#adsom fic

[diamentowa-alex]

Does anybody have any good Holland centric non shippy or with toxic shipps fics? I genuinely think i read every single one, but im ready to be proven wrong.

Also adding my short Holland because why not.

[bigbluenotes]

A Letter From The King

This weekend I finished the Shades Of Magic series by @veschwab​

@hittintheroad​ insisted for like two years that I should read it so I finally did. 

I loved it so much, and I never thought I could love a fictional character more than I love Kaz Brekker (SoC) but along came Kell Maresh. 

Anyway, I felt that Kell (and us) needed to know what was on that letter Maxim wrote, so I decided to write a little fic of what I imagine/wish it says. I hope you enjoy it ❤

*Stop reading if you haven’t finish “A Conjuring of Light” * 

--------------

Rhy was nervous as he walked to his brother's room. He bit his lip when he knocked on the door. 

"Come in" said the voice inside the quarters

"Hey" greeted Rhy when he saw his brother. Kell was laying on his favorite chair, one hand on his hair, another in a book.

“Hey” replied Kell as he standed up and put the book on the chair to walk towards Rhy. “What brings you here?” 

“Now I need a reason to see my favorite brother?” he said playfully 

“I’m your only brother, Rhy” a frown forming 

“Yeah, I know. I just really wanted to see you” he paused “and give you this” he bit his lip again while pulling out his hand with the letter. A letter from their father. Rhy had kept this letter from his brother for days, waiting for things to settle and for Kell to regain his strength after the fight with the shallow king. 

“What is this?” asked Kell extending his hand in response without looking at the envelope 

“A letter from the King” realization hit Rhy as Kell looked at him with question in his brow “No, not from me, I mean from father. He left three letters at his desk, one for mother, one for me, and one for you” 

Kell took the envelope, unsure 

“I’m sorry I kept it from you for so long, but... I- I wanted to make sure-”

“I understand” interrupted Kell. 

To my son Kell, that’s how the envelope was addressed. Kell’s mismatched eyes tightened when he noticed. He cleared his throat and managed a “Thank you”

“I’ll leave you to it” Rhy added and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder giving it a brief squeeze before leaving

The letter read: 

Son, 

I'm sorry this word took so long to return to my lips. I'm sorry I made you feel like a prisoner instead of family. I’m so sorry for all the times I didn’t recognize you and I know there were a lot of times when I let my fears guide my actions. My heart is broken from the pain I caused you, my boy. I hope in time you find it in your heart to forgive me. I want you to know that I love you, I always have, and I always will. 

Do you remember the time when we used to take long walks around the palace gardens, you and Rhy would run and play, we could stay there for hours. Emira and I would look at you and each other delighted in our two extraordinary blessings. I cherish those days when you and your brother were little, when you didn’t have the world on your shoulders and your laugh came easy. 

Please know that I have always been proud of you. Today my chest aches with pride when I see the man you've become. I look at you and I see a true Prince of Arnes, yes I know you don’t like to be called that and I can imagine your frown as you read this, but that’s part of who you are, my boy, my son, my prince. When I look at you I see courage, valor, kindness, strength, love. I also see a wonderfully curious mind and a spirit ready to set flight. And it crushes me to know I won’t be here to see where life takes you next and share all your happiness with you. I pray you understand my decision of leaving you like this. And I hope that with my death you find the freedom you need to see the world. Go take a ship with Miss Bard and see everything. Indeed,  she’s a force to be reckoned with, I can see why you are pulled together, why you love her. So hold on to that and just go, live and find your happiness. 

Don't forget to come back home. 

Kell finished the letter between smiles, a light laugh and tears. He puts the letter on the inner pocket of his peculiar coat, keeping it close to his heart.

[orchidscript]

Excerpt: Cold War AU, Ojka

John Le Carré, one of my all time favorite authors and main inspiration for this bit of fanfic, died yesterday and I can’t keep anything to myself ever. So please enjoy some more Cold War Ojka Dimov and Holland Vosijk. (Yes I have given Ojka a last name because she needed one and reasons; I’ve been spending a lot of time on her backstory in this fic and it’s making me very very happy.)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor before turning into the expanse of desks in their section. Familiar, thundering, agitated footfalls. She suppresses a sigh of relief, an odd smile, as Holland Vosijk approached his office door.

“Dimov,” He barked, serious as ever. “With me. Now.”

Without another word, Ojka stood and fell into step after him, pencil and paper in hand. She followed quickly, shutting the door behind her. She locked it for safety’s sake and waited for her next order. It never came.

“What’s that in your hands?” Holland asked sternly. He pulled his suit jacket from his shoulders, dropped over the back of his desk chair, and rolled up his sleeves. Some of the hardness in his eyes lessened as he looked her over.

Ojka looked down. She winced. “A… A chessboard. Sir.”

Holland hummed lightly, gesturing for her to sit. “You play?”

“Sometimes,” Ojka answered, hesitating a moment before asking: “Do you?”

“Not well, but I know the basics. My brother tried to teach me with no luck.” Holland held out a hand for her page and she gave it to him. He sat down, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs high in the thigh as he examined the paper. “Why are you playing pretend chess at work, Ojka?”

“It’s an anxious habit,” she admitted quietly. There was no reason for her to keep that a secret. There was no reason for her to keep secrets from him anymore. He held her life in his hands alongside his own. “It started in my teenage years and I’ve never quite shaken it.”

“Why do you do it?”

She exhaled, itching to ask him about his meeting. She keeps the urge down for another minute. “It helps keep my head clear. I walk through every possible outcome so I can see the clearest path forward. It’s a game and an organizer.”

“Sounds beneficial enough,” Holland nodded in approval. “Were you taught by an expert?”

“No. Why?”

“I’ve never seen moves like these.”

“They’re from a manual I have, I don’t suppose you would know them if you don’t play often or well.” Ojka snaps her mouth shut, pressing her lips tightly together. She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to three, hoping Holland would forgive the error. “Holland, sir, I didn’t mean--.”

“Stop.” The older man waved her off. He leaned forward, placing the paper between them and handing her his pen. “Show me.”

Ojka took the pen, weighing it in her hand. She stared at him in confusion. “I thought you disliked games, Holland.”

“Only when I cannot understand them or control them,” he answered simply.

“Not if you can’t win them?”

Holland shrugged. “I’ve come to understand that winning isn’t everything. And it seems there’s much here that I haven’t considered and should know. If you would be kind enough to explain it to a commoner like me, Ojka.”

“I didn’t --.” 

Her voice cut off at the tilt of his chin, the softness in his eyes. For a fleeting moment he didn’t look like a worn down servant to the Fortress, but someone younger. Someone still curious and interested. Someone who didn’t live with a decade or more of jaded thoughts wrapped around his shoulders. Holland wasn’t making light of her accidental sleight. He was deferring to her. It was the closest thing to trust she imagined he was capable of.

She let out a slow breath and nodded to herself. She pulled her chair closer to the desk, picking a play at random. “Yes sir. Let’s start here.”

[loriela-letters]

“Looking into Kell’s eye had been like looking through a window into a new world. Strange and confusing, but not frightening.” 

-V.E. Schwab, A darker shade of magic.

Find this desing in my red bubble page https://www.redbubble.com/es/people/loriela/shop?asc=u

[orchidscript]

basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss Kelland Kelland Kelland

You are an anon after my own heart <3 I have a weakness for Kell and Holland, and I have so many things on the back burner for them. Your ask came at a really really brilliant time, so thank you! This is from the currently working Edwardian AU that I’m more than a little obsessed with — I hope you enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Holland couldn’t help staring at Kell from across the table, dainty porcelain cups, pastries, and a small vase of flowers set between them. The tearoom was small but grand, tucked into the side of a hotel lobby. For this London, it was probably very fashionable, but Holland only felt glaringly out of place in his plain suit. Kell had recommended the place, saying it was one of her favorites to sit and read when she found herself in the city. He couldn’t help but think she looked very much at home sitting there.

He watched as she talked through her days delivering messages to this London, discovering many little gems along the way. He watched as she added sugar to her tea, picked particular sweets and pointed out to him which ones were best. He watched as she smiled at him, sunlight glinting off her copper hair, pale lashes fanned over her mismatched eyes, a pink blush sitting in her cheeks.

He felt the moment her eyes found his, the smooth black of his left eye meeting the smooth black of her right. He felt the moment he leaned forward in his chair and forgot the teacup in front of him. He felt the moment his fingers twitched under the table towards her’s, felt his brain hold himself back and his body push forward to lay his arm across the table. He felt his heart jump when she set her fingers in his palm, one of her fingers tracing circles there.

A warmth washed through his skin, settled heavy in his stomach. A fluttering feeling bloomed in his chest, leaving him unable to find words. He hung on her every word, interesting or not, strung on alone by the sound of her voice — soft, smooth, and low.

Every nerve in his body pushed Holland to lean forward and kiss her. To hold her close enough to feel her chest as she breathed, to smell Red London in her hair, and kiss her. Kiss her until they were both breathless, just as he had wanted to every time he had seen her. Wandering the river wharfs, sitting across from him in a dingy pub, running her finger over the spines of clothbound books, dressed to the nines in a black ballgown.

Holland wanted her, more than he could remember wanting anything in the world. He wanted to hold her, to touch her, to watch her minding her own. He wanted to pull her close, but he wanted to keep listening to her. Holland wouldn’t dare interrupt her, so he stuffed the need down. At thirty-seven, Holland Vosijk was very good at waiting for what he wanted, who he wanted. And who he wanted, who he would wait for, was Kell Maresh.

[orchidscript]

Fic Moodboard: Talya Verreaux (Spiritus Vitae)

The woman had no color to her, absolutely none. Petite, lithe, and so pale she was faintly blue, blending into the dark at her edges. She was dressed in a dancer’s costume, light fabric draped delicately over her shoulders and flowing to below her knees, the soft shoes laced with ribbons around her ankles.

Lila blinked and then noticed one last detail. Her skirt was flowing, drifting, as if there were a breeze coming through the room. Her window, the full moon glittering in the sky outside it, was sealed shut with paint.

The woman grinned, laughing lightly. “Oooh, look who’s observant now. Yes, little charlatan, your eyes are correct. I am dead, and I need a favor.”

[orchidscript]

AU Moodboard: Nasi Vosijk & The White Rook’s Clue (1950s Noir AU)

Nasi scowls at him. “I know what you’re saying, paper boy. I speak your English better than you do. But I’m not telling and you can’t make me.”

Kell’s red eyebrows raised to his hairline. “I’m the adult here.”

“So?”

“So? You’re what, ten? You should be in school!”

“And you should be better at following your own story,” Nasi snaps back. She holds out a hand. “Gimme your rinky-dink notebook.”

(This AU was created in partnership with @pinkcupboardwitch and @muffinworry. I finally finished the boards!!)

[orchidscript]

Chapter Sneak Peek -- Semper Ardens, the final installment of the ADSOM seance/mediums AU. I have a lot more to outline and organize, but I like where it’s going. And Ned Tuttle is a really under-used character in fic so please enjoy him being the total ghost-loving nerd that he deserves to be. Besides, is there anything more exciting and creepy than a Halloween seance?

Also Holland is alive. Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~

Edward Archibald Tuttle III -- known to his friends simply as “Ned” -- was only expecting one man to arrive on his doorstep that night, not two. His group of friends and acquaintances had already gathered in the formal dining room, rearranged substantially to accommodate the crowd. Word of Master Kell Maresh’s spectacular previous performance had spread through spiritualist circles like flame through a match factory, and suddenly the whole of polite society was beating down his door for an invitation. With some rigorous vetting and Kell’s express approval, Ned had handpicked the lucky few to attend that evening.

It had been arranged through Kell’s brother, a genial but precise young man whose cash allowance and parentage were often the subject of gossip. Ned liked him well enough and did well to follow through on all the demands -- One table with one chair, no hand-holding or humming from audiences, no requests from guests (they can make personal appointments for that), and absolutely no scientists with a mind towards disruption. 

Only Kell and a focused audience.

So Ned was indeed very surprised to see Master Kell on his doorstep with a second man. A man who only weeks before had tossed his front parlor beyond recognition. Not as tall as Kell, but broader and more alive than Ned recalled him being. His eyes actually had color to them -- a lightly faded evergreen. His hair, on the other hand...

“Good evening, Mister Tuttle,” Kell began with uncharacteristic cheer. “May I introduce my partner for the evening, Mast--.”

“Holland Vosijk,” Ned supplied in a faint voice. “Yes, I recognized you from before… I thought you said he was dead, Master Kell.”

Kell blinks, eyes flickering as he thinks. “I don’t believe I did.”

“Then what was it that all these people are expecting to see, if not the vengeful ghost of a wronged companion?” Ned’s voice betrayed his confusion, his amazement. He wasn’t upset -- two mediums when he was promised one was a welcome surprise -- simply stunned. As far as his mind was concerned, Ned was speaking with a real-and-for-true dead man.

Well, previously dead, he supposed.

“If I may explain,” Holland cut in. His voice was a surprise as well -- clear but soft, deep and still as midnight. His green eyes glinted in the lamplight, so very unlike the shade of himself, and Ned could feel his poet’s brain beginning to take over. “I was once very skilled at projection.  When I’ve been refining my technique, as of late, my past emotions have been wandering along with my soul. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of stone tapes?”

Ned gaped at the man for a moment, then brightened at the prospect of new secrets. “Well, that’s certainly new to me and I expect to hear more about it later, but I won’t keep you in the cold any longer. Come in, please.”

He moved out of the way, pulling the door open wide and the two men stepped in out of the late October chill. The last day of October, to be exact. A very prestigious day for a seance, let alone an Antari seance. The veil was thin, its depths and the spirits beyond easily plumbed. The atmosphere was perfect and expectations high.