#koschei will forever try but the fact of the matter is

[acetheta]

i think i could heal if people were more crazy about spydoc. btw

[helion-ism]

let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him. 

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet,  by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point. 

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites: 

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong. 

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down? 

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay. 

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear: elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles. 

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said:

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 1

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter One: Moonlight Messages

Soon, the flowers wouldn’t be enough. No, Elain corrected herself as she glared at the vase, they weren’t enough already. They had never been enough.

The house slept while Elain perched on her window ledge at the River Manor. Despite her cotton nightgown, she had not yet been able to find sleep herself, as so often she did these days. And so, Elain had risen to sit in the silver light of her window ledge and watch the impossibly beautiful night sky of the Night Court wink down at her tauntingly.

The revelation had occurred to Elain a few nights ago, but it hadn’t seemed important then and, along with most of Elain’s life experience thus far, had been brushed under the proverbial carpet. Her education in the etiquette of balls, the correct way one must curtsey in the presence of lady’s and dames, even the novels she’d read on the history of cutlery; it was all useless. She should be upset; she should care that the values that had been instilled in her by her terrifying mother had all but evaporated. But Elain felt nothing.

She was afraid of the flowers, though, because once they’d gone she’d really have nothing left. No mother, no father, no mortal etiquette, in fact, no mortality at all. After being reborn in a world that didn’t make sense to her, after being abandoned by everything she held dear, her father, her fiancé, gardening truly was the only common factor between her life then, and her life now.

And that was useful, to begin with. Gardening was a lifeline to pull her out of the fog that was those first months out of the Cauldron. It should’ve been a steppingstone in her road to recovery, the first step into her new life. Instead, it had consumed her.

As Feyre continued to prove that she’d always meant to be the High Lady of the Night Court, and especially when Nesta – Nesta – found her footing with the Valkyries and began to make a life for herself in Prythian, Elain was left to her flowers. There was nothing else for her, no purpose. No one knew how to talk to her; too afraid she might break if they ask anything more of her than a new pot of petunias.

But if flowers were all the universe could give her, whilst her sisters got married and began to spew out their beautiful children, then she would be grateful. But the flowers weren’t enough, and she was a fool to ever think otherwise.

She’d read every book, familiarised herself with the climates of the different courts and the different shrubbery that grow there. The information was running out, and so, her purpose was running out. Maybe this wouldn’t have threatened her when she was a human, when she only had a good 80 years, if she were lucky, before she’d be taken in the arms of oblivion. But it was eternity that now stretched before her. Eternity of being her sister’s gardener.

Death gives life meaning, petal – so live. It’s what Elain’s father had told her when Graysen had asked for her hand in marriage. Elain had kneeled at her father’s feet, giggling as she gripped his knees and begged him to say yes. In all her life, she’d never been so happy. She was to be married, she was to have her own estate, her own gardens! Imagine that. It would be a little life, nothing of the prince her mother had sworn she was pretty enough to marry. But Elain would’ve gone with Graysen even if he had only a cottage and a ring made of straw.

Her mother, rest her soul, had told Elain that she was a fool, because she believed in romance the way children of the night believed in the fae. Elain devoted her life to romance, her holy books were the novels her father had brought her from the continent, full of dangerous escapades and rising tension, love confessions and secret weddings. Where Nesta had wished to marry rich, Elain had wished to fall in love.

Silly girl, infatuated with infatuation. Her mother’s voice echoed around her head. Just wait, Elain. Wait until a man breaks your heart, it’s all they know to do, then you’ll realise that you and I, well, we aren’t so different after all.

Elain hated her mother for a multitude of reasons, but most of all because she was right. Now her engagement ring was sitting at the bottom of her beside drawers, her heart was broken, her body something else entirely, and her mind…Her mind was torture. It was a labyrinth, and it was complicated. Where Elain used to have silence, she now had noise, endless undisturbed chatter of visions that had not yet taken form. And above it all, beating like a drum of justice – his heartbeat.

At that moment, it was steady and satiated, and Elain knew that meant he was asleep. Lucien, her mate, safe and asleep on the other side of Prythian, and though she could never admit it to herself, the thought did bring her some comfort. At least Lucien was stagnant and reliable, even if he was only reliable in his ability to avoid her at all costs.

It felt like rejection.

All this time Feyre and Nesta, even Rhysand, had talked to her about Lucien in terms of everything being her choice. It would be her choice if she wanted to accept the bond with Lucien, and no matter her decision, Lucien was a good enough male to accept that choice and move on. But it didn’t much feel like her choice mattered, not when her supposed soulmate spent his days at the other end of the lands, as far away from her as possible. Maybe he was hoping she’d reject the bond, but that didn’t explain his behaviour when he visited, all racing heartbeats and flushed cheeks.

Lucien was a hypocrite, Elain couldn’t help but think as she sighed into the crook of her elbow, feeling a surge of emotion batter through her. Damn her human heart. Lucien was a hypocrite because in leaving her, he’d left her with no choice at all.

He may as well have rejected her. As Graysen had rejected her. As Azriel had rejected her.

All Elain wanted was to love, and to be loved, and yet she was loveless, alone – drowning, all over again. Most of the time Elain could keep the ocean of agony at bay, the one that had almost killed her when she’d first come out of the Cauldron. But then there were moments like these, in the dead of night, when she could not sleep. In these moments, the pain had nowhere to go, and it rose up in her life a black wave, before taking her under.

Sinking her teeth into the crook of her elbow until she tasted her fae blood, Elain battled through the wave of emotion. Her tears coming hot and quick as she curled into herself and lay, paralyzed in the depth of her aloneness, till the clouds smothered the moon and turned the world dark.

***

On the other side of Prythian, Lucien found himself tumbling into consciousness. He was sprawled on his back in his bedroom of the Lockhart manor, the residence of Vassa and Lucien, and he supposed, his own home too. Supposedly. The pale sheets were crumpled around his waist and his bare chest was rising steadily in the moonlight.

Unable to stay still, and forever thinking the worst after a childhood of running and hiding, Lucien sprung from his bed and unsheathed his sword from where it hung on a nearby armchair. Breathing through his nose, Lucien turned back to the dark room, his eyes, one fae, one machine, roved over the room, checking for any threat.

But the moment he was up and moving, his body showed him his cause for waking. A sharp, agonising tug from in between his ribs on his left side caused Lucien to surge forwards with a gasp, his sword cluttering to the floor. Just when he recovered from that first tug of the mating bond, a second followed, throwing Lucien onto his hands and knees as a wave of pure, agonising, hopelessness washed over him.

But the moment he was up and moving, his body showed him his cause for waking. A sharp, agonising tug from in between his ribs on his left side caused Lucien to surge forwards with a gasp, his sword cluttering to the floor. Just when he recovered from that first tug of the mating bond, a second followed, throwing Lucien onto his hands and knees as a wave of pure, agonising, hopelessness washed over him.

“What…” Lucien gasped into the silence, his hand running over his ribs, trying to ease the bond that was so fervently demanding his attention. The bond had pulled on him, not Elain – at least he could tell that by now. But the way in which the bond had demanded his attention, it was haunting. It felt as though it had reached the end of a limit, like an elastic band stretched to far only for it to snap right back.

With his mating bond being tugged on so viscerally the base mate desires that Lucien had spent two years putting a damper on, raged into fiery life. Go to her. Find her. Comfort. Keep her safe. Protect her. Comfort…She’s hurting. Kill the threat. Growling into the silence, Lucien scrunched his eyes shut and threw himself against those urges, shoving them deep down. As he did so he repeated his mantra to himself – ‘She doesn’t need me. She doesn’t want me. I will not demand anything of her. She’s fine.’

The last one didn’t really help, not if the overwhelming sadness was any indication of how his mate was faring. She’s upset. The bond seemed to whisper in his ear and Lucien felt his guts turn. Elain was supposed to be happy, that’s why he was doing all of this. He was keeping himself on the other side of the world so she could find herself, so she could be happy. But she wasn’t. If that spout of emotion was enough of an indication, Elain was miserable.

Sighing, Lucien rocked back onto his knees and ran a hand down his face, only for his hand to come away wet. Touching his cheek again, Lucien smelt the brine of tears in his room. But they weren’t his tears. No, a lady, his lady, was weeping on the other side of the world, hard enough for her tears to roll down his cheeks.

Again, Lucien felt his guts turn and thought for a moment he might be sick. Throwing himself to his feet Lucien sat back on his bed, glaring out his window to the moon, the same moon she might be looking at, at that very instant.

Lucien didn’t have anything going for him. He was a traitor, a coward, a seventh son, an outsider; when the world reforged itself around the Archeron sisters, Lucien had got left behind. No, not left behind, stuck. He was neither here nor there. Neither friend nor foe. Nothing was solid in his life, nothing constant, except that golden thread wrapped around his ribcage, tugging him north to…her.

She was enigmatic and good, supposedly. The same way he was supposedly cunning. He wanted to…well, he wanted to do everything. But in this moment, and over the past few months, he just wished to know her. A minute of her time, each day, would that be so much. But she was beyond him, in every sense of the word.

She was still broken and still healing, and he couldn’t impose himself into her new world. Right?

Lucien groaned and turned away from the moonlight, burying his head into his pillow. All Lucien seemed to be able to think was that somewhere, on the other side of Prythian was Elain. Elain, alive and well. His mate. His mate. Mother, he’d never get over saying those two little, impossible words.

She was his soulmate, did that mean she was awake now, thinking of him the way he thought of her? Obsessively, incandescently, without remorse or restraint. Rolling on his back, Lucien looked again at the moon.

“Are you thinking of me?” He whispered into the silence, only the moonlight and the mother to hear the tremble in his voice, “…because I’m thinking of you…I’m always thinking of you.”

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (18/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Everyone is back at the Spring Court, but nothing is as Elain imagined. I hope you enjoy! You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ There will be no new chapter next week because I will be on vacation with limited wifi, but after that, it's full steam ahead until the end.

Once Lucien takes Vassa to their room, Rhys and Tamlin agree to survey the wards on the estate, and Elain waits with Feyre and Eris for any sign of Koschei. She does not know what use she’ll be, but though her dress is torn and there are leaves tangled in her hair, Elain is not willing to leave the great hall.

“Will you go to the Autumn Court and claim your title?” Feyre asks Eris, her voice carefully neutral.

“I think that even with your limited years in Prythian, you will understand that such a thing is not a simple matter of appearing on the throne,” Eris responds in that silken tone which is seemingly not affected by torture or pain.

He shoots a look at Elain that indicates her presence is unwelcome. She crosses her arms.

Then Feyre turns to her.

“Can you give us a moment?” her sister asks, in that too-gentle voice that knows that Elain could not do what was needed in the moment of crisis, that she will always need rescuing.

But this is not some private room in which she can tell Feyre what is the matter. She is standing before the High Lady of the Night Court and the High Lord of the Autumn Court, and she’s been dismissed.

She forces her lips into the approximation of a smile and leaves the room, pushes her way out of the great wooden doors, and walks into the garden.

Elain has imagined this moment, her return to the gardens of the Spring Court, so many times. She would be walking with Vassa, healed and happy, and Elain would share her plans for the new garden, new hybrids developed on the continent or a more pleasing arrangement of plants, and Vassa would tell her a story about Scythia, which would make her laugh and also contain a thinly-veiled lesson on what it would mean to rule. There would be an affectionate joke about Lucien, perhaps a reference to Tamlin that would have Elain blushing, but mostly she would savor the nighttime walk in the garden with her friend, who would trust that Elain was capable of nearly anything.

Now Vassa screams at her touch.

Elain makes it as far as the edge of her field of tulips before she falls to her knees, ready for the sobs to overtake her. Instead, there is a great roaring emptiness inside of her. She’s surprised to realize that this feeling is not unfamiliar, something akin to what she felt in the Night Court months and months ago, convinced she’d turn into a monster. The feeling that she’d once had a purpose, only to find it had abandoned her.

She does not want to go back to the Spring Court, or to the Night Court, or even to all of Helion’s libraries. Instead, Elain thinks about wandering the forest, letting the low-hanging branches tear at her until she is dirty and empty and snarling.

Still, when she hears the sound of footsteps behind her, Elain does not fight. She freezes. She feels the hand on her and then she does the only thing she knows: she disappears.

Elain had worried that she’d lost this ability because of Koschei’s magic, that she’d be bound to her own world forever, but she leaves Prythian behind as easily as a leaf falls to the earth, the Spring Court gardens giving way to the familiar passageways.

Tamlin is beside her.

Watching the play of emotions on his face, Elain is sure he’s going to rage at her, point out every stupid decision she’s made, every risk and every failure, but instead one of his hands goes to her shoulder, the other to her chin, gently lifting her face until their eyes meet.

What she sees in his eyes makes everything else dissolve into mist around her. His green eyes do not waver in their gaze on her, as if he can behold every piece of her. She could never have imagined a look that tender, that hopeful, that concerned, that kind. The fairytales never went into such specifics.

“Are you all right?” he asks, the words so gentle and raw that Elain begins to cry. Not the screaming sobs she imagined. Instead, her tears leak out from her eyes, silent as they fall to her cheeks.

“I couldn’t save her,” she says. Her voice goes high and plaintive, a child’s wail. “I couldn’t take her to a place where she’d be safe. And she was there for so long. And the way she screamed when I touched her. I thought I was helping but all I did was cause her pain.”

The thought brings on the sobbing, her shoulders heaving with the recollection of Vassa’s screaming, the fact that even in the face of her friend’s suffering, Elain did not let her go. The fact that in the end, all she’s learned, all her abilities, were of no use.

Tamlin does not tell her to stop crying, does not tell her it is all right, doesn’t even remind her that everyone is waiting at the Spring Court, that there is every chance they’ll be retaliated against by Koschei or some unknown ally. Instead he draws her against him, her cheek against his chest, his hands on her back, up and down her spine, over and over, until her sobs calm.

“Without you, we wouldn’t have known that Vassa and Eris were in danger in the first place. You were the one who drew us together, who made the strategy.”

“Koschei will just claim her again.”

“We won’t allow that to happen,” he says, his hands cupping her shoulders, warm even through the heavy beading on her gown. But some perverse part of Elain is tired of being comforted.

“You think the High Lords will be willing to sacrifice themselves for the safety of a human queen?”

“I’m not talking about the High Lords. I mean you and Lucien. And me.” The last part comes after a hesitation, phrased almost as a question.

Her mind shifts them, to his appearance in the clearing.

“What happened to the shield against Koschei?”

“Feyre realized you were in trouble. She or Rhysand winnowed me to you. Koschei built a trap into the spell he has on Vassa. Likely it’s on Eris as well.”

She knows this will have political implications for Eris, but she cannot think about those now. Not when she’s dismissed from the rooms where such matters are discussed.

“I should have thought that Koschei wouldn’t make rescue so easy. Not when everyone was telling me to wait.”

He pulls away from her, meets her eyes, and does not look away.

“There is always a point where courage seems like stupidity.”

She shakes her head, tries for a smile. Of course Tamlin would know this.

“You’re being too nice to me,” she says. She was trained all her life to read the desires of men on their faces, and she knows when there’s something they’re not saying.

He sighs, looks away from her.

“You tried to do everything on your own. If you were anyone else, I would have started by saying that you should have let go of Vassa the moment she started screaming. Lucien could have winnowed her, or Feyre or Rhysand. You didn’t know what magic Koschei was working. And when I thought you were in danger, I… I was willing to sacrifice myself for you, Elain. To buy you the time to save Vassa, or run to safety. I would gladly make the same decision again. But you did not show the same amount of trust.”

She looks at him for a long moment. His muscles are tensed against her, as if he is waiting for her to rage at him, or else to disappear and leave him stranded between worlds. It occurs to her, then, that he is completely at her mercy.

In the space of that realization, all her angry thoughts toward Feyre evaporate. All she can think about is that if he braces for rejection in the face of such a gentle critique, he must have faced it from everyone he ever cared for. That she is now one of those people. Elain isn’t sure if it’s the mating bond, but this idea is a heady one, thrumming through her body.

There are a thousand reasons she should distrust Tamlin, even now, but she pushes each one firmly aside.

“I think you’re right,” she says, her voice a thread, swallowed up by the expanse around them.

When she sees the slight widening of his eyes, the surprise at her acceptance, she wants to fling herself at him, press her mouth to his. But they need to return. There is work to do, still, and she cannot lose herself to this desire, she cannot be the person who winds up trapped by the idea of romance.

And though Elain wants to trust Tamlin, believe that he has changed, that his past is behind him, she’s still comforted by the fact that in this place, she is the one with the power. That despite all his training, the arms that heft a broadsword without hesitation, the thighs that strain at his pants, she could trap him with a thought. In another world, he cannot harm her.

So instead of kissing him, she steps out of the circle of his arms, says, “We should go back to the Spring Court.”

“I need you to go to the Summer Court.” He looks down at her but she doesn’t feel him looming, only the earnestness of his gaze. Still, she steels herself.

“In case Koschei comes for Vassa and Eris?”

“Because I’d like you to tell the High Lords of Prythian everything that has happened while I ensure my court is secure. I’m asking you to be my emissary.”

“Why me?”

“You see what nobody else does, Elain, and beneath your lovely face is a mind that never stops. I think only a fool would underestimate you, but it seems this world is full of fools.”

His little speech is pure poetry, everything she’s ever dreamed a man or male could say to her, more than she ever expected. Still Elain remains out of the circle of his arms. She was part of the deliberations between Tamlin and Lucien over the meeting of the High Lords, the bickering that turned thunderous. As much as she wants to believe them, she knows firsthand how words can be manipulated, how a story of disaster can be turned into an epic tale of bravery and vulnerability and redemption. And while she believes both halves of this story when it comes to the Spring Court, tonight her heart feels too bruised and tired to take the risk on Tamlin.

“You’re sure Lucien won’t mind losing his post?”

“Lucien has been revealed as the heir to the Day Court and will likely be the consort of the Queen of Scythia. Even if he’d like to reclaim the position in the future, I don’t think he’ll object to your mission tonight.”

“Then I’ll accept,” she says. “As long as you’ll agree to consider the fact that you’ll still need an army to deal with the Autumn Court and fend off Koschei.”

His mouth thins while he considers.

“What did you see when you were there?”

“I don’t think the Vanserra brothers are ready to hand over the throne to Eris. We can try a diplomatic option but they’re unlikely to be receptive. They threatened Feyre and me with fire when they found us in the Autumn Court.”

His fists are clenched.

“How did you escape?”

“Feyre made a shield of water and we ran as fast as we could.”

“You could have--”

“I know I could have brought you from the passageways,” she says, “but this is going to be a political nightmare already, and we barely have the other courts as our allies.”

She hadn’t realized she’d looked away from him until his hand interrupts her view of the tiled flooring of the passageways. She reaches for him and their fingers intertwine, effortless.

“We will require an army,” he says, and Elain could swear that the air fills with the scent of springtime, green and sunlit and full of promise.

&

&

&

The High Lords have remained in the same room of the Summer Court, and at first Elain wonders why their expressions are rapt from the moment she appears. Then she realizes that Feyre is speaking, that Vassa is at her side.

“That is the chaos in the Autumn Court,” Feyre says, without acknowledging Elain’s appearance, “but I think that the larger threat to all of us is Koschei.”

“The sorcerer is bound to the lake.” Kallias’ voice sounds certain, but he looks around at the other High Lords as if requesting reassurance.

“He spoke to me of other worlds.” Vassa speaks into the silence, which grows more profound as her words resonate in the room. “He means to conquer them.”

“By what means?” Helion tries for arrogance but Elain can hear the concern, the curiosity in his tone. She has heard those qualities in his speech too many times to miss them.

And it occurs to Elain that she knows the answer to this question, that she’s held it inside of her since that vision long ago. The world shifted around her to make sense of it, and still her thinking mind shielded her a bit longer, as if knowing she was not ready.

Before Feyre can answer, she steps forward to where the rulers of Prythian cannot help but see her, her tired face and the leaves in her hair and the sparkling dress that’s smeared with blood and dirt.

“I think he means to get the Crown on me,” she tells them.

“I heard you were a seer.” Tarquin’s voice is calm, the sea on a sunny day, but Elain wonders what’s lurking below, how his mind moves.

This is the moment when Elain must choose how much of her gifts to reveal. For a second she hesitates, nearly looks to Feyre or Helion for guidance. Instead, she turns to meet Vassa’s eyes.

Though her friend’s face is pale and haunted, her blue eyes blaze bright. The gaze of a queen.

Slowly, because a queen is never hurried, much less by a commoner, Vassa nods at Elain, her lips ever so slightly uptilted.

“I am still learning about my powers,” Elain says, turning back to Tarquin, then letting her gaze rest on each of the High Lords in turn: Kallias, Thesan, and Helion. “But what I thought was the power of foresight seems to be more complicated. I can see the inflection points, where one world becomes another. These worlds are forged by our choices. In one, for example, Koschei captures me and forces the Crown on my head. In another, we defeat him.”

“And why are you the central figure in his plan?” Thesan’s voice is pleasant, almost musical, and yet she sees the tension in his body, nearly hidden. Elain thinks that, should she survive what’s to come, she would like to know him better, learn the way he balances his strength and kindness, the way it is not weakness.

But there is work to do, so she breathes deep and explains to them about the way that she can walk through worlds. She tells the High Lords about the passageways, the way she’s guided by desire, so that she can find the worlds that answer her needs in half a heartbeat. She speaks of the world of Koschei’s origin, the tethering spell, the spell that keeps Vassa in this world.

“There’s one other thing I encountered on my travels,” she says, trying not to sound too excited, too naive. “I found a world where the fae and humans live together, a world at peace. I did not speak the language and looked unlike the humans of that world, but they gave me food and shelter and kindness. When this is over, if we can defeat Koschei, that is the kind of world I want to live in. Where visitors from other realms would like to stay because they know they will be safe.”

“First we will need an army.” Vassa steps in before any of the High Lords can speak, stepping towards Elain but far enough away that their bodies cannot accidentally touch. “First we will need Eris to rule over the Autumn Court. His brothers will be easy targets for Koschei.”

“I thought you would say that we must protect Elain,” Helion says, more steel in his voice than Elain would’ve expected, until she remembers once again that Helion is now Lucien’s acknowledged father, observing his lover for the first time.

“I will not be safe if any court in Prythian falls to Koschei,” she says, shooting a glance at Vassa, makes it as warm and encouraging as she can. “The Spring Court will raise the largest army it can cobble together to support Eris’ claim.”

“The Night Court will back Eris with an army.” Feyre’s voice is as sure and savage as any of the High Lord’s, and this is the moment when Elain has most delighted in her sister, at the swell of her power in the room, her refusal to yield.

“The Illyrians?” Helion asks, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“The Illyrians support Eris.” Feyre crosses her arms over her chest.

“If it cannot be Lucien,” Thesan sighs, “Eris is the best of the lot. The Dawn Court will offer its army.”

Kallias gives a nod, and then the room goes quiet.

“This is what your son would want,” Vassa says, her face aimed at Helion.

“Then why does he not ask me himself?” The words are too hard to be entirely false.

“He is strengthening the wards on the Spring Court against Koschei.” Vassa crosses her arms. “He’d like it clear that he wants to make no claim on the Autumn Court.”

“I see why he likes you, Queen of Scythia,” Helion says, his smile brilliant. “I’ll offer my army.”

“Then we’ll return tomorrow night to discuss our strategy.” Feyre’s gaze sweeps across the room but does not rest on Elain.

“We need to rule our courts,” Kallias says, with a shake of his head. “Give us another night, and bring the firebird queen.”

The other High Lords murmur their agreement, and when Elain steals a glance at Vassa, she could swear her friend is barely concealing a victorious smile. One battle, at least, has been won.

But when they’re in the Spring Court again, Feyre tugs on Elain’s arm, pulls her into an alcove off the great hall.

“Which vision was the lie?” Feyre’s voice is sharp, her fingers pressing into the soft part of Elain’s upper arm, so that she thinks of claws.

“I meant to tell you--”

“I gave you everything you needed, and the High Lords came to your meeting, they left their territories vulnerable against Koschei and the Autumn Court, and you lied. Was there even a true vision? Because I have been looking over my shoulder and wondering how he’d use you, how he’d break you, all the misery that would happen when your vision came true. And all that time you were here, and silent, and I thought you were in danger from him. Are you really such a monster that you needed to hurt me? Or are you in league with him, trying to have us all tearing at each other’s throats until you truly do wear a crown?”

At first Feyre’s words had been ragged and filled with hurt and rage, but gradually the emotion had disappeared, leaving only a flat despair.

Elain had never stopped to consider the impact of her lie on Feyre. She’d been so focused on her escape, the life she’d made in fits and starts in the Spring Court, her power. Just as she’s always been, she realizes, focused on her gowns or the men she might marry, her dreams of flowers when they’d lived in the cabin.

“I lied to you,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “I am sorry, Feyre. I felt… when I saw that vision, I felt like the monstrous thing inside of me was going to turn me into something completely different. A person I couldn’t recognize. Except I already felt that way. Angry and useless and vile. And I thought, I couldn’t bear it if you and Nesta saw me turn into a monster. But I should have thought of you, what it would mean if I went to Tamlin. That you were in the vision.”

She expects Feyre’s voice to soften at her words, the honesty in them. Instead her eyes are downcast, her face hard and focused.

“I want to forgive you,” her little sister says. “But I don’t know if I believe you. Because I believed you when you lied to me. And you didn’t even think…”

Elain wants to insist that she’s sorry, kneel in front of her sister and weep until she’s so wretched that Feyre has no choice but to forgive her. Somehow she forces her spine to stay straight, her head to nod.

“I understand,” she says, unable to keep her voice from wavering.

“Of course this will not affect relations between our courts.” Feyre adjusts the sleeves of her gown, the same one she’d worn to the High Lords’ meeting, black and almost severe but for its close fit against her body. Her sister, who went off into the woods every day in search of food, who learned how to be a queen.

“I wasn’t aware that those relations were particularly friendly.” Elain tries to smile and feels it twist into a grimace.

“I will never let this court fall if you are there.”

“I -- thank you, Feyre.”

She had planned to say that she did not need this special protection, but she thinks of what Feyre said. Of what Tamlin said. The feeling when she was stuck in this world and Koschei seemed imminent.

Instead of arguing, she holds out her hand to her sister, and when Feyre takes it, she squeezes it tight until Feyre steps away, leaves the alcove, her skirts sighing against the marble floors.

Elain sinks to the ground, curls herself into a ball, and stares at the tiles until she hears the footsteps approaching her, Tamlin’s scent.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Are the wards secure?” she shoots back, looking at him, dirty and disheveled but still so handsome he’s practically glowing.

“They recognize Koschei’s magic and should repel him from appearing. And Rhysand is taking Melis to the Night Court. Apparently Nesta and her Valkyrie friends will be guarding her in the library.”

“I thought Melis would stay here.”

“We still don’t know what she can do if she touches you. As talented a designer as she is, and as beautiful as this gown is, I would rather know that you’re safe from her.”

“It’s not -- I don’t care about the dresses,” she says, holding up her hand so that he cannot get close enough to drown out her voice. “But we didn’t torture Melis. And in the Night Court, Azriel might.”

“That is why I made Rhysand swear that Melis would not be tortured as long as she behaved herself.” Tamlin crouches down, and even then, she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “I made sure that Melis was aware of the arrangement.”

“So Vassa and Eris are safe?”

“As safe as anyone is in this world.”

The day and night have been endless but still Elain reaches for Tamlin. The world around her wavers, half-dissolving, before she resolves herself. That this must be here and now.

Before he can speak, she presses her mouth to his, hot and searching.

There is only time for a kiss in this world. Elain is battered and bruised and exhausted, and Tamlin is needed for a thousand things, and anybody could see them, but for this moment there is only his mouth opening to hers, his arms pulling her body tight against his, Elain is only a person who wants, and wants, and wants.

[foreverandaday-1]

Tenderly They Turned To Dust All That I Adored

Inspired by @julielilac s post/gif on the doctor and the master. The first 14 lines of a dialogue are hers, with a few minor changes.

I kind of went on a tangent, and turned this into a weirdly tense hurt/comfort fic, but oh well. Also inspired by my Renamed fic on AO3, under foreverandaday_1

‘Doctor,’ came a voice from the shadowed corner.

‘We meet at last,’ said the woman, equally as wary, yet with a predatory sharpness to her eyes. She wanted answers, and she would get them.

‘I’d like to say I’m glad to see you, but I’m not,’ he said, a slight teasing note, something comfortable but still wary.

‘Shame. I was actually hoping for a welcome for a welcome kiss,’ she returned, voice relaxed slightly.

‘Oh really?’ was his reply, full of put-on amusement to mask the confusion at her unusual playfulness. Yet playfulness wasn’t right, unless describing the way a lion played with its soon-to-be-dead food.

‘I was joking,’ her tone was back to serious.

‘Right. So why are you here then?’

‘I’m looking for answers and you are well aware of this. Who or what the timeless child is, and why you destroyed our home,’ she raised her eyebrows, as if offended by his question, it was obvious what she wanted.

He huffed out a laugh, looking amused. She didn’t notice his slight twinge when moving his ribs.

‘Also, what happened to your hair?’ curiosity was evident in her voice, and she was trying not to compliment him. Luckily she was distracted by the hopefully-soon-to-be-given answers.

‘There were difficulties in escaping from the Kasaavin Dimension.’

‘And yet you were able to escape?’

He huffed, ‘no thanks to you.’

‘You were expecting me to help? Why would I put you somewhere, that took effort and time, just to bring you back out again? A little counterproductive don’t you think?’

‘As if I’d want help from you.’

She smirked, ‘so no help with your injury?’

‘What injury?’ he played off.

‘You’re ribs, I saw you wince.’

‘I’m perfectly capable, thanks.’

‘Manners? Take off your shirt Kos.’

‘Trying to undress me?’

She sighed, crossing her arms.

‘I’m fine.’ 

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Ok, ok, maybe I could collapse within an hour, but it’s not that bad.’

‘Shirt. Off.’

‘Fine. you’re ever so bossy, love. I can’t say it’s just in this regeneration either.’

She ignored his comments, and, thankfully, only slightly affected by the pet name. ‘That looks painful. No wonder you were wincing,’ she moved closer, ‘go lay on the table.’

He rolled his eyes before doing as she said, flinching slightly as he bent his torso. She prodded at the bruised skin of his chest. There was a slightly green glow coming from the deep purple bruised across his lower right ribs. She tried not to enjoy inflicting pain, but sometimes it was nice to have revenge, even if that reinstated her hypocrisy. 

‘So,’ he said after a few minutes, ‘you going to do anything?’

‘I want an explanation of what the hell happened to you later.’

‘Of course, love.’

Well there’s an easier way and a harder way.’

‘For me or for you?’

‘Easy for me, painful for you. Easy for you, stupid for me.,’ she tilted her head, thinking. His mental barriers were just out of reach. Even though it was a bad idea to get closer again, she wanted to. The last time before the Paris thing had been centuries ago, and sometimes her mind felt empty. Lonely without another presence.

‘Well I vote the least painful way.’

‘For me or for you?’ her voice was looser and calmer, she was relaxed in his presence. It probably wasn’t the best idea but it was as if they were young again, without the millennia of pain and fire separating the strands of time.

He smirked at that, looking like he wanted to laugh. She walked towards his head with a contemplative expression, before voicing her thoughts.

‘There’s a quick way, and it’s not like I don’t have any left. Who knows how many I actually have.’

He grimaced, ‘about that…’

‘What?’

‘You have an infinite amount.’

‘I’m going to ignore the fact that you shouldn’t know that, and jump straight to what the hell?’

‘That's not for today's conversation, because I also happen to have none.’

‘You have, but… If you die, you’ll be dead?’

‘That is how death works, love.’

She rolled her eyes, ‘I mean, permanently, no resurrection or trick or stupidly thought out yet genius plan to surprise me again?’

‘No, dead as in gone forever.’

‘But you can’t,’ she said thickly, almost crying for the first time, she realised, with this particular face.

He looked shocked that she was actually voicing some feeling for once.

‘Koschei,’ she said, looking in his eyes, voice carrying the musical lilt of Galifreyan, ‘you can’t die, not now.’ Not ever.

He smiled at the language, one that they hadn’t spoken for a long time. It was a genuine smile, not seen for as equally as long of a time.

‘You said you had an idea, Theta,’ he said softly, comforting with a press of his consciousness against hers.

‘I,’ she sniffed, ‘ when River… you know who she is right?’

He nodded, ‘one of three humans I can tolerate, yes.’

‘Because River had… weird genes… when she broke her wrist, I used regeneration energy to heal it. I wasn’t able to regenerate for a few hours after, or heal as fast, but it worked.’

‘Awfully sentimental of you.’

‘She was important, and had pretended to be fine for my benefit.’ she paused, before looking up at him. ‘How come you don’t mind that I married her?’

‘While I may hate your pets because they don’t deserve your attention, she was different. She was important to you, and not a pet of yours. I could actually get on with her, and have an intelligent conversation.’

She smiled, happy that two people that shaped her life could have gotten along.

‘Now love, enough of the emotion, we should get to your plan.’

‘I can use my, apparently limitless, regeneration energy to heal you. It might have to be a full one, to properly work, but I don’t think you’ll change,’ she sounded happier, a slight touch of sarcasm evident in her voice.

‘Won’t that mean you can’t regenerate for a while? Or that you’ll regenerate with me?’

‘Possibly. But, again with River, when she revived me, she didn’t change.’

‘What?’

‘She may have killed me after regenerating before giving up all of hers to bring me back to life.’

‘Ignoring the fact that she of all people managed to actually kill you for the first time in all of history…’

‘It’s probably why Daleks seem terrified of her,’ she cut in.

‘... yes, but you need a mental and physical connection.’

‘Yep, full open contact between consciousnesses, and a close physical contact, with as many inner surfaces close.’

‘You and River, properly married?’

‘Yeah, Bonded and everything. It was partly in a separate timeline that no longer exists and also never existed.’

‘Okay, but, love, mouth to mouth?’

‘I wasn’t entirely joking when I mentioned a welcome kiss earlier.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

They stayed close together, and she stood by his form laying on the table, hands clasped in each others. They reached out their minds, before he sat up, wincing. Both closed their eyes, physical sight wasn’t needed. 

They leaned together, hand-to-hand, forehead-to-forehead, hearts-to-hearts.

‘Contact.’

Contact.

They both whispered it quietly, and spoke loudly in their minds. Volume didn’t matter as much as intent did. Intent to re-bond completely after a lifetime of mental separation. It took both eons, and no time at all.

It was an explosion of thought and feeling. A sensation unlike any other, yet reminiscent of coming home. A sense of welcoming in a place long forgotten yet forever remembered. A contradiction and cycle, of my thought is yours, your thought is mine. Memories were absorbed, and information shared.

She tugged on the always-there well of energy, as if waking it up. It swirled within her, before spreading out to her limbs, gathering at her fingertips. 

His hands glowed the same pale gold, as the tangible glow drew up his arms. They pushed closer still, tilting their necks to have better access.

Her lips pressed to his. His lips pressed to hers.

The energy pushed through completely, moving around them both. A swirl of pale gold and a feeling of life hanging in the air.

The glow collected around his injury, the bruised fading, sickly green hue leached away. Small scars knitted seamlessly, and any more bruises disappeared. His ribs shifted slightly, returning to their original position.

After a few seconds, minutes, hours, she stepped back. Not just one, but continually walking back to the door.

‘It’s not the time to ask,’ she smiled with an air of bittersweetness. ‘We’ll find each other when we’re ready.’

[as-was-written]

All the ice cream flavors

@theresastargirl​

Under the cut because there’s a lot of them!

Almond Chocolate Coconut: a touch headcanon.This Doctor isn’t especially physically affectionate, but it’s because her touch telepathy is extremely strong in this body and she doesn’t know her limitations yet. But if you stroke her hair she will love you forever.

Bacon Ice Cream: a "what were you even thinking" headcanon.She eats bathbombs. She thinks they taste flowery and nice. (i am surprisingly passionate about this headcanon i’ll be honest)

Black Raspberry Cheesecake: a sexuality and/or romanticism headcanon (romantic orientation, sexual orientation, etc).This Doctor is asexual and panromantic. With a strong preference for women.

Cactus Fruit Sorbet: a "this shouldn't work but it does" headcanon.She reorganised the library according to the colour of the books. To be fair it looks really pretty.

Cherry Garcia: a role model/inspiration headcanon.Her fam. Her friends have always given the Doctor inspiration and Yaz, Ryan and Graham are no different from that.

Chubby Hubby: a body image/self esteem headcanon.It took a long time for the Doctor to get used to her new body’s appearance, longer than she’d want to admit. All the curves and body parts that were new threw her and even in the TARDIS there was a lot of experimentation with clothing to see what was most comfortable

Chunky Monkey: a names, addresses, nicknames, etc. headcanon.The reason she is so chill about Graham calling her Doc when her first body wasn’t is partly because it reminds her of those first human friends of hers. Also character development in general.

Cookies and Cream: a family headcanon.One of the Doctor’s greatest regret in life is leaving behind Susan the way she did. She still has the shoe with a hole in it belonging to her granddaughter and she misses her every day.

Cotton Candy Explosion: a childhood/child(ren) headcanon.For a while as a very young Time Tot, Brax was her hero. Until Koschei came along and she found a new person to follow after.

Death By Chocolate: an indulgence/guilty pleasure headcanon.The Doctor loves chocolate of all kind, but especially sweet ones. At night however she enjoys settling down with a bar of dark chocolate.

Devil's Food Chocolate: a vice headcanon.This is based on the audio drama The Master so spoilers for that, but the Doctor managed to remember killing that boy when she was a child. She still has nightmares about it and it’s the one thing she won’t ever talk about.

Dulce de Leche: a happy/sweet romantic or queerplatonic headcanon.The Doctor’s favourite way to relax with a partner is to curl up on their lap and have her hair stroked. It makes her feel safe and secure and loved.

Elderberry: a hurt/comfort headcanon.If she’s in a relationship with someone she enjoys being cared for when injured. Not that she will ever, ever admit it in a million years. But it’s nice to be fussed over. 

Entangled Mints: a friendship headcanon.For the Doctor her friends are her priority. She’s happy to just hang out with them and wants to show off the universe. She just wants them happy.

Espresso 'n Cream: a coffee/tea/coffee-shop (AU)/caffeine headcanon.The Doctor adores coffee. She will be that one person at Starbucks who gives the poor barista a really complicated order though.

Fudge Behaving Badly: a misbehaving/getting into trouble headcanon.Even now the Doctor is constantly getting in trouble. In the Academy her teachers despised her because she and the Deca were always causing mischief and it’s something she has never been able to grow out of. She takes pride in the fact she has the record for most detentions in Gallifrey’s history.

Ginger Crème Brûlée: a gender headcanon (gender identity, gender presentation, butch/femme, gender feels, etc).Although the Doctor now identifies as a woman and much more feminine than before in human terms she would still probably refer to herself as non binary. She experimented for a while and definitely prefers female pronouns though.

Half Baked: a bad idea/poor planning headcanon.Although the Doctor likes to act like she’s organised and knows what she’s doing, usually she doesn’t. She’s been winging it for the last three thousand years and most of the time it’s worked.

Heartbreak Healer: a sad/angsty romantic or queerplatonic headcanon.The Doctor still has room in her hearts for every person she’s loved. Including those all the way back in her first body like her wife and Cameca.

Jasmine Peach Tea: a self-care/self-love headcanon.When the Doctor just needs a quiet time to herself, which happens more often than you’d imagine, she enjoys to get herself a herbal drink and read a book in the library. Either that or sit in the entrance of the TARDIS, feet dangling, and watch the universe.

Kahlua Almond Fudge: a language/words headcanon.The Doctor feels most comfortable speaking Gallifreyan. If she is on Earth she tries the speak English out of courtesy and because the translations are easier if she’s in a different country, but otherwise she speaks her first language.

Kiwi Midori: a creative arts headcanon.Disappointed she can’t play guitar anymore, the Doctor spent some time figuring out what this body enjoyed doing artistically. She soon found drawing. They’re usually sketches and she’s best at people, specifically faces.

Lemon Angel Food: a virtue headcanon.The Doctor tries very hard to keep to her promise of being kind. She is sick of being the Time Lord Victorious. She wants to simplify things and start again as just a friendly traveller and helper.

Lemon-Lime Sorbet: a sexual/NC-17 headcanon (alt: a secret(s) h/c).My Doctor is asexual, but whilst I was figuring out her sexuality I decided she would be a sub and have a major praise kink

Magic Mint Cookie: a magic/supernatural headcanon (alt: a taste h/c).I don’t know what to do for magic?? So I’ll do taste instead. 100% inspired by real events from Jodie, she can’t handle spices as much as she wants to. That won’t stop her eating very spic food though.

Masque of the Raspberry Sorbet: a fear/horror headcanon (alt: a costume(s)/facade(s) headcanon).Since being ducked as a witch, she has a fear of being submerged under water and drowning. It’s something she’s trying to overcome in her swimming pool because she doesn’t want anyone else to find out.

Neapolitan: an intimacy/vulnerability (or lack thereof) headcanon.The Doctor only really lets herself be intimate with people she has a long history with. She is a lot more eager to hug family members and old friends.

Orange Pineapple Whip: a kinky headcanon (alt: an eccentricity h/c).The Doctor is almost the definition of eccentric. Many people would call her whole outfit alone eccentric. She doesn’t notice though, and she doesn’t care. She is happy with who she is and that’s what matters to her.

Oreo Cheesecake: a physical health/disability headcanon.She doesn’t have any physical disabilities. The closest I can think is that her touch telepathy is stronger than other incarnations because they are the main sense for Time Lords.

Peanut Butter Plum Cherry: a soulmate/soulmate AU headcanon (alt: an unconditional love headcanon)She tries very hard not to fall in love with humans. Jamie was the first long term human relationship she had and losing him crushed her. Since then she’s tried and failed to stop falling in love with humans.

Phish Food: a music headcanon.I was discussing this a few weeks ago so this is perfect. The thirteenth Doctor is really into cheesy pop like Katy Perry and Taylor Swift. She also likes K-pop and J-pop. She likes the beat and rhythm of the music. She also likes how happy it all sounds.

Purple Daze: a stoner/drugs headcanon.In the Academy she would have ginger with Koschei (for anyone who doesn’t know, ginger canonically gets Time Lords high). The less said about those times at the Academy the better.

Rainbow Cream: a nature headcanon.If given the choice, the Doctor would enjoy spending the day relaxing next to a shallow river. That’s the most relaxing natural environment she can think of. Also a secluded beach.

Road Trip: a travel or escapism headcanon.Travelling is the Doctor’s life, it’s the most important thing to her. She loves the freedom it brings, the ability to go where and when she wants. She can’t imagine a different life style for her.

Rocky Road: a difficulty or struggle headcanon.The main thing the Doctor struggles with is the new sexism she has to face. Even the more minor things like how patronising men are towards her, literally and metaphorically looking down on her. She despises it and it makes her so angry.

SNAFU (Strawberries Naturally All Fudged Up): a mistake(s) headcanon.The Doctor really doesn’t like making mistakes. More than anything else she finds it embarrassing. And that’s really annoying.

Strawberry Rhubarb Crunch: a mental health/neurodivergent headcanon.The Doctor has PTSD definitely. Not just from the Time War but the many horrific things she has seen through her long life. I also see her having a Time Lord version of ADHD, but I need to do more research on that before I nail anything down.

Tennessee Mud: an alcohol, drunkenness, intoxication headcanon.It takes a lot to get the Doctor drunk, but when she does she’s giggly and affectionate. She will probably end up on your lap laughing at nothing.

Tuxedo Strawberry: a well-dressed headcanon (any headcanon about clothes).The Doctor tried to wear a dress the first time she had to wear formal clothing, but she just couldn’t with how impractical it was. Instead she prefers dressing up in a smart tux.

Vanilla Fudge Ripple: a strength headcanon.She has incredible upper body strength. She doesn’t get the chance to demonstrate it much, but it’s something she’s always had. She is also very emotionally and telepathically strong.

White Raspberry Truffle: a weakness headcanon.Daleks are her main weakness. They break down any morals she has set out and will do whatever it takes to get rid of them all. But losing her friends? That destroys her.

Wildberry Chocolate Chunk: a social life headcanon.She spends all her time with her fam. She tries not to spend too much time with other people because she’s scared of losing more people.

[sclfmastery]

OKAY OKAY OKAY. FINE. ✩ FOR HOME AND MISC.

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Home:

Who does the washing?  Koschei lmfao.  He’s fastidiously clean all the time and Jack despite being a beautiful specimen of humanity is a slob.Who takes out the trash?  Jack.  After Koschei gives him a quickie as a reward. Who does the ironing? Toss-up, they’re both vain about looking extremely snazzy. Who does the cooking? JACK. Koschei’s trying to learn though. Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Lmao Koschei. He is a hideously bad chef. Who is messier?  JACK. Who leaves the toilet roll empty? JACK. Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? JACK!!!!!! Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither, ew omg. Who is the prankster around the house? They try to one-up each other much to their children’s chagrin. All Jack has to do really is play disco music or wear neon eighties colors and Koschei is undone with exasperation.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Both of them can get very distractible with the right stimulations, but somehow Koschei seems a little more likely once he’s secure and happy. Who mows the lawn? Koschei.  Jack likes it when he’s sweaty and disheveled. Who answers the telephone?  Both.  Jack usually gets this honor though because he’s more affable to strangers.  Who does the vacuuming? Koschei lmfao. Koschei is that video of the lady running around screaming “they can’t know we have furniture!” Who does the groceries? They go together; they both have particular tastes and preferences.  Who takes the longest to shower? Jack. Koschei always rushes through things. Jack gets him to slow down.  Who spends the most time in the bathroom? BOTH. 

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Nope.  They’re self-indulgent but also surprisingly frugal when it counts.  How many cars do they own? At least one that actually operates (Koschei loves his red Mercedes coupe) but they have like fifteen they work on for fun because they’re both extremely mechanically apt. Do they own their home or do they rent? Own, they built it from scratch on the Boeshane Peninsula.  Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Right on the beach in fact. Do they live in the city or in the country? Country, but Koschei’s TARDIS takes them on frequent day trips everywhere. Do they enjoy their surroundings? Extremely.  What’s their song? Oh man. The one I love for them is All of Me by John Legend.  What do they do when they’re away from each other?  Keep busy but become petulant and sad despite it. Where did they first meet? HAHA. UHHH.  On earth where Koschei was being the British Prime Minister in a scheme to kill Jack’s friend and unrequited love interest, the Doctor, LOL. How did they first meet? See above; Koschei captured and tortured Jack as a pawn in his scheme to hurt the Doctor as much as possible for as long as possible. It took a lot of work to build trust but strangely enough they were attracted to each other before their first “official” meeting, when Koschei was hiding as the Minister of Defense and Jack working for Torchwood.  They even went out for drinks.   Who spends the most money when out shopping? That’s a toss-up.  Who’s more likely to flash their assets? ALSO A TOSSUP LOL. Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Jack lmfao. Any mental issues? Both have PTSD, Jack has a savior complex, Koschei has Borderline Personality Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, and possibly is on the autism spectrum.  Who’s terrified of bugs? Jack.  Who kills the spiders around the house? KOSCHEI. Jack is terrified of spiders. Their favourite place? The French Riviera on earth. Who pays the bills? Koschei is absolutely the accountant.  Do they have any fears for their future? They are trying to make it so Koschei can live forever so Jack isn’t alone. We’ve already written that this doesn’t work out, but only briefly before the Face of Boe also dies. Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? They love giving each other surprises but I guess Jack has a slight edge here. Who uses up all of the hot water? Jack lmfao. Who’s the tallest? JACK but Koschei fixes this by standing on his feet to kiss him.  Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Koschei welcomes himself to Jack’s company whenever he fucking pleases thanks. Who wanders around in their underwear? I think you mean naked. Both. Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? JACK. What do they tease each other about? Vanity, jealousy.  Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? KOSCHEI  WHO IS A COUTURE SNOB CANNOT UNDERSTAND SOME OF JACK’S CHOICES LOL. Do they have mutual friends? Mostly Jack’s coworkers but yes.  Who crushed first? I think Koschei might’ve but by a matter of literal minutes. Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nope. Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? They stumble home together after having a surprisingly wholesome good time. Who swears the most? KOSCHEI. 

[iamthestrangerinmoscow]

Nail Polish

Doctor Who, rated G, ~2000 words, Thoschei/Twissy implied

Just a fun little thing I wrote about Theta Sigma, Koschei and bottle of black nail polish. 

-...if you flip to section 13 point 4 of your books, you will find another, more detailed explanation of this theorem. Pay attention to calculations for secondary elements, especially combinatorial topological spaces. - The Professor lifted his tired eyes from the holographic lightboard and peered into the lecture hall. Four thousand years of teaching the same course, again and again, and barely any satisfaction. - Do you have any questions?

Evidently, the students didn't have questions. Most of them didn't even care about the subject at all, and certainly not this early in the morning. A few young Time Lords were dozing off at the top row of seats, not having slept for a week or so. Some were chatting telepathically, mouths covered to conceal giggles. Two or three were scribbling in High Gallifreyan, trying to finish homework that was already late. Barely anyone even knew what the Professor was talking about.

In the center of the hall, right next to an ancient column, sat two students who irritated the Professor the most – Theta Sigma and Koschei, as they called themselves. The first one was pale and skinny, with forever messy fair hair and a smile that stole many hearts. The second had the bluest blue eyes you have ever seen, and a bit patchy goatee beard. Instead of making notes, Theta was currently painting Koschei's nails with a black nail polish. He was nearly finished with his right hand, and was about to start on the left.

One of the girls on the left side of the hall was watching them with a smile on her face.

-Ushas? - She called, turning to her right.

-What? - Ushas was one of the few students who actually wanted to study, so she didn't appreciate the interruptions.

-Is Theta and Kosch... you know... a thing?

Ushas smirked. - He wishes. - She replied, pointing at Theta.

-Does that mean I have a chance with him?

-Probably. I mean, he has already hooked up with half the students his age, so...

The other girl looked surprised.

-Compensating. - Ushas shrugged.

At that point most of the people in the hall were staring at Koschei and Theta, amazed by their level of insolence. Rebellion was pretty much removed out of Time Lord genetic code a long time ago. Therefore breaking the rules like that was really rare, and, as a consequence, really cool. Unfortunately, students weren't the only ones who noticed the little rebellion.

-Am I interrupting you, by any chance? - He said, looking at the two friends with disapproval.

-No-no, it's fine. - Theta replied, now applying nail polish to Koschei's left pinky finger. - Carry on.

The hall roared with laughter.

-Perhaps you know how to prove this theorem then? - Professor asked, raising his eyebrows.

-I do, actually. - Koschei said, his voice calm and dry.

The Professor let out a single high-pitched laugh, bewildered by such a preposterous and arrogant claim. - Ridiculous! I've been a math teacher my entire life, and I can assure you, young man, that you don't. Dozens of Time Lords and Time Ladies have tried for thousands of years, scholars much wiser than you or me, and all have failed.

-But I can prove it. - Koschei insisted, carefully removing his hand from Theta's grasp. - Did that when I was seventy four.

-Well, why don't you show us then? - The Professor suggested, sitting down at his desk.

-No problem. - Koschei got up and walked down the steps, his oversized robes dragging on the floor behind him.

He approached the lightboard and glanced at his hands. Realizing that he can't use his right hand, he placed it behind his back and started writing with elegant movements of his left index finger. While he was writing, he mumbled something under his breath. Only five minutes later he placed a final symbol on the lightboard and stepped back, admiring his work.

-That's roughly it. - He said, returning to his desk, and taking the nail polish from the table to finish the work himself. - Go figure.

The Professor was reading the calculations frantically, eyes wide in bewilderment. On the left of the hall Ushas scratched her chin, rather impressed. She turned to the girl who was sitting next to her.

-Looks like he did prove it. - She said. - Damn.

-Impossible! - The Professor declared. - This is too simple, too obvious. Someone would have thought of it ages ago!

-But it does prove it. - Koschei told him. - Perhaps the wise scholars weren't that wise after all.

The Professor was still in denial. -Class dismissed! - He announced, and everyone jumped up from their seats.

-Thanks, mate! - Mortimus and Drax both saluted Koschei as they were leaving the room.

Magnus even snapped a photo of the poor Professor, his world shattered to pieces by one small equation.

-Do you want to get some food? - Theta Sigma asked, once they entered the lengthy corridor outside the hall.

-Might as well. - Koschei replied, and followed his best friend.

***

Koschei was sitting in a small, round room which must have belonged to a professor of the Academy. It was full of ancient books, obscure pieces of tech and relics of the past. He sat in a comfy armchair, feet up on the table, reading one of the old texts someone left unsupervised. It wasn't very entertaining.

At last the front door has opened, and a Time Lady stepped inside. She didn't look a day older Koschei, despite having lived a very long life and now being at her last regeneration.

-This is absurd. - Koschei proclaimed, not even looking up from the text. - You can't punish me for proving a theorem!

-Who said anything about punishment? - The Time Lady smiled, coming closer to the table.

He finally put the text down to see her for the first time, and realizing who she was immediately removed his feet from the table.

-Lady Cardinal. - He said, more than a little bit surprised.

-Indeed. - She nodded. - However I am not here as the Cardinal of the Prydonian Chapter, but rather as a scholar of math – one of those you called not so wise after all.

Koschei wasn't intimidated by her in the slightest. - It's a simple solution.

-It is. - She agreed. - And an elegant one too. It takes skill, and knowledge, and also imagination to come up with something like that. All the things I look for in my students. You could be one of them soon: work with advanced material, things you can't find in your textbooks. What do you think, Lord of Oakdown?

-Oh please, Lord of Oakdown is my father. And my grandfather. And all of my cousins. Call me Koschei.

-Koschei. - Lady Cardinal repeated. - Academy nicknames weren't so exotic in my time as a student. What does it mean?

-It's from an Earth fairytale. - He explained. - It is a name of a magical being. Powerful, intelligent and immortal. All the things I strive to be.

-Oh yes, I know your friend, Lord of Lungbarrow, is obsessed with Earth cultures.

-Obsessed is a strong word. - Koschei said. - Theta is curious, that's all. Curious beyond my understanding. That alien cultures course we took was the definition of boring, and he still enjoyed.

-Couldn't have been that boring, if you learned something from it. - She put her hand in her pocket and took out a tiny bottle of nail polish she picked up in the lecture hall. - Yours, I presume?

Koschei took the bottle from her hand and hid it in his bag, leaving her remark unanswered.

-I won't keep you here any longer. - Lady Cardinal said. - You are free to go now. Think about my offer.

-Sure. - He told her, getting up. - And if I decide to join you, maybe you would consider giving some extra credit to 'Lord of Lungbarrow'? - He asked.

Lady Cardinal chuckled. - What did he do to deserve it?

-He inspires me. - Koschei smiled, closing the door behind him.

This time, he was only partially joking.

***

Missy heard the Doctor walking even before he started messing with the Vault's opening mechanism. He had a heavy step that echoed across the universities corridors and inevitably gave away his location. As he was unlocking the door, she made an attempt to un-mess her hair, but it didn't work. So instead she leaned back in her chair and pretended to not be bothered by it.

-Good evening. - The Doctor greeted her. - Or is it good night already? I can't tell.

-You're just in time for Game of Thrones. - Missy told him.

-What's that?

-A TV-show I watch. - She said. - There's a lot of sex and drama and decapitations.

-Sounds like your thing.

-Well, we can't watch Disney all the time, can we?

They both paused for a moment, and then a smile appeared on the Doctor's face, for seemingly no reason.

-I nearly forgot. - He said, and took something out of his pocket.

He placed the object on the table in front of Missy.

-It's black nail polish. - She looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

-Do you remember it?

Missy thought for a few moments.

-Is it..?

-Yes.

-No.

-Yes it is! - The Doctor was beaming.

-How could you possibly preserve it? - Missy scoffed. - It's been hundreds of years ago!

-I am sentimental. - The Doctor shrugged. - Took it with me when I was leaving Gallifrey with Susan. Wanted to have something that reminded me of you.

She wasn't sure how to react to that.

-Did you enjoy Lady Cardinal's advanced math class? - He asked.

-Not more than the look on our math professor's face when I proved that theorem.

They both laughed, remembering that little moment of triumph. Then, without a word, the Doctor opened the nail polish bottle and gently took Missy's hand.

-You will never forgive me. - The words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to think about it. - I know you want me to be good and maybe, somehow, you will actually believe that yourself, but you will never forgive me.

-Doesn't matter. - The Doctor replied. - I haven't forgiven myself either, not even for the things I technically didn't do. - He sighed, and briefly looked her in the eyes. - One day, a long time ago, I had to come to terms with the fact that we are not, in fact, that different.

She smiled with a corner of her mouth and decided not to reply.

That night the darkness resided only in the latest episode of Game of Thrones and in the intense color of her favorite nail polish.