#tragic tale of two redheads

[willyhoos]

she was made just for me.

[glitteriztical]

thinking about soho residents witnessing the friendship of Mr. Fell and this mysterious redhead dressed in black throughout the years. bets are made on the real relationship of the two, only to end in disappointment when some years later, Mr. Fell's son (who looks exactly like him) takes over the bookshop and any trace of the redhead has disappeared.

now the younger folks who heard the stories get pleasantly surprised when Mr. Fell the Second (Junior?) is often seen walking along St. James's Park with a redhead man. and that's a funny coincidence, isn't it? the gossip continues. perhaps these two have better luck than their fathers to be together?

unfortunately, they seemed to have married other people too. the Second World War shifts the people's attention but whispers of an Anthony J. Crowley driving Mr. Fell the Third around in his sleek, new car raise the residents' hopes up. third time's the charm. no one can argue about the sparks when the two are looking at each other.

then decades pass and a white-haired angelic man who claims to be Mr. Fell's son, takes residence in the bookshop. less than a mile away in Mayfair, there resides Anthony J. Crowley's son. soho residents are starting to believe there's an inevitable tragic tale between a Crowley and a Fell every half-decade. two souls fated to meet, yet only orbit the other, never to become the endgame.

it has become a secret lore in the neighborhood. is it a curse? reincarnation of some sorts? whatever it is, it's sad and romantic and it's human nature to get invested. as times change and society becomes more accepting, older and younger soho residents alike hold their breath as they watch the current Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley's friendship bloom into acting like a domestic couple. hanging out at cafes, dining at the Ritz, spending nights in the bookshop, etc. the residents smile, their fathers and grandfathers must be proud that they can do what they cannot in their lifetimes. after five generations, can they dare hope a happy ending is finally in sight?

[basedkikuenjoyer]

The mood feels right, it's that time without light. Who's up for a lil late-night Togashiposting? Because there's one that has me thinking about a few concepts we've been on about. Which means we get to talk baby's first foxboy blorbo again. This was always one of my better posts that still generates interest today, but for the basic idea we talk a lot about the Akazaya as throwbacks and particularly Okiku's ties to Eiichiro Oda's own history on Rurouni Kenshin. There was another two-faced redhead in popular manga at the time, and we get Oda referencing the iconic clash with Game Master in interviews as a big moment he liked. But also just in One Piece canon it's interesting how Ryokugyu with a similar power intersects with Kiku's tale to bolster the connection. Likewise with the parallel story of the thieving fox spirit and how it intersects with Kiku's past.

For this part of our examination though, we're going to look through the lens of another meta concept we've been on about. Poking at the nature of "filler" and how much strict canon really matters? This is the finale of Kurama's last fight in the anime, something really glossed over in the manga as YuYu Hakusho tragically came to a close in the hurried Three Kings Saga. To me though, the anime at least salvages this arc into a worthy conclusion. I don't actually mind the idea of our quartet squaring off their personal arcs underneath the bigger show of the Makai Tournament. Kurama's fight with Shigure is so well done for that. One thing you have to give me, being filler or noncanonical is not an impediment to being an inspiration or an influence on someone else later.

The whole fight is a great finale for Kurama & his demonic past. We meet him distanced from it, they're reconnected in the Dark Tournament, he embraces it to answer the call in Chapter Black...then here after reconciling it he rejects the old self. Importantly though, he only wins through taking advantage of seeds planted by his old self. I love the final line to Yomi about it "I never leave anything behind." That reconciliation of past and present for a brighter future is where I really see Kiku picking up this torch. Himura Kenshin has a lot of similarities in his arc, but Kurama's with themes of reincarnation and parent/child bonds feel like the ways this gentle redhead seeped in. Of course, Kiku is still her own take on the idea. The trans aspect and cloaking it in a lady caring about her reputation is an excellent evolution.

Can't ignore the antagonist here either, this is why I was thinking this part in particular after all. A surgeon with a samurai vibe, choosing an honorable death after defeat. The way Shigure shaped the tone of this climax for foxboy's saga was giving me some big feelings. I honestly haven't rewatched the Three Kings Arc in years. The montage of core scenes though, showing us how Kurama grew into someone so willing to choose this new life, it had a big one I didn't really think about in this context:

How it all starts between he & Yusuke the MC. The story of the Forlorn Hope. That dub name is way cooler because the Funimation dub of the YuYu anime is a national treasure. But yeah...that's where this entire relationship started. It's an artifact that demands the user's life to grant a wish. An empty, unfulfilled Kurama was so casually willing to throw his life away to return a mother's love...without getting the point. Too busy turning over every possibility he hasn't realized how much he's grown. There's no way his mother would be happy with that trade because she doesn't see some legendary thieving fox demon...and if you told her she'd probably just say that explains a lot.

How does Yusuke solve it? Stepping in and sharing the burden. Very similar tone we'd see later with Usopp and the samurai. Even with the little dash of levity and that fine line between nobility and senseless self-sacrifice. Not to mention the big moment of Kiku's fall being Kin's final push to evolve and strike down Kanjuro. That's not unique to YYH but it's one of the biggest pillars of that series. But Bakura Town ends up being a lot like this in tone. The sumo match. Luffy jumps in because Kiku's putting her body on the line to amp up the crowd's panic. The two working together, Luffy stepping up and playing the hero for a moment, opens a new path. Just like the Forlorn Hope here and it letting them slide for being such good boys.

Then from there Kurama's story arc has the same structure we'll see out of Kiku later and Himura Kenshin around the same time. You've come so far by the time we meet you that we can do an arc about confronting that past. But that story can't end with going back to it, can it? No matter what it may mean, it's still so wild for me to see this connection over time. Kurama really was one of my first major anime characters I could latch onto and I've been a One Piece fan for so long. Just can't believe the cutesy waitress we met early Wano had all this in store.

[loosesodamarble]

the fictional men you mentioned are all so handsome can you tell where and what type of media are they from.

Aha... So I kinda forgot that this ask was in my inbox for a few days. But hey! Now I'm getting to it! Sorry to make you wait, Anon!

Hopefully, getting the answers you seek will satisfy you.

(For anyone who doesn't know what Anon is talking about, I made this post a few days back where I shared some of my favorite characters and explained their similarities.)

Now, onto the answers.

First off, are Nacht and Morgen Faust. The people who frequent my blog are most definitely already familiar with these two. They are my ultimate blorbos. Do not separate me from them. Anyways, they're from the manga and anime series Black Clover.

They're both introduced during the Spade Invasion arc so for any anime only-s out there, they don't get that much presence. In the manga though, oh boy is there stuff happening for those two!

.....

The lovely redhead I shared is Karma, from the dating sim Cinderella Phenomenon (and the fandisc Evermore).

I had so much fun when I played his route the first time. And OOOOHHHH! His story in the fandisc! And I think it's thanks to Karma that my love for weapon wielding love interests was solidified.

.....

The next (and only other) pair of characters from the same media are Saint Germain and Herlock Sholmés. They come from the dating sim Code Realize series (there's the original game "Guardian of Rebirth" along with two fandiscs, an anime adaptation, and a stage musical).

Their backstories are so tragic and I want only the best for them. The few moments when they're both on screen make me giddy, no joke. Also, I never thought I'd be into guys who wear top hats but then these two exist!

.....

The next character, Paschalia, is from the dating sim Radiant Tale (which had its fandisc [Radiant Tale Fanfare] released in English just this summer!).

I binged his route in one night and he's changed my brain chemistry~! I'm honestly putting off replaying his route for the good ending because I want to forget as much as possible and relive his story as fresh as I can.

.....

The next character I shared was Kageyuki Shiraishi, from the dating sim Collar x Malice.

He's such a funny little guy with his love of cats and inability to understand basic human decency. He's also very sad and his Tragic Love End has art that punched me in the gut, shook me down for cash, and then lovingly kissed me on the head before walking off.

.....

Lucas Proust from Virche Evermore: Error Salvation. (Also, not to brag but I pre-ordered the fandisc Epic Lycoris which I'm very much looking forward to this autumn.)

He literally gets done so dirty by the writers of the game. I want to fix his situation but I also want to see him continue to suffer because his misery is kinda beautiful.

.....

Blond #3 is the lovely Shion Mayuzumi from Variable Barricade.

Chronic kept man syndrome. Former model. Gaslighting king (I don't even know how much I'm exaggerating by saying that). Honestly, I want to indulge his laziness. He makes it so tempting...

.....

Bringing in style from the Kyoho era is Kinji from the game Winter's Wish: Spirits of Edo.

It's actually been a while since I've played Winter's Wish and Kinji's route specifically since I'm trying to complete, like, five games at once. But I do remember kicking my feet and giggling at the fluffy romance scenes.

.....

Next there's Orlok from the games Piofiore: Fated Memories and Piofiore: Episodio 1926.

He's such an adorable assassin! And he kills for the sake of the church he belongs to! Don't worry, he gets better. He's the love interest that gets Fuegoleon-ed in his good ending.

.....

And last but not least is Il Fado de Rie from Cafe Enchanté.

A literal angel of a man. So beautiful and divine and helpless and clueless. Also, very adorable that he has a love for dating sims while being a dating sim love interest.

[diverging-tides]

Good Behavior

A prequel taking place a month before Tigers Eye

………….

The spacious basement of the Shadow Theatre was dark, dingy, and dry.

Perfect, at least in Jack Spicer’s opinion, for a new evil lair.

It took a mere fifteen minutes for his three remaining boys to set up his lab and bedroom properly, so by nine thirty on his release day from Madame Changeling’s Reformatiorium, Jack was back in the swing of things. Heavy metal blared from his speakers, and the “Evil Boy Genius” had gotten to work re-building bodies for the salvaged JackBot personality chips that had escaped annihilation over the years. Of the dozens of unique personality chips he had initially created, only eight remained, and only three JackBots retained exterior functionality.

This was a tragic “mortality” rate-especially since all the work required personalize new chips, not even mentioning how long it took to patch those chips into the private hivemind network, took weeks of dedication to create. It was time Jack no longer had on his hands, so as the number of primary chips dwindled, so did Jacks willingness to use his JackBots for anything other than general mayhem or chores. This resulted in more ass kicking on both ends of the Wu conflict for the redhead, but he preferred that over the irrecoverable losses involved with yet another destroyed personality chip, so take those punches he did.

Considering how those beatings contributed to Jack finally ditching the whole conflict, at the cost of possibly never seeing the Human Realm or his mother again, you’d think he’d regret that reluctance. However, you’d be wrong, Jack regretted nothing. Sure, he’d gotten arrested almost a month later, and spent even more time terrorizing the general public whenever he managed to break out of the Reformitorium, but he considered that as “super fun” despite the bruises.

Well, that, and the new guy kicking his ass had a cute younger brother who became the first actual friend he made in his lifetime.

After, of course, he too kicked Jacks ass.

Yes it’s as sad as it sounds, but Jack no longer gave a fuck because, again, he has an actual friend now, and the past of lonely nights spent in the basement of the Spicer family manor crying were going to stay in the past, even if it killed him. Which, considering how batshit Hunter and everyone associated with him was, could be sooner than expected.

Especially since one of those individuals, whom Hunter called dad so casually you’d think they were actually blood related, was the fucking SIX-EARED MACAQUE from Journey to the West.

Apparently Wu Cheng'en wasn’t telling some tall tale, which both gave Jack hope there WAS a way back home without Wuya, and terrified him at the prospect of Sun Wukong possibly still being alive and just hanging out on Flower Fruit Mountain until something pissed him off. Jack was honestly too scared to ask for confirmation or denial of his existence at this point.

It was this musing about his situation that distracted Jack enough to completely miss the fact that he’d set his oil rag on fire via wayward welding spark. The table itself was fireproof, as all his inventions tended to be, but Jack himself decidedly was NOT, and the fire was dangerously close to setting his clothes alight as he idly reached for a screwdriver nearby.

Thankfully, before anything too bad could happen while the redhead was off in the zone, a dark shadow dropped from the ceiling and slammed a bucket down over the flames, smothering the fire and startling Jack out of his musings.

“Dad didn’t sign up for “Red Son Two-Electric Boogaloo” to move into the basement dude, practice better fire safety” Hunter chuckled as he slid off the table to stand on the floor, unique magenta eyes glimmering with mischief. “Though, I could make a KILLING on the black market with your charred corpse if you don’t”

“Ha! Good luck finding someone who could afford me” Jack shot back, setting down his welding torch to remove his trenchcoat anyway. “I’m a rare breed”

“I dunno, demons tend to have a pretty standard flesh price for humans once they’re dead” Hunter mused, making Jack blush as he quite obviously checked him out after he removed his jacket. “Though I could probably negotiate a higher price thanks to that self-defense training I’ve been giving you-demons tend to prefer leaner meats”

“I knew you had ulterior motives!” Jack cried in mock betrayal, fighting the urge to grin as Hunter burst out in a fit of giggles, dropping his suave facade. “Priming me for slaughter-shame on you!”

Hunter just laughed harder, slamming his fist against the prototype Evil Boy Genius Holo-Table (patent pending) in a futile attempt to get his hysterics under control. Jack himself could no longer contain his own smile, expression softening into something much more natural as Hunter struggled to pull himself together.

“Rat bastard-I should slap you!” The blonde witch cackled, pushing himself back up with a silly grin. “You shouldn’t be condoning me selling your charred corpse to a butcher!”

“Eh, I’d recommend stabbing me, skin like this doesn’t come around often~” Jack replied in an attempt to keep the joke going, but Hunter just seemed confused, putting an abrupt stop their banter. Awkwardly, Jack gestured to himself, trying to get the self-depreciating joke back up off the ground. “You know? Albinism?”

“The fuck is Albinism? Hunter questioned, brow furrowed and head tilted in an adorably confused expression. Jack blinked twice, incredulous.

“It’s a skin condition? Or more accurately a lack of skin pigmentation caused by genetic defect” Jack explained slowly, waiting for Hunter to catch on. When nothing seemed to register for an entire minute, Jack sighed in defeat. “You know, the defect I clearly have?”

“Oh!” Hunter exclaimed, looking a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know! I haven’t met too many humans. Is the condition debilitating?”

“Not… really?” Jack mused, having never truly considered what impact Albinism had on his health-only on how it isolated him from others. Or, more accurately, how it made his father loathe him and his peers bully him. “Other than having to dunk myself in a pool of sunscreen if I want to go outside in short sleeves, its a pretty harmless condition”

“Well it’s not really a defect at all then, is it?” Hunter asked, straightening his head with a raised eyebrow. “I wouldn’t care if I knew all that to begin with. It’s none of my business”

If that wasn’t a cupids arrow hitting dead on his greedy black heart, Jack didn’t want to know otherwise. The redhead jerked his head to the side to hide the hot blush spreading quickly across his cheeks as Hunter seemed to lose interest in continuing the conversation. The blonde moved to a different part of the lab to check out the new additions to the basement while Jack did his best to not self combust.

“Interesting decor” the blonde hummed after a couple beats of silence, gently pulling a dead A.I. chip from the “Graveyard” display. It was JB-X32, one of Jacks first irreparable losses-dispatched by Raimundo during that weird morality crisis he was having. Of course, morality never really stopped the Monks from breaking his bots beyond repair, but that particular instance was probably the most violent. “These don’t really look like grave markers…”

“That’s because they aren’t” Jack cut in, plucking the chip from Hunters grasp, gently rubbing his thumb over the cracked plastic. “These are… the corpses, in a sense. Not markers”

Hunters ear twitched as his eyes widened, leaning forward to inspect the dead chip with fascination. Jack could swear the blondes pupils visibly dilated, tilting his head slightly to the side in thought. Hunter was always fascinated by new things or information-a trait Jack adored from the moment he discovered it.

“You know how my boys have their own little quirks, right?” Jack began explaining, knowing Hunter had already given a green light with his interest. At the blondes little nod, Jack let the dam open. “Well, each of one them has a unique personality chip, or “brain”, that gives them those qualities. It’s the one part of them that can’t be replaced or fixed once they’ve received a certain amount of damage. So, these are the final remains of the bots who couldn’t be repaired-hence the graveyard”

“So, robot corpses, gotcha” Hunter mused, looking back at the display wall as Jack put JB-X32 back in their proper place. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of your inventions for myself until now. Can I have a presentation?”

Thus began the three hour long infodump Jack had been holding in since he first started inventing stuff. The two boys made a slow progression through every little thing in the lab, Jack happily infodumping away as Hunter listened intently, fascinated by everything he was shown. Macaque had popped in and out a couple of times to check in on them, but otherwise, time flew by without incident.

It was only when Jack pulled out his ol’ hoverpack that things went south.

“Damn, I forgot the last time I used this!” Jack chuckled, turning around to show his find to an attentive Hunter-oblivious to the sudden shift in ambiance at the sight of his old logo on the back. “I call this baby “Ol’ Reliable- she’s taken some shit, but still functions good as new no matter-“

The hoverpack was snatched out of his grasp faster than he could blink, and Jack watched in stunned horror as Hunter smashed the device against the ground, face expressionless and cold. He then proceeded to summon some kind of shadowy staff with barbed ends and smash it against the device until it was nothing but an unrecognizable pile of scrap.

“Hunter, what the fuck-!“ Jack tried to intervene, only to freeze as Hunters head snapped in his direction, expression blank, eyes empty and cold. Swallowing his reservations, Jack tried again. “…Hunter?”

The blonde didn’t move, empty magenta eyes staring straight through the other boy-as if he wasn’t there at all.

“What was that racket?!” Macaque shouted from the top of the stairs, the door suddenly slammed open to allow light to flood in from the upstairs into the room. Hunter didn’t even twitch, even at the sound of Macaque stomping downstairs from the lack of an answer. “I swear, if you’ve blown something up ALREADY-“

The celestial monkey stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the scene before him.

“I-I don’t know what happened, sir. I was just showing Hunter an invention and he just…” Jack tried to explain, gesturing vaguely to the scrap heap and the witch seemingly frozen in place. “…That”

“Well thank Buddah you didn’t touch him” The six eared primate sighed, his expression softening into concern. At Jacks confusion, the shadow-weaver motioned for him to step back. “This isn’t gonna be pretty, kid”

Jack obeyed the silent command, watching in morbid fascination as Macaque slowly approached the frozen teenager, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

In a flash, Hunter was in motion once more, both he and his father(?) devolving into a short, whirlwind scuffle that ended with Hunter pinned on the floor, eyes alight with fury as he struggled to escape the strong hold.

“See? Take this as a lesson-if Hunter freezes up like that again during your stay, DO NOT TOUCH, just call for me or MK” the primate instructed sternly, Jack nodding as he watched the blonde hiss against the floor, vengeance still burning strongly in his eyes. “He’ll be fine in a minute-show me what set him off”

Jack stiffly scooted around the pair, keeping his distance for as long as possible, before picking up the two largest pieces remaining of his destroyed hover-pack, being the clasp, fitting them together and silently showing them to the elder being as Hunter continued to hiss against the sanded down concrete. Macaque stared blankly at the remains, until that weird cardinal that hung around the theatre fluttered to his shoulder and chirped in one of his ears, after which his expression became… crestfallen.

“Oh… that’s an unfortunate coincidence” he breathed, as the little bird moved to land in front of the blond, chirping in concern as the teen continued to tremble, heaving quick, panicked breaths. “Your little logo there has a striking resemblance to a… traumatic symbol from Hunters past”

“Oh shit-I’m so sorry!” Jack flinched, tossing the parts aside as if they burned him. “I didn’t-“

“Don’t finish that apology-you couldn’t have known” Macaque interrupted, steadfast as Hunter continued his struggles. “I didn’t even know-and believe me, Hunter tells me his triggers”

“… how many times has this happened before?” Jack asked as Hunter started losing steam, his hissing growing quiet.

“Twice. He bit me the second time” Macaque huffed in dry amusement, wiggling a pinky on the hand with the bite mark, the one pinning Hunters arm to his back, a conspicuous gap on the top half of the scar. “He’s gone a little feral since we met-you wouldn’t believe how timid and quiet he was when I first took him in”

“Timid? You’re joking, right?” Jack asked, relaxing a bit as he realized the situation was under control. Macaque just grinned. “Sir, your son beat the shit out of me not even thirty seconds after we met-“

“And if I recall, that was because of all the trouble you were causing MK” Macaque chuckled as the redhead winced, averting his gaze in embarrassment. “Yeah, I know all about it. I’m the one who approved your supervised release the next day”

“Ah” Jack muttered, blushing a bit in embarrassment as Macaque chuckled again. “I forgot about the pull you have at the reformatiorium”

“Oh yeah, your homeroom teacher spilled a LOT of tea about you during our chats” the celestial primate cackled, mischief gleaming in those golden eyes. “Word is you became quite the model student after-“

“Dad, the ground is leaving an imprint on my face” Hunter grunted, blissfully interrupting the primate before he could embarrass Jack further. Macaque quickly got off the blonde, Hunter pushing himself up as the red bird chittered frantically in his face. “I’m fine Flapjack, chill”

“You good?” Macaque asked, eyes locked on the blonde as he stood back up, rolling his shoulder with a nod. “Do you-“

“I don’t want to talk about it, no” Hunter interrupted, sounding hollow as he looked back at the pile of scrap at Jack’s feet. “I’m sorry about your thing“

“It’s okay, Hunter. I didn’t know” Jack tried to assure, but the other boy didn’t seem receptive. “I can build a new one-I’ve been meaning to upgrade for a while anyway”

The witch just nodded quietly, refusing to look up and meet the redheads eyes.

Jack stayed quiet as the blonde then headed for the starts, followed by his father, who sent Jack an apologetic look before closing the door on him, leaving the young inventor alone in the dim basement.

Almost robotically, Jack cleaned up the mess of useless scrap on the floor, and returned to his worktable. He stared for a moment at the current repair project, before pushing it away, opting instead to bury his face in his arms, letting out a deep breath.

He couldn’t help fucking up no matter where he went, it seemed.

[darkpoisonouslove]

If you've already answered this, I apologize.

Which winx character do you see matching which fairy tale figure? (Like is Bloom a Cinderella or Layla an Ariel? Musa could be a Pied Piper or Mulan?)

I dont know... Just... After the let down of Mythix and how it could have been, I'd like your thoughts. Maybe the boys and the teachers and villains too? Well the trix and valtor anyway... And the main teachers.

Im just curious. Thank you!

I don't really think that Winx correspond well to any fairytale characters. Honestly, including tales from Earth in the Legendarium was a mistake all along. They should have just made up stories that come from the Magic Dimension and fit each girl.

That said, I think the mirror from Snow White that Selina and Darcy used on Stella was an idea that had a lot of potential. She does have a kind heart and beauty that could have moved a huntsman. Her dad almost got married to an "evil stepmother" type of character. And the aviary is one of his favorite places which could in a way connect to Disney's Snow White (as birds seem to love her) if they also gave Stella a love of birds. Honestly, I think that given the whole story with Cassandra, the twist to make Stella into the Evil Queen was a really good concept that could have worked spectacularly with better execution. They could have addressed Stella's rage in season 3 over being replaced by Chimera in the spotlight and having her title taken away (it was discussed at the very least, although I am not sure if Radius went through with it eventually). To me at least, some of Stella's lines regarding that made it sound like she's more mad that Chimera gets to be the star rather than about what Cassandra was doing to her father so they could have used that in a continuation of her season 3 arc. There was a good story there; they were just afraid to dig deep enough.

I'd say Musa could work in a Beauty and the Beast kind of thing with Riven but with the twist that she needs to open up too, get in touch with her emotions and start to see the best in people (although 6x22 gave insane Little Mermaid vibes but that doesn't really fit her).

I can see Bloom a little bit as the Little Mermaid. Curious about the magical world and wanting to be part of it. Falls in love with a prince that has a dog (Disney version). Also a redhead and doesn't think things through before acting. Kind of a fish out of water at first because she didn't know she had magic for 16 years. Which also makes her resemble Sleeping Beauty to a degree (if the Sleeping Beauty story had bothered with Sleeping Beauty's experiences and perspective). Separated from her parents and her true identity because of a curse. That checks out. The finale of season 2 could also count as True Love's Kiss waking her up from a curse. But it's kind of surface-level.

Honestly, I feel that Layla maps out best not to a fairytale, but to the Greek myth of Atalanta. She has a lot in common with Atalanta and Nabu kind of resorts to trickery to get close to her (like the guy in the myth whose name I don't remember) but then they fall madly in love with her. Also, the end of that myth is tragic because their love leads them to exhibit hubris that Zeus punishes them for but I hate that just like I hate what the writers did to Nabu in season 4 so... there's that.

I'm not sure about Flora and Tecna. Like I said, any similarities to fairytale characters are a little vague at best, which is understandable. Fairytale characters tend to be flat, usually having one or two defining characteristics that keep the story simple. The Winx girls are a lot more complex despite the later seasons' best efforts and I don't think a fairytale character can encapsulate their personalities well enough. This is exactly the reason why I believe they should have made up stories from the Magic Dimension. It would have allowed them to tailor the legends to the specifics of the situation each girl would be dealing with and make the comparisons between Winx and the fairytale characters meaningful. I should know, that's the same approach I am using in one of the fics that I am working on to add more nuance to the story and reveal emotions.

[crimsonfacets]

@ebonyxwhispers asked: "Mey Rin." Came a firm, but soft voice from behind the redhead. A voice that said 'I know what you did' but also flavored it in honey distinctive to Sebastian's usual charm, "Would you care to explain what precisely happened in the parlor?" He's already reached his hand up to press to his temple. Eyes closed and a heavy sigh presented in disapproval. Like he already knows the answer. She was trying to get to something. Something slipped and chaos ensued. A tragic tale befitting the young woman. That was his theory, and he'd wager that conclusion was probably accurate. "What ever will I do with you." [ ebonyxwhispers <3 For Mey Rin of course. ]

It was a strange, strange sensation to be both startled and flustered. Had he sounded more annoyed, Mey-Rin might have shot right out of her shoes through the ceiling and hoped she would make way to one of those constellations she overheard the young master and his Lady discussing. But no, Sebastian chose to lacquer his words with saccharine deception and keep her firmly planted here on Earth, making her only jolt and jitter in place like a mouse cornered by a cat; water pail shaking against its metal holdings to the point of vibration.

"S - S - Sebastian!!" Mey-Rin stuttered, turning on her heel quick as a whip and clutching her cleaning tools even tighter for dear life, as if they would keep her safe from a lecture. Oh sudsy bucket, we're really in it now. Her mind mind raced. She had finally gotten herself so pleasantly distracted by her chores that she forgot about that.. and yes, she tried to forget it, get her mind off it. She was intending to return to it eventually with a clear head, she swore! "Well - I - y'see, it started with - I mean - it BEGAN - it was, I, mm!" Now, though, she stammered, trying to catch any sort of fleeing, rational thought outside of babbling that screamed and ran about in her head in sheer panic and escaped her grasp.

Then, Sebastian hit her with the 'What ever will I do with you' and made it all stop; every frantic brain cell stopped and slumped ashamedly in synchronization with Mey-Rin's frame.

SiiIIiIiIIiiIiighHhHhh.

"It was an accident, Sebastian.." Mey-Rin confessed, guilt pouring from every word and breath. "M'glasses, they got funny on me when I was fiixn' up the display cabinet. I couldn't see anythin' properlike. I got the dizzies and I tried to stay still, I really did!" Really, she did! "But I tripped over m'own two feets and.. the plates and the tea set, the cups.. But the little dog statue's okay! I did save that, I did!" She pulled out the little porcelain dog from her pocket, holding it out semi-triumphantly with a crooked smile to the heavily disappointed black butler. "S- See? N- Not everything's broken.."

[zaina-xoxo]

Harry Potter headcanons (sad)

That Hermione and Ron always wanted a huge family. Like, 5 children filling a burrow. However, they ended up with only two. Why? Hermione’s torture at the hands of Bellatrix left its marks, and she couldn’t have children after Hugo. Dark Magic always left marks.

That Dumbledore never really left limbo. He stayed there forever, unable to allow himself to move due to the blood he had on his hands, lives he sacrificed for the greater good.

That George dyed his hair blue after the battle in order to stop reminding himself of Fred every time he saw a mirror.

That Grindelwald never stopped loving Dumbledore, and during their final duel, he actually had an opportunity to kill him, but couldn’t gather the will. Dumbledore used that moment to win.

That during Snape’s death, those tears with the memories, were also a sacrifice. Those tears were the memories themselves. So, when he died and went to the afterlife … he didn’t remember the person most featured in those memories, the one they focused on. In death, he never remembered Lily.

After the battle of hogwarts, Dennis Creevey becomes a photographer …. which was what his brother, Colin, had wanted to become when he grew up.

That Sirius willingly fell into the veil, which only kills if you completely were thrown into it. What happened was that half of his body went to the other side, and he was immediately assaulted by whispers of his dead loved ones, especially lily and James. He died with a smile, as he jumped in to his next great adventure.

That for the first fifteen years of his life, what Tom Riddle saw in the Mirror of Erised was himself with his parents in a rich household, in a loving family. All he wanted was to be loved. All that changed when he made his first horcrux.

That Dumbledore’s boggart was himself. And, that it really was him who killed Ariana, something he found out in the afterlife.

When Ron was a little boy he overheard his aunt Muriel talking to her friend that how amazing Ron's elder brothers were. But she called Ron ‘Molly's failed attempt for a girl’. She also said that Ron was worthless and he was no one compared to his elder brothers. Ron had developed insecurities about not being good enough from that overheard conversation.

When Ron left in DH Hermione wrote a letter. Conveying EVERYTHING she felt for him. She was almost certain that she would never see him again. She would never be able to tell him how she felt for him. She kept that letter in her beaded bag. Years later Ron found out that letter. And he cried.

Once during an auror mission Ron was injured badly. He almost died. Hermione didn't leave his side for once. When he was slightly better, Hermione told him that she was pregnant. That was when Ron had decided to quit his job.

When Ron and Hermione were staying at the shell cottage Hermione had a long conversation with Fleur. Hermione told her that there was a huge chance that she wouldn't survive the battle of Hogwarts. She was a muggleborn afterall. So if something happened she wanted Ron to move on with his life. She wanted Fleur to promise her that she would help Ron to move on with his life.

When the flashing green light came rushing at James Potter's way he didn't see death, but was reminded of two pairs of vibrant green eyes staring lovingly at him.

Death works differently in the HPU. Once you die, you have the choice to stay in limbo for as long as you want, or to take the train. You could also become a ghost. However, along with that there’s also the choice of becoming a creature which is the embodiment of death - a thestral. This is why Luna has a favourite Thestral, and why there’s a huge influx of them in the forbidden forest after the battle of hogwarts.

Neville kept visiting his parents. With every milestone that he hit — graduating Hogwarts, marrying Hannah Abbott, being hired as a professor — he made it a tradition to see them. It was not until he visited with a baby girl in his arms, Alice Francesca Longbottom, that he saw a flash of recognition in his mother’s eyes.

The day Harry was born, all the marauders found themselves in St. Mungo’s. Hours later, Remus awoke in his chair just in time to see a black-haired man with a crooked nose regarding the new-born. With a last glance upon Lily he left, seemingly unseen.

As a child Teddy had a huge crush on his Aunt Hermione, and he would often give her flowers and ask her if they could get married someday. Once he grew up, he was commonly teased about his childhood crush on his aunt (not sad)

During the first few years that Severus was teaching at Hogwarts, all of the other teachers were very uncertain of him. They all thought that Dumbledore was mad for hiring him, as they all knew of his reputation as a Death Eater. But eventually he struck up a very playful rivalry with Minerva. They would sit together at Quidditch matches and pass snarky comments back and forth, both of them snorting in amusement. It also wasn’t uncommon to find them sat together in the evenings, having a cup of tea or a glass of firewhiskey. By the time Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, Minerva believed in him almost as much as Dumbledore did. (He often urged Severus to tell her the real reason he defected from the Death Eaters, but Severus always refused.) His hatred of the young Gryffindor was often a point of contention between the two unlikely friends, but their friendship remained strong. It withstood Voldemort’s return and the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix. But in the aftermath of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore’s death, Minerva was completely shocked and outraged. She couldn’t believe she’d ever befriended him at all and swore she’d never forgive herself for trusting him. During the last year the two taught together she avoided him at all costs, talking to him only when it was absolutely necessary, and when she had to she did so rather stiffly. After the Battle of Hogwarts ended and he was dead, however, she learned the truth about his actions from Harry, who told her about his tragic tale. She cried on and off for days. And the first time she came face to face with his portrait she completely broke down.

Had Fred not died, the twins would have had an overly casual double wedding [and would probably switch places to mess with their brides]

When Remus woke up in Harry’s compartment in POA, he saw Harry giving him the same comforting and concerned look as James. For a moment he thought he was seeing James again. Then in sunk in that his dear friend was dead and it was James’ son.

Teddy saw Sirius’ picture once. He didn’t know who he was, so he changed himself to look like him. It was only when he grew up that he understood why Harry started crying when he saw him.

Once Professor McGonagall was made headmistress, she let Hagrid become a student. Harry saw Hagrid’s Patronus for the first time in his life three years after the war. It was Hedwig.

When Petunia and Lily were little, they would read Alice in Wonderland. Petunia would read Dudley the book, fully knowing he didn’t like it. She was reading it for Harry, who was listening from inside his cupboard. Petunia believed she owed this to Lily.

When Harry was a baby, he didn’t know his own name. Each of the marauders gave him a nickname. (James called him troublemaker.) When he lived with the Dursleys, and they called him a “troublemaker”, toddler Harry would get excited thinking that his dad was going to take him away from these horrible people.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Nearly-Headless Nick’s head finally came off. Hence, he had to join the Headless Hunt. Thus, Gryffindor needed a new applicant. The new house ghost was a 17-year-old redheaded man and a large group of 12 students were excited to meet their beloved uncle.

When Teddy Lupin was a baby, his color turned into the person he wanted to hold him. Occasionally, it was Harry or Ginny or any other Weasley. But one day it turned pink and he could do nothing about it.

The Marauders used to take turns babysitting Harry, and it became a tradition to pass the baby and say, “You’re it. Good luck.” And the last thing Sirius saw as he fell through the veil was Remus holding Harry, and the last thought that went though his head was, “You’re it. Good luck.”

After Fred’s funeral, George does not return to the Burrow until about a year later. He refuses to go upstairs where his and Fred’s old room is and barely says a word. His hair is some wild outrageous color, cropped short and crooked, and Mrs. Weasley goes into a fit. She loudly asks why he would do that to himself, and is not prepared when he says, “I kept seeing him in the mirror.”

It’s the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. The school is still being repaired and the class size has dwindled down to pitiful numbers. And the Thestrals are so excited about the newfound attention they’d been getting.

Dobby wrote a will in which he sent Harry over 200 pairs of socks, Ron a pair of trainers, and a misshapen hat for Hermione.

No matter what he was doing or who he was with, Harry would always stop and pet any stray dog that he came across. If he could, he would give them any food he had. Eventually he became known as the man with the treats. Not Harry Potter or the Chosen One; just the quiet man with dogbones. When dogs would bound up to him, throwing their paws onto his chest and barking with glee at his arrival, he was reminded irresistibly of Sirius.

At Colin’s funeral, Harry didn’t say a word. He had been to so many funerals recently that pleasantries felt like a waste of breath, and how terrible would it be for him to waste his breath when he was so lucky to have it? He stood silent and watching, and as the last of the attendees left, Harry placed a tiny picture on Colin’s grave, taken by the late boy himself. It was the only autograph Harry Potter would ever give.

On May 2nd, 1998, Hogwarts held a moment of silence for the fallen. Not a single portrait stirred, not a single stair shifted. Even Peeves ducked into a corner and went silent. Then, when the silence ended, millions of different colored sparks took off into the sky.

Tonks is easily excitable and loved entertaining Hermione and Ginny with her Metamorphosis abilities. One day, she found a picture of Harry in Sirius’ room to turn herself into, and ran downstairs to show Remus and Sirius. And it wasn’t until Tonks watched their hearts break that she realized Harry’s eyes were the wrong color.

Harry kept each and every one of the sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him. One day while cleaning, she saw them folded with so much care in his drawer. She turned to see Harry wearing his newest Christmas Sweater proudly, like it was the greatest honor he could have been given, and she burst into tears.

One day, Harry accidentally calls Mrs. Weasley “Mum” instead of Molly. His face goes bright red, fumbling with apologies, and she (once again) burst into tears.

The first thing Draco Malfoy did after the war was Apparate into Muggle London and march straight into a tattoo parlor. He emerges, his face still bloody and burned, with an arm void of a black skull. Instead, he looks down at the skin covered in flowers and the skull changed into a silhouette of the castle, and smiles for the first time in two years.

George pulls Harry aside:

(“Harry, you’ve died, haven’t you?”

Harry looked up at George and regarded him, careful not to let any incredulousness show in his eyes — he knew all too well of the torment George must be feeling, of the weight in what he was visibly preparing himself to say.

“I have,” said Harry carefully.

George dipped his head; as he did, Harry caught something in his eyes that pained him so deeply, he was grateful George had tried to hide it from him.

“Does it...” George spoke to his shoes, and his voice sounded much older than Harry remembered. “Did... Did dying hurt, Harry? D’you think… that Freddie was in pain when...”

But George did not need to specify. Like he had been smacked right across the face with the words left unspoken, Harry knew, and it was a long time before he answered.

“It didn’t hurt,” said Harry resolutely, like he was deciding it right then and there.“It didn’t?”

“Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”)

When Remus Lupin took the Map from Harry, he sat there for hours, opening and reopening it wrong on purpose just to see the clever insults sprout on the paper. It was almost like his friends, alive and well, were talking to him for the first time in 12 years.

The day Molly Weasley dies, the first thing she sees is a girl with red hair sprinting toward her. She panics, thinking it might be Ginny, but she sees startling green eyes and knows who it is immediately. Lily Potter pulls Mrs. Weasley into a hug and in a choked voice, whispers, “Thank you.”

Harry memorized every name of the 50 Fallen after the war ends. The day he dies, old and surrounded by his children, he repeats their names in his head like a mantra and begs for their forgiveness.

Eleven years later, at Hogwarts, students fill a corridor filled with portraits of those who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They look for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and other famous faces, but there’s a blue-haired first year in their midst, trying desperately to remember what his parents had looked like.

James Potter lost both of his parents at once. The news was delivered to him by Professor McGonagall with Sirius by his side, but James was in denial. He kept insisting that she was lying, and it wasn’t until Sirius broke down into tears that James knew, and it broke him.

Crookshanks was the Potters family cat mentioned in sirius' letter and escaped godrics hollow after Halloween and managed to find the magical menagerie. He found hermione and stayed with her because harry was only allowed hedwig and Ron already had scabbers. This is why he was especially angry towards Ron, due to smelling his masters betrayer on him, and didn't run away from sirius’ grim form.

Hedwig was a guardian angel. Hedwig is smarter than most owls and other animals in the magical world, often appearing to harry when he needs to write a letter. Female snow owls like hedwig are mostly white but they have grey marks and spots on their back wings, hedwig is portrayed as a white male snowy owl. White as an angelic being perhaps Perhaps? Perhaps hedwig was sent by his parents as a guard and friend to him, its why hedwig didn't want anyone else adopting her.

Dementors come from the death eater who were thrown into the Veil. Ever wonder why the veil of death is barley used? After the souls escape to the after life the bodies of those who enter become husks of their former selves, hungry for souls. Unmasked before thrown in with only the cloaks on their backs.

Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Molly Weasley was busy preparing food for Ron’s birthday. She mistakenly barked to George, “Get that chicken out of the oven, Fred!” George silently whispered, “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”

JK Rowling has revealed that Lily Potter was pregnant was her second child when she was killed. Even worse, she had convinced James to make Snape the godfather of the child.

At Luna’s wedding, the whole of the front seats were reserved. Harry went up to her at the end of service and asked, “Luna, who’s sitting there?” Luna smiled her usual smile and said, “Right. They did sit here in a spiritual way I suppose.” She pointed the seats one by one, “Right, that’s for my mother, those are for your parents, that one is for Sirius, that one is for Professor Lupin, that one is for Tonks, then Mad-Eye, then Fred Weasley, then Professor Dumbledore, and then Professor Snape. Right then, bye!” Harry had never felt so touched before.

The reason Bellatrix was so wretchedly insane and slavishly devoted to Voldemort was that she lived for the promise that one day, if she did enough, someone might say “I love you” back. I know that she doesn’t deserve this but for love… wow Bellatrix.

When Harry and Ginny went to search for a house to live in they found an apparently perfect house, Ginny loves it, but Harry rejects with a clear excuse about it being too big for them. Ginny doesn’t notice Harry’s fixed look on the Cupboard under the stairs.

Before the Horcrux hunt, Ron and Hermione decided, that if either of them had to choose between saving each other's lives or Harry’s, they had to choose Harry for the sake of the world. No matter how painful it would be for them to let go of each other.

Sirius and Remus saved memories for Harry. Remus left them for Harry in his will, when Harry got a hold of them he got to see a part of James he never got to see in Snape's memory.

After the battle of Hogwarts, Neville went to visit his parents to tell them about it. After he finished, his mother, who normally spoke nonsense, smiled and said one word: “Proud”

On November 3rd 1981, Sirius Black sat alone in a cell in Azkaban softly singing: “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Sirius...” whilst tears streamed down his face, wishing he could go back in time.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter, James and Sirius were out in public together one sunny afternoon. The elderly couple was talking to someone with that someone asking, “Oh, are these your sons?” Sirius turned beet red and becoming utterly flustered. Mr. Potter simply smiled and says, “Yes, they are.” With Mrs. Potter nodding proudly in agreement. Never once did they think to reply in any other way.

Harry as a preschooler drew two blond blots and a big black blot with a little black one standing a bit further away beside them with “My Family” scratched over the top and presented it to Uncle Vernon who ripped it apart and threw it away right in front of him.

When Harry and Ginny were married they moved to a house in Godric’s Hollow. After Lily was born and got older, she would visit her grandmother and namesake's grave everyday and leave lilies.

Harry Potter died at the ripe age of 101 surrounded by his loved ones, when he opened his eyes again he returned to the place he parted from his old mentor many years ago, but it wasn't Albus Dumbledore who greeted him at the station this time around. Standing a few feet away from him where a young couple patiently waiting for the son they were ripped away from so long ago to take him home and Harry Potter, the boy who lived, went gladly.

After the war, Minerva McGonagall went into a spiral of depression. It was brought on by watching so many students grow and die before her eyes.

At Ginny’s wedding she danced with George twice so it would feel like she was dancing with Fred.

After the second Wizarding War, everyone who died was given a chocolate frog card. When Teddy Lupin was on the train going to his first year of Hogwarts, he got the cards that had his parents on them, and it was like they were sending him off themselves.

These made me cry when I read them, I just can't :(

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

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[alitheakorogane]

Assassination Classroom - Over The Moon AU

I have watched "Over The Moon" on Netflix recently and have the amazing idea. What if we wrote an Over The Moon AU for Assassination Classroom?

Here is my concept of the Over the Moon AU. Please bear with my long ramblings.

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Thousand years ago, Koro became fatally ill due to an incurable disease. His beloved wife, Aguri, loved her husband very much and decided to find a way to heal her dying husband.

So she travelled far and wide to search the legendary Tree of Life, a magical tree that bears a legendary magic peach that only blooms and grows once in a thousand years, which could heal all diseases, no matter how incurable it is. After weeks of searching, she found the tree, and saw the magic peach, glowing with power. Desperate enough to heal her dying husband, she plucked the peach, went home, and made a healing elixir that could heal Koro.

She made Koro to drink the potion and feel the healing power of the elixir, so Koro will be healed. As expected, Koro had recovered from the disease and they lived happily.

But the happiness was short-lived. Aguri found the painful truth about the magical peach too late.

Shin (the Second Reaper), the young and talented village healer, told her the painful truth about the peach. The one who intakes the magic peach can be cured by any illness that plagues him or her, but there is a catch, a curse. The one who intakes the peach can't die, and will be immortal forever.

Aguri clung on her husband’s hands tightly, as she held on his fleeting embrace. He was floating upwards, a mysterious force pulling him away from Aguri's loving arms. The curse has started, and Koro was taken away from her. She cried and cried, holding Koro's hands tight, but she can't cling to him any longer. She let go him, her hands trying to reach her beloved, but Koro was now far away, floating to the glowing moon above.

Aguri was grief-stricken and feels regret over the loss of Koro, so every day and every night, she would offer mooncakes and sweets to an altar she made for her husband. She would pray and sing, so Koro could hear her voice, hoping that she would reunite with him soon.

Unfortunately, Aguri is a mortal and have a short lifespan. She never remarried, as she still loves Koro very much. The tried everything, she prayed and plead and she went to the Tree to find another peach to eat so she could be reunited with Koro, but the peach only grows once in a thousand years. She fell ill and died alone at a young age, without Koro in her embrace.

The now-immortal Koro was alone in the moon, trapped forever in rock and lunar dunes. He cried for the loss of Aguri, as his crystal tears fell to the ground, giving life to the rocks that became his faithful subjects. The rocks turned to humanoid teenagers, which will help him cope with the loneliness and longing for his beloved Aguri.

Every 13th day of the third month (March 13th), people celebrates the tale of Koro and Aguri by eating and offering mooncakes, while telling the children about their tragic tale. The moon would shine so bright at this time, forming a crescent shape as the reminder of Aguri's love for Koro.

Thousands of years after, there was a boy named Nagisa Shiota. He lived a happy childhood, his father would tell him stories, while little Nagisa and his mother, Hiromi, would listen to the tale under the moon. Their favorite story was the tale of Koro and Aguri. When Nagisa was 8, Nagisa's father gives him an old necktie with a crescent moon emblem and a golden moon pendant.

They were very happy, until Nagisa's father died due to illness, leaving his mother depressed and insane, as she started to think that Nagisa was his daughter she never had. She began to have delusions of a happy family, and became abusive to her son, punishing him if he never did her wishes.

Until the day they met the Asanos.

When Nagisa was 14, Hiromi met Gakuho Asano, a widower, and it was love at first sight. After a year, they are planning to get married, and Hiromi began to revert back to her old self, although she was a little abusive to Nagisa.

Gakuho has a son, Gakushuu. He is the same age as Nagisa, and he was very different from the meek Nagisa. He was always serious, competitive and kinda proud, and Nagisa had difficulty getting along with him.

Nagisa was tired of this life. He still wanted his father, and hated the fact that his mother easily replaced his father by Gakuho in her heart. So he wanted to meet Koro, the god of the moon, to prove to his mother that love is not replacable, and it is forever. He had a plan: to build a rocket to the moon.

With a little knowledge of Science and determination, he successfully made the rocket, but he never expected Gakushuu joining his plan to meet the moon god, let alone met Koro in personal. Nagisa lost control of the rocket due to shock, crashing it.

Nagisa was pissed when he found out Gakushuu joined him in this plan. Gakushuu argued that he silently help Nagisa solve the equations needed for the rocket, as some of the calculations Nagisa did are slightly wrong, and can cause trouble for Nagisa later on. Also, Gakushuu wanted to see if this Koro is real all along, as he was still skeptical about the story.

They were arguing when they were suddenly taken away by flying... Octopuses? Gakushuu loses his shit.

And do I have to tell you Koro was always holding concerts at his kingdom? Can you imagine that?

Gakushuu and Nagisa meets Koro, the god of the moon. Nagisa was ecstatic and took a photo with the moon god, while Gakushuu was still mumbing how this is possible. It was peaceful until Koro demanded about a gift to them. The two humans were confused about the immortal's demand. They don't know about the gift.

So Koro had stolen the picture of Nagisa and him as a ransom, as he announced to all his subjects that anyone who can find the gift before the last sliver of moonlight in the orb fades, their greatest wish will be granted. Of course, all of Koro's subjects were excited, so they rush out to find the gift. Nagisa wanted to get the picture so he ran outside, leaving Gakushuu looking at Koro with a glare, suddenly challenging the moon god, demanding about the picture. Koro agrees.

They settled the fight by doing a quiz bee. Two girls, a blonde named Rio, and a purple-haired girl named Ritsu, held the contest, while the Gakushuu and Koro were the contestants. They answered questions with precision, and even Koro was amazed of the strawberry-blond kid's intelligence. But they still continued on, Koro was starting to get annoyed by the kid's knowledge. Until the final question.

Koro mocks that a measly kid like Gakushuu can't answer the final question, as Koro was a thousand years older than Gakushuu and more knowledgeable. Gakushuu, having a sharp mouth than anyone, retorts and mocks the moon god about the past.

"You are more knowledgeable than me, you say to me... But why you never stopped Aguri from picking that magic peach, making and letting you drink that potion that made you who you are now? You're selfish, because if you are knowledgeable as you said you are, I think you know the peach can make you immortal! Aguri was fooled by you!"

Koro was aghast about the accusations and he was pissed, unable to concentrate, leaving Gakushuu to be the victor. Koro screamed angrily that Gakushuu and Nagisa would never get the picture until the gift was given to him, breaking the deal. He left the room with Rio and Ritsu (who was apologizing), locking Gakushuu inside.

Koro was in despair, his heart was desperate to find the gift. Okuda and Takebayashi, the royal chemists, were busily mixing potions that will be needed for the ritual. Irina, one of Koro's two trusted advisors, advised the moon god to calm down. Koro replied that he can't bear to calm down, as the time is nearly up, and he can't reunite with Aguri if the gift was not yet found. Irina assured that they will find it, that Koro will gonna reunite with Aguri. The moon god smiled gratefully at Irina as he looked at what the chemists do.

After a few moments, Okuda announced that the potion for the ritual was ready. The gift was the only one left needed. Koro sadly smiled as he looked at the orb.

Nagisa went with a team of bounty hunters, Terasaka, Muramatsu, Yoshida and Hazama. They fought and escaped the obstacles, as they reached the crash site, finding for the gift. Nagisa started to lose hope, praying for a sign. As he looked around, he noticed a sliver of pale light hitting the necktie. Nagisa widened his eyes as he realized that the necktie was the gift, and happily shows it to the bounty hunters. The bounty hounters, however, had interests for Koro to grant their wishes, bullies Nagisa into giving them the gift. Nagisa gives them a gift, but he was pushed by Terasaka, while his team laughed behind him. Suddenly, he was saved by a red-haired boy and a green-haired girl.

Terasaka calls the new arrivals outcasts as the redhead smiled like a demon, "You both were exiled by the great Koro-sama, why are you here?"

The redhead shrugged and threatened them in a conscending tone to give the necktie back to Nagisa, while the green-haired girl smiled menancingly, sending Terasaka's team shivers down their spine. Terasaka suddenly ran towards his bike with the necktie in his hands, and rode away, along with his team. Nagisa was shocked, before the redhead grabbed his hand and ran to a big pond where they could catch up with Terasaka. They reached the pond and rode on the huge toads's backs back to Kunugigaoka, as the toads like to feed in the lake near Kunugigaoka. Nagisa asked for their names.

"It's Karma and this is Kaede, by the way. You?"

"I’m Nagisa."

"Hi, Nagisa!"

Nagisa remembered what Terasaka said, and asked about it. Karma sighed as he reveals that Koro exiled him due to a song Karma sang to him about moving on. Before the exile, Karma was one of Koro's trusted students. Nagisa find out that Koro loved teaching, and Karma was one of the lucky Kunugigaokans who are the moon god's students.

Nagisa also found out the Kunugigaokans are born through Koro's magic tears. That means Karma practically came from the moon god's tears.

Kaede, on the other hand, was Aguri's actual younger sister. Nagisa was confused how she was with Koro when she was supposed to be mortal, while Aguri can't, Kaede revealed that she is actually a spirit, kinda like a shikigami, who died years after Koro was floated away to the moon, and her spirit remained to accompany Koro as his companion. Nagisa wondered why it was not Aguri, and Kaede explained that Aguri was the one who picked the peach, making it part of the curse Koro was suffering. The curse was not only to make Koro immortal, but it also affects Koro and Aguri's fate. They can't be together happily, even how many lifetimes they will be in. She was also exiled with Karma after telling Koro that a ritual to bring Aguri back would possibly not work.

Nagisa realized that Koro was unfair giving the two of them the punishment of exile for just saying a helpful comment. Nagisa spoke that he never expected Koro to be an arrogant and selfish prick, as his father told him before that Koro was graceful like a swan landing on a quiet lake, full of kindness and hope. Karma replied that Koro just missed Aguri, and love can make you desperate to do anything that may be impossible.

Nagisa smiled bitterly and agree. Kaede asked about Nagisa's family life and the bluenette told the entire life story. The two listened attentively to him. He even told them about his mother and Gakuho being remarried, and Gakushuu.

Karma smiled, "I hope I will experience having a sibling. Well, a sibling who could share my hobbies of pranking other people..."

Kayano nodded as she spoke with a cheerful voice, "Having a sibling is a fun experience though! Aguri was sweet, and she was a good sibling. Besides, we were alone for a thousand years, since we were exiled by Koro-niisan from the castle."

Karma smiled, "It is not bad to move on. You can remember them forever, cherish their memories, but you can't stay in the past and be stuck. Otherwise, you will feel alone forever."

Kaede had also remarked one fact about Koro.

"When he was overwhelmed by great emotions, the entire kingdom of Kunugigaoka will be affected, since he was the one who made the kingdom from scratch. In fact, when he was striken by great grief, Kunugigaoka will plagued by darkness, as Koro's happiness powers the entire kingdom's bright lights. The last time he was striken with great grief was the time he first landed on the moon, long before the kingdom of Kunugigaoka was made."

The trio catch up to the bounty hunters, after they reached the kingdom of Kunugigaoka, Nagisa seeing the orb on the castle glowing faintly, signalling they were running out of time. Terasaka and the gang tried to stop the trio from getting the tie, but the trio were persistent. They fought and fought, Kaede was jumping like a rabbit, Karma was happily punching Terasaka, with Nagisa watching at them in horror and shock, but in between their fight, the tie was accidentally destroyed. The bounty hunters stopped fighting them and proved that the tie was now useless.

Meanwhile, Gakushuu finds a way to escape the room and wanders around the place, looking for something to use for defending himself while looking for the photo. While finding, he met Isogai, a kindhearted Kunugigaokan who happily helped him find the photo. Along with Isogai is Maehara, a flirty blond haired Kunugigaokan.

Nagisa looked at the tattered tie in despair. "It was my father's gift to me, along with this pendant I am wearing."

Karma looked at the pendant and remarks that the pendant seems familiar. Nagisa looked at Karma in confusion, as Karma shrugged, thinking that he may be wrong. Nagisa looked at the pendant and saw something in it. The moon seems like it was actually part of something.

Kaede squinted at the golden pendant and commented, while smiling wistfully, "I remember that Aguri-neechan has that similar necklace thousands of years ago, a full moon necklace. Koro-niisan too have a similar pendant too, although it was a crescent moon pendant. He was still wearing it even now, after a thousand years. I remember that if you combined those two necklaces, it will become a whole moon, like a damn puzzle. It was their version of a wedding ring."

Karma laughed, "Yeah, I remembered that pendant. Koro-sensei showed it to me back when I was still his beloved student. He was so protective of it that he cried like a waterfall when I hid that pendant playfully that time. I remember that is how Itona-kun and Ritsu-chan was born."

Nagisa stood there, pondering over their tale. Being a perceptive person, all the pieces were put to place.

"Like a puzzle. The pendant is like a puzzle. The gift..."

Nagisa's blue eyes widened as he had realized that the tie was not the gift, but the pendant. The pendant that was with him all along!

Karma and Kaede smiled happily for Nagisa while Nagisa looks at the orb above the castle, there is only a sliver of moonlight left. Nagisa knew that there is little time left so he ran along, with Karma and Kaede following him.

While running inside, Gakushuu and Nagisa bumped to each other, and Nagisa hugged Gakushuu in happiness. Gakushuu was shocked as he tried to pull back (he kinda hates hugs), but Nagisa tightly gripped him.

Meanwhile, Maehara and Isogai looked at Kaede and Karma in apprehension, as all Kunugigaokans know that these two are exiled by Koro-sama due to personal reasons. Karma playfully greeted them while Kaede waved back.

Suddenly, a tall man came in, looking at the scene with a serious look. Everyone looked at him, even Nagisa who was pulling away from annoyed Gakushuu.

"Karasuma-sensei!" The four teens greeted the man, who was named Karasuma. Karasuma is Koro's second trusted adviser, along with Irina. Karasuma spoke in a serious voice, "I know you have the gift, the octopus is waiting for you in the main room."

Nagisa was confused why Koro, the god of the moon, was called octopus by Karasuma. Karma, remarked that Koro has great affinity with octopuses as Aguri loves octopuses. In fact, he was sometimes called "octoperv" by some people close to the moon god, due to his hidden pervert nature. It was a cute nickname for the immortal moon god.

Nagisa raised an eyebrow, he never knew about the fact that Koro was like some ordinary male, sometimes a perverted creep.

Koro was in the middle of the room, waiting for the gift, with the Kunugigaokans looking at the new arrivals with concern, happiness and relief. He raised his weird-looking eyebrow to Karma, who smiled like a demonic entity, and Kayano, who awkwardly waved at him. Kayano then looked at Koro with a concerned look, reminding him that it may not work and her opinion still stands, and the moon god smiled sadly, as he walked towards Nagisa.

Nagisa held the golden moon pendant to the immortal and Koro gently picked it up from the bluenette's hands. He looked at the pendant wistfully and removed his own crescent moon pendant from his neck and connected the two necklaces together. It fits like a puzzle piece. Takebayashi poured the potion over the necklaces and the necklaces glowed brightly.

"As two halves can be whole again, this necklace was now complete, like our love. Now, you can come back to me... Aguri."

The castle scenery changes, as it morphed into a clearing, with lots of trees around the place. There is a house in the middle, and Koro, in simple yukata he was wearing back when he was still mortal, was standing in front of the house. Nagisa, Gakushuu and the Kunugigaokans were looking from far away.

The door of the house opened, it revealed a short haired woman wearing a fancy yukata. She was short, with onyx eyes tinged with brown hues. Her short hair was adored with little hairclips and jewelry that was common for women in her time. Nagisa and the Kunugigaokans gasped from far away as they saw the woman. They saw the woman on the paintings of the castle, paintings where it was depicted Koro with his beloved wife. The woman was Aguri, the woman in the paintings and Koro's beloved wife.

It was a tearful reunion, with Koro looking at his love with a longing look as he spoke how he had missed her, and they were now reunited after a thousand years. Aguri smiled and held Koro's cheek with gentleness, but Aguri's hands glowed and slowly became transparent. Koro looked at Aguri in shock.

Aguri tearfully reveals that she can't stay any longer, as they can't be together, and Koro has to move on. Koro shook his head, screaming Aguri's name as he tried to hug Aguri and stop her from fading away, but the woman slowly floated away like how Koro had done a thousand years ago. Koro reached out desperately, trying to grab his beloved wife's hands, but Aguri faded away, smiling and saying, "I will always love you forever."

As Aguri faded away to the wind, the sliver of moonlight on the orb shatters, leaving into nothing. The time was up, and it was too late to bring Aguri back. She was gone forever.

Kaede looked at the scene sadly, as she saw her sister faded away to the wind, like how Koro has done before. She sadly remarked that she knew from the start that the ritual will never work in the first place. The curse will always plagued their fate. Also, if that was possible, you can't bring back the person long dead for a thousand years. Koro is an immortal, and Aguri isn't.

Upon hearing Kaede's sad truth, Koro was stricken with grief over the loss of Aguri once again, plunging Kunugigaoka into darkness. The god suddenly formed a protective barrier around him, forbidding anyone access to him. The Kunugigaokans were worried about their leader, Karasuma voicing his concerns.

"We can't enter the barrier, it is too powerful and no one can enters there. If there is someone that can enter it, they can't go out until Koro stopped the barrier. And knowing him, he will stay like that forever."

Irina continued, "He really loved Aguri very much, and did everything to make her come back. But we all know that it is impossible. Kayano-san was different from Aguri-san's case. That curse..."

Nagisa was confused, "How Aguri was different from Kayano?"

Karasuma looked at the moon good and sighed, " There is actually a story that was actually not included in the tales that you humans say about Koro and Aguri. When Aguri picked the magic peach and made a potion for Koro to drink, a powerful sorcerer named Shiro was very angry. He wanted the peach to himself, to be immortal forever. When he found out that the magic peach was gone, and hearing the news that a mere mortal became immortal after drinking a potion containing the peach, he was pissed. Of course, he can't curse Koro, as he was now immortal and now in the moon, so Shiro cursed the one who made the potion, the unfortunate Aguri. He used a forbidden spell to curse her."

Gakushuu asked, "Let me guess, the curse was not to let Aguri reunited with Koro forever??"

Irina nodded, "Yes. Aguri's spirit and Koro can't be reunited until the curse is broken. Shiro had announced that the curse should be broken before the last sliver of moonlight in the orb shatters, or Aguri be gone forever. But unfortunately, the curse was too powerful, even the gods can't easily lift it without trouble. Even Koro, who now revered as the god of the moon. But he tried everything to break the curse for a thousand years, and this is his chance to do it right. But he failed. That sliver of light was gone. Now Aguri is gone, and Koro can't bring her back forever."

Nagisa and the Kunugigaokans were worried when they heard the words. Even Gakushuu, who shows slight concern. Nagisa stepped forward and into the barrier's end, touching the barrier, expecting it to feel like a wall. They all were shocked when his hands passed through the barrier. Nagisa looked at the depressed god of the moon and determined to enter the barrier. Gakushuu stopped him, his hands touched the barrier. Unlike Nagisa, it never passed through.

"Are you crazy?! What if you will be stuck there forever? I can't go home without you, I still have a future on Earth!"

Nagisa sighed as he smiled, "The moon's guiding light will be gone if we don't do something."

He went inside, ignoring the pleas of Karma and Kaede telling him to stop. Nagisa walked towards Koro, who was curling up into a ball.

"Koro-sama? It's me, Nagisa. The effeminate boy? I want you to know the Kunugigaokans needed you..."

Nagisa went to reach Koro, but something... Or someone stopped him. It was the vision of his father. Nagisa widened his eyes in shock and sadness as he looked towards his father, reaching his hand to hold his father’s face once again. He cried, as he screamed for his father to come back. But like Aguri, the vision floated away, leaving Nagisa depressed. Nagisa curled up to a ball in sadness, as the memories of the happy times rushed over him.

Meanwhile, Gakushuu, Karma and Kaede tried hard to break the barrier, but it was no use. Gakushuu punched the barrier but it wouldn't budge. He may not admit it, but he is started to care about Nagisa. Kaede tearfully screamed as she pounded in the glass in desperation. In her desperation, she revealed a secret Gakushuu was shocked for: Nagisa was Kaede's descendant.

Kaede had apparently died in her 20s when she give birth to a baby boy, her first child. Before dying, she gave her sister's necklace to her son as a reminder of her sister's love for her husband. It became a family hairloom, and Nagisa got it from his father thousand of years later.

Karma comforted Kaede as Gakushuu looked towards the greenette and Nagisa in shock.

Meanwhile, Koro had noticed Nagisa crying towards the vision of his father before it fades away. Koro felt sadness as he looked towards the depressed bluenette, he realized that both he and Nagisa are similar. Both of them lost a loved one and grieving over their loss. He floated towards Nagisa and gently lifted the teen's head.

Nagisa looked at the moon god with a tearful gaze, as the moon god sadly smiled, speaking in a soft voice, "You don't belong here, Nagisa-kun. You have a family to come back to. Don't drown in sadness like I did, you are still young. I know it hurts to let go of them, but we had to move on and be happy with the ones we currently have. You will remember the moments with them, but we can make new ones. You have your mother who needed you, your new stepfather to support you, and a new brother to love you."

Nagisa looked down as he spoke in a soft voice, looking towards the moon god's dark eyes "It's not too late for you to move on too." Aguri may be gone, but they are still there." Nagisa pointed out to the teenagers who stood outside the barrier, "They needed you too."

Gakushuu punched the barrier, with Karma punching along with him. "Nagisa-kun, I know we are not in good terms, but we will try to work this out! Because we are now a family!" With one last punch, the barrier shattered, as Gakushuu and the Kunugigaokans rushed in to greet Koro and Nagisa.

Nagisa hugged Gakushuu tightly, as Gakushuu, still uncomfortable in hugging people, squirmed before giving up. Kaede smiled at Nagisa, while Karma patted his back.

All Kunugigaokans rushed towards the moon god, as they hugged the crying moon god. Ritsu, Okuda and Kurahashi was crying loudly, hugging Koro tightly. Karasuma and Irina stayed behind, but they were smiling at the joyful event.

Later on, Koro and the Kunugigaokans are ready to say goodbye to Nagisa and Gakushuu. Koro had apologized to Karma and Kaede for banishing them from the kingdom, as they were just trying to make him happy by moving on and focus on the ones who loved him now. Karma just laughed and said that it was fine, traveling was fun and exciting, that he gets to pick fights easily outside without Koro scolding him, making the moon god slapped Karma's head playfully. Kaede snorted as Karma hugged Nagisa and Gakushuu tightly as he admitted he was going to miss them, Kaede giving Nagisa a quick peck in the cheek. Nagisa blushed pink over the actions. Koro happily gives Nagisa the picture of Koro and Nagisa together, as proof. Nagisa clutched the photo with happiness, as Gakushuu rolled his eyes.

With the octopuses flying them away, Gakushuu and Nagisa returned to Earth. To a human observer on Earth, they are like shooting stars. Nagisa looked at the photo in his hand, and saw the photo is fading away. Nagisa realized that he didn't need proof, so he let the photo floated away in the wind as they fall towards the Earth.

Months after, Hiromi and Gakuho had married. Hiromi changed for the better, and Nagisa is happy that his mother is now happy in life. His brother, Gakushuu, started to warm up to him.

They celebrated the March 13th festival with their relatives by eating mooncakes and sweets while sharing stories of Koro and Aguri. Nagisa laughed at some of the story as he looked out at the moon. The moon was glowing bright, as if it was acknowledging Nagisa.

After the mooncake eating, Hiromi was with Nagisa, looking at the moon with a serene look in their faces. They remembered the memories of the past, but there is no heartbreak now. Hiromi apologized about how she acted towards Nagisa ever since his father died, and Nagisa smiled as he hugged his mother tightly. As they playfully chasing each other in the night sky, the moon shone brightly than ever, as a beautiful swan in a lake flew towards the moon.

-----

So what do you think about it? I tried hard to fit the Assassination Classroom elements to Over the Moon, add some twists and new ideas, and hoping that there is not a character that is too OOC.

[adamantiumdragonfly]

“...A time when the United States is what we fight for...” 

The occupants of the Grisham Hall boarding house were no strangers to the war effort. Brothers, cousins, old flames, and sweethearts have been wrenched from their grasp, the only contact to their stolen loved ones is military grade pencils and scraps of paper. Estelle prides herself on her mind for numbers but a usurper from her past rears his russet head and threatens to steal her thoughts every chance he gets. Bessie has been searching for a home in every patron in that cafe but she’s left seeing his face everywhere she looks. Constance hears her lover’s voice on the wind, finding quiet in the graveyard shift of the machine shop. Margaret refuses to admit defeat but the distance between her letters and her love grows wider each day. Jeannette has read many stories about tragic heroes. Her childhood friend has told tales of his plans for wealth and ending the war on his own. She just hopes she has a chance to do her part first.  

taglist: @rinadoesstuff @vintagelavenderskies @julianneday1701  @wexhappyxfew @junojelli @jamie506101-deactivated20210209 @trashgoddess600 @pilindieltheelf @sunnyshifty @rogue-sunday @easy-company-tradition  @pxpeyewynn @50svibes​

No Ordinary Time

When the doorbell rang at the Grisham Hall for Ladies, it was a house-wide thrill, shivering down the very spine of the building and sending chills into every resident. A doorbell ring, with its chime calling every girl to their feet in a downward flight, could mean one of two things: a visitor or a postman. Visitors, particularly of the sought after male variety, were scarce since the war had been put on to boil some three years previously. Now, with the residents tending home fires and not the flaming passions of suitors, a postman was more likely. A postman, or rather post-boy, were the only kindling to the fires of romance. 

But, on a dim March morning with the sky heavy and ready to bleed, the doorbell had been run and so began the usual stampede of pumps on hardwood floors. There should have been only two possibilities and yet, Jeannette Edwards wasn't a postman or anything that the anxiously awaiting faces expected. She had rung the bell and stepped back in surprise and a tiny bit of fright at the fervor and hunger that met her behind the door wrenched from it’s frame by a seemingly harmless girl. 

She shouldn’t have been so ferocious of a predator as she seemed, this little thing with short brown hair and a dickie color edged in red ribbon but Jeannette stepped back all the same. This hadn’t been what Jeannette had expected either. 

Grisham had come highly recommended, as a good, upstanding place for good, upstanding girls. Jeannette thought she had fit that description rather well and had packed her things in the carpet bag she now clutched tightly in one whitened fist. Could this carpet bag that had first belonged to her mother be used as a weapon to fend off this frightening girl and her hungry eyes? 

“You aren’t Davis,” The girl huffed and moved to shut the door. Jeannette hadn’t come all the way from Hughestown to be turned away by someone looking for a Davis but she didn’t move fast enough. 

A hand, surely one of God’s angels come down from heaven, stopped the door before the girl could shut Jeannette out from her new home. 

“Sorry about that,” The hand’s owner said. She might as well have been an angel as she pushed the door open again, giving full view of her face. Not nearly as intimidating as this little rabid creature before her but there was something in her dark eyes that didn’t set Jeannette completely at ease. 

“Oh,” Jeannette said. “That’s quite alright.” 

“It isn’t really. Bess turns into a monster when she hasn’t heard from her beau in a few days,” The girl said, tossing her long black curls over her shoulder. She wore them loose, a stark contrast to the tight pins in the other girl, Bess’s, locks of chestnut brown. “Sorry you had to be in her path.” 

“Who’s Davis?” Jeannette stammered, gripping her carpet bag tighter and trying not to wobble in her too big pumps. She had bought them before the war, when she had still been hopeful that she’d grow to fit them. But with spending frivolously unpatriotic and her shoe size stubbornly remaining, Jeannette had been left with loose pumps and aching feet. 

“THERE HE IS!” Bess leapt past Jeannette, brushing her roughly in her flight off the wooden porch and flying into the dripping rain. She wore no shoes and her bobby socks were soaked on the puddled pavers as she ran towards the approaching youth in a yellow raincoat. 

“Davis is the mail carrier.” the dark haired girl explained. “He was running late today. We get antsy when we don’t get our letters. I’m sorry I don’t think I-” 

“Jeannette.” She extended her hand. “Jeannette Edwards.” 

Those dark eyes studied her, flicking over her navy blue hat into which her frizzy tomato red hair was tucked, all the way down her too big pumps before shaking Jeannette’s outstretched hand. “Estelle Tran.” 

Behind those dark eyes lay a studious mind that wrote down every variable and equation the world threw at her, bringing up the final unfair sum and accepting it as fact. Estelle was a woman of facts, something that Jeannette rarely dealt in. 

The idea of chasing a mail carrier down flooded steps to retrieve a sought-after letter had never once crossed Jeannette’s mind but it seemed these girls found it a daily occurrence. Jeannette’s gaze was cast to the left of the doorway where the mailbox was hung, the address and the name of the establishment emblazoned on the wood in cut out letters. 

“I’m sorry, I believe I came to the wrong place,” She said, gesturing at the box where the “I” had been replaced by a mystifying “E”. “I’m looking for Grisham Hall,” 

“Oh you are in the right place,” Bess jogged back up the path, her stockings slapping against the stone pavers like webbed feet. “We knocked the ‘I’ off and had to make do. Grisham, Gresham. It’s all the same, really,” 

“Jeannette Edwards,” The redhead pushed her hand forward, offering it to the creature who had been ready to shut her out in this damp cold. Bess seemed in better spirits now, a wad of letters in her hand.

“Elizabeth Ferguson,” Her bobbed brown hair bounced against her cheeks as Elizabeth leaned forward to take Jeannette’s hand. “You can call me Bess, Beth, I really don’t mind. Crops good this week,” Bess turned to Estelle and waved the mail under her companion’s nose. 

“Stop waving and let me look,” Estelle plucked the letters from Bess’s hands, holding them out of reach as the brunette leapt for them. 

“Hang on,” Bess cried, trying in vain to reach the envelopes. “Two of them are for me.” 

When the correspondence had been returned to their rightful recipient, Bess squealed and darted back into the house, sliding across the foyer in her slick stockings. 

“Better wake Connie and Margo,”  Estelle called over her shoulder as she sorted through the last of the letters. She turned to go inside but paused, as if remembering that Jeannette was there, out in the drizzling rain and the damp air. “You are looking for Grisham Hall, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Jeannette said. “I’m-” 

“The new tenant,” Estelle finished for her. “Mrs. G told us. Come on then,” 

Allowing herself to be waved inside, Jeannette cast her gaze around the foyer of cherry-stained wood and bright electric lights, a stark contrast to the gloom and doom of the world outside. The scent of lemon cleaner that hung in the air was the same brand that Jeannette’s mother had used in the houses she cleaned. A strange connection between the hills of Pennsylvania and the riverside of Virginia that was a comfort as much as a weight. This house was far too clean to be anything from Jeannette’s home and it fit the bill for good and upstanding. This house was the picture of American dreams and patriotism with it’s large staircase and adjoining room for a grand piano and little else. 

Jeannette hung back as Estelle pushed her way further into the house as if she wasn’t stunned by the cherry-wood and lemon cleaner. Those too big shoes looked foolish and the wish for a pair that fit was unpatriotic in this bright house with it’s star banner in the window. Shuffling her feet, Jeannette cast her gaze down. 

“Mrs G!” Estelle shouted. Deep from the belly of this house, came a faint response. 

“She’s in the kitchen,” Estelle waited for Jeannette to follow her through the side door into a back hall, past the dining room set for an army and a sunroom that was dark under the storm brewing outside, and into the even brighter kitchen. 

“Mrs. G, Ms. Edwards is here,” Estelle called and the woman at the counter turned away from the scraps of dough, her hands dusted in flour. 

“I was expecting a call from the station,” Mrs. Grisham chided, wiping her hands across a spotless apron, sending a wince through Jeannette’s frame at the destruction of such clean linen.  “We were going to send the car with Constance.” 

“I took a bus and then a cab. It was no trouble,” Jeannette said. “I didn’t want to impose,”

Mrs. Grisham blustered and waved a hand, sending flour cascading into the air, assuring Jeannette that it was no trouble at all. She was a matronly, if not clumsy, woman who’s nice house and nice clothes set the tone for the good and upstanding boarding house she ran. The girls who had been in her care were loved fiercely and looked after tenderly with a maternal, if not iron, fist. She was no stranger to hard work and saw the running of this hall for ladies as her battlefield. While the muddied stairs and the young women were not German soldiers or Pacific islands, they were a worthy opponent all the same. 

 “I saw your banner, Mrs. Grisham,” Jeannette said, gesturing back the way she had come. “Your son?” 

Stars marked windows and hearts, declaring that the ultimate show of patriotism had been brandished in that home. Their home fires were stoked a little more vigorously and their women sat in wait a little more earnestly. Jeannette had seen many on her trip down from Pennsylvania and knew still more in her hometown; there it stung to put names to the stars in windows. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Grisham said, with a thin smile. “Arthur is in the Pacific. And you?” 

“Two brothers in North Africa,” Two stars for Jeannette’s mother. “A cousin in the Navy, and a friend. Last I heard, he was in England.” 

Those names were hard to forget. Brothers. Friends. Family. Everyone knew someone who was fighting, everyone had a letter that they could send. 

Her friend had taken up space in her mind since he had waved goodbye on that train. She carried those dark eyes and that crooked smile in her carpet bag across state lines and into Norfolk, etched into her memory with the letters and the memories. Jeannette hadn’t heard from him in several weeks and she was growing steadily more concerned. They had grown up together and he had always been in her life in some form or fashion, in letters or in days under the trees. 

“Mine too!” Bessie cried. “Postmarked Aldbourne.” 

“Now, you know how Estelle feels about all this talk,” Mrs. Grisham said softly. “Did you have your address changed, dear? Letters are a big to-do around here.” 

Jeannette didn’t cling to every letter, every word at first.  She hadn’t known what a lifeline those pencil-etched papers of military issued paper, in the storm of the current world. She had begun to see how impervious the lead was to the wiles of the storms. 

“My mother will forward any letters from home,” Jeannette said. 

“Now, enough of all this letter talk,” Mrs. Grisham said. “You got a job on base, didn’t you?” 

Jeannette nodded. 

“You are in luck. Most of the girls here work on base and there is always plenty of room in the car. Dinners and breakfasts are as a home but lunches are up to you. I trust you’ll join us tonight? I’ve been saving my coupons.” 

“Mrs. G is making her apple pie,” Bessie said. “It ranks 4th best.” 

“I will win first place, mark my words,” Mrs. G teased. “You’ll find we are very relaxed here, Jeannette. I don’t care much what you get up to, just keep your wits about you. These Navy men-” Mrs. Grisham shuddered as if repelled by the thought of that branch of the US military. “Bess and Estelle will show you your room. You’ll have to share.” 

Once Jeannette had assured Mrs. G that she had shared a room her whole life and it didn’t matter to her, the landlady smiled and waved them up the back staircase. Following the damp footprints of Bess up the third floor, she let her eyes wander to the photos on the walls. Scenic views of the river that Jeannette knew was only a few miles away shared space with the portraits of a young boy and a much younger Mrs. Grisham. Beside her was the assumed Mr. Grisham, who’s dark eyes followed Jeannette up the stairs long after his face had ceased to be represented in the family photographs. It was almost poetic, to see the changes in the family as Jeannette followed Bess and Estelle up the stairs. 

Between the days by the river and the picnic blankets on the beach,  Arthur grew up and Mrs. Grisham grew grayer. Jeannette had been a girl prone to empathy often to her detriment and felt the pang of nostalgia deeper as they ascended till the final frame on the landing showed the now older and grimmer son who Jeannette had seen as a child not seven steps back, dressed up in his uniform. Bess and Estelle had passed these photos daily and knew the stories behind them, having seen Arthur in the flesh before the Navy had stolen him away. They felt the pang as Jeannette did, but sharper. They knew the shy and quiet boy wasn’t in that uniform.  

They ignored the second floor, leaving Mrs. Grisham’s shrine to how things had been before Arhtur untouched and continued to the third floor, where the photos were scarce and replaced with paintings of long forgotten relatives and odd landscapes. Bess paused to point out that the oar on the side of the boat depicted wasn’t actually an oar but a “sneaky duck. I didn’t know until Carrie told me. Looks like an oar, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” Jeannette admitted. “Did a Grisham paint it?” 

Estelle turned from where she stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the lagging Jeannette and Bess. “The previous owner of this house, a great aunt of Mrs. Grisham’s, Beverly Simmons, was an amatuer artist.” 

“Emphasis on the amatuer,” Bess muttered as she jogged up the last few steps. “Mrs. G doesn’t want to see ducks that look like boats on the main floor so we are forced to look at their sorry tails everyday.” 

“I don’t think they look that bad,” Jeannette said, wanting to defend the ducks. She tilted her head, getting a better look. “Well…” 

“They wear on you after a few weeks,” Estelle said, beckoning Jeannette up the stairs. ”You’ll see.” 

The frightening vision of these misshapen ducks waddling up the stairs after her was enough to quicken Jeannette’s pace, securing her safety on the landing where Estelle and Bess had already moved on. 

“You’ll be on the left,” Bess said, poking her head into a doorway and shouting, “Margo! Calm down, it’s just me. You’ve got a letter.” 

The landing had an overstuffed armchair, a bookcase where all the inhabitants leaned to the left, and a single window that sent slanting gray light onto the wooden floor that creaked under Jeannette’s uncertain feet. It looked like a cozy place to sit and read on a rainy day such as this if there hadn’t been a weight in the air. It wound between the branching doorways, under the floorboards, and sank into Jeannette’s bones. It was an anticipation that was as intoxicating as it was melancholy. 

The American homefront had known only one thing in the two years since they had found themselves in a simmering war and had taken it upon themselves to bring it to an unrelenting boil. In the heat of the flames of passion, love, and patriotism, the country was left with an immense shadow. The waiting. Like dolls abandoned in their beautifully crafted house, dust collected on their painted, smiling faces. 

Jeannette had known the numbing of waiting, the thrill of the letter in her hands, the way she held them so tightly. Her mother hadn’t understood, quite so deeply. Ada didn’t understand, quite so sharply. She had never felt it as strongly as she did in this house. Women in a war but not fighting for it. Women who were aching for those who did fight but putting up their own battles. It was almost poetic, the anticipation. 

This anticipation had become the drive behind her movement, the striking match to her move down to Norfolk. This fire needed to be stoked by more than just letters. Ink didn’t catch  quite like working for the war effort. Jeannette had been fond of the meter and beat of poetry, finding solace from the cole-tinged air in the yellowed pages of Maffei, and Shakespeare. Her brothers and their friends never understood her obsession, save one. He would sneak books from the library in Pittston and slide them under her window. Jeannette smiled at the memory. She had spent many summer nights poking her head out that window, looking for what literature had been left in the window box of daisies. 

“On the left, she said?” Jeannette looked at Estelle and pointed to the first door on the left. She made for the handle, palm grazing the cool metal when Estelle’s voice cut through the weight like a sharp knife. 

“Not that room!” She snapped. 

Jeannette would have stepped back if her shoes weren’t prone to wobbling so dangerously. She settled for snatching her hand back from the cold doorknob. Estelle’s fire had subsided but there was no apology, no retraction of her word. Jeannette didn’t offer an apology. She didn’t know what she had done. 

“Oh, Jeannette,” Bess said, coming to her rescue. “Not that left. That’s Carrie and...Oh never mind, I’ll show you.” 

Jeannette was ushered toward the next door and winced as Bess shouted at the inhabitant. “CONNIE! YOU’VE GOT A LETTER!” 

There was a long stretch of silence followed by the snuffling sounds of deep sleep. Jeannette’s prospective roommate seemed to be undisturbed by Bess’s screech while Jeanette’s own ears were still ringing. 

“Constance works nights with my roommate, Margaret,” Bess explained, her voice not at all strained by the scream from a moment before. “They are machinists on the aircraft for the Navy. We don’t see them very often.”

The carpet bag was suddenly quite heavy in Jeannette’s hand and tugged on her already aching shoulders. Bess noticed her wince and took pity on her new housemate. “Constance, I’m sorry but I have to turn on the light.” 

The dark, peaceful oasis was suddenly illuminated by the light overhead and the lamp on the bedside that Bess mercilessly flicked on. Jeannette glanced around the now visible furniture, that no longer looked like looming creatures from nightmares. An empty bed, a dresser opened to reveal barren drawers, and a desk with the stability of a drunken sailor fresh from sea duty.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite alarm clock,” The lump of blankets that Bess insisted was Constance, said, her voice muffled. “Morning, Beth,” 

“Very funny, Constance,”  Bess said. “Do you want your letter or not?” 

A calloused hand, scarred and rough from the late nights among the heavy machinery and scrabbling over metal carcasses of aircraft, withdrew from the quilts. Bess placed the offering in the waiting palm and, like the jaw of a predator, the hand snapped it up eagerly, drawing back to the safety of the quilts. 

“Do you need help unpacking?” Bess asked Jeannette brightly. “I’m an ace at moving. I’ve helped most everyone on the floor. Except Estelle, of course, she’s been here since before the “I” fell.” 

Bess was, indeed, an ace at packing and unpacking. This skill had been cultivated long before she had received her first letter, before she had been the smiling waitress at that destined cafe, when she was just Elizabeth Ferguson. Jeannette liked Bess. It was impossible not to. There was something about her short brown hair framing her face and the big brown eyes that made her so endearing and begged to be helpful. Jeannette couldn’t say no. 

“If you don’t mind,” She started to say. 

“I don’t!” Bess said, snatching up the carpet bag and throwing open the wardrobe on Jeannette’s side of the room.  

Jeannette had never known a great abundance of belongings. Most of her life, she had seen this as an embarrassment, to know few and to have few seemed to be a weakness. That was, until she had accepted the translator position in Norfolk and packed up what little she had into a carpet bag. The carpet bag that had housed her pieces from home, her few books, and the clothes that had been worn through all in the name of the war effort, was thrown open. Bessie Ferguson no longer stood in that room, but a whirlwind of limbs, flying clothes, and knick knacks being placed just so. 

“Where are you from, again?” Bessie asked, not waiting for a response, before plunging on with the next question. “Your brothers are in North Africa? I have a brother. He’s not fit for service, lucky bastard. Don’t tell Mrs. G that I swore-” 

“Beth,” Constance groaned, tossing back the covers. “What time is it?” 

“A quarter past four,” Jeannette supplied, glancing at her watch. 

“I was hoping to get another hour,” Constance sat up, letter still in hand. She smirked at its contents.  

“Another poem?” Bess asked, setting Jeannette’s Shakespeare and Maffei volumes on the teetering desk. “Connie’s beau is something of a poet.” 

Constance’s mussed curls bounced as she shook her head at the younger girl’s words.  “That’s generous of you, Beth,” 

Whether or not the gift of prose was possessed by her pen pal, Constance didn’t seem to mind. Her sea green eyes scanned the page, soaking up every thoughtful word and stumbling line. Her fire was stoked by the glint of steel at night and the scrabble of poems written to the “lady by the sea”. It mattered not that Norfolk was on a river, not the Atlantic, the letters were addressed like that and she would be lying if she said she didn’t like the title. 

Constance peeled back the blankets to set free the cat trapped beneath the coverlet, and chuckled at a particularly horrid, if not well meant, line. Her eyes fixed on Jeannette and extended a calloused hand to the newcomer. 

“Constance Ramos. You must be Jeannette,” 

The redhead nodded, accepting the rough hand in her own and giving it a shake. “I don’t suppose we will be seeing a lot of each other. I’m on the day shift.” 

Constance shrugged. “We’ll be like ships in the night. We keep busy around here.” 

“Passes the time,” Bess agreed. 

“Between letters?” Jeannette guessed. 

“We sound crazy about those damn letters, don’t we?” Constance said, chuckling softly. Her bare feet didn’t make a sound on the wooden floor as she stretched out her aching muscles. “They keep us going, more than a war effort ever could. I can keep bolting sheets of metal when I know my soldier is alive and when I don’t hear from him, it gets heavier. Do you understand?” 

“I do,” Jeannette murmured. 

Those letters had made a ship to steer among the waves of this new world Jeannette found herself in. Uprooted and unfamiliar, she clung to the letters signed with their scribbled J and the indiscernible followers. The thought of buying that ticket from Pennsylvania to Virginia had been encouraged by the letters in her pocket. If he could be thousands of miles from home for her, she could be transplanted to a new state for the aid of the troops.   

Connie glanced over the books on the teetering pile of poetry on the desk as Bess hummed along to some tune.  “You like to read?” 

“Yes,” Jeannette said. “My mother had mostly Italian books but I have some in English now.” 

The English volumes had been collected over the years, from the window box of daisies to the exchanges on the hill overlooking the breaker. The last book, The Grapes of Wrath, had been the final exchange on that hill. He had been given his orders and was only on leave for a few days. He had brought her a book. He had asked if he could write to her. Jeannette had said yes. Jeannette had cried. There had been no romantic declarations or bouts of infatuation. The words had been plain, just how he liked them and how Jeannette despised them. 

Bess shut the wardrobe with a snap and turned, her skirt swishing around her knees and damp socks. “You a translator on base?” 

Jeannette paused, not sure how much was allowed to be discussed. This attic seemed as safe as could be but what did those posters promise? Ships sunk by the careless whispers of loose lips. Glancing at the window, as if a German spy would be listening from the third floor windowsill, Jeannette nodded quickly. 

“Oh you’ll likely see Estelle!” Bess cried. “She’s working as a computer on base.” 

Dumbfounded at the disregard for secrecy, Jeannette sputtered. “Shouldn’t we-” 

“Who’s going to hear us?” Connie shook her head. “We all know how to keep a secret.” 

Bess nodded, setting the now empty carpet bag on the neatly made bed. She hadn’t been kidding about her skills in unpacking. Jeannette had barely had time for a single melancholy notion about the blouse she had worn to the movies with her friends or the books with the coal stained fingerprints. Jeannette hadn’t noticed this room becoming her own but in the space of a few moments, it looked like her childhood bedroom. The quilt was the same, the books were present and accounted for. It looked like home. 

“Speaking of secrets,” Bess said, snatching up the patchy tabby cat set free from Connie’s bed and cuddled it tight to her black sweater, not minding the fur shed across the yarn. “Are you going to hide that poem from us, Connie?” 

Constance blushed. “Maybe Jeannette can give it an educated read. I’m dying to know if my pen pal has a future in the arts,” 

Jeannette flushed. Her hobby of studying beat, meter, and stanza had been an asset to her application for the NIS but she was hardly a professional. Perhaps, more of an avid appreciator. Her love of poetry hadn’t been the final mark in her favor for her application. The real seal to her employment had been the native fluency that having an Italian mother and late father provided. 

“I’d be delighted to provide an opinion,” Jeannette smiled, sitting on the lumpy mattress where she would rest her weary bones for the foreseeable future. 

Constance cleared her throat, making a big show of unfolding the letter and straightening her flannel pajamas. 

“Someday I'll get back to you/ When the war is finally won/Then you know just what we'll do In the sheets-” 

The rest was cut off by Bess’s shriek of surprise and a cackling laugh from Constance. Jeannette’s cheeks flushed red but couldn’t help a bark of laughter escaping her mouth, never mind the good and upstanding standard that Grisham ladies were known to uphold. 

“Do you all get such poems?” Jeannette wheezed. 

Bess’s mouth gaped in shock at such a suggestion, only furthering Constance’s giggles. 

“I have never gotten such a thing from-” Bessie started to say but was cut off by the appearance of Estelle in the doorway. Drawn by the laughter and shrieks, her brow furrowed at the neatly put together room but the girls in various states of disarray found there. 

“What’s all this then?” 

“Another poem,” Bess said. “And no, Jeannette, I don’t get that kind of poetry from Dar-” 

“Don’t say their names, Bessie,” Estelle chided, in the same sharp tone. As if Bess had put her handle onto a door she didn’t understand what lay beyond. “You’ll get attached.” 

“I’d say it’s too late for that,” Constance said, folding up the letter and stowing it under her pillow. It wasn’t a disagreement but the statement of a fact. 

“You say their name and they can break your heart,” Estelle said. It sounded as a warning to Jeannette.

“I don’t think names hold much power over love,” Jeannette whispered, almost to herself but Estelle heard. 

Estelle’s calculations were rarely wrong. In mathematics and personal life, her calculations were quite often correct. Estelle was known to be the guardian of the third floor, taking the wandering women under her wing. While Jeannette had seen an angel, Estelle was a self described tragedy. She sought a way to shield each girl who crossed the wooden floors of Grisham Hall from such flights toward the sun. 

“We don’t tempt fate here,” Estelle said, firmly. 

A silence stretched between them. Estelle’s dark gaze and small stature didn’t lend itself to the imposing figure she truly was. Jeannette didn’t think she was afraid of Estelle. Jeannette didn’t know what she thought. There was a truth behind her words. The war bubbled and boiled around them and one couldn’t make too many plans for the future. Jeannette didn’t like to think more than one letter ahead. 

“Estelle is ever so jaded,” Bess said, chuckling softly, trying to break the tension. 

“I’m wise beyond my years,” Estelle winked at Bess but her steady gaze sent Jeannette’s skin crawling. “We don’t say their names so we don’t have to say goodbye.” 

                                       *        *       *

To the real horatio, 

I don’t suppose you can tell me where you are but know that I am safe in Norfolk. Mother will be forwarding any of your letters down to me. The girls I’m living with are quite the characters. 

Bess is a little younger than me but such a dear thing. She’s the embodiment of springtime. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as happy as she is. Estelle seems to be the ringleader around here, like Adrian was to us in our childhood. I’m still forming an opinion on her. Constance is my roommate and we’ve gotten on like a house on fire. She works night shifts at the shipyard but when we do see each other it’s always good fun. We went to the cinema last week and saw Citizen Kane on her day off. She’s making songs on the piano out of her boyfriend’s poems. It’s very entertaining and has caused our landlady to faint out of shock more than once. There’s also a girl named Margo who lives on our floor. I haven’t met her for more than a few minutes but she seems lovely. 

I’m glad to know that your CO is gone, the dreadful beast. 

I’ve started to read the book you gave me. I’d like to read it to you sometime, like we did in high school on the breaker hill. If I sent you one of my books would you read it and think of me? 

Your letters, as always, brighten my day. I know you fear that you have nothing of any interest to say but I find anything you say of interest. You say your words are not poetic but there is poetry in everything you do. You want to fly through the sky and end the war. While that’s admirable, do you know that I don’t expect this from you? 

I’ve known you without money. I’ve known you without fame or excellence. I don’t care if you have either. 

You are probably bothered by my ‘damn flowery words’. We’ve grown up together. Surely you are fluent in my own language by now. 

It’s late. I have an early shift tomorrow. Be safe. 

Love, Nettie

[ampleappleamble]

—

It was a day's hike to the cliffs, and a day's hike back. Pallegina went anyway, of course.

It was a good opportunity to assess the members of this ragtag band she was joining up with, as combatants and as people. Overall, she was fairly impressed with their martial skills– their tactics and group cohesion were sound, but she was sure to make note of their evident lack of formal training and quality equipment. She'd found herself pleasantly surprised at their generosity and inclusiveness, sharing food and drink and smoke and stories as freely with their feathered newcomer as they did with one another. No one had even brought up her "divine heritage" until they'd been sitting around the campfire that first night, and the aumaua who'd broached the subject had actually managed to look appropriately bashful as he'd done so. Although in retrospect, an Avian Godlike woman in a brotherhood of paladins probably wasn't too outlandish a concept for these kith, considering that their squad leader was apparently an Awakened Watcher.

Pallegina had been fielding annoying, invasive questions posed by strangers about her body and her soul for her entire life, but Axa was a newly-minted freak, it seemed, and so was not quite sick of talking about it just yet. And her friends weren't either: with minimal prompting, Aloth had recounted her nightmares and her past life memories, Edér had remembered her staring at the tree in Gilded Vale for nearly half an hour, Kana had practically rhapsodized about her conversations with ghosts in caves and in dungeons. And the next morning, as the group stood on the bluff overlooking the sea, Sagani had handed Axa a misshapen little lump of adra, and Pallegina had watched as the orlan peered through it and into the In-Between.

She'd been told the woman was a Watcher, and she'd more or less accepted it as truth, but the paladin hadn't exactly been expecting a demonstration just yet. After a few minutes of watching the little woman sway to and fro in the wind, apparently mesmerized by the adra carving the dwarf had given her, concern for her wellbeing had compelled Pallegina to approach and take her by the shoulders, attempting to shake her out of it before she wobbled her way over the cliff's edge.

"Everything... all right in there?" she'd muttered, lightly slapping the little woman's cheek.

"Adra arch," Axa had rasped in reply, violet eyes wild and unfixed. Sagani had gently pried the carving from her fuzzy hands then, smiled compassionately at the other two women before asking Edér where in the Dyrwood an adra arch might stand.

That was... very strange. But stranger things have happened, Pallegina had reminded herself. She'd kept reminding herself of that as they'd made their way back to the city, as she listened to the others' stories of reincarnated souls and mysterious cults, dead brothers and ancient tablets and a haunted castle this eccentric little woman called home.

Ambassador Agosti had been less than pleased to receive his agent nearly three days after Verzano had been cut loose, and accompanied by a pack of disheveled strangers no less. But Axa was nothing if not a fierce defender of her troops, it seemed, and although she'd made a valiant effort to keep her comments civil, eventually Agosti had frayed the little woman's last nerve with his dismissive arrogance and insinuated threats, finally ending up on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing himself for once. Pallegina had known then that she'd chosen her new companions wisely, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at Agosti as he stammered and sweated under the orlan's indignant outburst.

Her amusement at Axa's antics had been soundly quashed, however, by the new assignment laid upon her shoulders, one that she had dreaded might be in the works but had hoped would never actually be implemented– the negotiation of a new trade agreement between the Vailian Republics and Eir Glanfath, one that took blatant, vicious advantage of the Dyrwood's badly weakened state due to the Hollowborn crisis. It made sense in the short term, financially and practically, for the merchants of the Republics to step in and take the reins where the Dyrwoodans would not. But what gave Pallegina pause were the long term political implications of essentially kicking the Dyrwood while it was down, especially now at such a crucial juncture in the deciding of the country's legislation regarding animancy. If the Ducs Bels willfully chose to make an enemy of the Dyrwood now, it could have long-reaching consequences that could do untold damage to the Republics in the years to come, particularly for the animancy community. Animancers were already under attack in this country, superstitious types blaming them for causing this soul plague by somehow invoking the wrath of the gods, as well as for their ill-fated attempts at curing the nation's blighted children. Would the people of the Dyrwood, fiery and reactionist as they were, still tolerate animancy at all should the Republics, animancy's shining champion, stab them in the back while they were at their weakest and least reasonable? What would become of Vailian animancy without competition to keep them sharp, or collaborative efforts to keep them abreast of the latest developments? Even if animancy was permitted to continue in the Dyrwood, its practitioners would be loathe to share their discoveries with their Vailian counterparts, leading to an inevitable stagnation in the soul sciences– or even worse, the Republics could potentially fall behind the Dyrwood, languishing in the past while the Dyrwood moved ahead, forging the future without them...

No. This was not permissible, not after all the Republics and its animancers had done for her. But still, she had her orders. Now all she had to do was carry them out, one way or another.

"Twin Elms is a good long way from here," Sagani reassured her afterwards at their table at the Charred Barrel, swirling her ale around in her tankard and feeding her fox under her chair. "And Axa'll find more than enough distractions along the way, I'm sure. Plenty of time to come up with some sort of... creative interpretation of your orders."

Pallegina tried to smile, but only produced a weak grimace. "Then I hope our Watcher friend is more 'creative' than I am. I have many strengths, but subterfuge has never been one of them. And one can only openly defy the powers that be so many times before their patience runs out." She stared pensively into her wine as she spoke, couldn't help but think of Verzano's fate, Agosti's warnings.

"I'll drink to that," Edér mumbled around his mouthful of roast pork and potato, raising his cup in a commiserative gesture before knocking it back. "Axa ain't much for bullshittin' folks– not as far as I've seen, anyway– but she's got a knack for solvin' problems, and for pushin' her luck 'n' gettin' away with it. If anyone can finagle some kinda deal that'll keep your ducs happy without totally screwin' over the Dyrwood, I'd wager it'd be her."

"Elegantly stated, Edér," Aloth deadpanned, rolling his eyes and pushing his food around on his plate. "Speaking of Axa, she's been away from the table for quite a while now..." The elf lifted his head, anxiously scanning the throng of diners, drunks, and debutantes. "If I recall, she only said she wanted to catch up with Ingroed and Nonton, but I don't see her at the bar anymore."

"Ingroed and Nonton?" Pallegina glanced around idly and spotted the little woman almost immediately– that bold red hair was unmistakable, even when mostly obscured behind the fat asses and round bellies of the taller kith surrounding her. "More friends, I assume?"

"Couple of folks from my hometown, Gilded Vale. She helped 'em outta a rough spot." The blond man glanced over at the bar, smiling at his former neighbors.

Kana looked up from his dinner, face flushed with drink. "Ah! Are those the ones who set a trap for the dead man in the bear's den?" He beamed at Pallegina, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "You must have her tell you the tale, my lady. A truly inspiring account of our Watcher's unique insight at work. She learned of their betrayal from the spirit of the victim, you see! But there's a tragic twist–"

"Hey, now, don't spoil the ending, big fella, you wasn't even there. Let her tell it." Edér had caught sight of Axa too, just as she'd turned away from the well-dressed elf she'd been speaking with, and he beckoned the redhead back to their table with a wave of his hand. The stranger watched her go, nervously fiddling with his ostentatious jewelry as she sauntered back to her friends, while Pallegina tried to remember where she'd seen him before, his eyes widening in alarm as he caught her staring at him.

"Talking about me behind my back again?" Axa sighed, grinning and shaking her head as she clambered back into her seat. "Gods, I can't leave you scoundrels alone for a second. They didn't tell you a bunch of ghost stories, did they?" She winked at Pallegina, and the paladin noticed just how tired the orlan looked.

"Only the true ones!" Kana laughed a bit too loudly– not atypical of him, but the alcohol certainly amplified his natural exuberance. Aloth delicately scooted his chair away from the overly jolly giant, vexation plain on his face.

If Axa noticed anything unusual, she didn't mention it, only chuckled and took a long drag from her pipe. "Found out where your adra arch might be, Sagani. Turns out it's somewhere over by Twin Elms, believe it or not." She glanced up at Pallegina, a cautious little smile on her tawny face. "Unfortunately, I've also heard tell that the road leading there is badly flooded right now due to inclement weather. So it looks like we'll have some time to kill before we can head over that way."

"Belfetto," Pallegina sighed. She appreciated the attempt to cheer her up, letting her know she had time to decide how to handle the Ducs' request, but she had a feeling that the longer she dwelled on her predicament, the more it would weigh on her mind.

Aloth leaned close to the little woman. "I take it this means we're to head for the catacombs on the morrow, then?" He looked simultaneously anxious and eager, as though preparing to take on a task he knew to be important but especially onerous. A familiar burden, Pallegina mused.

"Ah... perhaps," Axa replied, looking away quickly. "There are a few other things I'd like to tend to first, though, if you're all amenable. I was just talking to that elf over there, the one in the fancy robes with all the gaudy jewelry, and he's asked me to do him a favor. See, he has this friend who's a courtesan at the, uh, at the Salty Mast..."

She winced as everyone at the table put down their forks and goblets and gave her their undivided attention.

Pallegina downed the rest of her wine.

—

[kanawuts]

The Girl Who Loved Fairy Tales

Inspired by this post by @panncakes​

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3

Jane and Dr. Fai agreed to meet for lunch before their Disney movie not-a-date. Jane arrived at the restaurant first, early as always. Luckily, she didn’t have to sit alone with her thoughts for too long before Dr. Fai walked through the door. It took Jane a second to even recognize her without her white lab coat. She was wearing a floral sundress, red lipstick, and had curled her hair.

Jane could hear Tan’s teasing voice in her head. “She’s dressed for a daaaate.”

Even the imaginary version of Tan was annoying.

Suddenly Jane felt self-conscious. Was she underdressed? She glanced down at her outfit. No, this was her nicest pair of jeans. Plus, she was wearing heels. And her blouse was made of lace.

Wait a second.

Was she dressed for a date?

There was no time to ponder this, however, because Dr. Fai had made her way over to the table. Jane shot to her feet, banging her knee on the table leg in the process.

Pain shot through her leg.

What the fuck?

Why did she stand? That was definitely date behavior.

Jane attempted to turn her grimace of pain into a smile. “Hi, Dr. Fai. It’s great to see you again.”

“Please, just call me Fai. Is your knee okay? That looked like it hurt.”

“Didn’t hurt at all!” Jane lied, sitting back down. She picked up her menu, desperate to change the subject. “Have you been here before?”

“Been meaning to but haven’t had the chance yet. They keep me pretty busy over at the hospital. What about you?”

“I came here with Tan about a month ago, right after it opened.”

“Tan…that’s the guy you were with the other day at the hospital, right? Is he��” Fai seemed to hesitate. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, no, definitely not,” Jane said with a laugh. “He’s just a friend. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m single.”

The word “single” felt strange on her lips. But now was definitely not the time to think about Pued.

“Gotcha,” Fai said.

Jane pretended she didn’t notice the relief in her eyes. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Now it was Fai’s turn to laugh. “No, no boyfriend.”

It was impossible not to notice the emphasis she put on boy.

“A girlfriend?” Jane asked, a part of her desperately praying Fai would say yes. If she said yes, then that would prove Tan’s date theory wrong once and for all.

“Unfortunately, no,” Fai replied, her eyes locking with Jane’s. “No girlfriend.”

Fai had a very intense gaze, almost too intense. Jane was finding it extremely difficult to look away from her. She needed to stop staring and say something. Anything. But nothing was coming to her. Her mind had gone strangely blank. What even were words?

Fai really was so pretty. Her hair looked so nice like this.

Hey! Those were words. That was something she could say. Compliments were always good, right? But wait, wouldn’t that sound like she was flirting, if she complimented Fai’s appearance immediately after Fai had told her she didn’t have a girlfriend? Yes, it would definitely sound like flirting. She needed to think of something else to say…

“You two ready to order?” came the voice of the server, sounding oddly far away.

Jane gave a jolt, startled. She’d forgotten where they even were. Judging from the slightly dazed expression on Fai’s face, she had to.

The server took their orders and left. Jane and Fai were left once again sitting in silence, but this time neither of them was looking at the other. Jane fiddled with the clasp of her necklace. Fai folded up her straw wrapper.

Well.

This was awkward.

SAY SOMETHING! Jane’s brain screamed.

Why was she suddenly so horrible at making small talk? When had she become such a disaster? How much longer were they going to have to sit here in this painful silence? She glanced down at her phone. What time did the Disney marathon start again?

The Disney marathon! Of course!

“Do you know which films they’re showing?” Jane asked, relieved that her brain had finally remembered how to make conversation.

Fai glanced up, relief in her eyes, no doubt just as happy as Jane was that the silence had been broken. Yeah, I do!” she said. “It’s Snow White, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and The Lion King. I think there might be one or two others. Can’t remember what they are.

“Oooh, I hope it’s Aladdin. Or Mulan. Or Sleeping Beauty.” Jane laughed. “Who am I kidding? I love them all.” She took a sip of her water. “The Little Mermaid is my favorite though. What about you?”

“It’s The Little Mermaid for me as well,” Fai said. “I literally wore out my VHS tape of it when I was a kid from watching it so many times.”

“Oh my god, same,” Jane said. “And I had such a crush on Prince Eric.”

“I had crush on Ariel. Before I was even old enough to know that girls could have crushes on girls. I’d watch the movie on repeat just to look at her.”

Jane tried to decide how to reply to this. She didn’t want Fai to think she had any problem with her sexual orientation, but she also didn’t want to lead her on, to make her think that there was anything going on here besides a blossoming friendship.

“So you’re into redheads?” she teased.

Casual and friendly. Nailed it.

Tan’s voice once again filled her head. “You know your tone sounded super flirty, right?”

Imaginary Tan really needed to keep his opinions to himself.

Fai smiled. “I’m not really picky when it comes to hair colors. A pretty girl is a pretty girl, you know?”

That intense gaze was back…

It was time to change the subject.

“Bunn loaned me The Little Mermaid book back when we were kids and it broke my heart,” she said. “I was not expecting it to end so tragically.”

Fai looked at her blankly. “The book doesn’t have a happy ending?”

“You haven’t read it? Oh my god, I’m going to have steal Bunn’s copy back from him and loan it to you. You can’t claim to be a fan of The Little Mermaid if you haven’t read the book, Fai.”

“I’ll read anything you want me to, Jane,” Fai murmured.

Jane’s heart skipped a beat.

Shit.

To be continued…

[jaskierswolf]

The Bard of Kaer Morhen Pt.2/4

Previous

Jaskier had just turned eighteen the second time he met a witcher.

He was fortunately sober this time. He’d bumped into Eskel a few times over the last two years and whilst the man tragically still rejected his flirtations they had become fast friends. Eskel thrived off the extra coin that Jaskier’s songs brought in and had even managed to upgrade his armour which thrilled Jaskier. Eskel’s last set of armour had been starting to fall apart and Jaskier was worried about him. He didn’t want his friend to get hurt on the hunt.

Another bonus to their friendship was that Jaskier was already successful fresh out of university, the envy of all his peers. He was the up and coming talent. He was the bard to hire for social events.

And he was also earning a reputation for being an unparalleled lover too.

He wasn’t sure which he was more proud of.

He was strolling down the path from Lyria towards Vengerberg with his lute in his hands when he saw him.

His hair was like fire but his eyes shone like liquid gold.

Another witcher.

Jaskier grinned and trotted up to the man. He was pulling a dark horse behind him and grumbling under his breath with a sour expression on his face.

And Jaskier loved him.

“Witcher!” Jaskier called as he approached.

The man glared at him with fire in his eyes and Jaskier could have swooned. Were all witchers so handsome and sexy? Jaskier decided they must be, a side effect of the mutations perhaps. Eskel hadn’t never been willing to discuss that side of witcherhood.

“What do you want, bard?” The man growled.

Jaskier felt a rush of arousal at the gruff tones of the witcher’s voice. “Spare a humble bard a tale, witcher, and maybe you’ll find out.” He winked as he stepped closer to the gorgeous redhead.

He wanted to run his hands through those curls, and he was certain the man’s armour was about to rip open on his arms. Jaskier had never seen such large strong arms before, not even on Eskel. This man was pure muscle and it made Jaskier’s heart feel weak.

Recognition lit up in the witcher’s eyes much to Jaskier’s delight. “You’re Eskel’s bard.” He grumbled.

“I’m my own bard.” Jaskier corrected. “Darling Eskel seems determined to reject any opportunities to claim me.” Jaskier pouted for added affect and let his fingers trail absentmindedly down the witcher’s arm.

“Back off, bard.” The witcher growled. “I have a partner.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smirked. “That’s not a problem.”

The witcher laughed. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight against another witcher, bard.”

Jaskier pouted but stepped away. “Fine. You win but I’m a flirt by nature so don’t take it personally. You witchers are a slippery bunch. So handsome and yet so unobtainable. Although,” He dropped his voice back into his lower register to flirt some more. “If you and your partner ever want some company.”

“Fuck off bard!” The witcher snapped. “To the gods, Eskel must be mad.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I grow on people. I was serious about the tales though. Same as Eskel, you’ll get a cut of the coin if you tell me some ballad worthy adventures. Perhaps a wyvern or other draconid, they always go down well with an audience. Ooh or a real dragon! There aren’t many of those left.”

“We don’t hunt dragons.” The witcher rolled his eyes.

Jaskier persisted. “But you must have seen one.”

“No.” The witcher shook his head.

Jaskier huffed. It seemed this witcher would be harder to crack than Eskel. Eskel had always been funny and open. This new witcher was faster to anger and less tolerant to Jaskier’s tactile and openly affectionate personality. He grinned, perhaps this one would be more likely to let him join him on a hunt, if only he could prove himself to be useful. He was pretty handy with a dagger after all. His enemies always seemed to underestimate him which he used to his advantage masterfully.

Jaskier walked with the witcher back towards Lyria. He was going in the wrong direction to where he wanted to go but he was a curious fellow and he just couldn’t let this beautiful man walk away from him without at least getting one story or even a name.

When they reached the city Jaskier waved at the merchants in the square that he knew and bartered quite successfully with the barkeep for the witcher’s lodgings and food. He slid onto the bench opposite the witcher and stared longingly as his red curls danced in the candlelight.

“So tell me, witcher, do you have a name?” He hummed as he sipped his ale. He preferred wine but prior experience had taught him to only order ale in this particular tavern.

The wine was shit.

“Lambert.” He growled.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Lambert.” Jaskier raised his mug of ale and grinned.

The ale loosened Lambert’s tongue somewhat and Jaskier was able to pull a few basic tales from the man, nothing to sing about in their raw form but Jaskier knew he could easily fix it with a few artistic embellishments. The food was tolerable, not great but not as bad as the wine. Lambert seemed to have no complaints as he wolfed down two full plates to Jaskier’s one. Jaskier had noticed Eskel ate like a starved man too when coin afforded a more lavish amount of food so Jaskier had made sure to order extra.

Lambert grumbled what could have been a thank you, or equally a grievous insult, at Jaskier and then downed the last of his ale.

It was at that point when things began to go downhill.

The doors flung open and two rowdy drunk idiots fell stumbling into the tavern.

“Oi!” One of them shouted. His skin was pale, and almost yellow from years of excessive drinking and his eyes were bloodshot. He was a mess. “Where’s the fucking mutant?” He roared and the other man laughed before coughing his lungs out.

“We don’t want no mutants in our city.” The second man wheezed. “They’re unnatural beasts!  Steal our women and children to turn them into the monsters they’re supposed to kill!”

“Come out, freak and we’ll kill you quickly.” The first man cackled and spat on the floor.

A silence fell over the tavern.

Lambert gripped the hilt of one of the swords that was resting next to him on the bench, but Jaskier was faster. He’d pulled the dagger from his boots and had it pressed up against the first man’s neck before Lambert could even blink.

“Say that again.” Jaskier hissed as he pressed the dagger into the drunkards throat. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it had certainly shaken the other man.

The first drunk swallowed nervously and his eyes flashed to his companion who answered, sounding less confident than before. “We don’t want no mutants in our city.”

Jaskier grinned and tilted his head. “Firstly, that’s a double negative. So you’re saying you do want the witcher’s in your city which I wholeheartedly agree with. Witchers are some of the finest people I’ve met.”

The poor man looked confused. His alcohol addled brain couldn’t keep up with Jaskier’s quick tongue.

“Secondly. Don’t you dare call my friend a freak again or I will not hesitate.” Jaskier pulled his dagger away from the man’s throat and turned back to join Lambert at the table.

He heard the heavy breathing of his attacker as he launched into an attack but the blow never hit. Lambert had drawn his own knife and thrown it at the man before Jaskier could even turn around.

The dagger hit the drunk in the shoulder and the man howled in pain. Both men scurried from the tavern with their tails between their legs. Luckily Jaskier was well liked by the barkeeper and his family and they weren’t thrown out after them.

Lambert clapped him on the back. “Thanks, bard.”

Jaskier nodded and pulled the witcher into an awkward hug. “Anytime, witcher. Anytime.”

__________

It was a rare occasion when two witchers met on the path. They preferred to stay out of each other’s way, there just weren’t enough contracts anymore for them to occupy them same areas and still make enough coin to live on, even with the bard’s songs, which was why Geralt was surprised to run into Lambert in Rivia.

He tried not to go back to Rivia too often. His chosen name made it awkward to be around the locals. He’d tried to assimilate a Rivian accent but around born Rivians he just sounded like a cheap copy but as was the way, a contract had lured him into town.

“Geralt of Rivia!” Lambert cheered when he spotted him and Geralt cursed under his breath. “You’ve come home!”

“Very funny, Lambert.” Geralt muttered but went over to greet his brother. “You here for the contract?”

“Just got back from the Alderman’s house. Drowner infestation down by the docks.” Lambert pushed an ale towards Geralt.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Fancy splitting the coin.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “Desperate for the coin, wolf?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. “My armour needs repairs. Right now it’s that or a decent meal. Not both.”

As if on cue, Geralt’s stomach growled causing Lambert to howl with laughter. “Take the contract.” Lambert grinned as he dumped a heavy coin purse on the table. “Ran into Eskel’s bard friend. Turns out he’s quite the investment.”

Geralt frowned at the sight of the gold coins sparkling in the dim light of the tavern. The mysterious bard, the lover of witchers had apparently gotten even Lambert to roll over. Lambert didn’t make friends with anyone outside of the wolf pack and his cat lover.

“You find out his name?” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Fuck!” Lambert groaned and hid his head in his hands. “It just never came up!”

The mysterious bard went by a few names depending on where you were on the Continent. In Cidaris he was known simply as the Witcher’s Bard. Further south in Metinna the name Dandelion cropped up. In Toussaint he was known as Fleur-de-lis. In Novigrad he was called Jaskier and in Vengerberg he was known as Daffodil.

It infuriated Geralt.

He wanted to know who this man was that had invested so much time and effort into singing their praises, who had befriended both his brothers with ease, who didn’t fear them.

“It never came up.” Geralt growled. “How the fuck didn’t it come up?”

Lambert flipped him off and pulled the mug of ale back across the table. “Look, he just never said, which is unbelievable because fucking hell I’ve never known anyone who can talk so much.”

Geralt hummed in response.

“Sort of like your opposite.” Lambert smirked so Geralt punched him in the arm. Hard. “Fuck off!”

“I’m taking the drowner contract.” Geralt stood up and grabbed his swords. “Some of us still work for a living.”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.” Lambert grinned and took a long draught of his ale and cackled as Geralt stormed out of the tavern to go search for the drowner nest.

It was all this fucking bard’s fault.

Geralt didn’t know why he was angry with the bard. He’d never even met him. He chalked it down to petty jealousy that his fellow witchers seemed to be earning money off the stories they gave to the bard, that they were eating lavish hot meals with decent ale to wash it down with, that they could visit brothels whenever the need arose without having to worry about the next contract.

Of course, if Geralt didn’t give half his coin away to people in need then he’d probably not be having a problem in the first place, but he just couldn’t help it. What good was a trip to the brothel if he knew that he’d taken the last of a villagers coin and they wouldn’t be able to feed their family that week.

The guilt would sour the pleasure before it could begin.

He sighed and pinched his nose.

“Bloody bard.”

He’d heard the bard’s songs a few times in his travels but never from the composer’s lips. He’d asked a few times whether the troubadours had written the songs but none of them had. One snivelling looking pompous bastard had laughed in his face and declared that his own songs were far superior and that they only reason he played the witcher songs were because they drew in a bigger crowd.

Geralt suggested that that meant the songs were better and the bard went blue in the face and then stormed out of the tavern. Geralt had been asked to leave soon after.

One girl, a pretty blonde with cornflower blue eyes, one of which was hidden behind her hair, had giggled and said she was just stealing the songs from a friend of hers but wouldn’t say anymore about the mysterious witcher bard. He’d felt foolish after asking because he knew that Eskel’s bard was a man, it was just the girl’s eyes had drawn him in more than he would like.

It wasn’t that Geralt cared about the bard.

He just wanted to know for himself.

Nothing more.

_______

Next

[lgbtqiahistoricalromance]

Finishing Out Summer 2020 TBR List! - Updated 7/31

Starting back in March, I was adding novel after novel for purposes of reading during social distancing and Summer 2020. I’m hoping you all found some great reads, even if you haven’t been able to read them all. *Here is another batch to round out Summer 2020, and I’m thrilled by the selection that includes sapphic, trans MCs, and more eras and locations than any list to date.

Leather and Lace by Rebel Carter (Good Sky series #5) - May 20th - sapphic

Mary Sophia James came to Gold Sky, Montana to find a husband at the insistence of her overbearing mother. Striking out in spectacular fashion after setting her eye on Julian Baptiste, her options are dwindling, and time is running out. She needs to find a man to marry before her condition becomes…obvious. Her mother’s prejudices and sharp tongue aren’t helping matters and Mary, to her shame, hasn’t behaved much better. But all her plans are derailed when she spots the most beautiful person she’s ever seen across the town square. Alex Pierce is strong, intriguing, looks stunning in a pair of trousers…and a woman.

Gold Sky is accepting of all types of love, and that between women is no different. Still, Alex didn’t expect to be so floored by the sight of the firey haired, yet fragile looking young woman. Mary needs to be married and Alex has a solution. Because in Gold Sky, Montana there are many ways to be married…and not all of them include a man.

Leather and Lace is a 35k word novella set at the same time as the events of book 2, Hearth and Home. It includes a passionate and romantic f/f love in a town where diversity, and love, reign supreme.

Note : Leather and Lace has a bit of mail-order, arranged married, kind of secret baby with some foreced proximity sprinkled on top!

The Sugared Game by KJ Charles (The Will Darling Adventures #2) - August 26th

It’s been two months since Will Darling saw Kim Secretan, and he doesn’t expect to see him again. What do a rough and ready soldier-turned-bookseller and a disgraced, shady aristocrat have to do with each other anyway? But when Will encounters a face from the past in a disreputable nightclub, Kim turns up, as shifty, unreliable, and irresistible as ever. And before Will knows it, he’s been dragged back into Kim’s shadowy world of secrets, criminal conspiracies, and underhand dealings. This time, though, things are underhanded even by Kim standards. This time, the danger is too close to home. And if Will and Kim can’t find common ground against unseen enemies, they risk losing everything.

The Revolutionary and the Rogue by Blake Ferre - August 24th

Perrin deVesey knows pain. As a member of Crimson Rose, a secret club for men who love men, he’s taken the vow “to stand and shield.” Standing together during these perilous times is the only thing keeping their necks from the guillotine. Now their leader is using the club to rescue wrongly accused traitors. After losing a past lover to an unjust execution, the decision to support this treasonous cause is easy…until a devastatingly handsome Committee Officer complicates Perrin’s whole world. Officer Henri Chevalier hates aristocrats. But the man he finds while investigating Crimson Rose is more than just wealthy and fancily clothed. He’s a rogue that could take him to the heart of the uprising and stop it before it starts. His plan to get close to Perrin and steal his secrets backfires, though, when Henri finds himself falling for the damned aristo and his dangerous smile. His heart is even more conflicted as he learns the truth behind their cause…and the truth his own people have been hiding. Together they must make the choice—to stand and shield at any cost—and their love might be the deadliest weapon in all of France.

Healing Lance by MD Grimm (A Warrior’s Redemption #1)- July 28th

A baby’s laughter. A mind uncaged. Lance is known as Scourge, the warrior in the black armor, the dog of the warlord Ulfr Blackwolf. He was just a boy when Ulfr found him and molded him into the perfect weapon. He slaughters and pillages on command, merciless and numb, devoid of emotions. Then a baby girl laughs at him during a raid. And everything changes. When Gust, a talented healer, is out deer hunting and stumbles across a magnificent horse bearing a mortally wounded rider, he has no idea that his life is about to change forever. Gust applies all his skills to his patient, determined to save the rider’s life, and is rewarded when the man opens his eyes. As friendship, and more, bloom between warrior and healer, so does the danger over the horizon. Ulfr has not forgotten, and Lance must take his first steps on the long road to redemption.     

The rest of the series is either out this Summer or finishes in Sept!

Unhallowed: A Novel of Widdershins (Rath & Rune Book #1) by Jordan L Hawk - July 17th

Monsters. Murder. Librarians. Librarian Sebastian Rath is the only one who believes his friend Kelly O’Neil disappeared due to foul play. But without any clues or outside assistance, there’s nothing he can do to prove it. When bookbinder Vesper Rune is hired to fill the vacancy left by O’Neil, he receives an ominous letter warning him to leave. After he saves Sebastian from a pair of threatening men, the two decide to join forces and get to the truth about what happened to O’Neil. But Vesper is hiding secrets of his own, ones he doesn’t dare let anyone learn. Secrets that grow ever more dangerous as his desire for Sebastian deepens. Because Kelly O’Neil was murdered. And if Sebastian and Ves don’t act quickly enough, they’ll be the next to die.

My Heart’s in the Highlands by Amy Hoff - July 17th - sapphic - time travel

The year is 1888. Brilliant and beautiful, Lady Jane Crichton has fought the constraints of her Victorian Edinburgh upbringing to become one of the first women to attend university for medicine. Denied a degree because of her gender, she decides to marry a closeted gay man, providing him with political and social cover and herself with the time and money to pursue her scientific interests—one of which is a time machine. Jane’s machine works…but not exactly as she expected, and soon she has crash-landed in the 13th-century Scottish Highlands. There she is rescued by a wild, red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, next in line to the chiefship of the great Clan Donald, the rulers of the Sea Kingdom of the Isles. Despite the constant threat of attacks from enemy clans, harsh winters and a touch of homesickness, Jane finds herself bewitched by this land, this time and this magnificent woman. The rough and warlike Ainslie also feels the magic and revels in a passion and love neither she nor Jane had ever imagined. But Jane is hiding a dangerous secret—one that threatens to tragically transform their Highland fairy tale.

Kinship and Kindness by Kara Jorgensen (A Paranormal Society Romance #1) - releases July 29th -trans MC

Bennett Reynard needs one thing: to speak to the Rougarou about starting a union for shifters in New York City before the delegation arrives. When his dirigible finally lands in Louisiana, he finds the Rougarou is gone and in his stead is his handsome son, Theo, who seems to care for everyone but himself. Hoping he can still petition the Rougarou, Bennett stays only to find he is growing dangerously close to Theo Bisclavret. Theo Bisclavret thought he had finally come to terms with never being able to take his father’s place as the Rougarou, but with his father stuck in England and a delegation of werewolves arriving in town, Theo’s quiet life is thrown into chaos as he and his sister take over his duties. Assuming his father’s place has salted old wounds, but when a stranger arrives offering to help, Theo knows he can’t say no, even if Mr. Reynard makes him long for things he had sworn off years ago. As rivals arrive to challenge Theo for power and destroy the life Bennett has built, they know they must face their greatest fears or risk losing all they have fought for. With secrets threatening to topple their worlds, can Theo and Bennett let down their walls before it’s too late?

More under the cut...!!!!

My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book #5 by JL Langley - releases August 10th

Bannon Thompson, talented artist and youngest son of the Duke of Eversleigh, is hastily shipped off after his latest indiscretion. After crashing on rural Skye, leaving him and his valet the sole survivors of a diplomatic mission, Bannon must navigate the complexities of a primitive clan society and take up a role he never wanted: helping a sexy Highlander ensure the safety of both their planets.

Laird Ciaran MacKay wants nothing more than to keep his clan safe from the off-world intruders who killed his father. Suspecting complicity among his own people, he has no choice but to trust outsiders from a spaceship crash—and he can’t seem to fight his attraction to the stubborn redhead. Drawn to the handsome laird, Bannon risks a bold affair. But there is more at stake than reputations as they find two lost Regelens and uncover the Intergalactic Navy’s plot.

Artful Deception by Jackson Marsh (The Clearwater Myseries Book #5)

“Deception. The lie that tells the truth."

A damaged painting tempts Lord Clearwater to a final battle with his arch-enemy, and it's not a summons he can ignore.

Archer must free his homicidal brother from incarceration and reinstate him to the title. He will be left humiliated and penniless, but free to live his life with Silas with no threat of exposure. The alternative is death.

Drawing inspiration from a work of art, Clearwater manipulates a series of illusions to stay one step ahead of the endgame. While James, Tom and Silas race to solve clues and reach Archer before the fatal deadline, the assassin, Dorjan, remains hot on his heels ready to kill.

The sixth book in The Clearwater Mysteries series brings back popular characters from previous adventures in a fast-paced, twisting mystery that can have only one of two possible endings.

Or perhaps one of three. After all, deception is the lie that tells the truth.

Ten or Fifteen Miles by BL Maxwell - May 27th

Tim Latham had only been riding for the Pony Express for a week before he has to show the new guy the trail. Being raised on a farm in the Sacramento area, the Pony Express gave him an opportunity to see more of the country beyond his family’s little plot of land. He loves everything about the job: the adventure, the scenery, and the speed. Racing the wind on the back of a horse was as close to perfect as he could imagine.

Jeremiah Rollins grew up in San Francisco under the shadow of his father's successful shipping business. But Jeremiah craves the adventure he reads about in the dime novels he can’t get enough of. On a whim, and despite his father’s disapproval, he signs up for the Pony Express and leaves his old life behind for the steep, rocky trails that cross the Sierra Nevada. Both men are excited to begin their journey on their first ride together to Nevada Territory. They set out, making their way from station to station, racing as fast as their horses can carry them, and their friendship grows every mile. They both wanted adventure, but they may end up getting more than they dreamed of. Every ten or fifteen miles brings new experiences, and new feelings that grow with each mile they pass. 

People Like Us by Ruby Moone (Winsford Green #2) - July 21st

Arthur Fitch clawed his way out of the violence and poverty of the slums of London to become a valet to the aristocracy. His ambition to secure a higher position led him to a disastrous appointment with a cold, brutal man, and when things come to a head, Arthur is forced to flee into a snowstorm to find safety. Joseph Wilkinson is the Winsford Green blacksmith. He has a good life, good friends, owns a thriving business, but at the end of the day when he goes home, loneliness consumes him. When he stumbles upon a small man determinedly trudging through the snowstorm, he invites him into his home to shelter. Arthur Fitch is older, smart-mouthed, and as prickly as hell. But, as Joe peels back the layers, he discovers a warm, funny, vulnerable man whose tastes in the bedchamber leave Joe gasping and desperate for more. Trouble is, having found the real Arthur Fitch, how can he convince him that life in a small town can be infinitely better than working for an Earl? That love really is possible for people like them? Particularly when Arthur’s past catches up with him in horrifying fashion.

Seaworthy bu KL Noone (Character Bleed Book #1) - August 1st - bisexual MC - contemporary, but with a lot of historical touches

An epic motion picture! A gay Napoleonic War love story! Ballrooms and battles at sea! Romantic happy endings on the silver screen! And a film that’ll change everything for its stars ... Jason Mirelli can’t play adrenaline-fueled action heroes forever. He’s getting older, plus the action star parts have grown a little thinner since he came out as bisexual. This role could finally let him be seen as a serious dramatic actor, and he needs it to go well -- for his career, and because he’s fallen in love with the story and the chance to tell it. The first problem? He’ll be playing a ship’s captain ... and he hasn’t exactly mentioned his fear of water. The second problem? His co-star: award-winning, overly talkative, annoyingly adorable -- and openly gay – box office idol Colby Kent. Colby’s always loved the novel this film’s based on, and he leapt at the chance to adapt it, now that he has the money and reputation to make it happen. But scars and secrets from his past make filming a love story difficult ... until Jason takes his hand and wakes up all his buried desires. Jason could be everything Colby’s ever wanted: generous and kind, a fantastic partner on set, not to mention those heroic muscles. But Colby just can’t take that chance ... or can he? As their characters fall in love and fight a war, Colby and Jason find themselves falling, too ... and facing the return of their own past demons. But together they just might win ... and write their own love story.

The Engineer (Magic & Steam Book #1) by CS Poe - May 28th

1881—Special Agent Gillian Hamilton is a magic caster with the Federal Bureau of Magic and Steam. He’s sent to Shallow Grave, Arizona, to arrest a madman engineer known as Tinkerer, who’s responsible for blowing up half of Baltimore. Gillian has handled some of the worst criminals in the Bureau’s history, so this assignment shouldn’t be a problem. But even he’s taken aback by a run-in with the country’s most infamous outlaw, Gunner the Deadly. Gunner is also stalking Shallow Grave in search of Tinkerer, who will stop at nothing to take control of the town’s silver mines. Neither Gillian nor Gunner are willing to let Tinkerer hurt more innocent people, so they agree to a very temporary partnership. If facing illegal magic, Gatling gun contraptions, and a wild engineer in America’s frontier wasn’t enough trouble for a city boy, Gillian must also come to terms with the reality that he’s rather fond of his partner. But even if they live through this adventure, Gillian fears there’s no chance for love between a special agent and outlaw. Based on the short story, “Gunner the Deadly.” Entirely revised, newly expanded, and Book One in the exciting new steampunk series, Magic & Steam.

Pirate’s Promise (Pirate’s of Port Royal Book #1) by Jules Radcliffe - May 12th - the rest of the series is also out this Summer!

Press-ganged as a boy, Job Wright must learn how to live as a free man.

For years Job has been a captive, treated as a servant—and sometimes more—by a crooked merchant crew. Until the day his ship is attacked by pirates. English pirates, no less, and Brethren of the Coast, a brotherhood of free men who owe allegiance to no one but themselves. Job thinks he's been rescued at last, but he's badly mistaken. As an Englishman aboard a Spanish ship, the Brethren believe he's a traitor and an enemy. But just when pirate justice is about to be delivered, Garrett Dubh intervenes. He both saves Job's life and recruits him to the pirate ship Audacious.

Surrounded by a fearsome crew, Job finds protection under Garrett's wing. He's ready to do anything for the handsome pirate—things he'd never willingly do for another man. But Garrett ignores Job's shy overtures. He believes Job is too traumatised by his past. Too young to know what he wants. And nothing Job says will change his mind.

To show Garrett he can take care of himself, Job leaves the safety of the Audacious. He joins the most ruthless Brethren crew in the Caribbean, led by the enigmatic and cruel Rusé.

But in the French pirate haven of Tortuga, thoughtless actions can have fatal consequences, something Job is about to discover. And this time, Garrett isn't there to save him.

Chasing a Legacy by D. A Ravenscroft - May 2020

Against the tense political backdrop of the Second French Empire, siblings Camille and Marianne find themselves wrestling with personal demons both past and present. As Camille strives to keep family secrets buried and unveil a plot against them, Marianne becomes involved with the handsome Baron Auclair and his mysterious younger sister. Little do the siblings know that soon their very different lives will come crashing together…

-

The sequel to a sequel! In this follow up to the unofficial Les Mis sequel ‘Chasing a Ghost’, we follow Enjolras and Grantaire’s children, Camille and Marianne, through dangers untold and family strife. Set in 1866, towards the end of the Second Empire, this story has murder, mystery, romance, drama, comedy, and a pet lion. And yes, it’s very, very queer.

https://www.lulu.com/en/gb/shop/d-a-ravenscroft/chasing-a-legacy/paperback/product-y58wrq.html

Two Rogues Make a Right by Cat Sebastian (Seducing the Sedgwicks Book #3) - June 23rd

Will Sedgwick can’t believe that after months of searching for his oldest friend, Martin Easterbrook is found hiding in an attic like a gothic nightmare. Intent on nursing Martin back to health, Will kindly kidnaps him and takes him to the countryside to recover, well away from the world. Martin doesn’t much care where he is or even how he got there. He’s much more concerned that the man he’s loved his entire life is currently waiting on him hand and foot, feeding him soup and making him tea. Martin knows he’s a lost cause, one he doesn’t want Will to waste his life on. As a lifetime of love transforms into a tender passion both men always desired but neither expected, can they envision a life free from the restrictions of the past, a life with each other?

Best Laid Plaids by Ella Stainton (Kilty Pleasures #1)- August 31st

In 1920s Scotland, even ghosts wear plaid.

Welcome to a sexy, spooky new paranormal historical series from debut author Ella Stainton.

Scotland, 1928

Dr. Ainsley Graham is cultivating a reputation as an eccentric.

Two years ago, he catastrophically ended his academic career by publicly claiming to talk to ghosts. When Joachim Cockburn, a WWI veteran studying the power of delusional thinking, arrives at his door, Ainsley quickly catalogues him as yet another tiresome Englishman determined to mock his life’s work.

But Joachim is tenacious and openhearted, and Ainsley’s intrigued despite himself. He agrees to motor his handsome new friend around to Scotland’s most unmistakable hauntings. If he can convince Joachim, Ainsley might be able to win back his good name and then some. He knows he’s not crazy—he just needs someone else to know it, too.

Joachim is one thesis away from realizing his dream of becoming a psychology professor, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, not even an enchanting ginger with a penchant for tartan and lewd jokes. But as the two travel across Scotland’s lovely—and definitely, definitely haunted—landscape, Joachim’s resolve starts to melt. And he’s beginning to think that an empty teaching post without the charming Dr. Graham would make a very poor consolation prize indeed…

The Gentleman’s Thief by Isobel Starling (Resurrectionist Book #2)

Tuesday 28th December 1897. Mr. Benedict Hannan, the owner of Hannan’s Auction House in Fitzrovia, London, receives an unexpected visitor at his Bloomsbury home. The man on his stoop sends Benedict’s heart into a flutter, and on inviting the mysterious stranger into his house, he is inviting mystery, adventure, and volcanic desire.

Sebastian Cavell—master thief, gives the impression he has sought out Benedict for the sake of business, but the kind of business Sebastian has in mind has nothing to do with making money!

Cavell has been tasked with finding the whereabouts of a missing German aristocrat. With Benedict’s society connections, Sebastian gains access to his Gentleman’s Club and to men whose behavior is not so gentlemanly!

Benedict is pulled into the circle of a dangerous secret society and he not only learns the truth about the mysterious Sebastian Cavell, but learns the truth about himself and all he truly desires.

The Curse of the Mummy’s Heart by Julia Talbot - June 30th

Something is rising in the desert sand, and between two adventurous men.

Famous 1920s Hollywood actor Douglas Fitzhugh and his brother Donnie are headed for Egypt on a classic monster movie quest. Their mysterious benefactor, a man they call Grant, has sent them to find a stranded archaeologist, and all they have to go on is a handwritten journal. That's just the kind of adventure Douglas loves, and he never passes up the chance to get away from his studio-driven life.

Charles Angeloff is also on his way to Egypt with a special object his father has asked him to return to the tomb he ripped it from. Charles is just out of university, and when he meets Douglas, he falls hard for Douglas' charm and his worldly ways.

As they travel, more men of adventure join them: a cowboy, a rich seminary student, and a librarian. When they're all together, it's like magic happens, and the men all realize they're on a mission to stop the horror that stirs beneath the desert sands, even as that creature sets its sights on Charles. Will Douglas and Charles lose each other just when they've found what they both think is the man they want to be with forever?

Starcrossed: A Paranormal Historical Romance (Magic in Manhattan #2) by Allie Therin - May 18th

When everything they’ve built is threatened, only their bond remains… 1925 New York Psychometric Rory Brodigan’s life hasn’t been the same since the day he met Arthur Kenzie. Arthur’s continued quest to contain supernatural relics that pose a threat to the world has captured Rory’s imagination—and his heart. But Arthur’s upper-class upbringing still leaves Rory worried that he’ll never measure up, especially when Arthur’s aristocratic ex arrives in New York. For Arthur, there’s only Rory. But keeping the man he’s fallen for safe is another matter altogether. When a group of ruthless paranormals throw the city into chaos, the two men’s strained relationship leaves Rory vulnerable to a monster from Arthur’s past. With dark forces determined to tear them apart, Rory and Arthur will have to draw on every last bit of magic up their sleeves. And in the end, it’s the connection they’ve formed without magic that will be tested like never before.

Another Chance For Love by Ellie Thomas - July 4th

Former British Army Lieutenant Adam Merryweather survived the Western Front of WWI and has slowly recovered from his injuries. But can he heal from a broken heart? Torn between family duty and personal happiness, he sacrificed his love for Alf and has never ceased to regret it in the two years since the war ended. Adam is slowly putting his empty life back together, working for the family firm in the city centre of Bristol and trying to stop his mother’s meddling to find him the perfect socially acceptable bride. When he happens to meet Alf out of the blue, Adam is determined to try again. But convincing Alf to give him another chance may be too much to hope for. Can a chance meeting bring them back together? Or has Adam lost another chance for love forever?    

The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows by Olivia Waite - July 28th - sapphic

When Agatha Griffin finds a colony of bees in her warehouse, it’s the not-so-perfect ending to a not-so-perfect week. Busy trying to keep her printing business afloat amidst rising taxes and the suppression of radical printers like her son, the last thing the widow wants is to be the victim of a thousand bees. But when a beautiful beekeeper arrives to take care of the pests, Agatha may be in danger of being stung by something far more dangerous…

Penelope Flood exists between two worlds in her small seaside town, the society of rich landowners and the tradesfolk.  Soon, tensions boil over when the formerly exiled Queen arrives on England’s shores—and when Penelope’s long-absent husband returns to Melliton, she once again finds herself torn, between her burgeoning love for Agatha and her loyalty to the man who once gave her refuge.

As Penelope finally discovers her true place, Agatha must learn to accept the changing world in front of her. But will these longing hearts settle for a safe but stale existence or will they learn to fight for the future they most desire?

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*If more come to my attention after this is posted, they will be added!!!

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Alex Recommends: May and June Books

I must apologise for the late arrival of this post. It should have been up days ago but I’ve been struggling to read much for the last month or so. My head has been very foggy and dark with all of the confusion, anxiety and hate that has been filling my news feeds and I’ve been filled with a desire to combat it. Before this month, I’d have run in the opposite direction from any kind of confrontation but recent events have given me the kick up the butt to actively do better. I’ve been calling out bigotry when I come across it and I’ve noticed that some people, notably my older relatives, haven’t necessarily reacted favorably to the changed, more outspoken Alex. It has been pretty daunting and I’ve worked myself up into fits of rage and tears several times over the last couple of months.

A lot of things have changed for me since my last Alex Recommends post. I’m currently temporarily living in Staffordshire with my boyfriend because my depression got too bad for me to stay at home for much longer. I missed him unbelievably much and I knew that spending some prolonged time with him would help -and it has. Both him and I have spent 12 weeks religiously following all of the rules, so we’re both extremely low-risk for catching and spreading COVID-19 and being together was something that we simply really needed to do. Please don’t hate me for it! In other news, I have also started writing again, which feels amazing. I’m now a few thousand words into a queer Rapunzel retelling that I have lots of ideas for. Maybe I’ll even post an extract or two, when I feel it’s ready to show you.

In the centre of the renewed energy of Black Lives Matter and the undeniable exposure of the horrors that is police brutality, the book blogging and BookTube worlds vowed to uplift Black voices. I wrote a very long, in-depth blog post full of Black-written books and Black book influencers. Please check it out to diversify your TBR and educate yourself on Black issues, which is what every white person should be doing now and always.

June was Pride Month and I tried my best to compile a series of recommendation posts in honour of it. These included gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, non-binary, ace, pansexual and intersex lists. I’ve had some great feedback on this, so I hope you find some fantastic new reads. It felt especially poignant to put them together the same year that one of my childhood heroes came out as an ignorant trans-exclusive feminist. As a lifelong Harry Potter superfan and someone who has repeatedly publicly supported Rowling in the past, I feel the need to clarify where I now stand. I do not support or agree with a single thing that she has said in recent times with regard to transgender people. I’ve never felt my own status as a cisgender female threatened by trans people wanting more rights or believed that children or women were at risk due to their existence. 

I read her words more than once and struggled to find any semblance of the woman who wrote the books that have most defined my life. I’m hesitant to say that we can always successfully separate the art from the artist but I will say that it makes sense to me that the Rowling of 2020 is not the same Rowling that wrote Harry Potter. She was a destitute single mother when Philosopher’s Stone was published in 1997 and of course, she is now a million worlds away from that lifestyle. It breaks my heart but it makes sense to me that she has changed beyond belief because her life has changed beyond belief. I’m not and never would make any excuses for her recent behaviour and I have stopped supporting her personally but I will not be getting rid of my Harry Potter books and I will undoubtedly re-read them several more times. However, I am now hugely reluctant to buy any more merchandise or special editions of the books, which saddens me but at the moment, it feels right. There is no coming back for her from this and I will make a conscious effort to keep Harry Potter and Rowling away from my future content. It can be really tough to admit that the people you once really admired aren’t great humans but it’s something that we all have to acknowledge in this case, in order to move forward with our own quests to become our best selves.

It didn’t feel right to post my May recommendations last month as I didn’t feel comfortable promoting my own content in the midst of boosting Black voices. So today I’m bringing you a bumper edition of Alex Recommends. Here are 10 books that I’ve enjoyed since the start of May that I’d love to share with you. Enjoy! -Love, Alex x

FICTION: Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Set in the affluent neighbourhood of Shaker Heights, Ohio in the 1990s, two families are brought together and pulled apart by the most intense, devastating circumstances. Dealing with issues of race, class, coming-of-age, motherhood and the dangers of perfection, Little Fires Everywhere is highly addictive and effecting. With characters who are so heartbreakingly real and a story that weaves its way to your very core, I couldn’t put it down and I’m still thinking about it over a month after finishing it. 

FICTION: Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert

When coding nerd Chloe Brown almost dies, she makes a list of goals and vows to finally Get A Life. So she enlists tattooed redhead handyman and biker Red to teach her how. Cute, funny and ultimately life-affirming, this enemies-to-lovers rom-com was exactly the brand of light relief that I needed this month. The follow-up Take A Hint, Dani Brown focuses on a fake-dating situation with Chloe’s over-achieving academic sister and I can’t wait to get my hands on that.

FICTION: The Rearranged Life of Oona Lockhart by Margarita Montimore

Just before her 19th birthday at midnight on New Year’s Eve 1983, Oona Lockhart finds herself inexplicably in 2015 inside her 51-year-old body. She soon learns that every year on New Year’s Day, she will now find herself inside a random year of her life and she has no control over it. Seeing her through relationships, friendships and extreme wealth, this strange novel has echoes of Back To The Future and 13 Going On 30 with a final revelation that I certainly never saw coming.

NON-FICTION: The Five by Hallie Rubenhold

Atmospheric and engaging, The Five details the previously untold stories of Polly, Annie, Elisabeth, Kate and Mary-Jane -the women who lost their lives at the hands of Jack the Ripper. Full of fascinating research and heartbreaking accounts of what these women’s lives may have been like, Rubenhold paints a dark immersive portrait of Victorian London and gives voice to these tragic silenced lives. Although we can’t know for certain if these accounts are entirely accurate, they feel very plausible and in some ways, The Five exposes how little time has moved on, when it comes to the public portrayal of single, troubled women.

NON-FICTION: Unicorn by Amrou Al-Kadhi

From a childhood crush on Macaulay Culkin to how a teenage obsession with marine biology helped them realise their non-binary identity, Unicorn tells the story of how the obsessive perfectionist son of a strict Muslim Iraqi family became the gorgeous drag queen Glamrou. Packed full of humour, honesty and heart, this book will give you the strength and inspiration to harness what you were born with and be who you were always meant to be.

MIDDLE-GRADE: The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates by Jenny Pearson

When fact-obsessed Freddie’s grandmother dies, he discovers that the father he has never met may actually be alive and living in Wales. So he has no choice but to grab his best friends Ben and Charlie, leave his home in Andover and go to find his dad! I laughed so many times during this madcap adventure and I know the slapstick crazy humour will hit the middle-grade target audience just right. It’s also a wonderful depiction of small town Britain with a focus on the true meaning of family.

MIDDLE-GRADE: A Kind Of Spark by Elle McNicoll

When Addie learns about her hometown’s history of witch trials, she campaigns tirelessly to get a memorial for the women who lost their lives through it. This wonderfully beautiful novel gives a unique insight into the mind of an 11-year-old autistic girl with a huge heart. Busting myths about neurodiversity while tackling typical pre-teen drama, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry but most of all, you’ll close the book with a huge smile on your face. 

HISTORICAL FICTION: Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell

In 16th century Warwickshire, Agnes is a woman with a unique gift whose relationship with a young Latin tutor produces three children and a legacy that lasts for centuries. This enchanting, all-consuming account of the tragic story of Shakespeare’s lost son, the effects that rippled through the family and the play that was born from their pain will send a bullet straight through your heart. Wonderfully researched and beautifully written, Hamnet is worth all of the hype.

HISTORICAL FICTION: The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

When a vicious storm kills most of the men of Vardø, Norway, it’s up to the women to keep things going but a man with a murderous past is about to come down with an iron fist. At the heart of this dark tale of witch trials, grief and feminism, two women find something they’ve each been searching for within each other. Gorgeously written with a fantastically slow-burning queer romance, Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s first adult novel is an addictive, atmospheric read with a poignant, tearjerker of an ending.

SCI-FI: Q by Christina Dalcher

When one of Elena’s daughters manages to drop below the country’s desired Q number, she is sent away to one of the new state schools and Elena is about to find out something she’d really rather not know about the new system. Packed full of real social commentary and critique of life as we know it while painting a picture of how things could be even worse (yes, really!), this pulse-racing, horrifying sci-fi dystopian gripped me from the first page and refused to let me go.