#som fic

[greenmaskedmarauder]

I now need fanart immediately of @forthegenuine 's most recent fic. Specifically of Kell as a dad.

[ignitesthestxrs]

kelliland + domesticity

Lila’s no good at staying still.

It’s never been a problem. Still meant dead for most of her life, and by the time it didn’t - well. She didn’t feel like stopping, and Kell had been frozen in place for so long he’d nearly gone mad with it.

The two of them are meant for movement. They find their way along together, and it works well enough for Lila to not mind the fucking poetry of it all.

Holland…complicates things.

Holland would probably say that she does that well enough on her own, that he was perfectly content to watch White London’s rebirth in silence from the sidelines and never see either one of them again.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she’d say, and they’d both look at Kell then, who would either notice and blush, or be completely oblivious. Either way a wave of fondness that Lila still doesn’t entirely trust would sweep over her, and Holland…

Would stay.

It surprises her, sometimes. How comforting she finds that. Because Holland isn’t made for running these days, but he’s proving a surprisingly effective base to return to.

“Aren’t you darling,” she comments dryly, kicking the door shut behind her. Kell’s suite in the palace, too excessive for one person, makes a cosy fit for the two of them plus Holland.

Very cosy, judging by the scene before her. Holland flips a page in his book.

“Good evening, Delilah.”

Kell says nothing, because Kell is asleep. Not just asleep, but slumped sideways on the chaise and on Holland himself. She watches with something akin to delight as Holland’s other hand twitches, like he’s considering whether or not he can move it away from Kell’s head without her noticing.

“You know I hate that,” she says, except she doesn’t these days, not from him. There’s something about the way his mouth wraps around every syllable of her name that feels…personal. In a good way.

He murdered your friend, a dark voice whispers in the back of her skull. She takes her jacket off, drops it on the floor. Doesn’t miss the way Holland’s mismatched eyes follow its path.

Some things, she doesn’t try to reconcile these days.

“Liar,” is all he says, and she gives him a shark’s grin. He ducks his head, returning to his book, but not before she catches the ghost of his own smile.

Lila takes a moment to admire the tableau before her. Holland’s grown his hair out in recent months, pale strands spilling over one shoulder. His fingers are long, deceptively delicate; it takes him a moment of very steadily not looking at her before he allows his fingers to wind through the crimson shock of Kell’s hair. Kell, whose bones seem finally devoid of tension, his body molded to the cushions and Holland beneath him.

She gets the sense that this is Holland returning to a motion that had been mindless before she barged in through the door, and something in her chest aches pleasantly. It’s only exacerbated by the sight of Kell without that furrow between his brow, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Absurd, that dark voice chuffs. Lila tugs at the laces of her boots.

“Are you going to keep staring?” Kell mumbles, not opening his eyes. “Or are you going to get over here and join us?”

“Do you want this boot in your face?” she shoots bake, but she’s already dropping it near her jacket, the other one as well, her body  moving through time and space towards them.

“So violent,” he teases, and then yelps as she dumps herself unceremoniously on top of him. Blue and black flashes at her accusatorily before she leans in and steals a kiss, and he closes his eyes again.

(She is a very good thief).

“Only when it suits me,” she murmurs against his mouth.

Holland abandons Kell’s hair for a moment to adjust her legs, laying them across lap. He flips another page in his book, and keeps reading.

[greenmaskedmarauder]

Words Unspoken

A Kellila fic.

Thank you to @forthegenuine for betaing this for me :D.

Find it here.

Or read below the cut if you want. It’s your life.

Kell and Lila had been in Grey London for the better part of a week. Not to exchange letters with King George the Fourth. No, those days were over. Rhy had sent them there for a different reason: see if there were any magically inclined people. And make sure they weren’t able to nurture that inclination.

Lila hadn’t wanted to come back to her home that was no longer her home. Far too many bad memories to mix with the taste of ash on the air. But she hadn’t wanted Kell to leave without her, and he would do anything for his brother. Really, there should be limits as to what brotherly love would do, but Kell agreed right away. So here they were, back at the recently renamed The Stone’s Throw again. Kell trusted Ned to help them with this as well, as the young Enthusiast no longer had a desire to see if he could muster control over elements.

It still hit her, the sense of sadness and loss over Barron. He had been a part of The Stone’s Throw for so long that his absence was something she could feel. Then again, as he had unwittingly become a member of her small family, maybe his absence was just something she could feel anyway. He wouldn’t be there to look at her sternly, telling her she would find trouble if that’s all she went looking for. And he wouldn’t ever get to see what she had become. And that saddened her most, she supposed.

She looked up as Kell came back into their room, once her room, after spending some time downstairs with Ned. He looked at her face, then opened his arms to her. She settled in, leaning against his chest. “You still miss him?” he asked softly. She didn’t say anything, just nodded briefly. He kissed the top of her head, and pulled back to look into her eyes. Blue on brown, black on black. Truthfully, it was getting easier to be there. Easier to accept Barron’s death. And that worried her. If she wasn’t mourning him anymore, was there anyone left to do so?

“What were you and Ned talking about?” she asked, trying to take her mind off of the confusion surrounding her emotions concerning Barron.

“Oh, this and that,” he hedged. She narrowed her eyes at him but before she could say anything he distracted her by kissing her. It shouldn’t have worked as well as it did, but she leaned into the kiss, into him. Before she could deepen it, he pulled away, concern furrowing his brow. He always was too perceptive of what she was feeling. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She exhaled, nodded. His fingers traced her jaw.

“So, how much longer do you think we’ll have to be away from home?” Lila asked. “And how many people does Rhy think could use magic here anyway?”

“Well, his concern isn’t entirely unfounded. I mean, look at you.” She just looked at him. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I haven’t been able to pick up on any signs of magic, even small ones. But my eyes ended up missing you entirely, so who knows what we’ll find. You haven’t seen anything yet, have you?”

Lila shook her head. “No. Though I’m not as used to looking for the signs as you are.” Kell nodded, considered this.

“If we haven’t seen anything by the end of tomorrow, we’ll head back then. I know how you hate to be away from your ship for so long,” he teased. Lila just threw her pillow at him. He laughed, laid down beside her.

“Do you think we should fix the wall before we leave? You know, so Ned can use this room for other patrons aside from us.” Kell looked at the patch of ruined wood where he had trapped Lila the night they’d met. It seemed like a lifetime ago, when really it was only a year and a half.

“If you think so. Personally, I think Ned likes the remnants of magic. But we can fix it before we go.” With that, he pulled her close to him, hands brushing over her dark hair. “Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”

Lila let the feel of his hands brushing over her hair lull her into sleep. Strange to think about, but she still slept the best when Kell was next to her.

The next morning they rose with the dawn, the reds more muted than in Red London, but still bright against the dark blue of early morning. They left The Stone’s Throw once more, still looking for signs of anyone who could sense and use magic. As they continued to wander the streets of Grey London, Lila let her mind wander. She was still watching for more muted versions of what she supposed was like the door Kell had made the night they’d met, but she was also thinking about what it would have been like if she’d never met him. She didn’t know if she would have ever unlocked her magic.

She looked up and caught sight of a tall, slim man leaving a tavern. He had dark hair and a narrow face. She stiffened and froze at the sight of him, and Kell noticed. He turned to follow her gaze as it met the brown eyes of the man. He was shabby, and had the scraggly traces of not having shaved for a couple days. She hadn’t noticed that she’d started shaking until Kell put his hand on her shoulder and whispered, “What is it?” She blinked and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Mr. Bard,” she said coldly by way of greeting. Thomas Bard. Her father. The man who had sold her for some coin when she was fifteen and whom she hadn’t seen since that night. She had killed the man who bought her, of course. And then she began her life of always watching out for herself. It had been four years since she’d last laid eyes on him but he looked the same, eyes bloodshot and teeth yellowing from too much drink.

He frowned as recognition seemed to take over. Of course, she now had a black eye as she was meant to, but he still frowned. “I took great care to make sure your sign of devil possession was removed. Even stole the regular looking one. Why’ve you gone and put it back?” 

Lila shook with anger and a little bit of sadness. She willed him to stop in the street. He gasped as he couldn’t move his limbs.

“You see, Thomas,” she began, “it turns out I went and found what that mark really was. And hello to you too, you bastard.” She ended on a growl.

“You’re Lila’s father?” asked Kell incredulously. “I thought you were dead. She alluded to that anyway.” Thomas couldn’t hear the subtle shift to anger in his voice but Lila heard it loud and clear. “Don’t,” she whispered softly, but Kell continued. “What kind of man sells his own daughter to a sleazy man just so he can get a few coin? What kind of man cuts out his daughter’s eye.” His teeth were clenched now, both in anger and in pain as the ground rumbled and he used his magic. He could still feel Lila tremble, but with what he wasn’t sure. He was too angry. He thought he knew all about not great fathers, growing up with one who favored his biological son over his adopted one, but seeing this man here in this London, where Lila had starved and stolen and frozen just to get by made him angry. 

Thomas opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a fish. “And who might you be?” he finally managed. The shock of not being able to move combined with the tremors in the ground had him a little spooked. And then he frowned upon looking into Kell’s eyes. “You’ve got the same affliction she has,” he said, rather stupidly in Kell’s mind, considering Lila had willed his body still and he could feel magic rising in his blood, demanding to be used. “Unhand me. What the devil is wrong with you two?”

Kell scoffed. “What’s wrong with us? I’d say you’re ahead in who’s more messed up. Thomas, was it?” Thomas nodded briefly, that being all he could do, with Lila’s hold still on him. She had gone very pale, and was still trembling. Kell could tell she no longer wanted to be here with the man, so he strode forward and punched him in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground, and Lila hurriedly strode away to the next street. Kell leaned down over the man, saying in a low tone, “You are lucky we are leaving your world behind. You didn’t deserve anything as good as her, ever. You bastard.” He turned and walked away, trying to catch up to Lila. He knew she wasn’t far away.

He found her in an alley, crumpled against the back of a shop, arms wrapped around her stomach. He strode next to her, crouching down so he could see her face. She was still shaking, and breathing hard. “He shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t fucking matter,” she said, voice breaking a little. “Why does he fucking matter?” she asked, a couple of tears slipping passed her control. Kell reached out to cup her cheek, brushing them away with his thumb. And then he pulled her into his arms, offering his shoulder if she needed it to cry into.

“He doesn’t matter,” he whispered into her ear. “Nothing about that man in that street matters. The only thing that matters is you and who you have become.” He rubbed her back, and wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed softly. “Lila,” he whispered in her ear. They stood like that for a few minutes, before Lila pulled away, angrily swiping the tears from her eyes. She sniffed.

“I thought he was dead. I thought he had died long ago, long before I held a piece of Black London hostage so you would take me on an adventure. I never went looking for him after that night, and I never gave him a second thought. Barron was my only family. Why is he alive while Barron is dead?” She looked at him with eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her brown eye impossibly dark under the sheen. He held her face in both hands, and leaned his forehead on hers.

“I don’t know, Lila. I don’t know what sort of justice that is. All I know is that you are strong. You are alive. And you are so incredible, in spite of everything that he is.” He kissed her then, once. Just deep enough to show her how much he loved her. She had stopped shaking, and she sniffled once more. “Do you want to go home?” he asked softly. She nodded, and then pulled away.

They looked around, trying to gauge where they’d be in Red London. They would come out somewhere near the eastern edge of the Night Market. “Do we need to say goodbye to Ned?” asked Lila. Kell shook his head, and dug out his Red London token. Lila cut her hand, and spoke the words that would bring them home. “As travars.” They stepped through, and made their way up to the palace to tell Rhy that they hadn’t found anyone magical enough to warrant concern.

[ignitesthestxrs]

Maybe something about Alucard struggling to stay with Rhy at court despite loving him like resisting the pull of the ocean & fighting vs the pull of Rhy

Alucard had forgotten how much he hated court.

Well - no, not precisely true. He just hadn’t had to think about it for three years. At first he had bigger things on his mind. Eventually, better things, in all avenues except one.

That avenue leans in towards him now, a layer of concern tucked behind the brilliant smile he gives the ballroom before him. Rhy is installed in his throne and Alucard has his position standing to his left, both of them eyeing the sea of fabric and moving bodies before them.

“That’s dangerous,” Rhy murmurs, caught between teasing and tension. Alucard raises his eyebrows.

“Were you planning on elaborating, or did you prefer me to guess?”

“You’re brooding. Not that I’m complaining, of course, brooding is an especially good look on you. But we can agree it’s not the safest habit.”

Alucard’s mouth pulls into a smile despite his mood, because that’s the kind of effect he has on him. Prince or king or man in his bed, it doesn’t matter, they’re all Rhy.

“You’ve proven yourself more than capable of dealing with a little danger, your Majesty.”

“Now who needs to elaborate?”

Their bent heads have caught the notice of the court, and Alucard drags his gaze over the various expressions. Some are better at hiding than most, but he catches jealousy, intrigue, disapproval, indulgence. At Rhy’s insistence, they have not been subtle, its own small relief. Alucard would have been his secret if he’d had to, if that’s what Rhy had wanted, but the empire is learning that there are some things their new king won’t compromise on.

Alucard’s ego and Alucard’s heart are happy to come under that umbrella. Alucard’s healthy sense of paranoia that kept him alive through three years of privateering feels a little bit like hee has a target on his back. And unlike on the open seas, he’s unable to simply kill the person aiming at him and take their valuables.

Well. He probably could, but it would put his partner in a spot of bother, and Alucard is done with being bailed out by the crown.

“Oh,” Rhy says, and that’s when it occurs to him that he hadn’t actually responded to his lover’s inquiry. “You really are having a problem, aren’t you? I’ll stop teasing.”

Oh, you can tease me any time you like is on the tip of his tongue, but what comes out instead is a look of gratitude. There’s a lot to appreciate about their relationship these days, but this - the quiet understanding that passes between them in less than a blink, this is what Alucard came back to try for.

“It’s a little...stifling. That’s all.”

It’s not all and he can see it in Rhy’s golden eye that it’s not all. The king swallows, turns away. Looks out at his people.

“You know that you’re welcome to go, if you want to. At any time. So long as you warn me, I’ll always be here to welcome you back.”

Kissing the king in the middle of a ball would be improper under any circumstances. Alucard rests his hand briefly on Rhy’s shoulder, rings glittering in the light. He breathes in deep, imagines the tang of salt on the wind, exhales.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says, because that’s the important part. That’s everything. “But I do reserve the right to brood. Lends me an air of mystery. You don’t want anyone to think they know what your protector is going to do next.”

Rhy barks a laugh, drawing more heads. In the past that’s caused him to break off conversation, but what he does now is stand. His own hand cover’s Alucard’s fingers as he removes them from his shoulder, drawing him towards the ballroom floor as he does so.

“We hope that he deigns to dance with his king,” he sniffs, the haughty royalty of his voice in direct odds with that grin. Alucard thinks his heart probably skips a beat, because he’s hopeless, because he’s in love.

He steps in close, settling his hand on Rhy’s upper arm, letting his lover’s sit at his waist.

“You’re impossible to resist,” he murmurs. The rest of the hall drops away. There is music, there is dance, there is the two of them.

“I hope you’re happy with that,” Rhy says.

“I couldn’t be happy without it.”

[ignitesthestxrs]

kell/lila/holland + power

There’s a piece of Lila inside of him.

She looks for it every time her body squeezes inside out and deposits her in White London. Holland, disappointingly, is never surprised to see her; she wonders what it would take to get under his skin, and is vaguely disgusted at herself for it.

Whatever animosity lies between them these days, even Lila can admit he’s been pulled apart enough for one lifetime.

It doesn’t stop her gaze from scraping over him, the shock of white hair, the too-pale skin. His eye is black again, although she hasn’t forgotten that split second before Osaron had been sealed away, when they had both been that piercing, verdant green and empty.

(Her power had surged through the rings with Kell’s to fill the gap, and something had ricocheted back along the connection to settle in her chest. There’s a piece of Lila inside of him, and a piece of Kell, and sometimes she acknowledges that she’s not all herself these days either).

“Find what you were looking for?” he asks, glancing sidelong at her. His head doesn’t turn though, both of them facing the ruins of what had once been the White London palace.

No more kings the people of this world had decided, and the place had grown greener for it. Some nights Lila dreams of the river and imagines that something moves in it, under all that ice.

“If I told you what I really wanted to find, you wouldn’t be so pale,” she says idly, because Delilah Bard has never been to dive headfirst after the things that she wants, and because if it doesn’t go well she can always run away to a literal different world.

Holland coughs. Not loudly, barely enough to be noticeable, but after all of these years Lila knows him. She smirks, eyeing the faintest hint of a flush rising in his cheeks.

“Delilah.”

With Kell, she wouldn’t have hesitated to step into his space, to make more use of her body and his, but Holland requires a little more care. It’s delicate work, which is why she’s here instead of Kell.

“I told you so.”

“You don’t like me.”

“I’ve hated you,” she admits. It’s not a secret. “Some days I still think I could cheerfully drown you.”

He nods, colour fading. That makes sense to him; he’s back on solid ground. Lila steps quickly until she’s between him and the broken palace, arms crossed over her chest. His eyes skitter briefly over her face before dancing away. She catches the way he swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple speaking of more careful restraint than anything he might say.

“Some days,” she says, and this is much harder but Lila doesn’t shy away from difficult things anymore, “I think you’re a better person than Kell and I put together.”

Holland flinches.

“Which isn’t saying much when it comes to me, but we can all agree that Kell’s too self-sacrificing for his own good.”

“And he knows you’re here, I suppose.” There’s a heavy dose of sarcasm to the words - and worse, self-loathing. He doesn’t think Kell knows. He hates himself, because he’s considering it anyway.

Lila rolls her good eye. “Don’t be an idiot. It was his idea that I come. He didn’t think you’d believe him.”

That’s when he looks at her. So often Holland is a blank mask, inviting people to read whatever they need to see into him. She can see the rawness in him now, a bleeding agony that she recognises from her life in Grey London, even if she hadn’t admitted it at the time.

“The two of you are happy,” he says. “There’s no room for me in the middle of that.”

“It’s not about being in the middle.” She wriggles her fingers at him. There’s a ring on one of them, partner to the one on his hand and on Kell’s. “It’s about being together. Look, I’m not going to push you. If you want to pretend that I didn’t just open this box, that’s up to you. But you know where to find us. Both of us.”

There’s a part of her that wants to reach out and touch him, comfort him, but he looks at her like he might shatter under her fingertips. So she smiles at him instead, although Lila’s smile has always been more of a shark’s grin, but that’s what he’s getting into if he decides to follow her.

As Travars takes her home. To Red London and to Kell and to the other missing piece of herself. He starts to his feet when she stumbles out of the alcove in their quarters, not bothering to look like he hadn’t been waiting for her.

“You’re alive,” he says dryly, reaching for her.

She folds herself into his arms, humming happily as his hands settle at her waist. His lips brush over her forehead, soft and sweet.

“You know it never pays to doubt me,” she says, tilting her head up to catch another kiss on the mouth. “It’s Holland. He needs time to work through his guilt complex first before he’ll let himself to anything that makes him remotely happy.”

A thunk sounds from the alcove behind them. Kell and Lila look at each other for half a second, Lila raising her eyebrows as if to say I told you so before they both turn to look at the door.

It swings open.

“You’re a menace, Delilah Bard,” Holland rasps.

“You have no idea,” Kell says, and he reaches past her to hold his hand out in invitation to the other man.

Holland’s fingers tremble, but he takes it.

[gazeteur]

"Lover?"

Fandom: Shades of Magic Word Count: 200

(A/N: a really short piece featuring Rhy, centred around the time in CoL when Kell and Lila were on the ship lmao; slight nsfw)

Rhy is discussing strategy with the ambassador around the war table when he pitches forward slightly, like he's been pushed.

He doubles over, not because of the pain, but because of the virtue of what it stands for. A curse readies itself on the tip of his tongue but does not fall. Realisation dawns on Rhy, the moment he can distinguish the pain as tiny crescent-moon pinpricks digging into his back.

His white-knuckled grip on the side of the table relaxes. Carefully, he readjusts his hand so his rings do not scratch the aged wood. In the distraction he has forgotten he left the ambassador standing without an explanation, wringing his hands.

"Your Highness?" the ambassador ventures, eyes widened, probably thinking that Osaron has breached the walls of the castle or it's some strange Maresh quirk.

"I'm fine." He really isn't. Rhy's gaze flicks to a pocket knife on the table, then guiltily away. "Leave me."

Rhy considers the decorative patterns carved into the wooden lip of the table—of ancient battles won and myths forged—as the footsteps diminish, and the double doors grind shut. He waits a beat or two, before his roar reverberates throughout the room and beyond. "KELLLLLLLL!"