#canon compliant chain of iron

[livia-dovehallow]

missing scenes from chain of iron - cecily talks to lucie

when gabriel and cecily first take temporary charge of the institute and therefore also Lucie

“Keep a close eye on Lulu, will you?” Will asked her quietly. Will was seldom like this—quiet and uncertain, a concern that left Cecily’s skin covered in goosebumps. “She has not been like herself lately. I am worried.”

Cecily frowned. Lucie was her father’s little girl and Will was wrapped around her finger the moment she was born. For him to say Lucie was not acting like herself was deeply concerning indeed. “Of course,” she assured her brother. “You know I love James and Lucie very much. I will speak to her. Don’t worry.”

Will sighed and glanced up the stairs. Lucie had not yet come down. “I always worry,” he whispered, thought to whom, Cecily was sure it was not her. 

...

“Lucie?” Cecily knocked on the girl’s door again, growing more and more concerned. “Lucie, dear, it’s only me.”

There was a shuffle, the sound of many papers being handled together. After a moment the door finally opened and Lucie stood in the doorway, smiling brightly. “’Ello Aunt Cecily,” she greeted. “Is it time for dinner already? I’ve been losing track of time.”

Cecily raised an eyebrow. “Dear, it is only three in the afternoon.”

Lucie face fell. “Oh.”

“Is there something going on?” Cecily asked. “Your father is worried about you which means I’m sure so are your mother and brother.”

“My father is always worried,” Lucie brushed off. She fiddled with the lace at the end of her sleeve, inkstained as they always were. “I know he loves us a great deal and that is why he is always worried. But I am quite all right.”

Cecily sighed. “Lucie, please. I am your aunt, not your mother or a policeman. If there is something you need help with that you do not wish for your parents to know, please tell me. I know my brother can be a worrywart, but best I be able to tell him you are just fine and not feel as if I am lying to him than leave you to fix problems that are too big for one person to handle.”

Lucie visibly hesitated. She looked as if she desperately did want to speak to someone of her troubles, Cecily thought. She recalled when Lucie was much younger and had felt left out of the boy’s club. The Herondale Sisters had began that day.

“All right,” Lucie said carefully. “I suppose I could really use your advice, Aunt Cecily.”

Cecily smiled. “Everyone comes to this realization eventually,” she said haughtily and sauntered into Lucie’s room. It was as it always looked—scattered in notes and inkstains, books and bookmarks. Cecily made her way to Lucie’s bed and sat along the edge. Lucie seemed to search for something with her eyes before relaxing and settling down beside her. Cecily patted her knee. “What troubles you, dear niece?”

“This may not be what you were expecting me to ask,” Lucie began and then turned to her. Cecily raised an eyebrow. “How does one tell if a boy fancies her?” Cecily blinked at her. It was in fact not what she anticipated Lucie asking her that day. “How did you know Uncle Gabriel fancied you?”

Cecily snorted. “Your uncle is terrible at hiding his emotions,” she laughed with a wave of her hand. “I knew fairly quickly that he had begun to like me. Lucky for him, I fancied him, too.”

Lucie nodded, though she still looked uncertain. “Did you know he liked you as more than a friend?” she asked instead. “It’s so obvious now that Uncle Gabriel adores you. I find it hard to conjure in my mind what it must have been like before you married.”

Cecily smiled wistfully. “I suppose we very well started out as unlikely friends,” Cecily thought aloud, her hands in her lap. “Your father did not like him much, and vice versa. I had thought that befriending Gabriel would irritate my brother. And it did. But as time went on, your uncle’s walls he had built around himself began to crumble away. I saw more of him that I ever thought I would. To everyone else, he was a haughty and arrogant child but I knew better. He was caring and loyal and felt very deeply. He worried about what his actions would do to his brother and sister and to the others in the Institute.”

“Tatiana?” Lucie said and there was an odd tone to her voice. “I thought Uncles Gabriel and Gideon did not speak to their sister.”

Cecily sighed. “They don’t,” she answered. “But that is not their choice. They want to mend their relationship with Tatiana but it is her who wishes nothing to do with them. They have tried many times over the years, Lucie, but some people cannot move forward from the past.”

Lucie appeared thoughtful, as if she had a million questions to ask and not the vocabulary to ask them—so very strange for a writer. “They wanted to know Jesse,” she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Cecily started. All the children knew about Jesse Blackthorn, she knew, but she had not thought Lucie would discuss him. “They did,” Cecily answered slowly, taking in the clouded expression on Lucie’s face. “Gabriel and Gideon only met Jesse less than a few times. Not enough or long enough to get to know him and who he was. What he liked to do.” Cecily paused. She painfully remembered the way Gabriel had sobbed in her arms after Jesse had died. He regretted not trying harder to see his nephew, though Cecily knew full well he had tried very hard. “It is among their deepest regrets, Lucie. Some scars do not heal.”

Lucie turned back to her. “Would something like that cause someone not to want to fall in love?”

“What?” Cecily was surprised. She had no idea what kind of advice Lucie was hoping to get, and her questions only made Cecily more concerns. But she was Lucie’s aunt, Herondale Sisters in crime, and Will’s precious daughter. She had to be someone Lucie could tell anything to: everyone needed someone. “Lucie, dear, have you given your heart to someone?”

Lucie did not answer directly. “I—I don’t know, Aunt Cecily. I am so woefully unexperienced in the realm of romance that when faced with it, I am all but dirt on the ground.”

Cecily lifted her hand and brushed Lucie’s cheek. “Well, whoever they are, they are lucky to receive affection from you. You have a big heart, Lucie. A desire to help people and tell beautiful stories.”

Lucie smiled softly. “Is that enough?”

“You are always enough, Lucie Ella,” Cecily demanded. Lucie blinked. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to shout. It is only that women should never fear if they are enough. If you are kind, and you are strong, and you are who you want to be, then you will always be enough.”

“How do I tell someone I care for them,” Lucie began, “as more than a friend?”

Cecily smiled. “The easiest and the hardest way is the same: tell them directly.”

Lucie started. “Just like that? I can’t do that!”

“Why on earth not?” Cecily pondered calmly. “You could always do what your uncle did, I suppose, but I do believe your father would have a stroke.”

“What did Uncle Gabriel do?”

Cecily smiled once more. “He marched right into the stables, where I was tending to Bailos, and kissed me directly.”

Lucie gasped. “Uncle Gabriel did that?”

“Oh yes,” Cecily laughed. “I don’t think he believed he did that as well in the moments after. He looked like a fish out of water. It was then that I told him I returned his feelings.”

“He must have been relieved.”

“He was at first. Then, of course, he realized my brother is Will Herondale. That is another story for another day, Luce. It is quite the tale.”

Lucie looked much happier than she had at the start of their conversation. “I can’t wait to hear it. I’m sure it will be a riveting plotline in my novel.”

Cecily patted Lucie’s hands. “My advice to you, Lucie, is to be truthful to yourself. If you really feel strongly about this person, tell them. If they do not return your feelings, then they must be missing half their brain.”

Lucie grinned, her eyes dancing as if she knew something Cecily did not know. “Thank you, Aunt Cecily.”

“Anytime, my dear. Now I must go visit your cousin in the lab and pray he has not set anything on fire yet.”

[thatapostateboy]

these chains never leave me

Pairing: established Rook x Davrin, but they're not the focus

Word Count: 4121

Synopsis: in order to save Rook, Solas must confront her past and her greatest fears

Prompt: Day Eight: Delirium from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter

Warnings: Canon-compliant slavery, harm towards children

Crossposted: Here on AO3

It is too late by the time she realises that she has walked into a trap.

It was meant to be a simple job for the Shadow Dragons, an afternoon’s distraction away from saving the world to do some work on the ground; to do what she was actually good at rather than battling darkspawn and dragons and self-proclaimed gods. Whilst Thedas burned there were people who couldn’t fight, who needed people like her to defend them. She had snuck away from the rest of the group under the guise of getting supplies at a different store in Minrathous’ docks, instead heading to check one of her old dead drops, finding a message within that there was a new group of slaves, children, being brought into the city via one of the warehouses.

A simple job, nothing she hadn’t done before. She could slip in, unlock their chains, deal with the few guards they would have stationed with children, and get a message back to the Shadow Dragons to deal with helping them out of the city. She needed this, a win, to save someone without having to sacrifice someone or something else to do it.

It didn’t occur to her that the drop had been compromised in her absence from the city until she was met with a blade at her neck the moment she had stepped inside the warehouse, ten more pointed at her from armoured figures who waited in the shadows.

Her blood ran cold.

“Slave hunters,” she spat accusingly.

“You shouldn’t have made such a name for yourself if you wanted to get away,” the leader said, pressing the blade tight enough to the skin to draw blood, “Working for the Shadow Dragons and now some bona fide hero? You should have scurried into a hole somewhere to hide for the rest of your days, rattus.”

“If you’re going to kill me, I’d rather you got on with it,” she tilted her head to glance at him out of the corner her eyes, “Your breath fucking stinks.”

He chuckled roughly, “Kill you? No no, you’re far more valuable to us alive. Lot of Venatori would be willing to pay handsomely to see the infamous Rook in chains.”

Her eyes went wide in panic, “You can’t do this… Just kill me instead. There’s bound to be a bounty on my head.”

“Oh there is… the Venatori offered more. You shouldn’t worry so much, slave, I know a collar is going to look so fetching around this lovely neck-” he drew his blade back for a split second, reaching instead to wrap a hand around her throat, making the mistake of giving her just enough room to swing her head back to slam against his face, breaking his nose.

She dropped out of his grasp, drawing her own blades and engaging the hunters closest to her, daggers meeting swords and shields as she danced dextrously around them, seeking weak spots in their armour. She dodged what blows she could, but as they turned their swords on her, there was little more she could do. For all her skill, she was simply outnumbered.

They backed her into a corner, bloody and shaking, waving a blade at anyone who came near, but it was soon struck from her hand, leaving her unarmed. She was no mage, and she had even forgone the grenades she would carry into battle as she had hoped to avoid injuring any of the children she had expected.

She hissed through the pain of the wounds, “Finish it, you bastards.”

The hunters parted slightly to allow the captain to step through, blood pouring from his broken nose, “Someone clap that bitch in irons and secure her for transport.”

Panic lanced through her and she launched herself at him, clawing at his face, fighting and struggling anew as hands grabbed her, physically restraining her as cold manacles were clasped around her wrists. She screeched and shouted, calling them every foul name she could muster in every language she knew as something cold and metal was secured around her neck.

She called for her friends, for anyone to hear her, to help her.

A gag was shoved into her mouth, before there was a sharp sting in her neck and she began to feel her consciousness slipping away.

Solas, she reached out, her final thought before the darkness took her, please…

*~*~*

On the edge of their connection, borne forth through the Fade by the desperation of her plea, the Dread Wolf felt a prayer reach his ear.

*~*~*

“Rook?”

“Eva?”

“Maker, where has she gotten to?”

“Evanura!”

The calls of the members of the Veilguard echoed through the streets of Minrathous, seeking their lost leader. It wasn’t the first time that Rook had slipped away from the group for some peace, but she had never been gone this long before, not without at least giving someone a heads up.

“Something’s happened to her,” Davrin was the first one to say it, the Warden clearly worried for his beloved, “She wouldn’t just disappear on us.”

“I agree,” Lucanis added, “We need to start a proper search, and assume that she is in trouble.”

“She wouldn’t get herself into a fight, not without backup,” Bellara said.

“And there’s been no news of any attacks in the city,” Neve noted, “We would have heard word by now.”

“Assassins?” Emmrich posed the question, glancing at Lucanis.

“The Crows know Rook is allied with House Dellamorte, they would not take a contract against her,” he said.

“Who else would have the balls to go after Rook in broad daylight in the middle of Minrathous?” Taash folded her arms across her chest.

“Lucanis is right, we need to start a real search,” Harding said, “The longer we stand around here trying to figure out what happened, the longer Rook is out there.”

“She’s in danger.”

They all whipped around to see a figure stood nearby, watching them, a figure with shaggy blonde hair and pale skin.

“I can help,” he insisted, voice calm, “I’m a friend.”

“Who in the hells are you?” Davrin demanded, “And where is Eva?”

“Wait!” Harding stepped between him and the boy, “I know him. He can be trusted.”

Taash glanced at her, “Are you sure?”

“This one smells strange, familiar,” Spite noted, stepping around the boy, “Fade touched.”

“Who is he?” Neve glanced at Harding, then back to the boy, “Who are you?”

“I’m Cole. I came to help. Solas sent me with a message. Rook is in trouble.”

*~*~*

With what little information Solas had been able to glean from Rook’s call for help, they followed this strange new addition to their party through the streets of Minrathous.

“I am not as connected to the Fade as much as I once was,” Cole explained, “But there was enough left that Solas could get a message to me. He knew I would be near.”

Their journey brought them through the docks to stand in front of an abandoned warehouse.

“You’re sure this is it?” Davrin glanced at him.

Cole nodded, “This is where Solas said to go.”

They burst inside, weapons drawn, expecting to find their lost leader, but instead found obvious signs of a struggle, blood splattered across the wooden floors, and Eva’s abandoned blades.

Lucanis cursed under his breath, knowing that she would not be without her weapons without one hells of a fight.

“The iron, cold as she remembers, tighter, biting at her skin, please don’t take me away again. I have a promise to keep.”

They all turned to look at Cole who was examining a patch of blood on the floor.

“What was that?” Davrin demanded.

“Cole can sense things,” Harding told him, “Part of him being a spirit.”

Emmrich’s eyes focused on him with curiosity, “So you can sense Eva? She was here?”

“She was very frightened.”

They searched the rest of the warehouse, but found no further trace of Rook, and very little to go on for their next lead.

“What do we do now?” Taash asked, “Someone’s taken her, and we don’t have a clue where they’re going.”

“Solas is going to try and get through to her in her dreams,” Cole said.

“I am not waiting around,” Lucanis headed for the door, “Lace, you’re the best scout in Thedas, and Neve you’re a detective. And Davrin… the monsters who have taken Eva may be the most important hunt you ever undertake. Between us, we can find her.”

*~*~*

In his pocket of the Fade, Solas struggled against the walls that held him. Not to physically escape, but to let his mind drift beyond its borders, to latch onto that connection between him and Rook.

She would not have called to him in such a way if she were not in true danger. That was why he had risked contacting Cole. He had not spoken with him in a very long time, knowing his loyalty to their dear Lavellan, focusing on his chosen human life. But that remaining trace of Fade within him had been enough, someone he knew he could trust with this, to be his eyes on the ground.

Finally, finally, he reached through a crack in the prison walls to allow his mind freely into the Fade. He could sense her more clearly, held in a dreaming state by whatever poison now coursed through her physical body.

Fear was gripping her too tightly, her natural emotions now being preyed upon by demons of the Fade. She was no mage, they could seek no way into the waking world through her, but her suffering was still a bounty to them, clamouring through her dreams to feast on that which gripped her soul. He needed to reach her, to pull her mind to a place of focus so they could speak once again. It was his only chance of helping the others find her.

The demons backed away as they sensed his presence, enough to allow him access to her dreams, but they would not stay away for long.

He watched the Fade shape around him, seeing flashes of her life, out of sync, erratic as both fear and her natural instinct to never dwell on the past battled, desperately trying to push her mind elsewhere only to be dragged back into her memories. He latched onto one of the memories and focused deeper, trying to find the source of the fear that was drawing the demons closer.

He saw her running through the halls of a magister’s estate, dress soaked in blood, desperately searching for her brother, a single determination to find him and leave this place forever.

The night she escaped her master, he noted.

She was scared, there was no doubting that, fearful of what would happen if they were caught, knowing that it would mean being separated or even killed, but her drive to protect her brother, to see him free overcame the fear.

This was not the memory he sought.

He stepped away, following a later memory, a handful of years later. She was free, no longer wearing the collar that would mark her as a slave, living under the protection of the Mercar family, facing down what was meant to be her final job.

But then she found herself stood in front of a group of slaves. He could feel her inner turmoil. It would be wiser to walk away, finish the job, get the coin. On her desk in her quarters sat a chest of coin, just one job short of being enough, and a letter, a deal to get her out of Tevinter protected so that she wouldn’t be sold back into service herself.

She would be in Ferelden before the snow came. She would be away from Tevinter, safe, home.

You find your way home… promise me Evanura!

Another memory shook her consciousness, a woman calling to her from the past, affecting her in that moment, rippling through her even now.

Solas watched as she whispered an apology to someone unseen and stepped towards the slaves. She picked every lock that held the chains in place, broke every collar until her fingers bled.

He saw the flashes of what came afterwards, the Shadow Dragons taking her under their wing, her taking on job after job with them, saving slaves, fighting back against the corruption in the city. And after every job, she promised herself that it would be the last one, that this would be the time she would turn her back on it all and flee Tevinter. But there would always be one more cause, one more person who needing saving, until it led her right into the path of Varric Tethras.

Promise me Evanura!

He turned in the direction of the woman’s voice. Whatever that was, whoever it was; that was where he needed to go.

He travelled back further, past her escape, through her years in chains at the hands of a master whose face she did not deign to keep in her thoughts. She held onto the few bright spots of joy; her adoptive Qunari brother whom she protected at any cost, growing up alongside him, teaching him songs and stories she learned as a child. In those songs she found comfort, clutching tight to memories of that same woman’s voice.

He reached the earliest memory he could and found himself watching a young girl, a child, dark hair pulled back into a messy braid, clutched tightly to her doll as hands grabbed her, pulling her towards the door of her home as a woman screamed for them not to hurt her. The doll was knocked from her grasp, and she began to cry more fervently, now trying to reach for a woman who was being dragged from their home behind her.

“No need to be afraid, little rabbit,” one of the men chuckled, “You’re both sick, we’re just taking you to the healers.”

The memory shuddered forward, memory making the details hazy, but they were now in the dark hold of a ship, others crying and whispering around her, the shift of heavy chains on wooden floors as she leaned into the warmth of familiar arms.

A woman’s voice sang softly to her in the dark, stroking her hair with manacled hands, “Shadows fall and hope has fled, steel your heart, the dawn will come.”

The memory leapt forward again, and Solas could feel the presence of the demons closing in once more on her mind. It had to be here, this memory specifically.

He turned, finding himself in Minrathous, the cold morning sun shining down on a bustling marketplace, shouts and offers made as an auction took place and he felt rage boil in his blood as he realised that the goods being sold were people.

The girl he had been following was yanked up onto the dais, shrinking back as the crowd clamoured to make offers, the winning bid given to a man whose face was shrouded in the shadow of memory and disdain, but it was a desperate call that pulled his attention, and that of the crowd, to where the woman was being dragged up to be sold next as the girl was being led away.

She turned in the direction of the man who had bought the girl, “Please, take us both. I will cook and clean, do whatever you wish. But I am begging you to not separate us.”

He did not even deign to respond to her, giving a nod to someone to have the girl brought to his carriage.

The woman surged forward, pulling with all of her might at the chains that held her, giving her just enough slack to grab the girl.

Fingers dug tightly into her palms as she clung to her, “You find your way home. You do whatever you have to do, but you survive, and you find your way home. Promise me.”

“Mama…” the girl whimpered, tears in her eyes.

“Promise me, Evanura!”

“I promise.”

Hands grabbed and separated them, pulling mother from daughter. He watched the girl’s face twist, a determination setting into her eyes even as she wept. She would keep her promise, no matter what it cost.

The cold presence of the demons started to twist the edge of the memory, feeding on the grip that that promise held on her heart, the spike of doubt and fear that would course through her every time she chose a path that would leave her farther from home; every person she saved, every slave freed, every distraction, every moment that she wasn’t solely focused on her mother’s final request, that feeling twisted tighter around her soul.

“Enough!” he cut through the memory, raw power bursting forth from him to block the demons in even further.

With a mere gesture, her chains fell away, their surroundings becoming blurred as she focused not on the memory, but instead on him.

He took a knee in front of her, extending a hand, “Will you walk with me, da’len?”

“Who are you?” she asked, rubbing the tears from her cheeks roughly with the back of her sleeve.

“I am a friend… I would like to guide you from this place, if you would let me.”

She nodded, reaching for him.

He held on gently to her hand and led her from the bustling marketplace, shaping their surroundings to instead walk along a cool forest path, a place from his own memory. They walked in silence, nothing but distant birdsong and the babbling of a brook on the air. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the years passed, her form aging a little with every step as he brought her closer to her current consciousness, no longer the little girl clutching to her doll, now a steadfast young woman who had seen too much of the cruelty of this world.

He led them into a clearing and drew them to a stop. He stepped in front of her, meeting her eyes.

“I am so sorry for all that has happened to you. But you need not hold such fear in your soul.”

She shook her head, “I don’t understand.”

He sighed softly, “You have been through so much, but your greatest fear is not what you have experienced, but instead that you will break your promise to your mother. It haunts your every decision.”

“I have to make it home,” she told him, “I can’t let anything else matter.”

“And yet it does. You may act the sarcastic, reserved type, but you are more than that. You care, and you love, and you fight for those who cannot defend themselves. I believe your mother would see you fully embrace your heart than see it gripped by the fear of breaking your word to her.”

“I never wanted any of this.”

“I know, da’len. But if you are to face what is to come next, you need to find some semblance of peace, to know that it is not the journey home that matters, but instead that you live.”

He watched her blink back tears, hanging her head a little as she took in his words. He felt the demons on the periphery begin to give up the hunt. There would always be fear in her memories, he would never be able to take that from her, nor would he want to. But perhaps this… this could be enough to get through to her.

He reached out with his magic, placing his fingertips to her forehead to draw her mind back to herself, to wake her just enough.

She gasped in breath, her eyes meeting his, recognition in her gaze, “Solas, what’s going on? Where are we? I’m… This isn’t real, I’m not…” She looked down at her hands, noticing the lack of chains, “What is happening?”

“The others are trying to find you, but we need your help. I can get a message to them, but I need you to tell me everything.”

She quickly filled him in on the ambush and the men who had taken her.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. They knocked me out.”

“Any clue will help, trying to thing about what you can hear now outside of your sleeping body.”

Her eyebrows rose, “What if that wakes me up?”

“Then you need to focus on our connection, feed me any information you can. I will send help to you.”

“Solas…” she levelled her gaze at them, “Do not let them take me.”

“I won’t.”

“I can’t go through this again.”

“I know, da’len,” he said softly, “I promise you, help will come.”

*~*~*

The slave hunter captain closed the lid on the chest full of gold he had been given, “Can’t believe one elven whore is worth this much gold.”

Getting across Tevinter with the Blight and Maker knew what else around wasn’t easy, especially with a captive in tow, but his troubles felt far behind him now that he was richer than he ever believed he could be. This Rook he had been paid to find had fought them the entire way, quiet only when they could drug her, allowing her to be awake only long enough to eat and drink so that she didn’t expire on the journey.

The Venatori leader in front of him nodded under his hood, “She has been a thorn in our side for many years. It will be good to remind her of her place.”

They both glanced at where the elf was chained to a nearby chair, tight collar around her throat, head tilted back as she was held in unconsciousness.

“She… shit, what is that noise?”

The doors burst open, and both Venatori and slave hunter alike fell to the blades that followed, wielded by a Grey Warden and an unseen Antivan Crow, slipping between the shadows as the Warden drew the attention. Outside, the rest of the Veilguard cut down the guards, securing the area so that there could be no escape.

Purple wings flared brightly in the darkness as Lucanis’ eyes fell on the unconscious form of Eva, Spite at his ear.

“You’re too late, you failed her. Too slow, too stupid. Look at her!”

He dodged out of the way of the spell the Venatori agent flung his way, using the momentum to launch a dagger into the mage’s chest instead. He closed the distance, bringing his other blade up to slice across the mage’s throat.

He turned to see Davrin drive his sword through the slave hunter’s abdomen before yanking it out and decapitating him, a move he had seen him use on countless darkspawn.

Trained eyes of both Warden and assassin glanced around for any further immediate danger before they sprinted to Eva’s side, taking in the bruises and cuts on her skin, mostly around her wrists where she had struggled against her bindings, skin bleeding as she had tried to break herself free.

“Help me get these things off of her!” Davrin bellowed at him as he started to yank, watching the metal bend a little under the elven warrior’s strength.

“You might want to do what he says before he does that to your worthless neck,” Spite commented, and Lucanis pulled his lockpicking tools from his pocket, deft fingers making quick work of the chains.

Eva slumped forward a little, caught easily by the Warden who eased her out of the chair and into his arms, holding her steady as Lucanis tipped a vial into her mouth, tilting her head back so that it could run down her throat, a concoction of his own making, part health potion, part stamina draft, with enough other ingredients to counteract whatever it was that was keeping her from consciousness.

“Vhenan, can you hear me?” Davrin’s voice shook a little, the aggression from the fight leaving him as he took in the sight of his beloved, “Eva, it’s me, it’s Davrin… you have to open your eyes, please.”

She let out a soft moan as she began to return to herself, frowning and wincing in pain, but her eyes slowly fluttering open. They watched a moment of panic lace through her as she remembered what had happened, but as she realised who she was with, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Dav… Luca… you came for me.”

“Of course we did, mi ave canora,” Lucanis said on a breath of his own relief.

She leaned into Davrin’s solid frame, hand reaching out to grip loosely to Lucanis’, she thought of her promise to her mother.

“You’re safe now, ma lath,” Davrin said, “I promise. We’re going to take you home.”

[edwinspaynes]

What is ur personal favourite, hands down recommended reading order? The way you like most, the way that's the most optimal way of reading it? According to you of course (and maybe including extra chapters) ? :))

Key:

Cassie Clare Canon -> If a short story is listed by name, it means I recommend you read it there rather than where I list the rest of the story collection. Or, you know, you could reread the story and have fun ;)

My fanfic

NOT PUBLISHED YET. Indicates a WIP that I am actively working on. I did not list WIPs that I am not actively working on.

My fanfic, but NSFW

@vwritesaus fanfic because I accept all her works as canon and also we share almost every headcanon so they fit in with all the other stuff on this list.

W/T -> Wessa

M -> Matthew

EIR -> Expert in Romantics Series

T/A -> Thomastair

TWLTB -> Together We'll Learn to Breathe Series

J/C -> Herondaisy

Note: I have only included fanfics that are fully canon compliant. I have others as does V, and you should read those too :P But these are just canon and bonus chapters.

TID

When Our Eyes Meet, Darling, I Fancy You

Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? W/T

Leaves, Cider Donuts, and William Herondale W/T

Happy Birthday, My Tess W/T

Tale as Old as Time W/T

The Howling Wind W/T

My Hips and Thighs and Whispered Sighs (Oh Lord) W/T

The Whitechapel Fiend

A Tale of a Great Behemoth W/T

Nothing But Shadows

Cast Long Shadows

Come Feel This Magic I've Been Feeling Since I Met You T/A

Every Exquisite Thing

A Combination of Shock and Awe M

The Midnight Heir

The Penultimate Hours

Chain of Gold

Empty Bottles, Heavy Hearts, the Memories of Broken Dreams T & Lily

The Letter Game

Part-Time Soulmate, Full-Time Problem T/A

Chain of Iron

Chain of Thorns

Daisy, My Daisy... J/C

breathe T/A

Enouement J/C

Chrysalism T/A

Can We Dance Through an Avalanche? T/A

Serindipity Ari/Anna NOT PUBLISHED YET.

Adronitis NOT PUBLISHED YET.

A Therapeutic Chain of Events T/A TWLTB

The Closet Game A & C

The Golden Age of Something Good and Right and Real T/A

Butterflies J/C

Prices & Vices (I End Up in Crisis) M & A

Your Flower's Filled With Vitriol M & A

In the Gutter, Looking at the Stars M & A

The Name We Give Our Mistakes M

Summer Went Away (Still the Yearning Stays) M

Love Thorns All Over This Rose J/C

You Drew Scars Around My Stars T/A TWLTB

Passed Down Like Folk Songs (The Love Lasts So Long) T/A

Taffy Stuck and Tongue Tied A & Grace

It's a Love Story (Baby Just Say Yes) J/C

Soul to the Universe (Wings to the Mind) J/C, T/A, M

I Can See You (Up Against a Wall With Me) J/C

Across our Great Divide There Is a Glorious Sunrise M

Fourty-Eight M

Dreamscapes on the Wall T/A

I'm a Fire and I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm T/A

The Diaries of Sir Thomas Lightwood, Age 14 T/A

what's in a kiss (by any other touch would feel just as sweet) T/A

A Troublesome Tale of Truffles & Trifles T/A

Religion in Your Lips (the Altar Is My Hips) T/A

A Dazzling Haze, A Mysterious Way About You T/A

Seeking Lapsang Souchang J/C

The Crown You Never Take Off T/A

Closets of Backlogged Dreams T/A

dear christopher T/A

Life Is Not Complex (We Are Complex) M EIR Eugenia/OC

The Cheap Severity of Abstract Ethics M & T/A

Walk, Walk, Fashion Baby M & T

Got Me Right Where You Want Me, Baby (Could I Be More Obvious?) T/A

More Than Anything: A Thomas and Alastair Drabble Collection T/A

The Besotted Couple's Guide to Half-Baked Mistakes J/C

Privacy Sign on the Whole World J/C

Until the Stars Burn Out: A James and Cordelia Drabble Collection J/C

Flying in a Dream, Stars By the Pocketful T/A

Twenty Minutes T/A

hygge T/A

Like a Candle You Burnt Out T/A

Christmas on the Balcony W/T

The Surprise T/A & C

i'm only me when i'm with you J/C

Every Tear's a Rain Parade From Hell T/A TWLTB

A Dwindling Mercurial High T/A TWLTB

Bloodsucker, Famefucker T/A TWLTB

Baby You Got Lucky Cause You're Rockin With the Best T/A

Is This the End of All the Endings? (My Broken Bones Are Mending) T/A

Dinner in the Dark T/A

For One Moment, Our Lives Met (Our Souls Touched) M EIR Ragnor/Catarina

Fashion Is Ephemeral (Art Is Eternal) Matthew EIR T/A

A Little Sincerity (A Dangerous Thing) M EIR Risa/OC

The Moon in Her Chariot of Pearl M EIR T/A

Days Future: Paris 1912 T/A

A Ribbon of Dream T/A

Kaleidoscope of Loud Heartbeats Under Coats T/A

Moonlight Sonata and I T/A

Connecting the Tide to the Sand That Was Dry T/A

Love on Ice T/A

portrait of a dissipated parisian T/A

Time, Mystical Time M

TMI 1-4

The Red Scrolls of Magic

TMI 5-6

Tales From the Shadowhunter Academy

The Bane Chronicles

TDA, if you absolutely must, but I usually recommend people don't waste their time.

Ghosts of the Shadow Market

The Lost Book of the White

Sentimental Boy Is My Nom de Plume W/T

This Beautiful Beast M T/A and Kit H

TWP

[temariskadi]

“The Chains, We Serve”

Chapter 1 - Unsteady Shores

Askeladd/Original female Character, hurt/comfort, action/adventure, pre-canon, canon compliant, hurt comfort, eventual smut, secret relationship

Trigger warning: canon-typical violence, graphic description, explicit sexual content,

summary: In autumn of 995, Askeladd decides to sail homeward after a successful raid, only to be ensnared by a storm and encountered by hostile pirates As his ship needs repair, he docks at the village of his old companion Ulf before he can finally return home. However, his friend is away and Askeladd has to put up with someone else, he once revered. Bound by memories of admiration and a longing he cannot ignore, Askeladd embarks on a precarious path, torn between his desires and the inevitable consequences. AO3

Chapter 2

Askeladd leapt from his boat and walked over the creaking dock. Being back on firm ground felt strange after all those weeks at sea. His legs felt wobbly and he had trouble walking straight. With a groan, he stroked his short blonde hair and pinched his nose. Never once in his life had he been seasick. Not when he first set foot on a boat, not when he first travelled on the North Sea to England, not even when his boat almost capsized in the most horrible storm he had ever seen. Nevertheless, the second he set foot on land after a long journey, he got landsick. How ironic, he thought to himself, for someone, who doesn’t even like sea travel.

A strong hand slapped amicably on his shoulder and he almost tripped over his own unsteady feet. When he looked to his left, a tall man with long brown hair and a long beard was laughing at him. He was taller and broader than Askeladd himself. With his padded coat and nasal helmet, there was no doubt he was a Viking through and through.

“Swaying already? Land legs that rusty?” Björn asked still laughing, while he walked beside him. Askeladd huffed in response. His second-in-command already knew the answer to his question.

“How bad is the damage?” he asked, eyeing the cracked mast and dented hull. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Not a shipwright,” Björn replied and scratched his head under the helmet pondering, “but I’d guess at least several days?”

“Speak to the harbourmaster and the shipwrights,” Askeladd grumbled, continuing towards the village. At least we made it here. There are worse places to be stuck for a few days. The streets and alleys of the village were still busy around midday. People were trading and bargaining in the market while others were going home for their lunch. With raised brows, Askeladd observed the busy market at the centre of the village. There were more stalls and more varieties of goods since the last time he was here. The settlement was obviously prospering. Not that this surprised him. The location of the village was ideal. Close to the sea, with a harbour to access the North Sea, surrounded by large forests and mountains, which made it easier to defend. As far as he knew, the soil in this area was fertile and there were many farms nearby to provide for the village and even for trade. Askeladd wrinkled his nose at a strange smell the wind blew to him. He didn’t recognise it and puzzled his head over it as he walked across the market. He whistled in surprise when he reached the source of the smell. There was a stall full of exotic spices, which was heavily guarded for obvious reasons.

In a few months, this village has grown and grown. I underestimated his abilities clearly; he thought as he strode up to the largest house of the settlement; a typical Danish longhouse. Almost in the middle of the long side was a giant double-leaf door, secured by two tall guards, who were almost as tall as the entrance and only acknowledged him with a short nod. Askeladd interpreted this as an invitation and entered the dimly lit main hall.

At first, his eyes needed to adjust to the gloomy main room of the building. A great hall with a large hearth in the middle; its embers were still glowing, and long oak tables were evenly distributed throughout the hall. Once, he remembered, all the villagers fit into this room, but probably not anymore. Subconsciously, he held his hand over the gleaming ashes and felt the radiating heat on his skin as he looked around. No one seemed to be here. He noticed new shields with crests that were nailed onto the walls. Askeladd wondered whether these were the crests of allies or slain enemies when he noticed a shadow on the left side of the room.

On this side of the hall two richly ornamented chairs stood on a wooden pedestal and behind them hung a thick black curtain which separated the main hall from the corridor which led to the private chambers of the chieftain. The curtain moved and the figure of a woman appeared.

“Hello Askeladd,” she greeted him calmly as she walked towards him.

“Greetings to the Lady of this great hall!” Askeladd bowed, flashing a smile that usually charmed women, but she looked at him blankly.

“I’ve heard your ship needs repair?” she asked and tilted her head slightly as she waited for his response. Askeladd raised his brows in surprise before he smiled at her once again.

“Well informed, I see,” he grinned, shrugging, “We ran into some competitors and then there was a gentle but stiff breeze…. nothing worth mentioning,” he winked.

“You encountered pirates on the open sea,” Skadi corrected, her piercing blue eyes unwavering, “and then your ship was torn apart in a storm.”

Askeladd ground his teeth before he laughed and smirked at her. Skadi was tall for a woman, but he was still a few centimetres taller than her, enough for him to look down at her with a smile.

“Don’t listen to rumours. Competitors and a gentle breeze,” he smirked mischievously, “But I have to admit we still need a shipwright, and we probably have to stay for a few days.” He tried to give her his most irresistible smile but again, his charm met her indifference.

“Where’s your wonderful husband?” he inquired, turning around as if he could find him in the hall.

“Away on business travels,” she replied, walking past him, mocking his tone with a blank face. Ulf was a Viking warrior who regularly raided the coast of England like Askeladd did. At least she has some sense of humour, he thought as he smiled at her remark.

Skadi went to the right side of the hall and called a name through an open door. Only now he noticed her cunningly pinned-up blonde hair, which, together with her velvet green dress, gave her a noble appearance. His gaze lingered a second too long on her behind when she turned back at him.

“I’m afraid, you have to put up with me, Askeladd,” she stated with a firm voice and went to stay next to him. They both looked up at the wall full of shields. One shield, with a large crack in the middle and a strangely familiar crest, drew his interest.

“That’s the emblem of one of the English lords we defeated,” Skadi said softly. In the corners of his eyes, he saw her smiling, but he didn’t dare to look at her.

“It was the last battle we thought together, I think,” Askeladd added whispering, and both seemed to be lost in thought. He tensed when their shoulders touched slightly but didn’t pull away.

“It feels like a lifetime away…” Skadi whispered and their eyes met. “Now my life is…different.” There was a touch of sadness in her gaze and it made Askeladd gulp. As he looked down at her, he wanted to be as close and as far away from her as possible. His entire body felt as if it were being torn apart by this inner turmoil.

Suddenly, a door creaked as a servant entered the hall, and both jumped away from each other. Skadi turned, her whole demeanour had changed within seconds, as she looked at him stone-faced.

 “Ingrid will organise the accommodation for your men. Everything related to the repair of your ship, you have to settle with our harbour master, everything else with me directly. As a welcome, we invite you and your men to a feast tonight. There we can talk about the costs of your stay. Is this alright with you?” she explained with a cold smile that left no room for debate.

Askeladd gave an equivalent fake smile and nodded, “Thank you. I’ll tell my men. I see you tonight.” He left the hall, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The coming days would be interesting.

The sun had set and torches lit up the narrow streets and alleys of the village when Askeladd decided to join the feast. Ingrid, the servant from earlier, had already assigned all his men to different accommodations. To be honest, Askeladd was surprised at how well-organised and determined the young woman was. She ignored suggestive comments from his men or replied with snarky remarks, which made even the hardest bastard blush in embarrassment.  It was fun to watch but at the same time, it reminded him of Ingrid’s mistress, who probably had taught her not to let herself be pushed around, especially not by men.

“Your men are accommodated, my Lord,” Ingrid said and bowed her head slightly. It took Askeladd a moment before he realised she was talking to him.

“Don’t call me Lord. I am no Lord,” he replied with a charming grin, although he noticed her downcast gaze.

“My mistress told me to treat you with the utmost respect because you are a friend of the master,” Ingrid explained with her head tilted down and only raised her hand to point to the great hall, “Therefore you will stay with the master’s family.”

Askeladd followed her gesture and raised his brows, something he had done a lot since he landed here.

“Did your mistress forbid you from looking at me?” he said jokingly and studied the reaction of the young servant. For a second, Ingrid looked up at him confused and blushed deeply when she noticed his winning smile.

“N..n…no. My mistress said nothing like that,” she stuttered and looked in another direction.

“But she warned you about me, didn’t she?” the experienced warrior sarcastically concluded as he stepped closer, causing Ingrid to shake her head vigorously and run away. With loud laughter, he watched her run to the great hall before he noticed a tall figure walking towards him. With a content smile, he put his hands in the pockets of his coat and went to meet his friend halfway.

“Already pissing off our hosts?”, his second-in-command asked, walking beside him.

“I do my very best not to,” Askeladd smirked and thought back on Ingrid’s reaction. It wasn’t his fault, she was so easy to tease.

“Is that the reason why you haven’t shown up?” Björn grumbled, “And I have to go looking for you like a stray kitten?”

Askeladd laughed and slapped his friend's shoulder, “I was already on my way. Plus, I can hardly count as a kitten? More like a stray dog…. or fox!”

“Why should I look for a fox?” his friend shook his head and swept his long hair away from his face, which frequently obscured his vision when he didn't have his helmet on.

“I’m just saying, I’m more like a fox than a kitten. And you shouldn’t come and get me to shitty feasts like this,” Askeladd sighed and stopped.

Björn halted as well and began to enumerate, “But it isn’t shitty at all. The food is good, lots of meat, and wine and beer as much as we want. Even the music is great,” then he added gravely, “and the women are fuckable.”

“Thank the Gods!” Askeladd replied sarcastically. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can enjoy any of this. Unlike you bastards, I have to sit politely at the table of the chieftain and since Ulf is gone, I have to enjoy the company of his wife.” His words dripped with sarcasm while he glared at the great hall.

Björn creased his brow and noted, “Skadi is very fuckable, too.”

“That’s part of the problem,” the blonde chuckled and ran his hand through his beard. “She’s very nice to look at; she has always been…”

His thoughts drifted to the first time when he had seen her. On a battlefield at the coast of England. Askeladd had been slightly injured and exhausted from fights. The site had been chaotic, with corpses and wounded lying one above the other. Everybody had been spattered with blood and mud, he couldn’t distinguish between ally or enemy. This was when he had seen her for the first time, like a Valkyrie had come from the sky for them.

A sudden push from his friend snapped him out of his thoughts and caused him to stumble towards the great hall.

“It’s no use,” Björn proclaimed as they continued walking, “There are worse nights than sitting next to a beautiful woman with beer and food! Just don’t listen to what she says!” The broad-shouldered Norse burst into laughter, while Askeladd sighed again.

“I finally see why you’re so good with women, my friend.”

Standing in front of the double-leaf door, the captain took a deep breath while his second-in-command still laughed at his own joke. Björn’s right, it’s no use. Grit your teeth and get to it!

With a swift movement, he opened the door and entered the great hall. It was packed with people; the air was stale and heavy with the fragrance of alcohol and food. Over the heath, they cooked a whole pig on a split and the smell of roasted meat made his mouth water. When had he last eaten anyway? Askeladd looked around to see familiar faces, but the room was busting with people, eating, talking and dancing, he couldn’t make anyone out. In the right corner of the room, a music group played lute, bone flute and drums, while some people sang and danced to the tunes. A slight smile crept into his face as he observed the merry feast. It was months ago since they had had such a welcome. Apparently, his men needed a change of scene and if he was honest with himself, he needed that, too.

Björn thrust an ale pot into Askeladd’s hand, while the blonde let his eye wander through the room. His men had mingled with the villagers and sat at several tables throughout the hall. Taking a first sip from his beer; it tasted smooth yet somewhat harsh; his eyes found Skadi. She sat in the middle of a long table that stood under the wooden pedestal with the two ornamented chairs. It seemed that the community's most important and richest men were also seated there. She still wore her velvet green dress, however this time, he noticed how it emphasised her female figure. Her hair was now loose, held by a metal hair band, that gave her an almost regal look.

She is really nice to look at, he thought when Skadi suddenly caught sight of him and riveted her gaze on him. Askeladd almost choked on his beer when he noticed her piercing ice-blue gaze. Subtly, the lady of the hall nodded towards the free chair next to her and Askeladd said goodbye to his friend to move himself through the crowd to take the free seat at the table.

“Good evening, everyone!” Askeladd exclaimed with his most winning smile and toasted friendly towards the others at the table. All clinked their glasses except for Skadi, who looked ahead indifferently.

“You are late, Askeladd,” she commented sharply and turned to look at him blankly, “What kept you? Competitors or a gentle breeze?”This night will be interesting, indeed.

-> Chapter 2

[velidewrites]

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Notes: My humble offering for @elucienweekofficial. This fic is a post-ACOSF story — and very close to my heart as it’s based on the very first one-shot I’ve ever written.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Chapter 1 || Masterlist

Chapter 4 - Fill Me With Your Poison

He came to her in a dream.

Every night, she would go to bed empty and wake up unchanged—would wake up to find out none of this had been some vile, cruel nightmare. It was simply…real.

The War had wrecked the last of it—her old life. For weeks after the Darkness, Elain wasted and wasted away—the visions consumed her, each one worse than the other. They pulled her back into the murky waters or burned her hands under a scorching fire; they cuffed her wrists in heavy chains or set her free, dirty and naked as she fell to the cold ground. She hurt, deeply and thoroughly, but the only lifeline that had ever appeared was that shimmering, golden thread as it offered to lead her into the light.

Elain had not once reached for it. Her hand felt heavy every time she’d lifted it, unable to reach the only thing that could ever save her. Something weighed on it, solid and cold—an iron ring wrapped around her finger, a reminder that she had lost and it was only fair that she’d lost herself too.

There was no going back. Rhysand had told her this gently shortly after they’d arrived, her nightgown still wet and clinging to her trembling body. To her limbs, longer and somehow more lithe now than they’d ever been. Even broken, she could feel the strength thrumming within her muscles, compelling her to move the mountains and shake the earth. To use it to fight, to set every last one of her instincts on alert, to get Feyre back and avenge everyone that had ever hurt Elain and her family.

Elain had never been a warrior. It’s what Feyre had become, though only after seeing her rampage in front of the King, Elain had realised that perhaps a warrior was what her sister had always been. Elain did not want to rage, did not want to avenge—she wanted to go home and live the life she’d been meant to live.

But that home hadn’t welcomed her back.

I am not marrying you, it had said. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.

With Father gone, and her fiancé despising what she’d become, Elain was left with no one—no link back to the life she wanted, only the visions showing her the life she would have. A bird soaring in the sky, its cries of pain carried through the wind. A lake, deep within the forest, dozens of swans floating atop it, all covered in the stench of rotten earth. A box, built from a hardened onyx, resting beneath the murky waters, singing an ancient, eerie song.

It was when she saw the box that he found her. He inhaled the fresh, salty scent of the tears she’d stained the pillow with night after night as though they were the sweetest nectar, a smile slowly curling the corners of his lips. He stood by her bed, but Elain knew he wasn’t there, not truly—her gaze was clouded by a fog, thick and oozing that dark, mouldy scent. Like he’d just stepped out of a lake.

Elain was not afraid—he was only a vision, after all—though she paled at the sight of him. He looked like a man—like a male, she reminded herself bitterly—but there was no denying the creature that must’ve lurked beneath his handsome face. He was handsome—his earth-black hair curling at the nape of his neck, a singular, silver streak swept back from his face. Sharp, high cheekbones and a thin mouth, as though perpetually tightened to keep his secrets inside where they belonged; pale skin, like a swan’s coat, and, finally, the most hypnotising of his features: his eyes, narrowed silently on her, shining a rich, mossy green.

She waited for him to speak—waited for his voice to dim into the fog, they way all voices had in her visions: always trying to tell her something, yet never patient enough to truly let her hear. But the male stood by her bed watching her curiously, head tilted an inch to the left as though he could not quite figure out how, exactly, he should look at her.

Elain sat up, pressing two fingers to her stinging cheeks, still raw from the salt she’d cried out before sleep enveloped her at last. “Who are you,” she whispered, the words not quite a question—as if, deep down, Elain already knew the answer.

His smile grew.

“Tell me your name,” she said louder, though her body shrank into itself as she realised that, vision or not, this male could probably kill her if he only pleased.

But then he stepped back into the fog, his figure melting back into the dark mist, leaving only that scent and the silky sound of his voice as he told her, “All in good time, my sweet.” The room sounded with laughter. “All in good time.”

After he’d left, Elain slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

The nightmares returned all too soon, though, Graysen’s face tormenting her ruthlessly as he repeated the words over and over in her head. I don’t want you. Not you. Never you.

He would not take her as she was—as the lie she’d become.

Gray, she sobbed back to him as she slept, it’s still me. This life, this body—I want you. It’s always been you.

Take that ring off, he said, not hearing her at all.

Elain refused him every time.

The rotten male returned when she was taken. They’d put her in chains, just as her visions had warned her but she never understood, too lost in the fog. The ice-cold metal—iron, she’d realised, an irony that nearly brought her to tears—burned her skin, leaving it raw and stinging as if she’d been put under the Cauldron’s lethal waters again. She kneeled, waiting for something—anything—to help her. And he listened.

“Look at you,” he murmured, as though the sight of her captured brought him pain. He dropped to one knee in front of her, a phantom knuckle brushing her cheek. Elain shivered. “Who dared?”

Elain rasped, “You know who.”

He hummed, her answer apparently what he’d been hoping for. “The wind may call you the Cauldron’s blessed, but earth whispers of your torment, Elain Archeron.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

He smiled sadly. “And I hear every word.”

Elain looked deep into his green eyes. “What do you want from me?” she asked, because there had to have been something. He’d sought her out for a reason, or perhaps her vision had invited him in—but, Elain realised as he calmly returned her stare, his reasons hardly mattered. He was here, when everyone else was not. She was no longer alone.

The male said, “I only wish to give your heart what it longs for.”

“I have no heart,” Elain whispered. “Not anymore.”

He chuckled, as if the horrible words amused him. “You think you died, Elain, but if there is one thing in this world I know, it is Death. And, I can assure you, it has not found you yet.”

Elain felt it, then—that thing thrumming under his skin, the creature she knew she’d Seen before but had never truly reached. It sang the same melody the onyx box had—old and yet familiar, something she knew she would greet one day at the very end.

A low purr sounded in his chest, as if he’d heard the snapping sound of her realisation in his own head. “Say it.”

“You are a Death God,” Elain breathed, a term she’d heard from her sister once but hoped she would never have to hear again.

He looked delighted. “My name is Koschei, and I am Deathless. I come not from this world, Elain, but all the worlds beyond it, and their powers flows through my veins.” He smoothed a hand over her wrist, the heavy chain around it suddenly light at his touch. “I can help you.”

Elain swallowed. “I am beyond help.”

“Perhaps to your High Fae friends. Or even your captivating sister,” he mused, briefly gazing off to the distance, as if all his plans laid there waiting. Then, Koschei looked at her again. “But not to me.”

Elain froze, the very air in her lungs hardening into ice.

The Death God smiled. “I can give you what you wish for, Elain,” he said. “I can give you everything.”

“How,” she managed to choke out.

His palm covered her own, and Elain’s chest fell with a breath, the touch resembling burying her hands into soil. There was a time when Elain had gardened—even in their time of struggle, in the most vicious poverty, she would find ways to plant seeds of hope in the small square of land by the cottage. But then Elain had drowned, the earth too damaged, too ruined to ever invite hope inside it again.

But now, Elain had this. Him.

Perhaps she could garden again.

“I’m going to need your help, little Seer,” Koschei murmured, his mossy eyes still fixed on the iron cuff on her wrist. “And when your destiny is fulfilled, I shall offer you all that the Cauldron has so brutally taken. I shall offer all that you deserve.”

Elain sucked in a breath.

Koschei met her gaze. “I shall give you your humanity back.”

He rose to his feet, that fog thickening around him again. “Wait!” Elain called after him, desperation building in her chest. “What must I do?”

He only smiled. “I will see you soon, Elain Archeron.” He looked over his shoulder, a flicker of disdain flashing through his features before he looked at her again. “Fear not, my sweet. Help is coming.”

When her sister stormed in with the shadowsinger, Elain realised Koschei was right.

Help was coming, she thought, looking at her wrist, free from its chains long before the two of them arrived.

And then, Elain could finally live.

———

Feyre studied the map, dread continuing to build in her chest. Her finger grazed the small mark pinned to the northern territory indicating Windhaven, the war camp well-hidden between the mountains, never to be spotted by the untrained eye. The tattoos atop her skin swirled at the touch, as though they, too, could somehow sense the unease building underneath the perpetually frozen ground.

Nesta had just winnowed away, her usually guarded expression replaced by the same emotion Feyre couldn’t seem to shake. Cassian remained, his tall, broad frame leaned over the parchment as he looked up to meet her gaze. “Rhys?”

“He’ll agree,” Feyre said without a shadow of a doubt. “It’s not Rhys that’s the issue.”

Cassian grunted his agreement. “Will he be back by nightfall?” The Illyrian Steppes laid on the other end of their court—as far away from Velaris as possible, perhaps—but it wasn’t distance that posed the problem for her mate, but the warlords, seemingly as intent on a civil war as their counterparts in the mountains.

Feyre opened her mouth when she felt it.

The bond gleamed in her chest like starlight, twinkling softly as the sky began to darken. The scent of citrus and sea salt infused the evening air, and Feyre took in a deep, deep breath.

He was home.

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” Rhys said, entering the study, though the smile he flashed them both did not meet his eyes. Feyre reached out to squeeze his hand, and Rhys pulled her in to his body, pressing a warm kiss to her temple.

She placed a hand on his cheek. Are you okay?

Rhys brushed his fingers through her hair, watching as it fell down her back in soft waves. I am now.

Cassian offered them a strained smile. “Bad?”

“Bad,” Rhys agreed, stepping forward to examine the map himself. “But the good news is, they will not make the first move—unless Devlon provokes them, I suppose.”

The Night Court’s General frowned. “How did you manage that?”

Rhys only smiled, his thumb brushing the back of Feyre’s palm. “I wish I was able to do more.” Her chest hurt as he looked at her, violet eyes dim. “What did Nesta say?”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “She wants to go fight the warlords themselves.”

Rhys chuckled.

“I told her,” Feyre started, “to send Azriel instead.”

Her mate let out a long, long breath. “I see.”

“You don’t agree?” Feyre asked, more curious than anything else.

“Oh, I do,” Rhys said. “But it’s not my agreement you should be worried about.”

As if unable to help himself, Cassian chuckled. “You and Feyre seem to be of one mind.”

Rhys smiled at that, some of the usual light returning to his gaze. “That we are.”

Feyre turned to Cassian. “I think we should also send Gwyn.”

A glimmer of surprise passed down the bond. “Oh?”

Feyre explained, “She’s a Carynthian, is she not? And a Valkyrie.” Rhys nodded, something like understanding beginning to appear on his face. “I can’t possibly imagine a better fit.”

“I would agree,” Cassian said, his voice tight, “But Devlon despises her—and so do the rest of the warlords.” His eyes seemed to darken at that. “I don’t know if sending Gwyn could do us any good at this time.”

Feyre shrugged. “Perhaps she’ll see it fit to dispose of the problem, then. Good riddance.”

“Indeed,” Rhys said, his laughter shimmering down the bond. Feyre smiled.

“I will speak to her, then,” Cassian declared. “But if she doesn’t agree, Azriel will have to go alone.”

Feyre hummed. “Something tells me that she will. And if she does, I have no doubt Azriel will, too.”

Cassian snickered. “You have no idea how right you are,” he said, then looked out to the garden, already veiled in shadows from the falling night. “I’ll see you both tomorrow—unless…” he hesitated. “Unless there’s anything else?”

Rhys clapped his shoulder. “Go home, brother. We can worry about everything else later.”

Cassian nodded—and with that, he was gone, the sound of his wings cutting through the air echoing into the room.

Rhys stayed quiet until it faded. “Bed?”

Feyre sighed, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over her at the question. “Please.”

They walked upstairs hand in hand, Feyre silently inviting him into her mind, letting her mind drift as her mate watched her memory of the meeting. She could feel how tense he was from the way his back stiffened, powerful muscles shifting under a simple, black jacket. The one thing the Illyrian warlords had in common, it seemed, was the apparent distaste for unnecessary pomp.

What do you think? she asked him when he was done.

His chest heaved with a breath. I think I’d like to lay in bed with you and not think about it for a while.

Thank the Mother.

Rhys chuckled. After you, High Lady.

The night had not yet even fallen, but sleep threatened to swallow her whole as soon as Feyre’s back hit the soft blankets of their bed. How was your day? Rhys asked, lying down next to her, and she shifted to accommodate his large wings. Other than the civil war looming over our heads? she asked. It was fine. Although… she sighed, letting her eyes close for a moment. I worry about Elain.

Oh?

Finding a Dread Trove is no easy task, Feyre argued. And I know Nesta had managed it, but…I don’t know. She had training.

There are other ways to gain strength, my love, he said with an emotion that made her chest full. She rolled over to her side, finding Rhys already facing her, his eyes gleaming slightly as their gazes locked.

I know. After a while, she added, I’m glad she’ll have Lucien with her.

I’m not sure if either of them would agree.

Feyre huffed. Probably not. But this is more progress than any of them have made in over two years. Elain hasn’t even left the Night Court save for the human lands during the War. And Lucien…I feel like he’s everywhere, and yet somehow never where he’s supposed to be.

Rhys considered her words with a low hum that seemed to take root in her very bones. Playing matchmaker again, Feyre darling?

She traced a finger over his wing, making him shudder at the contact. Maybe.

He took her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. Don’t worry about Elain. I’m sure the Day Court will hold the answers we all need—and perhaps some of the answers she herself is looking for. He closed his eyes, as though sleep had begun to slowly tug at him, too. And when the Trove is found, we’ll be ready.

Do you really think the Trove will help us kill Koschei?

Gwyn said the ancient Seers used it to find answers in the future. I can’t imagine anything more helpful to us right now.

He was right—if Elain had somehow managed to find the Bone, there was a chance for this war to be prevented entirely. Stopping Beron would be one thing, but a Death God—not even Prythian united as one could stop Koschei with their weapons alone. There had to be something—anything—and perhaps the future held the answers.

She was so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed Rhys was staring at her again. I thought you fell asleep, she told him.

Rhys’s question surprised her entirely. Do you think we should tell Lucien?

Feyre stilled. You mean…?

Yeah.

I…don’t think so. No, she decided. Not while Beron is still alive.

Helion? Rhys asked.

He’d probably invoke the Blood Duel.

That’s an Autumn Court tradition, Rhys reminded her.

Feyre shrugged. I think he would see it fitting.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Beron needs to die—and quickly. He added,  I’ll contact Eris in the morning. He should know—perhaps not the whole extent of it, but whatever we can tell him. His help might come in handy if… If there was another war. If all their lives were to be put at risk again.

Feyre sighed. I hope Elain knows what she’s gotten herself into.

———

Elain was breathless.

She had never seen a flying horse before—a Pegasus, as Lucien had explained to her on the way, though now that she’d seen one, Lucien’s description hardly seemed to do it justice. The beast was at least double the size of the horses she’d once ridden back home. With Graysen.

She quickly dismissed the memory, cataloguing it for later. She would often shuffle through them before she slept, allowing her mind to wander into the future when she could finally do it all again. She’d imagine herself on Graysen’s doorstep, her ears round and skin flushed, watching as his eyes widened in shock. You’re back, Elain, he would say, his mouth agape. You came back to me.

Soon, Elain thought, then looked back up to the sky.

The chestnut-coloured Pegasus was the High Lord’s favourite stallion’s, Meallan’s, mate. Elain watched as the beast proudly roamed the clouds, wondering how liberating it might feel to be so close to the sun. The horse neighed softly, as though in confirmation—as though it had somehow heard her words from above.

Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she tore her gaze off the sky—only to find Lucien staring openly at her, his eyes shining and lips parted slightly as he took her in.

“What?” she asked, the question coming out a tad more rudely than she’d intended.

Lucien didn’t seem to mind. “You’re smiling,” he said quietly.

Elain smothered it quickly. “It is improper to stare, you know.”

He cleared his throat, as if a veil had just been lifted from his mind. “You will find in our time here, lady, that I am many things—and proper is certainly not one of them.” There was an insinuation to his words, an air of promise that made her heart quicken, the golden creature inside her stirring to life and begging to play.

Elain gritted her teeth. “Stop calling me that.”

Lucien, the bastard, ginned. “Seems to me like being improper might just be the one thing we have in common.”

“We have nothing in common,” she told him tightly. Lucien’s smile only broadened, and he opened his mouth, a retort no doubt ready on his tongue when a rich, smooth voice sounded behind them, wrapping itself around Elain’s skin.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Helion Spell-Cleaver said, sunlight dancing in his golden eyes. “Emissaries.”

Lucien turned to face the High Lord, offering a brief nod. “Just guests,” he corrected, making Helion smile.

Elain had heard about the male from stories, but seeing him up close seemed to have even more of an effect. Helion Spell-Cleaver was, to be put quite simply, the sun personified, its light seemingly carrying his every step. She had no doubt those warm, golden rays coiled beneath his dark skin, thrumming gently with the kind of power that she’d only ever felt from Rhysand, ancient and passed down through generations, each one stronger than the other.

As welcoming as he appeared, the High Lord’s eyes remained sharp as they descended upon Elain. Her skin seemed to tingle under his assessment—and Elain stiffened as realisation slammed into her like a solid rock.

Helion’s power was the study of the very magic itself. There was little in his title to be left to interpretation—he cleaved spells, even those oldest and most complex, by feeling the various cords of magic lying beneath the surface and cutting through them, one by one. To Elain, it only meant one thing.

She was in danger.

If Helion could break the spells, he could surely detect them, too—which meant that the bargain she’d struck…

Elain stopped moving entirely.

“May I introduce you,” Lucien said to Helion, pulling her out of her haze, “to Elain Archeron.”

Helion stepped in closer, an easy smile still playing on his handsome features. “I’d be lying if I said I have not been waiting to meet you,” he told her, reaching to plant a courtier’s kiss on her hand, “Lady Elain.”

Lucien’s answering smile was a thing of mockery. “Oh, trust me—she is no lady.”

Helion pulled back, brows high with amusement and a somewhat incredulous expression. It was then that another fact she’d omitted came into Elain’s mind.

Everyone knew what Elain was to Lucien, and what Lucien was to her. An ill-fated match, two people tied to each other by some cruel joke.

Mates.

Lucien seemed to realise it, too, because he composed himself quickly, supposedly not ready to answer questions neither he nor Elain did not have the answers to themselves. Ever the emissary, he slipped into another topic with ease, “I assume you received my letter, then?”

Helion turned to him. “I did. My libraries are at your disposal, as they’ve always been for our allies at, ah…” His gaze swept over their unlikely pair, “the Night Court,” he finished with a smile.

It could not have been more ironic. The two of them looked nothing like Night’s envoys, none of the court’s usual sparkly fabrics and glinting jewels in sight. Elain had opted for a corseted dress—a terrible choice, she understood as quickly as she’d arrived—but it was so much like the gowns she’d used to wear back…back then. It only seemed fitting that, in a place meant to hold all the answers she was seeking, she ought to bring a piece of her old self with her. Now, though, with her hair pinned up and her gown making every single one of her breaths fall flat, Elain just looked…out of place.

Lucien, on the other hand, seemed to have prepared exceptionally well.

Had she not been avoiding him like the plague, Elain might have even asked him for advice. Lucien, to give him credit for something, had been dressed immaculately every time she’d seen him—which, by her own fault, had perhaps not been too often, but enough for Elain to decide if there was one good thing about the male she had no interest in, it was decidedly his fashion sense.

His usual fitted jacket had been replaced by a sleeveless tunic of a gleaming ivory, parts of it tucked in lazily into long, flowy pants of the same colour. The V-like shape cut the fabric down to his chest, revealing a golden-brown chest sculpted just as ridiculously as his arms—strong and muscled, and shimmering softly under the sunlight. His typical boots, modelled excellently for hunting, had been replaced too—a pair of golden sandals in their place, just barely visible under the pants flowing with his every step.

Combining comfort with elegance was clearly the fashion standard in Day—with its High Lord, too, draped in loose garments of white, the only difference being the hems lined with a vibrant, sapphire thread that brought out the shade of his kohl-lined eyes. She suddenly felt warm, a new heat rising to her cheeks—she’d never been known to fail when it came to such occasions. She suddenly felt like a little girl again, nine years old and overflowing with her mother’s too-long pearl necklaces as she’d sneak into her evening balls.

She wanted nothing more than to be shown to her chamber—where, hopefully, she could ask the staff if anything could be prepared for her last-minute—and go to bed in preparation for the day ahead.

Except, as she now noticed, the sun was still shining through the open archways carved into the walls of Helion’s palace, warm and golden, eager to play with her every step as the High Lord began leading them from the gates and through the main hallway.

“How is it still day here?” she asked him curiously.

Helion waved a hand, summoning the same bright light that poured in—a miniature sun of its own, glistening in the palm of his hand. She could’ve sworn she heard Lucien mutter a prayer to the Mother beside  her—something about the High Lords and Cauldron-damned show-offs—though Helion did not seem to heave heard as he explained, “While the Solar Courts adhere to the laws of nature, we at the Day Court like to hoard our sunlight for a little longer.”

“You’re the one keeping the sun up?” Elain asked, unable to wrap her head around the magnitude of such power. Helion hummed, apparently thoroughly pleased with her surprise. “My ancestors have been doing it for millennia—it is only fair that I keep up the tradition. It’s quite simple once you get the hang of it, really. I’ve been able to hold the sun for about an hour longer before I ascended my father’s throne.”

Lucien rolled his eyes.

“You must hold great power,” Elain praised, if only to aggravate him further. Helion’s mouth curled, and he opened his mouth when—

“Thank you for having us in your home,” Lucien cut in, Helion’s golden eyes flickering to him curiously. “It’s been a while since I’ve last been here.”

“Indeed,” the High Lord angled his head, dark hair spilling over his shoulder. “I hear you’ve been keeping to the human lands. Such a shame your allies could not make it here today.”

“The Wall has not been down for long enough,” Lucien said calmly, though she’d caught a hint of a strain in his voice. “Their trust will need to be earned.”

Helion hummed his agreement. “Perhaps tomorrow will be a good start.”

The sunlit hallway of pale, luminous stone led them to what Elain could only assume was the guest wing, large enough to fit in the entire River House judging by its impressive size. It seemed only fair, she supposed, given that the palace was not only the High Lord’s primary residence—but the home to his grand library, where scholars from all over the world would travel to to seek the precious knowledge it offered.

They stopped in front of a tall, ornate door when Helion said, “I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you adjoining rooms. Though,” he added, his brows high as he looked between them, “if there are any complications, do let me know at breakfast tomorrow. If you’ll care to join me, of course.”

Lucien nodded, Elain parroting the movement. She supposed she had no choice.

Helion looked at Lucien. “I understand this is a matter of discretion—you were impressively vague in your letter, well done,” he added at Lucien’s arched brow, “so I did not request for a scholar to assist you in your research. I must say, though, that the topic of your investigation has piqued my interest immensely, and I would be more than happy to discuss your ah, findings afterwards.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Lucien added dryly, which, for some reason, had only made Helion smirk.

“Of course you will,” he said smoothly. “I think you will find, Lucien Vanserra, that my knowledge could be of great use to you. What’s a little trust among friends, after all?” winked.

“Are you suggesting you might have a lead for us, Helion?” Elain asked, the High Lord’s gaze twinkling at the question.

“I’m suggesting I might be able to help you get started—if you trust me enough to share what it is precisely that you’re after.”

“Alright,” Lucien said, resting a casual hand on the golden doorknob to their chambers. “Perhaps you could help me with a personal question of my own, then.”

Elain stilled.

“Is it pertinent to your current research?” Helion asked.

“No,” Lucien said, though there was something about the quickness of the dismissal that made Elain doubt the word. “I simply want to see if your knowledge truly is as…impressive as you lead us to believe. Trust goes both ways, does it not, High Lord?”

Helion smiled openly now. “I always knew I liked you.”

Lucien’s answering smile was tight. “Perhaps, after all of this, I’ll be able to share the sentiment.”

Helion shook his head with a chuckle. “Ask away, son. I am incredibly curious to learn the nature of your problem.”

Lucien frowned, apparently not entirely sure what to make of the nickname. Still, he continued, “There is…an object.”

Elain’s eyes widened slightly. Was he…?

“An old family heirloom,” he clarified, a lie so blatant Elain knew with unwavering certainty what, exactly, Lucien was talking about. Even Helion’s brow flicked up, perhaps surprised at the idea of the one and only Lucien Vanserra, Autumn son in exile, keeping a remnant of his family history.

Lucien continued, “It has been…charmed,” he said. “Sealed—and impossible to open.”

Elain’s heart thrummed in her chest. The box.

Lucien had the box.

The one thing she’d been after—the price Koschei had asked for all those months ago when he’d found her in Hybern’s war camp—the same thing that Vassa had stolen, was now in the possession of none other than her mate.

Why do you need it? Elain had asked once, her own visions unable to provide the answer.

It is the key to my power, Koschei purred into her dream, caressing. It holds the thing that’s most precious to me, locked away by my siblings in a pathetic attempt to stifle me. My very soul, he said. Take it from my firebird thief and bring it back to my lake—and I shall return what was once lost to you.

Steal? she breathed. You want me to steal your soul from Vassa?

My firebird took it from me as I liberated her from the bounds of my lake, he said, a new, pulsing anger creeping into his tone. It is how she had repaid me for my good graces. Bring it to me, little Seer, he added, that voice softening as he crooned, and you will be human again.

“Have you tried your fire magic?” Helion’s question took her out of the memory. “If it’s a family heirloom, I would imagine a magic specific to your ancestry to be the key.”

Lucien chewed on his lip, Elain’s eyes now trailing the movement as she waited for his next lie, “The magic that bound it is…different. Ancient.” He took in a breath. “I can only speculate, but my guess is that it was done by an external magic, done to spite whoever owned it at the time.”

Helion’s gaze drifted, the High Lord deep in thought. “It is cursed, then” he mused lowly, Lucien tightly nodding his confirmation. “Bring it to my study,” he told him. “I will have look at it first thing tonight.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing. Had Lucien brought the box here with him? A new hope filled her chest, replacing the fear her ticking clock had installed deep inside her, even louder now that she’d been made to leave the manor.

But Lucien was already shaking his head. “Out of the question. The object is not with me at the moment.”

Shit.

“I’m afraid a curse like that could only be cleaved under my magic’s scrutiny,” Helion said earnestly, disappointment already shadowing his features. Something told her the High Lord enjoyed this—the research, the mystery—saw it as a form of art, even. “Ancient magic had been known to only react to the power my line and I have been fortunate to possess.”

Something lit up deep in the corner of her mind, the same one she’d been ignoring ever since she had become Fae. Something that pushed itself onto her tongue before she could even think to stop it. “That’s not entirely true,” Elain spoke up.

Both males’ gaze flickered to her in surprise.

“That night,” Elain explained, casting a quick glance at Lucien, who stiffened immediately—as though the bond itself had told him what she spoke of. “In Hybern’s castle, you freed yourself from his chains. To—” her throat strained. “To get to me.”

Lucien only looked at her, and Elain realised this was the very first time either of them truly spoke of that night. She returned his stare, wishing but unable to look away, like a light pulling a ship to shore.

She was going to retract her statement—tell them she’d simply gotten confused and disappear into the darkness of her chamber—when Helion spoke again, his voice strangely quiet, “Explain it to me.”

Elain peeled her eyes off of Lucien, seemingly frozen in that utterly Fae sort of stillness, and looked at Helion. “I…may be blurry on the details. But I remember the King leashing Lucien and Tamlin to the ground by a strange, white-hot magic. And then…” and then they’d dragged her under. Elain was not going to speak of this now. “All I remember is a loud snap—and a flare of light. And then Lucien was beside me.”

“What…did the magic look like?” Helion asked carefully, and Elain frowned.

“I—bright. Iridescent,” she added, feeling a little stupid at the lack of knowledge she’d just revealed. Feyre would’ve remembered the exact shape—the scent, the shape it had taken—and painted it afterwards. Elain loosed a breath. “It felt warm. It…it shimmered on his skin,” she added quietly, praying that, in his strange daze, Lucien did not somehow hear her despite standing a mere two feet beside her.

Helion’s face was unreadable as he looked at Elain, unblinking. Then at Lucien, his gaze resting on his scarred face for a long, long time.

“Is there…something wrong?” Elain asked slowly.

The High Lord of Day twitched—actually twitched as he turned to her again. “This…” he cleared his throat, shaking off a strange raspiness that had found its way into his throat. “This is more complicated than I thought. I’m afraid,” he gave her a sympathetic smile before glancing at Lucien again, “I’m going to have to…research this further.”

Elain looked at Lucien, who blinked as she met his stare, a similar clarity returning into his own. He coughed before he said to Helion, “Take your time.”

Helion nodded. “In the meantime…the library is yours to use. Have a pleasant evening—the sun will be setting soon.”

Elain watched with a frown as he hurried away, his steps echoing quietly through the corridor. Only when they faded away did Elain turn to Lucien. “What was—”

But Lucien had already disappeared into their chambers, he, too, seemingly eager to forget about everything and let sleep welcome him at last.

Elain sighed at the thought. It would appear sleep would not come for her as easily.

Not when, as she made way towards her adjoining room, her steps were carried by the sound of his heart, beating rapidly through the stone.

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @labellefleur-sauvage @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

[lucky-clover-gazette]

evil emails

1050 words | canon-compliant | vio & shadow

Per our previous conversations, I would like to again emphasize the initiative and skill V has shown since swearing allegiance to our cause. I am contacting you today to follow up on my request to offer him a permanent position as my

Shadow looks up at Vio, whose stupid hat bounces up and down as he gesticulates wildly. He might not fully understand whatever niche historical event has piqued Vio’s interest this week, but Shadow loves to listen all the same.

as my assistant

as my companion

as my official right-hand man.

Author's Note: This is not my usual type of fic, but I thought it would be interesting to try some things I haven't before. This little moment takes place during the canon manga events and is not as clearly ship-oriented as my other work for this fandom. The line between platonic and romantic is up to you to draw.

read it on ao3 or under the cut:

It's an unconventional arrangement, but it works.

"...so the thing about attempting the trials on Master Mode, is that the enemies are all scaled up but the weapons remain mostly the same. An exception is an additional Iron Sledgehammer on the fourth floor, but it's not even useful on the miniboss because it's scaled up to a Luminous Stone Talus, which is the only kind of Talus that doesn't take four-times damage from that weapon. It's just another thing that makes the trials so fundamentally dysfunctional, not to mention how the durability..."

Shadow balances the laptop on his knees and elevates his legs onto Vio's lap. Half-listening to the blonde’s interest of the day, he clicks on the keyboard with freshly-painted purple fingernails.

Hey Boss,

Shadow shakes his head and backspaces. Writing emails will always be a chore, but it was ten times worse before he had Vio around for background noise. He can’t really explain why it helps him so much—logically, it should probably distract him from his writing—but it boosts his efficiency and makes Vio happy, and those are two of Shadow’s main priorities these days.

“…and the sneakstrike chaining is really essential because—Shadow, did you hear that, I said the sneakstrike is essential—”

"I did," Shadow replies, raising a thumbs-up. "Sneakstrike chaining is essential because you can exploit it indefinitely.”

"Well, actually, on the tenth floor it's harder to pull off, because the lizalfos are by water…”

Shadow rolls his eyes with a smile, returning his attention to the screen.

Dear Lord Vaati,

I hope this message finds you well.

Truthfully he couldn’t care less, but with the request he’s about to make he needs the hackneyed salutation.

Progress is going well on Death Mountain. The Fire Temple has been prepared for the heroes’ arrival with more than enough time to spare.

"Two silver lizalfos, Shadow, that's insane! It's like, impossible to beat."

Shadow hums and meets Vio’s eyes. “But didn't the Hero beat it?"

"That's what the legends say, but I still have my doubts. I just don't understand…”

Per our previous conversations, I would like to again emphasize the initiative and skill V has shown since swearing allegiance to our cause. I am contacting you today to follow up on my request to offer him a permanent position as my

Shadow looks up at Vio, whose stupid hat bounces up and down as he gesticulates wildly. He might not fully understand whatever niche historical event has piqued Vio’s interest this week, but Shadow loves to listen all the same.

as my assistant

as my companion

as my official right-hand man.

“One historian postulates that the Hero could have cheated the tenth floor using campfires, but frankly I think that's absurd."

“You're absurd,” Shadow teases, and is promptly flipped off. He sticks out his tongue and opens his file explorer.

I have attached a document outlining Vio Violet Link's contributions over the past few months, as well as statements from the head of HR (Hinox Resources) and Big Poe. Please share this information with Lord Ganon in preparation for next week’s board meeting. I would like to secure my associate’s role in the organization before the end of this quarter.

Shadow hesitates—here comes the hard part.  

As strange as it may sound, V’s allegiance is essential to our continued success. His capability for manipulation is far beyond what we had anticipated, and at this moment the lesser heroes still believe him to be on their side. With this deceptive advantage in mind, I believe we could potentially take over Hyrule before this quarter’s end. Of course, once we have achieved our goal, V’s original purpose in the plan will be fulfilled.

I humbly ask insist that V’s life not only be spared, but also protected indefinitely, by the forces of evil. Violet Link is our proven ally, your faithful servant, and my associate accomplice

“… may have lots of health, but they also die instantly when they hit the water, so of course the strategy is to knock them off the tower, and—hey.”

Shadow feels a hand on his shoulder.

“What?” Shadow asks, his tone more irritated then intended.

Vio frowns, meeting his eyes. He places his free hand on Shadow’s knee, holding him steady. “You just started looking really worried there for a second. Not an emotion I’d normally associate with emails.”

Shadow shakes his head, mustering a smile. “Then you must not know much about emails.”

Vio doesn’t appreciate his joke.

“I’m okay,” Shadow assures him. “Just trying to figure out the right word for something.”

“Oh. All right. Do you want help with that?”

Hylia, no he does not. Shadow places his hand over Vio’s. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it.”

“Do you need some quiet, or do you want to hear more about…?”

“I want to hear it all.”

Vio seems surprised by Shadow’s response. “Thank you. I’m… still not used to hearing that.”

Shadow resents the world for ever making Vio feel unheard. It’s good, he supposes, that they’re going to destroy it together.  

So, he types:

Violet Link is our proven ally, your faithful servant, and my friend.

It may seen unprofessional to mention friendship in our correspondence, but I see it as assurance. I swear to take full responsibility for V’s actions—past, present, and future. I understand, of course, that there is always a possibility of his betrayal. In such case I

“…shock arrows in a treasure chest, but it might not be worth your—”

 “Vio,” Shadow interrupts, his hand hovering over the keyboard.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t apologi—you know what, we can talk about that later. I just have to ask… I can trust you, right? You’re devoted to the darkness forever?”

Vio blinks. “Why are you asking me this now?”

“I need you to say yes, and I need you to mean it.”

“Then I say yes. You can trust me. I’m devoted to the darkness forever.”

Shadow nods, strangely unsatisfied by his satisfaction.

In such case I swear to end his life myself.

It’s his most compelling argument yet.

“So anyway,” Vio says, his discomfort getting the best of him. “The final boss is a Hinox, actually, and—”

I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Shadow Link

[tonystarkbingo]

TSB Round 7 - Week 22-25!

Happy Holidays from the TSB crew! If you need a break from the chaos, take a minute (or a few days) with the fics below.

Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 7001 Square Filled: S5 - Tony x Happiness Title: Laugh Lines Link: Tumblr Pairings: Pepperony, Iron Family Word Count: 1003 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: domestic bliss, married life, slowly growing old together, grossing out your kid on purpose Summary: Pepper has spent years watching the subtle (and sometimes unsubtle) ways Tony's face has changed. This one is probably her favorite.

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Collaborator: endlesstwanted Card Number: 7010 Square Filled: T2 - Asking for trouble Title: Picking Love Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Word Count: 2095 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Modern: No Powers, Meet-Cute, Flirting, Minor Steve/Tony Summary: Tony takes Bucky to the farmers’ market as an excuse to meet with his new fling, but Bucky makes the best out of it with the idea to bake something for his sister’s birthday.

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Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Card Number: 7012 Square Filled: K3 - Piggy-back riding Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - November Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Loki & Tony Stark Word Count: 375 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Alpacas, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Time Shenanigans, Good Loki (Marvel), Tony Stark Lives Summary: "For Tony, it's another day at the lake house with Morgan and Gerald, his Alpaca.... Until in a manner of speaking, Gerald tells him that the world needs saving again. No really. Well... sort of."

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Collaborator: endlesstwanted Card Number: 7010 Square Filled: R5 - Protection Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - November Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Loki & Tony Stark Word Count: 390 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Time Shenanigans, Good Loki (Marvel) Summary: For Tony, it's another day at the lake house with Morgan and Gerald, his Alpaca.... Until in a manner of speaking, Gerald tells him that the world needs saving again. No really. Well... sort of.

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Collaborator: deehellcat Card Number: 7014 Square Filled: T5 - hurt/comfort Title: surpassing things we’ve known before, chap 1 Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony and Howard Stark Word Count: 2290 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Kid Tony Stark, Canon-Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Howard Stark’s Actual Good Parenting, at least he’s trying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary: Shattered by loss, little Tony and his father learn to hold on to each other for support, and start to construct a new family for themselves.

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Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Card Number: 7012 Square Filled: R1 - AU: Sci-fi/Futuristic Title: Of broken bonds, secret relationships, and mad scientists Link: AO3 Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes/Qui-Gon Jinn Word Count: 2149 Rating: Mature Major Tags/Triggers: Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Broken Force Bonds (Star Wars), Unhappy Ending, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Summary: Approximately 30 years ago, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn died on the planet Naboo. He was believed to be the first Jedi to die at the hands of the Sith in over a thousand years. While his death fixed the fates of Obi-Wan Kenobi and young Anakin Skywalker, it unknowingly set off a chain reaction that would lead to the rise of The Winter Soldier.

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Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Card Number: 7012 Square Filled: S1 - Holiday Fic Title: Of family, Hanukkah, and idiot ex-boyfriends Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve/Bucky Word Count: 1111 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: holiday fic, Hanukkah, Meet the Family, Jewish Darcy Lewis Summary: Darcy invited her boyfriend to meet her family over Hanukkah. It does not go well. It'll be a funny story by next Hanukkah.

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Collaborator: scottxlogan Card Number: 7017 Square Filled: A4 - Learning To Cook Title: The Beginning of the End (Chapter 2) Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Word Count: 15127 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Sexual Content, Swearing, Idiots in Love, Past Abuse, Two timelines, Age Difference, Beginnings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Adult Content, First Time, Holidays, Falling In Love, Holiday Decorations Summary: Bucky wants Tony. Tony wants Bucky, so why aren't they falling into each other's arms already? That's the question that's been on Tony's mind as Tony decides to create a mood for a special night Tony's convinced neither one of them is going to forget.

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Collaborator: scottxlogan Card Number: 7017 Square Filled: K5 - Tony/Clint Title: All in a Kiss Link: AO3 Pairings: Clint Barton/Tony Stark Word Count: 2519 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Idiots in Love, Holiday hijinks, Mistletoe, Secret Crush, Kissing, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Partners to Lovers Summary: Following a team up with Tony, Clint realizes he has a crush on his sexy teammate, but getting around to admitting to that isn't as easy as Clint hoped. When Clint makes a plan to capture Tony's attention, it winds up having some unexpected consequences along the way.

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Collaborator: tinystark616 Card Number: 7008 Square Filled: K2 - Asking for help Title: Keep Me Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 2300 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Angst with a Happy Ending, What if? Civil War, Earth-10208 Summary: Tony can't stop fighting for the Registration Act, but he also can't keep fighting Steve. He has a plan to end the war, but he needs Steve's help. Set in Earth-10208, the universe where Steve and Tony actually do talk and work things out, and everything ends well.

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Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 7001 Square Filled: K3 - Pepperony Title: Strictly Ornamental Link: Tumblr Pairings: Pepperony, Iron Family Word Count: 363 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Christmas fluff, Stark family, humor Summary: Tony is doing some last-minute (see also: forgotten) gift-wrapping while Pepper tries to keep their baby out of the Christmas tree.

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Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 7001 Square Filled: A2 - Avengers Compound Title: Gingerbread, Cocoa, and Coffee Link: Tumblr Pairings: Bucky & Tony Word Count: 395 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Christmas fluff and humor Summary: Tony tries to pull one over on Bucky, who is (unsurprisingly) not fooled. Also, there's a real big gingerbread house.

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[undeniablespice]

Alright, what’s up with the waves come.

😈 that one is the lannyfic, actually! a canon-compliant story all about alannys harlaw from girlhood to adwd, exploring the kind of person she is and diving deep into her tenure as lady greyjoy and queen of the isles. it’s focused on her relationships with motherhood, wifehood, and most importantly herself, and it’s going to be an excuse for me to dump all of my iron islands lore and myths in the background of a story about a woman we know really nothing about, except that she raised her daughter to be bold. featuring things like: coming of age, That Queer Farwynd Blood, pederasty (sorry rodrik), balon greyjoy being an actual human man instead of a withered caricature (ironbros hate this), attempted murder-suicide, and the inherently romantic feminine nature of a cruel and bountiful ocean as the source of all human life

the title comes from a laura marling song called What He Wrote. the full lyric is And the waves came and stole him and took him to war, which is how alannys loses most of the men in her life one way or another

i’ve tentatively planned six chapters: Lanny of Harlaw, The Seastone Bride, Lady Greyjoy, Queen of Salt and Rock, Mother Deep, and The Ghost in Ten Towers

excerpt below from the very beginning of greyjoy’s rebellion, featuring my strongest and most delusional of wifeguy balon thoughts:

“Take heart, wife,” Balon rumbles, removing the thick bronze torc from around her neck. His hands are strong and cold against her skin, gooseflesh prickling her bare throat. “You are to be a queen.”

From within his great sealskin robe he produces a new necklace, a long chain of gold links and black pearls that he winds around her throat and closes with a kiss on the top of her head.

He steps back to admire his work, dark eyes devouring her head to toe and lingering on the new trophy shining against her collarbones. His mouth twitches into something that could almost be a smile, and Alannys nearly weeps at the sight of it. How long has it been since he last smiled? When Asha took up throwing axes? When he gave Maron his first sword?

It is not happiness that moves Balon’s face. It is pride, satisfaction, lust. His fingers find their way back to her, and soon her dress is pooling on the floor, Balon draping himself over her nakedness and keeping one hand wrapped around her nape as he takes her.

He likes to see her wearing his prizes. Alannys can only imagine how hungry he is for the sight of her in a crown.

[tsukuyomii45]

Ok, what would be the interaction between male!Rin and Warlord fem!Obito?

Considering that she is more crazy than her male counterpart. I’m very interested how would they act around one another.

It wouldn't be too different from this previous ask in terms of reaction and feelings, because honestly it's just going to be repetitive.

However we can dive in a little more into fem!Obito's crazy side.

!! TW: Dark Themes !!

So, when male!Rin asks fem!Obito why she didn't return and what happened to her, fem!Obito does not reply until she hears Rin say that she is the hero of Konoha, to which fem!Obito would just laugh cynically at those words.

"A hero, you say? Or is that another word for pawn in their little game of using children to fight their wars?"

Rin would be taken aback by those words, and fem!Obito would go on to say that she truly has no interest in this meaningless world that only breeds evil and bloodspilling (canon compliant).

Which is very ironic given that when Obito has turned insane, she would develop a sense of sadism towards her enemies and would enjoy torturing them before killing them off.

Some time during the battle between Naruto, Gai, B and Kakashi, fem!Obito would sneak up behind Rin and throw her arms around his neck, playfully saying"Peek-a-Boo!" before sucking him into her Kamui dimension. Given that male!Rin would land on the ground due to being unable to hold his balance, Obito would teleport in front of him and straddle his lap, and shamelessly profess her love for him in that soft, sultry voice as she softly cups his face.

See, because male!Rin felt the same way for her back then, he would look at her conflictingly with pain in his eyes as he says, "If you did love me, this wouldn't be you."

Fem!Obito's demeanor would then switch to anger, her tone would be sharper, and her soft caress would turn into a rough grip, where she says, "You have no idea what I've been through. You didn't see the world as I did."

She then gets off of Rin and looks down at him with an expression that's a blend of an icy yet seething rage. "I know everything. I saw everything. I watched you die, and I was too powerless to save you. And yet you still think that I would carry on and remain the same after holding your cold, lifeless body in my arms?"

Male!Rin would tell her that it's Madara that's manipulating her, and he knows that the Obito he always knew and love is still in there.

This would drive fem!Obito into shock and tears, and she would then say, "Even if that's true..it doesn't matter anymore..."

She would teleport male!Rin out of the dimension after that, and male!Rin is just more convinced that she's manipulated by Madara for his own means because he managed to exploit her emotions.

Fem!Obito woudl then turn her attention to fem!Kakashi, who tries to reason with her, but fem!Obito would literally take out her anger on her and tie up her chains around her and throw her around while she laughs. "I've been wanting to do this for so long." After beating the shit out of fem!Kakashi and dragging her around, she would then pull fem!Kakashi back to her, and then grab her on a chokehold and stab her abdomen with her sword, making sure it pierces all the way through the back, and she would tilt her head with a wide grin as she says, "Ring a bell?" before throwing her to the side and stepping over her body, much to the horror of Rin and everyone else.

~~

That's all for now. Honestly, anything else would just be very repetitive, lol

[melancholic-hues]

i loved you from the start

posted on AO3

kafblade week 2024: prompt - first meeting

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - blade/kafka

tags- kafblade week 2024 ; first meetings ; canon compliant

word count - 823 words

-

He stumbles into the deserted, empty town square, breathing ragged, clothing and mind alike in shambles.

He cannot remember what day it is.

He cannot remember his name.

He cannot remember how he got here.

All that remains in his mind and soul is the burning flame of hate.

To the woman in icy blue and a blindfold who’d impaled him over and over again as he rose from the dead each time, carving the words: “ of five people, three must pay a price ” into his every wound, not letting him forget. 

To the man with black hair and wields that cursed spear, to whom he has dedicated his life — however many times he resurrects, gasping for breath and hands clawing for the stability he will never get  — to pursue. Making sure they both pay the price forced upon them. He has long since forgotten why the pursuit was necessary, except for the boiling rage and vengeance that bubbled up every time he thought of that man.

The broken rock crunches underneath his boots, and he is met by two figures. A woman with wine-red hair and sunglasses on top of her head. Next to her stands a hulk of armor.

Before they can say or do anything, he lets the monster overtake him and draws his sword.

-

There is the faint taste of iron in his mouth and crimson in his sight. He cannot move, his limbs stiff and numb. 

He must’ve died.

His head snaps up, eyes cracking open and gulping for air. He coughs, liquid dripping down the corners of his mouth and shoulders shaking. His arms are binded behind him, and he is on his knees, the sharp pieces of broken concrete digging into his skin and cutting him, only to be immediately healed.

He jerks forward, the monster in him ravenous and desperate, but the cold metal arms that chain him does not falter.

The woman steps forward, dragging a blade the same color as her hair behind her, and he is hefted up but still imprisoned. Everything rushes back to him. He had drawn his sword against them and lost. They had killed him and waited for his body to heal to talk to him. What do they want?

He stares at the woman, into her hypnotizing magenta eyes.

“ Listen ,” she says, and his entire body stills.

He is frozen in his spot, deprived of any self will except to focus on this woman’s words and to obey her every command. This is different from the other times someone had tried to placate him. This monster inside of him has never quelled, yet this woman’s gentle voice had calmed it with one word.

“I can always kill you again, otherwise I can’t bring you back.” She steps in front of him, her every action calm and collected and elegant. What is a woman like this doing in front of a mindless, revenge-filled beast like him? Her voice is honey and glue, and he is stuck holding onto every word she says.

“But I don’t want to.”

The woman leans down next to his ear and he has to resist the urge to shiver. She whispers everything he had ever wanted.

It is a deal he can’t refuse.

“What do you people want?” he rasps, his own voice hoarse and nothing like hers.

“Is there anything more satisfying than seeing how the undying die? That's what he said,” she answers, wry amusement in her tone.

He doesn’t respond. He has seen very pretty women throughout all his lives, but there is something especially captivating about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself. Maybe it's her unique appearance.

The woman nods, and the armor that binds him releases him. He stumbles forward a step then catches himself. He spots his sword, shattered to pieces, laying on the crumbling concrete ground a few paces away.

He picks it up, and the blade repairs itself. He returns it to its sheath. He does not have fond memories of this weapon, only those filled with agony and pain that are reverberated through the wounds on his body.

This… Destiny figure is up ahead, and he will be leaving with them. His hands don't leave the sheath.

“ Listen , Bladie, loosen up.”

Her honeyed voice washes over him and pulls on his strings. He is a mere puppet in her presence. His hands drop to his side. His shoulders relax, and the tenseness leaves his body. It drains out of him like water.

The woman has given him a name. Bladie — a nickname for Blade. Fitting, perhaps.

“ Listen , don’t think about anything at all.”

He nods.

The woman walks to his side, a smile on her lips. Yet, he thinks her smile looks very sad.

Maybe someone left her before they could listen to everything she had to say, he thinks.

Blade decides right there, then, he will listen to everything she says.

[modstarfell]

Canon compliant writing. ch3 spoilers, from trial to execution (POV: Kanade Otonokoji)

As the crow spoke I couldn't help but feel a chill go down my spine. Ironic isn't it? I set up this entire plan yet even I fear the consequences of this. No matter, my sisters reaction was way more fruitful then mine. Running away from a death yet again, this time her own death. Seeing that despair on her face... Something about it made me just grin. "Don't worry Hibiki, if we're going down we're at least going down together like twins do!" My face contorted into a tooth-grinning smile and my sister just started hurling more insults at me. Trying to back away even from me, her younger sister. I don't get it. Why won't she just love me for once?! We're about to be sentenced to death and I'm trying to comfort her! I did... I DID THIS FOR YOU HIBIKI DAMN YOU! You think I want to die either?! Ghk- There was a similar chain to the one that Makunouchi had on his neck now on mine and my sister. Suddenly we were both yanked away from the trial room together by the crow. My Hibiki was shaking. She was so confused, I could see it in her face. She didn't know if she should cling to me and ask me for help or hate me more. It's cute... To think these expressions are the ones you're dying with. Suddenly we were sitting on a stage together with a chain cuff around both of our necks. There was a key hole in the front of the collar. Connected behind it was a chain linking me and Hibiki... One of us is going to die anyways then. I stared in front of me looking at the podium with a key. "Live only one." If the others didn't get to survive their execution, what the hell makes us so different? I don't care about that damn key, I just want to watch my sister. My sister. Hibiki Otonokoji. My Hibiki. I couldn't help but let out a laugh at the thought. A light went off above us signaling the execution start and Hibiki began making a run for the key. I watched as the chain began moving with her, I had to stop her. At this rate, I'll be choked before I even knew it was over! I fell to the ground and pulled Hibiki down to the ground with me. If I can't have her I can at least keep her from leaving me! I watched her pull out the microphone from her pocket, I knew she still had it but I wasn't expecting her to do anything with it... Suddenly I felt her hit it into my head. My hearing went a bit from the sudden impact. She bashed it into my skull, no doubt there's bleeding but god it hurt. My Hibiki... She was really willing to hurt her loving, caring sister that did everything for her? I had to let her go, it hurt too much. As she continued marching forward I was pulled up from the ground by the chain, I tried to give myself more breathing room by holding onto my collar. I was going to suffocate at this rate! Trying to save as much breath as I could, things we're getting wosey though. My sight was struggling and I couldn't hear anymore. The melody they were playing in the background had completely gone to a blind ring tone for me. Hibiki grabbed the key from the podium and unlocked her collar. That's what was supposed to happen. Before I realized it, I fell to the stage again and stared up at my sisters face. Haah... I did it... I outlived my sister, she died by her own means! Her head sat there in a look of surprise and dumbfounded expression! It felt... PERFECT. Even with my blurry vision, I was able to make out Hibiki's expression with ease. My dear Hibiki... This is a face only I'll be able to see till the end of my life. The lighting in the room turned red after a moment. I knew death was coming for me. After all, who would accept an execution where only one person died if there were two culprits? What I wasn't expecting though was for the stage to drop below me. Despite fighting for my last breath, I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I let out one final laugh as I stared at Hibiki's face, letting my last breath be taken from laughter and the collar getting tighter. This, this death is an art I can accept. Before I knew it, I lost sight of my senses and things faded to black...

[livia-dovehallow]

more gabrily fluff - lucie admires her uncle and aunt

i wrote this so long ago while writing all my "missing gabrily scenes from chain of iron" pieces just after i finished the book and now they get to see the light of day

“The way he looks at her is so romantic,” said Lucie quietly.

Anna hummed beside her, pretending to be uninterested, but there was a small smile on her face. “Father is devastatingly in love with Mother,” she said, picking at her nails as her chosen method of feigned disinterest. “I wager he looks at her like that all the waking hours of every day, wouldn’t you say, Kit?”

“What?” Christopher looked up from his notebook, his glasses one sharp move away from falling off his face. “Oh, yes, Father and Mother. She’s been in here all night.”

Lucie could only observe wistfully, and brokenheartedly, at the look of pure love and adoration Uncle Gabriel gave Aunt Cecily as she rose from his side to pour him a glass of water from the nearby pitcher. Lucie could not recall any moment in her life that her uncle ever looked at her aunt with anything other than pure affection. Even when he looked at her with exasperation, as she was indeed still a Herondale by blood, there was affection. “Your aunt is the only one for me,” Uncle Gabriel had told Lucie one day when she was young and asked a great many questions about love. “I love her very much.”

“Mother was very frightened,” Anna added to Christopher’s comment. She flicked aside an imaginary piece of dirt from underneath her fingernail and stood straight. “She is just as in love with him and he is with her. I can’t imagine what would have happened if we’d lost him.”

“I thought you did not believe in love?” Matthew asked blankly behind them. Lucie jumped slightly—she had forgotten Matthew was there at all.

Anna only shrugged. “In most cases, yes. Love is a drug that can only cause you misery. But what my parents have is something else, I think. Something that cannot be explained with words.” She turned to Matthew. “You thought I wouldn’t believe in my parent’s love? I wouldn’t exist if their love wasn’t real. Neither would Kit or Alex.”

Kit, who had not been listening, perked up at his name. “What ho? I don’t exist?”

Anna ruffled his hair affectionately. “Sometimes it seems you do not, dear Kit,” she said. “Come along. I’m sure Father wants to see us.”

[altairs-rambles]

I feel like everyone should have their ocs heard at least once SO DO TELL MORE I haven’t interacted with u that much but I may reveal who I am hehehe

∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃) someone wants to hear about my OCs? Really?

I have many OCs (kinda) (not really)! I'll only talk about Enstars first bc much to say about each of them so this is gonna be a loooong ramble already!! I apologize in advance for my possibly incoherent essay(s)

First up, Kiyoko!

She used to be a Yuguysona back when I was in the NijiEN rabbithole, but bc I was too attached to her design to toss/scrap him, I brought him into the Enstars Universe! Kiyoko was meant to stay as like- my self insert/persona in Enstars? But they eventually kinda deviated from that and became her own character!

Uhhh as you can see I've been running around she/he/they for Kiyoko, and that's because he's gender fluid! Why? Because I am a mess about my own gender and creating/tweaking Kiyoko was a way for me to explore that area. Now they're my gender goals + I am very down bad for her ✨

Just like my other soon-to-be-rambled-about OCs, this blueberry is a very tragic little creature - she has one or two problems from my life mixed in with the hundreds of problems from the Ensemble Stars Universe. Relatively nice family, once bullied, has a friend in a coma, swings between being compliant to being stubborn, overthinks and overworks, is a very tired child... Yeah! The usual~ A third year student in Yumenosaki, who sneaked in as a male in the first year with the help of some teachers, but now others knowing she's afab doesn't get him kicked out either so 👏👏👏 went solo for a while before the mess in the war, so they picked up a teammate/friend by being weirdly philosophical and whimsical on the roof of the school 👍! Kiyoko is very passionate about the idea of freedom thanks to The War in Enstars aksnksnskd

What's ironic about him is that she's the leader of a unit whose theme is "freedom", yet mentally she's as free as a dove in an undersized cage. Kiyoko keeps going on and on about how people need the freedom to choose (as long as it doesn't harm others) and yet never gives himself that freedom due to fear of making another mistake that would snowball into a devastating consequence (see: friend in coma).

Anyway! We have very similar fashion sense/styles, which is over-the-top-accessorizing! I have no explanation for this other than: I really like earrings and chains and chokers and rings and boots and shiny silver bits and looking good in general! We both really like singing too, just that I have stage fright despite performing on stage for 10years (school). Aaaaand we're both sleepy babies we can and will curl up anywhere on the grass floor cement ground and sleep 😴

All these lead to funny little scenarios between her and other characters, mostly when they randomly trip over him/catch her knocked out in the middle of hallways (all these scenarios happened in my head).

Um. I think that's it for him sorry it's so long for the first one orz

Oh one more thing! I suffer from being a Kiyoko fan bc I'm the only source of art for them but I have little to no motivation to draw 😭

Aaaaand that's a wrap! Next one, Ai!

(apparently her file isn't on my phone so I only have her picrew + pencil drawing)

Sunshine of Kiyoko's unit, Wing5! Formerly a solo idol who failed after debut, she was scouted out by New Di/Kiyoko/Tsumugi to be part of Wing5. She's a strong vocalist, often pairing with Kiyoko to take on the melody of their songs, hence the ship name "Songbirds" (That ship is like fan speculation? It's not entirely canon unless I want it to be)

In terms of appearance, Ai and I look the most similar thanks to our front bangs ✨ Her hair is all purple, she just dyed her side bangs to match her eyes! Also since every OC has a piece of their creator's soul, she has my extroverted side! She's a bumbling 20 year old or so - think "wine aunt" vibes!

Ai's actually very insecure though, due to her failure as a solo idol. She may be cheeky, but she's very sensitive to others' emotions and tries her best not to push them to the limit in case they decide to abandon her because of whatever antics she's up to, or because she's not good enough. Imposter syndrome too, maybe?

I think she needs to be babied more she's always taking care of others... Mom of Wing5™️ old

Next! Uhhhh what was her name... Yurika!!

Resident tryhard emo and chronically online child, her strength lies more in marketing, video editing etc. more than performing onstage! Despite being paired with Akari (who will be rambled about next) due to her dance, Yurika is more widely recognized as Wing5's rapper.

She's the shortest in Wing5! ++ An albino, which is why all Wing5 performances are usually done indoors/at night outdoors to prevent aggravating her condition (I opened so many tabs for this but I've forgotten so much I'm sorry if anything isn't accurate). Her left eye is also affected by... Something which the name I can't remember- it affects albinos and causes their vision to be blurry, even with glasses. Yurika just needs glasses in general bc she has been sitting in front of the PC for so long sknskdnd

Our similarities... Being online like 24/7? She has a worse sleep schedule than me though bwahahaa ✨ We both also melt. Like. Absolutely melt into nothingness whenever we're presented with affection. (At least I think I would...?)

Her ship with Akari is. Canon. I will not hear arguments I created them!! 🙉 They've been traveling/living together for a few years before Wing5, when Yurika was 15 and Akari was 18, bc their families are close friends and Yurika's family decided it was time to kick her out of her dark gloomy room to see the world with Akari, who was going around Japan to look for jobs as a dancer! When Akari landed a job, they had to continue travelling to follow the idol around on his/her concerts as a backup dancer, and Yurika stuck with Akari throughout the years until they landed in Wing5~ it's like the "omg they were roommates" situation! She's very prickly with everyone else aside from Akari, especially Kiyoko bc they have severely clashing opinions from time to time lmao

Bonus: She uses her name as a pun for "Eureka" so it sounds like "this is an Eureka moment!" but it practically means 'this is Yurika's moment!'

I never thought I'd say so much about Yurika but I will speak more about her in the next ramble about her wife girlfriend, Akari!

Heads up, Akari's transfem! She transitioned before + during her travels with Yurika, but doesn't feel completely female? An imbalanced in-between, like a tomboyish girl! And that's why she's the tallest in Wing5, bc hormones- By male standards, she's softer and more feminine, but by female standards she's a little too masculine. Gender who?

Tragically, she doesn't have a family other than her little brother (to be rambled about next), whom she is very protective about. She was taken care of by Yurika's family until 15 when she moved to school dorms while her brother remained with Yurika's family, then after graduation she came back to bring Yurika around Japan at her family's request.

They do return Yurika's feelings towards them, though Akari needed time to sort her own emotions out after Yurika's confession because they had never really thought of having a partner? Akari just felt comfortable and safe and at home with Yurika, that's all. So yeah they were disaster gays at some point before officially starting their relationship as lovers!

Akari is really hostile towards Kiyoko, though she displays it mostly in a passive-aggressive way. Why? Bc they blame Kiyoko for what happened to her little brother 😔 Will be explained soon!

Akari's name used to be Akira! This is a coincidence that it happens to be the Enstars story writer's name, I didn't know until a while after creating Akari 😅

Next, Hikari!

<tbc sorry i gotta go celebrate CNY TwT> I will be back soon~

[edwinspaynes]

i plan during christmas to attempt to read all your canon compliant ffs alongside my reread of the TLH. Have you by chance made a reading guide of when best to read each before x and y chapter?

Oh.... oh wow. First of all, no idea what to say - I cannot believe that someone likes my fic this much, enough to read it alongside the TLH canon. I'm really emotional about this. Idk why. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Most of my fics are set post-canon. I'll try to list out their order, though, if you want. This list is for my canon-compliant, TLH-related fics only per your request.

It would take me forever to go through things and link them, so you can find links to all the fics in my pinned posts.

Thomastair Matthew Matthew & Alastair/Thomas Other

Forces & Flowers

A Combination of Shock and Awe

Empty Bottles, Heavy Hearts, the Memories of Broken Dreams

CHAIN OF GOLD

Part-Time Soulmate, Full-Time Problem

CHAIN OF IRON

CHAIN OF THORNS

Prices & Vices (I End Up in Crisis)

Your Flower's Filled With Vitriol

The Golden Age of Something Good and Right and Real

The Name We Give Our Mistakes (it has both pre-canon and post-canon content as well as during-canon content, long-form fic)

Across Our Great Divide, There Is a Glorious Sunrise

Summer Went Away (Still the Yearning Stays)

The Cheap Severity of Abstract Ethics

Passed Down Like Folk Songs (The Love Lasts So Long)

Taffy Stuck & Tongue Tied

A Therapeutic Chain of Events (contains both pre-canon and post-canon content)

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Dreamscapes on the Wall

I'm a Fire and I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm

The Diaries of Sir Thomas Lightwood, Age 14

A Dazzling Haze, A Mysterious Way About You

In the Gutter, Looking at the Stars

all of you, all of me (intertwined)

a dwindling mercurial high (contains a lot of pre-canon flashbacks, but this is about where the Thomastair parts would chronologically fall)

The Crown You Can Never Take Off

Flying in a Dream, Stars by the Pocketful

Bloodsucker, Famefucker

The Surprise

Every Tear's a Rain Parade From Hell

Baby, You Got Lucky 'Cause You're Rockin' With the Best

Days Future: Paris 1912

Moonlight Sonata and I

A Ribbon of Dream (contains scenes across several decades, but it's one of my favourites and I'm choosing to end with it since the last chapter is chronologically last)

I didn't include the Matthew Fairchild: An Expert in Romantics series. You can read those whenever you want for fun. :)

[ofaflower]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍 : 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍

Reposted from an old blog. This canon is compliant to 2009 films by Guy Ritchie. However, there are canon divergencies detailed below. This is written with a base understanding of the events of the films.

Mary Morstan was raised in an Orphanage, but around the age of fourteen she was hired to be a “domestic servant” in a house for a Banker and his family. While she was there, the eldest child, who was close to her age, took a shine to her and taught her how to read and write, how to do math — all while she was helping their governess and maid with their jobs.

The family realised Mary was a bright young thing who learned quickly and had become an asset to the daily life over time, and eventually increased her pay by a small margin and gave her more duties before she was taken under the wing of their Governess to learn all the skills she would need to take the position when she retired a few years later. Mary worked as the house’s governess for a period as the youngest of the family’s children became of age. When the eldest daughter asked Mary to come to Bath with her, as he had married and was expecting a child, she decided she didn’t want to leave the city now that she had the skills and experience to work on her own terms. The country felt so dull, and while she was very grateful to the Lady — she knew there were limited options down that path.

Mary remained in London, moving from house to house every few years until wealthy children sent their sons to school and their daughters needed more refined guidance and lessons she couldn’t provide. She eventually settled in the home of (ironically) another Banker where she bonded with the family quite well. The family had money to afford her, but not high society enough for them to eventually require finer study. It seemed like she had herself set up nicely for a few years. Four years prior to meeting her future husband, Mary had been in love with another man. A professor at her charges’ school had taken a shine to her, and her to him. At first, she had been wary about following this — but her heart won out and the two began courting. After a year he proposed to her and she accepted.

Her happiness was short lived as he was in an accident three months later, they had been waiting until the spring to get married — which meant she not only lost her husband-to-be but she had very little legal claim to the things he wanted her to have. She wore her ring for a year afterwards — before finally taking it off her finger and keeping it on a chain around her neck where it remained for a while.

She was hesitant to accept John Watson, whom she had met on the train by chance one day, but he had been understanding and patient once she had told him her story. Insisting he did not wish to replace her late fiancé, just also love her as well. At which, Mary finally allowed herself to accept him courting her.

Shortly before his proposal to Mary, Watson arranged a dinner with her and Holmes to introduce him to his fiancée, a meeting which Holmes had been desperately trying to avoid. Initially Mary was friendly and very interested in Holmes’ skills, admitting that she was a devotee of detective novelists such as Wilkie Collins and Edgar Allan Poe. She is skeptical, however, about the protagonists’ abilities to make such grand assumptions from such tiny details. Holmes argues against her, that in fact the smallest details are sometimes the most important. To prove his point, he uses Watson’s cane – a rare African snakewood hiding a blade, which was awarded to some veterans of the Afghan War – to deduce that he was a decorated soldier, and from that that he is strong, brave, neat, and a man of action. Then, in a barb against Watson, deduces from a boxing match ticket stub in his pocket that Watson is a bit of a gambler, and warns Mary to watch her dowry because he’s lost the rent more than once.

Mary nonetheless remains unconvinced because of the pair’s long friendship, and things go sour when against Watson’s advice she insists he examine her. Holmes starts off by deducing that she is a governess and that her student, who is tall for his age, flicked ink at her that day, and that her level-headed response persuaded the lady of the house to let her borrow her jewellery. He next realizes from a missing ring that she had previously been engaged; however, he upsets her by deducing she left her fiancé for money, when in truth he had died. Angrily, she throws her drink in Holmes’ face and leaves the restaurant, followed by Watson.

Despite this bad first impression, Mary sees how much Holmes cares for Watson, when he pretends to be a doctor in order to visit Watson whilst on the run. She also comes to grow fond of him in her own way, while still wishing to maintain boundaries – but thinking of the chap as a friend she cared for greatly, even if he pushed her. Proven by her Honeymoon being disrupted by the man himself, bringing danger into their lives once more and derailing their plans. She was tossed from the train, but landed safely in the company of Mycroft Holmes whom she got on with to her surprise after an interesting start.

Her love of mysteries and literature, as well as her studies and teachings, made her the perfect fit when Holmes sent her and Mycroft the secret of Moriarty’s dealings and decoded it for the police. An action which led to his property being detained and an arrest for him ordered. Of course, she never imagined what would happen next. The death of Sherlock Holmes rocked them greatly, her heart going to her husband who grieved tremendously. All she can do now, is help him as much as she can and guide them as they begin their married life together… even if she sometimes misses the man too.

This specific verse is compliant to the Guy Ritchie series of films, for a more book based Victorian verse, as well as the version of Mary used for BBC muses - please see the Classic Novels version of Mary.

[ao3feed-danganronpa]

Throne

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2hMK0WT

by w4nderlust

Izuru Kamukura is a king on his throne, a cruel tyrant who spares no mercy for those he crushes under his iron fist. Nagito Komaeda is just his court jester. That’s how it’s always been; master and servant, owner and pet.

 “Do you ever think about killing me?”

“No.” It comes out so fast that it’s sure to be a lie. Izuru knows it’s a lie. Servant knows he knows. “Of course not,” he says, a bit slower.

Izuru winds his chain around his hand one more time, keeping him close enough to feel his breath on his face. “How would you do it?” There is no hint of amusement on his face, no smirk or smile, no lighthearted glint in his eyes. This is not a joke, Servant realizes, and he has to answer.

So Servant clears his throat and murmurs, “with my hands.”

Words: 4173, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dangan Ronpa Series, Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kamukura Izuru, Komaeda Nagito

Relationships: Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito

Additional Tags: Despair Era (Dangan Ronpa), Canon Universe, Canon Compliant, Trans Male Character, Trans Kamukura Izuru, Komaeda Nagito As The Servant, Morbid, Collars, Choking, ? - Freeform, Threats of Violence, Rough Kissing, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Riding, Smut, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Hand Jobs, Edging (if you squint), Neck Kissing, Overstimulation, talks of killing each other, there isn’t a tag for poetic descriptions of murder is there, nobody actually dies but they talk about killing each other, Mental Instability, Unhealthy Relationships, Post-Coital Cuddling, maybe if you squint they’re cuddling but idk, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Master/Servant, nagito still has both of his actual hands by this point in time

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2hMK0WT