#impractical magic au

[bloomeng]

everyone mourn my batman in a skirt designs you will be missed (ignore the roughness)

[funsizedcrow]

ok my goal is to finish these zelda designs before my birthday in march. ive got 9/16 done this is doable

[gobleann]

Lizzie thinks she's just being helpful and practical, meanwhile Sylus is ready to take a bullet for her in the next 0.3 seconds.

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God this fairy / Pixie Hollow cannot stop invading my mind istg. Especially with the recent SPRING AND FLOWERS UPDATES IM LIKE AUGHHHH. A/N do you want more of these au or at least a summary of it because I NEED TO YAP

In the the meantime enjoy something I write specifically for this au te he

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The brooch. Bent, battered, had once been tossed aside into some alley, half-lost in the dust and mud. The vest, a relic from his younger years, had long since been folded away, too small for him now. He had half a mind to offer it to Luke or Kieran, maybe in that stiff, untouchable way bosses did when they couldn't say he care.

But this feeling? This feeling wasn’t old.

Sylus stood tall and unreadable, the perfect portrait of Bleakwatch authority. Another day. Another shipment of pixie dust from Neverland. Another tedious battle to ration and guard it, stone by stone, grain by grain. Centuries of sweat, negotiations, sacrifices and now, maybe, just maybe. Bleakwatch would finally earn its own dust tree. A fragile hope he couldn't allow himself to believe in yet.

"PIXIE DELIVERY! COMING RIGHT UP!"

The voice shattered through the heavy air, bright and blinding as the sun cutting through the Great Bridge canopy.

Sylus’s eyes lifted. He shouldn't stare. He really shouldn't. But he did.

He watched the flutter of her skirt, the tumble of fabric cradled in her arms, the way the wild, tangled roots and ancient magic of Bleakwatch bent around her as though this place had been waiting all along for someone exactly like her to exist. And she fit so effortlessly it made something in his chest twist and tear.

As Lizzie swooped down from the air, grinning that grin, that infuriating, impossible grin. Sylus felt his world crack at the edges, one silent hairline fracture at a time.

And then he saw it. The outfit. Gone were the crinkling, impractical Neverland leaf uniforms.

Instead, she wore his old vest. Snug, stitched to fit her stubborn spirit. The brooch he'd once mourned, his battered, forgotten insignia, pinned proudly against her chest, gleaming like a vow. And boots. Boots tough enough to stomp through even the worst of Bleakwatch’s mud and smoke.

"Also you're right," Lizzie continued, pushing her glasses up her nose, completely unaware of the existential crisis she was causing, "these outfits are way more practical than the leaves—so you better stop complaining, alright?"

Sylus’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nothing. Not a single coherent word survived the impact.

These things —

These stupid, fragile, human things —

He recognized every piece annd they anchored her to him in a way that no ceremony, no decree, no oath ever could.

Somewhere just behind him, he was certain he heard Luke and Kieran exchange a silent, painful Look™.

Sylus stared so hard his brain folded itself neatly into a single repeated thought: Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.

And Lizzie... She kinda seen it. Seen the way the tips of his ears flushed red when she buttoned the vest. Seen the way his wings stuttered the second she smiled at him. A real smile, like light rain given form.

She was giving him time. Maybe even waiting for him to catch up.

When she moved closer, reaching up. fingertips brushing his collar in a slow, deliberate adjustment. Sylus swore something inside him shattered cleanly and rebuilt itself around her.

"You look good," Lizzie said softly, as if it wasn’t the most earth-splitting thing she'd ever said.

Sylus’s heart slammed against his ribs. He inhaled sharply, clinging to whatever scrap of sanity he had left.

"Y-You finally took my advice," he managed, voice rough, too honest.

[pseudospaceship]

I'm so close to done with the Mummy AU fic you guys. SO CLOSE. Have a teaser, as a treat.

They came to the door. It was heavy stone, carved edge to edge with reliefs indecipherable in the flickering light of the magic. Now wasn’t the time for rubbings. Maybe he could get a small one before they took their leave back to Nevarra City, just as further proof of his find to tempt the Mourn Watch. Rook directed her light to the seam between the door and the wall. “I can’t tell which side it swings from.” “Neither, I should think,” said Emmrich, and gave the door a magic-loaded tap with his staff. It began to sink into the floor. “Cartavan and Moll found many of these at their sites on the eastern side of the Plains. There’s a pocket into the Fade across the floor into which the stone descends, although it will return on its own after a few minutes. Impractically showy—why not just build a door?—but the Inghirsh seemed to like them in their temples.” “That’s dangerous,” Rook said flatly. “Oh, I agree. But they’re small enough gaps that they don’t seem to draw the attention of anything on the other side.” He sent his light into the adjoining space and threw out his arms to block his companions when it burst into sparkling pieces that fell and faded and… illuminated. The room was fully lit now, as if by a dozen mirrored lanterns. The shadows played along the walls suggesting a source in the center of the room, but no lantern or chandelier hung there. Varric breathed amazement. “That seems like something we should not do again, yes?” Emmrich didn’t hear him. He was approaching the sarcophagus at the center of the chamber.

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (31/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~6k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21-30 | ch. 31 - blue dress on a boat

This fic turns two years old today! I deeply appreciate everyone reading, commenting, and kudos-ing, but I'm especially blown away by the people who've been sticking around since the very beginning. So many of my "regulars" have gone from nice internet strangers to people I'm so lucky to call friends. I love you all!

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the thirty-first chapter below the readmore.

The slight chill of the air in Velaris gave away to dry, suffocating heat. Bright sun glinted off a turquoise sea, and the cooling breeze off the water did little to make the platform where we stood any more comfortable.

We'd emerged right at the base of a tan stone palace. It sat atop a mountain, not unlike the palace of moonstone I'd never visited but knew existed above the Hewn City.

High Lords and their affinity for elevated abodes, I supposed. Rhys, at least, had wings. But as far as I knew, Tarquin couldn't fly, so it seemed like an odd, impractical choice to me.

It did, however, look just like the illustrations I'd seen in the books on the Summer Court I'd devoured in the library, the layout of the mountain-island at the center of the half-moon bay identical to the maps I'd poured over.

But reading hadn't prepared me for the sight of so many ships—ferries and merchant vessels and barges and yachts. Or the squawking gulls overhead and the distant hum of a crowded, bustling city.

A half dozen or so people waited for us, framed by a pair of sea glass doors that opened into the palace itself. On our little balcony, there was no option to escape—no path out but winnowing away…or going through those doors. Or, I supposed, the plunge awaiting us to the red roofs of the fine houses a hundred feet below.

"Welcome to Adriata," said the tall male in the center of the group.

I remembered him from Under the Mountain. Even if I could forget that rich brown skin, white hair, and eyes of crushing, turquoise blue, I still had the occasional nightmare of the party where he'd been forced to watch as Rhys invaded his courtier's mind then snuffed out his life.

Rhys had lied. But sometimes my mind conjured up a version of events where Amarantha had seen the mercy killing for what it was. On those nights, I clung to Rhys tighter and reminded myself we'd made it out alive.

Rhys merely drawled, "Good to see you again, Tarquin."

The five other people behind the High Lord of Summer swapped frowns of varying severity. Like their lord, their skin was dark, their hair in shades of white or silver, as if they had lived under the bright sun their entire lives. Their eyes, however, were of every color. And now they shifted downwards, to where Rhys kept his fingers intertwined with mine, even as Amren pulled hers out of his grip.

Rhys slid his free hand into a pocket and inclined his head towards Amren. "Amren, I think you know. Though you haven't met her since your…promotion." Cool, calculating grace, edged with steel.

Tarquin gave Amren the briefest of nods. "Welcome back to the city, lady."

Amren didn't nod, or bow, or so much as curtsy. She looked over Tarquin, tall and muscled, his clothes of sea-green and blue and gold, and said, "At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore." A female behind Tarquin outright glared. Amren's red lips stretched wide. "Condolences, of course," she added with as much sincerity as a snake.

Wicked, cruel—that's what Amren and Rhys were to these people. And as horrible as it was, that knowledge made me feel safe. They were with me, and no one would cross them.

Rhys gestured to me. "I don't believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin." No titles here—either to unnerve them or because Rhys found them a waste of breath.

I could have attempted to wear the same mask as Rhys and Amren. But there was no point in trying to intimidate anyone here, not when I was the only one for miles with no magic I could wield. To powerful immortals, I might as well have been a helpless kitten flexing its tiny claws.

Instead, I forced myself to smile. "I'm glad our official meeting is under such vastly improved circumstances," I said. Not sweet, exactly, but open. Friendly. I did genuinely mean what I said.

Our hosts remained stone-faced and stiff-backed. Tarquin seemed to weigh the air between my companions and me—I watched his gaze drift back to where my hand was still joined with Rhys's. "It seems you have a tale to tell, lady."

Even though it was proper, the honorific sounded all wrong when applied to me. It was a positive sign, of course. I was all-too-aware that Tarquin had seen me half-naked and writhing in Rhys's lap Under the Mountain, and this was an indication he didn't hold me in contempt because of it.

But I was still so unused to anyone treating me with courtly manners.

"We have many tales to tell," Rhys said, jerking his chin toward the glass doors behind them. "So why not get comfortable?"

The female a half-step behind Tarquin inched closer. "We have refreshments prepared."

Tarquin seemed to remember her and put a hand on her slim shoulder. "Cresseida—Princess of Adriata."

Her long silver-hair blew across her pretty face in the briny breeze, in that distinctly ethereal, fae way that didn't result in the strands getting stuck to her her face or blocking her vision. I didn't mistake the light in her brown eyes for anything but razor-sharp cunning. "A pleasure," she murmured huskily to me. "And an honor."

I didn't miss the slight grovel in her voice, yet another faerie interested in me purely as the Cursebreaker. A part of me wanted to shrug it off, but I doubted that was wise.

"Morrigan told me so much about you," I said instead. I wasn't quite sure how to play these sorts of political games, but establishing myself as on good terms with Rhys's Third seemed a good a strategy as any. "It's nice to meet you, too."

The others were hastily introduced: three advisers who oversaw the city, the court, and the trade. And then a broad-shouldered, handsome male named Varian, Cresseida's younger brother, captain of Tarquin's guard, and Prince of Adriata. His attention was fixed wholly on Amren—as if he knew where the biggest threat lay. And would be happy to kill her, if given the chance.

Amren had never looked more delighted.

We were led into a palace crafted of shell-flecked walkways and walls, countless windows looking out to the bay and mainland or the open sea beyond. As we walked, I slipped my hand from Rhys's and let him move to Tarquin's other side—we were a pair, certainly, but I didn't want to appear leashed to him.

It might not have mattered. High fae—servants and courtiers—hurried across and around them, most brown-skinned and clad in loose, light clothing, all far too preoccupied with their own matters to take note or interest in our presence. No lesser faeries crossed our path—not one.

I'd noticed the same thing in the Day Court. It set me on edge—if Tarquin didn't even allow lesser fae into his palace, then how I could I expect him to respect any humans?

My stomach turned to lead. It made a horrible sort of sense that the Summer Court had held off on joining a side until nearly the very end of the War.

If Rhys sensed my unease, he didn't show it. He and Tarquin were talking lightly, both already sounding bored, of the recent Summer Solstice festivities. Something about harvests and floral arrangements on display.

"We have four main cities in my territory," Tarquin said to me, looking over his muscled shoulder. "We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata—it's finest at this time of year."

I held back a snort. The time of year hardly mattered in a land of endless summer. "It's very beautiful," I said.

Tarquin stared at me long enough that Rhys said, "The repairs have been going well, I take it."

A warning, polite but firm, and he was so rarely possessive in this way. In truth, I didn't hate it.

And it certainly hauled Tarquin's attention back. "Mostly. There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we've finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first—and those repairs are ongoing."

Right. Amarantha had sacked the city. Rhys said, "I hope no valuables were lost during its occupation."

It was risky to use the bond, but I couldn't help it. Through the small opening in his shields, I whispered, That was far too obvious. Don't be an idiot.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a beast flattened its ears and lowered its tail contritely.

"Not the most important things, thank the Mother," Tarquin said.

Behind me, Cresseida tensed. The three advisers peeled off to attend to other duties, murmuring farewell—with wary looks in Tarquin's direction. As if this might very well be the first time he'd needed to play host and they were watching their High Lord's every move.

It made me feel the tiniest bit better. I wasn't the only one here out of their depth.

The others seated themselves at the mother-of-pearl table. I probably should have joined them. I'd spent so little time around the ocean, however, that the view from the wide windows captivated me. Stupid as it was, I wandered to the glass and let myself stare.

The vibrant water—cobalt, green, midnight—was beautiful. Objectively so. But something about it just made me regret that I hadn't yet visited any of the Night Court's coastline. Ridiculous, really, when my home was surrounded by the sea on three sides.

Tarquin appeared beside me and said, "This is my favorite view."

"You must be very proud," I said, "to have such stunning lands."

"How do they compare to the ones you have seen?" Such a carefully crafted question.

If I told the truth—that it rivaled Spring but nowhere was more beautiful to me than the Night Court—I might seem a bit too much like Rhys's sycophant. But I didn't want to hide that I was quite happy in Night, either.

I shrugged. "Everything in Prythian is lovely."

"Have you seen much of it, then?"

Another careful question. Azriel would probably praise Tarquin's subtle attempts to get information out of me. But at least this was another one that Mor and Amren had prepared me to answer.

"My position as Rhysand's emissary necessarily involves travel. I returned from a trip to the Day Court shortly before coming here to meet with you."

From her seat beside Rhys, Cresseida said, "Do you have much contact with the mortal realm, then?"

I took that as an invitation to sit down. They'd left a seat open for me, beside Amren and across from Rhys. The conversation moved on to other things—namely, the threat from Hybern and the possibility of an imminent war.

I picked at my salad and steamed shellfish, listening more than I talked. Rhys was the one who'd once commanded a legion in battle, so he took the lead on the discussion. We needed to have it before the delegation from Spring arrived and the entire visit could potentially go to shit, so Mor had arranged for us to arrive early.

Ultimately, Tarquin's answers didn't surprise me. If Hybern attacked, he'd fight. Otherwise, he had no intention of getting into a war at all.

It shouldn't have bothered me. Tarquin's own people were his first priority, which meant picking up the shattered pieces of his court in the wake of Amarantha's death. But I hated the thought of the Summer Court slowly repairing itself, reestablishing trade and becoming prosperous while Hybern pillaged the mortal lands to the south.

It was the choice I'd make if I were in Tarquin's shoes. But that didn't make it any easier to share a meal with him without snapping my teeth.

Rhys must have sensed my tension. Even as he discussed the possibility of an alliance in that detached way he had with outsiders, I felt an invisible hand rubbing soothing circles just between my shoulder blades.

The rest of the afternoon was easier—Tarquin led us on a tour of the city and allowed us to walk through a hall of treasure and jewels. I had the sense that his advisors intended him to boast about his court's wealth and beauty. He didn't quite manage it.

I didn't hesitate to pepper him with questions about the history and value of it all, the kind I remembered my father asking other merchants before we'd lost our fortune. Partially just to appear involved, more like an emissary and less like Rhys's little mortal pet, but also because I was curious.

He readily admitted when he didn't know the answers, even when it earned him a glare from Cresseida. With a sheepish glance at the ground, he'd said, "I haven't had much time to learn about it all."

I'd never known a faerie to be so…artless. Though Tarquin was old enough to be my grandfather, I could almost fool myself into thinking we were close in age. In other circumstances, I might have been able to call him a friend, someone who related to the way I felt out of my depth so often in Prythian.

But it ended all too soon. Tarquin excused himself to go greet the delegation from the Spring Court, and we were left with a brief window of time to get settled in our suite and freshen up before dinner.

I wasn't sure whose brilliant idea it had been for us all to have this discussion over a meal, but apparently we were all expected to pile ourselves onto Tarquin's pleasure barge and dine on the water. I suspected it was a calculated move to put some distance between all of us and the newly-repaired city if this meeting came to blows.

Rhys winnowed the three of us to the harbor fashionably late. The other six attendees were talking quietly amongst themselves as they waited, but the moment we materialized, they all fell silent. A slight loosening of Rhys's grip on his power, and the shadows cast by the setting sun lengthened.

Another subtle warning.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, his green eyes roving over me, as if in search of an injury. He'd left his customary bandolier of knives at home. Instead, a decorative gold sash adorned the formal green suit he wore, matching the crown that sat atop his head.

Perhaps Rhys was rubbing off on me because despite all the history between us—and the potential danger of our mission tonight—my first thought was that the cut of Tamlin's jacket was just a bit too boxy in the shoulders.

Lucien gave me a wan smile. "It's good to see you."

It was a far cry from the hug he'd given me when we'd reunited Under the Mountain.

My eyes landed on the final member of the Spring delegation. By now, I'd heard enough about Ianthe that it felt like we'd already met—once we'd confirmed Tamlin was bringing her to Adriata, I'd asked my friends in the library more about her. They'd shared plenty of stories about how she'd simpered and backstabbed her way into her current position as High Priestess, smiling sweetly even when she'd terrorized the other acolytes.

A part of me suspected Evelyn, Deirdre, Roslin, and the others hoped I'd return with Ianthe's blood coating my teeth.

She glided towards me, blue-grey robes billowing gently around her, and proffered a ring-adorned hand for me to shake. "It's such a pleasure to meet the Cursebreaker."

"I'm sure it is," I said flatly. I didn't take her hand.

Until that moment, I hadn't been aware Rhys could snort down the mating bond.

Tarquin's face had gone slightly ashen. It was Cresseida who said, "Dinner is waiting. Why don't we all get ourselves seated?"

Behind her, the pleasure barge bobbed in the waters of the bay. It was crafted of the finest wood and gold, and a canopy of tiles set with mother-of-pearl covered the dinner table on the main deck. A ramp extended from the dock to the side of the boat, its railing lined with a string of faelights shaped like fish.

My stomach flipped as it occurred to me that even though my father owned a fleet of ships, I'd never actually set foot on one before.

I looped my arm through Rhys's as we stepped aboard. Partly for support, partly to give in to my instinct to hiss and snarl and treat him like territory in need of defending.

Once we'd all arranged ourselves around the table, some invisible tether released itself. I made myself comfortable between Rhys and Tarquin as we sailed towards the bay. Tamlin look the space directly across from me.

For a while, no one spoke. A pair of servants in blue livery placed trays of appetizers on the table, opened bottles of wine, and poured us all a glass. In the quiet, the clicking and whirring of Lucien's eye seemed impossibly loud.

As much as I wanted to disappear, I needed to pull everyone's attention towards me and hold it there. I stared down Tamlin. His claws and magic and might meant nothing at all to me. This was the male whose carelessness with a glamour had nearly made Nesta go mad.

My sister would not want me to show the barest hint of guilt or fear.

"Go ahead and ask your questions," I said, picking up my wineglass. "I'm sure you have plenty, and I'd rather not let this take all night."

"How have you been?" Tamlin said, more gently than I'd expected from him.

It nearly made me falter for a moment—I'd been tensing up for a fight. But that wasn't the only strategy I'd considered before this visit, so instead of scowling, I plastered a smile on my face. Glowing with newfound happiness could work just as well as raising my hackles.

"I'm well," I said.

"Are you?" Lucien said, sharply enough that I had to force myself not to flinch.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've spent the past few months living in a hellhole full of sadistic killers."

I narrowed my eyes. "You've always been rude, but I thought you knew better than to speak about someone's home like that, Lucien."

"Is that what the Night Court is to you?" Tamlin said, his blond hair falling over a shoulder as he tilted his head at me. "A home?"

He still spoke softly, but now I realized it was the same sort of tone one might use to coax a frightened animal. This was merely more of that obnoxious fae arrogance. I was a child to him, a victim Rhys took advantage of.

At least, though, I could answer Tamlin's question with more of the truth.

"It is. Everyone there has been kind to me, and I'm happy. Rhys especially has been wonderful," I said.

I let my gaze slide over to him. His mask of polished cruelty slipped just for a moment, and he smiled at me with a softness he never let show outside Velaris. I knew, down to the marrow of my bones, that Rhys had never looked at anyone else like that. That smile—along with every other inch of him—was mine.

Lucien muttered into his wineglass, "I'm sure he has."

I should have ignored it, but I snapped,"Considering your High Lord kidnapped me, I don't think you have a right to talk."

Tamlin's fingers flexed, as if he were forcing those claws not to appear. Perhaps I could goad him into ripping up the tablecloth—that would certainly provide enough of a distraction for Rhys to get into Tarquin's mind unnoticed.

Tarquin, Cresseida, and Varian had all stilled in that peculiar way of the High Fae, so I supposed whatever I was doing was working. Lucien had never really been able to keep his mouth shut—after all, he'd called me a murderer when he knew Tamlin was supposed to be seducing me. Perhaps I could use that to my advantage.

As I hoped, he said, "Don't I? What would you call your vanishing act on Calanmai, then?"

I reached for a plate of mussels, relaxing a bit as I slipped into the lie that I'd so carefully practiced the past few months. "An escape. When I trapped the Suriel, it told me that you'd lied about the Treaty. Since then, I'd been looking for a way back home. I slipped out on Fire Night hoping that with everyone else focused on the celebrations, I might manage to get away and start making my way back below the Wall.

"Rhys and I crossed paths in the forest. The black clothes and the lack of a mask made it obvious that he was Night Court. Your enemy. I asked him for help, hoping that he'd find it amusing to help your captive slip out right under your nose. He offered me a job instead. If I helped him overthrow Amarantha, then my family and I would have all the wealth and protection we could ever need. That's how I became his emissary."

I wasn't sure anyone else at the table was breathing. Trying not to squirm under the combined weight of their gazes, I merely broke the first shell in half and busied myself with removing the meat with a spoon. This was a dinner, after all. Not an interrogation.

When no one spoke, I continued, "We needed to buy time for me to prepare. He brought me to the Night Court and faked my death so no one would come looking for me. But I think you'll understand, Lucien, why I told you I'd been living in the forest instead."

"Rhysand killed an innocent human girl and passed her corpse off as your own. Did you know that's the sort of monster you swore allegiance to?" Tamlin said.

A memory flashed in my mind—Rhys the morning after Calanmai, handing me his jacket because the work to be done wouldn't leave him clean. I'd respected him for it then. I still did now.

"I lay the blame for that woman's death at Amarantha's feet, not Rhys's," I said.

Tamlin shook his head. "By Cauldron, do you even hear yourself? He's addled your mind so thoroughly that it's a wonder it's not a pile of mush."

"I ended up in this mess because I killed one of your men in cold blood, skinned his corpse, and nearly ate him. Before I met Rhysand."

I let my words hang in the air. For the first time all day, Varian pulled his attention away from Amren and regarded me properly. The captain of the guard seemed to reconsider writing me off as a nonthreatening human. Cresseida, who'd been about to bite into a bit of toast laden with vegetables, set her food down.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. "I know this isn't you. There's a kind heart under that thorny exterior. It's why I fell—"

Ianthe made a noise that might have been a cough. Thus far, she'd been quiet, but now her eyes were flashing dangerously. Jealously.

From across the table, Amren caught my eye and smirked.

An ugly part of me wanted to make Tamlin hurt—to embarrass him as much as he'd embarrassed me. Developing feelings for my kidnapper was pathetic. Finding out invisible servants had watched me creep around for weeks was humiliating.

Back then, I'd been so willing to settle for scraps.

"It's probably unwise to finish that sentence in front of your new ladylove," I said. "Don't put yourself at more of a disadvantage. That hood of hers makes it difficult for you to re-use your line about her hair looking clean."

"It's not like that. Ianthe is a friend I've known since childhood," Tamlin said.

No one had ever glared at me in the particular way Ianthe was doing now, her face oddly tight and her clear blue eyes burning with hatred. I'd seen this expression directed at Nesta, though—by human girls when the men in our village stared at her tits.

I tried to emulate my eldest sister, hoping I projected half the confidence she did, as I said, "You've really known each other that long? The Mother blessed you with infinite patience if you've been pursuing the same uninterested male for five centuries, Ianthe."

Tarquin looked to Cresseida as if pleading for help. "We didn't invite you here because we were interested in hosting a catfight, ladies," she said tartly.

"Of course not," I said, taking an herbed roll from a basket and placing it on my plate. "I'm happy to answer any more questions anyone has for me."

Lucien was still studying me. "How did whipping me Under the Mountain fit into whatever scheme Rhysand dragged you into?"

"It didn't. I don't have the same strength as a faerie, so I thought you'd have a better chance of surviving if I took Tamlin's place. I didn't want to watch you die," I said.

"And I'm supposed to believe that after you lied to all of us for weeks?"

It was a stupid question—the circumstances were vastly changed with the curse broken and Amarantha dead. And the note of hurt in Lucien's voice rankled me.

But before I could tell him any of that, it was Tarquin who said, "I believe it."

"Do you?" Tamlin said.

"Brutius was my cousin, and we had forces gathering in all of our cities to storm Under the Mountain. They caught him sneaking out through the tunnels to meet with them. Rhys saw that in Brutius's mind—I know he did. And yet he lied to her face, and defied her when she gave the order to turn him into a living ghost. If the High Lord of the Night Court is capable of such mercy, then so is the emissary who works so closely with him," Tarquin said.

It sounded like the beginnings of a good-faith alliance. A rare gift. With the Night Court's fearsome reputation, opportunities to build bridges only came along once a millennium at best.

And here we were, setting it on fire as Rhys unraveled the defenses around Tarquin's mind.

Tamlin shook his head. "You are young, Tarquin. Take some advice from another High Lord who's sat on the throne for far longer than you've been alive—do not make the mistake of trusting Rhysand."

Cresseida shot Tarquin a look across the table, a raise of her brows that made me wonder if the princess had given him the same advice. I took another bite of my food and pretended not to notice their silent communication.

The mussels tasted like ash in my mouth.

"I'll take that under advisement," Tarquin said smoothly.

"I'm not even sure you should allow Feyre to return to the Night Court with him," Tamlin said.

Next to me, Rhys went as still as death. Before he could summon a single scrap of magic, I forced my thoughts down the bond. If I need protecting, Amren will play bodyguard. Don't let them distract you from the task at hand.

He didn't answer in words, just a mental growl of displeasure. But he did not fight me on it.

"I wasn't aware," Amren said smoothly, as if on cue, "that the decision was up to anyone other than Feyre herself."

"It would be if she was in her right mind. But he's clearly done something to her, and I won't pretend otherwise," Tamlin said.

Ianthe added, "You should see the propaganda I've received from my sisters in the Night Court. In their letters, Clotho and her acolytes talk about Feyre and Rhysand like they're a pair of sweet little lovebirds. It's honestly galling that they think we'd believe any High Lord, let alone one as wicked as him, could fall for a human. We all know he'll tire of fucking her when she gets her first wrinkle in a decade or so."

Above us, darkness blotted out the stars.

I'm handling this, Rhys. Back down.

"It's not my fault you're a crone whose womb shriveled up before you could bag a High Lord," I said aloud.

Lucien's gaze dropped back to my left hand. His metal eye began to whirr again, and the bottom seemed to drop out of my stomach. It was bad enough Helion already knew about the glamour covering me.

Ianthe snarled, lips pulled back from her teeth, "You ugly little mortal slut—"

Before Lucien could speak, I stood, tossing my napkin down and letting my chair scrape loudly against the deck of the boat. It didn't come close to covering the sound of Rhys's growl.

I could feel his power straining against his hold, a rabid dog barely held back by a leash, frustration mounting as its jaws closed around nothing at all.

If you kill any of them, I will never forgive you for taking away my chance to end their lives myself. Don't dishonor me like that. Finish getting through Tarquin's defenses.

It was, perhaps, the only thing that could have gotten him to stand down. Rhys was an Illyrian—he understood that a kill was something a person lay claim to. His face remained a mask of frozen rage, but the shadows retreated.

I had half a mind to launch myself across the table and throttle the Spring delegation one by one. But I wouldn't let myself throw the first punch. As Cassian always said during training, avoiding a fight was preferable to winning one.

"I won't tolerate being spoken to like this," I said. My back had gone ramrod-straight, and my hands fisted at my sides.

In other circumstances, I would have stormed off. It seemed pointless, however, when the farthest I could go was merely to the other end of the barge. Everyone else here could winnow or fly, but I was trapped until we docked again.

So stupidly human of me, just like everything else.

Rhys tugged gently on the mating bond, a silent reminder—one word from me, and we could go. If I wanted, he'd take me back to Velaris, Book of Breathings be damned.

I didn't need that from him, though. I'd see this through to the end.

"Even if Feyre hadn't saved all of your necks Under the Mountain, she is a member of my Inner Circle, who I brought here for a diplomatic visit," Rhys said. The words themselves were mild, but they held a threat nonetheless.

High Lords had gone to war for less.

I waited. Even the sea breeze had died.

Finally, Tarquin laid a hand on the table. "I expect my guests to behave themselves, Tamlin. If you and your retinue cannot, then I'll ask you to leave," he said. To me, he added, "It wasn't my intention to subject you to that, Cursebreaker."

"No harm done," I said, taking my seat again.

Tarquin hadn't been obligated to come to my defense. Especially not after I'd called Ianthe a barren crone. With the close ties between the Seasonal Courts, I would have assumed that if Tarquin stepped outside the bounds of the Summer Court's careful neutrality, it would have been to support Spring.

Our plan to steal from him later tonight only weighed on me more heavily.

One of Rhys's talons tapped my shields gently. Once. Twice. The signal we'd agreed on to indicate that he'd gotten everything he needed from Tarquin's mind. I held back a sigh of relief. Hopefully, we could end this dinner quickly and retreat to our room until most of the palace was asleep.

Tamlin sighed, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Another High Lord struggling under the weight of his authority—of his failures. "I'm sorry," he said to me. "I should have protected you better, but I can't change the past. I can only make things right going forward. I will fix this."

The words sounded like a vow. My blood ran cold.

I just wanted the Spring Court to leave me alone. But Tamlin, it seemed, had decided I was some damsel in need of saving. I didn't know how to prove that wasn't the case, not when my High Lord could control minds. And for all his faults, Tamlin was too decent to write me off as a lost cause.

I had to try, though.

"I came here tonight with the intention of providing some closure. I've moved on, and I suggest you do the same," I said, more gently than I thought he deserved.

Lucien said nothing, but he stared at me with an expression I could only describe as stricken. Unable to face it, I went back to my food.

There wasn't much conversation after that. Varian managed to get Amren to speak just enough to fill the silence, with Cresseida and Tarquin joining in occasionally. But everything came out stilted and awkward as we all picked at the strawberry salad the servants brought out next.

When the main course was finished, no one breathed a word about dessert.

As soon as we were back in our room, Rhys and I ended up in bed together. I took full advantage of his wings being hidden, curling my body around his back and hooking an arm over his chest. He interlaced our fingers, and for a long moment, we just savored the silence together.

Guilt coated the mating bond, viscous and dark enough to leave a stain. But still shared, existing on the bridge between our souls.

There was a at least an hour to kill—we had to move quickly, while Tamlin, Ianthe, and Lucien were staying under Tarquin's roof to to allow him to offer hospitality, but not until closer to midnight.

It was most definitely not the time, but I pulled my hand from his and trailed it down the hard plane of his stomach, towards the waistband of his pants. "Can we…?" I breathed.

We needed it. I wanted to claim and be claimed, and I was sure that after facing everyone at dinner, he felt the same. Better to get it out of our system before embarking on the next phase of our mission.

Rhys's reply was nothing more than a small noise that emerged from the back of his throat. I let him roll us both over until I was pinned under him the way we both liked. It was odd, though, to see him above me without wings flaring out behind him.

He leaned down to kiss me, and the back of my skull came perilously close to smacking the headboard. As his lips brushed mine, a thought struck me.

Who are we sharing a wall with? I asked, using the bond so he wouldn't stop kissing me.

Amren is across the hall, if that's what you're worried about.

I'm not worried about anything at all. I punctuated that statement with a bite to his lower lip.

He pulled away, shifting his weight from his forearms to his knees so he could study me. I started to protest, but he began making quick work of the buttons on my dress. "Oh?" was all he said.

"Don't put a shield up to block the noise. I want to make a point."

His fingers, which had been loosening a button on my hip, stilled. The look he leveled at me was pure predator.

I merely raised my brows in challenge.

Our clothes were gone in an instant. For a short while, the world narrowed to intertwined limbs, skin-on-skin, mouths moving against each other, and the mating bond thrumming with pure rightness at our coupling.

When it was done, I felt like I had my head on straight again. Soon, it would be time to go, and we both slipped on the Illyrian leathers that Nuala had hidden in our luggage. I couldn't help but admire how we looked like a matched set, wearing the same scaled leather and identical red marks we'd just left on each other's necks.

As we changed, Rhys reached for Amren's mind, filling both of us in on the details of what we'd attempt tonight. A temple ruin. A guard tower to avoid. A lock in need of breaking.

And, riskiest of all, a further violation of another High Lord's mind if we wanted to accomplish any of it.

Light footsteps sounded in the hall, and Amren entered. Her nostrils flared, and she hissed in displeasure as the combined smells of Rhys, me, and sex hit her nose. I didn't bother apologizing.

Her lips were blood-red in the moonlight, but her voice was light as she said, "Care for a midnight stroll?"

[dashielldeveron]

Binding Magic and Other Medievalisms | 1 | Shinsou Hitoshi Series Masterlist Summary: after sixteen years of civil war, you are just about to retire from your position as court mage when you're roped into an arranged marriage to finalise the oncoming peace. to shinsou. your childhood friend, turned an infuriatingly annoying spymaster for the opposing side. too bad the binding spell between the both of you won't let you murder him in his sleep. medievalist fantasy au for an enemies-to-lovers, arranged marriage between two people desperately trying to get out of it. to what lengths will they go to 1) shirk the responsibilities brought on by their marriage while 2) ensuring the country doesn't erupt into civil war again?

Warnings: female reader, violence (war + wartime consequences).

~4k

It’s back-numbing work, robbing the dead.

But if you kept your head down and the tattered shawl over your hair, no one would guess that the House of Yamada’s mage was scouring between bodies piled along the edges of the battlefield. On your hands and knees, you could pass as any one of the other scavengers, tottering along the border, all shapeless and matted and unsexed, though you knew most of them to be women.

In the sharp, cold air, nearly two hundred men lay as if they never had the spark of life in them. Your stomach had turned under salty tears the first time you’d scavenged post battle, hardly having the mettle to yank gold from fingers, but as the years passed, the men seemed less real to you. Less like a human and more like a vessel.

Through the blood-crusted folds of a quilted cloak, you spotted a glint of silver. A badge, perhaps, or insignia—you always needed more of those to melt down to resell; something had to fund your work—but you hissed when you pricked your finger. You first moved to lick the blood but, remembering where your hands have been, wiped it on your dirt-caked trousers instead.

And here, you’d thought anything of value had been gleaned by now, since it’d taken you so long to give the lords the slip—but as you squinted, crouched in the black mist of early dawn, you made out something extraordinary—or, at least, something Keigo would willingly fence: a blade no longer than your middle finger, not silver but iridescent if you got it out of shadow, with an almost translucent-blue gem in its hilt. You recognised it by its size: it’s what they call one of the Impracticals. Meant to be hidden in the palm of a glove, and, moreover, fae-made.

You scrutinised the body. Human. No gloves. A scabbard at his waist for a larger blade, empty. And this one hadn’t even been in a pocket but shoved amongst gathered fabric. He’d stolen it.

You stowed the blade in your tunic, apart from the rest of your findings, and you slowly stood to stretch, vertebrae popping. Best to keep scavenging. An abrupt departure would signal you’ve found something of worth.

Somewhere behind the wood, the sun was rising, and the battlefield finally stretched on past your feet. If you hadn’t been a part of it, you’d never have guessed which army had started the skirmish on this side, considering how close in number the colours of both the House of Yamada and the House of Aizawa marked corpses. Thank God this would be the last time you saw it.

You moved in silence from body to body, working less meticulously than you normally would. You’d left the handkerchief you’d tie over your face back at camp, and the stench of drying blood, wet wool, and rotting meat was making your head throb.

You stiffened at the sound of a faint groan, pulled from beyond the mound of bodies you knelt by. In these sixteen years of civil war and your thirteen of scavenging, you have only found soldiers still alive three times. It was rare, since the winning army combed the field post battle to kill any surviving wounded. All of your encounters were found when you were young enough to merit requesting help from your elders. Now that you’re well past coming-of-age, you’d have to somehow deal with it yourself.

Pulling the shawl closer about your shoulders, you crept towards the sound, searching each body for the rise and fall of a chest underneath the chainmail and leather, but—you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Someone struggling to prop himself upright against a tree, having dragged himself from the carnage, trailing a sludge of blood in his wake.

Reaching for your wand, you slithered towards him; you shoved his chest against the bark (eliciting a pained grunt) and yanked back his hood, ready to tear his hair out if he tried anything—

You stopped. And you laughed.

“My esteemed Lord Spymaster Shinsou,” you said, straddling his waist to block his access to his scabbard, scanning the twitches of his bruised and bleeding hands for sudden movements, savouring the scorn painted on his grime-smeared face, his violet eyes as sharp as the rightful king’s blade even at death’s door, “Never thought I’d see you trampled like this. Is it because the sun’s rising? Does a man not have shadows to slip into, to lick at his wounds?”

Shinsou’s quick to grab the hand that tilted his chin up, though he panted harder after the movement and took effort to swallow. “Get off of me before I gouge your eyes.”

“You can’t touch me,” you said, grinning, and you removed his hand, slamming it back against the tree and appreciating how he winced. “Your master’s surrendered. We’ve won. If you harm me, I can only imagine what they’ll do to you.”

Shinsou shifted underneath you, sweating and clutching his free hand to a bloodstain on the side of his stomach, scrunching his eyes shut. “God knows you’ve wanted my head for years. You’d really give others the satisfaction of taking it? Kill me here. Now. In any way you want. You’ve earned it, haven’t you? Crow about your triumph to the world or let me fall as a casualty to war,” he said, chest heaving, “I had rather die in battle than in—”

From somewhere on his belt near his wound, he jabbed a dagger towards your closest flesh, your inner thigh, but—you didn’t have to hide it around Shinsou—you caught the blade with magic, white-hot and invisible, swirling between the dagger and your palm. When Shinsou, frantic in his loss, moved to bite down on his tongue, you jabbed your first two fingers and thumb between his teeth.

“Not so, Shinsou Hitoshi. I know you.” You flung the dagger to the sea of bodies, magic softening the noise as it landed to prevent scavengers from swarming. “Fortune smiles not on you today,” you said, dragging your middle finger along the roof of his mouth, “You and I will live to see another sunrise.”

***

You’d tried to escape the moment they’d decided that there would be no change in regime but simply a change in current leadership.

But, having grown accustomed to it over the years, Prince Regent Yamada caught out of the corner of his eye the flutters of your billowing coat as you made to slip out of the window, already grasping at the ivy climbing up the stone wall to the castle’s third storey. “You’re needed here, Court Mage,” said Yamada from his place at the head of the table, silencing the dozen or so leaders of both factions, navigating the aftermath, “No matter how much your studies are missing you.”

Bound by your patron’s hard gaze and the weight of pausing a meeting with such gravitas, you eased your weight back onto the window’s ledge, and once you’d draped your skirts and cloak around you, settled, Yamada lowered his hand, voices erupting around him again.

Strange to see those you had struggled against for so long to advocate diplomatically for their share of power, to walk about the castle freely, to sleep in the chambers of friends whose deaths they had caused, and in this cramped, sweating room, where the future of the six provinces would be decided, the losing side appeared to flaunt their freedoms: Kirishima was allowed to have his swords on hand, Lord Midoriya to take his private notes, Lady Yaoyorozu to provide tea—though Lord Aizawa, perhaps, had shown that their previous violence could be tamed through asking Bakugou to reheat his tea with fire magic.

Good to see your old, estranged friends, you supposed, even if they were too important to care to speak to you now.

(The House of Aizawa had surrendered. Treaties had been signed; policies refined; trade resumed; families reunited. Restoration had been underway for more than a month now; the castle town filled with construction crews hired from across the six provinces. Nobles jumped at the chance for recreation now that they had the chance to engage in it once again, so hunting parties ventured out every day, and a celebratory festival was planned.

Yamada remained regent, but supporters of the House of Aizawa were still unsatisfied. To them, it seemed less like a welcoming into a fold of forgiving peers, as publicised, and more like the quelling of a rebellion.

King Nezu’s death prompted a civil war of succession between the Houses of Yamada and of Aizawa. In his youth, King Nezu had named both Yamada and Aizawa as his heirs, and he’d intended to narrow his choice based on how well they each passed trials of his own design—unheard of, but Nezu had always been an eccentric—but he’d passed without holding the trials.

The nobility took sides. Grew violent. Gained public support.

Growing up as his ward, you’d never garnered that Yamada wanted war, but you have heard enough of his anger to merit it.)

“There’s no precedent for co-regents. While yes, it’d be a gesture at peace, it would either devolve into another faction war upon your deaths or dissolve into anarchy. If Lord Aizawa, as a sign of submission, assumed the role of counsellor—”

You plucked at a new leaf of ivy, still wet-fresh and curled into itself. The machinations of government have always exasperated you, and now that they were unavoidably in the same chamber, the idea you’ve been entertaining for the past few weeks cemented: you would retire your position as Court Mage.

Sixteen years of wartime service was enough to recompense for a noble’s education, yes? Yamada would not miss you, nor would anyone else in court—you were more of a tool than a person, really, with your low birth. Nothing kept you here; the stresses of war had weakened friendships, and too many ghosts from your commoner past haunted the lower floors.

“You have no legitimate children,” said Yamada, pen intended to write the terms of the treaty flat on the parchment in front of him, and he spoke as if Lord Aizawa’s wince never happened. “Nor can I wed you. I’ve taken a vow of celibacy to enhance my magic.”

You’ll leave Yamada’s service. Build a cottage in Tiirnham Wood, where you won’t be reached by anyone who isn’t desperate. You’ll only study magic you care for and won’t be responsible for anyone’s lives ever again.

Hell, you could take a nap. Read what you want. Get a cat.

“—then name an heir, for fuck’s sake,” said Lord Bakugou, twisting his bone ring around his index finger, “Both of you. They can marry, unite the houses, and consolidate the lines of succession into one.”

“To unite the houses sounds like a deliberate show of faith. The heirs would need to be selected from the most valuable members of each house.” Lord Todoroki blinked blearily, tucking behind his ear the white hair that had fallen out of its slicked-back style. “Perhaps, for public understanding, it would be best to select heirs from the leaders present in this room.”

Yamada wouldn’t want the Court Mage position to be open for long. Could you arrange for someone else to take over? Keigo was your best bet, but he’d long established that he was content to run his shop in town.

Grimacing at the thought of taking an apprentice, you caught a bee before it could drift inside. You cupped it with a globe of lightly swirling air magic and guided it closer to your lap, where it ambled about in its ball, releasing a surprised bzzt when it first knocked into the side.

You’ve avoided taking an apprentice, because studying for yourself to keep up with magic was gruelling enough. Plus, it’d mean you have to find some kid, someone who has the drive to commit to a career when she’s hardly out of childhood. Maybe you could keep an eye on the children training as pages to ascertain if anyone tires of the idea of knighthood. You could talk Captain Iida into giving up a soldier, right?

Wait, but training an apprentice could work. It would give you time to find or build a cottage yourself, to furnish it, to establish all the barrier spells to be left alone, and to…yeah. Yeah, this could work. Yamada would have a deadline for your departure; he’d have a replacement, so no one would go searching for you. And you’d have a place to go home to.

You floated the globe an arm’s length outside the window, where you released the bee back into the air, and as it buzzed erratically into the distance, your chest felt considerably lighter. A glorious thing, to consider—a quiet life. Living deliberately, following your own desires, instead of someone else’s. No more politics. No more war.

The strident call of your name startled you so abruptly out of your thoughts that you gripped the drapes and window’s ledge to keep from falling out. “Come here,” said Yamada, sighing as he released vox, his vocal magic (he must have called your name before he’d gotten your attention).

When you reached the head of the table, Yamada, for some reason, took your right hand to make it lie palm up, and he planted his right hand atop it—and he’d already inked the runes on the back of his hand, the spell taking effect the moment his skin touched yours.

Yelping, you strained to pull away your hand, but the spell held you fast, its light passing through each etched rune, their characters fading as the spell progressed. But you made out the scratching of Midoriya’s pen and remembered where you were and what was happening: you cannot show weakness in front of the conquered, and you cannot protest that you’ve been made Yamada’s heir. It’s an honour (Todoroki, in particular, you knew would be suited to serve, and moreover, he wanted it) but one you dreamed not of.

When the last rune faded, you jerked your hand away, shaking the prickliness out of it. “Dear God,” you said, grumbling, “Are there not worthier candidates, your grace?”

Yamada raised an eyebrow. “Were you not listening?” Uh. “We decided to name our most valuable assets as our heirs. Considering that you, my dear, are both my beloved ward and gifted Court Mage, there is no one better to offer as a sign of good will.”

And he’d drawn the runes before calling you over, because he’d known you’d refuse.

Seems like sixteen years wasn’t enough.

Yamada reached for Aizawa’s hand to draw the runes for his heir-naming, and people were standing, stretching, reaching across the table to have smaller conversations with others, talking about going for a ride later, about dinner and the entertainment, and you were—you were lost. What did they know that you didn’t? Why were they starting to leave, as if the meeting were finished?

You turned towards your patron and his old friend, and your stomach lurched in understanding. Aizawa needed no time to consider his options for heir. With the slightest turn of his head, he beckoned closer the one man in the House of Aizawa you have yet to acknowledge.

Peacetime suited Shinsou Hitoshi. The stresses of war had hardened his expressions, made him sharper and gaunter, almost pinched, but here he stood, broad-shouldered and infuriatingly placid about his life’s imminent upheaval. He moved silently and with ease to Aizawa’s side, footsteps light despite his bulk. The stab wound in his abdomen and the gash in his left calf had healed annoyingly swiftly within the past month. When he placed his hand under Aizawa’s, Shinsou’s eyes were on you, cold, glinting, and pinning you on the spot.

You cannot believe that your childhood friend grew into this.

“A fair sacrifice,” Aizawa was saying, withdrawing his hand from Shinsou’s and nodding towards Yamada, “My spymaster for your mage.”

Yamada laughed, a wide, echoing thing that you’ve always connected with happier memories, but before he could say anything, young Lord Midoriya cut him off.

“Excuse me.” Midoriya closed his notebook at last and moved to stand, his allies trailing towards the chamber door. “It is not my intention to argue. I agree that this is the most utilitarian solution moving forward. However,” he said, pushing in his chair, “when I consider the past relationship of the heirs, I fear that our houses’ differences will not be resolved. How can we ensure this marriage will genuinely unite our factions?”

Todoroki glanced at Yamada before answering. “What do you mean?”

“Their hostility is well-known, even beyond our province. I—” Midoriya bit the inside of his cheek, ears flaming red (Bakugou laughed through his nose and looked away. What do they know that you don’t?). “Not that I’m saying that love must be a contributing factor in a political union, of course; I’m aware there usually isn’t, but—and I’m not saying they would, by themselves, murder each other—necessarily—but since it’s widespread that they aren’t fond of each other—”

“I see where you’re going,” said Yamada, stroking his goatee, and he angled his chair to face you.

(Ice has been flooding your veins since the spell was cast. You’ve stood stiffly behind Yamada’s chair, eyes glazed over, words barely processing, and utterly sick to your stomach.)

“I normally wouldn’t consult a party involved,” said Yamada, “but since you’re my Court Mage, you’re the one to ask. How effective are love spells?”

You sniffed. Cold in here. You wiped at your nose, hands shaking in your otherwise stilted movements. “Not very,” you managed to say, jaw tight, throat dry, “They’re effective for a time, depending on the strength of the caster, but they always wear off.” (And that was the truth, but no way in hell are you casting a love spell on yourself and Shinsou.)

“Ah! Figures,” said Yamada, shaking his head, and he caught Aizawa’s eye across the table. “Well, we wouldn’t want something that flimsy, regardless. Love is so fickle. Public opinion wouldn’t be swayed by a simple display of emotion. It could end at any time. No, to prove that this peace is here to stay, we’re not talking about love. We’re talking about commitment. Something to show that the peace is lasting and permanent. A proverbial bondstone.”

Okay, now you were sick to your stomach.

“My beloved Court Mage,” said Yamada, turning back to you, and a hard glimmer passed through his eyes. “Enlighten us. Is there anything we could implement to establish a true permanence to the peace through your relationship? A type of magical objuration, perhaps?”

Feeling the eyes of the room weigh on your back, you swallowed thickly but kept your own gaze on Yamada, willing him to somehow understand that you were not going to say it, that he was cruel to make it seem like your idea, when he’s only ever used bondstone and objuration in the context of what he’s about to make your fucking fault—

“I hesitate to speak, your grace,” you managed to say, dry throat constricting (supressing the choked noise), “There is possiblya solution, but it’s—” You sucked in through your teeth, minutely clamping them down to threaten Yamada. “—a fae spell.”

(Todoroki halted in bringing his teacup to his lips; Midoriya’s knuckles whitened around the strap of his rucksack. Taking a sharp breath, Bakugou cleared his throat and glanced towards Aizawa, who nodded at him to close the door to the chamber again.

[Shinsou remained still.]

Humans couldn’t use fae magic without some major drawback, usually physical. It was different for each spell and varied for each magic user; any fae spell could murder any human, whether it’s the first time they cast the spell or the hundredth. Something about the inherent, magical makeup of fae allowed them to create and cast more complicated and powerful magic, but humans were too mundane, too worldly, too bound to the soil they tread, to practise any magic not learnt through careful study, besides the magic for the naming of heirs.

Therefore, only humans who have studied to be as magically protected as possible should cast fae spells, and, at the moment, you and Keigo were the only two in the nine provinces qualified to do so.

Neither of you liked to risk it.

[Moreover, Yamada has ordered you repeatedly never to use fae magic without his permission. “It’s never worth it,” he’d say, “and you’re too valuable. Save it for when you’re older, yeah?”])

“Even better,” said Yamada, clasping his hands together, “The chance of death will heighten the value. Tell us more.”

The room tilted. Felt like your stomach turned inside out. Dizzy, you gripped the back of his chair, clenching your fingers around the carved wood, doing your best to stay upright, and blinking to stay focused. “Your grace, if Lord Shinsou and I were to be united by a covenant spell, then—then we would be bound for life. Unable to be separated for long. Created under a union of permanence. And, to alleviate what Lord Midoriya mentioned earlier, Lord Shinsou and I would be unable to kill each other. By any means. It’s a type of magic first invented for—” Glancing around the room, you realised no one would care about the history of fae magic, and you somehow deflated even more. “—similar diplomatic solutions.”

At Aizawa’s careful tilt of his head and narrowing of his eyes, Yamada propped his chin on his fist and said, “Then it sounds like you’d better start studying, Court Mage.”

You couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. You moved woodenly as Yamada guided you to a seat and forced a cup of tea into your hand, all the while dominating the conversation with Aizawa and Todoroki, and you fantasised in a detached sort of way about ripping into Yamada once the two of you were alone. And Yamada, that jovial, gentle bastard, would probably fold as he usually did at your anger, and he’d probably apologise and explain himself, leading you to make up as you usually did, within the hour (charismatic bitch). But a floating, distant thought surfaced through the numbness: you might not make up so easily this time.

The taste of cooled tea lingered on your tongue.

A bead of sweat trailed down your shirt and between your shoulder blades.

Liquid splashed onto your lap. You blinked and found your hands were shaking, so you returned your cup to the table, where you lay your hands flat, palm down, to steady yourself.

You tried to ground yourself by focusing on the grain of the wood, running vertical underneath your fingertips—but it lasted hardly a second.

Shinsou, silent as ever, had appeared by your side and snatched your left hand into his. But he didn’t bow over it, as etiquette dictated; he merely held it, rubbing his thumb over its back, as he glared down at it with a cold disdain. “My dear lady enchantress,” he began, voice slick.

(And you teemed with vexation, because that’s yet another of Shinsou’s aggravating traits: he has always known entirely too much, especially when it comes to you, often knowing some truth about you before you’ve articulated it yourself. He’s always held that above your head, even before the war.

Once again, he’s flagrantly displaying that he takes pains to find annoyingly accurate information when others were willing to pass it by: while your title is Court Mage, you’re not actually a mage. You primarily study enchanter magic. If someone isn’t studying magic themselves, then it’s hard to know the differences in the disciplines. And not only has this bastard learnt the differences, he’s figured out how to apply it to your studies.

God. He’s the same as he ever was. How infuriating.)

Brow furrowed, Shinsou flipped your hand over to trace his fingers over your palm, following the life line and then backtracking to circle your ring finger. An easy grin stretched across his face once he noticed your quiet fury, and, running his tongue over his lower lip as he glanced towards his master and yours as they trailed out of the chamber, Shinsou bent to look you in the eye and spoke softly, almost conspiratorially, as if you were sharing an old joke: “Are you yet living?”

[meowyjean]

moodboards for my favorite fanfics (in no particular order)

except i don't realize that my favorites folder is 98% drarry fanfics, oops. no part 2 bc i didn't organize my reads until june of last year, double oops.

The Cadence of Part-time Poets by motswolo: marauders, wolfstar, muggle au, boarding school, pranks, band au, found family, coming of age

An Idiot's Guide to Wooing Your Husband by toxik_angel: drarry, accidental marriage, flower language, domestic bliss, magical bonding

Little Talks by Femme (femmequixotic), noeon (noe): drarry, single dad draco, workplace fuckbuddies, first date

Hush, darling by magpie_fngrl: drarry, incubus draco, dodgy casino blackmails draco into seducing harry, aftercare, bdsm

Unintended Motive by alisonsmith3: drarry, eighth year, everyone can see it but them, mental health issues, hurt/comfort

Mother Tongue by nightlilly: jayvik, jayce secretly learned zaunite, viktor keeps making suggestive remarks thinking jayce won't understand

A Convenient Impracticality by firethesound: drarry, fake dating, bickering and banter, oblivious harry, pining

candy crush by bizarrestars: wolfstar, sirius fixates on remus' mouth, where is the line between platonic and romantic, flirting, domestic fluff

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter: superbat, fake dating, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, strategic PR

[film-in-my-soul]

5 Times Arthur Helped Merlin With a Case + 1 Time He Really Fucking Didn’t | 8,032 | ingberry / @ingberry

Summary: Camelot – the town where mansions are ten a penny, the town that welcomes film stars, famous authors, an ex-Spice Girl and the IT-investors of the 90s. The home to sixth form parties that cost enough to feed a whole family for months. Also home to Hunith Emrys Investigations, Camelot's only private detective agency.

It Didn't Mean Anything | 9,420 | ingberry / @ingberry

Summary: Merlin Emrys: receptionist at Camelot Inn and magic user in training, not yet certified. When something unexpected happens, Merlin has to use his magic to save Arthur. It has rather impractical consequences, to say the least. Merlin’s not entirely sure how they’re both going to get through this with their sanities intact.

Heart Strings (A Remix of Our Lives) | 9,608 | ingberry / @ingberry

Summary: When Merlin agreed to join Mithian at her friends’ wedding (mainly for the prospect of the open bar), he didn’t expect to find himself inexplicably attached to the fit cellist.

(see more recommendations below!)

Bespoke | 10,294 | Thursday_Next

Summary: Merlin is a jeweller. Arthur is looking for the perfect engagement ring.

Skipping Beats, Blushing Cheeks | 10,530 | Thursday_Next

Summary: Merlin works at the old, rundown bookshop that Arthur bikes past daily on his way to work. Normally Arthur doesn’t spare a second glance at it, but when a winter storm rolls in unexpectedly, he ducks inside and meets Merlin.

No Matter How Far Away You Roam | 11,537 | lady_ragnell / @theladyragnell

Summary: “I was wondering if you might come home with me.” Merlin stops mid-rant and stares at him, and then down at his panini again, and back at Arthur. This is a panini of lies and pain. He can tell already. “For Christmas? I’ve got an uncle and a mother and a sister waiting for me at home, in case you hadn’t remembered, I’m not going home with you just because you’re a workaholic.” “No, it’s. My mum might be under the impression that we’re a little bit married.”

Being with You | 12,572 | ella_bane

Summary: Modern AU. Merlin is gay. Arthur isn't. When they meet, their mutual attraction can't be denied. But then it is. Sexy times and angsty times ensue. And it all happens in less than a day. (This was written for a prompt on the Merlin kink meme.)

At Our Best When It's From the Hips | 12,781 | derryere

Summary: Merlin goes to a brothel to get rid of that virginity thing and runs into Arthur. From there on, it's all madness.

Favorite | 13,012 | astolat / @astolat

Summary: Arthur was tipped back against the wall, his mouth open for breath and staring at the small arrow-slit window over Merlin's head, trying to work out how it could possibly be that good with Merlin, of all people.

The Difference of You | 14,512 | ingberry / @ingberry

Summary: It’s not that Arthur Pendragon can’t get girls to fall for him; it’s just that he can’t seem to keep them around. Relationships and Arthur aren't on the same page at all, really, but one day there's Merlin on a bus and then it's different.

Game, Set, Match | 15,621 | ingberry / @ingberry

Summary: All of Britain watches as Arthur Pendragon (golden boy of tennis) gets injured at Wimbledon with the London Olympics looming only a few weeks away. Not many people watch as Merlin Emrys (newbie on the medical team) works to get Arthur back into shape, but maybe that’s just as well because Merlin gets a bit more entangled than he planned.

Paint the World Orange and Blue | 17,372 | ingberry / @ingberry

Summary: Armed with pen, paper and mugs of tea, Merlin created a relatively successful series of graphic novels. Armed with determination, sarcasm and more tea, he signs a deal with Pendragon Pictures to turn his first novel into a film. Merlin's relationship with Arthur Pendragon starts with TWO (2) slammed doors and ONE (1) severely bruised ego, but that's not at all how it ends.

Let it be you | 33,323 | amithia

Summary: This is all Gwen's fault. Merlin never wanted a stupid smartphone in the first place. Now, he has a smartphone and a supercilious, posh git bullying him on Whatsapp. He really should block the prat.

After The Heart Goes | 40,482 | Polomonkey / @thepolomonkey

Summary: Merlin grows up in care, and it breaks him. Then he meets Arthur, who wants to put him back together.

Distance Without Remedy | 57,826 | BeautifulFiction / @the-pen-pot

Summary: When Merlin confesses the truth of his magic to Arthur, he finds himself exiled from Camelot. He intends never to return to Arthur's side, but destiny is not so easily defeated. Can he and Arthur heal the rift that has yawned between them, or will they both suffer the consequences of destiny's displeasure?

Gravity | 62,057 | BeautifulFiction / @the-pen-pot

Summary: He saw Arthur burst from the forest, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and fear locked his expression in its clutches. One hand stretched out as if to grab him. So near and yet so far. The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below.

Sorcerer's Bane | 264,621 | BeautifulFiction / @the-pen-pot

Summary: Arthur gave Merlin his cloak thinking only of the warmth it would offer in a snowstorm. He never thought his manservant may be mistaken for him and snatched by bandits. Nor did he expect his dashing rescue of Merlin to turn his world so utterly on his head. Because the bandits hadn't kidnapped a prince. They'd snatched a sorcerer, and now captivity is the least of anyone's problems. A golden age awaits, but can they claim it together, or are they doomed to fail.

Blog Info ☆ All 2024 Reclists ☆ 2023 Reclists

[tummypjotime]

Intro

(This is essentially a sort of backstory, all snippets will practically take place within the same vore au unless stated otherwise)

Something Percy had learned since he was introduced to the Greek pantheon was the concept of tummy time. It had other names too, but that’s how Percy would refer to it in his head most of the time, since it was the term used the first time it was explained to him. It didn’t have the same meaning as when mortals talked about tummy time, when a baby is placed on their stomach so they’ll lift their head and thus train their neck muscles. When gods and demigods talked about tummy time, they meant a practice of a godly parent or older sibling putting you down for a nap or soothing you or just spending quality time with you by placing you in their tummy, as in their literal stomach, that apparently doubled as the pouch of a koala or a kangaroo, except this pouch is usually accessed through the mouth. The gods could also sort of, magic you inside. If anyone had ever put their kid in their tummy through the… other… opening, Percy hadn’t asked, because he didn’t want to know.

The first time Percy had tummy time was after a particularly terrible nightmare. He’d woken up in his cabin cold sweating and heart pounding. His father had turned up after a few seconds and picked him up in his arms. It might have seemed pathetic for a thirteen year old to still need to be cradled and soothed by a parent after a nightmare, but mind you, Percy had been through situations a tad more terrifying than most thirteen year olds and could care less about being embarrassed over an adult having to comfort him.

Poseidon had rocked him back and forth slowly while whispering soft reassurances that he was here, that Percy was safe. He’d felt small in his dad’s arms, though with how dark it was in the cabin, he couldn’t tell for sure how small. The gods would sometimes shrink you down to swallow easier. They’d also grow larger themselves sometimes, but that was a bit impractical when you’re indoors. Percy had calmed down somewhat and was half asleep when he felt his dad change his grip on him. He was lifted up and vaguely noted some warm silky material lightly squeezing his feet. It pulled him downward into a soft tube, his father’s hands keeping him steady. He felt a warm breeze against his face before another squeezing sucked him further down the tube, its warm walls enveloping his legs just above his knees. Because of his pjs, he could only fully feel the silky surface around his feet, though. The process repeated two or three times until the hands let go of him and he slipped fully down the tube. The walls rhythmically constricted around him as he was pulled further downwards. Percy found the feeling odd, but it was oddly comforting, like a full body hug.

He was dropped into a sort of velvety sack. It was soft and plushy and when he opened one eye a little, he saw a soft blue glow lining out the folds of the walls and worked kind of like a nightlight. It was cozy in there. It felt like he’d been wrapped up in a weighted blanket and it was mostly quiet aside from a steady ‘ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump’. A weight pressed against him through the walls cradling him and he heard his dad’s voice vibrating around him.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe within me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Percy fell asleep quickly afterward, free of any nightmares.

It didn’t fully register in his mind until the next day that; ‘Wait a minute, did my dad actually eat me?’ Because he hadn’t been fully awake, he wasn’t even sure if it really happened or if he dreamt that part. He mentioned it as a weird dream to Annabeth later, hoping that he sounded somewhat indifferent about it.

“Hm, I miss tummy time,” Annabeth mused, apparently Percy hadn’t properly implied it to have been a dream. “My mother seems to think I’m too old for that now.”

“Do… all gods swallow their kids?” Percy asked, perplexed.

Annabeth looked at him a little surprised.

“Well, yes. As far as I know they do. Everyone here has had tummy time in their godly parent’s stomach at least once. Or, well, at least the claimed ones have.”

Once he learned what it was, he also noticed that the topic was rather freely talked about. If one demigod was absent from an activity, the others would assume he or she was having tummy time. Someone would talk about a nightmare and add that they could go back to sleep after some belly cradling. You would look for one of your friends and their half siblings would tell you their godly parent was holding them right now. Different cabins had tummy time at different frequencies, which seemed to be from different parenting styles by the gods. The demigods in cabins 6 and 9 usually had only ever had tummy time once or twice while the demigods in cabin 7 seemed to have tummy time up to twice a week.

If you knew what to look for, you could sometimes spot a god at camp cradling their kid in their stomach. They’d sit in the shadow of a tree, or stand leaning against the wall of their cabin. Some would have a visible bump on their stomach while others would only give away what they were doing through the way they’d rub their abdomen with a fond look on their face.

It was odd, Percy wouldn’t deny it, and it was also a very vulnerable position to be in. But he found himself liking it. There was nowhere else where Percy felt as safe and comfortable enough to be so vulnerable as he did tucked away within his dad’s bioluminescent light, the muscles encapsulating him softly rocking him back and forth, soothing him for whatever has him worried, stressed or scared. Poseidon’s heartbeat was sometimes accompanied by his voice, telling Percy about the diverse ecosystems of the oceans, from the shallow sea of Azov, to the deep mariana trench, or, when Percy had woken up from nightmares, soft lullabies from the ancient times in Mycenaean Greek. At those moments, Percy could actually feel at ease.

If you have any feedback to give, please do! This is my first ever attempt at writing vore, and while it is first and foremost for self indulgence, I always seek to improve my writing skills

[pomefioredove]

the fact fellow in one universe says he doesn't wanna be around so many stuck up brats potentially fakes his death. W his lil bro.

And then gets a card aka moves into ramshackle to add to it

like

man traumatized these kids for life says nah yall kids SUCK I AINT MOVIN IN THERE . MONTHS LATER. Howdy hey kidding. Been awhile huh. The headmaster let me in. Cuz I knew he would let me in if I used afew pretty words

again the ramshackle au is so impractical and funny. imagine being one of the guys and going like "oh that's the crazy guy who tried to eradicate all magic that one time" and then "oh that's a 26 year old man who used to kidnap little kids. Hey wait why is he even here Is he even allowed near schools"

[binanfics]

List #3!

Flare by @nardaviel

En hates soulmate marks. They're a cage; they fence him in and trap him, and leave him staring through the bars at the one person he wants to be with. Sometimes he can't stand the sight of his marks, which is a problem, since they're on the backs of his hands. He doesn't want to deal with arguments, monsters, or Kusatsu's two unsettling soulmate marks. He's too busy trying to hold onto his friendship with Atsushi. But even though the two of them didn't light each other's marks, even though his faith in the soulmate web is at rock bottom, there's one possibility that didn't occur to anyone.

Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei-bu Selfish Kiss! by bluemisfortune *Boueibu LOVE!+HK*

One quiet night without monsters, the Defence Club takes a trip to a travelling fair and its house of mirrors. What walks into school the next morning is a very different club. Passive sins such as insolence and indolence are no longer a concern to the Student Council when faced with this mysterious change. The only way to get answers is to defeat this new threat. However, what stands before them is no longer their familiar Defence Club but magical knights searching for happiness - Selfish Kiss!

I Swear I've Seen this Horror Movie by @a-writing-trickster-angel

So, Ryuu’s grandmother is visiting his aunt so sleepover! (cuz why the fuck not?) established enatsu, ioryuu in the works but not established. Includes horror games, magical monsters, and taking pictures of sleeping teammates who are too cute.

Play our Little Game by Purplerose128

Ibushi Arima had lived up to his family's expectations his whole life, in all but one category. After repeated insinuations that he should have a girlfriend, who would be a better stand-in than Akoya? (AKA the "pretend to be my girlfriend" AU that I thought this fandom needed)

Private Bath by umiyluki 

The student council summer retreat gives Arima and Akoya far fewer opportunities to be alone together than they'd hoped; tlhey'll just have to take advantage of the few they get. (Set during episode seven.)

Part of your world by @mystofthestars *unfinisheld*

Young merman Ryuu is really fond of the inaccessible human world, as his vast collection of artifacts shows and despite the fact that his older brothers strongly oppose his passion. His curiosity is so strong, that he would literally pay any price to be able to explore the upper land and meet with his human crush.

When he gets to set foot on the shore for the first time, however, will the outside world and the man he thinks he loves be what he expects them to be?

Of Gardening and Tutoring by ThePackWantstheD

Kinshirou didn’t look up from the papers he was reading as he answered, “I believe he is currently in the library. He was asked to tutor one of the first years.”

Love is a Flower by rynwritesheresometimes *NSFW/unfinished*

In hindsight, it was a terrible idea to turn the closet pervert of the school into a monster. Aki and Haru's latest plan to take down the Battle Lovers backfires horribly when they are also hit with the monster's "love pollen." Even Gora gets dragged into the fiasco. Things get steamy in the onsen before Yumoto finally takes this monster down.

Through the Looking Glass by @fortune-maiden

And what Yumoto found there. A mysterious mirror hidden in Binan High School’s basement takes Yumoto and Wombat to a strange yet familiar place…

Can I Destroy The Earth? 2.XX: Love Is a Limited Edition Collector's Item! by Gramarye

When the Battle Lovers complain about the impracticality and visibility of their combat uniforms, Wombat tries to placate them by offering them another piece of highly advanced scientific technology: a transformation pen that will allow them to disguise themselves as anyone they wish. Meanwhile, Caerula Adamas have identified their next potential monster, only to discover that it may have been unwise to target someone who has an earnest desire for dark power -- and a will of his own when it comes to wielding it. [NOTE: On the advice of UCHYUU TV's legal counsel, this episode from season 2 of Can I Destroy the Earth? was withdrawn before airing and never shown on live intergalactic broadcast.]

The Future's Kiss of Despair by Pyrachan *Boueibu HK/Unfinished*

Life after high school isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Eventually, you change and not for the better. Eventually, you end up alone. Despair takes your heart.

[bloomeng]

they say that those with adhd shouldn’t share projects before they’re done bc you get a dopamine hit before you finish and thus lose motivation to finish however they didn’t account for my indecisive ass

ANYWAY I’ve been working on a revamped Batgirl for my magical au but I’m impatient and I’ve had this idea for an Oracle design since day one but didn’t fit the og vibe I was going for but now it does… only I’m torn. The idea in question was to give Babs somewhere between “Princess Serenity from Sailor Moon” or “Yue from atla” look. Because as Oracle she’s sort of omnipresent and all powerful in a less direct way, so I thought it would be fun to give her a totally beautiful but impractical outfit that she sort of hates but looks sooooo cool in a transformation scene. Anyway I came up with two initial designs. Sorry if the sketches are hard to read, but my intention was to give her layers that she could then shed to be more practical but the impracticality would def be a gag.

Anyway I couldn’t make up my mind at all so then I made a few more versions.

At this point we’re playing spot the differences. But I’m putting it to a poll just to see what people like best. None of these are final but I need out of my rut.

[fireandspiceland]

Summing up some spicy cardverse thoughts from a conversation with Art @coralcatsea and ArtTea @artea-artie because they are too lovely to keep them hidden <3

♠️💚♠️💙♠️💚♠️💙♠️💚♠️💙♠️💚♠️💙♠️

Cardverse au where Queen Arthur is a powerful mage, but what no one (not even the Queen) knows is that Alfred has 1 (one) magical ability and it is reading the thoughts people have about him which contain strong emotions. Arthur’s mind never shuts up, and while Alfred does get quite a kick out of knowing this Queen is thinking and fantasising about him almost 24/7, he sometimes finds himself in rather.. impractical situations. 🤭

As ArTea suggested it's particularly fun to consider this in an enemies to lovers setting, where they loathe each other at first - the royal born prince who became king and the queen who stems from peasantry and has yet to make peace with his new role? - but slowly Arthur's feelings towards Alfred turn from fantasies about violently breaking their divinely chosen bond to... still violent fantasies, but now he is sexually torturing Alfred in his mind. Those once malicious thoughts that craved nothing but the worst for the other, turning into not-so-innocent fantasies of a tear-stained Alfred calling out Arthur's name.

Alfred wonders why he hasn’t been hearing any malicious thoughts from Arthur in a long while (which would be at a time they where they finally start to get along) just for him to suddenly get hit with this- What does he do with that information? It's the first time he encountered such a malicious thought about him. 😆

Queen Arthur and King Alfred sitting next to each other at some official event in the throne room, suddenly there’s thoughts of him being made to undress and kneel before his Queen with tears of shame streaming down his face, broadcasted directly into Alfred’s mind. Needless to say, he’s unable to leave the event so he’s forced to sit there and act like he’s not feeling like melting into a puddle. Through the event Alfred is unbelievably fidgety, enough that it even gains Arthur’s attention - who of couse asks Alfred about his strange behavious. He tries to brush it off, but does it in a manner Arthur finds adorable - blushing and stuttering - which only worsens the fantasy as it inspires the imagination within Arthur. 🔥

Arthur sits up a little straighter and with his legs slightly spread while thinking about Alfred sucking him off there on the throne. Meanwhile Alfred is slouching in his seat, hoping to disappear while he keeps biting and licking his lips and glancing at Arthur’s groin. Arthur catches of course and thinks Alfred is having similar thoughts, but he doesn’t know Alfred knows what he’s fantasising about and it all just continues to get worse.

As Art put it so well: The cycle just continues. Self-fulfilling prophecy. And then Arthur catches him later and tries to call Alfred out for his behaviour (bonus kabedon possible) and Alfred is like, "But YOU-!" but he can't finish that, because it's supposed to be a secret that he heard and saw Arthur's fantasies before his own inner eye.

And sometimes when Arthur is around Alfred, he notices him getting hard for "no reason" and assumes Alfred just really likes and has a lot of dirty thoughts about HIM. When really it's ARTHUR'S dirty thoughts that keep causing it. ❤️

[chaos-has-theories]

Character concepts for the Mad Scientist/Girl Genius AU I'm working on for AU Roulette 2024

More description and story concept under cut.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng: GIRL GENIUS

a Spark from the city of Paris. While she doesn't have a particularly impressive lineage, her talents are impressive.

Her focus is on textile based inventions, with her breakthrough project having included a small viscose spinning device.

She also builds little clockwork ladybugs.

After she managed to piss off every single noble family in Paris, she essentially went into exile. Since then she's been travelling and doing assorted heroics all over Europa.

She's got her shirt and waistcoat because everybody in GG wears them. No skirt, because it would impractical in her field of work; long jacket tails because a) I like them and b) Ladybug wings :D

She's also supposed to have a Ladybug locket and her little silk gun, but. Forgor

Before she leaves Paris, her outfits are more like Circus Era and Classic Agatha.

Nino Lahiffe: A normal guy with a normal life

No, really.

Well, he used to be, okay?

Former classmate and childhood friend of Marinette's

Marinette, Adrien and him were essentially inseperable after Marinette's breakthrough.

Except no, they weren't, because Adrien is still in Paris while Nino followed Marinette into exile.

People tend to assume that he's either Marinette's minion or her construct or both. She doesn't consider him a minion; and while he's taken his share of damage, he has never died once.

(He is very proud of that.)

The reason why he doesn't break his neck once a week is that Marinette is very good at her job. His outer shirt with the hood works as like, exoskeleton, hardhat and airbag in one.

His outfit and general style are inspired by Lars, specifically here.

Alya, Last Princess of the Lost City of Cesaire

what it says on the tin.

Descended from one of the last God-Queens

in the face of all that, only a rather minor spark.

Also, her science kind of... looks like magic to most europeans.

and anyway she doesn't want to be a scientist!!! she wants to be a warrior

her mother agreed that she could go on a trip and just come home and learn princessing once she's seen everything she wanted to see

THERE IS ALWAYS MORE TO SEE

joined the Miracle Squad about a year ago, because a) they're fun and b) Nino is very cute even if he can't flirt to save his life (and it has come up)

Based on both Zeetha (who gave her the bare biceps) and Violetta (who gave her the boots), but the outfit really is mostly Rena Rouge

Adrien Agreste, son of the famous Spark and heir to the House de Vanily

???

went to school with Marinette and Nino for a while

in recent years, has only been seen in public during Important Events

perfect dutiful son

like, he does everything his father tells him to!

definitely human though.

100% perfectly completely human

Marinette definitely never had to resurrect him either

Never seen in anything less than a fully buttoned shirt, long sleeves, and full slacks.

I have a design for him based on Classic Gil, but this is fully grieving madboy Gil (+ skirt + happiness + catboy :3)

All of these pictures are sketched over the basic character images for ML and I didn't really feel like shading but... maybe one day

[thecryptidgrey]

As an avid lover of his Dark Materials I have yet to see a BG3 daemons concept and that is a Crime. So here are some Thoughts below the cut :)

(Also something something about the representation of religion in HDM and how it correlates to BG3's depictions of faith and trauma. I have the Idea but I am too tired to do much with it; may return to the thought later.)

Shadowheart- a borzoi. Elegant, spooky looking, dramatic. Borzoi don't make much vocal noise but are very playful- instincts surpressed by Sharrens that thrive with the party (see that very cute night orchid scene specifically). Generally very sweet, loyal animals, like SH when you get to know her. Plus they look amazing.

(Act 3 spoilers- I also appreciate that she'll match it when she dyes her hair. Seems suitable dramatic for her.) Anyways, I also really like borzois and think it's be funny af to see in them trotting around in game like the weird willow tree ghost things they are.

Lae'zel- Githyanki don't have daemons; she finds them baffling. Very impractical to carry one's soul on the exterior, although perhaps an efficient companion in combat to have someone you share instincts with. After much discussion by the others she decides for them if she did have one it would be a red dragon. Nobody argues with that.

(She does decide she'd have to prove herself worthy of such a beast first, and if she trusts Tav admits that maybe she'd like if Vlaakith could give her a daemon bond with her future dragon. Would she get a dragon if she became Vlaakith's chosen? Idk, she would now.)

Karlach- Tieflings also don't have daemons. She wants one wholeheartedly. The party finds her a magic ring that allows her to summon a familiar- she gets a direwolf puppy as enthusiastic and adoring as she is :)

Said ring is obtained somewhere in the Shadowlands after she gets the cooldown upgrade so she can hug it as soon as she has it. Also it grows up absolutely massive. Its paws are the size of its head when it's a puppy. All the better for cuddling with!

Gale- Tara. Wizards, sorcerers, etc, tend to have magical creatures as familiars. This AU he had Tara since the beginning. He still summoned all the other weird shit he did as a kid, just with Tara's help. She is his voice of reason and holder of the braincells; he gets to keep one and it's all about Mystra. She's protecting the rest from its corruption. He gets them back when the party convinces him to tell Mystra to go fuck herself.

(I do chew upon the trans Gale headcanon sometimes. If anyone wishes to muse with me on how daemons, which are typically of the opposite sex to their human, would be incorporated into that, please do.) Edit- pls see comments for very illuminating interpretations of daemons and gender!! Very cool stuff!

Wyll- lanner falcon. Medium sized yet formidable bird of prey, the head of which was often depicted on Egyptian gods like Ra and Horus. Beautiful, noble and nimble creatures (good for a dexterity based build, which I focused on for him alongside charisma).

Mizora's pact significantly lengthened their tether; her devil-form punishment broke it and weakened their bond significantly, much to their distress- they hate to be out of vision of one another as a result. Halsin, Jaheira and especially my Tav Cerewyn helped him adapt to and understand the new tether.

Druids and their daemons are based on the His Dark Materials witches, who have significantly lengthened bonds. Druid bonds are just as strong in markedly different ways; each is more independent and their personalities more distinct. I will definitley expand more on this; I adore Wyll and really want to do his character justice. He's the knight in shining armour but he also made a deal with a devil to be said knight, so, y'know. His daemon should really reflect that complexity.

Astarion- luna moth (changed when he turned- he can't remember what she was before.)

Beautiful in a fragile, showy way. Short-lived. Desperate for the light. A silkmoth; silk for embroidery. He resents her for being such a reflection of the self he tries so desperately to hide yet is fiercely protective of her, so beautiful and soft and hopeful- moths exist to seek light, craving it like he longed for a knight in shining armour, like he yearns for the sun.

Cazador liked to pin her wings.

(I love my sad wet cat very much and so as payback for hurting my soul he is subjected to the tragedy that is my attempting to be poetic :) )

Halsin- bear. Druid daemons reflect their favoured Wild shapes. Strong, steady, reliable, protective. Optimal shape for snuggles, very nice and warm, overall :) vibes to look at and be around. (Bear is not present for That Scene. That Scene and daemons are not up for discussion, you degenerates. Thank you <3)

Jaheira- Eurasian lynx. Struggled a bit on this one- didn't think any of the wild shapes suited her as a daemon- so looked up the national animal of Romania (supposedly Jaheira's accent?) for potential inspiration. Got the lynx, which seems perfect. Medium sized, elegant, very dignifed and deadly hunters who inhabit forests. Notably very quiet and hard to track. Endangered, which resonated with me because of Jaheira's status as one of the last of the Old Guard, so to speak. Nocturnal, which I like because we meet Jaheira in the shadow-cursed lands. Ambush predator, which just goes with my Gloom Stalker build for her. Overall seems perfect for the legendary druid.

Minsc- Boo? Fuck knows man, Minsc gonna Minsc. I spent way too long thinking about Jaheira and now I don't have the energy left. If Gale can have Tara, Minsc can have Boo. I do love Minsc so I will be back to expand on him if the mood strikes me but also I think maybe I don't need to? Daemon Boo just seems Right. Will consult Minsc's backstory and update later if necessary.

Minthara- yet to recruit her so uncertain. Displacer beast seems apt, maybe? Something felinoid would really fit her tbh. Elegant and lethal, very aloof but loyal once you've got her. Input would be appreciated.

My Tav, Cerewyn, just in case ya'll are interested- a raven named Gwyn, short for something I haven't figured out how to spell yet.

Clever, calculating, very blunt and sarcastic to balance out Cere's generally stoic, quite, calm demeanour. Sharp eyed bird for a sharpshooter ranger's daemon. Cere is a beast master ranger/ druid of land multiclass; ravens are summonable both for wild companions and familiars and are a wild shape (Cere's preferred wild shape too).

A common species but not to be underestimated and generally unpredictable, which suits her. She romances Astarion and both she and the raven think he and his luna moth are the prettiest things they've ever seen. They're also very patient and perceptive of trauma due to (Extensive Backstory), so they're more than happy to take their time with earning his trust. Astarion is very appreciative of all the shiny things the raven likes to bring him, and also that it clawed one of Cazador's eyes out for daring to speak to Astarion like That.

CONC.; symbolism is fun and also painful :)

Daemon names are a work in progress; the muses gave me this then said lol nope and fucked off before I could ask them for appropriate names. Might post them with some sketches of the party and daemons together?

(I wrote this in Notes app at an ungodly hour with fuck all editing. It is incoherent, but if anything is genuinely incomprehensible, please tell me so I may at least try to fix it. Much love <3 if you made it this far you get to know I welcome suggestions for NPCs to give daemons next!)

First edit- I misspelled quiet so many times omfg

[coinlockerrbaby]

Guys Verlaine if he wasn't a loser and also was a magical girl from hit animanga series Madoka Magica 🙀🙀 (and also a gal :3)

get ready 4 my yapping (and better quality close-ups) below!!!!

Okay so in this AU them and Rimbaud r both 19!!!

Verlaine's wish was to bring Chuuya back after he went missing; Chuuya disappeared at 5 and was gone for two years before Kyuubey showed up.

In this Chuuya's 14 and came back @ 7 so Verlaine would've made their contract at 12!!! (They've been a magical girl 4 a hot minute)

They still keep a lot of the whole "I'm not human" edginess but this time it's over being a magical girl (bro did NOT react well to finding out abt the soul gem thing). Them nd Rimbaud have a bit of a better relationship than canon cuz Rimbaud's also a magical girl so Verlaine actually feels understood in this universe.

Story-wise they both were doin pretty good until an amount of circumstances led to them having to kill Walpurgisnacht on their own. While they did succeed, they both had completely used up all their magic and were gonna become witches </3

Rimbaud pulls a Madoka and sacrifices himself with their only grief seed :( Verlaine's forced to kill Rimbaud (or the witch that used 2 be Rimbaud el oh el) and it fucks him up a little :3

Verlaine's super devastated cuz bro lost the only person who understood them and they essentially gave up on living; so they decide to just start killing witches (and quite a few magical girls!!!!). It doesn't take long for them to transform into their own witch and get killed (probably by Chuuya nd Dazai) </3

OK DESIGN DETAILS!!!

Their weapon is a sniper rifle, it's magical so they can summon it but only one at a time so not like Mami's many revolvers!! It can shoot lil mini black holes and it's pretty fancy :3

Also close-up of the Soul Gem this took like 4 tries to look okay </3

Their outfit's pretty similar, I gave them like a huge coat that they don't rlly wear cuz it'd be so impractical in battles </3 also the design on their gloves and tights are supposed to mimic brutalisation :3

(also if u look real close they have heterochromia yippee!!!)

MY FAV PART THE WITCH FORM

The runes (hopefully) spell out Guivre cuz that's the name of Verlaine's witch form :3

I wanted to reference what's described in Stormbringer so the "tail" nd "head" are inspired by that tomfoolery!! It's also supposed to mimic a dragon with butterfly wings instead of normal wings (idk why i drew butterfly wings they're just fun ig) and it also has horns :3

The lil halo thing in the back's supposed to look divine in a way????? also it just looks cool

meow

Im gonna draw Rimbaud in the future but 4 now I'm done yapping thanks 4 reading this :3

ALSO this started like 2 years ago when Pinterest did this!!!

and then my wife drew the first iteration of magical girl verlaine...

:3