#antari mediums

[orchidscript]

August Writer’s Month, Day 5

For August Writer’s Month day 5 prompt, Soulmates. Victorian/Seance AU Holland Vosijk and Talya as his spirit guide. Mentions of Kell Maresh, Lila Bard, and the Sanctuary. Dedicated to @muffinworry​, to whom I promised more Talya and Holland interactions a few months ago and am now following through on. Warnings For: character death, discussions of death, pain.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635280/chapters/62452573

Breathe, Holland. That’s all I want you to do for now. Breathe, concentrate on filling yourself back up.

Down in the darkness, Holland nodded and settled. Talya’s voice was soothing, gentle. It appeared every so often in the swaddling black, asking questions or just to talk for a moment. Confronting him, telling him how much stronger he was than before, how his soul was slowly knitting itself back together the longer he rested, reminding him that he wasn’t alone wherever he was.

According to Talya, it had been two months since he had relinquished his hold to hers. Time amounted to nothing in the Veil, but Holland was beginning to grow impatient. He was feeling stronger now, could feel his soul more whole than before -- good signs, Talya insisted, considering how he had been ready to die only a few weeks prior. Talya was pleased with him, pleased with his progress. She had agreed to guide him up to the surface, let him sit with help in his own skin. 

Now Talya was challenging him to do it himself.

Is it working, Tal? He asked between breaths. He felt solid, whole, bound in by real borders. No longer numb and frighteningly still.

You tell me, Holland, Talya said. You know your soul, dear. You know your craft. The real question is, do you think it’s working?

Holland smiled, eyes still closed, breath still even. Yes.

It isn’t a lie. He feels every inch of his body. Despite the darkness, despite his inability to focus enough to see, Holland can feel. The air moving in and out of his lungs. A pulse, low and steady, in his neck. His fingers waving idly in the air. The soft, spectral wind of the Veil sighing around him, pulling him upward.

There. Perfect, Holland, Talya said, encouraging. See, you haven’t forgotten how.

[Click Here to Read More]

[orchidscript]

Spiritus Vitae (chapter 3)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788159

Kell had done his best. He held a respectful distance, kept quiet as his own feelings for the man had swirled, grown, and deepen with every request.

And here this Lila appears on his doorstep, claiming to know how to revive the man he loved through the will of the woman Holland would always love more. Lila had answered all his questions, knew even the smallest details about the woman from the style of her hair to the name of her youngest sister. Lila even had Talya’s silver locket, the very same one that had gone missing from his desk shortly after things fell apart. She claimed it had fallen out of the air and onto her bed exactly two days earlier. Kell didn’t trust her as far as he could spit, but she represented his only hope.

Hastra and the other healers had given up.

Tieren had given up without so much as a second look.

The Sanctuary had already declared Holland a lost cause and was now waiting for the man to die in order to make it official. Make an announcement. They had already ordered funeral flowers.

And yet Kell held on, certain this could not be the end. Not yet, not like this. 

Holland deserved a good death, a fair death. He deserved a good end if he could not have the fresh start he had been working towards. A fresh start, a good end. Holland said that a lot over the years, throughout their lessons and the life they now shared together. The man had it engraved on the inside of his pocket watch in the Old World language of his parents.

On vis och.

A fresh start, a good end.

Dawn to dusk.

They were words Kell lived by now, sitting up by Holland’s bedside from the moment he woke until the moment he fell asleep in the very same chair. Day in, day out. Wide awake watching, waiting, hoping for something to happen. How many days and nights had he sat there, talking to a man who was deaf to the world and blind to Kell’s presence? How much energy had he expended in futile hope that that very moment Holland would stir, blink and yawn, shift then sit up with a smile and a familiar hello darling. Like he had every morning for five years. The same smile, bed-warm skin, tangled black hair, and low voice rough with sleep. 

Two almost three weeks without now.

To Kell, it felt like an eternity.

[Read the Rest Here]

[orchidscript]

Semper Ardens (seance au)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347579

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.”

[Read the Rest Here]

[orchidscript]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

London, 1883

As soon as his eyes open, Kell is launching out of his chair, landing with a bang on the floor. Holland lay crumpled on the rug, head narrowly avoided smacking the coffee table, odd strangled gurgling noises burbling in his throat. He didn’t look like he was breathing, but his limbs spasmed and eyelids twitched. Kell himself was gasping for air, dizzy and disoriented from the quick exit out of his trance, but he was determined to help.

He had been so close. He had done it, but something was wrong.

“No no no no no no,” Kell murmured, panic rising in his chest. “No no no, come back. Come back, Holland. I know you’re in there, I put you back in there. Please, Holland, please can you hear me?”

The older man’s skin was turning cold and pale, greyish and sickly. Kell reached for his mouth, pushing his fingers between lips and teeth to wrench Holland’s jaw open. He moves to sit over the man, feeling for a pulse and finding one too frail to continue. He squares his hands over the man’s chest, pushing down slowly, listening to the air wheeze out. He smiles, nervously but relieved, as he hears air being sucked back inside.

“There we go, okay, alright. That, that’s better.” Kell repeats the movement with the same result. Again and again, he forces air in and out of Holland’s lungs until the man coughs. “Oh come on, Holland. Come one, breathe for me. Breathe for me, please.”

The coughing fades into sputters. Kell’s heart lurches and he starts the compressions again. He realizes with a start that Holland’s hair has turned bright, snowy white. All the color was leaching out of him, or so it appeared, and Kell prayed that didn’t mean his life was leaking out too. Kell paused long enough to quickly find a pulse again then returned to compressions, frantically trying to get his friend, his mentor, his confidant to just breathe .

It had been an accident.

A mistake.

A trap both of them had walked into, but Holland suffered alone for. He and Holland had been tasked to create a joint act, of sorts. Something novel and unique the Sanctuary could use to pull new enthusiasts and collectors in. The Sanctuary had started contracting the two of them out while Kell was still learning, so the younger man could watch proper staging and progression, how to address a crowd politely and make sure the directions given were followed. It was a working relationship that continued well after Kell had come into his own power, but they had always performed separately. One after the other, one trance then the next, never in tandem. Very few mediums performed in tandem, let alone together -- only the Eddy brothers and the legendary sisters Fox had managed it successfully, with many a question as to why -- claiming it would confuse the spirits.

Holland had been apprehensive when Tieran approached them with the idea. He was unsure as to how different the stunt would be when two antari were conducting it. Tieran seemed to believe it would give them more control over potential mishaps, that their natural gifts would force the path smooth where lesser practitioners experienced bumps. Kell had agreed immediately, eager to try someone that would push the limits of his skills, his knowledge, his power. 

Holland had not been so easily convinced.

[Read the rest here!]

[orchidscript]

was anyone going to tell me that Ned Tuttle wrote a whole treatise on magic in Grey London? Or was I always meant to find out by re-reading my copy of A Darker Shade of Magic?

[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.

[orchidscript]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788159

London, 1883

As soon as his eyes open, Kell is launching out of his chair, landing with a bang on the floor. Holland lay crumpled on the rug, head narrowly avoided smacking the coffee table, odd strangled gurgling noises burbling in his throat. He didn’t look like he was breathing, but his limbs spasmed and eyelids twitched. Kell himself was gasping for air, dizzy and disoriented from the quick exit out of his trance, but he was determined to help.

He had been so close. He had done it, but something was wrong.

“No no no no no no,” Kell murmured, panic rising in his chest. “No no no, come back. Come back, Holland. I know you’re in there, I put you back in there. Please, Holland, please can you hear me?”

The older man’s skin was turning cold and pale, greyish and sickly. Kell reached for his mouth, pushing his fingers between lips and teeth to wrench Holland’s jaw open. He moves to sit over the man, feeling for a pulse and finding one too frail to continue. He squares his hands over the man’s chest, pushing down slowly, listening to the air wheeze out. He smiles, nervously but relieved, as he hears air being sucked back inside.

“There we go, okay, alright. That, that’s better.” Kell repeats the movement with the same result. Again and again, he forces air in and out of Holland’s lungs until the man coughs. “Oh come on, Holland. Come one, breathe for me. Breathe for me, please.”

The coughing fades into sputters. Kell’s heart lurches and he starts the compressions again. He realizes with a start that Holland’s hair has turned bright, snowy white. All the color was leaching out of him, or so it appeared, and Kell prayed that didn’t mean his life was leaking out too. Kell paused long enough to quickly find a pulse again then returned to compressions, frantically trying to get his friend, his mentor, his confidant to just breathe .

It had been an accident.

A mistake.

A trap both of them had walked into, but Holland suffered alone for. He and Holland had been tasked to create a joint act, of sorts. Something novel and unique the Sanctuary could use to pull new enthusiasts and collectors in. The Sanctuary had started contracting the two of them out while Kell was still learning, so the younger man could watch proper staging and progression, how to address a crowd politely and make sure the directions given were followed. It was a working relationship that continued well after Kell had come into his own power, but they had always performed separately. 

One after the other, one trance then the next, never in tandem. Very few mediums performed in tandem, let alone together -- only the Eddy brothers and the legendary sisters Fox had managed it successfully, with many a question as to why -- claiming it would confuse the spirits.

Holland had been apprehensive when Tieran approached them with the idea. He was unsure as to how different the stunt would be when two antari were conducting it. Tieran seemed to believe it would give them more control over potential mishaps, that their natural gifts would force the path smooth where lesser practitioners experienced bumps. Kell had agreed immediately, eager to try someone that would push the limits of his skills, his knowledge, his power. Holland had not been so easily convinced.

In hindsight, Kell knew it was his selfishness, his unfairly pushing Holland into the task that had ended them here.

Holland had eventually agreed.

[Read the Rest Here]