chesthighwater
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James touches him, and he knows it’s coming. He remembers the fog that will encase him if he does not struggle, the thick gauzy cotton that will stuff his mind and numb him to the world if he lets go. He should be raising his defences, searching for that thrum of divinity that courses through all of creation and drawing from its well, fashioning it into a blade, recoiling from the demon’s claws and pushing back against his intrusion. He knows exactly what James is. Rightly, he should be running.
James smiles at him, and Francis lets go.
Or: a Fitzier Eternal Law AU.
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What a vision James was in uniform: jacket tapering down to his narrow waist, a neat row of gilded buttons pointing right at the fork of his trousers, the ensemble adorned with glinting epaulettes on his broad shoulders and tall leather boots on his slender legs.
And those gloves. Francis had spent all night staring at his gloves.
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James enlists the help of the little Coninghams to send Francis on a wild-goose chase. Confused (and embarrassed, and endeared), Francis follows the thread until he finds his scheming Ariadne.
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He'll shape his old course in a country new. (King Lear)
Eternal Serkonan vacation/retirement AU drabbles. Non-chronological. No actual plot, just two horrible awful men finding peace together.
Not all tags will apply to all chapters, so please mind the author's note!
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During an unauthorised expedition to the Flooded District, he finds himself face to face with the Knife of Dunwall. Martin, whose formidable wit has allowed him to spend his whole life talking his way out of trouble, collides with a man who puts very little stock in his words.
Recent bookmarks
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Valery gets a late-night visit from the KGB.
Bookmarked by chesthighwater
02 Jul 2026
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Down by the dockyards there is a certain public privy well known to sailors and ne’er-do-wells.
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Bookmarked by chesthighwater
19 Jun 2026
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Francis Crozier has never seen the point of kissing. Enter James Fitzjames.
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relic
noun
/ˈrel.ɪk/
A part of a deceased holy person's body or belongings kept as an object of reverence.Vellioth is long dead. But parts of him remain.
Bookmarked by chesthighwater
17 Jun 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
living in my head rent free for months
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See additional warnings in end notes.
———
Even at the worst of it. Even at the eleventh hour, when the weakest of them (James included) were driven round the wheel of breath by brute instinct alone, dead men with beating blood, Francis emanated the kind of muddy half-light that precedes the rising sun. His indefatigable will made manifest in the flesh.
“Don’t be cruel, James,” he is saying now. “I am fat, decrepit. My better days, if ever I had them, are long behind me.”
“Ever the curmudgeon. You’ve no idea how ... splendid you are. I, for one, think these are your finest days.”
Bookmarked by chesthighwater
13 Jun 2026