#dazzle anew

[torpublishinggroup]

Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!

Rakesfall by @adamantine

They met as children in the middle of the Sri Lankan civil war. Later, in a demon-haunted wood, an act of violence linked them and propelled their souls on a journey through the ages. As they reincarnate ever deeper into the future, a truth emerges: Some stories take more than one lifetime to tell.

Running Close to the Wind by @ariaste

In this queer pirate fantasy, Avra Helvaçi has accidentally stolen the single most expensive secret in the world. To avoid capture, he flees to the open sea, where only his on-again, off-again ex aka pirate Captain Teveri az-Ḥaffār can help him survive, profit, and become a legend.

Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Something evil is buried deep in the desert. It wants your body and wears your skin. Welcome to Camp Resolution, a queer conversion center where everyone leaves a different person. In 1995, seven queer teens were abandoned here by their parents, but survived. Sixteen years later, they’re scarred and broken, but back to face an evil that threatens the world. 

Kinning by Nisi Shawl

In this alternate history where barkcloth airships soar and former colonies claim freedom from imperialist tyrants, the identity of the island of Everfair still wavers. Victorious in the wake of the Great War, a new threat looms. Can Everfair continue to serve as a symbol of hope for anticolonial movements around the world, or will it fall to forces within and without? 

Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by @rebeccathornewrites

Can one of the Queen’s private guard and the most powerful mage in existence leave their lives behind to settle down in their new bookshop that serves tea? This cozy fantasy is steeped in sapphic romance and nestled on the edge of dragon country. 

The Fragile Threads of Power by V. E. Schwab

Once there were four worlds, nestled like pages in a book, each pulsing with fantastical power and connected by a single city: London. After a desperate attempt to prevent corruption and ruin in the four Londons, there are only three. Now the worlds are going to collide anew—brought to a dangerous precipice by the discoveries of three remarkable magicians.

Now available in paperback!

The Archive Undying by @emcandon

This is a story about misplaced faith, complicated love, so much self-loathing, and yeah—giant robots. Plugged into his AI god when its apocalyptic corruption renders him unfortunately immortal, sad gay disaster Sunai takes a die-again-or-die-trying approach to things. Unending life’s tough when intimacy is somehow scarier even than either of the warring police states set on turning you into a weapon or the rogue undead mecha-fragment of your old god that wants to eat you. 

Now available in paperback!

The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen

A dazzling historical mystery that dives into the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, emerging in the gay bars of the city. It’s a whirlpool of missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos in 1952 San Francisco. 

Now available in paperback!

Celebrate Pride with more titles from Tor Publishing Group here!

[lunar-years]

what's so clever about Clara Bow is that when she references her own name at the end, she's not talking about the present but the future, quoting the inevitable way people are going to one day talk about her, imagining it will only be in regards to the woma(e)n who surpass her. because there will be someone who surpasses her, eventually. that's the cycle of fame, isn't it? we're simultaneously captivated by the alluring trick of the past while looking for the next big thing. we compare current stars to the lights that shined before them, "you look like taylor swift." but we're also constantly waiting for someone new and greater to take the crown and captivate us anew, "you've got edge she never did." And half the song is about acknowledging that being revered is hell on earth for the people who are in it, because you're always trapped between what came before and what will come after. you're only safe insofar as you remain shiny. But the real beauty of the song is that it never succumbs to this dichotomy, but embraces it. It's Taylor acknowledging she wouldn't be who she is were it not for the women who came before her, who shared the same dreams, and recognizing her place in the chain of the women who will come after. The future's bright, dazzling.

[literary-motif]

These Hands

Matias x Reader

Matias works on his novel. You take care of him.

“I see you’ve made some progress,” you said, carefully clearing a place on the desk to place down the plate of sandwiches you had made.

Matias’ papers were scattered everywhere, covering most of the table and some strewn across the floor. You set down the cup of tea you had prepared him, making sure it was distant enough from the laptop he had been furiously typing on all day. 

He hummed, engrossed in his work and flexing his hands every once in a while. 

You eyed him, taking note of his declining accuracy in hitting the keys and watching him squint at the screen, blinking furiously to keep his eyes focused on the words before him.

“Mr. author man,” you said teasingly, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his head, “I think you’re in desperate need of a break.”

“Just a moment,” he replied, deleting the entire paragraph he had just typed. Matias huffed in frustration, beginning anew. 

You let him type, watching as his fingers shook slightly as they danced across the keys. As soon as he finished the paragraph, hitting enter twice to start a new one, you placed your hand on his wrist, stopping him from continuing.

“I mean it,” you said seriously, tilting his head to the side to give him a kiss, “you’ve been at it all day and you need to rest.”

Matias sighed, leaning back against you and flexing his hands again. 

He wanted to continue writing. He was on a roll, finally having finished the scene that had given him so much trouble before.

The words just flew out of him today, and he felt like he was composing a gentle melody when he typed, striking the perfect ratio between description and dialogue, finding all the words to express himself precisely and paint a vivid picture of the characters and their circumstances. 

Still, he knew you were right. He could hardly keep his eyes open anymore. It hurt looking at the screen and his hands were aching, his elbows throbbing from the way they rested on the edge of the table all day. 

“What would I do without you?” he asked lightly, shooting you a dazzling smile. 

You pretended to think for a moment, snapping your fingers as you found the answer to his question. “You would get up to make yourself something to eat whereas now” — you said, gesturing to the plate of sandwiches and the cup of tea he had not noticed before — “you have me to take care of you.”

He chuckled, placing a hand on the back of your head and pulling you into another kiss. “Thank you,” he said, letting go of you to clear the papers from the chair beside him and make room for you to sit. “I’ll tidy up the rest in a minute, don’t worry.”

“It’s alright,” you said, sitting down beside him and relishing the content hum he let out as he tasted the tea. “Got a lot of writing done today?”

He nodded, placing the sandwiches between you two. “I did, yes. Now that I’ve finally moved on from that scene I told you about, it’s been going really well. Have you eaten?” 

“I ate at work,” you said as he took a sandwich, biting into it hungrily. You took his free hand in yours, gently beginning to massage it. 

Matias closed his eyes at the feeling of your thumb moving in circles over his palm, slowly ridding him off the ache that had been plaguing him for hours. “You’re very good at this,” he said, allowing you to take his other hand as well after he finished eating. 

“I looked up how to do it,” you said sheepishly, “there are tutorials for basically everything online, and I remember you mentioning how your hands cramp after typing for hours, so I thought this might help.”

Matias looked at you for a long moment, seeing you smile gently at him as you continued circling your thumb over the joints of his fingers.

All the care and affection you put into your touch made him melt, the taste of the sandwiches you had prepared for him still fresh on his tongue, and he felt warm. You took care of him, and he could not begin to express his gratitude for it.

You raised his hands to your lips, placing a quick kiss against the back of each. “All done. Feeling better?”

“I love you,” he said in answer, leaning in to kiss you. “Why don’t you tell me about your day while I stack the papers and we watch a movie afterward?”

[maxwellatoms]

Congratulations, one of your characters made a cameo appearance in my midlife crisis!

This takes a little time to explain, but on the art web site FurAffinity, living users are represented with a tilde, while living impaired users get an infinity symbol in front of their names. I was at a low point in my life when I drew this, and thought about what would happen when the Grim Reaper eventually closed the loop.

Anyway. This was supposed to be for questions, so I'll ask one. The career of an animator seems to be nomadic... they'll spend some time developing a series for Cartoon Network, then move to Disney, then migrate to Nickelodeon, only to return where they started (cough cough CH Greenblatt cough).

Any reason, or reasons, why this happens? Honestly, I have a difficult time understanding why anyone would go to Nickelodeon to start a show, given the way so many artists have been treated by the network in the past. Do all the networks act like this?

Just curious. Thanks for your time, and for the years of entertainment.

You guys look great together, but no loop closings please!

Gotta bilde the tilde, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, yeah... Animators all know that Other Studios have Other Problems. It's not at all uncommon to hear someone say, "I'm about ready for new problems".

I spent most of my career (until the wonders of the recent mega-merger) at WB, so I've really only known WB problems (with a light sprinkling of Disney Troubles). I've asked friends like C.H. Greenblatt and Jessica Borutski about the long-haul at Nick, so I have a basic idea what the culture is like. But if I land at Nick in five years, it could be a completely different set of circumstances and maybe even a completely different set of employers.

I know maybe three studio execs with solid careers who've spent the majority of their time at one studio. Most of the time, the low level executive track is even more of a meat grinder than the creative track. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the middle-management meat grinder is the cause of the creative meat grinder.

The job of an executive is to make impressive decisions that dazzle their superiors and shareholders. If you've just been hired to replace someone and have inherited a stack of 32 animation bibles in various stages of development with assorted creators, are you really going to just continue going through that pile? I mean, you're replacing someone for a reason, right? So probably better just to toss that whole pile of animation bibles in the trash and start again. Because you're going to look like an idiot if even a single one of those fails. And if it succeeds, it just makes your predecessor look smart, which steals some of your shine. So you axe those creators and all of their support goes away and the cycle begins anew.

During my career, these executive turnovers (and the following creative turnovers) happen about every four or five years. With a little luck, it takes (in my experience) about two years to get a show through development to pilot, and then another year to decide if it's going to be a series. In short, there is precious little time where a creator/EP can interface with and rely on a competent executive to champion them. If you don't have that, you're not going anywhere.

I'm not sure how anything gets made. From the inside, development is always trickle-down sweaty desperation. I guess somehow, every now and then, a neurodivergent 23 year old slips through the cracks and makes a kid's show about The Grim Reaper. It could all be luck.

There are definitely execs who love animation and have made it their life's work. But there are also people who just got into the business as, say, a personal assistant and hasn't watched an animated cartoon since they were six, but suddenly find themselves in control of many millions of dollars worth of IP. There are execs who think of entertainment only as a commodity and who literally don't understand why creatives feel so passionate about "just cartoons" but will remind you "how lucky you are to work in entertainment" if you ask for a raise.

In short, the problems are usually management related. And those problems are mostly the same across studios, with the occasional Infamous Despot you want to avoid at all costs. The good news is that said Despot probably won't last five years.

There are perks at the different studios too. Proximity to decent food. Occasional amusement park passes. Friday morning bagels. The sort of stuff that hopefully nobody is taking a job specifically for.

At the end of the day, there are three or four big studios we can work for. There are also a smattering of smaller indie studios which... make content for those three or four other studios anyway.

The long and short of it is that there's just not a lot of choice where we can work or who we work for. We definitely talk to each other and the studio culture does weigh heavily when you're deciding where to go. Assuming you have the luxury of choice. It all kind of sucks, and it all kind of sucks in the same way. But sometimes you get bagels.

Stay Frisky!

[elliember]

November 18th - Eternal

The white stag was a symbol of rebirth and renewal. A figure that ushered in the new year and started the weeklong festival and celebration. A ceremonial hunt after a beast was nurtured by the magic of this place, cultivated carefully and infused with both life and death. He became larger, faster and more adept to survive in the harsh surroundings. 

Every year, as it had been done before. The massive cervine skull was laid in a ritualistic grove. Bound by the growth and the flora that permeated the runic circle and wood and bone effigies that surrounded it, a new beast was born. The bone was cracked and his antlers broken as the circle consumed the splinters and pieces, pulling the bone and fragments deep into the earth as the druids that summoned him paid careful attention to their spells and incantations. 

The earth churned. A creature of flesh pushed up through the darkened soil. A freshly born fawn with fur as white as the moon laid curled in upon itself before his long limbs would unfurl and he would make a desperate attempt to stand. Unsure and unsteady. His steps staggered as his too many eyes shifted timidly from druid to druid. Eyes that were as black as night with flecks of white starlight mottling them. 

Each step forward became more emboldened. Each step forward saw unnatural growth. Imbued and chosen. By the time the beast had left the circle of summoning, he was adolescent in size and more sure-footed. A bellowing call that echoed through the trees as he bound away and vanished. He belonged to the spirits here and would be nurtured by them.

And for every day that passed. He grew. He learned. He understood his purpose. He tested the druids and their commune. He consecrated the earth with his silent footfalls, live growth tangling up to meet his hooves as he moved through the trees in elegance and regal appointment. As he passed, the fresh growth would wither and die in the wake of his departure. Flowers that had bloomed in the prints where his hooves had passed, sprouted and shone brightly in a fleeting and dazzling moment of expedited life and death. Petals curling and rotting away before disappearing into the natural leaf litter and dirt.

And when the year came to its inevitable end. When the stag was at his most impressive in body and mind, the ceremonies would begin. The ritual hunt was the start to the new year. The member of the commune that laid the beast low would receive his blessings and his good fortune all through the year. 

The white stag was no easy beast to catch. A monstrous body bound in  muscle carried him for miles. His stride could outpace the unprepared. His kick could break bones and antlers that could impale flesh with a grotesque ease. He tasked this commune with the challenge of putting him to death. And when they came together - they achieved the impossible task.

A bloodied skull hung on display to signal the festival and the hedonistic events where forest spirits mingled with the mortal denizens that called this place home. Feasts. Music. Dancing. Rituals and indulgence. The party spun on for days and responsibilities and cares were few. And as the final hours came to close, the inner circle would flay the flesh of the beast from the skull and clean it in observance of his sacrifice and death. Honoring his power with prayer and reverence before returning to the place where it all began. The funerary plot and the womb in the woods that saw the beast resurrected and reborn. The cycle anew. 

He was eternal. He was the deification and manifestation of life and death.

The original patron spirit of this violent place that existed in a pocket between planes.

@daily-writing-challenge

@elliember

[objectumnonsense]

a post (link) from @smutposting-ao3 unexpectedly gave me some inspiration and i banged this out (no pun intended) in like three hours (minus editing, which took. a considerable amount of time). content warnings for canon-typical gabriel shredding and some dubious consent

Sisyphus and V1's glaring contest was only broken by Gabriel physically stepping between them and clearing his throat. He turned to Sisyphus with his arms folded.

"What are you doing? I thought you said you liked it when you two met!"

"It started it!" he answered defensively, looking over Gabriel's head at it and frowning. He turned and glowered at it instead.

"Well?"

It signed several almost incomprehensible words in very quick succession, but Gabriel picked out "first loss beat bullshit" with a lot of accusatory pointing.

"...So he was the first thing you've ever lost to?"

It nodded, folding its arms.

Sisyphus laughed.

"That's all? No wonder you were such a sore loser then."

V1 unfolded its arms and looked ready to cuss him out again when Gabriel raised a hand to stop it.

"Enough, you two. We're not here for petty fighting."

V1 nodded eagerly when it heard the word "fighting" and started flipping a coin in one of its blue hands. Gabriel shot it a glare.

"Put that away. We still have to go over rules before we get started."

It rolled its eye, but obliged him, and he turned to address Sisyphus.

"You're sure you're alright with this? It's going to be really intense. I don't want to upset you."

"Angel, I've seen horrors of war and battle the likes of which would make weaker men drop dead at the thought. Nothing you and the weapon do to each other can phase me."

Gabriel still looked doubtful, but nodded and continued.

"Machine, if I or Sisyphus says the safe word, you stop immediately. You remember what it is?"

It nodded and signed "server" before he could ask.

"Good. Of course you know murder is off the table, but besides that, anything goes. Sisyphus, you should probably stand out of the way."

He heeded his words and walked to the back end of the chapel, where he righted a fallen pew and sat down in it. He nodded and gave the pair a thumbs up.

"Perfect. Now, Machine," Gabriel's voice boomed throughout the enormous room, wings and halo manifesting in a burst of brilliant blue light as he unsheathed his swords, "prepare for a resounding defeat!"

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, V1 leapt forward in blur of blue and gold. What followed was a near incomprehensible exchanging of blows, so swift and powerful Sisyphus had trouble telling what was going on. Sawblades whirled, coins gleamed, swords slashed, and blood exploded from the place where the two met. It was a complex dance to a rhythm only the two fighters could hear, and the sheer, practiced brutality was utterly stunning.

An explosion from a rocket sent the pair flying away from each other, V1 hitting the ground rolling and Gabriel hitting the wall hard. V1 looked for the most part unharmed, besides a few deep scratches in its Knuckleblaster arm. Blood stained its plating, but was quickly absorbed.

Gabriel, on the other hand, looked much the worse for wear. A magnet protruded from his thigh, surrounded by dozens of half-buried nails; his left arm and stomach were bleeding openly onto the floor; still, he laughed ecstatically.

"Is that the best you've got?" he barked. "Come on, let's put on a real show!" To Sisyphus's utter shock, his wings and halo glowed brightly anew, dazzling azure with tinges of gold chasing away the dim light of Heresy.

V1 narrowed its eye at him. With a flick of its Whiplash arm, it attached itself to him, and the fight began again.

It was somehow even more bloody than the last clash, but Sisyphus could actually track Gabriel's movements this time. He kept up at first, but soon he began to lose - badly. The machine tore at him again and again while he barely managed to get a scratch on its plating. With each hit he took, a breathless laugh bubbled from his lips.

Finally, with a well-timed ricochet shot straight through his chest, Gabriel fell to the ground, wings unable to carry his weight any longer. Sisyphus stood and made to walk across the chapel to the two, believing the two to be done. Gabriel raised a shaky hand.

"Wait a second -"

His sentence was cut off by a pained shout as V1 leapt onto him. In the blink of an eye, it had broken the clasp of his chestplate and tossed it aside, exposing his torn skin. Sisyphus managed to catch a glimpse of several weeping bullet holes before V1's hands were all over Gabriel, fingers finding as many wounds as they could and burying themselves in them.

Gabriel arched with a cry like a wounded animal, squirming under V1's ravenous touch. It shifted to spread itself across his body, one thigh between his and the other hooked around his waist.

With an obscene squelch of tearing flesh, its Knuckleblaster claws dug into one of the wounds, exposing muscle and sinew and sending even more blood showering onto its plating and the floor below.

Gabriel howled - an unsettling, desperate sound - and V1 pressed itself into him. His hands scrabbled ineffectually at its sides, its back, anything he could reach. Sisyphus shifted his gaze slightly and noticed the shaky but steady motions of his hips against its thigh.

The Knuckleblaster had torn at Gabriel again in the moments Sisyphus had looked away. This time, it pushed into his side, deeper and deeper, until the claws were buried to, well, the knuckles. The air left his lungs in a long moan as it slowly dragged them down, leaving long, ugly gashes in their wake.

Surely the machine was fueled enough by now. Gabriel was practically bleeding out underneath it and it still took more.

A barely-audible "Ma- machine, please," was the only sign Gabriel was still conscious. His arms had dropped to his sides and his head lolled.

Apparently V1 knew what he wanted, because it started shifting its thigh, grinding against him where he was apparently too weak to.

"Th-thank you, thank you, ggh-!"

He barely managed a twitch of his hips when its hand - the Feedbacker, this time - started massaging his bleeding side with the same rhythm it was grinding on him. They kept at it for a few moments more before, with a weak gasp, Gabriel convulsed for a moment, then fell totally limp.

Surely it was done - but Gabriel had warned him beforehand, after all.

The machine shifted its position over him and settled itself between his thighs, all four arms grabbing and pushing and groping. With a click of metal, its panel slid aside and it wasted no time in grinding itself against his still-clothed crotch.

A cold pit grew in Sisyphus's gut. Gabriel was unconscious, or at best barely hanging on, judging by the way he gave no resistance to its manipulation. Was this a regular occurrence for the two? How much did he know about what happened to him after he passed out?

He stood.

"That's enough, weapon. Server."

It whipped its head around at his words, and for a moment, he was frozen in place by the sheer, animalistic fury in its gaze. The center ring of its optic was pin-narrow, while the outer ring was so wide as to almost not be visible. Its wings arched, one hand instinctively reaching halfway to its back.

But only for a moment. Its eye refocused, its hand lowered, and it stood and backed away, raising its empty palms in a surrendering gesture. Sisyphus noticed how tense he had suddenly become, and that his fists were half-raised.

He attempted to shake the heavy cloud of - fear? disgust? something unpleasant and cold- out of his head and approached Gabriel.

He knelt at his side, laying a hand on his chest. His heart beat faintly - thank the stars - and some of the smaller scratches on him were already starting to knit together. Still, Sisyphus couldn't shake the strange, bone-deep feeling of apprehension from himself.

Gabriel was fine. He would heal. He just needed to get him home. (He forced himself not to think of how many times he might have been left on the floor here after the machine was through with him.)

He retrieved Gabriel's chestplate from next to him, and with the other arm, scooped his body up.

He was definitely unconscious. (And was he always this small compared to him?) Sisyphus held him closer to his chest - just so he wouldn't fall - and turned to face the machine.

It had been eyeing the trail of dripping blood left behind by Gabriel being moved, but met his gaze when he stared at it. It sat stock still, body language unreadable, panel long since closed. Besides the excess blood drying on its plating, it showed few signs the encounter had ever taken place. (Damned thing. What right did it have to look so unbothered when it had almost - almost -)

Neither moved for a few moments. Sisyphus wasn't sure what to say, if anything at all. (What could he say?)

He settled for a terse nod, turned on his heel, and rushed out of the chapel. (His steps were not hurried with panic. He was calm. Gabriel was fine.)

He felt the machine's stare on the back of his head until he was out of its sight.

[twisting-echo]

"Eternal Flames"

In Soleanna's sun-kissed halls, she reigns,

Princess Elise, her heart a fragile flame.

A sovereign's burden, lineage worn with grace,

last of her line, in a once-great royal place.

Her eyes, like sapphire skies at Twilight's kiss,

hold secrets—love, loss, and destiny's twist.

Within her chest, the Flames of Disaster seethe,

a power sealed, yearning to break free.

Amidst chaos and Eggman's sinister plot,

Sonic races, a blue blur, to save what's sought.

Elise, porcelain and brave, her tears unbidden,

for love and duty clash—the world is smitten.

In the "Last Story," fate weaves its cruel thread,

Mephiles, Solaris, and a hero now dead.

Elise's grief unchains Iblis, a fiery tide,

yet hope remains—their bond won't subside.

Silver, a time-traveler, lends a helping hand,

together, they dazzle across Soleanna's land.

Triple axels and memories spun anew,

Elise glides, love's legacy forever true.

So let the echoes of her name resound,

Princess Elise, in flames and love unbound.

Through trials and tears, she stands tall and free,

a timeless tale etched in Sonic's legacy~

---

I hope you guys enjoyed my Princess Elise poem. I actually spent a month writing it. I was trying to capture her story and the plot, so I hope I succeeded in that. If you find the poem cheesey or dumb, then please don't comment or reblog. I worked really hard on this. I solely relied on my rhyming dictionary for this.

[extraordinarilyextreme]

Xue-gongzi: Don’t cry anymore. Remember to lay me to rest someplace closer to you, and don’t erect a headstone either; it will look a bit too desolate and lonely. Plant a cedar tree instead, alright? It can stay green for all four seasons, yet will appear a head of white hair when covered with snow. The snow of the back hills will never melt. Bury me beneath the tree. In this way, I will always be able to accompany and brew tea with you in the snow. Xue-tongzi: There won’t be a next year. Have you forgotten? The Burial Snow Heart Sutra that I cultivate with, it will reverse my aging and restore my youthful vigor once every four years. The spring of next year will be the time that I break through the last level. If I break through it, my body and memories will be restored anew. I will forget you; I will forget you entirely. Xue-gongzi: If you forget me, that’s good too. I can’t bear for you to always hold a grudge against me. Xue-tongzi: How could I hold a grudge against you? Xue-gongzi: You will. You will resent me for abandoning you, and for making you live all by yourself in loneliness. Xue-tongzi: You bastard good-for-nothing! Then you can’t die! Xue-gongzi: Didn't we always say that the weather outside is sunny and cloudless for ten thousand li on end?

Xue-gongzi: Is the outside really as good as he claimed? If there is a chance, I would really like to go out to take a look. Xue-tongzi (Adult): Is it that you feel this place is no longer fun, so you wish to leave? Xue-gongzi: This place really is boring, indeed. It’s a world of ice and snow, every day of the year exactly the same. But rest assured. As long as you don’t leave, I won’t leave either. I will always accompany you, so we can be bored together. Xue-tongzi (Adult): That’s more like it.

Xue-gongzi: Such a vast and dazzling place, I seem to see it now. It really is as I dreamed. I’m going to go first and take a look for you.

Xue-tongzi (Adult): Long time no see. Are you well?

[bnuuys-writing]

CHAPTER TWO. OVERTURE. Phantom of The Opera x Twisted Wonderland

Here is chapter two for you guys! I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter One, Chapter Two(You are here!), Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Leona's Ending, Malleus' Ending

~Bnuuy Out!

The year is 1919, in France. Within a bustling city in the center of town stands a magnifique Opera House, its dazzling lights outside its carefully intricate carved walls tells a story of Regalty, Royalty, and an awe inspiring show promising to be played within, yet; the inside simply tells another story, begging to be read by the others within the towns history.

The echo of the tapping cane reverberated within the desolate walls of the opera house. Which stood so beautifully with glamour and shine that now holds cobwebs and dust as if it were trying to hide itself away from the world. Leona sat there in a chair, overall confused on how he had even arrived here. He held all of his memories intact but perhaps that was because he was a powerful mage? All he knew was that in his mind was Y/N.

I have to save Y/N.

“Alrighty then! Lot 665, a monkey playing the cymbals, dressed in persuasion robes with the heart of a barrel organ! It has been stated that this item has been found in the very catacombs of the opera house. Ladies and Gentleman, shall we start off the bidding with 15 francs?” An unknown man stated out, standing on top of a podium, looking out amongst the small crowd before him. 

Leona’s hand raised up without him knowing. A grunt of disapproval ripped out from his chest as he saw a familiar faces that he would honestly rather forget. Lilia Vanrougue. Lilia raised up his hand as the bidding continued, only for Leona to raise up his hand once more, raising the bid again. 

“Do I hear 35 francs…?” The auctioneer’s gaze looked over at the old bat who only seemed to smile cockily at Leona, before shaking his head no. That little bastard making the price higher than needed… The sound of a hammer echoed within the desolate theater as the music box was sold to Leona De Kingscholar. Clawed hands reached forward for the barrel organ monkey as he began to look over it slowly, a memory forcing up into his mind that most certainly did NOT belong to him.

A collectors piece, indeed… Every detail, exactly as they said… Will you still play when all the rest of us are dead?

Shaking his head out of his stupor, he let out an annoyed grunt as he shifted around. The auctioneer cleared his throat as he motioned to a certain hanging over something quite large within the spacious room. Slowly, the auction would start as he read over the paper within his hands. 

“Lot 666, a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of a Phantom hiding within this opera house, a mystery quite never fully explained. With the newly invented electricity, we are hoping to frighten away any ghosts, with a bit of illumination… Gentleman!” Sparks of electricity began to flood the room as a once nicely candle lit chandelier, now solely powered by the new electricity, began to float up towards the sky as everything began to shift around them. Dust flew off the walls, cobwebs floated off as if they were never there before. Old paint flashed anew as the beautiful statues were shining as if they were just proudly polished. Leona and Lilia looked at each other before they both completely faded away from each other's existence. The Mission has started.

The year was now 1881, the opera house was busier than ever with rehearsals. Chatterings of different conversations being echoed throughout the plywood walls, ballerinas running up and down the stairs trying to collect all their items. Stone masons working hard on their next project. Costume designers sewing and taking measurements. Towels, blankets, things that needed to be air dried being hung up over the railings as three important figures swam through the current of workers. 

“Y/N, Silver, hurry up! Otherwise we will be late for practice!” Sebek seethed out at the two of you, not wanting to face Lilia’s wrath during their ballet practice. Silver could only groan as he was tugged along by Sebek and you just laughed as the trio of you ran down the stairs. Sebek and Silver had recalled the mission once they had entered the opera house with the help of Lilia’s wise words.

Remember, we are trying to find Y/N. We are in a book. I have already located Malleus but he must remain hidden for now. 

Taking deep breaths as you ran past the trio of eyes, something was already boiling behind them as they watched your figure join your colleagues of ballerinas, ready for practice. Lilia watched as Sebek and Silver returned to your sides, posted like good loyal knights, yet there was no need for that because of course! This is ballet, and to Sebek’s dismay and like as if he would ever admit to it… Ballet was hard.

To the open stage, the orchestra was loudly playing as others marched around what seemed to be a very painted up Vil. Of course, these potatoes could all learn something from him as they all continued to parade upon his outfit and rip it here and there. What they all needed was discipline and to move with grace, not march around as they were! But what can you do when all you work with are lousy drunks who most likely do not care for the mastery of Opera? Including poor Rook who was struggling with his accent.

“It is not Ro-ma. It is ROME.” The conductor had stopped once more to shout at Rook who could only smile and shake his head. “My many apologies monsieur, it is just quite hard to grasp the foundation of what play we are exactly playing… Perhaps we can go over it once more?” Rook asked out which only caused the conductor to sigh. Though, could you blame them? Y/N had spoken about musicals and plays and whoever this Shakespear was from their world but never really got too deep into them. Hannibal was one of them, and although all of them had come to realize that they were in your world, something about it screamed as if they were in the wrong century of when Y/N was originally from. 

“Excuse me, good sir! I have an important announcement to make!” The manager spoke, coming onto the stage as Vil only sighed. Of course he would have an announcement right in the middle of rehearsals, if they only knew who he really was, there would be NO interrupting rehearsals. “I have wanted to say- All the rumors are true, I am retiring!” Vil rolled his eyes, he was certain everyone knew that their manager would be retiring soon but to be replaced by who? His violet colored hues trailed behind his now ex-manager only to freeze.

Of course it would be Azul and the Tweels.

“The opera house will now be under the management of Azul Ashengrotto and his companions Jade and Floyd Leech. After their business of conducting an underground business-”

“A club.” Azul interjected with a serene smile, causing others within the room to sweatdrop slightly.

“-As I was saying; They will be your new managers, so make sure to treat them with plenty of respect!” The man finished as he welcomed the trio to the front of him, perhaps trying to get out of the spotlight like a certain Crow back in NRC? Who knows.

“We are deeply honored to with by your side and we would love to introduce to you our new Patron, Leona De Kingscholar!” Azul stated out, perhaps with some grit between his words. Afterall, he didnt forget about what Leona had done to his precious contracts within their homeworld but in order to save Y/N from the book, they had to push past their differences and move forward. 

The clicking of heels echoed within the open theater as a certain lion reached up beside the mer-people, a growl within his throat as he looked out towards the crowd. Of course they were all here already. Vil, Rook, Azul and the Tweels, and if he looked a bit closer; is that Lilia? 

“It is an honor to meet you Sir Kingscholar.” Vil stated out, tearing Leona’s gaze back to focus on the pompous Pomefire dormleader. A hand was held out towards Leona’s face and a smug smirk was plastered all over Vil’s face. Huffing, Leona’s hand grasped Vil’s own and gently placed upon the decorated gold hand, a soft kiss. 

“The pleasure is all mine.. Now, don't let me interrupt you anymore. Carry on. I shall be here tonight to celebrate in your victorious show.” With that, Leona turned on his tail quickly and began to walk through the corridor, passing you with Silver and Sebek glued to your side. Your eyes were glazed over with memory as you stared at him, hoping he would say hello as he passed you by. Yet, no such luck as he didn't even spare you a glance.

“He wouldn't recognize me…” You stated out softly to Sebek and Silver with a frown upon your face. Through all of Silver and Sebek’s pesterings, it would appear that you had lost all memory as you became such an important character within the book- perhaps it was due to your lack of magic ability? Whatever it may be, Silver and Sebek hoped it wouldn't last back home in their world where they would bring you back.

“He didn't see you.” Silver cooed out softly, comforting you slightly before Sebek scoffed.

“You do not need that mangy lion anyways! There are bigger and better, like Lord-” Before Sebek could finish, Lilia cleared his throat and motioned for the ballerinas to start their dance as the familiar flutes began to play. Both knights sighed as they jumped off away from you to start their dance while you joined in with the other ballerinas. Jumping over chains and dancing gracefully around them; Afterall, Hannibal is very important to the culture of Rome. 

Though the trio of mers stared at you deeply as they chatted away with Lilia. Jade watched your every move while holding onto Floyd’s shoulder so he couldn't break away to squeeze you too tightly now, after all they didn't want to break the code lines of the book and be casted out, or even worse. Get stuck in there permanently. 

“And who is that one? No relation I trust?” Azul pointed out to you, raising up an eyebrow as Lilia let out a small ‘fufu~’ 

“That is Y/N L/N. Orphaned at 7, and came to live and train here within the Opera dormitories since then… I also think of her as a daughter. Now gentleman, if you would be so kind just to stand off to the side.” Lilia pushed the trio off to the side only to watch his ballet dancers. As the singing continued, the orchestra played with such oomph that a certain irritated German voice could be heard amongst it all as a rip was heard.

“Rook! Do not step on me!” Vil shouted out at Rook who looked sheepish as he had taken a step in the wrong direction as Sebek had jumped a little too close to him. After that, all hell broke loose as Rook couldn't jump into his seat where the fake elephant had come in due to his large billowing and not to mention- heavy- outfit was weighing him down. Vil had gotten so frustrated that he broke character as he stormed through the hallway, screaming how he is going to quit and he is finished. Only for Azul and the Tweels (Not Floyd though, he wasn't in the mood for it.) to grovel for Vil to stay and sing.

“Isn't there a song in uhm… Act three of Hannibal that you can sing for us?” Azul asked out hesitantly, trying to remember the play for Y/N’s sake. 

“Yes! There is! But SOMEBODY did NOT finish my costume!” Vil pointed out and looked towards the costume designers who looked away sheepishly only for Jade to cut in smoothly.

“If its alright with you, Vil, we would love a performance just for us.” Jade hummed out smoothly only for Vil to stop and thing about it. Rook cleared his throat and nodded towards Vil, as if saying quietly ‘do it for the story’ in which Vil nodded.

“If my managers command… Maestro?” Vil looked over at the conductor who only stiffened up under his gaze.

“If my diva commands!”

“I do.” With that, Rook went around shushing everyone as Vil went to the front of the stage, preparing his voice for quite a song. Once the whole auditorium was quiet to Vil’s shushing and Rook’s deathglare of ‘silence’, the piano began to softly play like stars within the night sky. Slowly, Vil’s voice came out strong with plenty of vibrato that left Floyd wincing and looking ever so displeased. Vil knew that this was the doing of the book for he would never sing an aria so… Absurd. Though nothing could prepare him for what came next.

Shackles and chains clattered as a wheel began to squeak very loudly as a whole stage set background fell right on top of Vil, Rook’s eyes turning the size of dinner plates as he rushed forward to collect Vil off of the ground and out from underneath the heavy tapestry of a background. Lilia could only sigh as his ballerinas were panicking while Silver and Sebek stood close to you in hopes of protecting you from whatever might come next towards you. Another screamfest from Vil and the new managers before the auditorium went silent as Vil, Rook and their entourage stormed off into the back.

“Here is a letter, the Opera ghost welcomes you into his opera house and hopes that you can still pay him his money. Monsieur Le Fevre used to give him twenty thousand francs a month.” Lilia spoke, nonchalant as he handed over a note to Azul who seemed absolutely mortified at the idea of having to pay a GHOST. Most certainly they are real, for they all have been to the Ramshackle. “He also states that you need to leave Box Five empty for his use.”

“HIS Opera house? And TWENTY THOUSAND FRANCS? Well that's just great! Who is going to sing for us now! There is no understudy for Vil Schoenheit!” Azul shouted out, furious that he is going to have to refund a whole house which is 1. A waste of a bunch of money, and 2. This shouldn't be how the story should be going! 3. NOW HE HAS TO DEAL WITH SOME OPERA GHOST?

“Y/N can sing it for you.” Silver’s nonchalant voice spoke up through the chaos only for Sebek and you to look at him in shock. Azul slowly turned to you and quirked up an eyebrow but Floyd was first to speak.

“A simple ballet chorus girl? Nehh~...” With a shake of his head at not calling you Shrimpy, why couldn't he just call you Shrimpy? Sebek took it as denial and was next to speak up for you.

“They’re very well trained!” Sebek barked out, standing up straight as you just look between the two of them as if they were going a second head on their shoulders. Wishing that they didn't say ANYTHING. Granted, yes. You were being trained by a wonderful master but… Was it worthy of singing in front of a whole audience?!

“Who taught you.” Jade was next to speak, smiling at you with one of his very placid smiles that could put anyone on edge. You were no different than the rest of course…

“I don't know his name, monsieur…” You whispered out, suddenly bashful as now all the eyes were locked onto your form, Lilia cleared his throat in hopes of you gaining your courage to speak more. Yet for when nothing came out from your mouth, he only sighed.

“Let them sing for you monsieur, they are very well taught.” Lilia spoke up and pushed you forward with his hand on the lower of your back as Floyd began to wave you forward to the center of the stage.

“Cmon now Shrim–... Y/N” Floyd seemed to be annoyed with the fact that he was still unable to call you by your nickname, huffing silently as you were tentative on reaching the front of the stage. You feel everyone's eyes upon you and an all too familiar gaze upon the back of your head. You know he is here.

Slowly, the piano began to play once more as you began to sing a few beats in. Floyd and Jade seemed serene while Azul seemed so shocked by the sound of your voice. Who knew that their precious little Prefect had a voice of a siren! An Angel?! His face must’ve turned a shade of pink as he watched you very closely. You could only turn to face Lilia, Sebek and Silver who all looked very proud of you as Lilia motioned you forward to the center of the stage.

With a flash of the light in front of everyone's eyes, the once empty house was now filled with a full audience listening to you sing so gracefully. Leona sat in his seat as he seemed pleased at hearing you sing, his tail flicking around happily as his eyes narrowed down upon your shining form, as if you were a star itself. Who knew their clumsy Prefect had so much grace, and with a voice of the tweeting birds of the savannah. Unbeknownst to them, a form lurked within the shadows, listening to your voice as he seemed pleased with himself at how far you've come under his wing. You looked as radiant as ever, perfect for the prize of his game that is about to be played.

Leona stood up, humming to himself how it's wonderful to finally see your face, not like he would ever mention how he had missed you but for once in his life, he was rushing to see you. At the end of the song, you received a standing ovation from the crowd, roses were being tossed up onto the stage for you as a certain spy was watching you from below before rushing outside to see their master of Vil and Rook. Upon hearing the standing ovation for your spectacular performance, Vil could only smirk and chuckle. 

“Who knew our potato had it in them all this time.”

All the while, a certain eel was more than happy to shout out to you about how wonderful your performance was, and Azul was more than happy with the outcome and with the fact that they now had a new rising star who wasn't Vil for once. 

Sebek and Silver were the ones who first went out to go searching for you after your performance and everyone had left the auditorium. Afterall, this was a party and You were the star! You should be celebrating! Walking through corridors and slinking through hallways with couples that were more than happy to mash their lips together in what seemed to be the most secluded hallway they could find, they stumbled upon you in a room lighting up candles.

“Y/N! There you are! We have been looking for you. We thought we told you that you should always stick by us!” Sebek shouted out loudly, making you jump and Silver sighed. “Can't you see they’re lighting up a memorial, be quiet Sebek.” Silver whispered out to his friend before looking back down at you who turned to smile at the two of them.

“It's alright you two… I was just letting my father know that tonight went well. After all, father once spoke of an angel who would teach me all these musical things. Now I see him in everything I do, and he comes and visits me at night, sings me songs to keep me company as I sleep.” You whispered out to the both of them as they took their places on either side of you, again like how a knight would be for their King of Briar Valley. 

“Y/N… You must have been dreaming, stories like this can't come true.” Sebek states out softly as he takes your hand and helps you up. Granted, he would NEVER touch you back in Twisted Wonderland but with the guidance of the book's written story, he guided you up to your feet as Silver helped steady your balance within your heels.

“Y/N you’re talking in riddles, and it's not like you.” Silver whispered out as they both began to lead you out from the room filled with painted angels and more towards your room, though both Silver and Sebek could feel a presence around them that was all too familiar. A drunkard man that is about to lose this game of cat and mouse if he keeps pestering their precious Prefect. Once back inside your room, with you all settled down in front of your mirror, the two had left you alone with Lilia and stood guard outside of your room.

“He is pleased with you.” Lilia would speak out softly to you, eyes lingering on your form as your eyes glance down to the rose, still filled with thorns with a green ribbon tied around it that was just placed down to your hand. “Make sure to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight. You know how he is with your sleeping schedule, and you have a big day tomorrow. Goodnight Y/N.” Lilia would softly squeeze your shoulders as he began to depart from the room only for a certain sneaky lion to squeeze past and intrude in.

“Little Y/N let their mind wander, not knowing of the hunter behind them.” Leona’s gruff voice would hum out, arms crossed with that smug smirk upon his face as he looked you up and down. Your eyes flickered up to his face within the mirror and a smile began to form upon your face at seeing your childhood best friend.

“No, they knew of the hunter stalking them, but what they couldnt comprehend is what it wanted.” You started out, swirling around to face him on your chair as you stood up.

“Am I fonder of dolls or of frocks, or possibly picnics in the attic?” Leona stated, walking closer to you to where he could smell you but couldn't just touch you yet. 

“No, they said. Whatever is best, is when I'm asleep in my bed.” You finished out before giggling, pulling Leona in for a tight hug. Leona’s eyes closed shut as he squeezed you just as tight before pulling away with a roll of his eyes, dumb book making him do things he didn't want to do. 

“You sang beautifully tonight. Why don't we go catch dinner together? Just you and me.” Leona stated out rashly and sighed, ears pinning down as his cheeks turned a bit red as he peeked one eye down to look at you. Your face said it all, you couldn't. Yet, he didn't care. “Get dressed, I will be back in five minutes. Don't deny that you want to go out and eat with me and I'm not asking. This is a demand, and you know I don't make many of those.” With that, Leona squeezed you slightly within his arms again before leaving.

“No wait, Leona!” You sighed as you heard the door shut with a loud click. As you turned around to face your bouquets of flowers lined against the wall, you shuffled out from your big poofy dress and into a more simple white linen one with a laced robe being tied around in hopes that you dear Angel of Music wouldn't notice your absence. Reaching towards the door handle, a loud voice boomed within the room that you knew all too well already.

“Insolent boy, this slave of Fashion! Basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!” The angel hissed out, and you knew he was not happy with the outcome, and had already known your intentions of leaving for the evening. 

“Angel, I hear you. Speak, I’ll listen… Stay by my side, guide me! Angel, my soul was weak… Forgive me- Enter at last, Master!’ You replied back out, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes at the thought of betraying you dear beloved Master. As for him? He had heard that term many times but he never wanted to hear it come from your mouth, though he was indeed flattered… As the candles died down with his presence, a few flickering lights of green began to spark in the room as if you had your own personal fireflies.

“Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in the shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror! I am there inside!” The voice continues as you slowly turn on your heels to look at your body length mirror. Inside showed your reflection until a very large apparition began to appear slowly within the lighting of the mirror. A man with jet black that turned into a soft blue that rested upon his shoulders, two black long horns upon his head and part of his face was covered in a mask. Was this truly an angel, more importantly… Your angel?

Slowly, your feet began to move towards the mirror, entranced with this man's form within your mirror as your hand stuck out slowly. Unbeknownst to you, Leona was in the middle of a scuffle between Silver and Sebek who were trying their best to protect you, as well as their master who was now making his move upon the impressionable you. 

“Let me through! Let me see Y/N!” Leona roared out as he punched Silver, who grunted as Sebek took over and kicked Leona down. “Who is that voice in there! Y/N!!!” Leona roared out, throwing Sebek off of him at Silver, rushing up to the door as he jangled with the locked door. “Y/N!!!” He shouted out, continuing to fight the door as both Knights tore him away and continued to wrestle with him upon the ground.

“I am your angel of music… Come to me, Angel of Music…” He spoke out softly, leaving you entranced with his form as your hand reached through the mirror and with a hesitant skip of your heartbeat, your hand met with his gloved one as if a deal had just been struck right then and there.

You have met your Angel of Music.

[yohohonabottle]

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IV

[*]This chapter has a missing NSFW piece linked in separate blog. ----------------------------------------------------

‎‎—"Here we are! Home, sweet home!" 

Eyelids fluttering open, Pirin begrudgingly redirects his attention away from the quiet and soothing rhythm of the tides. Glancing at the door while being set down, he gracefully slips out of his partner's grasp like water or wind, landing on his feet lightly without so much as a sound. 

Salt of a river, the scent of rain, greenery and flowers all mingle together into a nostalgic harmony. Amongst it, the smell of paper birch, light cologne and honeyed alcohol. His eyes flick aside up to Valen at hearing the soft, imperceptible rustle of fabric accompanied by the quiet jingle of metal–A ring of keys– and the dull clicking of a lock as the key is turned, the door unlocked.

—"Your house is by the river." –A simple and quiet observation, eyes turned to peer down at the clear waters that appear black as the sky. 

—"Mmhm, one of the best in the northern district. It's relatively quiet around here compared to the neighborhood in the southern part of town, and the view is quite lovely." –There's a note of warm pride in the Lightbearer's counter-tenor jovial voice, a clear love for his hometown that turns playful. It catches and draws back his attention before memories could rise anew. 

"With all that said, after you, Ice queen." A very purposeful misgendering term to offset the playful gentlemanly bow. That cheeky smirk is back, still as infuriating as earlier. Somehow, it causes the corners of his mouth to upturn into a light smile of amusement and matching tease instead of turning into a vexed frown. And he calmly fires back with feigned sweetly swooning remark in sing-song voice, pulling up his wedding dress a little much like a princess from children's fairy-tales would, steps kept theatrically tiny and bouncy. 

—"Why thank you, my oh so gallant knight. You might have to catch me, for I fear my knees may give in to your dazzling charm..." The 'performance' draws out a genuine chuckle from the brown-haired man. Though with how the smirk turned to a merry grin, it's clear the knight is holding back a laugh at this silly little display.

Holding the door open, Valen watches his arranged spouse prance inside, thoroughly enjoying this goofy and dramatic, playful side of the vampire. The little bite of sharp-tongued sarcasm hidden beneath the caricature veneer of an enamored damsel certainly doesn't slip from his notice–And it makes it all the more entertaining. 

Now this is a side I can get used to. So much better than the gloomy sulking. 

Following after, he catches himself letting his gaze linger on the shorter man's back and trailing over it. The skin appears flawless and smooth, pale as frost with a very subtle bluish tint that blends with the white. However, what pulls at his attention, are the faint traces of faded scars.

Marks of canine teeth that must have been bone-deep and lashes of a whip, both new and old. Alongside those, burn marks that have almost completely healed, suggesting it has been a long time since they were first inflicted. 

—"Of course." –Is the only thing the captain breathes, playing along with the humor. Who did all this...? Valen keeps quiet about the scars, not wanting to ruin the playful banter. The world, ever changing, is not the kindest of places and he's no stranger to its harsh, cold, cruelty just as he's no stranger to its awe-inspiring beauty and uplifting greatness. To think he can keep this entity safe permanently, would be childishly naïve. That much is crystal clear to him. 

So long you're under my roof, in my care and I can draw breath–You can take a breather from enduring the pain of a grim world. His eyes follow as Pirin moves ahead a step, exploring his home with an air of inquisitiveness. Wary, guarded but slightly less on-edge and more relaxed. No comments are made, however his body language is more than enough. 

Crossing the living room, he lights up the hearth in the corner opposite of the front door. The dancing flames illuminating and warming up the small room– A comfortable sofa near it with a small table, a carpet covering the floor and a window in the other corner with curtains drawn aside. 

—"It's not much or anything too fancy, but it's decent enough." Straightening up and turning to saunter into the kitchen, the knight's smile softens to one of gentle warmth, the coy or flirtatious charm turned down a notch. A show he's serious instead of jesting. "Now it's yours, too, as much as it's mine." A moment of quiet with Pirin staying muted, expression blank, his pearlescent eyes holding a melding plethora of conflicting emotions– Guilt, shame, gratitude, caution, unease, lingering agitation, deep apology, distrust while attempting to appear at least somewhat jovial. Self-conscious. 

—"..My apologies for my demeanor earlier. It was unreasonable of me." Stiff, formal, clipped and amicable. And still a ball of jittery nerves. It's like the vampire can't decide whether to lock into 'playing his character' or how to change the 'mask', or maybe withdraw again into himself as if spooked. So, Valen lightly nudges him into a different direction by keeping his tone soothingly soft and tender with that same subtle welcoming charisma. A sense of romantic intimacy without making it suffocating or pressuring. 

Maybe if given an example Pirin would get bold enough to shake off his uncertainty? 

Walking over to him with light, deliberate steps as though approaching a startled horse, he takes one of the phantom's gloved hands in his. A touch of affection and wordless cue to calm down, that the intent isn't harm. 

—"There's nothing you have to apologize for. You were stressed out and–" The brunet's eyebrows pinch into a pout of pensiveness, lips pursing aside as he scratches his head for a second, looking down as he mumbles to himself. "What was it that Cassadee said again? "Protecting yourself"? It was some nerdy term.." Eyes lighting up and lips pulling into a grin, he snaps his fingers with a triumphant 'Aha!' 

‏‏"Falling back on protective mechanisms–There it is! Phew! That's a mouthful, good luck saying it three times fast." Looking back at his...bride? Fiancé? –Well we still haven't consummated our marital bond, but technically we are husband and wife in the public eyes.. I guess 'partner' will suffice for now. –Valen chuckles and goes on easily. "Pretty much you weren't in your best headspace back there." 

Still holding his gloved, smaller hand in his own–His other‎ sneaks to lightly rest on the other's waist, and smoothly pulls the doll-like gorgeous being along into a slow dance. No melody needed, only the one of their hearts is enough. The charismatic solder's footwork is light, graceful and poised as he steadily waltzes them through the threshold and into the kitchen that doubles as a dining room. 

—"You can call me by my name, you know? Or a pet name if you'd prefer, I wouldn't mind." His hold loosens a little yet doesn't let go, pulling the other closer so they're chest to chest. Such a weak heartbeat, slow, barely there.. No wonder vampires are considered undead and automatically assumed part of the Graveborns. He hardly even breathes. 

A slip-up here and there, an accidental stepping on his toes and very quickly correcting the mistake–Eventually Pirin falls in rhythm perfectly, mirroring his steps. Only a reluctant quiet hum answers him. Removing his hand from the vampire's trim waist, Valen lifts his other, guiding his dance partner into a languid spin, noting how the shorter man hurries and falls out of sync for a brief second, then catches him again. 

"Easy, slow down. No need to rush, it's just us." No sudden movements, no accusation or judgement echo in his lowered voice. Once again, the two of them are in synchrony, circling around the room to phantasmal music. Slowly, as they continue to slow dance, the narrow shoulders ease off and the Heroic Order knight could feel the tension finally roll off. 

A tune quietly bubbles up in his chest that he finds himself singing along without noticing. Or simply doesn't care to. 

"–Other dancers may be on the floor, Dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have that magic technique, when we sway, I go weak." 

—"You know this song..?" 

Smile now a teasingly knowing smirk, the dazzling swordsman opens his eyes and meets the bemused pearls eying him with surprised curiosity. And he gives a short little shrug of his shoulders in dismissive nonchalance, tone of ringing light countertenor easy-going. 

—"I've heard it once or twice when visiting the Magister. The mage's place is like a tavern or inn of some kind, mounted on this giant snail-like llama creature and has a jukebox in the lounge." The dubious and mildly concerned look of bewilderment Pirin gives doesn't elude from Valen's notice. As though he'd gone off the deep end or grew a second head. 

Can't blame him, I thought I was seeing things back then as well, until Merlin explained it all away.

"It was a very catchy song and got stuck in my head. Although, I have to say–it's quite fitting for tonight. Just the right song to set the mood."  Another spin–The night nymph's back presses against his chest and Valen casually places his hands on the other's waist, near the hips, swaying the two of them a little, gently. 

—"Speaking of, perhaps you could do me the honor of revealing your name? Or telling me a little about yourself?" Suave, coy, toeing the fine line between innocent flirting and goosebumps-inducing sultry, voice lowered to a soft murmur. The way the shorter, pretty young man practically jolts and freezes up as his lips make contact with his frigid chalk-like skin when he places an innocent peck to the side of his neck–-It's oddly endearing. 

It's almost as though Pirin short-circuited or isn't sure whether to melt into the touch or bolt. 

Lonely, craves affection, heavily introverted and touch-starved.. Oh you poor, little thing. 

Haha, I'm in danger. Dear stars and planets above–I'm done for. ...Uh-oh. He's figured me out, hasn't he? 

Swallowing thickly and looking up, Pirin feels his nervousness sky-rocket and heart leap, utterly intimidated at the look in the Lightbearer's faded amethyst irises.

If this were an anime, then there would be a spark in the knight's eyes as a cloud of ominous aura emanates from him and a smug 'Ara ara~' would flit about. The blood-drinker shivers and shrinks in on himself. Valen's 'sinister' smile widens. 

I'm in trouble. I'm in deep trouble. 

help–

—"You already know–" –He trails off at the look the captain gives him, coarse eyebrows subtly arched in nonverbal 'That won't fly. I'm not falling for it.' or 'Try again.' "...it." The nocturnal critter sighs, revealing his human name stiffly. Begrudgingly, avoiding his fiancé's gaze. 

—"I–...Ioan, it's Ioan of the Hestopeous name. Or 'Hestios' for simplicity." Tiny pause, inwardly debating something. Hestios...Sure rings a bell, I simply can't remember where I saw it before. "My family would often call me Vanya and Vanyo, maybe Ive, sometimes. Or Vanyusha, if they wanted to annoy me." I'm not telling you my real name. 

—"You're from the Pallid covenants, aren't you? If the dusty old tomes at HQ are right, then your lineage is the oldest from vampirekind's four bloodlines, right? How far up in the dynasty was your family, if I may ask? Progenitors?" 

What? 

—"The Eclipse line families aren't the only ones with human names. I could be from the Lorekeepers for all you know." A little defensive and snappy. A dead giveaway that he's got the right family tree. 

—"Fair enough, and perhaps it's true. However with the way you just bristled indignantly–I'd wager my guess is right and has struck a chord. So, you pretty much just confirmed my thoughts." 

Silence. 

—"What does it concern you whether my family were of the Progenitor colonies? They're all dead, not even dust at this point. No filthy vermin to "infect" and "spread the horrid disease" your people fear." Resentful irritation and dramatic bravado. So, Valen uses his newly gained knowledge to allay the agitation and catch, reel his arranged spouse back before the other could grow cold again. 

A different waltz to mirror and echo their romantic dancing, the crackling and popping of the fireplace in the living room filling the quiet. 

Pressing a small tender, fond, feather-light kiss to the side of Pirin's neck and trailing his lips down the curve to the vampire's shoulder, his tone holds a placating smile. Taking no offense in the bitter words. 

—"I'm simply curious and figured it would be nice for me to know my wife's history–Where you come from, who you are, your family tree, who you were. That's all. No hidden agendas here." He doesn't miss the little poorly suppressed shivers. Smiling softly with that same heart-winning charm, Valen retraces his path, voice kept soothingly low, now with a light-hearted edge of slight amusement to it. His warm breath ghosts over the other's frigid skin-- Right where neck and clavicle meet, eliciting another, more visible involuntary shiver. 

"I wasn't asking out of malice, dear. Not every human wants to cause you harm, Vanyusha. Contrary to what you've experienced in the past." The nickname rolls off his tongue surprisingly well, the Slavic harshness softened. Admittedly, 'Vanya' would roll off better. Placing a kiss to his partner's jaw, his hands stay where they rest lightly even as Pirin turns to face him.

Once again, the elite-ranking knight takes a moment to simply admire the breath-takingly stunning beauty. No man or woman, both within and outside of the Lightbearer Empire, is nearly this gorgeous and alluring.

I should know, having fooled around in my younger years and current days until this marriage.

I've seen my fair share of pretty maidens and bachlors, both in town, Ryeham and the capitol– None come remotely close to this. Can't even hope to hold a candle to this elusive creature.

Wonder if the other myths about his kind are also true..

I'll find out soon, won't I?

—"Unfortunately, the past also happens to be repeating itself in the present. Part of the reason I've been doing my best to make myself scarce, particularly around these parts of Esperia." –Is what Pirin retorts back flatly almost matter-of-fact. There's a feisty spark in his eyes, flashing for a second before it fades and the man's voice drops to a quiet mutter. "..It's a shame those ruffians have 'hounds' still. Thought the job dropped from the market." 

Snapping his gaze back up, the reserved and tempered fire of defiant determination returning in full. A promise and warning that he won't be going down easy. Then it's gone, replaced with cool tranquility. The captain takes none of this personally. It's evident that the vampire has been through lots of high stress piling up on his shoulders and needs time alone to cool down. Sadly, there's no chance for him to back off and give that proper space for now. 

Filing the new bit of information away for later, Valen deftly dances them to the door leading to the next room then dips his dance partner low. Ever devious and charming rascal, he pokes Pirin vivaciously as if daring him to 'snap his jaws' whilst keeping his own musings hidden away. 

—"And the other part? Was it to spare us your lively spirit? ..Or to hide away like in the stories–Protected by a unicorn?" All he gets back is a small sarcastic 'har har.' The bait has not been taken. Yet. He waggles his eyebrows with a smug smirk, the gesture both teasing and suggestive. With a snort, the shorter man pushes his face away, rolling his eyes and lips subtly curled upward. It's enough to encourage him. 

He's being surprisingly gentle, I thought I'd get swatted there for sure. 

—"And hey, it isn't so bad–Being betrothed to me. I may talk a lot and can't write letters due to tragic penmanship–But at least my swordplay is good, and my heart is in the right place. I can show you, if you'd let me, that is." A surprised yelp slips from the nocturnal being as he pulls him up then lifts him up. Huh, didn't transform either. And right as the idle thought crosses the solder's mind, his eyes catch on the bat feet dangling, peeking from under the dress. And the patches of snowy fur on the groom's boney shoulders that bristle. Oh and a bit of a tail hanging, the fluffy tip also bristled. So he did. 

—"Put me down!" –He hisses, tail lashing. Valen, however, doesn't. Instead the roving swordsman merely keeps holding him up... almost as though preparing to toss his fiancé up (and catch him, of course). Holding onto the brunet's shoulders with a death-grip, Pirin narrows his eyes at the impish gleam. "No, don't. Don't you dare." 

—"What? I'm simply holding you up. I don't know what you mean, my love." His grin begs to differ. 

—"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Valen. Don't." The clawed feet curl and uncurl, as if unsure whether to grip onto his blue gambeson or not. Not unlike how a cat would latch on. Funny and cute. Sighing in feigned melancholy, Valen carefully lowers Ioan down onto his feet. 

—"Such distrust, you wound me dear." 

—"With how you were preparing to toss me, you're not making it easy to trust you, beloved." 

—"I wasn't going to do that. I was only going to spin then lower you down." Left hand resting on the vampire's slim waist, the purple-eyed man opens the door and nudges it with his other, voice dropping to a mysterious tone. "Are you ready for the next part of our nuptial night, love?" 

The fur has lowered and receded along with the tail and claws. Eyes downcast at the doorstep, his haunting tenor voice is.. quiet, strained and dutifully steeled. The questions are more like acknowledging statements. 

—"...The one with the priest? He's been waiting for some time now, hasn't he?" 

Running a hand through his messy brown hair with a pained grimace, Valen gives him an apologetic smile. Well, so much for me stalling to take his mind off of this.. along with whatever little romance we had. 

—"Yes. To tell you the truth, I'm not very thrilled about it either. Not the most romantic first night I imagined, really. If I had it my way, we would be alone without a third wheel." No words greet him in return nor any attempts at struggle, letting him lead inside the dimly-lit bedroom. Stepping through the door, he tightens his grip reassuringly. 

"But tradition is tradition. We can't exactly escape it–not if we want our marriage to be officially accepted." This is the last part of the rite. After that hurdle is over, the world is our oyster, we can do whatever our hearts desire. 

Just a little bit longer, and this uncomfortable ride will be done. 

—"It's alright. I understand." A meek, strained smile to wave off his worries and comforting words of solidarity. Looking down at his arranged spouse, he watches as the shorter man follows in-step with head held high and pearlescent eyes trained ahead. Like marching onto an arena, facing the battlefield with a brave face of stoicism. Or a mercenary walking to get the job done in cold blood. Whatever feelings and thoughts he has are locked away, steeled behind ruthless numbness. 

It's admirable, really. Most people would've panicked or wallowed in self-pity and lamentations, tried to run. Anything but take the circumstances in-stride.

Forgive me. I hope you can forgive my transgression, Ioan. 

Looking up from his bethroted, Valen gives a simple nod in greetings to the acolyte standing by the bed. Tradition is tradition. This rite has to be carried through, and that's final. 

—"Father." 

—"Sir Valen!" The ginger-haired young pastor greets back, Holy book and water at the ready. Unlike the sullen couple, he appears cheerful. "Such a merry occasion, isn't it?" Mercifully, acolyte Adam Greywood doesn't go on any long-winded tangents laden with religious yapping and simply only pats his shoulder with a sincere smile.

"Congratulations on finding a lady to settle down with! May the Goddess bless your union with boundless fulfillment and prosperity." 

—"Thank you, Father." –The Solitaire offers with a polite smile, minding his tongue to not speak without filter. Lest he run the risk of offending the clergyman and have to sit through a zealous lecture, and drag Pirin into it. The situation is already unpleasant enough as is. Closing his eyes, said man takes a deep breath, holding it for a second....two.....three. Slowly, the thoughts flowing through his overwhelmed mind disperse, fade.

Breathe in. 

I suppose he's right. This isn't nearly as bad as it could've been. 

Hold. 

At least there was a genuine attempt at romance, get to know me to a degree. 

Release. 

Here goes nothing. It'll be fine.

A warm hand grasps his, fingers interlocking and Pirin opens his eyes to meet the compassionate lilac of his partner. Tender sympathetic smile gracing his lips, the knight pulls him along towards the bed that has been blessed. 

—"Are you alright, Pirin?" You seem off.

—"Yes, my nerves are getting to me. But I'm okay." Yeah, just us, the bed and a clergy watching like a creep. No pressure.

—"Fair enough." An easy smile that he shyly returns while inwardly wrestling with himself to stay composed and not transform.Too bad throwing hands isn't an option and there's no enemy to hack-n-dice as this isn't a commission or bounty. Oh, if only it was–It would've been so much simpler. Just go, go, go action and none of this...emotional foolery.

Letting go of Valen's hand and reaching back to undo the laces holding up the beautiful wedding dress, the 'wife' pauses to glance at the acolyte standing aside.

—"...Respectfully, Father–May you please look away?" I'm sorry but I'm not also giving strip. He does catch the soothing smile turn slightly amused at the request. The blood-drinker shoots the roving swordsman a pointed pout. Yes I'm fussy like this, fight me. 

Valen merely raises his hands in front of himself in placating surrender, topless. The clergy man quickly catches onto the hint.

Thankfully no prying or scolding follows, simply an "Oh, of course. No problem." and obliges. Head turned away and eyes now elsewhere, it gives him a sense of privacy. So, without dallying further, Pirin gingerly strips out of the garment and places it on the nightstand after neatly folding it up.

Alriight, just pretend you and Valen are live drawing models. Yup, that's all. In the name of art and improvement. ×=/~--—×+—÷÷=—÷÷×—–-========×———–÷÷÷________—–- --––________‐–—÷÷÷–——×========-–—×÷÷–=+×—--~/=×

A few moments of comfortable quiet pass between the newlywed couple, both lost in their own inner thoughts. Until Valen breaks the silence, arm draped around the man he can now officially call his husband. Or wife, when in front of others. —"Did you have any lovers before, Pirin?" —"..Not really, to be perfectly honest." This gets a curious quirk of a brow from him. Oh? How come? It'd be silly to assume the two of them are the same age. Both of them are young adults, sure, but considering the difference in races.. It wouldn't be a surprise if the way Pirin ages is different than him. The fact there's a whole century gap is proof. And yet the vampire seems to be still in his prime, nowhere near old enough to be considered as an old man. Or middle-aged for the matter.

—"I find it hard to believe. You've been around for, what?" Wait, how old is he again? I mean 'living fossil' isn't a– Before the swordsman finishes his train of thought, his 'wife' supplies helpfully. "Hundred and fifty-one years. Going on fifty-two this winter solstice. That would equate to twenty-five in human age, give or take." 

"–Right. This sounds like plenty of time to fool around, find a love or two even. And you're rather mysterious, witty...Surely there has to be someone, right?" Rolling onto his back and settling his hands over his chest, fingers laced, the shorter man eyes the ceiling pensively. Or more like a reminiscing faraway look. 

—"As I said–Not really. I was too busy staying alive half the time, and working as a merc or stray adventurer the other half. Romance and hook-ups didn't cross my mind. And I'm not the most cheery person to be around, or the easiest to get along with either." 

—"So I've noticed, yes." A pause, then the Eclipse descendant goes on to add conversationally, glancing over to him. 

—"I did have a crush on a girl from the Axe family–Part of the Crimsontooth lineage. She was one of my childhood friends." 

—"Did you tell her?" Pirin makes a slight grimace.

—"It..didn't work out. We were more like siblings." 

—"Well, now you have me, I guess."

—"Mm." 

The crickets outside sing their happy tune, filling in the silence that hangs between them again. 

—"Valen...?" 

He'd almost started to drift away into dreamland, eyelids drooping. Still, the hauntingly soothing soft tenor of his newlywed partner pulls at his wandering consciousness. Resting his eyes closed for a few seconds, the Solitaire languidly pulls the other closer to himself. However, he decides against keeping his lids shut as the risk of falling asleep is high, opening his left eye a crack instead with a sleepy hum instead. 

"Hm?"

—"...Nothing, sorry." –The vampire mumbles after a second of hesitation as if unsure whether to speak his mind or what to say. In the end he gives up and dismisses it, opting for a humbled 'Thanks, for bearing with me.' instead. 

Smiling fondly, Valen leans in to place a chaste peck to his temple, murmuring 'It's no trouble.' before getting comfortable and finally surrenders to the sweet call of sleep. Pirin closes his eyes, but is unable to fall into slumber. It's too early for him. Instead, he listens to the crickets along with the Holistone knight's steady heart and breathing, silently enjoying the warmth. Left to his own thoughts.  ------------------------------------------------------------- Tiny sidenote: Good grief I still can't believe how my drawing has changed. Anyways, next chapter is being ported!

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto | x

The winter-eyed princess were right to choose the shadows. If she sat upon the sunny side of the table, her dazzling rays if rage would blind. It took all Orianna's temperance as a vampiress-in-hiding and a semi-courtier as not to frown at the sight. Abduction of power, bloodletting of the land...and no coherent plans for keeping, restoring, letting it all bloom anew in sight as far as her ears could catch. No reprimands, no calls to logic would help the lost little princess to return to the path. Not that the sun-eyed had any wish to mingle in politics. Was it what her little ruva found fascinating in that human? The ripe openness, the cutting sincerity, the dazzling passion that cut in half? That what made her dangerous to the dream-like peace of the Duchy, a peace Orianna valued higher than a prized glass of Sangreal. Sure, the fruit had its rotten parts, as any fruit would, but...to exchange it all for what? The Northern lands bloomed not with vines and songs, but with corpses and bones. It didn't improve locals at all, or the taste of their blood, or their understanding of fairness and justice, or the state of arts so sweet to the sun-eyed's throat. Her ancestors were right - calamity makes human blood impossible to drink, sour like a rotten apple. And...there was no use to tell anything of it to Sylvia Anna. Like her children, she was wallowing in grief, hungering to fill herself to the brim, anything as not to feel the void. Abandonment is the most terrible punishment, because it leaves a pestering, poisoned wound. That Orianna understood with both her cold head and the pulsing marrow of her bones. The little princess was named anathema, as far she had remembered. The gossips were murky, and gave no clue how to appease her. Something about the Curse. Blessed be the Unseen that bit remained false, Sylvia Anna didn't stink of unnatural magic, at least not now. Only a slight wisp of pears caught the vampiress' attention. Pears and leather and old blood, that nothing can wash away,

Orianna's prized human-like face froze in a pleasant, null mask. A statue in the sun. Let the little red princess project any emotion she desired upon it, be it a nod of remorse or a sigh of indignation at her horrible fate, or a secretive displeasure at her younger sibling. "Quite the opposite, I admire your sister. She has a loving heart and a good memory. You had no chance to visit Ducal Camerlengo's office, I presume? I highly suggest it, my lady," a confidential whisper, that hinted that something apart from the badly-guarded plump chest of gold was waiting for her there. Her children usually responded favorably to treats. That was the first one. "I wish you to show to you can both seize...the moment...and live in it," they were in a public place after all. It was enough that a prohibited names escaped Orianna's lips. That the red princess talked about a rebellion as nonchalantly as if choosing wine for her supper. Let the cultured vampiress get at least a pleasure of riddles out of it all.

"Hunt with me for that unnamed horror. It's a shame not being able to enjoy a proper royal hunt. You will have a chance to pass the news about my brother while we are at it. I miss him dearly." Mother Tuir blind Dettlaff, if he will not arrive soon and pacify his ravenous beauty. Royal blood was too thick upon one's hands, clawed or not.

[tclkrefined]

CLOSED for @succiducus

work floods his mind easily and consumes his time, as it often does. training on a field, or doing paperwork on his desk, or scouting the party for information, otto has a penchant for letting his function as commander permeate his routine to a fault. he parts from his husband soon after they arrive, with a lingering kiss and the promise of making it back to him at the end of the night -- as always, his soul will always find its way to his lover. the band on his ring finger connects a string to his heart and the melancholic organ pulses grimly all evening, tugging with longing, as he works and works and works. hours melt away from him and before otto knows it, the clock hands are inching towards midnight when he finally has the time to stop and do anything more than a simple exchanged glance or stolen kiss in passing.

his look is sheepish as he approaches, apologetic, the same eyes the physician is used to receiving at least once a week, when he has to pull otto away from work. "your grace, you look as dazzling as a thousand stars this evening. your husband must be a fool to leave you all this time waiting for a dance," he greets, hoping the cheekiness earns him some sympathy. not that he has it in him to harbor any weighing guilt, when only standing near his husband already means he feels invigorated, washed anew, any exhaustion that has settled between his shoulder blades quickly melting away. "forgive me," he asks, earnest. "for being so restless. too many people to talk to, assess. it's a lion's den out here." a hand reaches out to his husband's cheek, slides to the back of his neck, holds him close, his smile soft and intimate. "how has your evening been?"

[389]

Tracklist : 1. Skee Mask - Daytime Gamer (Version) 2. PERTURBATOR - Femme Fatale (Feat. Highway Superstar) 3. Samuli A - Drag me through Kempele 4. Cabaret Voltaire - Golden Halos 5. Negativland - Attractive Target (Newcastle) 6. Pinch - Street Light 7. Kentaro Hayashi - Basilica 8. Estebahn - Global Insecurity 9. Galaxian - Fields of Meaning 10. jjjacob - Exiting Summer 11. Sonic - Accidental Junglist 12. The Fear Ratio - Death Switch 13. Grup Ses Beats - Mimar 14. Second Storey - The Cusp 15. Dj Akoza - Make A Move feat. Apoc Krysis 16. Tommy Holohan - Remaining Rogerstown 17. Hadone - Grief That Has No Voice 18. Negativland - The Pulse (London 1) 19. Hyph11e - Barnacles 20. Flume - Sirens (feat. Caroline Polachek) [Coco Bryce Remix] 21. Perila - Can We Just Be Real 22. Objekt - Dazzle Anew 23. Jan Loup - Defusing Ego Plans 24. Golce Dabanna - Nirvana 25. Hans Zimmer - Ripples in the Sand 26. Thugwidow - The Holy Ghost Zone 27. John Cage - Rozart Mix

Mixed by me: @hyprfnk Originally played 2023 - 02 - 16 @ Blunderdome : turntable.fm/blunderdome

[dea-syria]

Down the long hall she glistens like a star, The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone, Yet none the less immortal, breathing on. Time's brutal hand hath maimed but could not mar. When first the enthralled enchantress from afar Dazzled mine eyes, I saw not her alone, Serenely poised on her world-worshipped throne, As when she guided once her dove-drawn car,— But at her feet a pale, death-stricken Jew, Her life adorer, sobbed farewell to love. Here Heine wept! Here still he weeps anew, Nor ever shall his shadow lift or move, While mourns one ardent heart, one poet-brain, For vanished Hellas and Hebraic pain.

-- Emma Lazarus

Here she is as the universal Beloved of poets and artists everywhere.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3/5

Book Blurb:

In this new standalone novel, Hugo Award-winning author Nghi Vo introduces a beguiling fantasy city in the tradition of Calvino, Mieville, and Le Guin.

A Publishers Weekly Top 10 Fall 2024 SF&F pick A demon. An angel. A city.

The demon Vitrine—immortal, powerful, and capricious—loves the dazzling city of Azril. She has mothered, married, and maddened the city and its people for generations, and built it into a place of joy and desire, revelry and riot.

And then the angels come, and the city falls.

Vitrine is left with nothing but memories and a book containing the names of those she has lost—and an angel, now bound by her mad, grief-stricken curse to haunt the city he burned.

She mourns her dead and rages against the angel she longs to destroy. Made to be each other’s devastation, angel and demon are destined for eternal battle. Instead, they find themselves locked in a devouring fascination that will change them both forever.

Together, they unearth the past of the lost city and begin to shape its future. But when war threatens Azril and everything they have built, Vitrine and her angel must decide whether they will let the city fall again.

The City in Glass is both a brilliantly constructed history and an epic love story, of death and resurrection, memory and transformation, redemption and desire strong enough to reduce a world to ashes and remake it anew.

Review:

A demon who loves a city, an angel who destroys it, and the city that is rebuilt as a strange relationship begins. A demon called Vitrine loves one thing only: the city of Azril. She's raised it and its people for generations but when the angels come the city is destroyed... and now Vitrine will raise it once again... but now bound to the angel that she has cursed. Vitrine's journey through the years makes the city grow and her relationship with the angel changes... becoming something more. This was a quick read, albeit a bit all over the place for me. It had a Good Omens kind of vibe but it just wasn't as fun or as well done. The story is about grief and resurrection and the endurance of love. It's a bit all over the place, there are a ton of time jumps, and the angel's relationship was odd because it just kind of happens and then there's no real shining moment for it. I do love Nghi Vo's writing, and this one was okay for me overall, but I look forward to her next projects!

Release Date: October 1,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Tor Publishing Group | Tordotcom for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[lustrous-dawn]

(Zeke @ Zhen) "That was quite an entrance." Zeke had happened to see the Ho-oh gliding in upon arrival. "This place is pretty fancy, yeah? I thought I knew high-class parties but this is a whole new level." He looks Zhen up and down. "Though I suppose with your looks, you'll fit right in. Maybe even be the star of the show." Zeke pats Zhen on the shoulder with a toothy smirk showing one of his sharp canines. A look in his eyes that could be classified as mischievous. "Just save some of the attractive ones for the rest of us, eh handsome?"

Murmurs of conversation, greetings exchanged, friendship sparked and rekindled anew under the moonlit glow. The happenings of the ball faded into subtle background noise for the Ho-oh as he quietly observed as some folks lingered while others sought sanctuary in the warm inviting glow of the palace.

A twinge of envy formed in Ho-oh, the Phoenix feeling exposed under the moonlight as he fought the urge to take off, leaving naught a trace behind. 

That's cowardly. His lips twisted into a scowl, fingers biting into his forearms.

Then a voice, closer, louder than the whispers. Zhen spared a glance at the man who spoke to him, the playful note in his tone caused the Ho-oh to raise an eyebrow in question. A hint of suspicion formed in his golden gaze as he noted the light in his roguish blue eyes, 

"Oh… that," a slight frown. "That was nothing really," Zhen said quietly. He couldn't recall the last time he performed something that would be spectacular. 

"You are more graceful than I in flight. All eyes turn towards those dazzling feathers of yours. I couldn't hope to pull off the same. Perhaps you should make it a hobby."

He had. He enjoyed it. Over and over until he didn't.  

His frown became more pronounced. "I haven't been to a fancy shindig like this," he said with a wave of the hand. "It almost hurts. Didn't think blue-bloods exist till now to be honest with you. And hell a star," Zhen scoffed. "You should be taking a closer look at yourself. You're more dressed to wear than I am. I stick out like a sore thumb with this hair of mine."

Zhen almost laughed, the suspicious light receding from his gaze. There was amusement contained in his eyes as he said, "You're pushing your luck here." This Zeke was obvious with his scan. "You want to dance with the attractive ones, have at it." A show of teeth, a gleam of sharp canines as he grinned. "But I'm off the menu. How bout sinking your fangs in someone else? Or maybe you want to have a go and see how far you get? You have my attention. For now, that is."

@life-of-kalos