eights of the novel, eventually, all will be well. There are no such guarantees in life. Ever. It is one of the most exasperating, anxiety-inducing facts about it. While it is wonderful if someone manages to quench that nauseating experience of loneliness at the hour of the wolf, by happening to be lovely and amazing and just reliably there, one cannot simply insist in advance that it ought to happen and, hey presto! get hit by an avalanche of awesome with sass and a nice ass (and/or great shoulders, Delilah…) and everything else is but a formality. All we can do is try and stay handlungsfähig, as the German term calls it, capable of acting, or able to recognise the things one can influence and change for oneself, while letting go of what is outside of one’s control.
(Serenity, you elusive beast.)
So, in life outside of this sphere here, yet even when trying to invent a romantic but still credible story, I must consider myself or a character a staunch defender of my own/their own wishes and interests, first and foremost, before I should even entertain reserving headspace for prospective love interests’ interests. Is that not be the wise thing to do? The sensible, the careful thing? (As if being sensible and careful could stave off anything… so hang on, is it even sensible to be sensible?) My heartspace, on the other hand, does have an irreverent tendency for spreading. I shoo it off my heaters and my desk, and sometimes my kitchen counter, and firmly try to ban it from more private places of my living space, when it gets obnoxious. Still it will try to sneak back in, all the time. It’s a big girl of a cat, it knows well how these things go, and that food will not manifest simply because it wants it too. But, being a cat, it is relentless. (And what is it with the cat analogy? I don’t even have one. We are just going to roll with it, folks…make a drinking game of it or something. Every time a cat reference comes up… bottoms up. You may start with my mentioning Cat and Delilah above… as Cat is a cat-sìth, that counts!)
Repeatedly lately, I have had to extract myself from situations that simply are not right for me. As this was initiated by a cataclysm which I can only hope is the once-in-a-lifetime kind, the duty and care for myself falls to me to do my part to prevent further such events. So I have been diligently asking myself if I could see my way to balancing what I know about what another person’s goals are with what I have learned about me and built as my life, questions like whether I can or want to hold back, and how much I am ready to compromise. I have been wondering so much where my lines in the sand are these days, emotionally, physically, and I find that I have changed and not changed at all compared to my mid-twenties. I may have not defended them well always, and I do experience regret at this. Do better next time. Right? Except I am not in my mid-twenties, not even close. I don’t want a chain of “next times”. I want a home for my heart, that I can return to from the travels I plan to take more often now. Preferably with a fireplace. And I have even dared to dream about a chicken or two.
The truth of the matter is, when it feels right, I want to be able pursue it and I simply do not want to have to worry over quite such existential questions all the time.
I told you earlier that books have taught me what and how I want. They continue to do so, shaping or affirming my values, thoughts, my heartspace in real life. A book I read this spring and re-read just now enabled me to take a deep, deep breath and be brave for my own sake once again, and try to make sure I stay on what I think my path needs to feel like, no matter what anyone else is doing or thinking, and attempt to be emotionally as safe as I can be. This is hard even with an understanding, kind, yet likewise uncompromising interlocutor. Like the one I hope I may count on still being there, even if for now I need to withdraw to more neutral ground. It is hard because it means shutting down and turning off the fairy lights, batten the hatches and dig in until the storm passes (so many mixed metaphors there, I do apologise). But: I have seen what I want, in the relationships of others, sometimes even in inspirational posts and podcasts, because not everything on the internet is irreparably broken, at weddings I have been to this year, and so on. And I have found the **perfect** example and words for it in, of course, a book. To be precise, in an extremely cute and mostly utterly PG book series by Rebecca Thorne. I will fully introduce you in the next post or posts. As this one is very much about a point I want to bring across, and my own self-indulgence, let me tell you to specifically read or listen to the one-shot The Game as the bonus in part two of the series, A Pirate’s Life For Tea, right now. If you don’t want spoilers, STOP HERE!
Reyna is the epitome of duty. As a Queensguard, she has dedicated her life to protect and serve ruthless Queen Tilaine. It is not for her to question the morality of her sovereign, and so she refrains from doing so, obediently, quietly and efficiently putting her life on the line again and again. Reyna delivers, and she gets results. Because that is her job. Until Kianthe of the Magicary and Jallin, the Arcandor, the Mage of Ages, one of the most powerful people in the realm and certainly on a level with royalty, rocks up in the castle and gives the queen a stern, decidedly not noble and pun-laden talking-to. Less killing rioting citizens, and more listening and actually giving them basic resources to survive on, and suchlike. All while managing to cross eyes with Reyna. Dark, pretty eyes. And then Kianthe makes a point of looking Reyna up, making her laugh, and offering her a way out of the confines of what she thinks her life has to be and into exploring what her wishes and dreams are. She is, eventually, even offering to share them with Kianthe and her dream. Because, it turns out, treason, a bookshop serving tea, and living as a bicultural couple in a punishingly cold border town plagued by dragons are exactly the stuff that romance is made off. But this is only the beginning.
What I love about this series (uh, everything?) is its perfect balance of adventure and action, peppered with wonderfully tantalising (yet absolutely suitable for work) flirty and loving talk between an established, secure couple, their insecurities and quarrels and how they manage to negotiate them by learning good communication skills, acknowledging, cherishing and mindfully navigating each other’s quirks (anxiety and loneliness for Kianthe, conflicts between taught values versus actual needs and a tendency to not think herself good enough for Reyna, for instance), aside reveals about their steamy love life, and extremely bad and fun puns. And griffons! And dragons! Books AND tea (and wine)! A wicked queen! And magic, so much magic, and of course swords.
Honestly, I cannot think of a single thing more that I could want of a tale.
Apart from the (sadly) fantastical features like griffons and dragons, I cannot think of anything else that I could want of a relationship either, and no, I do not believe that this is merely fantastical. Not for a second. Nor should it be. It is a gritty, grim truth sometimes that, at least if we’re flying solo, we’re flying free, to paraphrase blessed wicked Elphaba. That this can be more beneficial and important for our longer-term wellbeing than mending and make do with a connection that simply does not suit us, is one of life’s hardest, most painful lessons. I do not wish it on anyone. But Kianthe and Reyna, and the real person of an author who called them into life, as well as the many ‘adorable lunatics’ (direct Milena McKay quote!) who read and cherish sapphic romance, give me hope that there are other options. Well, I personally would always rather be a little mad and with hope than quite mad without.
Ahead of my deeper exploration of why I am obsessed with the Tomes & Tea series right now, let me thus strike at the heart of the matter and talk about the personal gift part two of the series left me with.
I will dance around the topic a little, because I don’t want to spoil it and because it is obviously not on to retell its content. Let me just say it is one very cute, and, as it’s own introduction notes say, spicy, one-shot. It regards, as Reyna says in her very sexy British-ish Queendom words, rewards. A fun and fierce competition between two already competitive people, all to secure everlasting bragging rights. A worthy goal in my mind. Being able to roast someone for ever and ever because you beat their ass at a challenge of not doing something you both very much want to do? Just for the heck of it? Sign me up.
But what absolutely broke me, is not so much what they end up doing with or to each other alone. (Though it is extremely wonderful.) It is what Thorne lets them say to each other not only in that bonus chapter, but throughout the series, again and again. Legendary guides on the topic and willingness to learn notwithstanding, excellent bedroom (and relationship) parlance as well as sustained, demonstrative affection both non-verbal and verbal does take an equally willing counterpart reflected, brave and prepared enough to acknowledge and handle their own vulnerability, knowing when to speak and when to make room for comfortable silence, and credible safety. I love the way Rebecca Thorne infuses all of it with so much fun and humour as Reyna and Kianthe continue their competition over a whole agonising, uproarious week. I had nothing short but an epiphany, registering myself, listening to my body and heart while I followed their words.
Reyna and Kianthe have a rule. Once one of them asks the other: ‘Tell me how you feel,’ they will talk out whatever moves them, no matter what. The person who asks cannot be denied an answer (though postponing is allowed within reason, I take it). And the other will not interrupt until the speaker is done. This lets the speaker work through their feelings as they talk, and get to the root of what an issue is. The method is something they come up with after their first real fight. Now, lest you think that the books are only full of couple therapy speak—nothing could be further from the truth. As I have said, dragons, griffons, action! And also: sometimes, that sentence turns into, ‘Tell me how it feels’.
Kianthe was always, always, safe with Reyna. (…) And all the while Reyna spoke to her, (…) ‘I can’t stand how gorgeous you look right now, Key. (…) You are everything I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve ever hoped for in a partner. I can’t wait to marry you. To live our lives together forever. To see you like this any. Time. I. Fucking. Want.’
(Thorne, 2024, audiobook version.)
Record scratch in my brain. Instinctual response so strong, so right and true, right down into my fingertips, into my core, into my toes. Yes. Almost as strong as the first time I saw two women kiss and thought, Oh.
No, you silly billies, I don’t mean only the spice in that specific one-shot. I mean everything all around it. The fireplace in the bookshop, the proverbial hearth. The good but not overtly intellectualised communication. The tenderness and the will to make someone else feel good no matter what. The demonstrative affection. The balance. The growing and learning together, learning each other together. That kind of love. That kind of relationship. Actually, the only kind I want for myself.
I have never known this.
Let me emphasise: what Reyna clearly states, as becomes apparent in the context of the series and even single chapters of the respective books, and what is meant by ‘all’ is not that Kianthe meets certain aesthetic requirements and a whole slew of superficial categories of self-optimising bullshit. Reyna’s words regard Kianthe’s reliability, affection, commitment, loyalty and devotedness to her partner. The base layer of security in their relationship which is ‘only just’ the beginning, the foundation for the rest of the amazing life they manage to build together, dragons and wicked queens notwithstanding. That is what these words refer to.
And yes, I rather do think it is meant to be that good. And no, nobody is fanciful or weird for wanting it. Because like playing a guitar, cook a meal and string together passable sentences, this is something I am capable of. I can do this.
To quote someone from our own mundane real world, namely Ashlyn Harris, “I just always wanted a certain type of love, and I was like, ‘I think, for me, I just always wanted a certain type of love. And I was like, ‘Oh, that shit’s only in fairytales and books (…) And now this fucking unicorn fell into my lap.’” Not to obsess too much over real people and their real and very private relationships, and not to underestimate how much caution is warranted when comparing our own life’s to anyone else’s on social media or generally, but, yep. That. And something else in that podcast, that I listened to purely to get a fuller picture of it for this blog, hit me like a brick wall today (Friday). In a decidedly not world-champion athlete way, I am used to suffering too, I too trained myself to suffer and that I, too, had the courage ‘to break my own heart’, as the host Danielle Robay puts it in that selfsame of a podcast episode. I have not fully comprehended this about me until now, either. I find that Harris puts it marvellously when she calls the state after to ‘be ready to receive the love I’ve always imagined’. That is the flip side of such decisions. I find beauty, serenity in that active state of reception, that openness. And I find comfort in the clarity of what I want and need, now that finally there are words and a true understanding for it in my mind. It does not matter to me that I keep finding those words that make me able to advocate for it on the lips of a tea maker with a sword and a magical bookseller, and in someone from real life who is around my age talking about her personal life. Neither should I (nor anyone) have to think I need or actually need to ‘convince someone to love me this way or want me this way or show up for me this way’ (Harris) nor hold on to the idea I have to somehow earn someone’s time and affection (a notion Reyna discusses with Kianthe in the first book of Tomes & Tea).
Well, damn. Blame Rebecca Thorne for setting the bar for that Schroedinger’s cat (cat reference!) of a relationship. Thanks, RT, for making Kianthe be open about loneliness and anxiety, and giving her Reyna, who, incidentally, happens to have amazing shoulders, as you kindly keep pointing out. Thanks for making Reyna so Britishly sexy, which I find is all the more emphasised by Jessica Threet’s audiobook rendition (wow, by the way), nonetheless struggling with her insecurities and obligations, and unapologetically and non-toxically combative about defending her claim on Kianthe’s heart and their relationship. Because there is such a thing as gallantry, and I am all about that. (Oh and thanks for making both of them really into steamy recreating scenes from raunchy pirate novels. I love that for them.)
As always,
Mia.
References:
Harper, L. (2024) In Charm’s Way, Audible, Audible Penguin Audio
McKay, M. (2022) The Delicate Things We Make, Audible, Tantor Audio
Robay, D. (2024) ‘The Art of Walking Away (Before You Lose Yourself) with Ashlyn Harris’, Question Everything [Podcast]. 20 March. Available at https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-art-of-walking-away-before-you-lose-yourself/id1550883345?i=1000700080761 (Accessed 21 November 2025).
Thorne, R. (2024a) Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea, Audible, Macmillan
and of course
Thorne, R. (2024b) A Pirate’s Life for Tea, Audible, Macmillan
