#writing little retellings of “reincarnations” ...

[widowshill]

reminder to myself to find and upload the article about the gendered enlightenment/scientific reason vs superstitious persecution in Carmilla and it’s resulting ambiguously supernatural narrative because. it’s so formative to the way I think and write about ds lmao it needs to be on some kind of blog syllabus.

[morganadismay]

we have GOT to get weirder with arthurian retellings. david lowery and the slightly unsettling whimsy of his green knight is the only one that scratches this itch but i would like something even more rooted in magical realism and absurdism. i've been plagued with visions of arthurian characters living past their myth and becoming Something Else for months now... get into Morgan's necromancy more, the double Guinevere as a doppelgänger narrative, the whole deal with Merlin being entombed for years on end.

[fairykazu]

LOVERS' OATH FT. XIAO ! cws: established relationship, in every universe, i'd find you, soulmates. notes: yes, ive been playing love and deepspace and yes, it is inspired by that. princess is used as a gender-neutral term but feel free to replace it with your preferred word, also i might write a part two idk yet masterlist + taglist: @aethion

an oath between two lovers who were forever bound by the soul bond, xiao was always destined to find you but it never meant that you two were guaranteed to fall in love with each other. it was the hundredth year that he was reincarnated into a new world. alas, he was tired. he knew it might take years to find you again but when xiao rested on top of a roof, admiring the moon. 

he smiled. 

it was the same moon that he had seen when he first met you where you helped him from forever being a royal pet to freedom. unlike the human form you’ve witnessed him in different universes. when you two first met, he was a beautiful bird that was bothersome to catch but heavily admired among the kingdoms. the vermillion bird was only caught once with the dragon lord but never again seen. 

until he was captured again by a human who pursued and used the dragon for his own personal gain. xiao was a gift from one of your suitors in your kingdom, you were such a naive princess but yet, he was the one who fell for you first. when the duke, childe, was telling you how he caught the vermillion bird.

the cruel retelling of the story made you wince, knowing what you would do next. after your birthday party had passed, it was midnight and the moon dawned before you. you visited the feathered animal, trapped in the ornate gilded cage with delicate details, already in your room. 

however, when you arrived, the vermillion bird was no longer a bird but instead avian. he was beautiful. admiring his porcelain / tanned skin bore scars that he had fought in countless battles and won; he was an affinity to the moon. but his wings? it completely contrasted the pale complexion he had. his peacock-like feathers, each one shone like rubies, reflecting the vibrant hues of the sunset. the deep emerald, green centerpiece of each quill took a resemblance to an eye. 

you crooned to him, not sure of what to call him,“hello, mr. vermillion?” 

despite being in awe of the sight, your trepidation of what would happen next worries you a little bit. he wasn’t looking at you but instead, he avoided your gaze like it would pierce his skin, leaving the golden cage bloodied with scarlet. “i’m so sorry about what duke childe had done to get you here.” 

you were like a vulture, you circled around the cage. he kept himself to one corner and moved to the next when you were near. frowning, you noticed a small pool of crimson on the marble floor, staining a macabre tapestry. “are you hurt?” 

he didn't want to be a prey to a foolish princess no less to be their pet. as much as xiao wanted to scoff, he stayed quiet, hoping your never-ending questions would fall to silence.

no reply.

you weren’t sure if the bird was able to speak the local language. “can i see your wound? i promise i won’t hurt you…” it was obvious in the avian’s eyes that he didn’t trust you. in every speckle of gold in his amber eyes, there was a speck of distrust.

you nodded, walking away from the cage and to the door. it's clear that he wouldn't trust me if i had guards protecting me if he did attack me.

cracking it open, you asked the guards if they could leave for thirty minutes. they were hesitated at first but after a couple pleas they left without saying another word. “i’ve called off the guards so you won’t be in danger. let me treat that injury and i’ll let you free. don’t you look at me like that?” 

he sheepishly looked away, guilty. sounding a little offended, “i’m not a cruel princess that the rumors say i am.” taking a box under your bed, a safety kit, you brought it to the cage.

before sitting on the marble floor, you were inspecting the injury, you sighed in relief, “thankfully, he didn’t injure you badly. this might hurt.” you took the tweezers and gently nabbed the cut with a cotton swab. thankfully, it wasn’t a deep one. 

he winced a little, his wings flinching with him. he tried to keep a calm demeanor but slowly relaxed in your embrace. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. it would be done after–” you cleaned it once more. “–there you go!” you notice his gaze on you while you take the spool of bandages with the scissors. you paused before asking “can i?”, referring to his wings. 

he let out a hum. as you wrapped the wing, you made sure it was tight but not too tight in case he might have been uncomfortable. “are you okay?”

he only nodded. as promised, you led him to the balcony, the midnight skies were glimmering with stars. you glanced at him once more. when he stood on the railing, you noticed his bandages had fallen off and the wound had healed as quick as the wind seemed to hum around you two. just before he changed his form, he turned to you, “xiao.” 

“what?” 

“xiao’s my name. call me if you need me.” do birds like to return favors? that’s something you had to search up later with the librarians. as the bird took flight, it seemed to weave through the air with an almost ethereal grace, leaving a trail of crimson light in its wake. even though you had set him free, you knew that he’d be back. 

you were right. but you didn’t know how often he had come back to see you, you barely see him in the day but he found solace in your bedroom at night. as the line between dream and reality had blurred, your bond with xiao grew stronger. regardless of the amount of suitors that would line up all around the kingdom’s borders, they were rejected.

xiao recalled the night, the night you had embedded a little bit of him within your soul. it’s his favorite memory to revisit and he could paint every moment with vivid detail. the kingdom sooner or later accepted the princess’s oddity of rejecting princes and princesses, even princess ayaka or uniting a good alliance with the abyss, prince aether. all because of a bird that never leaves their side. 

as midnight drew near, he soared across the skies, noticing how the stars were no longer rivaling the bright beauty of yours. perched on the balcony, he chirped, a sound he would never have believed he’d make before. he heard your giggles and opened your double doors, the white curtains billowing from the breeze. “hello, xiao.” 

the moment he was in your embrace, he transformed from his bird form. as you played with his hair, braiding it a little. he rested on the nape of your neck. “princess, are you afraid of us ever ceasing from existence?” he asked, his words buzzing against your skin. his wings were folded in, tensed because this was a question he wanted to ask moons ago.

it was a likely fate. he was immortal, you weren’t. it was bound to happen. but you paused, your fingers stilled from his hair, he was afraid since he couldn’t even hear you breathe. it was strange. he could hear the pin drop of a townsperson sewing but not you. “... i fear it. i used to believe that i could find an elixir to live forever, to be with you forevermore. but i know that’s just naive to think.” 

he lifted his head away from you, “princess,” 

“you can call me by my name, xiao.” somehow, xiao never was able to get over the formalities in your relationship with him. maybe, blame the man who raised him.

“...name, it could be possible.” you chuckled, tracing his scars on his hands. 

“don’t humor me, xiao. i had grown up from the princess you knew.” 

“not humoring if it’s true. when i was growing up, i’ve heard from my siblings that an avian could bind their soul to someone to be reunited in every lifetime.” you interrupted, 

“that’s not being immortal, xiao.” 

“but you will be with me in every lifetime. isn’t that better?” xiao replied, knowing already that you accepted the idea. or maybe he was desperate to keep you in his life, he wasn’t sure how he was able to live without you. before, it was easy, your paths never condiverged. he hated to thank that stupid ginger but if he had to be bruised until he couldn’t breathe just to be by your side, he’d take it. 

“if you promise to find me.” 

“always.” he replied, stretching out his wings. there was one quill that was different from the others, it was glowing with a dewy golden color. he opened one of your hands, placing the plume into your palm; it pulsed with a luminous intensity. xiao gestured to you to hold it over your heart as you did what he instructed, the feather felt as if it reached out and touched the tips of your soul just before it became one with you. 

he kept his promise with you no matter what. even if the universe had it against him, making the relationship imbalance or never letting you within his embrace that crossed romance. despite the challenges and the obstacles he had faced, he managed to be intertwined in your fate. 

this time, he won’t lose you again. 

[rosyfingered-moon]

Mr Queen fic masterlist

Noticing an influx of comments on my Mr. Queen fics now that it’s on Netflix, so here gentle readers is a masterlist. I spent the better part of a year writing these stories, most of which are novel-length!

Are you a cheolbong truther, and wish the show would have committed to the wacky queer love story of our dreams? Or does your heart beat for the silenced Kim Soyong, who got pushed out of her own narrative? I’m here to fulfill all your fix-it needs! ❤

Mrs. Queen

Summary: She has always been good at hide and seek. A retelling of Mr. Queen from Kim Soyong's point of view.

This was my first MQ retelling where Soyong and Bong-hwan are both awake and bickering inside their mind, wrestling for control. Soyong/Cheoljong endgame; Bong-hwan is mostly around to matchmake and cause trouble like the gremlin he is.

And I, and Silence

Summary: Jang Bong-hwan can feel his mind disintegrating, and he is looking for a way back to Seoul. Suddenly Kim Soyong is back. And, as it turns out, she is already married.

The last thing Kim Soyong remembers is jumping into the lake. Now she’s back mid-story and forced to fend for herself without any memory of what has happened in the past few months. Lots of angsty pining, gratuitous Emily Dickinson references, and the birth of my most beloved crackship ByeongJin (Jo Hwa-jin/Kim Byeong-in).

The Raw Ingredients

Summary: After a miserable year in Seoul, Bong-hwan finds a way back to Joseon. When she returns everything is very different from how she left it.

We’ve got magical trans girl Bong-hwan returning to Joseon, only this time in the body of a lowly palace maid. How ever will she get to her king? Well, with a little help of cunning minister Kim Soyong, of course.

Patchwork

Summary: Sobong returns to her king.

A ficlet with the same basic premise as The Raw Ingredients but much shorter.

The White Grass

Summary: Kim Soyong discovers the hard way that her clan would do anything to ensure that the next royal heir comes from the Kim bloodline, no matter who they have to hurt to do it. To survive in the palace she makes a deal with the king. AU where Jang Bong-hwan never came to Joseon. This one has some dark and gritty dubcon sex! It’s also got a Kim Soyong who girlbosses, gaslights, and gatekeeps her way to power in a patriarchal government, and accidentally falls in love with her husband along the way.

Whatever Souls Are Made Of

Summary: Kim Soyong and Jang Bong-hwan are the same soul reincarnated. On the same night, 170 years apart, they both drown. That’s when things get weird.

In this story Sobong is just one (1) person, but with two sets of memories from two points in time. There’s some multiverse theory, library sex, and a journey of self-discovery for our dear genderfluid queen! This is my personal favorite of the bunch.

[aquietjune]

Speculating about the ending of Oshi no Ko

Considering that Aka Akasaka has already proven he’s one of those authors who will (force) pull elements from a more significant story to ballast their own cheap writing, the narrative version of appeal to authority, I’m now fully convinced that chapter 165 will be a retelling of the myth of Amaterasu in the Heavenly Rock Cave.

So chapter 165 will show that Ruby has disappeared, and the world is in shambles because it cannot bathe in her light. In fact, she took hide in Miyazaki, in the cavern where she and Akane found the corpse of her sensei. Here she will or will not have her version of the dream world conversation with Tsukuyomi, where Ruby is desperate and wants to be granted a wish, while the latter will try to convince her of something like “the power is within yourself already” while being very vague and all.

Ruby is full of grief and doesn’t want to come out ever again, until Akane (and/or Kana, absolutely without setup but what’s that), as Ame-No-Uzume, will convince (trick) her into coming out, and then, everything will be alright and the sun will be restored over the world.

Chapter 166 will have a time skip of a few years. It will show video interviews of Kana and Akane and Ruby and the others, showing that they all had great success with their careers and their lives; they may recount past suffering but only briefly: there’s melancholy, but they’re doing well.

It is then shown that these interviews are being watched by a little girl, very attentively but also with a hint of that same melancholy. Something something this story is fiction, the entire world is fiction; the melancholy disappears. An adult then approaches the girl and says something like:

“You really like actors, {LittleGirlsName}, don’t you? Do you want to become one?”

And the girl (of course, Aqua reincarnated), will respond:

“I don’t know, I think I really want to take it easy this time.”

*Seinfeld outro song*

[talenlee]

June 2024 Wrapup!

That’s it, Pride’s over. We’re done with any need to be queer because we obviously defeated the forces of not queer.

Hey how do all those dudes who are convinced they’re straight think their sexuality handles being attracted to nonbinary people? Like, nonbinary people can look like anything, presentation is a performance and everything, but if you believe in inherent qualities of genders, seeing a nonbinary person who’s hot has to be a problem right?

(oh who are we kidding, they pretend nonbinary people don’t exist. But if you do accept nonbinary people exist, you might be less straight than you think.)

Alright, let’s look at what articles came up in the Game Pile this month!

Gay Sauna: The Board Game, where we talked about the acceptable boundaries of genre mechanisms.

Arcade Spirits, where I made a video retelling my experiences of dealing with a game that I shouldn’t call a visual novel, because someone out there will get annoyed at an imperfect cladistic categorisation of game genres

Signalis, a game that oozes style but also told me to stop playing it, so I did

3 Indie TTRPGs, with Feathers, For the Dungeon and We Saved The World Once in a video

If you think the video on Feathers, For The Dungeon and We Saved The World Once was a bit ropy, yep! It got made very quick and close to the deadline because it was very difficult to make. Cooking these games down to entirely positive feedback without talking more about things I find personally interesting was hard enough, which is why the first seven minutes of the video are about problems with how we talk about indie TTRPGs.

Also, a thing I was really delighted by was getting to play Loom with Fox for the first time (part 1, part 2)!

Then there was this month’s Story Pile, about which I was way more enthusiastic!

Nimona, which is a great movie for kids,

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury, which is a great anime, for slightly older kids!

Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess And The Genius Young Lady, which is a mid anime, for slightly older kids still!

Bound, which is, uh, it’s not for kids

What else happened this month that I’m proud of?

Hm.

Hmmm.

This is a surprising one to say because normally I can think of articles that I want you to read in a sort of ‘well why haven’t you looked at this.’ But I’m in a bad mood right now and it’s colouring things about how I look at my own writing. My article on LIGMA is tainted by knowing how little of the greater context of the area I can communicate. My article about What Disgusts Jod got a response from a Locked Tomb fan that seemed to imply that actually, Jod wasn’t bi or pansexual, because a guy can have a threesome with a man and a woman and people will still try and pretend bisexuality doesn’t exist. My article about Tieflings was probably the thing I’m the most proud of this month, in the idea of the kind of writing I like doing, and I think my article on Faces For Skins is important? At least I avoided another breakdown article about how badly I feel Pride culture connects to or relates to me, though maybe that just shows up in the work in general.

There’s this month’s shirt design:

How hard is the Barbie aesthetic to replicate? With lookalike fonts it’s shockingly easy. I note that this one specifically is a drop shadow and not a 3d semblance, as you can see on the bottoms of the ls. Hey, do you want this on a sticker? Go for it!

In terms of real world events, June is jam packed. It’s the end of the Autumn Semester for me, as a tutor for one. This semester, I took on a lot of marking work, which I like to do, but which also meant that I looked at 118 asignments this month, and 60 of them had a 5 minute audio visual component. That’s five hours of student material to just watch. It ain’t nothing, and it adds up over time.

It’s also a time with four major family birthdays in them, which means I have to find ways and times to attend to physical events. This is not a problem, because I love my family but it sure makes me mindful of just how long it takes me to recover from that to do, y’know, things with myself like write for the blog. Marking periods take time out of the blog work.

The subject matter of the month is also less of a freebie than you might think because I feel like some things are too repetitive – I don’t imagine I’m going to find a third Transformers character to write about next year, for example. There’s also the way that February and June kinda blur together – I’m very fond of talking about queer media in February since that’s one of the most fun kinds of smoochy media I like.

I aim to keep the queued posts for this blog up to 50, so every day if I add a post, it goes to 51 and dips back down to 50. I also try to make sure I’m four weeks ahead on the video channels. This month, as I write this, I am one week ahead on the video, and the queue is down to 45. I am frustrated! But I am doing things to overcome that, and in the coming weeks, I don’t have to grapple with a theme!

I haven’t been getting to bed at good times. This month has featured multiple days where I get to bed at 4 in the morning, one even at 5. This is bad and I hate it. I hate it especially because it takes a long time to recover from it, to get back to sleeping at even the modestly more sensible time of midnight to one AM. I also haven’t been cooking as much as I want to — even modest resistance means that suddenly dinner is some microwaved oats and sultanas, with a splash of milk.

I think I may even be missing one of my June goals for Magic The Gathering: Arena, which isn’t exactly important, but it is a bit of a pisser. The aim was to hit gold tier in limited, which at this point I have… a few hours to do, and I’m still in Silver Tier. That’s not a big deal but it is a bummer.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[colormepurplex2]

Just a little check-in, I hope you're all doing splendidly!

To everyone sending asks and reblogging Shatter With Me Ch 2, I'm going to respond. I just want to wait a few days so as not to accidentally share spoilers with anyone that hasn't read it yet :)

I am working on the epilogue and the Bonus Character POV chapter, which, if you haven't caught it elsewhere, will consist of snippets and scenes that tell Jiyoon's POV and some of her story. I know she's undesirable number 1 for good reason, but a lot of interest has been shown in knowing what's going on in that head of hers, so I decided that's exactly what I'll provide :)

Updates for some other fics, In Memory of Him Ch 2 is next on my list of things to complete. This is such a heavy fic that I needed to take a step away and clear my head before diving back in (tho, if I'm being honest, I stepped away to work on Shatter With Me, and that was nearly as heavy, so 😅). I have a Demon!Jimin x f.Reader fic and a YoonKook fated lovers/red string of fate/reincarnation fic that are on my schedule to be done before the end of June. My Greek retelling Yoongi x f.Reader Mafia story is half done, but currently in limbo with when it'll get put back on my schedule to be worked on. The next chapter of Fickle Flame is also kind of in limbo right now because I'm not in the proper headspace to work on it.

I'm trying to make 2024 my year of giving myself a bit more grace when it comes to my writing, so I'm trying to focus on doing what makes me happy instead of what I feel I have to do.

[aboutdragons]

Hello, I'm sorry to bother but I had a spur of questions after reading your 'ttad answers' tag.

You’ve talked about not being straight or monogamous, what made you choose that? Why pick Aemond to be her main bae?

Will Aly Rivers appear in ttad? 

What will Lyra’s relationship be like with the next gen?

What make you pick the 14 flames as the main gods in this fic?

What scene has been your favourite to write? Both published and wip?

What make you want to write the dragon-riders the way you did? Like with all the dragon/ inhuman features? As well as the bond with their dragon?

What was your thought process when creating Lyra? Why make her the child of Daemon and Rhea?

Alicent and Lyra seem to have a blooming friendship, will that continue in the upcoming years?

sorry about all the questions - they've just been burning in the back of my mind for a bit now and I just had to ask. Thank you so much

Yes, hello! I like questions, I'll try to answer them thoroughly.

I never thought about Lyra not being straight being a big deal. She just isn't. Same with polyamory; though they both might well hark to the whole 'freedom' part of her story. Freedom to love who she will, even if it's multiple people at once. Aemond as main bae was concieved at the initial concepting stage with my friend because she likes Aemond a lot. Whole store began from that actually.

Alys Rivers will make an appearance indeed. Aemond canonically has a thing for women older than him after all.

I'm not sure if Targtowers are included in the next gen, but she's going to interact positively with them, though for Reasons she'll be largely absent later down the line. But she likes them and is a role model to them in a way. She's obviously going to have a close relationship with the twins as they're her sisters. As for Rhaenyra's spawns, Lyra will keep her distance, mostly due to the growing rift between Rhaenyra and herself and Daemon. She has nothing against them per say, and she pities them a little because they will inevitably be caught in the crossfire of the consequences of Rhaenyra's choices, no matter if she ascends peacefully or not.

Because 14 are Valyrian gods and the main characters are Valyrian, it just fit very well. Plus I get to do some Fun ThingsTM with them later, plot-wise.

For published, my favorite scene so far was Lyra telling Daemon about her reincarnation and then retelling him Silmarillion. For WIP, there's a little scene of Rhaenyra and Alicent basically at the end of the whole story. I really like it.

Because I am primarily a fantasy hoe and Targaryens are supposed to be the elves of ASoIaF, they deserve to be a little more inhuman as a treat. As for the dragon bonds, I'm honestly just making shit up I think is cool because I like the dragons a lot and I want them to feature as more than props or pets.

I needed a convenient spot to place Lyra in the timeline so that she'd have biggest influence of the world, and this worked well. With Daemon as her father, it gives her a great personal freedom as well. As for the conception of a character itself, I simply asked myself what would be most interesting to throw in the setting, and came up with a woman who doesn't at all fit in with the times. It makes for some very interesting interactions, especially later down the line.

I'm not entirely sure where the future of Lyra and Alicent lies, but I will try to keep them friendly with eachother. As I mentioned prior, though, Lyra is not someone who fits in with what a highborn noblewoman of that era is supposed to be, and Alicent's whole persona is built upon being just that; they're on the exact opposite ends of the spectrum, and I'm not sure where it'll take them yet.

Don't be sorry! I really enjoy being asked questions and discussing ttad things with people!

[zackstriker]

Hey, I just saw your tags about queer readings of the bible and that Mary Magdalene was a lesbian and I got really curious, could you maybe talk about that a little bit more? Only if you want to, of course, but as a lesbian called Magdalene I jumped while reading your tags 🤣 and I would just really love to read a little bit more about it

omg yes!! it’s one of my specializations in literature, i do queer biblical retellings. I call it my empathetic blasphemy bc i don’t ever really diss the bible/stories/characters in my work, i just tell them the way i see them. if i bash anyone it’s the people who propagate the hate (for example a recent quote from a piece i wrote is “god doesn’t like horror movies either, he told me himself. humans have a bad habit of turning everything into a horror story, look at my book, he says, they turned it all into blood.”)

i do sort of two approaches to it, i either look for inherent queer subtext in the bible (Judas and Jesus, Jesus and John, etc) and extrapolate that and expand upon it, using big queer emotion to relay the beats of the story.

Mostly i do the second approach though and that is just turning stories and characters gay and changing any and all dynamics i want with 0 evidence.

For example i rewrote the story of the Binding of Isaac but made them lesbian lovers instead of father/son. I also wrote a piece where God was in love with adam and kept reincarnating him so they could fall in love over and over (fun fact the catholics that read my stories hate this one usually bc catholics approach god with a much more father-figure like reverence that is MUCH less present in protestant branches, like i was raised seeing god as a creator not a father so i didn’t see the story as weird bc it was like a painter falling in love with their painting but i digress).

the mary magdalene piece falls more into the second one, basically the idea of mary magdalene (aka mary of magdalene) as a sinner woman was because a pope in the 500s was giving an easter sermon and mixed her up with Mary of Bethany and an unnamed sinner woman bc they were all women mentioned semi-near each other in the book of mark. (also mary magdalene had a book in the bible that the men of the church voted to kick out of the canon— if you want to read her gospel its easy to find online. she was called the apostle of the apostles and was jesus’s favorite. he told her stuff he didn’t tell any of the others. i could go on about how the defamation of mary of magdalene has impacts on sexism within the structure of the catholic church for HOURS). one thing I like to do is take mary of magdalene and make her and mary of bethany (the woman she was confused for) lovers, and then make mary of bethany (a “sinner woman”) into a jesus figure in that piece. it’s a reclamation of queer love, women’s rights, and sexual power from a religion where all of those are damned. (i also like to juxtapose judeochristianity with other myths/religions so i do crossovers where mary of magdalene falls in love with Calypso (daughter of atlas). My current MFA thesis is about Mary of Magdalene as a lesbian. There might be proof out there that others smarter than me have found but mostly I just decided in my head she was a lesbian and ran with it.

If you want to talk more about this stuff my messages are open! also i recommend the book Jesus and John by Adam McOmber, it’s a surreal queer biblical retelling that turns the story of the crucifixion into a strange and heartbreaking queer horror romance between Jesus and his disciple John.

*** Disclaimer— I write a lot about religion bc i find it fascinating and i was raised very religious and have trauma from it. this text post is not meant to serve as any kind of sermon/to encourage anyone to get into religion, it is strictly educational and an explanation of one of my areas of study.

[coralhoneyrose]

Speak What Your Heart Wants You To - (m!Chrobin One-Shot)

Plot Synopsis: When Robin sacrificed himself to defeat Grima, Chrom never gave up hope that he would find him again. Now, reborn half a millennium later with no memories of his past life, Chrom may finally have his chance. Also known as: a Reincarnation AU in which Robin is a historian working as a museum curator, and Chrom has a *very* personal investment in learning more about the newest exhibit.

Originally posted on ao3 with f!Robin for Fire Emblem Awakening's 10th Anniversary. Tweaked to create an m!Chrobin version for anyone who prefers that iteration of the pairing.

Rating: Teen

Tags: Reincarnation, Modern AU, Flirting, Fluff, Humor

Words: 9,751

Chrom raises his coat collar to fend off the damp nipping at his skin. Along the streets, redbud trees and daffodils have conspired to coat the sidewalk in a thin crust of pollen, yet an uncharacteristic chill has sunk its teeth into Ylisstol—as if the city has forgotten that it’s already mid-spring. The hulking shadow cast by Ylisse’s National Heritage Museum does nothing to aid in chasing away the cold. Chrom waits against one of the granite pillars at its entrance, hands shoved deep in his pockets, removing them only to check his wristwatch for the fifth time in as many minutes.

When he first heard word of the new collection debuting at the museum, Chrom was ecstatic. ‘Ylisse’s Star-Crossed Lovers as You’ve Never Seen Them Before!’, the flier promised. He withdraws it from his pocket again, thumbs skimming over its many creases from all the folding and unfolding he has put it through. The collection boasts of newly uncovered love letters exchanged between Exalt Chrom and his husband, as well as their personal journal entries, and a never-before-seen sketch of the Exalt in his youth.

As far as Ylissean historical figures go, Chrom’s namesake is considered one of the greats. Remembered as both a fearsome general and progressive policy maker, artifacts detailing the Exalt's life would make for an interesting exhibit on those grounds alone. It is his love story, rather than his political achievements, however, that made him popular outside of academic circles.

Exalt Chrom and King Consort Robin’s relationship had all the makings of a beautiful tragedy—a chance meeting between fated enemies turned lovers; a desperate fight to save the world; a daring, heroic sacrifice; and the unfaltering hope they would one day meet again. The story is a favorite among the Ylissean people, and has been the subject of many modern retellings and theatrical performances in the centuries since. Chrom himself is enamored with the heart-rending mystery surrounding the two, though admittedly, his interests lay less with the ruler whose name he shares than with the brilliant tactician the man loved.

Chrom has never been able to put words to his interest in King Robin. The fascination is so out of line with his other interests, for things like fencing and swordplay—his passions have always been mired more in the physical than the academic. But something about Ylisse’s grandmaster is magnetic to him. His story plucks Chrom’s heartstrings and makes him ache—shoots him full of a sense of nostalgia for a life he never lived, where heroes fought dragons and maybe fell in love with them too.

It hadn’t been hard to learn all there was to know about the tactician: despite the king consort’s popularity, there was infuriatingly little known about his personal life. No portraits of him had survived, nor were there any known accounts of the time before he began serving the Shepherds. The majority of King Robin’s writing that had been uncovered was focused almost exclusively on military strategy, and while it was enough to prove him every bit deserving of his title as Ylisse’s High Deliverer, it did not divulge much about who he was as a person. 

For that, one had to turn to cursory mentions of the tactician in documents written by his contemporaries, and as dissonant as their portrayals of him could be, Chrom had still read them all. Reports from Plegian and Valmese war generals portrayed the tactician as callous, cunning and ruthless…but the diaries of Ylisse’s Shepherds spoke of his sunny nature, his vibrant curiosity, and his quiet compassion. The accounts all seemed to be at odds with each other, a point which many historians found vexing. He was calculating, he was selfless. He was secretive, he was loyal. Amongst these myriad facades, who was the true Robin of Ylisse?

Personally, Chrom liked to believe that none of the records were more accurate than the others. People were complicated, he reasoned. Why couldn’t these writings be a window into the many masks worn by a man who once had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders? Facets of a jewel whose luster was only achieved through ruinous pressure. Ultimately, though, Chrom’s perception of the tactician is just one theory among many—with as much claim to credence as any other. There is no way to know what Robin was really like...or at least there hadn’t been, until now.

When the new exhibit was announced, it stoked Chrom's hope into a frothy and frenetic thing—ignited a livewire curiosity within him. The collection promised personal letters and journal entries written by the tactician himself, afterall. It was the first opportunity the public would have to get a glimpse into the workings of the king’s heart, rather than his mind.

And so Chrom had pre-ordered a ticket for the exhibit’s grand-opening. He arrived early, and had packed a lunch in his satchel so that he could stay until closing, dissecting every stroke of the man’s quill. After years of admiring the tactician, finally, finally, he would get to know him. He's irrationally excited to have the chance.

Ylisstol’s clock tower chimes, the toll of the brassy bell sending a flock of pigeons skittering into the sky and tugging his eyes from the flier still gripped in his hands. It’s 10 o’clock.

On the other side of the glass doors, a security guard strides forward and turns a key, and just like that, the museum is open. Immediately, Chrom pulls open the door and fumbles his way to the ticket check counter. He was not the only one awaiting the museum’s opening, and behind him, a thin crowd of eager patrons push their way forward as well.

With his entry granted, he scurries between the arrowed signs pointing in the direction of the featured exhibit. His shoes clack against the tile with each step, echoing enormously beneath the vaulted ceiling. Without the brisk outdoor air, his palms grow clammy, half from nerves and half from excitement. What if the letters wind up proving that the version of Robin he’s spent all these years building in his head isn’t what he was like at all?

 …But what if he was even better?

Chrom rounds the final corner, only to freeze in the center of the archway leading into the display room, legs pinned in place. He blinks, scrunches his eyes closed, and blinks again.

There, centered on the exhibit wall for all eyes to see, hangs a highly detailed picture of his own naked body. 

His first thought is that he must be asleep. He’s having that awful nightmare where you show up to work, or the gym, and realize you forgot to put on any clothing. With how long he’s been nervously anticipating this exhibit, it’s within the realm of possibility for it to serve as the setting in one of his dreams. 

But no, that can’t be right, because the version of himself that came to the museum today is fully dressed. When he looks down at himself he can see his coat, his button down and his dark wash jeans. It’s just the Chrom in the picture on the wall that’s not wearing anything. 

It’s a drawing, he realizes a moment later, as his mortified mind struggles to make sense of the scene before him. More specifically, it’s a black ink figure drawing, the parchment discolored with age. It portrays him completely bare and hoisting a set of scales into the air. The only saving grace the drawing offers is the ancient sword clutched in his other hand—placed at such an angle to conveniently block anything especially unsavory from view. 

Chrom stumbles as more museum visitors arrive, pushing past him to make their way into the exhibit. Legs still jelly-like, he wobbles forward to get a closer look. A plaque inlaid beneath the poster reads: 

‘Estimated date ~995, War recruitment poster depicting Chrom of Ylisse, then the nation’s Crown Prince and military general, posed with the exalted blade, Falchion, and a set of scales. The poster is believed to have been commissioned by his faithful knight, Sir Frederick, in an effort to raise troop morale and increase public support of the war effort.’ 

Chrom’s throat constricts as he risks another peek at the poster. It’s not a drawing of him at all, then, but of the exalt he was named after. He’s seen portraits of Exalt Chrom from later in his life, and has received many a comment or jest about the similarities in their appearance. But the picture before him goes beyond a mere resemblance; they don’t just look alike, they look the same. It’s uncanny. No matter how he looks at it, that’s his face—his body. He knows because he sees them in the mirror every morning when he wakes up and every night before bed. They look back at him in the reflection of every window he passes. The only difference as far as Chrom can tell is that his own arm doesn’t bear the brand of the exalt.

His ears catch the sound of snickering and when he glances to the side, he sees two women pointing between him and the poster, breathless giggles spilling from behind their hands. Chrom’s face burns as he turns away, retreating into the high collar of his coat like a turtle into its shell. He’s not just flattering himself into thinking there is a resemblance, then. Clearly the people around him can see it too.

Nerves still in a frenzy, Chrom moves to the side of the room where he is less likely to draw attention and tries to catch his breath. He came to the museum with the intention of paying the poster little mind, but ignoring it now feels next to impossible. He just wanted to spend a peaceful day pouring over King Robin’s writing! At this very moment, his journal and letters are here, being viewed by other museum patrons who cannot possibly be as passionate about him as Chrom is. And yet here he is, cowering in a corner—too embarrassed by a 500 year old drawing to enjoy them properly.

Chrom squares his shoulders and tries to silence his shrieking modesty. If he can just keep it together long enough to snap a few pictures of the writings on display, then he can find a spot in the museum far away from that drawing to read them over in peace. With newfound determination, he edges his way around the room in search of the written documents.

His pulse hiccups with the first parchment leaves he comes to, but calms again when he sees the sign off at the bottom: ‘With all my love, Chrom’ —a letter written to Robin, rather than by him. It will no doubt make for an interesting read later, but for the moment it’s not Chrom’s priority—he yearns to see the words Robin wove together himself.

The next letter on display proves to be much the same. As does the one after that…and after that. He nearly gasps in relief when he finally spies the king consort's crabbed print and angular quill strokes across the double pages of a decrepit journal. Hastily, Chrom snaps a picture and continues his tour around the exhibit’s perimeter in search of more. 

Except that’s it. Everything else on display was written by the Exalt to his husband, rather than the other way around. Chrom loops through the exhibit a 2nd time to be sure, and then a third, ducking his head each time he passes the poster of Ylisse’s previous Crown Prince. But that’s all there is...just one journal entry, and no letters from Robin at all. His stomach tosses in disappointment.

Chrom thumbs the exhibit flier from his pocket again, running a nail beneath the text that proclaims that letters written by the famous lovers will be featured in the exhibit. Lovers plural. It doesn’t make sense—he’s certain the article he read detailing the initial discovery of the artifacts spoke of letters from the king consort as well. So where are they?

It’s possible that upon verification, those documents turned out to be illegitimate…but without a means of confirming that was the case, the question of why they’re not displayed is going to eat him alive. Someone must be able to tell him what happened to them.

Chrom’s eyes drift to the bottom of the flier, where a small line of print denotes the name of the museum staff member that curated the exhibit. He stifles a breathless chuckle, and wonders if it’s too fatalistic to believe the gods could be sending him a sign.

Their name is Robin.

۵ ۵ ۵ ۵ ۵

Robin cracks his neck and stretches both arms overhead, chasing stiffness from his limbs. There are no windows in the museum’s archival room, and the fluorescent lighting is already starting to strain his eyes, but despite the complaints of his body, Robin’s mood couldn’t be more chipper.

It’s April 19th: the day marking the grand-opening of the new exhibit in Ylisse’s National Heritage Museum, and the first collection he has had the privilege to curate since receiving his promotion a few months prior. It had been a tremendous honor to be selected for the task by the museum board: the two lovers of Ylisse’s Golden Age were prominent in pop culture to this day, and any exhibit featuring them was likely to draw many visitors through their doors. He was flattered to have its curation entrusted to him.

And now the day that all his hard work culminated in had finally arrived.  No more overtime hours and scrounging to meet deadlines: he’s validated all the documents, ensured the displays will keep them protected and pristine, and written all the tour guide scripts. All that is left is to soak up the public’s ensuing praise and relish the role he was able to play in bringing these writings to them.

It fills him with a bittersweet sort of pride. For so many months, those quill strokes and ink blots existed as a very private part of his life—known only to Robin and the ghosts of Exalt Chrom and his husband.  Robin knows their words and their shape on the parchment like the veins that twist his body. He hopes that the people of Ylisse will love them as much as he has come to.

If he’s being completely honest, it is the poster of the Exalt whose presence in his office he will miss most. Robin is aware, intellectually, how ridiculous it is to harbor something akin to a crush on a deceased historical figure, but, well, he has eyes, doesn’t he? He can hardly be blamed for appreciating the Exalt’s assets. And Robin has spent enough time looking at that poster to know he has plenty.

Reading the man’s letters did nothing to efface those feelings, either. Gone was the stern, stoic facade the young king showed the rest of the world. Instead, the Exalt’s letters to his husband revealed a devotion that burned so ardently, one might think the quill strokes were char marks. His words to his lover were deeply intimate, but also surprising in their humor and levity. It was clear that for all the desperate passion they’d held for each other, their relationship had been built just as much on friendship. Robin can’t help but feel a little jealous.

Mostly, though, he is proud of his restoration efforts and of being able to bring a sample of the letters to the public. After so many years spent studying the reign of Exalt Chrom, having a personal hand in the exhibit has been nothing short of a dream.

A tap on Robin’s shoulder severs his line of thought. Miriel, another of the museum’s curators, stands beside his desk, adjusting her spectacles. Since Robin’s promotion, Miriel is no longer technically his superior, but the woman is still his senior, and Robin has yet to fully make the transition to thinking of her as a colleague rather than his boss.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like this,” Miriel warns him, thin lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well, good morning to you too, Miriel,” Robin teases, unperturbed. “What exactly am I not going to like?”

“I’ve just received a call from the front desk,” Miriel tells him. “A man approached them saying he has concerns regarding the artifacts on display in the new collection. He asked to speak to you by name.”

“What?!” Robin rockets from his chair, and just like that all of his cheer is peeled away.

“But why?” he demands. “I’ve verified all the records; I’ve inspected every item a million times over. They’re authentic—everything checks out! What reason could he possibly have for us not to display them?”

“You needn’t tell me all of this,” Miriel assures him. “I’ve watched you prepare the exhibit myself—you’ve been exceedingly thorough. Whatever concerns this man has about the artifacts’ validity, I’m certain you’re more than equipped to address them.”

Robin purses his lips. Miriel’s praise is not easy to earn, and her endorsement of Robin’s competence soothes him considerably. It also twists the instinctive flood of worry he felt into annoyance instead.

“Why do I need to speak to him at all, then?” Robin counters. “It’s not my duty to entertain the doubts of every self-important ass who walks through our doors. And I don’t appreciate him casting doubt on my ability to do my job. Why should I give him the time of day?”

Miriel sighs. “Under normal circumstances, I’d be inclined to agree. Unfortunately, it would be imprudent for us to simply turn him away. His family is the museum’s top patron: thus, we’re obligated to at least make a perfunctory showing of listening to his complaints.”

Robin pauses a beat, surprised. “...This man is one of the Shepherds?” He mulls this over for a moment before deciding he’s unimpressed. “That just makes him a rich, self-important ass.”

“Philanthropic,” Miriel corrects pointedly. “Can I be secure in the assumption that I needn’t ask you to mind your language while meeting with such an esteemed guest?”

“I won’t be rude to him unprovoked,” Robin assures her blithely. Miriel raises an eyebrow, clearly aware of the danger lurking in that qualification.

“Hmm, right. Well, I shall leave you to gather whatever materials you may need in order to reassure this inquisitive patron of ours, but I would advise against keeping him waiting much longer. His is often the impatient sort.”

“Keeping him waiting?” Robin asks. Miriel nods.

“Upon hearing his name, the front desk took the liberty of sending him back.” She gestures towards the door leading out of the archival room and into the main hall. “He’s waiting out there now.”

“Shit,” Robin says, with feeling. Miriel’s responding smile is grimly sympathetic.

“Naga be with you,” she says, before picking her way to the back doorway and into one of the restoration workrooms further within.

Robin huffs out an incredulous laugh as he watches her go. Just his luck that one of the Shepherds would take issue with their newest exhibit. In all the years he’s worked there, he’s never heard of someone showing up unannounced and demanding to speak to a curator like this.

Grumbling, Robin rifles through the papers on his desk in search of the documentation he will need to prove the artifacts’ authenticity. Of course, now that the exhibit is open to the public, much of it has been filed away in the titanic archival shelving units. 

With an impatient huff, Robin hauls a footstool over to the shelves to retrieve the file. He skims over the names printed on the lip of each folder, and of course the one he needs is nestled on the very top shelf. Even with the boost from the stool, he still can’t quite reach.

Robin curses his short stature under his breath before straining onto his tiptoes. If he’d been born just two inches taller this wouldn’t be a problem. With his arm extended as high as he can reach, his fingertips just manage to brush the manila folder’s edge.

“Aha! Got it!” he declares triumphantly, yanking it free.

The motion shifts his weight too suddenly. Robin feels the stepping stool wobble beneath him, and his stomach lurches as he tips backwards and loses his balance. At the last second, he careens his body to the side, avoiding a disastrous collision with the shelf behind him. Instead, his back thumps heavily against the dusty linoleum floor, the papers from the folder flying up in a flurry around him.

“Ow!” Robin groans, rubbing at the back of his skull. “Gods, ow!”

The metallic squeal of a door hinge tears across the room.

“Is everything alright?” a deep voice calls out. His stomach sinks: that has to be the man Miriel warned him about.

Dimly, Robin thinks that this is the very last position he would like to be found in by someone who already doubts his competence. He makes a valiant attempt to sit up, but the back of his head pounds, and all he manages is to groan again.

“Gods, are you hurt?!” the voice calls. Footsteps reverberate through the room and then a man pokes his head into Robin’s field of vision. 

For a moment, he wonders if he hit his head harder than he realized and if he’s now having some sort of hallucination. How else is he meant to explain that he is staring up at a living, breathing version of the man on the poster? Because that’s him—it’s most certainly him. Robin knows because he spent the last several months staring at that face for hours every day...to validate the drawing’s authenticity, of course.

And yet he finds himself with the treasonous thought that the man before him is even more arresting than the drawing of the young exalt. The stark fluorescent lighting, which is supposed to be unflattering for everyone, drips angular shadows along the strong line of his jaw and the tendons of his neck—pools them in the cupid’s bow of his full lips. His hair is no longer the color of brittle parchment and sun-bleached pigment—it’s royal blue. And his eyes. They’re the azure of a midnight sky, riddled with stars—so bright and dark at once the room around him is tinged sepia by comparison.

“C-Chrom?” Robin asks, the name slipping out before his befuddled brain can think better of it.

“Oh! You—you know my name?” the man asks, sounding just as confused as Robin is.

“Uh…lucky guess,” he replies. The man’s lips pull up into a hesitant smile, and Robin forgets to breathe for a moment. That’s not something he’s ever seen the man on the poster do. It’s disarming. A moment later though, the man’s brows knit back together in concern, his smile sliding away.

“Are you alright down there?” he asks, and despite the pounding in Robin’s head and heart, he laughs a little at the absurdity of the question.

“Oh yeah, I’m great. I was just taking a nap.” 

The man (who really is named Chrom, apparently) rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I suppose that was probably a foolish thing to ask,” he admits with a chuckle. “Here, give me your hand.” 

He offers his own to Robin as he speaks and Robin takes it, letting Chrom haul him to his feet.

For one blistering moment Robin is standing much too close to him—close enough to see Chrom’s individual eyelashes—and then he’s scrambling backwards, putting space between them. Chrom seems impossibly unphased by this accidental violation of his personal space, peering at Robin with a curious sort of concern.

“Should I call for a healer?” he offers.

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I should be fine,” Robin dismisses quickly. It’s embarrassing enough that this man found him fallen flat on his back without making more of an event of it by summoning a healer.

“Are you sure? If you were hurt, then you should really—”

“I appreciate the concern, but really, I’m okay. It’s just a little bump,” Robin assures him, and it’s true—already his thoughts are coming clearly again. He presses a finger to the back of his head experimentally and the spot is tender, but only dully so.

“Alright, if you’re certain…” Chrom smiles tentatively at him again. “Err, I’m sorry. You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

Robin pauses. Telling him who he is will mean he has no escape from whatever criticism he’s here to saddle Robin with. But the man is already in the archival room—at this point Robin can’t see any means of getting out of the conversation anyway.

“...I’m Robin,” he says finally. Realization passes unfiltered across Chrom’s face.

“Ah, Robin! Then you must be—”

“The exhibit curator, yes. That’s me,” he replies. Robin crosses his arms and pops a hip, trying to regain the air of confidence he had before tumbling off the stepstool. “I’m told you have some sort of issue with the new collection? I can assure you, I validated every artifact on display myself, but if you don’t believe me, then I’m happy to show you the, uh…documentation.”

He loses steam towards the end when he realizes that the documents in question are scattered on the floor around him—a fairy ring of papers with the two of them standing at the center. When he looks back to Chrom, however, he’s surprised to see his cheeks have gone pink.

“No, no! That won’t be necessary—it’s not that sort of an issue at all! I think you have the wrong idea.”

Robin frowns. “Then you didn’t want one of the artifacts taken down?”

Oddly, this question also seems to embarrass him. It’s amusing watching how quickly Chrom’s expression shifts—every emotion written plainly across his face in real time.

“Err, well…I mean, truthfully, I do want one of them taken down. B-but that’s not what I’m here about!” he insists quickly. “I actually wanted to ask you about some of the artifacts that aren’t on display in the collection, i-if that’s alright.”

Robin sifts over his words, recalibrating. Chrom’s uncanny resemblance to the drawing on the poster has thrown him off balance, and this confrontation is not going how he anticipated it would. Then again, it probably wasn't feasible for Robin to have predicted that the complaining museum patron who wanted to speak with him would look just like the drawing of Ylisse’s very hot exalt from 500 years ago.

But he does, and since it seems like he’s not actually here to be an ass to Robin about his ability to do his job, the least he can do is hear him out.

“Alright, sure,” he allows. “I’ll answer your questions if I can.”

“Ah, thank you, Robin.” Chrom says his name like it’s the easiest thing in the world—like he’s said it a hundred times before. It’s insufferably charming.

He stoops to help retrieve the papers from the ground before continuing. “I was wondering if there were more letters in the collection than just what I saw in the exhibit. I thought I remembered the excavation report saying that letters written by the king consort had been discovered as well, but…” he trails off uncertainly.

“You’re right,” Robin acknowledges, kneeling to gather the papers with him. “There were more letters found than just the ones on display. Quite a number of them, actually. Written by both the Exalt and the King Consort.”

Chrom’s head whips up to face him. “Really? What became of them, then?” Breathless enthusiasm shimmers in his gaze, like he’s clinging to Robin’s every word. “Were you unable to authenticate them?”

“Ah…no,” he laughs, “they were legitimate. The museum board just didn’t feel they would be appropriate for the exhibit.”

Chrom’s face pinches up, puzzled. “I…I don’t understand. If they’re real, then why wouldn’t they be appropriate to display? What was wrong with them?”

“Nothing was wrong with them, exactly…” Robin says with a shrug. “They’re just much too risqué to display in a museum that families and children visit.”

A whole range of emotions flit across Chrom’s features.

“Gods, you’re—you’re being serious, aren’t you?” he sputters, flushed to his ears. Robin tamps down a fast-budding laugh. He almost can’t believe this grown man could look so horrified at the prospect of adult content existing in letters between lovers.

“Completely serious,” he assures Chrom, his voice as even as he can manage. “I mean, it’s not that surprising, is it? Most of the letters were written when the two were secretly engaged but forced to spend time apart for diplomatic work. They had to express all those pent-up feelings somewhere.”

Chrom considers this for a moment as he hands the papers he gathered back—some of his initial alarm seems to have faded, though his cheeks remain insistently pink.

“I suppose when you put it that way, it makes sense,” he admits. “Still, it’s a shame the letters couldn’t be displayed because of it.” In a mutter Robin isn’t sure he is meant to hear, Chrom adds, “…I rather wish the poster had received that fate, instead.”

Robin shifts his weight—fixes Chrom in a narrowed gaze.

“What’s wrong with the poster?” he asks, a bit defensively.

“W-well, it’s just so…revealing!” Chrom groans. “I’d think that wouldn’t be appropriate for families to see, either.”

Robin huffs out a laugh, recalling Chrom’s words from earlier. “So that’s the artifact you’d like to see taken down, then? Plenty of famous artwork and sculptures depict naked bodies. Honestly, this one is tame, comparatively—you can’t even see his genitals.”

“I—I know that!” Chrom protests quickly. “It’s just that it’s—w-well…it’s embarrassing for me.”

Robin snorts, disbelieving even as he begins to understand. “Embarrassing? You mean because you look like him?”

“Ah, so you can see it too, then!” Chrom says, as if this settles the matter.

“There’s a resemblance, sure,” Robin acknowledges, and if that’s the understatement of the century he’s not going to admit it.  “But no matter how much you may look alike, it isn’t actually you. That poster is more than 500 years old. Something tells me you weren’t alive back then to pose for it.”

“But imagine for a moment that it was reversed,” Chrom presses. “If you walked into a museum and saw your own likeness up on the wall like that, wouldn’t you want it taken down?”

Robin mulls it over only a moment before answering. “Well, I do think I would be embarrassed at first, yes—”

“See?” Chrom declares, victoriously.

“—But ultimately, I would recognize that my embarrassment was unfounded and, frankly, ridiculous. And I certainly wouldn’t deprive the public of their right to view a priceless historic artifact solely to preserve my ego.”

Belatedly, Robin realizes he probably shouldn’t be so brusque to one of the museum’s top patrons while he’s on the job—even if everything he’s saying is true. But to his surprise, Chrom doesn't bluster or snap in response to his admonishment. Instead, his brows pull low in consideration.

“That’s—hmm,” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I…hadn’t thought about it that way, but perhaps you’re right. I suppose the way I’ve been approaching it is rather selfish.”

“Well, it’s an understandable initial reaction to have,” Robin allows. “But…yes, it is. So I’m glad you’re coming to see it my way.”

Chrom laughs, and it’s a low, rich rumble of a sound. “You don’t hesitate to speak your mind, do you, Robin?” he asks, a twinkle alight in his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Robin acknowledges. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I’m much the same way, myself," Chrom says. "If anything, I find your directness refreshing.”

Robin raises a brow. “Don’t think you can flatter me into taking the poster down,” he warns. Chrom laughs a second time and Robin wonders if a sound can be addictive—marvels at how he can see himself chasing after the chance to hear it again.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Chrom assures him. “Truly, that wasn’t even the reason I asked to speak with you in the first place.”

“Ah, that’s right. We’ve gotten off track haven’t we?” Robin muses, remembering Chrom’s initial question. Now that Robin has his bearings about him again, he takes a moment to brush the dust from his fall off his shirt and trousers, laying the stack of papers on his desk before turning back to face Chrom with a more analytical eye.

Chrom is, in some ways, the type of person Robin would expect himself to hate.

Even if he didn’t know that Chrom was one of the Shepherds it would be easy to guess he comes from money. He wears simple, well-tailored clothes—the kind that don’t have to do anything flashy to stand out because the quality speaks for itself. And with a face that sculptors would clamber to cut from marble, it would be easy to assume he’s used to having everything in life handed to him. Yet there is nothing pompous or entitled about the way he carries himself. Instead, Chrom exudes an air of approachability. Everything about his posture is warm, and open, and reassuring. There is nothing but sincerity in the soft set of his eyes.

Robin doesn’t know what to make of it. He wants to know more.

“Tell me something, Chrom,” he says, and he’s surprised by how naturally the name slips from his lips. “What made you come asking about the rest of the letters in the first place? You implied you’d looked through the excavation report on them—that’s not exactly light reading. Are you a historian yourself?”

“A historian? Gods, no,” he chuckles. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be cut out for that at all. It’s really just the one era of Ylisse’s history that interests me. Not even the whole era. Just one historical figure.”

Robin nods in understanding. “Right, I suppose it’s natural to be curious about the person you were named after.”

“Err, no, actually,” he says, scratching his head. “I’m more interested in King Robin.”

Robin blinks at him. “The Exalt’s husband?”

“Well, he wasn’t just his husband, he was also an amazing strategist and—” he catches Robin’s bemused expression and immediately breaks off, “Err, sorry, of course you would already know all that.” 

A laugh tumbles out of him. “I do, but it’s unusual to find someone so committed to singing the king consort’s praises—most people are a lot more interested in the Exalt. Information on King Robin is hard to come by, after all. And I suspect many people don’t care to try and take apart how complicated he was, either.”

“Then they’re missing out. The complications are what make him so interesting,” Chrom says, and Robin can see the way his whole body coils with excited energy—a magnetic sort of enthusiasm. “That’s why I was looking forward to this exhibit in the first place. Much of what we know about King Robin is so focused on his military tactics—and I like reading about those as well, but it’s not the same. I was hoping to finally have a chance to learn more about who he was as a person.” His eyes fall to his feet, a chink of vulnerability in his self-assured demeanor. “Er, sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble. Perhaps it’s odd for me to be so invested in it…”

Robin shakes his head. “You forget you’re speaking to a historian. That doesn’t sound odd to me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tells Chrom. “I think that’s what brings history to life, isn’t it? It’s one thing to think about these faceless dolls or toy soldiers acting out stories from our past. But it’s another to experience those stories when you feel like you know its players as people. It’s the little details—like that their favorite color was blue, and they had a bad habit of breaking training dummies—that’s what makes them real to us. And then you’re not just learning the story of a stranger, but a story about an old friend.”

Chrom beams at him. “That’s exactly what I mean. Though I couldn’t have said it so eloquently, myself.”

Robin considers him for a moment—his gentle smile, the earnesty burning in his impossibly blue eyes. At some point they must have gravitated nearer to each other without realizing it, because they’re standing much too close to each other for strangers. Yet Robin finds he has no desire at all to back away.

“...You know Chrom, you’re rather full of surprises,” he muses. “When my coworker told me that one of our patrons wanted to voice their concerns about the new exhibit, you were definitely not what I was expecting.”

Chrom grins at him roguishly. “No? What were you expecting?”

“Mmm, well—for you to be considerably more of an asshole, for one,” Robin says, and a laugh bursts its way out of Chrom in response.

Miriel’s voice surfaces in the back of Robin’s mind, nagging him about watching his language with their ‘esteemed patron’. He normally wouldn’t speak like this to a guest, or anyone he had just met for that matter. And yet somehow it feels like—

“W-well,” Chrom clears his throat. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from your work…”

“Oh. Right, of course,” Robin murmurs. “If I’ve answered all your questions then you’re welcome to be on your way.”

Chrom glances at the door, and Robin curses the corner of his heart that wistfully insists Chrom looks disappointed. 

“Right. Well…I guess I’ll be going then,” he says. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me, and…I, uh, well…” He shifts back and forth on his feet, bites his lip, runs a hand through his hair—a bundle of directionless energy. “I really enjoyed talking with you, Robin,” he finally manages.

It’s the sound of his name in Chrom’s voice again that snaps his resolve into place.

“Do you want to read the letters?” he blurts out. Chrom’s fidgeting stills very suddenly.

“The—the letters?” he asks. “You mean…the ones that aren’t on display in the exhibit?”

“Yes, I—I can’t let you handle the real ones obviously, since they require special clearance, but I have scans of them that I can print out if—if that would interest you.” The offer spills from his lips before he can stop himself.

“You would really be willing to do that?” Chrom asks, unguarded awe in his voice. Robin nods, then barely suppresses a gasp when Chrom bridges the scarce space between them, clasping their hands together.

“Thank you,” Chrom says, smiling effusively. “You’ll have to let me make it up to you. I’m not sure how, exactly, but—”

Robin’s eyes dart to their joined hands. “You could buy me a coffee…” he offers.

At his words, unfettered surprise splashes across Chrom’s face and panic promptly ribbons around Robin. Maybe he was misreading Chrom’s cues—for all he knows Chrom’s already seeing someone. Or maybe he’s this friendly and physical with everyone he meets.

“Er, that is—only if you want to,” Robin adds quickly. “I won’t withhold the letters from you if you say no.”

“N-no!” Chrom exclaims, “I mean—yes! I do want to. I’d…like to spend more time with you,” he says, and it kicks Robin’s heart into a gallop. “Should we go now?”

Robin laughs incredulously. “I’m in the middle of a work shift right now,” he reminds him.

Chrom deflates. “Ah, that’s right."

“—But I have my lunch break in about an hour. If you don’t mind hanging around in the area until then, we could—”

“Yes!” he says, instantly brightening. “I can look around the museum in the meantime.”

“Okay,” Robin agrees, failing stupendously to stop a grin from splitting across his face. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, then?”

“Yes, I’ll—great! This is great,” Chrom says. He squeezes Robin’s hand before releasing it, tossing a smile his way as he moves to the door. “I’ll see you then!” Chrom assures him, and Robin pretends not to notice how Chrom almost trips over his own feet on his way out.

It’s only when the door has clicked firmly behind him that Robin allows himself to collapse into his desk chair, face in his hands, heart in his throat, and an embarrassingly high-pitched noise escaping from behind his lips.

۵ ۵ ۵ ۵ ۵

Chrom has never been a patient person, but he thinks this might be the longest hour of his life. He wanders around the first floor of the museum, hesitant to stray too far in case Robin arrives early. None of the exhibits he passes can hold his attention, though, and he soon gives up in favor of settling on the stone rim of a fountain in the atrium.

He intends to do a first pass through the journal entries he’d snapped pictures of earlier, but for the first time in his life, King Robin’s words can’t hold his interest either. Looking at them only makes him think of the Robin he just met. What are ink strokes, after all, when compared to the way this Robin’s eyes glimmered like fireflies, and lantern-light? How they had shimmered with his wisdom and wit?

And in an hour, they’re going to get coffee together.

‘No, he said I could buy him coffee…’  Chrom corrects himself, ‘and that means it’s a date, right?’ He hopes so, anyway.

Gods, he is out of his element.  

Though Chrom is not a complete stranger to romantic feelings, he would hardly consider himself an expert on them, either. The crushes he’s harbored in the past were warm burbles of shiny, carbonated feelings. They sparked up, briefly made a mess of his chest, and eventually sputtered out again. They had never been like this—where he met someone and immediately felt like he’d injected stardust in his veins. Like he’d doused himself in wildfire and now every breath burned with it.

As far as he can tell, there is no reason for Robin to be affecting him so strongly, but nothing in his body seems to care about the lack of logic to it: Chrom walked into that archival room, and when he helped Robin to his feet, the earth’s axis shifted underneath him.

Ultimately, Chrom passes the time until Robin’s lunch break pacing and tossing coins into the fountain—wishing on every one that this day will end with the promise that he can see him again.

When the clocktower tolls the hour, Chrom pauses his pacing just in time to discern the staccato of footsteps from down the main hall. Robin emerges from around the corner, bundled in an unusual, violet coat and wearing a crystalline smile that could take Chrom apart.

“Hi again,” Robin greets him, and Chrom doesn’t even bother to conceal his eagerness as he bounds over to him. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“No, not at all!” Chrom assures him. Now that he’s near him, Chrom can see the rosiness to Robin’s cheeks—hear the breathlessness in his voice. His pulse flutters with the thought of Robin hurrying down the halls to find him—that he might have been looking forward to seeing Chrom again too.

Chrom half stumbles in an effort to get the door, and Robin offers a grateful grin as they make their way out into the crisp spring air. At the bottom of the steps, Robin lays a hand against his arm, gently leading him down the eastern-facing street.

“I take it you have somewhere in mind?” Chrom asks.

Robin nods. “There’s a café a few blocks over that I often stop at before work. I thought it would make for a nice destination, if you’re alright with a little walk.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chrom replies. Truthfully, he’d been too excited about the fact that he was going somewhere with Robin at all to have put much thought into the specifics of the location.

“Great!” says Robin, “The coffee is what I usually go there for, but they serve sandwiches too, if you’re hungry.”

“I actually packed a lunch, since I was planning to stay at the museum all day,” Chrom admits. “But I’d gladly go for something warm to drink.”

Robin’s eyes twinkle. “Packed a lunch, hm? And here I’m the one used to being the token, over-zealous history nerd.”

Chrom chuckles, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “Ah, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I’m really not usually this enthusiastic about these sorts of things.”

“Right, I remember. Just the one historical figure from the one era,” Robin recites. “What sorts of things are you typically interested in then?”

So, Chrom tells him. About his love of fencing, and his interest in medieval weaponry (“That’s history too,” Robin teases), and the volunteer work he’s taken to doing with the local fire department. Normally, he’d feel self-conscious rambling so much about himself, but Robin interjects with questions and encouraging smiles that make the words melt off his tongue like warm honey.

With the arrival of afternoon, the high-hanging sun has smudged out much of the morning chill. Tulips and violets lining the sidewalks stretch skyward, their dew-kissed petals winking as they pass, and Chrom wonders at how in just a few hours, the flowers have learned to bloom so much brighter.

After a few more blocks, Robin lays a hand on Chrom’s arm again, beckoning him towards a homey-looking café. Windchimes tinkle as they push through the door. 

“This is it!” he declares. 

Chrom spends a breath looking the place over. The floors, walls, and furniture are all eclectic shades of burnished, warm wood. It’s cozy, and lush: hanging plants and clusters of succulents adorn every open corner and counter, as if someone changed their mind halfway through designing the café and thought to make it an arboretum, instead. The likeness to a greenhouse is furthered by the large, street-facing windows which allow sunlight to seep in, draping everything within the cafe in a cast of soft gold. It's not hard for him to imagine why Robin would like it here.

“Hey there, Robin!” A barista calls from behind the counter. He looks right at home among the plants, a mellow smile stretched wide across his face and his messy, dark green hair blending seamlessly with the canopy of leaves. “This isn’t the usual time we see you.”

“Hi, Stahl!” Robin waves. “Yeah, I’m here for my lunch break today.”

“Looks like you brought a friend too!” the barista observes, aiming his easy smile Chrom’s way.

“Ah, hello,” Chrom says, reaching across the counter to shake the man’s hand, “I’m Chrom.”

“I’m Stahl! Nice to meet you, Chrom,” Stahl says amicably. He shoots Robin an amused look. “Hey, Robin, isn’t Chrom the name of your favorite history guy? You know, the one you’re always gushing about being so charming and handso—”

“Ha ha, very funny Stahl,” Robin interjects, his voice suddenly sharp. “Now, are you going to take our orders or not?” 

Stahl makes a placating gesture and gives a good-natured chuckle while Chrom glances between the two of them inquisitively. “Sure, sure,” he says, “What can I get for the two of you?”

Once they’ve secured their drinks and claimed a table, Robin hefts his satchel into his lap. 

“Let me give these to you before I forget,” he says, removing a neatly bound stack of papers from within. “I laminated them so you could mark them up if you want—that’s what I always do when reading historical documents for the first time.”

Chrom leans close, breathless as his eyes skim over King Robin’s familiar handwriting on the first page. His fingers graze Robin’s as he hands them off, and it’s only when Chrom hears his sharp inhale of breath that he thinks to become self-conscious about it. Rather than jumping away, he intentionally lets his hand linger there, prolonging the contact a moment more.

“Thank you, Robin,” he murmurs. “I truly appreciate this, and I can’t wait to read them.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Robin assures him. “They’ll all be published in academic journals eventually, but this way at least you won’t have to wait a few more months. You know, since you’re evidentially so eager to do some sordid reading.”

Chrom blinks at him, then down at the stack of laminated letters. He’d almost forgotten the reason they couldn’t be displayed in the first place. Red claws its way across his cheeks when he thinks of Robin printing out such passages specifically to give to him.

“Err, w-when I said I couldn’t wait to read them, I didn’t mean—! I-it’s not because they’re—” he breaks off, taking stock of Robin’s growing grin, an expression he’s all too familiar with, though he’s used to seeing it on the faces of his family members.

“You’re teasing me!” he accuses incredulously.

“Maybe a little bit,” Robin admits through budding laughter.

“I don’t believe it.” Chrom shakes his head, fighting off a sheepish smile. “Am I truly so easy to get a rise out of?”

“Oh, very much so,” Robin assures him, “it’s great fun watching you get so flustered.”

“Is it, now? Then how am I to know that you’re not exaggerating the content in these letters for the sake of teasing me as well?”

The Exalt and King Consort always struck him as fairly serious people, after all. Surely, they wouldn’t have written anything as embarrassing as Robin implied. Bent on proving as much to himself, Chrom’s eyes skim over the front page in the stack and settle upon a sentence at random.

‘I miss you with all that I am, my love. Come nightfall, my hands rove over my skin—a feeble attempt to mimic your tender ministrations, while I muffle my cries in— '

His head snaps back up to find Robin smirking at him, openly amused.

“…O-okay,” he stammers, “I stand corrected.”

“I tried to warn you!” Robin laughs. “Though, it’s not all so sensual, just…a lot of it. But there are plenty of passages in there that are more lighthearted, too. Here, let me show you one of my favorites.”

They pass the next half hour like that, huddled over the pages together, exchanging impressions and eventually meandering into other topics, as well. Talking with Robin is effortless—but even more than it’s easy, it’s enrapturing. Robin is brilliant and witty and opinionated. Chrom could spend a lifetime just listening to him share his thoughts on everything from coffee beans to the monarchy.

After what feels like only minutes, Robin glances at his watch, the laugh on his lips dampening.

“Gods, is it already that late?” he murmurs. “We’ll have to start heading back.”

“Already?” Chrom asks. He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping to hide the disappointed tilt of his mouth with the mug. He’s been so busy talking to Robin that it’s still largely untouched and only lukewarm.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Robin says. His eyes settle on Chrom’s mostly full mug as he deposits it again on the table. “Ah, did you not like your drink?”

“No, I did!” Chrom assures him quickly. “I just liked talking to you more.”

The words slipped out before he could think better of them, and for a horrible second, Robin’s face is blank aside from a bright brush. Then he breaks into a breathtaking grin.

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to do this again sometime,” he says. Chrom feels almost lightheaded with relief. “Come on, let’s get going.” 

Their easy banter from the café continues on the walk back to the museum, but it’s tinged with a heaviness that wasn’t there before. Chrom knows the return journey will be too short, just like every other stage of the outing has been. As they approach the steps that lead up to the museum doors, he tries to make sense of the near apocalyptic pounding of his pulse.

They’ve already spoken loosely of intentions to see each other again—that’s as much as he’d dared allow himself to hope for. Yet the thought of allowing Robin to walk away from him at all tangles his stomach in knots and shakes him to his bone marrow. It feels like a cataclysmic mistake.

The two of them dither at the bottom of the stairs, huddled close to keep from impeding the path of other passersby.

“…I suppose it’s probably about time for me to head back in,” Robin says, scuffing a boot against the ground. He looks almost as hesitant as Chrom feels.

“R-right, I suppose so,” he echoes, straining to keep his tone casual. “Thank you again for the letters, Robin. And—er, yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m glad I could help,” he replies, offering a tremulous half smile. “…Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then. Goodbye, Chrom.”

Robin turns towards the museum door.

Something about the scene before Chrom—Robin’s face angled away; wind-tousled, white hair and a violet coat; the word ‘goodbye’ in his voice—it all sends a frantic panic lancing through him. Chrom can’t understand it; can’t understand why all of his instincts are warring so hard against letting the other man go. But before he can think better of it, he’s darting forward to catch Robin's hand.

“Robin, wait—!”

He freezes immediately, and turns back to Chrom, bearing no trace of surprise—like he’d been waiting for Chrom to stop him.

“Y-yes?” he prompts, and it’s hope, definitely hope, that colors his tone. “What is it, Chrom?”

“I—” Chrom’s thoughts spin and trip over themselves, clumsy in their desperation. “C-can I kiss you?” he blurts out.

Now Robin looks surprised. A flush crawls into his cheeks; his eyes widen into two perfect pools of gold. And gods, what if Chrom just ruined any chance he might have with him by rushing things? What if this scares him off? What if—

Robin laughs and steps closer. His hand dances up to trace the curve of Chrom’s cheek and his mind goes blissfully blank.

“I…wouldn’t usually do this,” Robin admits, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his unbearably enticing mouth.

“Neither would I,” Chrom breathes.

He stoops and softly presses their lips together, all the same. 

It was just supposed to be a kiss. Just the fleeting meeting of lips to see him off.

It wasn’t supposed to be the ground opening beneath him and a split in Chrom’s mind that could swallow him whole. It wasn’t supposed to be the flood of a thousand memories—a whole lifetime pushing its way back into his bones.

But it is. Because he remembers.

He remembers plucking Robin from golden-green grasses—helping him to his feet beneath a brittle spring sky.

He remembers Robin’s sword at his side. Lightning in his eyes and at his fingertips. Shucking blood from his own blade and always, always knowing he’d be safe so long as Robin was the one watching his back.

He remembers quiet nights tangled in each other’s arms—and less quiet ones too, when the softness of their hands and mouths coaxed plaintive sighs from love-bitten throats.  

He remembers their daughter swaddled tight against Robin’s chest. The blown-glass butterflies tinkling along to the lullaby Chrom would listen to him sing every night.

Chrom remembers everything.

He remembers Robin’s silhouette against the burning dawn—his outline flickering and turning to violet ashes in the wind. How he had clasped Robin’s hand to his heart and clung to it until there was nothing of him left to hold…

…And he remembers the 45 years of aching and searching and praying that followed. 

“R-Robin!” Chrom gasps. That single word, his name, is the same one that he spoke earlier, but now it means something different. Now it means everything.

“C-Chrom?” he whispers, and Chrom can hear it in his voice—knows that Robin remembers too. “Chrom—is this—?”

“It’s real,” he assures him, “Gods…this is real.”

Relief and belonging and the feeling of being absolutely complete all surge up within him as he clutches Robin near, holds him to his heart, kisses his tear-tracks. “Robin,” his voice breaks, “my love.”

Robin croaks out a tear-choked laugh and flings his arms around Chrom’s neck.

It’s too much. A whole lifetime of loving and longing is coursing through him, and his legs buckle with it. They both sink to the ground, still wrapped up in each other—struggling to find space to breathe between the laughs and sobs and kisses.

“I never stopped looking,” Chrom tells him, pressing his lips to each of Robin’s fingertips in turn. “Robin, even in this life, I—I think I was still looking for you. I just didn’t know it.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long, my love,” he replies, and before Chrom can answer, Robin kisses him again, hard enough to make his head spin.

“It’s okay,” Chrom whispers, when Robin has finally freed his lips. The words are a promise to himself as much as to him. “Everything is okay now. I don’t know exactly what we’re meant to do from here, but I know we'll figure it out now that we’re together.” Chrom chuckles despite himself. “Gods…it turned out just how you said, didn’t it?”

“And how’s that?” Robin asks softly.

Chrom smiles at him, tirelessly tender. “We met again in a better life.”

Robin’s response is his lips sealed to Chrom’s again, the kiss salty with the taste of their tears. When they break apart, Robin leaves their foreheads pressed together, fingers tracing down Chrom’s cheek, re-learning the shape of him.

“I may have been right about that, but it seems I was wrong about what I said earlier today,” he admits with a grin. “That poster really was a drawing of you. No wonder you were so embarrassed.”

A laugh thunders through Chrom’s chest—he almost can’t believe the absurdity of it all. To think that ridiculous naked poster Frederick commissioned so many years ago would be what helped lead him back to his other half. That after decades of searching, and centuries apart, his knight’s misguided attempts at boosting troop morale would bring them together again. Though truthfully, Chrom supposes, it isn’t just the poster he has to thank for that. It’s also—

“Gods,” Chrom gasps in horror as realization dawns on him. “Oh gods, this is a disaster…"

“Chrom?” Robin tenses, hands clutching him tight. “You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?”

Chrom takes his hands tightly in his own, squeezing each of them as his face warps into a grimace.

“Robin…forget the poster,” he says. “We need to burn those letters.”

[writing-in-mermish]

Happy Storyteller Saturday! Tell me about your writing projects please :) which one are you working on the most at the moment?

Happy (belated) Storyteller Saturday!

I have a stupid amount projects (I am great at coming up with ideas, not so great at the focusing on writing them), so I'll just run down a few that have been on my mind lately.

I already shared my Little Mermaid retelling in a different ask you sent.

Cockblocking the Count (working title): This is a Comedy?/Drama?/Action? comic surrounding a young woman in an 1890s esque setting who has caught the eye of a vampire and a collection of other "suitors". The vampire believes that she might be the reincarnation of his dead lover because of how similar they look, and the rest of the suitors all work for a secret monster hunting organization and have been tasked with protecting her and fighting him, all without drawing the attention of the public to the vampire within their midst.

Also, unbeknownst to them all, the MC is aspec and only interested in friendship. It's a delightful mess.

The Protector and the Sacred Soul (working title): This is a Fantasy/Drama where we follow the most recent incarnations of a divine oracle and their protector. Unfortunately, this time around the oracle is merely a child and clearly struggling with the memories of their past life. Meanwhile the protector, barely an adult themself, is grappling with their own past selves and questioning if they should follow their role or attempt to get them both out. Could there be a way out of the cycle?

(and something I haven't shared on tumblr yet!)

The Editor Gets the Wife in the Divorce: This is a Contemporary Comedy/Romance about an editor who has been transferred to work with a temperamental author who needs a lot of attention to finish his book. While working with him, she learns about his very capable and charismatic wife (who he is finally getting a divorce from). Throughout the editing process, and many shenanigans, the wife and the editor fall in love.

[tigertaurus22]

Art for my Children of Light AU

It’s a retelling of Little Nightmares within another time loop, this time featuring Six’s reincarnation and my OC, Selene. She is joined by Lumen, a light spirit from the Forest of Niwen.

Children of Light is a multi-crossover thing between different games I came up with years ago and I still think it’s cool so I’m going to do art and write about it and no one can stop me.

[spiritofcamelot]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Both @samanthahirr and @ato-the-bean tagged me while I was asleep. What a lovely thing to wake up to!

Twin Tales series [Merlin, canon AU, 373k words and counting] This series has been my pride and joy for a while now. It started as one cool idea that grew exponentially. It basically my place to put every little fix-it or fun idea for a Merlin canon AU plot thread I've ever had. And I keep sneaking in other Arthuriana, too.

(I looked through my fics to try to pick four more favs and I narrowed it down to 11. What can I say? I write for myself. Okay, but here's four of those.)

The Very Secret Diary of Gandalf Greyhame [LOTR] Everyone wrote Very Secret Diaries stories around this time and this was mine. It took me years to finally finish, but this story really turned me into a writer. And I still have all the little flags and notes in my copy of LOTR that I added while writing this.

A Very Bond Musical [James Bond, crack musical] Who doesn't need a crack musical retelling of a movie? This was co-written with Opal, Sven, Pig, and Ven. We had so much fun during our weekly writing sessions. Pure chaos and it's practically a miracle it got finished.

Living in the Pages of an Ian Fleming Novel [The Hour X James Bond, Freddie is Q, post-canon] This was a really fun story to write. Challenging to handwave how the 60s and the 2010s could totally have happened at the same time. But I had so much fun writing a slightly more spicy Q with all that Freddie fire.

Escape from Earth [Merlin, reincarnation] This was a remix fic I wrote. Lyss had written a cool story about Arthur and Opportunity and I couldn't help but expand on the story. I couldn't help but include my own love for astronomy in this story.

I think my usual Bond fandom people have been tagged, so time to widen the net. @arthurandhisswordbros @roseforthethorns @softest-punk @thepolomonkey and @zaharya

[aur0ralights]

I have invited myself to a thing cus i think its ✨n e a t✨

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!

For convenience sake im gonna seperate these into sections! Im gonna bold the current projects im working on because not only am i going to steal the tag game from @arecaceae175 and im also gonna yoink their formatting 💅

Comic ideas!

* One Way Ticket Anywhere (ravioli comic)

* Linked Galaxies (PLS ask about this one, i love it)

Youtube videos!

* Animatic Retelling of Hyrule Warriors (this one is also a good one to ask about)

* YT video explaining Nintendo’s Zelda timeline and why its WRONG-

* Wind pirate vibes playlist

* Animatic Retelling of Wind Waker & Phantom Hourglass

* Animatic Retelling of Ocarina of Time, Majoras Mask, and the Death of the Hero of Time

Art!

* List of fics i wanna draw fanart for

* Goretober but LU

Animations!

* lol this is a ransom

* Time is not dad, he is magic claw

* Just get out

* Don’t you dare make me fall in love with you

Essays!

* Timeline order, Character Arcs and trauma :sparkle:

* The stats of link

Stories!

* Oops i adopted 8 children

* BOTW space AU, link and champions

* Theatre AU

* Mer AU

* Gods, Demons and Devils AU

* Reincarnation AU

* Theyre all faries. Tinkerbell edition.

* Why does shadow call you babygurl?

* 13 brothers choose brotherhood or being King lol. Also in space.

* A failure Modern AU

* Sleepy man gets a family over the course of thousands of years

* Sky centric sleep paralysis short

* Time becomes a dad part 2 electric boogaloo

* Hyrule gets attacked for being a good person

* Another superhero AU but its crack

* Humger Ganes (Hunger games 1.0)

* Warriors centric Hunger games 2.0

* Oop this is an assassination

OK, its all there! Now its yalls turn! Hehehe

@socialc1imb @marinovels @sunny-flake @blossomingwaters @spacebagel54 @thatstupidlozfanacrossthestreet @ilaiawanderlust

[yawnjunie]

Prologue

“I, the Great Lord, art an immortal being; the three realms may be vast, and the universe an endless expanse, but never has there ever been another to contend with for my position.” The shadow delicately reclined on the bed of molten rock, and playfully grabbed a piece of red-hot lava. “And you, a mere woman, wish to slay me with thine sword?”

Murderous intent swirled around the longsword like a raging snowstorm, as the woman that wielded it stood in the air, smirking with even greater recklessness and impudence than her opponent. “Dong Fang Qing Cang, are you afraid to challenge me?”

“Hahahaha, afraid?” Dong Fang Qing Cang let out a hearty laugh, and the scorching lava in his palm, glowing a wrathful shade of red, morphed into an illustrious longsword. The hot air quickly expanded, sending shockwaves through the fabric of the woman’s clothes.

“Chi Di, those good-for-nothings from the heavenly realm made you their God of War. You have the guts to challenge me, so you probably do have some skills.”

His eyes became crescents as he let out a soft chuckle. He stood up, his silver hair unraveling to his ankles. He took a step forward, and even the volcanoes seemed to tremble and shake in fear.

“Lucky for you, I’m terribly bored today.” Dong Fang Qing Cang lifted up his burning red sword, concealing part of his face and revealing just enough to see the gaze that could kill behind those hooded eyes. “Allow me to challenge you to a duel.”

“Lord of the Demons,” Chi Di said as her frosty sword took its position. “Underestimating the enemy is a strategist’s greatest mistake.”

Dong Fang Qing Cang’s face broke into a smile. “Only the weak make mistakes.” The light behind his blood-tinted eyes glowed faintly, and his fang-like canines seemed to emit the same fiery light with an intensity that treaded the border of insanity. “And I have no such qualms.”

The primordial Demon Lord and the “Protector of the Wastelands” Chi Di battled, causing the world to lose color and disrupting the order of day and night. Even the stars and time itself were affected. But it was also in this battle that the unbridled Demon Lord fell to the blade of Chi Di. Since then, her name and glory spread far and wide, and Dong Fang Qing Cang was dealt a blow he could not recover from. In the end, the gods and adepti came together and executed him.

The people of the demon realm were then driven to the wastelands, and have since disappeared into obscurity.

“Did Dong Fang Qing Cang die?”

“He’s an immortal being and doesn’t reincarnate. His soul will never disappear, so when the time is right, he will return.”

The orchid sitting in the dish waved its little leaves in distress. “Then when will he come back? Master… I’m afraid of death…”

“We won’t let him come back.” Si Ming lifted her brush to write another fate. “I, along with the Heavenly Emperor, the current God of War Mo Xi, the guards outside the Southern Heavenly Gate, and even the fairies that came to water you yesterday won’t ever let him return. So rest assured, you won’t die, okay sweetie?”

While she was listening to her master retell the story of ancient times, Little Orchid Lan never once thought that she would one day see the Demon Lord come back to life and return to the three realms. It was even more unthinkable that she would find herself face to face with this primordial demon lord, waving and staring blankly at him.

But never in a million years could she predict that she would one day confront the eternally youthful, omnipotent, and endlessly evil big demon guy… in his own body?

[kzscarcadeau]

hey if you’re here and you’re like “what the fuck is a kazuscara arcade au” let me tell you RIGHT NOW!!!

…under the cut

Context

the KZSC arcade au is something i have been working on since about 2021. i’m the only person working on it so all visuals and writing (and replies.. and blog posting… and crying) has been done by me! some things like character designs or various little parts in the script have been influenced by my friends giving their input, but overall it’s just been me working on this project!

it is a comic i’m slowly but surely working on. i don’t wanna give myself a time limit anymore because all i want is to tell this story. i set up this blog mostly for myself so i can keep track of my progress!

ok but what is it.

The Arcade Compilation of Oddities (taco) is the story of all the weird, obscure things going on in the Celestia Arcade, famously named after The Celestia and owned by the tech giant under a similar name. In a modern age of Teyvat, new creations are being made everyday, including the interactive Celestia AI companions. (i understand the irony of this with the recent AI developments but i swear i started this story before it became more of a thing 😭)

The story follows Kaedehara Kazuha, a part time bartender and ex-performer as he retells his adventures in the Celestia Arcade, with an AI who looks eerily similar to a friend who went missing a long time ago…

Oh, and did i mention reincarnation?

warning

This story involves topics/themes such as implications of suicide, body horror, kidnapping, unhealthy obsessive/destructive behaviour associated with religious motivation (in the context of Archons in Teyvat), a reoccurring eye motif, forced memory reset and temporary major character death.

other info

i will be publishing this story on tapas comics as “The Arcade Compilation of Oddities - Genshin AU” under the name “epiicaricacyarts”

non-updates will be tagged as “#not an update”

thanks for reading hope you like my stuff 👍