#Magic's Price

[queer-book-character-tournament]

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Thaniel Steepleton- The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley

Iäna Pel-Thenhior- The Witness for the Dead by Katherine Addison

Murderbot- The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

Vanyel Ashkevron- The Last Herald-Mage Series by Mercedes Lackey

[isnt-it-pretty]

Update on my Last Herald-Mage cross stitch pattern!

I made this post with my original version, but I decided the pattern was too small, so I remade it larger and more detailed!

Like before, I took the embroidery from Vanyel's Whites in Magic's Promise.

Then, after making the pattern (and I'm skipping that whole process because it was A Lot™), I had to choose colours, so I pulled out all the shades that might work and got to testing!

Then I picked two options I liked and tested them out. I chose the more true gold even if it doesn't match the art exactly, because I figure gold would have been a colour Whites would likely be embroidered with over a type of bronze.

And thus, a pattern was born! (Original image for reference)

I'm test stitching it now. Will report back 🫡

Thank you to those on The Last Herald-Mage discord server for your opinions as I struggled through this process!

[kvalenagle]

I was searching the upstairs closet for a lightbulb and I came across what is basically the "lgbtqia+ Millennial who likes to read starter pack." Gotta say, I didn't realize I still had any Silver Gryphon t-shirts left. Takes me back to being a teenager =]

[softlysilverfountainsfall]

There is almost no way that anyone with an ounce of monarchical political knowledge would believe that Jisa and Treven's marriage came about the way it actually did. The theories must range wildly:

Jisa's mother Shavri used her position, both as King's Own and King Randale's lover, to ensure that her daughter would become Queen Consort if not Queen Regnant. (Very, very possible given the influence of both those positions and even likely, except for the fact that it couldn't be more wrong, Shavri was doing her best to keep Jisa off the throne)

1a. Debate ranges over how much Randale was involved, whether as a co-conspirator to being completely manipulated or too sick to do anything.

2. Randale used his position as King to make Treven marry his daughter so that Jisa would quasi-inherit even if she wasn't Chosen.

3. That one historian who is incredibly right about Vanyel being Jisa's biological father (probably not recorded in the Chronicles) and incredibly wrong about all the conclusions drawn from that. (No, Vanyel, arguably the most powerful person in the kingdom, did nothing to make Jisa queen.)

4. Treven had to marry Jisa to satisfy some court faction that supported her/bloodline traditionalists willing to overlook the out-of-wedlock part if it meant keeping Randale's direct bloodline (joke's on them).

5. Jisa seduced Treven to keep a position in the royal family.

6. What actually happened (which is probably in the Chronicles): two teens in love eloped with complete disregard for politics, they just happened to be the King's daughter and his distant Chosen heir.

[geneseedraws]

Vanyel & Yfandes, and Bard Stefen from Magic's Price! Yeah I wasn't done drawing fanart for The Last Herald-Mage books, this series is gonna stay with me forever 💅💕

I had to draw older Vanyel with his pretty silver streaked hair, and Stefen!! He's such a sweetie🥺🥺💕 I'm just so happy for starting my "book journey" with reading something so wonderful and impactful to me. Like these characters are in my heart, Vanyel and his life throughout the whole thing... Ahhh I can't recommend it enough, I loved it all so much!! 😭😭💕💖

[2057]

#5: sending you a smile

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price and Boris Karloff wizard duel to the death

The Raven (1963) dir. Roger Corman

[clarissasbakery]

yuri time 🫶🫶🫶 happy pride

[timethehobo]

Ok I need to apologise in advance for the crazy person I might become for this man.

[shouldprobablybereading]

[umiushiii]

Bunch of mlp redesigns + my ponysona :3

U should commission me btw :3333

[peachesofteal]

Faerie

Magic!au / Fae!au / COD x reader collection Stories that exist within the same universe and characters that make continued appearances throughout the collection.

The women in these paintings are white but this does not reflect or represent the reader characters in these stories.

Mermaids AO3 Simon Riley/mermaid!reader “And the mermaids, they come once a year  They climb the struts of Brighton Pier  They come to drink, they come to dance  To sacrifice a human heart” - F + TM Which Witch AO3 / Part 1 / Part 2 John 'Soap' MacTavish/witch!reader “I’m not beat up by this yet, you can’t tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met,  Fire, help me to forget” - F + TM Cosmic Love TBA / Drabble here Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/mermaid!reader "I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you." - F + TM Long and Lost TBA / Drabble here John Price/ !reader "I need the clouds to cover me Pulling them down, surround me Without your love I'll be So long and lost, are you missing me?" - F + TM

[shxnigxmi]

❤︎︎ 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃 ❤︎︎ [ᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

ఌ synopsis: you eagerly await the return of your husband, and he can’t wait to be in your arms once again

ఌ content warnings: foul language, anxiety, domestic fluff, ghost is literally whipped—

ఌ author’s note: why is physical affection so hard? like someone hold me in their arms and keep me safe but like do it without actually touching me cause i fucking hate that fucking shit /:(

—

Beat down and bone-tired. Ghost was exhausted.

Simon was exhausted. And he let out a tired huff as he slid the key into the lock of his front door before he twisted it with a click. Repeated the same process with the handle before he was twisting it and trudging inside, dropping his heavy duffel on the ground as he slid out of his sneakers. Black Nikes he traded in for his combat boots back at base.

“Lovey,” he called out into the apartment as he kicked his shoes off. When he didn’t get an answer his immediate response was to tighten up with panic. Muscles taut against the profound ache of weariness that weighed down heavily on his bones.

At least he would have, but there was no need for such a reaction. Because he could see the door to your art room slightly ajar, the soft golden light coming from the lamp you kept on the desk in the corner bathing the hallway in it’s pale glow. And he could hear you humming, your voice soft as angels and melodic as a siren bewitching him to come closer as your taut chords strung the sound together beautifully. He smiled.

Inhaling a breath that felt like it had cleansed his lungs is when he noticed the scent of pumpkin spice, and he tilted his head at the small glow in the corner of the living room. A candle, the flame small as the scented candle was no more than three inches tall. The rightfully themed orange wax sat in a small glass container. Tiny and withheld there on the table by the bookcase.

He wondered why he hadn’t noticed the small flickering before, or why the scent had evaded him until just now. Perhaps he really was tired. Or maybe it was because he heard you, and the fact that he was aware you were present in this home you shared with him made him feel more at peace. Softer and less tightly wound, less of Ghost and more of Simon the longer he stood there before the shut and locked front door.

Yes, the candle added it’s aroma to the homely vibe his apartment was bathed in. But it was you that made it feel truly like home, it was you that made it feel safe and comfortable. Here with you he could be Simon, he could be human.. just a man yearning for love and affection. Wanting to be taken care of and held tenderly.

Out there in the real world, the world that’s full of vile and hateful shadows that prowl in the darkness waiting for an innocent victim is where he needed to be Ghost. Lieutenant Riley. Cold, hard, calculated and cruel.

Here with you… he could just be Simon. Your loving and devoted husband.

So he smiled minutely, a gentle thing tugging the corners of his lips up minutely to put a soft look on his face. Happy. He paced to the art room, the first door on the left at the mouth of the hallway, before he peered inside through the wide gape you had left the door with.

And the warmth in his chest bubbled at the sight of you, sat in that stool with one leg tucked up and laid down on the flat of the stool. Your other leg bent at the knee as you used it to rest your elbow so your paintbrush strokes could be more fine. Simon smiled at the way you looked so domestic, a large shirt —no doubt one of his— draping your figure. Large sweatpants that bunched up around your ankles and have been rolled at the waistline. And a pair of crew socks. Your hair was pushed out of your face with an elastic headband. And it was then in that moment when he had brought his eyes back up to your face that he noticed the headphones.

He was perfectly happy just watching you as you worked in your element, the way you guided the paintbrush across the canvas was mesmerizing. Perfect strokes as you moved your hand in an arch to curve the colorful line you’d just created.

It wasn’t until you were painting the left side of the canvas did you notice the figure out of the corner of your eye. You felt a brief sense of electrified panic and fear of an intruder as you quickly flicked your head to the doorway— and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was just Simon.

Humming you went back to it, switching out the wide brush for a fine point one and using the fibers to scoop up a dollop of green before.. wait—

You froze, then looked back to the doorway. And sure enough he was still stood there, arms folded across his chest and leaning against the doorframe with a playful glint in his eye and smug smile on his lips. Bare to you at the expense of his mask rolled up to the bridge of his nose. Simon!

“Simon!” You squealed, clambering off the stool and setting the paint pallet there alongside your headphones before you were spinning and leaping into your husband’s strong and loving arms.

He chuckled deeply at your enthusiasm, then reached down to grab your thighs before he was hoisting you up to encourage you to wrap your legs around his wide waist. And you did so with little more prompting.

“I missed you doll,” he murmured into your hair and you laughed wetly as you snuggled your face closer into his neck. Warm and bare to you, vulnerable to loving pecks as you welcomed your hubby home.

“I missed you too Si. So much.” You pulled back from his embrace of just enough to cup his face and pull his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, and you gently held his face as he pressed his lips firmly back against yours.

No matter how many times you and he shared saliva it felt like the first kiss every single time. That first kiss that you can recall happening on your porch, the porch just out the front door he had just come through.

It was the first date, after you two had met in a bar downtown you’d hit it off rather quick. And he offered a nice and quiet walk alongside the large pond in the city’s square. The pond that had a beautiful fountain in the middle, and as you walked with him slowly but surely you had gotten to know a bit more about him.

What with his black balaclava and the fierce and brooding aura about him, it had been a shock he’d asked you to join him outside. He had seemed prickly and more of lone wolf type of guy when you’d seen him across the bar all those nights ago. And you were surprised when you’d both ended up at the bar together.

He wasn’t. Because he had noticed you too, and he had been trying to scrounge up some courage to approach you. Eventually, his teammates had pushed him to stand and go order another drink when they saw that you had returned to the bar.

And the rest has all led up today, to that electrified kiss. A kiss that you felt all the way in your toes, like fireworks erupting in your chest and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. That’s the affect Simon had on you, the “so helplessly and utterly in love” affect that made you feel warm and happy anywhere near him. He was perfect.

And you’re so glad he’d put a ring on your finger, so glad you had bought a ring of your own to ask him. And so glad to have been happily married to him for three years already. Because Simon was comfort and Simon was home.. and you loved and adored him more than anything.

“What’re ya workin’ on?” He questioned as he set you back on your feet, pressing one final kiss to your lips before you were turning away from him to face the canvas. The project that was almost finished.

“Just some big piece for a company in New York. Payed a shitload for it too,” you explained as you moved to the desk in the room. Messy with files upon files stacked on top of each others, papers strewn about and the mahogany wood littered with pieces of garbage. Candies, discarded coffee cups, crushed energy drink cans.. it was a disaster.

But you found the paycheck right where you had left it, laid atop the manilla folder in the corner. You plucked it from it’s perch before moving back to Simon and handing it to him. His eyes widened at the number of zeroes behind the set of double digits at the beginning.

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah. I’m kind of frazzled because they paid a lot.. and I know they’ll like it I’m just not sure I’ll be able to finish the whole thing in time.” You spoke, suddenly ready to burst like a water spout and rant to him. You knew that he would listen intently and you knew he would do whatever he could to fix the problem or offer any advice he thought would be helpful. But you were tired, you’d been staring at the damn canvas all day. And whilst you had a cohesive idea in mind the client had said to make it abstract. So you’d just been letting your brush guide your hand and went to your heart’s content.

But now? Right now all the colors were blurring together, and not in the way an abstract is supposed to. Not in the way you’d seen it in your head. And it was making you frustrated, anxiety aligning unwell with your unease and anger made everything so much worse.

When you had finally found somewhat of a groove again is when Simon had come home. But even still.. it didn’t quite feel right. You dreaded the thought of maybe having to start a new one tomorrow, but you didn’t want to give your client something you weren’t proud of. Especially since they’d paid so much and especially since they expected so much from you since your profoundly successful gallery last month.

So when you had seen Simon all worries had flown right out the window, and the ire wound tightly in your chest had dissipated. He’d worked out the unruly twitch in your brow with his mere presence alone and you melted into his hold when you had squealed and jumped him.

But now that you had once again found the canvas as your main point of attention— the feelings returned. And you grimaced angrily at it. As if your twisted scowl would somehow fix the painting and your problem.

Simon recognized the look in your eye, and he knew you would continue to glare at your painting until you either got new inspiration or burnt yourself out trying to create something that was satisfying to your expectations. So he turned you to face him and cupped your cheeks.

“Let’s get to bed yeah? I’m sure you’ll have a fresher perspective on this tomorrow.” He gently urged, and you sighed softly as you reached your hands up to hold his wrists. You nodded your agreement.

And he took your hand in his to guide you into the shared bedroom at the end of the hall. Once inside, your nightly routine began. And he helped you with your skincare routine as you gently pulled off his mask and wiped clean the black eye grease that painted his face. Once clean with a cleansing wipe you began his skincare routine, built and patented by you.

And he closed his eyes and exhaled softly at the way your hands and fingers felt on his face. The intimate domestic feeling behind the action made his heart warm and his stomach flutter. You had made him a skincare routine, loved him enough to care about what he’s putting on his face. And it felt amazing to be sharing a nightly routine with you again.

Once you both rinsed your faces clean and patted them dry, you brushed your teeth before waltzing back into the bedroom to the closet on the other side. And you both changed into cleaner clothes. A pair of boxer briefs and a clean shirt from Simon’s side of the closet for you. He opted to go shirtless and donned sweatpants that hung low and accentuated his abs and v-line. You couldn’t help but stare and Simon grinned as he caught you looking at him from where you lay on the bed.

“See something you like?”

“Oh you know I like you very much Honey.”

He chuckled quiet in his chest before he was turning out the bathroom light and joining you on the bed, wrapping a strong arm around your middle and pulling you into his chest. Your back flush against it, and you relished in the warmth that radiated off of him.

He pulled the sheets and duvet up to cover you both, kissed your temple before trailing his lips down to your cheek, your jaw and eventually your throat. Where he whispered his goodnight into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. You had uttered yours back to him when you turned your head to catch his lips with yours one more time before you faced forward again and settled in to sleep through the passing night.

Missed constellations and the pale glow the moonlight cast upon the complexes that made up your neighborhood. All to be in the safe and protective arms of your beloved husband.

Simon Riley. Who you loved and adored more than anything in this world.

—

ఌ author’s note: i just like to imagine that when you are in the arms of your comfort character all your fears, all your worries and your aches and your pains just vanish.. as if being in their arms makes everything okay… makes you safe and protected… makes you loved ❤︎︎

[softlysilverfountainsfall]

Savil's death was the most devastating one in the entire Herald Mage Trilogy and I will die on this hill.

"I [Vanyel] can take care of it tomorrow. It's not that urgent...It can wait until morning. He watched the fire through half-closed eyes, listening to Stef breathe, and waited for sleep to take him. Then the peace of the evening shattered.

:VANYEL!:

He was out of bed and grabbing his clothes before Stef woke.

:VAN—:

Savil's cry was cut off, abruptly, and Vanyel doubled up and fell to the floor—Pain—knives of fire [...] Then, nothing—" (Ch 15, Magic's Price)

You can hear her screaming through the all-caps mindspeech. You can hear her desperately calling out to Vanyel, her beloved nephew and protégée for help, the strongest herald-mage in Valdemar and now the last.

You know exactly when she dies because her cry for help is brutally cut off in the middle of Vanyel's name.

"Savil's door was locked; Vanyel kicked it open. His aunt lay in the center of a circle of destruction; furniture overturned, lamps knocked over, papers scattered. Blood everywhere. [...] Claw and teeth marks on Savil's throat and torso showed that she'd put up a fight. A trail of greenish ichor and a broken-bladed knife told that her enemy had not escaped unscathed.

"Not that it mattered to him. The damage was already done, and this time Vanyel's hard-won detachment failed entirely. While the others checked the locks, and looked for clues or any sign of what had attacked her, he sank down to his knees beside the body, and took one limp hand in his—and wept.

Oh, gods—Savil, you were right, and I didn't listen to you. Now you're gone, and it's all my fault. . . ."

"'She was afraid she was going to be next; she asked me to help her, and I just thought she was being hysterical. I promised to strengthen her wards, and I didn't; I forgot. This is all my fault—'"

You are devastated by Vanyel's heartbreak as he curses himself for not listening to her, for putting it off when she said someone was targeting the herald mages and asked him to help her.

"She's never going to sit there in her chair and expound at me again. I can't ever ask her for advice. She'll never take on Father for me—she was my mother in everything but flesh, and I failed her, I failed her, when I'd promised to help her. He hung his head, and closed his eyes, choking down the sob that rose and cut off his breathing" (emphasis mine).

Savil was a rock for Vanyel and thus for the reader throughout the trilogy (and her death is near the end of the last book & the catalyst for the end). She was very human and fallible but steady, devoted, and talented mentor and mage.

But what about Tylendel?, you say. Yes, Tylendel's death was awful, but it doesn't get nearly the lengthy treatment that Savil's does, and...there was a lot of other stuff going on. But what about Vanyel?, you say. Well, there is a reason that I put off reading the last part of Magic's Price, and it's because Vanyel's death is horribly devastating, but also victorious, and he gets his happy afterlife.

"Savil, Savil, I'm so sorry—and sorry isn't enough. Sorry won't bring you back. Tears escaped from under his closed eyelids, and etched their way down his cheeks. He couldn't swallow; he could hardly breathe." (Ch 15, Magic's Price)

She called for him. The last thing Savil ever did was call Vanyel for help. He was down the hall from her and much, much too far away.

[redroomroaving]

Thunderblade (Wyll xRolan)

A bit of appreciation for an under-appreciated pairing.

These Upper City galas are miserable, hideous affairs - full of idle chit chat, of the relentless barrage of tedious questions, of conversational traps so easily fallen into without deft enough feet.

Rolan's new responsibilities ask much of him - and most challenges he faces now with determination - he has rejected the legacy that has been handed to him, and forges a new one; he will not be Lorroakan. He will be a new sort of Master of the Tower.

But this? This is not a challenge he relishes, he finds his way to another glass, takes a quick sip - knowing he's drinking too quickly, but it might temper his irritation a little.

A hand finds his; fingers quickly lacing with his own.

Another legacy rejected; Wyll Ravengard has turned from his legacy too. The Blade is forging a new path; but he knows this world, its twists, it's perils - and knows how to dance between them, with deft steps. A waltz much less terrifying, with the right partner.

He squeezes his hand, raises his glass, a small smile shared.

'Ready to take to the floor?'