#mind-locked wyrd

[titanomancy]

Psi-Syndica witch-slave mind-blast.

#games workshop #forge world #warhammer 40k #necromunda #psi-syndica #mind-locked wyrd #hired guns #warhammer community

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Two

Azriel x Rowaelin daughter reader

Summary: Y/n woke up in a strange foreign land surrounded by strangers that she couldn’t understand. Alone and desperate to get home.

Series Masterlist

-Part Two-

Y/n kept her dagger pointed at them. The two males and the small female didn’t seem to mind that fact, they seemed more concerned about the Wyrd mark on her brow.

“What is that,” the beautiful male with violet eyes asks, “how did it toss me out of your mind.”

She glares at him, “that was rude of you, trying to look into a ladies mind without her permission.”

She’d felt those talons at the edge of her mind, hitting that ice cold wall that had grabbed him and threw him out without hesitation. She’d felt his shock when that ancient power had flared, she’d felt his pain as it ripped into him just as viciously as he’d attacked her.

The corners of his lips tug, “my apologies, we’ve had bad experiences with random females falling into this world.”

She couldn’t hide the surprise. So she wasn’t the first they’d encountered. How many gates had been opened here? How many had been wrenched from their home worlds against their will. How did the gates get unlocked.

“I don’t take kindly to strangers messing with my head,” she says, memories of sitting in her mother’s office, learning of the valg queen who’d held her mother captive during the war, torturing and twisting her mind, the queen who had gone into her father’s head and convinced him another was his mate just to get her killed, “this mark is the mark of my blood, and protection against beings like you.”

Her mother had woven the protection into her skin the moment she was born, the mark upon her brow no longer just a warning of the price to be paid. The mark will continue to pass down through the bloodline, and it will protect them as it had protected her.

“Who are you?” She asks, “why did you bring me here?”

“My name is Rhysand,” the violet eyed male introduces, his casual stance not moving an inch, a preformance, she was well versed in those, “We didn’t bring you here, Azriel over here found you laying in the dirt.”

He gestures to the male with the dark bat like wings who’s scent had woken her. The scent was familiar, something she couldn’t quite place at first. She’d felt him draw close and that’s when she struck without hesitation. He fought well, countering each of her moves, not attacking, just blocking. When she’d pulled away and truly looked him over, saw those shadows that reminded her of her uncles’, she had recognized that he smelled like the libraries of Orynth. It’d shocked her enough to let the grip on the air go, and when he’d sighed in relief she’d unconsciously warned the air even more. It was strange, very very strange, that reaction to his pain. Her father would bite her head off for the slip.

“There was no one else with me?” She asked the male, Azriel.

He merely shook his head, “just you.”

The small female who’d yet to introduce herself steps forward, “who would’ve been with you?”

Y/n eyes the female warily, she looked like a normal fae, but something told her that this female was more than she seemed, “I was sparring with my father when the gate opened, a force I couldn’t see pulled me down, my head smacked the ground and then I was waking up here. Whatever it was seemed to have just wanted me.”

She could hear her fathers yell as she was pulled away, she remembers the flash of light as he shifted and then everything went black.

“The Wyrd gates have been sealed for 25 years,” Y/n continues, “it shouldn’t have been possible.”

Her mother had almost given her life to lock those gates, she’d given almost everything she was to do it.

“Wyrd gate?” Rhysand asks, shakily testing out the word, it existed in their language, given the way she was able to say it with ease, but obviously it hadn’t been used in a very very long time.

“A gate between worlds,” the small female answers, “gates opened with marks like that.”

She gestures to the mark still faintly glowing on Y/n’s brow.

“Nameless,” the female slowly reads, “you’ve got quite a long name to have nameless stamped on you, girl.”

“Amren play nice,” Rhysand chides halfheartedly.

“Wyrd marks are used for many things,” Y/n says, “it’s the language of worlds, like I said, this one is the mark of my bloodline, passed on from my mother.”

Ever the silent figure, Azriel simply watches, his eyes not missing any details. It’s almost enough to make her squirm, but instead she holds his gaze, refusing to back down even an inch. He’s unfairly beautiful, dark hair curling slightly at the ends, his face unreadable, his eyes the shade of whisky in fire light. Several inches taller than her, she’d have to crane her head back to look him in the eye standing next to him. A warrior, built with lethal muscles that she could see beneath his black shirt, large yet he moved with speed, like one of those wisps of shadows at his shoulders. And those wings, large and foreboding, wicked talons at the beak and on the ends, if he stretched them open they’d be twice, maybe even triple the size of him. The shadows around him dance, more sentient than her uncles, more wild too, they swirl around and whisper in his ears, she wonders what they have to say about her.

“Should we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?” Rhysand asks, a glimmer in his eye as he breaks the stare down between them.

He takes a step towards Y/n and that dagger is back up in an instant, “I’m perfectly happy to talk here in the open, rather than whatever cell you have in mind.”

Rhysand quirks a brow, “who said anything about a cell.”

Her answering laugh is as cold as ice, “you would invite me into your home? I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“We’ve been down this road before,” Rhysand says, “our last guest was keen on escaping anyway she could, I’m sure you would be as well. I’d like to be able to keep a closer eye on you. Azriel here would be more than happy to fly you up to the house of wind.”

Azriel sends him an inquisitive look, “I would?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Y/n says quickly, examining those bat like wings, “where is this house of wind.”

Rhysand grins as he points across the garden to the looming cliffs hanging above the city beyond, “up there. I promise flying will be much better than the ten thousand steps up to the door. Azriel won’t bite.”

She grins, showing off those sharpened canines, “who says I won’t.”

Azriel subtly examines those teeth, she could easily rip out his throat with them if she wished. Based on the way he shifts back on his feet, she’s sure he’s come to the same conclusion

“I’ll get there myself,” she continues, “just need a guide.”

With a flash of blinding white light, she shifts, taking the form of a large hawk. Surprise lights in the three fae’s eyes, Azriel’s wings flaring in shock. He takes in her form, her red tinged wings, those same cold eyes staring out at him.

“Well isn’t that something.” Rhysand’s head angles, “follow Azriel, he’ll show you to your room. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”

They glance at each other, a silent conversation passing between them, before Azriel spreads his wings and launches into the sky. She bows her head towards the two remaining before she’s shooting into the sky behind him.

She’s fast, faster than him in that nimble form. Azriel flies quickly to the house, yet she surpasses him and circles around to keep pace. He can’t help but feel like she’s stalking him, like he’s a field mouse that she’s picked out for dinner, waiting for the moment she decides to strike. Whatever sort of fae she was set him on edge, her power felt older and wilder like she was closer to the beasts the fae used to be, the ones with raw magic that drew directly from the earth beneath them. That wind could pull the air from beneath his wings, pull it straight from his lungs, that fire could burn him to ash from the inside out. It was the most unsettling feeling.

They land on the balcony, a bright flare of light and she is back to that fae form, cold eyes assessing every inch of the house around her. It fells like a mistake to turn his back towards her to walk inside, a mistake that could end with that red hot dagger in between his shoulder blades, maybe even one of those small throwing knives sheathed by her ribs. He can’t help but glance at the leather vest, it was tight to her skin, laced in the back to fit her form. The evidence of the way she’d been ripped from her world shown in the rips in her clothes, in the blood around her collar from the healing wound on her head. It’d started stitching itself together quickly considering how much she’d been bleeding when he found her.

“After you,” he says gesturing towards the hall.

Her eyes wisely slip towards truth teller at his side, but no complaint rises to her lips. She holds her head high as she walks past him, close enough that he could easily grab her and put his blade to her throat, close enough that he caught the scent of pine and snow and embers. She wasn’t scared of him, and with the way she fought, she had every right not to be.

He drifts behind her, giving her single word directions down the familiar halls until they were standing before the door he’d chosen as her room.

“The house will give you whatever you need,” he says, “simply ask and it will appear. If you need anything else, I’m right across the hall.”

If the sentient house was a surprise it didn’t show on her face, instead she asks with a small smirk on her lips, “are you my host or my keeper?”

The teasing tone takes him by surprise, “I’m here to keep a close eye on you. Our last guest had a tendency for surprises.”

She eyes him in that predator like manor, gaze drifting over his shoulder to a wisp of shadow, “keep any wandering eyes to your side of the hall.”

That shadow moves on its own accord, drifting towards her like she’s a magnet. She bares her sharp teeth at the little wisp, scaring it back to Azriel’s side. It hides like a scolded child and he finds himself holding back a chuckle.

“You’ve seen shadows like this before?”

She shakes her head, “not quite. Two of my uncles can control shadows like yours, but they’re not sentient creatures.”

He wasn’t surprised that there weren’t more like him in her world, he’d spent a long time looking for other shadowsingers to help him master his power, in the end it was just him and his shadows who’d figured it out. Even Quinlann’s brother wasn’t like him, not completely.

“They whisper to you,” she states, not a question.

“How’d you know that?”

A breeze drifts past him and she says, “I can feel them in the wind. Can’t quite understand what they’re saying, but I can feel their whispering in your ears.”

“It’s called shadowsinging,” he supplies, he’s not quite sure why but he tells her, “if you spend enough time in the shadows you learn their language.”

She hums, stepping towards her door, “keep the little busybodies close by, I don’t take kindly to little spies in my rooms.”

“As you wish, your highness,” he’s not sure where the title comes from, or the taunting tone.

She throws a look over her shoulder, those eyes blazing instead of cold, “Goodnight, shadowsinger”

The door slams shut behind her and Azriel simply watches. Watches as her shadow fades from the crack beneath, as a cold wind blows through his hair, as his shadows dance with that wind. He stands there for several moments until an amused chuckle sounds in his head.

Don’t let a pretty face distract you brother.

Shut up, Azriel scowls, closing the doors to his minds and turning to his bedroom. The breeze follows him and it gives him the strangest feeling of being watched.

Y/n found that Azriel wasn’t lying when he said the house would give her whatever she asked for. She’d barely thought about a bath before she’d heard running water in the adjacent room.

The bedroom was huge, to her right a large bed centered on the wall that looked like it could comfortably accommodate several people. A seating area to her left with plush couches and low backed chairs, made for winged males like her keeper across the hall she presumed. The red stone walls warm and adorned with a lit fireplace and giant windows overlooking the city far below. She’d admired the view on the flight to the house, but standing there looking at the twinkling lights below, the bright stars above, she could really appreciate the beauty in it. Yet, it didn’t hold a candle to the lights of Orynth in her eyes.

And just like that, the homesickness hit her. She could picture her family, her mother and father raging through the castle, looking for any clues as to where she’d been taken. She could see her uncles barking orders at warriors to search the castle and city surrounding from top to bottom. She could see her distraught aunt shifting into the snow leopard that would tear apart whatever person or thing that would dare harm her niece. What time was it back home, would they work until dawn, would they rest and come back in the morning, would her father hold together the pieces as her mother finally broke?

Y/n stared and stared and stared at that glowing city, wishing she was home, reading a book by the fire in her mother’s sitting room as she listened to her parents bicker back and forth. She’d been reading a romance her uncle had brought her from the castle library in Adarlan. It would still be sitting on the table, the scrap paper bookmark halfway through the well worn pages.

A tray appears on the table next to her, full of meats and cheeses and fruits. She could feel the curious presence around her, the house it seemed was a busybody.

She eyes the plate, “I’m not hungry.”

The tray stays put, and she huffs, pushing away from the windows towards the attached bathing chamber. That presence seems to sigh, clearly frustrated with her but she paid it no mind.

Her body ached, the adrenaline wearing off enough that she could feel each cut and bruise from the vicious way she’d been dragged through that gate and thrown to the garden floor in this strange world. Her head ached, pulsing with pain each step she took, everything ached, her head, her body, her heart.

A giant bath was drawn, steaming water with frothing bubbles that smelled of lavender. There were plush towels on the small stool by the bath, and clean clothes on the counter beneath the mirror. Soft light illuminated the space, she didn’t care to think where it came from, how it all worked. All she cared about was stripping off her tattered and bloodied clothes and submerging herself into that water. She felt each cut burn as she went down, felt the wound on her head scream in pain as she drifted down beneath the surface.

She burned, and kept burning, and burning and burning, and burning.

#this is a very slow slow slow start but whatever #I had to give them a bit of banter #i couldn’t resist #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #rowaelin daughter

[superconductivebean]

#992: julia lore drop

This bit of lore has formed itself a while ago @caramel-hufflepuff and it isn't really connected to the in-game MC per se but for the sake of consistency, I overextend it to the MC as well. This is also a bit from what I call Ancient Magic Thesis -- lmao -- which I'm planning to formulate and write in the near future.

As many of us did, I was trying to explain what is ancient magic.

Suffice it to say, over the course of the year the fandom has come up with myriads of possible explanations, yet. I am uncertain if anyone decidedly ventured into the terra incognita of possible definitions.

What exactly do we call ancient in this magic? How is it different from the regular magic? And at the side note, can it be considered Dark Arts -- and on a side note, what are those Arts? And most important:

How do we define magic?

I gave half the answer in this post but am yet to reformulate it into a more sophisticated, well-defined shape. However, I wasn't the only one to suspect HP magic generally is about intentions and feelings.

With this in mind, regular magic relies on What You Want To Do. It is a materialised intent, a wish, a microcosm changes the macrocosm to its immediate concern and desire.

The Dark Arts, feared and baleful, are called so for the emotional component required for to cast or to perform them tasks the caster with upholding a great deal of determination. Obviously, the definition therefore becomes obfuscated and mystified; you could call a particularly deadly Diffindo the Dark Arts yet, the title is reserved exclusively to what has been deemed the Dark Arts.

So, how's ancient magic different then -- or rather, what is so peculiar about it compared to the regular magic.

Short answer: ancient magic requires intent, as it must, but it does not require training for wyrds are magic themselves and interact with it -- with the world -- as we would with our lucid dreams.

Long answer: From the game we know that ancient magic wielders -- wyrds -- are very capable witches and wizards able to change not just immediate vicinity of their cast but: create rain and renew the soil, extract emotions (likely something that will make the entire Department of Mysteries turn into crying cats, all at once, it's their field of study!), store emotional residue in a stable form, conjure and disappear objects without proper training at will, access and create wormholes, detect and interact with magical residue situated in a free form, open and lock dimensional doors and other containers, understand the intent behind the spells, et cetera.

All very powerful magic, this all -- magic that requires many years of training to be able to transform intent to stable and oftentimes self-sufficient forms that don't change for many upon many centuries.

That ease -- is the ability Percival Rackham was referring to in the Map Chamber dialogue.

That ease -- is a sign this magic perhaps isn't an extension of the one's microcosm. It must be coming the other way around, from the ever-present, ancient, primordial realm of the shared macrocosm; a transcendence that is Universe, sparkled with a soul of a living being.

Therefore, wyrds are magic.

They are able to sense and hear its wants and needs, evident from Isidora's observations:

I travelled to learn – but I long to help. My internal struggle is overwhelming. It’s as though the magic wants to heal, and I am the one preventing it from doing so.

They can turn a drought to a flourishing grassland in a split second, built undetectable castles with ever-changing floorplans, hide an unmappable chamber within, detect tiniest imprints of magic and expand on them, you name it. It isn't them deciding on a change -- they are the Sapience of Change, the Thaum itself, you got the idea.

The bit about Julia being a fae creature comes from this definition because fae are also magic -- an invisible, undetectable, fickle, treacherously mischievous force that may help or turn to ruin at will.

I haven't decided on it yet but parts of this in-lore theory -- that Julia was someone's cry for a change, someone's wish -- are flying across the Highlands, painting her as a living legend because a benevolent character/intrepid force like her would appear only in a fairy tale.

#днявочка #eng tag #utlitd brainrot #damn wright #hogwarts inquires

[scribe-of-stories]

Smith of Masks: An Old Friend

[Urban Fantasy/Nior-esq/690 words] @flashfictionfridayofficial

Ashley was on vacation, a sudden windfall of canceled family plans left her free and halfway across the world. So it fell on me to man the office. Or maybe the term was 'to wyrd' the office? Haunt? Yeah, it fell on me to haunt the office. Not that I minded it. She deserved the break, and the community knew that I could use one as well.

My office building was an unassuming place, but it had grown stranger since I became aware. Used to be my office neighbors were lawyers and office workers. These days they were petty mages and alchemists. Though there was still a lawyer kicking around, but she had stopped hiding her horns. I had thought to share a lunch with her, if the day was slow enough.

Sadly that didn't end up being the case.

Smith and Byrne Investigation Agency was scrawled across the fogged class of my office door. The locks were simple, the wards more complex. Which made the fact that someone was already standing inside all the more worrying.

Unnervingly perfect in one too many ways. Red hair and an amount of Irish descent now mixed with the intoxicating delight of Fae physiology. It failed to compel me now just as it had back when we first met.

“Smith, a pleasure to see you again,”

Annabelle’s tone was disarming, words an enticement. I wondered which part of me she was referring to: the Smith as it is written on my door, or the Smith of Masks. I doubted she even knew there was a difference. Some nights I might agree.

I closed the door behind me, made my way to a bookshelf, and chose one at random. The pages had words this time, but it didn't relieve me any.

The faeling chuckled with a lifted hand to her mouth. A measured set of movements. “Ah, you remember our first meeting.”

“Hard to forget your first encounter with the supernatural,” I brought the book with me to my desk and relaxed into it. Technically it wasn't my first, but no need for her to know that. “You can cut the court act.”

Her soft features and mannerisms melted away ever so slightly to something more natural. The amused smile turned coy and a touch smug. Fucking courteers.

“Ashley's on vacation, why are you here?”

The amusement in her eyes deepend, “You're the investigator, read the narrative.”

Fucking hate Faes. Acting like they were in control all the time, holding all the cards. It was even more annoying that they often were.

We shared a moment of annoyed silence while I stared at her. I wanted to see if she would hand over the information if I didn't answer; but I was also taking the time to put the pieces together. She held her tongue, and my own thoughts were fighting to leave my skull.

“Your family ends up canceling their plans for a get together in their homeland, but Ashley's calendar was already cleared and her tickets paid for by then. She texts me this morning that she landed safely, and shortly after you show up at our office.

“I'm guessing there was no planned family vacation, just you pulling strings to get Ashley away from here or to somewhere you've already made safe. I'm reading that you have a job for me, and it's something you wanted to keep your dear sister away from.”

“And I've come to the best paranormal investigator this side of the Mississippi for help,” Annabelle took a seat across from me and folded herself up into a proper, courtly, posture.

I got out my notepad, ripped the pages from the last investigation off of it, and settled in for another job. “First things first, the fees. Though half of this office's investigators are gone I'll be asking for our usual price, considering the circumstances.”

Her false softness returned and she put on a sad tone like a clown puts on makeup. “Oh? No favors for an old friend?”

#lexical earth #Flash Fiction Friday #Flash Fiction #writeblr #writers on tumblr #samuel smith #Smith of Masks #So happy to finally bring myself to participate in this again #And very satisfied with how this scene came out #My mind is tempted to write more parts to this to finish up the narrative #But I can't let myself be distracted just yet #Annabelle Byrne is a terrible friend to have but a great sister

[nocaptainonthisship]

twenty questions for fic writers

thanks for the tag @wyrd-syster and @bad-surprise!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

9, as of this moment, but 10 by the end of the week.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Just over 85k which feels both low and absurdly high.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Actively, Rings of Power, though I've also got a Captain Swan one-shot, and dabbled briefly with Reylo.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(Artanis) -- my beloved. In which Halbrand is an international superstar, and Galadriel is the girl who broke his heart.

To Make A Queen -- the beginning of it all. I wanted to write a one-shot to remove the haladriel brain rot. It became a two-shot. 11 months later, we're here.

it will come back -- my longest complete work to date. I am immeasurably fond of it, and desire never to read another word of it again.

once, i belonged to you(and twice i was free) -- the rapunzel inspired dead-dove. in which galadriel is a princess locked in a tower, and halbrand is her jailor.

A Kingdom They Became -- what started as my own personal breakdown about my chronic pain became possibly the work I am proudest of to date. I am still overwhelmed by the response to this fic.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Eh. I certainly try to. However, my brain does a thing, you see, where 24 hours after I post something to ao3, the door is closed and my brain considers that fic officially DONE. After that point, responding to comments is a much steeper uphill battle. That being said- I do read and savor every single one of them.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hands down, its It Will Come Back. I had *intended* to write a happy ending, but the closer I got to the end, the more I realized that a happy ending would not have been satisfying. I'm incredibly proud of the ending I wrote, but it definitely hits the angst pretty hard.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Dangerous Creatures -- silly little aussie farm-life fluff. (But its haladriel, so Gal still kills something.)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No. I have- up to this point, anyway- been incredibly lucky.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, but what kind?? Still figuring that one out, so for now I'll say, "Whatever kind I can manage on any given day."

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't. I might in the future, but I do have a hard time taking crossovers seriously as a reader- I imagine that feeling would be far worse as a writer.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, thank god.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but maybe one day!

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Cowritten- no. I am a beta on a fic (this is not a come-on* in any way shape or form by the lovely @ophidion) which is a process I've more than once compared to being a midwife helping someone bring new life into the world.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

All time fave seems like a great way to get me to change my mind tomorrow(no, I'm not commitment-phobic, you are!) so I'll just say I like pretty, bitey girls and bad men who want to change but don't know how. In any permutation.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Everything that is out there currently, I am confident I will finish. The things I've thus far kept to myself? Only time will tell.

16. What are your writing strengths?

This question feels like a personal attack. Yikes. I think- I hope- the way I write sweeps you up like a raging river, uses rhythm and verbiage to transport the reader entirely into a different world. I'm good at the mechanics behind making you *feel* something, of manipulating an emotion to transport you inside what a character is feeling.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Speed. They say you shouldn't care about your first draft, because you can always fix it later. Well, jokes on them, I NEVER fix it later, so I damn well better do a decent job on my first pass. This makes me slow, and makes the thesaurus app on my phone one of my top used.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I do not do this, other than perhaps a words here or there(and that word is almost always going to be a pet name I make no apologies.) I think it has it's time and place, but it can also pull you out of the story entirely.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Lost (Skate Lives, bby!) beginning wayyy back in the summer of 2005. I was 12, so I thank the gods every days that lost-forum is dead and I never cross posted to ffn. (I also wrote for twilight back in the day, but we don't talk about that.)

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

The A Kingdom, An Empire, A Home series has, I think, my most beautiful writing to date, and despite being incredibly difficult to write(or perhaps because of it) it is also the most satisfying. It is a complex exploration of pain, redemption, and the complicated feelings towards parenthood. If I traveled back in time to just a year ago and showed past!cap that prose, I don't know that she would believe herself capable of it. Turns out she is wrong, and there is only better to come.

tagging: @alicuntismswrites, @lisenberry, @pursuitseternal, @hazelmaines, @mostlydriedmango, @maironite

(I do not know who has already done this, sorry!)

(Also, if you've tagged me in one of these games at any point in the last couple months and I've ignored: I'm sorry, don't hate me. My brain has been a mess, and these sometimes seem intensely overwhelming.)

#tag game #about me #my fic #cap shouts into the void: the void says hey whats your problem??

[adoranoia]

monty reaches out, claws gently closing around bonnie’s ear, and then—- a gentle tug, just enough to get bonnie’s attention, claws lingering a moment until bonnie responds, and then, just to be annoying, he gives another tug, laughter unable to be contained!

@wyrding // random asks, always accepting!

bonnie was chatting with a staff member, stood casual, with arms crossed--listening so intently to the gossip the human was so kindly slipping... he didn't even notice the gator, slow stalking closer, closer! 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " w, w, wow, seriously? that's crazy! i think-- " tug, tug. the anima -tronic startles, jolting slightly as eyes widen, and blink a few times owlishly. quickly, his head whips around to the culprit, scolding words already locked and loaded, hand now sat on his hip. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " hey, now! that ain't no way to get a fella's attention!-- " tug, tug. bonnie then realizes who it was, pulling on his ears, and suddenly it made a whole lot more sense--not many other people had the nerve. (or, at least, knew they were one of the few that could get away with it.) 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ the animatronic suddenly turns back to the staff member, clap -ping his paws together gently, " okay, well! do ya' mind giving me an' monty here a moment to ourselves, darlin'? " a pause, they reply with an brow quirked brow, and an amused smile. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " d, d, d'aw, thank you so much! ya' better update me later though, got it? " he says, lighthearted, doing a 'i've got my eyes on you' gesture towards the human, a bubbly-sounding laugh following. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ as they walk off, his gaze settles back on monty, quirking a brow--his ann -oyance was faux, but he impatiently thumps his foot a few times, anyway. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " well, hotshot? what is it? you've got my attention, that's what you wanted, ain't it? " (though he rolls his eyes, the mirth in his tone was obvious.) 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎

#* && IC #* && GLAMROCK / BONNIE . #v01 * ( pre game ) #bonnie vc: mfer i will kill you ??? (joke) (affectionate) #they're so silly. they're friends. they're rivals. they're gay. #the range of them! asdfghjkl #anyway. playground behavior frfr. pulling his pigtails /lh #wyrding

[luxmaeastra]

The leash wasn't the same like the others. This one wasn't a simple torque of wyrdstone, it was a Wyrdkey. A thing so powerful it felt like holding a peice of the universe.

A weapon crafted from the Soul of The Wyrd itself. Silver eyes and a willing body, that was all that was required. That and the three Wyrdkeys.

One to control its will.

One to control its bloodlust.

One to control its madness.

------

Thurr and Fion stood on the edges of Parthos, the Lost Kingdom of the Daglan. The city was rubble, the very earth was tainted by this dark madness.

The thing sat in the grass, fingers twirling a flower in its fingers. It gazed up at them, silver eyes blazing brigther than the sun.

"So when will I be released?"

That was the bargain to do what it had. Thurr smiled and held his hand out to it.

"We shall gather the other keys and do as we swore."

------

"You know we cannot Thurr."

"Obviously Fion. We get the keys, lock it away. Maybe Kavalla whose going to search there for it?"

Fion frowned, he twirled his ring. They both knew the path they walked would have ramifications. But they'd be fine, wouldn't they?

------

The gates closed, Thurr looked to the skies, calling on a storm. His mind was hazy, spinning. Reshaye had not taken kindly to the betrayal - he could still feel his father's pulse under his hands as he'd squeezed the life from him.

His entire family dead, cousins, siblings...parents.

"You think me a monster Thurr? Shall I show you what type of monster you could become?"

Those last words before he'd been possessed and done those unspeakable things. Let Terresan burn, let it stay broken and uninhabited. Whatever taint Rehsaye had left in his soul didn't deserve to settle in Terresan's soil.

He stared at his hands, barely feeling Fion drag him back from the doors. His dark eyes fierce, just like his father's.

"Don't you even thinking of deserting me. I swore you would have a place in Sive and I's council. This changes nothing."

"I am cursed Fion. I can't -"

"Fuck that thing, it's locked away, its conduits lost - let it rot. I won't let you throw your life away because of it. You're coming with me or I refuse to leave."

That made him laugh, he felt like he hadn't laughed, taken a full breath in weeks.

"Sive will have my head if I don't take you back."

"Then you come with me...what do I tell Sytha?"

He looked away, his jaw clenching. His thoughts matching the thunder and rolling clouds above the prison.

"There's nothing to say -"

"Don't be a fucking fool Thurr. You're not stupid, don't start now."

Thurr looked to his eldest friend, courts, balls, wars and he wouldn't have changed anything. War demanded sacrifices and he'd have payed them again. Maybe his family would find peace, maybe he could atone.

Maybe he could live for the good now.

Finally.

He exhaled, gripping his shoulder.

"Let's go home then Fion. Before you waste away from being such a lovesick fool."

------

Sebastian tilted his head, Ilyas odd little ramble sometimes didn't make sense - especially now.

"The fuck is a Wyrdkey? And why would I search for it?"

Ilyas frowned at him, it was like being surrounded by death in this nightmare made him sane.

"It's in the fucking name Sebastian. Natalia said you were smart, it's a key. Presumably, the key leads to a lock that we can open and get out."

A key that they could use to get out, was such a thing possible? Could they finally be free after everything they had been through, after every ounce of torture. Sebastian weighed out everything he knew, weighed out the information that was being provided to him. A key, a key they could use.

He pushed down the urge to want to run and tell Natalia, to yell at her that everything was going to be good. Yet he knew what she would say, he knew she would look at him and call him stupid. Especially when they didn’t have it, why get your hopes up yet?

He folded his arms. “Okay, and how do we get this Wydkey?”

#Muse | Sebastian

[stankycowboy]

"maybe you’re right. "

“Of course I’m right”, the gunslinger snaps, clearly fed up with having to defend his position; even if she hadn’t put up much of a defense against him. “I don’t need a scope to tell you're 7 degrees too far right". With a huff he curls his fingers inward to form a cylinder and puts it over his right eye, "More like 5". Breaking his focus to lock eyes with Juliet he gives a jerked shrug, the gesture inhibited some from the fact that they are both lying prone. "You wanna miss, go ahead", he returns his attention to the strange, ghoulish creature about 100 yards out from their spot hidden amongst the brush. He had offered to go out and wrestle the beast, more than happy to test his own strength against the bizarre, but she had claimed to need its body "mostly" intact. 'I can do mostly' the Savage One had retorted, but Juliet had not budged. She had at least let him come along to watch, although it was making him feel jittery, not taking an opportunity that was set out before him. He supposed there was no sense in getting on her bad side over this. These little excursions were a fun way to see the wyrd and wild. Maybe he would get his teeth into something abnormal if he played his cards right. Or cheated. He was good at that too. "If you miss and it charges, do I get to fight it then?" He smiles to her, the line between joke and forewarning barely perceptible. Severen darkly laughs biting into his bottom lip as if anticipating that very possibility taking place. It is this suggestion that convinces Juliet to begin fiddling with the rifle; somewhat to his disappointment. "Hurry up an' take the shot if you're gonna". Out of his periphery he watches her click the dial on the scope and bring it to bear. Maybe a little shove? Though he keeps his shoulders and elbows to himself, the chaos driven immortal can't hide a dangerous smirk at the devious thought lingering in his mind.

#✘ ic. #chainsawcutiie #(oops. 🤭)

[kingjasnah]

What are your top five fantasy series that you’d recommend to someone who’s pretty new to that genre?

srry this took a while but i gave it a lot of thought! this is a tough question cause it's pretty subjective, like what id rec to someone depends on their interests or what they'd read outside of fantasy or even their age, but here's an imperfect list:

Way of Kings (separate from the stormlight archive), Brandon Sanderson: wok is still imo THEE fantasy book for people who dont like fantasy. i can no longer in good conscience recommend the entire series cause ob onwards cosmere knowledge becomes almost necessary and that's too big a commitment to spring on someone new, but I have seen this work in practice. I know three separate people who loved this book despite not reading fantasy before. It's to give a reader something epic but also clear their mind of the idea that fantasy world building is solely reliant on a tolkien model.

Tamora Pierce's Tortall books: I would be remiss if I didn't mention the absolute power fantasy series of my preteen years so if the person u are reccing to is younger and wants a comforting arthurian aesthetic you cannot do better than literally any of these. My personal fave is protector of the small but song of the lioness by rights should be first. they are dated but like.....i do think people should read 90s fantasy just to know what's up

The Broken Earth trilogy, N.K. Jemisin: the whole time i was reading this i was like......ok this is my new fantasy for not fans rec, but imo this is the ideal stepping stone for people who read lots of sci fi but don't read fantasy. the series exists in the midpoint of left hand of darkness and earthsea. I think it could be good for new fantasy fans still just because 1) the prose style and the pov is interesting enough to be a drawing factor in itself 2) the magic system tricks you, you get a decent primer in hard and soft varieties just by figuring out what's going on 3) it does the best job of having not only modern english but also a full lexicon of planet specific jargon that never feels confusing

The Lies of Locke Lamora, Scott Lynch: i don't think this book/series is perfect and it's very literally a bit of a boy's club of a book but let's just say if you really really really really like heist media and thief crew dynamics, this is a good starter that'll lead you into the genre....personally its definitely a book i reread for Fun often

Wyrd Sisters/Going Postal/Monstrous Regiment, Terry Pratchett: i want to make it clear i am NOT reccing all of discworld. i would never be like 'oh you don't like fantasy? here's 40ish books making fun of tropes you don't know' like clearly I'm a huge fan but i picked these three specifically as the ideal books to give to someone as a starter. this is easily consumable, non confusing fantasy. As for which one, it gets subjective and yes i know everyone says to start with guards guards but the dragon book is NOT one you're going to want to give to someone who doesn't have a history of liking dragons

English majors/Shakespeare fans/gay people who love Hamlet....go for wyrd sisters. it's very funny but it works the book around both hamlet and macbeth so it's very sinister at the same time.

For people who genuinely don't want to read fantasy cause the magic/mythic elements feel too silly, go postal. i don't know a single person who dislikes this book. it will make u think about public services, you know, like the post offices under capitalism.

monstrous regiment is my personal favorite. it is a war tragedy. so yeah give this one to your lesbian friend but also give it to the one person in your life that's read the things they carried more than once.

But I believe that it's way better to recommend fantasy based on the person you want to read it too....like i recommended Pratchett's Soul Music to my bestie because of their encyclopaedic music history knowledge. Someone gave me Priory of the Orange Tree because i had just finished a ten week seminar on spensers the faerie queen (the ideal way to consume that book by the way). if somehow you have a friend who plays dnd but somehow doesn't do the required reading give em Mistborn and a magic system to chew on. read lotr in general. fantasy is so full of sub genres literally any book can be a good starter if a potential reader can engage and relate to plot they already know that they like💕

(feel free to add ur own recs to the tags/notes there really aren't any wrong answers here)

#this is very long not sure if i should use a cut...... #i almost put sword of shannara instead of locke lamora btw........almost but it's not a good starter its lotr for 100 pgs

[nalgenewhore]

With My Life - Chapter Ten

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

warnings: (all graphic) violence, guns, blood, smut, PTSD

an: here she is. i dont have anything else to say. 

Elide paced in the parking garage, obsessively checking her index cards. 

Her neat, precise notes and paragraph prompts stared up at her until they became jumbled. They started moving off the page and Elide nearly cried in distress. “L, it’s not- nothing’s working.” 

Lorcan’s dark head popped up over the roof of the car, his eyes soft with concern, but there was something else. Ever since they had woken, Lorcan had been withdrawn. Detached. “What’s not working?” 

She gestured to the cards, hating that tears stung the back of her eyes. “I can’t- I don’t know what I’m talking about! It’s like- it’s like I’m faking my way through it.” Elide looked down at the ground, ashamed that she was talking about her measly little thesis when Lorcan was packing and planning for their lives as runaways. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Her vision blurred with tears. Elide sniffled as she heard his steps grow closer until he was standing in front of her and tilting her chin back. “Princess, it does matter. Your work is important and I care about it.” She laughed tearfully, finally smiling. Lorcan’s thumb stroked her chin and he smiled down at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve grown up in this shit - you know it better than any of those reviewers, ok?” 

Elide nodded, rising onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and press her face into his chest, “Thank you,” she whispered, the steady tattoo of his heart calming her. Pulling away, she wiped her cheeks, “Remind me what the plan is?” 

Lorcan nodded and kissed the top of her head, leading her to the car. He opened and closed the passenger door for her before going around the back to toss in the last heavy bag - Elide didn’t want to think about what was in it, given the contents of the hidden compartment in the back of his closet - in the trunk. 

She reorganised her flashcards, making sure they were in the correct order. Lorcan slid in the driver’s seat and breathed out slowly, “You have office hours until nine thirty. Your thesis review isn’t until eleven, that’ll last one hour, at the most, yes?” Elide nodded and he continued, “Then, I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to the airport. Everyone else will meet us there, and we’ll leave.” 

Elide nodded, reaching over to grip his hand. She was staring straight out the windshield, a small smile tugging at her lips when Lorcan kissed the back of her hand. “Don’t worry, princess. This’ll all be over before you know it.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan parked his car three blocks west and one block north of Vaughan’s apartment. 

He walked up with nothing more than his car keys and wallet, only keeping his phone in case Elide called. 

When he went in, Vaughan was tinkering with something on his kitchen table, playing OutKast’s Rosa Parks as he worked. He slapped Lorcan’s hand away when he poked the device, cursing him away in their mother tongue, “Away, bastard.” 

Lorcan laughed and pulled the end of his brother’s braid, leaping away when Vaughan threatened him with the mini blowtorch. He grabbed the kitchen knife lying on the counter and aimed it at Vaughan, making a slashing motion.

They were locked in a dangerous dance, circling each other slowly, Vaughan’s blowtorch lit. Lorcan went to strike when Nehemia walked in, clearly unimpressed and altogether unsurprised by the predicament. “Down, children. Vaughan, stop trying to burn his hair and Lorcan, away with the knife.” They glared at each other, but did as they were told. 

Lorcan went to sit next to Nehemia, looking over her shoulder at the computer. “Find anything new?” 

The woman shook her head, sighing as she put her braids into a bun and swearing when she realised she didn’t have an elastic. Lorcan pulled one off his wrist and handed it to her, squinting to read what was on her screen. “Are these her Wyrd connections?” Lorcan asked, dragging the cursor over a map. 

“Yes, and no. Not all of them are Wyrd… it’s complicated,” Nehemia huffed, grabbing the computer and typing something. Its motor clicked and whirred as it worked. “She’s hidden her imports well. Various legitimate cargo.” She opened an image, “See this, this was a container of produce from Eyllwe.” 

Nehemia went to change the image, but something had Lorcan pausing her, “Wait, just hold on… I think I’ve seen that container before.” 

“What container?” Fenrys asked as he walked in, carrying a long, suspiciously shaped duffel bag. 

Vaughan looked up and frowned, “Hellas, Fen, maybe next time, choose a different fucking bag? It’s like you’re trying to make people think you have a sniper rifle in there, gods damn, man.” 

“That’s what I fucking told you,” Connall muttered, slapping the upside of his twin’s head. 

“Boys, shut up, I’m trying to think,” Lorcan said, digging out his phone. “I’ve seen that container before. That number, I know it.” 

“I’ll reverse search it,” Nehemia said, opening the database of images the agency had access to. 

Lorcan clicked through a batch of photos from the largest arms bust they had done. Maeve had wanted each of them to take pictures on their personal phones - for reasons she never explained and ones they all knew better to ask about. 

“Here,” he said, showing Nehemia the picture. “It’s the same container.” 

She took his phone from him and used a cord to attach it to her computer. The pictures loaded onto the screen and Lorcan got up to pace, “She’s selling guns, isn’t she?” 

“Yeah, she is,” Nehemia said, “and it goes back a decade, Lorcan. She’s been in on this since the beginning. Before Erawan started anything, she’s the mastermind.” 

They all looked at each other, sadness and defeat flickering in their eyes. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide breathed in slowly and exhaled calmly, waiting to be called into the room. Her presentation was memorised and no one knew the subject like her. 

“Miss Lochan?” Elide opened her eyes, looking to one of the reviewer’s assistants. “We’re ready for you.” 

With a slight, polite smile, Elide picked up her bag and followed the young woman into the cold office, nodding to the panel that sat on one side of the desk. 

Darrow was sitting there too and he winked at her. Elide’s tense posture relaxed a bit as she put her bag down. 

“Welcome, Miss Lochan.” 

“Thank you for having me,” she said, trying to remain calm as she handed out copies of her presentation and connected her laptop to the projector. She checked to make sure it was on the white screen behind her and prayed briefly to Anneith, hoping her goddess would allow a small mercy. 

There was a rustle of paper as the reviewers flipped through her presentation and then the man sitting in the middle nodded once, “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Elide nodded and picked up her index cards. She didn’t need them and she had hardly ever used them, but they brought a sense of reassurance if she ever lost her place. “Of course.” Elide picked up the fob to click through her slides and clicked to the introduction slide. 

Thinking of herself as a child, scared and alone, thinking of the others like her and the ones the system had let down, Elide opened her mouth and the words flowed out of her. 

Her words were succinct and precise, no need to embellish a thing. Elide held the room’s attention, she commanded it, and her presentation flew by. 

With one minor stumble over the abstract of her latest lab, Elide was proud of what she had accomplished and that shone through her as she finished her delivery. 

Then came the questioning period. She answered their queries without hesitation, save for when an older woman asked why she had chosen this particular subject. 

“Um, I-” Elide coughed, her throat suddenly feeling very, very dry. She took a sip from the glass of water she had been given at the start, using the momentary pause to collect herself. “I have always been interested by the inner workings of the human mind, I suppose. When I was a child, I was rather shy and could always be found with my nose stuck in a book that I probably shouldn’t have been reading.”

A light chuckle went through the panel at that and Elide smiled, waiting to continue. “When my parents died, the only living relative I had was deemed unfit to care for me, which he was, and I was placed in the foster system. I was never adopted and I aged out eventually. I spent most of that time trying to find a way to get out and the only viable option that wouldn’t have left me dead was school.” 

A repressed memory of a foster parent burning her school materials and books, projects and papers she had worked tirelessly over, in an oil drum flashed through her mind. Elide was ashamed of the way her throat burned with the threat of sobs. 

Somehow, she managed to finish off, “I have lived through what I study and I can attest to the fact that no one would wish it on another person. The foster system hasn’t changed practically since it was created and it sets children up for disaster, in more ways than one.” With a shaky smile, Elide said, “I want to help and I want change. This is simply the best way I know how.” 

Pity, mixed with respect, swam through the questioners’ eyes and they all thanked her, standing to shake her hand as she exited. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The bags were all packed. Everything, everything was planned and they had strategized where they would all be going. 

Elide and Lorcan would be going to Suria by plane, then take the train to Orynth in two days' time. Vaughan and Nehemia were flying to Rifthold and catching a connecting flight to Orynth. 

On account of Aelin’s delicate condition, her doctor - after Rowan had said they would be returning to Terrasen for a funeral - suggested keeping flights to a minimum, she and Rowan would be flying directly to Orynth and staying in the safe house. 

Vaughan handed out fake passports to them all. Nehemia took hers and stepped out onto the balcony. 

She let the boys say their good-byes, knowing it was always the hardest part of an assignment for them. If one was hurt, they all bled. 

Nehemia pocketed her fake passport and wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her chin into the collar of her jacket. It was too cold in Wendlyn and she dreaded spending the coldest months in Orynth. 

She had never quite adjusted to anything but the balmy temperature of Banjali. 

Nehemia looked up when the sliding door opened, seeing her husband standing there. She glanced back into the apartment, just catching the end of Vaughan’s double braid as he closed the door behind him. 

“Mi…” Fenrys began, his dark eyes rippling with a deep sadness. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

She shook her head and stepped to him, tucking herself into his chest. “Don’t say sorry, please. It’s not the time for apologies.” 

Her kind and loving husband wrapped his arms around her, dipping his chin to rest it on her head. “I still am.” 

Nehemia pressed her face into his neck as tears pricked her eyes, “It’s not supposed to be like this.” She slid her arms around him, feeling like she would crumble to the ground without it. “I don’t want to say good-bye, Fen.” 

Graceful fingers tilted her chin up and soft, heartbreakingly soft eyes met hers. “I don’t want to say good-bye either, but…” 

“We have to,” she finished for him, smiling sadly. Fenrys nodded and unclasped the golden chain he wore every day. A gold band hung from it. Nehemia shook her head, whispering, “No, Fen, please–” 

He pressed it into her hand, gently gripping her jaw, “I need you to keep it safe for me, Mi.” Fenrys closed her hand over his wedding ring. It was still warm from his skin. Neither Fenrys nor Nehemia wore their rings on their fingers. 

It meant more to them to wear them on necklaces - that way they remained close to their hearts and souls. Nehemia wanted to fling it back at him, wanted to scream no, she wouldn’t wear it, but she held it close and nodded. Fenrys cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her regal, majestic cheekbones, “Hold it when you miss me.” He leaned down, kissing her brow. “Hold it when you’re mad and squeeze it tight enough that I can feel it.”

His lips dusted soft caresses over her eyelids, “Scream at it and be angry because your man had to do the hero thing and save the world.” Nehemia laughed tearfully, her inhale unsteady when he kissed her cheek, “Wear it when you’re sad and wear it when you’re happy.” 

Fenrys pressed his lips to her other cheek, whispering softly, “Wear it until I come home to you, ok?” 

Nehemia rose on her tiptoes, kissing him soundly, her promise in the embrace as she held her fist to his heart. The other hand cupped the back of his neck as Fenrys dipped her, his arms banded around her waist. “I promise,” she whispered. 

Pulling away, Nehemia stroked her fingers over his neck, gazing up into his eyes. “Don’t do anything dumb, you hear me?” 

That swaggering, signature Marama twin happy-go-lucky grin tugged at his full lips, his wicked sharp teeth flashing white. Nehemia could’ve sworn she saw fantom fangs ghosting over his smile. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek, “I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t save the world until I’m back.” 

Fenrys laughed, the sound rich and rolling, “Of course. I’ll try to stop the boys.” 

Nehemia chuckled and walked back into the apartment, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She locked it and braced her hands against the sink, sobs trapped in her chest. 

She looked at the mirror, the flickering light catching on the cuffs adoring her hair. With shaking hands, Nehemia clasped Fenrys’ chain around her neck and began undoing the cuffs until her hair was plain save for the intricate pattern of her tribal braids. Her tears spilled down her cheeks, but still, her chin remained up. She would not bow her head, not once. 

Nehemia didn’t bother wiping her cheeks as she strode back into the living room to find that everyone had returned. Subtly, she tucked the chain beneath her top. Nobody but her and Fenrys had to know that intimate detail of their life. It would be their little secret.

She didn’t look at anyone but Fenrys and walked over to him, pressing her jewellery into his hand. In Eyllwe, she told him, “Keep these safe for me.”  

“Mi–”

“Please.” 

Fenrys pocketed the adornments, glum acceptance flashing in his eyes. He leaned down, kissing the top of her head where three cornrows crossed before joining the countless others in falling freely down to her waist. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, pulling away and wiping her cheeks. “We should go. Ellie’s meeting ends in ten minutes and she’ll be anxious if we aren’t on time.” 

No one dared to go against the command in her voice. They said one last farewell as Connall lifted her off her feet, practically squashing the life from her. Nehemia laughed, her hands on his shoulders when her brother in law finally set her back down. “Bye, Con. Take care of him for me.” 

Fenrys spluttered and pulled her back to him, his hands squeezing her hips reassuringly, “I don’t need to be taken care of.” 

Nehemia just smiled and pulled him down for one last kiss, “Humour me, ya hayati.” 

He nodded, finally letting her go. Fenrys slung his arm around Connall’s shoulders and shooed her out the door. With one more smile, Nehemia turned and walked away, resisting the urge to look back. 

Later, when all was said and done, she would regret not taking one more second to memorise the way they looked. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide kept her chin up while she strode through the hallways to her office and collected the things she would need while she was… away. 

“Knock, knock.” 

She turned, smiling at the sight of Darrow. “Oh, hi.” 

“That was very well done, Elide,” he said, stepping in and passing her the various things she had put on her desk. “You’re really leaving, hmm?” 

Elide paused, her computer charger held above her bag. She put it down and turned, nodding slightly. “Yes. I just- I’m sorry, Darrow.” 

He waved his hand dismissively, “Oh, don’t mind me. Just being a crotchety old man. You deserve a break, Elide. You’ve been hitting a few snags in your work so go. Be with your lover,” he teased, laughing when she made a face. 

“Don’t tell him you called him my ‘lover’. He’ll never let me hear the end of it,” Elide said. Darrow held his arms open and Elide stepped forward, hugging him tightly. Tears sprang unbidden in her eyes and she whispered, “Thank you for everything. I can never repay you.” 

“No, you can’t,” Darrow said, pushing her thanks off like it made him uncomfortable. “Alright, I have a class to teach. You take care of yourself, you hear me? I won’t be tolerating any calls from some foreign hospital because you decided to let loose for a night.” 

Elide laughed and wiped her eyes, “I make no promises.” Darrow rolled his eyes and hugged her one last time before walking out of her office. 

She sighed and finished packing her stuff up, remembering to leave the key with the receptionist. 

It was cold and grey outside, which seemed to fit the day. Elide crossed her arms over her chest to conserve heat as she waited on the curb for Lorcan. 

Just as she was about to pull out her phone to call him, a black car pulled up in front of her. An unbidden grin appeared on her face and Elide bit her lip to quell it as she walked down the stairs. The passenger door unlocked, popping open by itself. 

Elide bent at her waist, peering into the car. She tucked her hair behind her ear, frowning, “Can I help you?” The man sitting behind the wheel was decidedly not Lorcan, nor was it any of the other boys she’d become close with. 

He had mousy brown hair cut in a shaggy, unkempt style, that he had obviously attempted to brush into some sort of shape. His eyes were blue, but watery. Vapid. Insipid. The man smiled and she suppressed the shudder that ran through her. “You must be Elide. My name is Cairn, Cairn Beinn.” 

She straightened, dismissing him. Lorcan would be by soon. Elide cocked her jaw, not in the mood to be tricked by anyone and certainly not whoever this piss-baby male was. “No, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person.” 

He chuckled unkindly and got out of the car, watching her over the car top, “I admire your self-preservation skills, Ms. Lochan, but I assure you, I’m not here to harm you.” Elide held in her scoff and shifted on her feet, uneasily glancing down the street. No one else was there. “Mr. Salvaterre sent me to bring you to the airport. Please, I can call him for you from the car.” 

Elide looked at her watch and tapped her foot. With a tired sigh, she offered Cairn a tight-lipped smile and walked down the path to the car. She missed the way Cairn’s smile turned predatory. 

With one hand on the door, Elide took her handbag off her shoulder, half in the car. The voice at her shoulder told her to look once more down the street. 

She did, tossing a tired glance over her shoulder just as Lorcan’s Aston Martin turned the corner. She gasped, looking in fear at Cairn. He, alerted by her sound of surprise, looked in the mirror and swore, leaning over to grab her long coat and roughly yank her in. 

Elide pushed at him when he leaned across her to close the door and he spat at her, “Sit fucking still or I’ll shoot your precious boyfriend. Again.” Without another word, he revved the engine and sped down the street, tires squealing on asphalt. 

She looked in the side mirror, through the cloud of burning rubber, and saw Lorcan’s car speeding after them. Fear seized her, Elide was frozen. Until, that same voice reminded her of the blade she kept in her bag. 

Carefully, Elide reached her hand into the outer pocket, her fingers closing around the cool weapon. Cairn swerved violently around a truck, causing her to bump into the window and cry out softly. 

He whipped his head to her, snarling something nasty, but Elide wasn’t listening as she withdrew her fist and stabbed, managing to get his eye. Cairn screamed, slapping his hand over the wound, “You bitch!” He slapped her backhanded across the face, sending her crashing back in her seat. “You’re fucking dead.” 

Elide gripped her bag as he slammed on the breaks, managing to stay in her seat and not go flying. 

Cairn turned to her, blood dripping down his face, which was purple and twisted with rage. “You’re fuckin–” 

She lashed out with her foot, the thin heel of her stiletto ramming into his gut. While Cairn was incapacitated, doubled over, Elide wrenched the door open and shot out, the tires of Lorcan’s car screaming as he braked. 

She didn’t look back as she grabbed her bag and ran. Lorcan leaned across to open the door for her and Elide dived in, quickly slamming the door shut behind her. “Go,” she breathed, bracing her hands against the dashboard as Lorcan nodded and ripped away, shooting past Cairn as he stumbled out of the car, holding a gun up.

Lorcan looked in the rearview mirror and swore low, “Fuck, what did you do to him, princess?” 

“Stabbed his right eye,” she said bluntly, feeling numb as the adrenaline faded away. Her face really fucking hurt from the slap and the cut, courtesry of Cairn’s rings. Elide worked her jaw, hissing through her teeth. “And kicked him. Really fuckin’ hard. With my stiletto heel.”

Pride glowed in Lorcan’s eyes as he turned into an unmarked alley and parked the car. He turned to her, scanning her for injuries. His eyes were practically spitting flame as he gently gripped her jaw to tilt her head. “What did he do.” 

Breathing out slowly, Elide put her hand over his, “He slapped me after I stabbed him.” She attempted a soothing smile, “That’s it, L.” 

He grunted, narrowing his eyes. Then, he covered her eyes with his hand, “Close your eyes, love.” 

She held in her sigh, knowing she didn’t need to be checked for a concussion. “L, I don’t need–” 

“Humour me,” he said, not able to hide the tremble in his words. He was scared. Her big, terrifying, intimidating, and aggressive boyfriend was… scared. 

Elide did as he asked, the smarting sensation in her face fading as she waited. After a minute, Lorcan pulled his hand away, checking to see how her pupils dilated. He nodded, his smile relieved, “All good, Lochan.” 

Gently, he cupped her face, stroking his thumb over the cut on her cheekbone, “Still wears the rings, huh?” 

“It’s not funny, L. Who is he and how does he know me? How does he know where I work?” 

Lorcan didn’t say anything as he reached across her lap and opened the glove compartment. He took out the first aid kit and opened it. “He’s… an old employee. Holds a grudge, I guess.” 

Elide ran her tongue over her teeth, fuming silently. “You guess? I just stabbed someone and the best you can come up with is I guess?” 

“El–” 

“No, you know what? I’m done. I can’t do this, Lorcan! I don’t want to do this,” she said, her voice shaking. Her eyes were wide. Lorcan tilted her chin to the side, focusing on the cut. Elide wanted to scream, but his fingers were soft and soothing on her skin, grounding her as her thoughts swirled around her mind like a storm. 

He kissed her forehead after he cleaned the cut, “Just a flesh wound. I don’t even think it’ll scar.” 

Elide exhaled, pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes, “I’m scared.” 

Lorcan sighed through his nose and brushed her hair back, picking out a piece of something. “I know.” Those two little words tore at his heart. He wasn’t sure Elide had once let herself break and with two words, her cracks were showing. He moved his seat back and pulled her into his lap, tucking her head under his chin. 

And it was there, in the front seat of Lorcan’s car, that Elide Lochan finally broke. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Vaughan was the first to hug Elide when she and Lorcan arrived at the airport. She’d gotten a chance to change out of her meeting clothes. Now, she was wearing a pair of leggings and a hoodie. Perfect for air travel. “Ellie-Boo!” 

“Hey, V,” she whispered, offering a tired smile. 

“L said you stabbed someone?” 

She froze, her shoulders tensing. Lorcan noticed and stepped up behind her. With a supportive touch on the small of her back, Lorcan gently tugged her to his side. He spoke in his mother tongue to Vaughan, always preferring the melodic language of his childhood over the common speech.

The man nodded, quickly distracted. Elide all but sagged against Lorcan, turning her head and pressing her forehead against his body in thanks. 

Aelin trailed up, sipping on something through a straw. She smiled and rested her hand on Elide’s upper arm, rubbing softly, “Hi, sweetheart. Do you want some milkshake?” 

Elide huffed a laugh and shook her head. She raised on her toes to kiss Lorcan softly and whisper something before turning back to Aelin. “Oh, I’m not hungry.” 

“Well, I’m starving and these parasites need some food. Come with me?” 

Lorcan looked at Aelin over Elide’s head and relief flooded his face as he mouthed, Thank you. He knew what Aelin was trying to do. 

Elide looped her arm through Aelin’s and nodded, “Let’s find you some food, then.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

They met up in front of security, just to the side and in a camera blindspot. Elide was picking at a wrap and sipping on a lemonade. It wasn’t much, but at least she was eating something. 

Nehemia distributed their boarding passes out. Her face was closed off after saying farewell to Fenrys. Elide slid up to her, wrapping her arm around Nehemia’s waist and offering her the extra lemonade she had gotten. 

It was ironic that Elide was forcing her into consuming some sort of nutrients. “So, where are we going?” 

“V and I are going to Rifthold. Ace and Ro are going straight to Orynth, I wanted to minimise flight travel for her. You,” Nehemia said, exchanging a pair of passes for the lemonade, “and Lor will be going to Suria. We already got a hotel room for you two, so don’t worry about anything, ok?” 

Elide wanted to make sure Nehemia was ok, but Nehemia did best when she was fussing over everyone else. “Thank you, love.” 

Since her and Lorcan’s flight was the soonest, they had to get going. Elide hugged everyone, leaving Nehemia for last. 

As she hugged the elegant woman, Elide felt Nehemia slump against her and braced her. “You got this, ok, Mi?” 

Nehemia sniffled and nodded, standing up straight. “I know. It’s not forever, right?” She nodded to Lorcan, standing by the entrance. He was talking quietly to Vaughan and Rowan. “Go, go. I’ll see you soon, anyhow.” 

Elide nodded, reaching up one last time to wipe Nehemia’s eyes, “I’ll see you soon, ves’tacha.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Ya hayati: Arabic, ‘my life’ (i previously used Xhosa for Eyllwe, but since i see nehemia as east african - specifically sudanese - i changed it to match the local languag) 

inspo for nehemia’s braids

Ves’tacha: Romani, ‘beloved’ (i use Romani for Blackbeak) 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012​ @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse e @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @lovemollywho @queen-of-glass @jlinez @sleeping-and-books @ireallyshouldsleeprn @verypaleninja @januarystears @magicalunicorngypsy @sis-it-dont-add-up @keshavomit

#with my life #wml chapter ten #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore #very intense no #i wonder what cairn meant by 'again' hmm

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 9

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

The final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this! I really appreciate all the support and comments!

Previous chapters (full recap)

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Part Five: Waiting

Part Six: Confessions (nsfw)

Part Seven: Old Friends

Part Eight: Light in the Darkness

***

Part Nine: Not Even Close

***

The sight of Rifthold on the horizon made Manon’s heartbeat skip into an uneven rhythm. As if in warning. For the first time since she’d left on this journey, fear and regret surged through her every nerve, replacing the impatience that had pushed her these last two days. The urgency to get here was gone in an instant.

Abraxos continued on, as though he didn’t notice her change in mood. Or, he was just ignoring it. That thought made her smile, relieving some small piece of tension from her body.

She’d never admit it to him – it’d go straight to his head – but he often knew what she needed before she did. When her grandmother had gutted her, when the horrors of Morath were chasing her, when she was on her last breath, she’d told him to take her somewhere safe. Only to awaken in a bed on a ship in the middle of the sea. A ship upon which Dorian sailed. No other person on board was known to Abraxos, had even been seen by him. Yet, he’d flown her there. To Dorian.

The memory helped dispel the fear, giving her a boost of much needed courage. Her wyvern reacted by flapping his great, silvery wings a little harder, propelling them faster towards the city that began to glow before them.

It was almost dark, and as the sun disappeared, she was glad to have taken this more traditional route. The long way, instead of using a wyrd gate. Manon knew Glennis questioned the wisdom of taking the extra time flying here. The gate would’ve been faster, easier. No chance to back out. But Manon had insisted. She needed that extra time to think, to make absolutely certain of what she wanted. Flying cleared her head. It always had. And though she’d had that frightening moment of doubt an instant ago, the wind had lifted it away.

Perhaps carried on that same wind, Glennis’s words came floating back to her. The not so innocent questioning had propelled her to this moment.

*****

Five days ago...

The room was large, warm, and well furnished. Except for the fact that there was only one bed. It could easily accommodate two witches though.

“I’ll try not to snore,” Glennis said as she sat her bags in a corner.

Manon, following right behind, said, “I’ll try not to kick you when you do.”

The old witch laughed. “At least your mood hasn’t soured at the prospect of a roommate. Especially one who is not your first choice in such matters.”

It had been just over six months since Dorian first appeared in Morrigna through a wyrd gate. Petrah and Glennis knew about the king’s frequent nightly visits. Chaol and Yrene knew of the queen’s occasional stays in Rifthold. And other than a few exceptionally trustworthy guards, no one else had been told.

In order to maintain secrecy while she and Glennis were in Briarcliff to meet with Ansel, Manon would have to go a few nights without the company of the king.

Watching Glennis sort through her things, Manon smiled, realizing she was glad for this time together. They spoke every day, but there was always so much going on around them that often it felt like she hardly ever saw her great-grandmother.

“Well, you’re my first choice tonight.”

Glennis laughed again, and Manon warmed at the sight and sound. How quickly she’d grown to love the witch. How completely she relied on her. The feelings were equal parts terrifying and comforting. Manon was still trying to parse them when she realized Glennis was asking her a question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if Dorian has discussed the problem he is having with some of his nobility.”

“No,” she said, not bothering to hide her confusion. “And how would you know of it?” She knew that answer at least but wanted to make the crone squirm a bit.

As she began to remove her heavy flying clothes, Glennis tried to appear innocent. She worked at the leathers and boots with her gnarled hands for several minutes. Manon’s patience dissolved as she began to tap her foot on the floor.

“You can speak and get undressed at the same time.”

“Ha! I’m not as young as you are.” Finally, she was in her bedclothes, climbing into bed, and moving to adjust the pile of blankets atop her. “Yrene mentioned it in a letter.”

“The letters he and I carry back and forth for you?” Manon asked. “If you’re going to plot and plan behind our backs, I’m refusing to deliver them anymore.”

Her great-grandmother sat against the headboard and pulled the covers up around her. “Perhaps we wouldn’t need to … what did you accuse us of? Plotting? We wouldn’t need to plot if the two of you took matters into your own hands.”

Manon leaned on the tall corner post at the foot of the bed and crossed her arms. “What matters? What is happening with his lords?”

“They are pushing their king to find a queen.”

Something in her stomach flipped and her face paled. She turned away and began to fumble with her own leathers. “No,” she said roughly. “He did not tell me.”

“Have you never considered it?” Glennis lost the smug teasing and now sounded concerned, truly grandmotherly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

She pulled one of his shirts from her bag. It served as her bedclothes, when she needed to wear them. But she just held it, staring, trying not to inhale his scent that was still clinging to it. “Are you and Yrene aware that I once asked him? And he said no?” There was no anger, no cruelty in her words. She’d gotten over the rejection when he’d admitted that he wanted to say yes. Larger forces had kept him from it. And now, those forces were gone. She had yet to decide how that made her feel.

“No. When?”

Manon smiled. So much for not prying, she thought. Quickly, she threw the shirt on and got under the covers. Or, what was left that Glennis had not commandeered for her side. It was late spring, which meant it was still cold in the Wastes.

“The night before he left for Morath.”

Glennis sucked in a breath as a look of understanding filled her face. “Ah yes. I remember. I almost thought you’d go after him. If the call for aid had not come.” Curious now, she asked, “Would you have?”

“I don’t know,” Manon confessed. She’d felt the pull to go. The same pull she often felt around him. To him. Shaking her head, she said, “It doesn’t matter now. He said he would never cage me. Alliance or not.”

“Alliance?”

“I offered him a marriage alliance. For the war.” As she said it, she began to realize perhaps his duty to the keys wasn’t the only reason he’d turned her down. The cringe blooming on Glennis’s face seemed to confirm it. “Shit,” Manon said, flopping back on her pillow. “I made it sound like something to be … endured.” The memory of what she said came rushing back, making her feel worse. “Gods, I called it a sacrifice.”  

“Oh dear.”

“Shit,” she repeated. “It’s no wonder.” A sense of frantic urgency almost overtook her as she turned to the witch. “Why is he still with me? After an insult of that magnitude?”

This time, when Glennis laughed, it didn’t make Manon feel warm and comforted. It only increased the anxiety. Almost like she knew what was coming.

“Because he is madly in love with you, granddaughter. Surely you know that! It’s written all over his face. The way he looks at you, the way he seems to…” She paused, looking for the right word. “The way he glows when he’s near you.”

Ghislaine’s books popped into her mind. The romance stories she’d glanced at that used ridiculous, flowery language and went on and on, endlessly describing feelings and heated looks and secret glances. Suddenly, she wondered if maybe she should actually read them to understand what the hell was happening to her.

Mouth halfway hanging open, she faced Glennis. “I didn’t realize …”

“Well, now you do.”

Manon said nothing, not letting herself be convinced by the observations of an old witch, who was no doubt influenced by a young, recently married healer. She couldn’t decipher their motives, and she didn’t think they were lying. But … they had to be wrong. Dorian would have said something by now.

But then she thought of the letters. And the Ferian Gap. The breakfast in bed. The gift of her favorite pastries. The wyrd gate that let her mourn in Theralis. That let them see each other whenever they wanted.

No. Glennis’s conjecture was turning her into some silly, love struck witchling.

“Do you love him?”

Her head shot around to find her great-grandmother’s curious, caring face.

Manon opened her mouth to answer, but then she stopped. What was the answer? She thought again of the Ferian Gap and asking him to dance. The books she retrieved from a place of bad memories to give to him. The pull, always towards him. Even before the war. He’d never feared her, never judged her.

Moisture began to fill her eyes as she stared intently at Glennis. “Yes,” she whispered. A sweet smile, full of love and joy, stared back at her. “But …”

The smile faded. “But what?”

“He is mortal,” Manon said, almost choking out the last word. A word she’d tried so desperately to forget. Dorian was a mortal. She was not. Losing him was a heartbreak she didn’t think she could take.

Glennis reached over and placed a cold hand on Manon’s cheek. “He is mortal.”

The affirmation of what she already knew still sent a spike of grief through her heart.

“But …” Her great grandmother had a sparkle in her eye.

“But what?” Manon asked.

Glennis sat back, beaming with some emotion Manon couldn’t decipher. “But he has raw magic, dear.”

Manon shook her head. “So? A lot was taken by the lock, he isn’t as strong as he used to be.”

Exasperation. That was the look on her face now.

“I happen to have it on good authority that he did not expend so much as to keep him from healing. He still has a substantial reserve of power.”

She knew he still had the ability to heal. But again, “So? I clearly don’t know what your point is. What authority? And what are you saying?”

"My point is that according to our continent’s greatest healer-”

Manon rolled her eyes. Not at the description of Yrene’s skill, but the meddling. Yrene and Glennis were like two little birds chirping back and forth and sticking their beaks in other peoples’ business.

“-the King of Adarlan’s magic will grant him a very, very long mortal life.”

She sat upright. “How long?”

All the amusement left Glennis’s face. “No one has the ability to predict such things. And that’s part of my point. I could drop over dead tomorrow.” Manon frowned, but Glennis kept going. “Harsh, I know. And not something I like to think about. But it’s the truth. It’s true of you as much as me. And Dorian. And Petrah and Bronwen. All of us. Do not conflate immortality with immunity from death. Long-lived by nature of being a witch or fae, or possession of raw magic … It amounts to the same thing. But,” she said, patting Manon’s arm gently, “never forget that we will all meet the same end.”

“So,” Manon started, unable to hold back a smile at Glennis’s raised eyebrow. “You’re saying that since any of us can die at any time, I shouldn’t worry about things outside my control and just enjoy the time I’m given?”

“Well said, granddaughter.”

Manon huffed a laugh, trying not to let this bright spot of hope take over too quickly. Glennis’s words, though greater in number and a bit more philosophical, mirrored Asterin’s final command to her. A command she never forgot, but one she sometimes didn’t translate well into whatever situation was troubling her.

“Do you really view marriage as a cage?” Glennis asked.

After a moment’s thought, Manon said, “I don’t know. I used to. But now, after seeing the Crochans with their husbands and wives, and the Terrasen queen with her mate …” Asterin had loved her hunter, enough to want to stay with him. Enough to regret not going back. “I’m not so sure.”

Glennis nestled down under her blankets. “I’ve seen it become so. But I’ve seen the opposite. Experienced the opposite. Marriage demands compromises and sacrifices, just as any relationship does. Allies, friends, family, lovers, spouses. None of it is easy. I can’t tell you what to do. Despite all of my plotting with Yrene,” she said with a wink, leaving Manon smiling. “It is your choice. Yours and Dorian’s. If you were to marry, the two of you determine the shape of that bond, and your paths through troubles and happiness. No one else.”

Thinking of all the interested parties, Manon wasn’t sure about that. Plenty of unimportant people, both human and witch, would offer their loud, critical opinions. And those who were important to them … Glennis, Chaol, Yrene, Petrah, maybe a few more. She wasn’t foolish enough to think they wouldn’t be among those giving unwanted advice. With a soft laugh, she realized that would be no different than her life now.

“Damn it,” she muttered, looking around the room, wishing she didn’t have to be here. Wishing she wasn’t obligated to spend two days cooped up, playing nice to get humans to stop harassing witches trying to settle near the border.

It must have shown on her face because Glennis said, “Be patient, dear. With all the meetings we have scheduled, this trip will fly by. Then you can tell him how you feel.”

And just like that, her insides somersaulted and she was glad to be here, unable to use the wyrdgate, unable to fly to Rifthold. Feigning agreement, Manon told Glennis goodnight and turned onto her side, pretending to fall asleep. But her mind and heart were racing, keeping her far from any sort of rest.

Tell him how you feel.

It sounded so simple. Just three words, spoken aloud. Laying herself completely bare in front of him in a way she’d never done before. That pathetic proposal might no longer register in her list of most humiliating memories. This confession would surely surpass it. As her imagination truly took off, envisioning myriad scenarios, almost all ending poorly, her stomach joined her heart and head. The sensation was nauseating, leaving her feel like she was falling.

Oh yes, she thought. This will be easy.

*****

“Is Manon joining us for dinner?” Yrene swung Josie around to her other arm flexing her newly freed hand in an attempt to relieve the numbness. “She’s almost too big to carry.”

“Here,” Dorian said. “I’ll hold her. She’s not too—"

Falling backwards onto the sofa, he cried out, pretending he couldn’t stand with her in his arms. Josie laughed and then screamed as she scrambled away from him. He didn’t reach for her, letting her crawl back towards him. When she was close enough, he lunged, grabbing her feet and wiggling his fingers on her chubby toes. She screeched again in between bouts of laughter. When she was gasping for breath, Dorian sat her on the floor and let her go, smiling as she crawled speedily away.

Short of breath himself, he took another moment before answering. “Not tonight. She’s in Briarcliff with Glennis. They’re meeting with Ansel about some border disputes.” They both watched Josie try to chase the dog around the kitchen table. “Not all of Ansel’s people like being so close to the witches.”

Yrene scowled. “I wish people were more open minded.”

“Like you were when you first met me?” Chaol asked as he came through the door. His wife dismissed him with a wave of her hand and went into the kitchen as Josie begged for Chaol to pick her up.

Yrene returned quickly, placing large bowls of steaming food on the table. With a decent attempt at innocence, she asked, “And when should we expect the wedding?”

Dorian sighed and didn’t reply, pretending to be too focused on scratching the dog’s belly.

“Honey,” Chaol said through clenched teeth. “It’s none of our business.”

Yrene opened her mouth to argue but she caught sight of Dorian’s face and stopped.

If Manon initiated it, he’d have the wedding tomorrow. But he’d long ago decided not to broach the subject with her. If it were to happen, it would be on her timeline, not his. As royals, they had the advantage of being able to set the terms of a marriage and union between kingdoms. That didn’t mean it was something she would look upon favorably. She’d never acknowledged it, but they both knew he had not been wrong about the cage.

To placate the sad, apologetic look on her face, Dorian winked and said, a little too brightly, “Yrene, you will be the first to know.” Her resulting smile pleased him, and they all sat down to eat.

Dorian was quiet as Chaol and Yrene talked about their day – what trouble Josie had started in the healer’s quarters, some issue with sword training and new guards, plans for the new Torre – only speaking when he offered to watch Josie one evening later in the week.

He loved them both dearly and appreciated their concern and desire to see him happy. But he wished they could understand that, marriage or not, being with Manon was enough. They already had a commitment, and thanks to the wyrd gate, the means to see each other whenever they wanted. He loved her.

And if that word had never been spoken between them yet? What did that mean?

He dipped a piece of bread in the thick stew and tossed it in his mouth. A good excuse to not have to talk. And the faster he ate, the sooner he could go back to his rooms and sulk.

*****

Josie squealed as the terrier leaped just out of her reach. He spun around, front paws stretched out, rump in the air, tail wagging like a feather, goading her to try again. He was not giving up the ball without a struggle.

Her face, pink with frustration, looked like a perfect mix of her parents, making Dorian laugh.

They continued playing, the dog teasing her with the ball as they sat in the midst of a chaos of toys in his drawing room. He tried to focus on them and not Manon. She should have returned from Briarcliff by now. That she hadn’t meant the border trouble was worse than they’d suspected. Another high pitched squeal broke through his worry. And just in time, he pulled the slobbery ball out of Josie’s hand before she could put it in her mouth. Tossing it across the room, he was grateful for this distraction. Probably not as grateful as Chaol and Yrene for the evening to themselves.

With a bright eyed grin, Josie suddenly pointed behind him to the door into his bedroom. Still sitting cross legged and holding a doll that was missing an arm, Dorian turned to find Manon watching them.

She was utterly still, her own eyes wide and shining.

Dorian blinked, thinking she was a vision, and before he could move, before he could even say hello, she shook her head and said, “This was a mistake.”

Then she turned and disappeared.

Dorian ran after her, calling her name, only to see her cross his balcony and hop onto Abraxos. It took her several commands to get him airborne, as if the wyvern was stalling, giving Dorian time to reach them. But Josie started crying from where she still sat in the other room and he skidded to a stop, looking between the toddler inside and Manon about to leave.

“Wait!” he shouted. Abraxos twisted his long neck around and gave him a sorrowful look just before Manon kicked with her legs, ordering him off the railing and into the air.

She had not looked back at him. Not once.

As they flew away, Josie’s cries reached him again and he ran back inside. She hadn’t moved, and he realized she was upset because the dog had raced off after him. He picked her up and bounced her in his arms as he paced around the room, wondering what in the hell had just happened. She quieted down quickly and, despite the guilt of interrupting their night, he called for a page to find Chaol.

It wasn’t long before Chaol and Yrene appeared, worried something had happened to Josie. But at the sight of her asleep in Dorian’s arms, they calmed down.

He was not calm though. With a quick explanation, mostly because there wasn’t much to tell them, he passed the baby off to her mother and went straight for the large closet in his bedroom. They never left a wyrd gate open, but only used them in private locations. The wyrdmarks were half written so it took him no time to complete the spell.

After a drop or two of his blood, the gate flared to life, looking out into the night sky. Darkness, a chill wind, and fragments of clouds drifting past the moon. He glanced back to Chaol, wordlessly asking him to close the gate. Chaol nodded and within a second, Dorian shifted into his raven form and flew through the flaming doorway.

His corvid eyes adjusted slowly to the lack of light, but there, flapping ahead, he spotted the brief moonlit gleam of Abraxos’s spidersilk wings. The magical door hovering behind him disappeared and Dorian sped up to try and catch them. Shifting to a wyvern gave him a boost of power and speed and soon, he was flying in their wake. Another shift, back to the raven, and he was above her. She hadn’t noticed him until the pop and buzz of magic with the final shift into his own form caught her attention. Manon looked back just as he dropped onto Abraxos’s back.

Crouching behind her, clinging to the edge of her saddle, Dorian shouted, “Land!”

Manon spun around, her eyes wide in anger as Abraxos began to bank and descend. As she realized the command had been to him, not her. And he’d obeyed.

Before she could say anything, the wyvern was skimming over the tops of trees, then landing at the edge of a freshly tilled field. Then, came the rage.

Jumping off the instant his talons touched the ground, Manon turned on the beast. “You traitorous worm! How dare you ignore my commands in favor of his!”

Dorian climbed down, feeling guilty for involving Abraxos. Though, he’d only told him to land. That the wyvern obeyed him was as much a surprise to him as it was to Manon. When he reached her, still yelling at her mount, he suppressed a smile.

Abraxos stared her down, taking her tantrum in stride, as if the screaming and cursing meant nothing. As if he knew none of this was really about him. When his eyes slid to Dorian, hers followed. And the yelling ceased.

*****

Damn those wyrd gates, she thought. And damn his shapeshifting. But, she might as well damn herself, her own stupidity, for coming here.

Dorian said nothing as he looked at her, waiting for her to explain. And as she stared up into his eyes, all she could see was that baby. How he’d been playing with her. Laughing. Happy.

The sight had made her question everything. Not her feelings for him. But whether those feelings were enough. Whether she was enough. And could give him what he wanted.

She hated this. Love and fear and doubt and need. A million emotions swirling inside her. A tempest she had no control over.

His brow creased and he leaned towards her, as if reading all of it on her face. Gently, he brushed his thumb along her cheek, hoping to coax her into speaking. And just that small touch was like a balm, cool to her skin, but a torch to her blood, sending heat coursing through her. Warmth, and love, she realized. It had always been there, in his touch. But she was only now able to see it for what it was.

“I came here to tell you.” She broke off, still fighting back the fear.

His hand dropped to her shoulder, down her arm, until he interlaced their fingers. “What?” he asked softly. “What do you want to tell me?” That fire from his touch still moved through her, filling her. “Manon,” he whispered.

With a deep inhale, hoping it would somehow give her courage, she said, “I came here to tell you that I love you.” She held his gaze, searching for any small sign that she would regret this. But there were already tears gathering. In his eyes as well as her own.

Dorian cupped her face in his hands and shook his head, blinking rapidly, not just to dispel the tears about to fall, but as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. So, she said it again.

“I love you.”

And then, he was kissing her. And she felt the smile on his lips, felt the moisture on his cheeks, felt the joy radiating from him. His magic burst from him like a bright light, enveloping them in its glow.

Breaking their kiss, he rested his forehead on hers. “I love you too, witchling.”

Hearing it back, feeling its truth and gravity, Manon broke into a smile mirroring his own. She felt that warmth again, stronger, taking her over. And she realized it wasn’t just coming from him. It came from inside herself too, forcing its way to the top of that storm of emotion, overpowering everything else. Dorian kissed her again, and all she knew was that heat. From his touch, his love. And her love for him.

*****

“What spooked you earlier?” Dorian asked as he traced out some sort of pattern on her bare back.

They’d flown back to the castle, where Abraxos had been given several large haunches of meat – a thank you from Dorian and apology from Manon – and was settled in the stable that had been built for him.

Manon didn’t move from where she lay curled against him, enjoying the caress of his fingertips across her skin. Serene, safe. Two things she couldn’t remember ever feeling. Certainly not before him. Even his question didn’t intrude upon the peace she felt.

“I think you know,” she hedged.

He huffed a breathy laugh. “Just because I love playing with Josie doesn’t mean ...” He trailed off and Manon finally shifted, propping herself up on his chest so she could look into his eyes.

“We both require an heir,” she said matter-of-factly. “Delaying this discussion won’t make it easier.” She didn’t know where this newfound courage was coming from. True, she’d always been blunt. But hours ago, she’d been terrified.

Manon tried to envision a boy-sized Dorian, tearing through the castle creating mischief, only to be caught and punished with dance lessons. But try as she might, she couldn’t see it. It was as though Dorian had been born, fully formed, as beautiful and haunted and powerful as the day she’d first seen him in Oakwald, collared and possessed by a valg prince.

The sensation of his pulse beneath her fingertips made her blink and she realized she was touching his neck. The scarred skin, not overly rough but lighter than the rest of him, wrapped around his neck. The edges where pale skin met darker were jagged, like a lightning bolt. As if he’d been struck in one spot and the energy rippled through him.

Her eyes met his and she started to remove her hand. But he grabbed her arm and placed her fingers back on the scar.

“Only you,” he said. “Only you acknowledge it. No one else looks at it. They act as if it never happened.”

Manon considered. “Perhaps they think you want to forget.”

“They’d be right. To a degree.” Dorian closed his eyes, struggling to find his next words. “Part of me wants nothing more than to forget. That part would do anything, give anything to go back. Back before this,” his fingers grazed hers still atop the scar. “But the other part of me wants to remember. So it never happens to anyone again. I must remember so I can make amends to all those hurt by Adarlan.”

He moved her hand up to kiss it. “I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward. I want to live. You once told me to take no more than you gave. And I promise, I won’t. But I need you, however much you can give, I need you to live. At least, the life I want to live. I can’t see a future without you in it."

“And children?” Manon didn’t know what answer she was hoping for. Didn’t know what she in fact wanted.

The need for an heir was a steady, growing beat in her head. Not loud. Yet. But it was there. Along with the godsdamned fear. That she or the witchling would die. Or that she wouldn’t know how to be a true mother. 

Dorian was silent, reading her expressions. Finally, he asked, “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “With you ...” she paused, sorting through the thoughts twisting in her head. “Having a witchling is the greatest honor in a witch’s life. If that happened, I would want to share it with you. Only you.”

“But,” he prompted. His fingers began their previous motions across her back.

“But I don’t want to be pushed into it. I don’t want it to be about fulfilling a requirement.”

“You want time. You want it to be your choice.”

“Yes,” she said, relieved that he seemed to understand. “You never answered my question.”

Dorian smiled. “You just answered it for me. I would love to have children with you Manon. But by our own choice, and on our own time.”

“And if it never happens?" The joy he’d shown playing with Josie earlier ... Did he know how rare witchlings were?

With a shrug to make it seem as if he hadn’t spent time thinking about it, he said, “A suitable heir is not guaranteed by blood. I can name anyone heir, just as you could for the Wastes.” When she only hesitated, he added, “Despite all my mother’s ministrations, despite all the expectations of heirs and alliance and bloodlines, all I’ve ever wanted is a queen who I love, truly and with my whole heart. And a queen who would love me in return. Can you give me that?”

“Yes,” she replied, without an ounce of doubt. Pulling his hand to rest his palm on her chest, she added, “You have my heart.”

“You have mine,” he said, brushing his lips across hers. “Whatever else comes with it will be like frosting on a cake.”

Manon laughed, looking over at the few remains of the chocolate cake they’d devoured earlier, then resumed her position laying on him.

He took up the writing on her back again and she began to relax, enjoying the sensation, when something made her still. Dorian kept going and Manon focused, trying to pay attention to the shapes he was making.

“What is that?” she asked, not moving. “What are you drawing?”

“Letters,” he said, his voice giving away the fact that he must be smirking. “Words.”

Manon tensed and sucked in a breath. “What words?”

He brushed his palm down her back, as if erasing what had come before and started again.

With each word he wrote on her now hot skin, Dorian translated by whispering in her ear.

Will

you

marry

me

Manon remained motionless. Except for her heart, which was beating so rapidly she thought it might explode.

No fingertips this time, Dorian said quietly, “We can wait. For however long we need. There’s no rush and if you can’t do it, I understand. I just …” She heard him swallow, hesitating. “I love you.”

Pushing herself back up on her elbow, Manon looked at him. Just looked. Then she brushed her thumb across his lower lip. “This was supposed to take the edge off.”

“And did it?” he asked, no hint of levity or teasing. The sparks in his eyes were proof he remembered the last time they’d exchanged these words. He knew what should come next.

Not even close.

As she considered, she realized there were some edges he had subdued. Not the sharp edges of her witch soul, not the edges of who she was. Those were honed anew. But he had helped her onto the path of healing from the loss of the Thirteen. He’d helped her learn about trust and love and the hope of a better world. He challenged her, accepted her. He was her mirror in so many ways. There would be no cage with him.

Ignoring the line she was supposed to say in favor of answering the previous question he’d posed, she said simply, “I will.”

*****

Epilogue

Nine years later…

After a week of stormy gray skies, and high winds, the sun broke through on the one day that mattered. Even though they’d agreed to keep it small and simple, guests from three continents had come to the Ferian Gap. To celebrate a union and reunion. For the first time since the defeat of the valg, the royal wedding joining the Witch Kingdom and Adarlan brought together the allies of the war: Wendlyn, the Khaganate, the Western Wastes, the Silent Assassins, Eyllwe, Terrasen, Doranelle.

Manon wore a dress for the first time in her life, while Dorian, for the first time in his, felt nervous about having so many eyes on him. The only eyes he sought out, gold and brilliant and glittering in the sun, helped calm him. And he reassured her, many times and in many ways, that she was stunning in the form-fitting red silk.

The ceremony, held outside for the benefit of the Queen’s wyvern, was brief but emotional, with the heartfelt vows causing more than a few guests to reach for a handkerchief. None more so than the Queen’s great-grandmother and the head of Erilea’s Torre, who shared a long hug at the end.

A host of witches on wyverns and brooms joined a large group of Rukhin, riding mounts born and raised here by their Wing Leader Orghana, as they flew across the Gap, whooping and cheering their King and Queen.

Qara oversaw the food, which was plentiful and delicious. The old Rukhin cook was offered a bribe by the Terrasen Queen to move to Orynth. But she refused. Unbeknownst to a dejected Aelin, Manon convinced the cook to give up one recipe for chocolate pastries. She then secretly offered it to Rowan, as a gift he could give his wife. And as a thank you for helping Dorian escape Rifthold all those years ago.

At one point, the recently crowned Khagan and his children encouraged the Empress to sing. However, it took the combined efforts of Chaol, Yrene, and Dorian to get her to agree. Nesryn’s voice brought more guests to tears as the Rukhin were reminded of the old homes they’d left to start a new one here.

While their friends laughed and ate and danced, Dorian never left his wife’s side. He knew this was a bittersweet day for Manon. A day of love and joy, but it was incomplete without the Thirteen. She found solace in his suggestion that they were sharing that joy in whatever afterlife they watched from. Not the Darkness. They had not gone to a dark place. Her sisters resided in light.

When the music sped up and the other Rukhin singers took over, Dorian led Manon away from the crowd, back to the shadowed corner where they’d shared their first dance. And as they turned in slow circles, holding each other so close there was no space between them, they laughed and whispered, dancing like that for the rest of the night.

Well, not the rest of the night. They were interrupted by a witchling who had refused to be taken to bed. Rhiannon insisted on one more dance with her parents, only then would she go to sleep.

And she kept her word. Halfway through the song, held tightly between them, Rhia fell asleep on Dorian’s shoulder as Manon gently stroked her hair.

The end.

*****

Thank you again!

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[calamity-callie]

A Noble Quest - Wiztober Day 18

This story is about my non-wizard wizard 101 OC Iridian! The defeat theme is more subtle, as it’s not so much a defeat for her as it is a defeat for the rest of Avalon...

CW: blood, gore, graphic violence

Art and editing done by @spiralcompendium​

It should have been another calm day in Avalon.

It should have been, but early that morning, a roar from the wild jolted everyone in Caer Lyon out of their peaceful sleep. The nobility and townsfolk alike gathered at the city entrance to see what would cause such a commotion. Only a few minutes passed before they saw her riding out of the woods into the city. 

She appeared to be a wealthy, gallant knight; riding into town in shining steel plate armor, partisan and shield strapped to her back. Her family insignia was proudly displayed on her chest - a boar and a bull, flanking a silver axe. She rode upon what appeared to be the source of the vicious roar, a dignified lightning lizard with two large horns, storm energy crackling and sparkling around its mouth, and two massive wings, folded against its sides. Upon seeing the crowd, she lifted her visor to reveal an attractive, but intense face. She had piercing white irises while the whites appeared dull and gray. A strand of pure white hair fell into her face, which she brushed aside. She began to address the crowd.

“Good people of this city, I am Ser Iridian.”

At this point, the city mayor had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and addressed her in turn. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your disruption?”

“I’m simply passing through. I’m on a noble quest you see. There’s a vitally important task I must complete. Indeed, failure to complete this task could even result in the destruction of your home.” At this, the crowd gasped and began to part to let her though. “I do apologize for disrupting your pleasant morning, but I had to stop for supplies on the way to my destination, and Tencendur,” she stopped to touch her dragon’s neck, “Tencendur here needed to hunt. Now if you could point me to the blacksmith, I’ll be on my way momentarily.”

The mayor pointed her in the right direction, and she rode off towards the lower district. Arriving at the smithy, she removed her shield and spear and set them down on the table. They both looked like they had seen years of use without proper repair, had layers of rust coating most surfaces, and had accumulated some sort of strange swirling energy. “Fix these up for me, would you? Price is no object, just get it done as quick as you can.” 

“Very well,” the smith answered. He continued, “If ya don’t mind my askin’, what sort of quest are ye on anyway? What’s this destruction ye speak of?”

“It’s a family who lives just outside the city walls. I’ve heard of them doing just the most horrible things you could imagine - forcing children to fight for their amusement then tossing them on the street as soon as they lose, leaving the poor babe a traumatized mess. It’s my belief that this behavior shouldn’t be allowed to continue. After all, imagine having your own children taken away for their amusement!”

At this, the blacksmith recoiled. “Ma’am, that sounds downright awful. We can’t have people out there just doing things like that! Tell ye what, for such a noble quest as yours, I’ll do the work free of charge.”

Only a few hours later, Iridian headed out of the city gate and approached the large manor where the family lived, perfectly sharpened and polished weaponry in hand. She wound her way up the twisting path to the door while the serfs toiling the fields nearby looked away, occasionally shooting her fearful glances. As she approached the door, two men in plate armor crossed their swords in front of her, blocking her entrance. They sternly addressed her, “What is your business here?”

“I’m here to deliver a boon to the head of this manor, Sir Cedric Ward. I wish an audience with him at once.”

“What’s your name? Do you have an appointment? I’ll need to see proof of identification, a signed document of good intent, and a -”

The last word never left the guards lips, as Iridian had drawn her spear as he was speaking and thrust it into his throat. Blood ran from his neck as gurgling replaced the end of his tirade and he collapsed. The other guard raised a horn to his lips and began to blow, signaling the other guards in the barracks, but before he could get a second note out, Iridian had batted the instrument away with her shield, and plunged her spear into his stomach. She sliced to the side as she pulled it out, spilling entrails all over the entryway.

“Well, I’d hoped we’d have a cleaner start than this,” she thought to herself as she dismounted Tencendur. Turning to address the dragon, she said, “Those other guards will be here in no time. I’m heading inside. Protect me, alright?” The dragon snorted in understanding as she opened the front door.

She stepped into the extravagant entryway. Tapestries lined the walls, and a long hallway stretched out before her with many rooms on either side and a staircase in the back. She had three targets that needed to be taken out, three that were all complicit in the family’s crimes - the father, the mother, and their son. 

She began her search of the house, beginning with the kitchen. She opened the door, only to be greeted by the shriek of two servants who were, moments before, butchering a freshly killed hart. One of them began to shout “Lady Ward! Lady Ward!” Iridian was quick to interrupt him, whisper-yelling “Keep quiet!” but to no avail, the servant kept shrieking. She interrupted him a second time with a spear to the heart, then quickly delivered a slash across the second servant’s neck. Both collapsed to the ground as blood began to pool around them. 

“I’d wanted to avoid unnecessary death, but I will not allow anyone to get in my way,” she muttered to herself, gazing at the bodies. As she turned to leave the room though, she heard footsteps. She quickly positioned herself in the shadowy corner where the stone oven didn’t quite touch the wall. Soon the footsteps materialized as a woman in a floor-length beige and green gown, standing where she had a moment before, gazing down at the grisly scene.

Lady Ward shouted in rage, “Whoever you are, show yourself! Now!” She pulled a dagger out of her shoe and continued to yell, “I’ll cut you down where you stand!” At this moment, Iridian made herself known. She stepped out from the shadows and simply said, “Here I am.” Lady Ward turned and saw her, and her expression turned from rage to horror. 

“Y-y-you! It’s not possible!”

“Yes, Lady Sybil Ward,” she said mockingly. “It is me. Your crimes are at an end.” She swung her shield at the Lady’s head, knocking her unconscious as she fell to the ground. “You will be punished for your misdeeds.” She raised her sabaton, and placed it on the unconscious woman’s head. “I will make sure you never hurt any child again!” She shifted all her weight onto the foot and pushed until she felt a crack. As the skull gave way, blood and matter splashed all around the floor. Iridian strolled over to the washing basin and splashed water on her armor, cleaning herself off. She mentally noted, “That’s one down. Doing well so far,” and exited the kitchen, closing the door on the mess she had left.

Back in the hallway, she marched up the stairs and made her way to Cedric’s study. As she passed one of the smaller offices, however, a servant stepped out into her path. He began to profusely apologize, but Iridian, now with fresh, noble blood on her mind, took her spear and impaled him without a second thought.

Arriving at the solar, she attempted to open the door but found it locked. Throwing all remaining sense of stealth to the wind, she kicked it down. Standing in front of her was Sir Ward himself standing in full armor and snatching a large claymore from one of the many racks of weapons. He turned to face her, weapon at the ready.

“Ah, Iridian. I supposed something out of the ordinary was going on, but I never thought I would see your hideous face again. Turn and flee now, and I may even let you live.”

“Flee? I could never do such a cowardly thing! I have lived in the Wyrd for the last ten years absorbing its harsh lessons. I’ve spent every day training and preparing myself for this moment when I can at last put you on trial--trial by combat!” Iridian’s face twisted into a dark grin as her eyes filled with rage and her dark whites swirled as if some mysterious force was working beneath.

“Very well then, if that’s what you want, then you will not leave this room alive!” Sir Ward lunged, sword poised to strike, but as he brought it down on her head, Iridian deflected it with her shield, stabbing her spear towards his undefended shoulder. He barely twisted out of the way and retaliated with a kick that sent her stumbling off balance.

As she fell to the ground, Sir Ward raised his sword up above her chest and plunged it down, but she rolled out of the way and jumped to her feet. She parried the next strike. This time taking better advantage of her opening, she plunged the spear into his clavicle.

He staggered back, dropping his weapon and clutching the handle as he fell to the ground. “I see… you’ve improved quite a lot…” 

“I simply had a task set before me. I did what was necessary to accomplish it.”

Ser Ward continued, “I only ask… ask that you grant this old man one dying request… Please… spare my son…” 

As the last words left his lips, he went limp. Iridian pulled the spear out of his shoulder, then, to ensure the deed was done, took the claymore and severed his head with it. As blood soaked into the carpet, she muttered to herself, “That’s two down. I’m sorry old man, but I must deny your request.” She made her way up to the top floor of the castle, and out onto the wall connecting the main building to the bedroom tower. A guard outside the door attempted to stop her entry, but she grabbed his shoulders and flung him over the crenellations without a word.

Stepping inside, she saw a child, only ten years old, drawing at the foot of a small bed. Silently, she raised her spear, and plunged it through the top of the boy’s skull. “That’s three,” she declared. She turned to leave the room, pausing to glance at the half-finished drawing. It matched the coat of arms displayed throughout the house--a bull and a boar flanking a silver axe. 

She made her way back through the manor and stepped outside, where Tencendur was standing, surrounded by bodies scorched beyond recognition. Ser Iridian Ward mounted her dragon, and they took flight towards the Wyrd. As they passed over Caer Lyon, the dragon roared.

#w101 #wizard101 #wizzy fanfic #wiztober2020

[wyrdsistersofthedas]

Gaiety - A Solavellan Oneshot

 by Artemis, a Wyrd Sister of Thedas.  

Posted in honor of Dragon 4ge Day.  

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

The memories curling at the edge of the Fade were strong in the Emprise du Lion. 

Remnants of a time forgotten haunted the shadows of crumbling fortresses while the children of the villages played under the watchful eyes of relics devoted to gods whose names they did not know. Where once the lost elven nation thrived now occupied spires of crackling scarlet crystals thrumming with sinister power, taking root in the cold earth and in the hearts of men, turning them to crazed zealots mad with the song of corruption whispering promises of power.

The snow crunched beneath Solas’ feet as he followed the Inquisitor past ice-covered towers and looming, barren trees. The chill in the air turned the breath from the entourage to clouds and tinged the tips of their ears a rosy hue rivaling that of a sunburned nug. Glistening specks of crystalline latticework danced throughout the grey sky before falling silently to the ground, pulling an earlier memory of Kialla’s surprised remark of the quiet in the mountains of the Emprise to flit across Solas’ mind, and a fleeting smile crossed his features. 

Despite the deceptively serene landscape of the area, it was anything but. Solas could feel the energy of dark forces at work, simmering beneath the quiet facade presented by the abandoned elven fortresses. Memories tugged at the surface of the Fade throughout the ruins of his people, while the lonely howling of wolves in the distance was rivaled only by the howling of the wind past his ears.

He would rather not linger here.

As the group trekked through the near pristine powder toward their destination, Solas’ mind wandered further. He pondered Kialla, unwittingly thrust into a position of power and influence over a magnitude of frightened and desperate people. The name of “Herald” carried significant weight in Thedas as of late, and garnered her a great amount of attention that she seemed indifferent to at best on some days.

And there was the Anchor. In his days keeping watch over her while she lay unconscious closely following the catastrophic events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he had contemplated the drastic turn of events. Initially, he had been perplexed, and wondered at how the seemingly ordinary Dalish woman could have possibly survived receiving the Anchor at all, accident or no.

And then she woke up, fought by his side, effectively putting the Anchor to use, and tirelessly asked him question after question plucked from an endless flood of curiosity. For a moment that dissipated rather quickly, Solas was hesitant to reveal anything about himself to her, but he saw that sparkle of wonderment in her eyes as he spoke of the Fade, and soon he was speaking of the grace with which she moved in battle before he hardly had the thought to consider the gravity of the words that tumbled from his lips.

Never before, in all his many years, had he ever felt —

A shock of startlingly cold struck him mid-thought, just behind his ear. 

It was all the man could do to blink and sputter as the snow fell from his head to creep beneath his cloak and slither down his neck. Through his surprise, Solas heard a soft giggle emanate from somewhere nearby, and he scanned the trees for the source while doing his best not to squirm as he wiped the icy water picking up speed down his neck. 

A pair of impishly gleaming blue eyes caught his, and Solas glimpsed a coy smirk on Kialla’s lips before the Dalish woman ducked back behind her tree trunk. She dipped down to scoop up another handful of snow, quickly shaping it in her gloved hands before sending it soaring in his direction.

This time, however, he had the mind to sidestep the attack, so that the tightly packed snowball barely grazed the tip of his ear as it flew past and landed some short distance away from his feet with a quiet  Plat!

Ah.

Pieces falling together swiftly in his mind, Solas leapt into action, gathering his own projectile from the blanket of snow. He waited for just the right moment, when she popped out from behind her tree once more with a new pile of snow in hand, and then let it fly.

The problem with his plan, however, was that Kialla was a skilled rogue, and her reflexes were sharp. As soon as she saw his arm wind back to throw, she disappeared from the line of fire. Solas’s own snowball whizzed right past its intended target, flying through the trees to hit none other than the group’s resident Seeker, landing dead center on the back of her head.

Cassandra whirled around, hand already at the hilt of her blade, brown eyes darting wildly around in search of her attacker. Her dark brows creased when she found none. 

“What—”

A sputter of laughter burst from Varric, just a few yards away, drawing her attention, and the woman frowned deeply. The dwarf guffawed heartily, clutching at his belly.

“You — you should have seen that, Seeker!” Varric cackled out when he finally had to stop for air, bending over his knees. “Your face!”

In the midst of his enjoyment at her expense, Varric missed the scowl Cassandra wore, and the tightly packed snowball she sent sailing toward his hunched frame until it nailed him on the crown of his head.

Oh, there was no turning back now.

In a matter of moments, the friendly snowball fight escalated into utter chaos. All manner of dignity was shed and abandoned as it rapidly became every man for himself, taking cover behind trees, snowballs flying left and right, and delighted, near-childlike laughter ringing out like bells through the frozen air.

While Cassandra and Varric were preoccupied in their own battle, Solas took the opportunity to hunt down his sly beloved. Shielding himself behind the trunk of a rather thick pine, he waited, eyes carefully scanning the area for any trace of her familiar evergreen cloak, or her pale blonde hair, or the tip of her treasured longbow.

However, the Dalish-trained hunter was, evidently, exceptionally elusive.

A small and subtle movement in his line of sight caused a light dusting of powder to stir from the snow covered branches, and Solas could feel himself tense, senses honing with anticipation. Another miniscule rustle in the tree kept his eyes glued forward, snowball ready and waiting in his hand while his arm hovered on standby to throw as soon as the time was right. 

Then once more, a flash of movement in the branches that disturbed the snow, and his arm jerked back to wind up his throw...

...and a squirrel emerged from the branches, scurrying down the long tree trunk.

Brow creasing, the mage paused, and in his confusion almost missed the quiet rustling of fabric and quick footsteps approaching from close behind him. A pair of hands enclosed over his eyes and pulled him backward as he grunted in surprise, snowball dropping to the ground where his feet had been seconds before, quickly forgotten. 

A few awkward and fumbling steps backward, and the hands vanished from his eyes to spin the mage around, meeting Solas with those same impishly smiling blue eyes that he so adored, dizzying him in a very real sense.

He only had time to sputter out a dazed, “Vhenan, what are—” as Kialla pinned him against the nearest tree and captured his lips with her own. 

Her mouth was hot, a direct contrast to the bitterly cold nip in the air. The kiss sparked a flame to life between them, and it didn’t take long for Solas to catch up after his unfinished question, reaching up to take her jaw in his hands while simultaneously lessening the distance between them. They explored each other’s mouths for what seemed like hours, until their heads were spinning and they were forced to come up for air, locking eyes as their breaths mingled.

Not a minute later, a burst of cold quite literally smacked them in the face, effectively and abruptly pulling them back to reality as a high-pitched cackle rang out from somewhere behind the trees.

It seemed being taken by surprise was becoming the theme of the day, Solas noted in equal parts mild amusement and indignation as he, yet again, wiped his neck dry of snow with his sleeve, working to repress a scowl. 

“Was that...?”

“Sera?” Kialla finished his thought.

“I wasn’t aware she was accompanying us,” Solas remarked, brow raised.

“Neither was I.”

Kialla, at least, looked just as bewildered as he did, this time. As she shook her head with a quiet laugh, Solas felt his own features soften from annoyance into an affectionate smile. His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, to brush back a stray blonde curl from her cheek, tucking the strand behind her long, pointed ear. 

The simple gesture was so unexpected and gentle that a light tinge of pink dusted Kialla’s cheeks. She smiled, lashes fluttering as the woman looked down bashfully. 

“We should... probably keep moving.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed, running his thumb along her cheek. “Of course, Vhenan.”

As their eyes returned to one another, he couldn’t help but capture her lips once more before setting out, this time in a sweet and chaste kiss that was interrupted only by the grins that neither one of them cared to smother.

#dragon age #dragon age fan fiction #dragon age inquisition #dragon 4ge day #d4 day #solavellan #solas x lavellan #Solas #Lavellan #Cassandra Pentaghast #Varric Tethras #art by artemis lavellan

[eisiramdeus]

FOR  WEEKS  ON  END  THE  MC  HAD  BEEN  PLAGUED with  pointed  fingers  and unneeded  retribution –  they’d  had  their  own  fill  of BODY  BAGS  in  and  out  of  the  club  house,  had  SHED  more  blood  than their  President  could  remember. But  that  of INNOCENTS  had  never  been  his  wont  –  not  for  a  millennia, and  that  hadn’t  changed  with  this  new  age.  Yet  it  was  EASY  to  place  blame  upon  the  rugged  outsiders,  who  lived  on  the  EDGE  of  society  and  dabbled  in  the  dark  dealings  of  VIOLENCE.  Modi was  many  things,  but  he  had  never  been  a  LIAR.  Especially  when  it  came  to  honing RESPONSIBILITY  for  his  antics, for  the  lives  lost  beneath  his  watch.  And  these random,  bloodless  murders  ??  They  WEREN’T  his  doing  –  and  there  was  only  one  man  he  TRUSTED  enough  to  call,  so  the  problem could  be  dealt  with.

Though  he  APPEARED  alone,  there  were  several  pairs  of  claws that  lingered  within  the  darkness,  ready  to  strike  should  their  LORD  come  into  any  trouble  on  his  travels.  He HUNG  BACK as  the  presence  of  the  sheriff  lingered  within  the  home  –  since  he  was already  being  blamed,  it  wouldn’t  be  WISE  to  linger  in  the  company  of  those  who  wished  to  lock  him  up  AGAIN,  now  would  it  ??  But  DEFIANCE  had  ever  been  embedded into  his  psyche  as  the  Fury,  and  he  purposely  crosses  paths  with  the  very  man  in  QUESTION  as  he  saunters  up  the  driveway  –  eye  contact  made  and  lasting  until  Modi  disappears  into  the  THRESHOLD  of  the  home.  A  sigh  rattles  through  the bone - cage  of  his  chest  at  the  sight,  roach  of  his  own  JOINT  tossed  out  through  the  broken  glass

❝  Then  ya  better  tell  me –  but  i’ve  got  my  OWN  ideas,  ❞  there  were  few  creatures  that  would  leave  their  prey  DRY  and  parched  as  this  (  and  he  and  his  own  were  hardly  among  them  ).  ❝  Think  these  little  shits’re  gettin’  BOLD,  and  the  boundaries  of MY  TERRITORY  clearly  aren’t  being  respected  anymore, ❞  that  in  and  of  ITSELF  was reason  alone  for  confrontation.  But  the  added  INSULT  of  blame  being  placed  upon  his  MC  was  ENOUGH  to  ignite  the  smoldering  flame  of  agitation within  his  core.  Icy,  celeste  hues  flicker  from  the  body,  toward  Alexander.  And  he  ALLOWS  a  subtle  simper  to  TUG  at  the  edges  of  his  lips,  ❝  been  better –  can’t  escape  the  throes  of  BATTLE no  matter how  hard  I  try, ❞  time  had  changed  NOTHING  ( but  that  had  always  been  his  wyrd,  hadn’t  it  ??  blood  and  battle  were  all  he  would  ever  know  ).  The  offered  hand  is  TAKEN  and  clasped  against  his  own,  and  he  makes no  attempt  to  conceal  his  claws.  ❝  Thanks  for  COMIN’,  can’t  bring  my  whole  crew  into  this.  But  CLEARLY  it  needs  to  be  dealt  with.  How’ve  YOU  been  ??  ❞

✯ DON’T GET HIM WRONG NOW, THIS IS FAR FROM A     BLOODLESS MURDER. LOTS OF BLOOD, ACTUALLY,     CAN SENSE THE TRACE AMOUNTS OF IRON ON HIS     CLOTHES, SKIN, CARPET, WALS [...] IT IS JUST A     VERY THOROUGH CLEAN UP JOB. THOUGH NOT     THOROUGH ENOUGH. Something about being too     professional in the way you clean. LETS THEM KNOW     WHO YOU ARE. EVERY MASTER WITH AN AMATEUR     AT HEART. REMEMBER TO MISS EVERY NOW AND THEN     LEST THEY THINK EVERY SHOT WITH CERTAINTY IS     FROM THE BARREL OF YOUR GUN. Surely, I killed the man     in nineteen sixty three. MUST HAVE BEEN ME.

If nothing else, Modi, happy to be the one and only man for the job. Always am. That is unfortunate. ❝IT’S MY TERRITORY already now, is it? Dallas n’ Forth Worth can only seat so many Kings these days.❞ A jesting remark as they shake, hand to hand, claw to... whatever is gracefully analogous. Lion’s fangs? Eagle’s talons? I am unsure. Don’t mind it, there are more pressing implications—FOR ONE, the ease at which they do this. No effort to conceal his claws, even in the presence of other people, the sheriff, for one, who moves aside and gathers his thoughts amongst his crew, who will inevitably hit their heads on an infinite series of dead ends trying to untie this one. Nothing leaves a man so high and dry like a vampiress. Poor bastard probably thought he would score, too; invited her in through the front door. Now that is unfortunate. Yet your secret and your claws are safe with me, and amongst us, these hands fit for a king, at ease. The cigar blows out the draft in the window, he cuts into the citizen’s trashcan, a little crude for the scene but surely, he’s got work to do now. Time to stash the toys away  back into his shirt’s front pocket and perform God’s work with his hands. FOR WHEN THEY ARE IDLE, THE DEVIL FINDS WORK FOR THEM. In this case, though, it seems Modi found work for them.

❝Yeah, I hear ya. Not the kind a’ MURDER ya solve with a whole crew anyways. The, uh—❞ he points to the shattered window with his eyes, a slight tilt of the eyebrow toward it. ❝MISSUS out the window 'ere? Not a fan of crowds. But fer two gentlemen with a lot o’ meat on their bones an’ full o’ blood in... well, also their meat? Sure she’ll make the exception. Three’s the lucky number, am I right?❞ EMPUSAS, vile vampiresses, shape-shifting beasts and seducers of men ( too close to home? ) made her first move tonight. That we know of. At least the one that’s been brought to Modi’s attention, and thus, to Alexander’s attention. In any case, this is your end, madame. ❝The irony of it all, though, Mod? The missus is a vampiress. Ten to one it’s one o’ Hekate’s. It’s just that season o’ year they come out o’ hell like this. But I don’t think she even knows yer name; really just looking for her fifteen minutes o’ fun every October. Puttin’ the blame on yer pack o’ boys? That’s just what the folk want to see. Good news is, ain’t no frame job ‘gainst ya. Bad news is, this ain’t the last you’ll get the blame thrown ‘round, buddy.❞ A CHUCKLE AND A FIRM PAT on Modi’s shoulders, lighthearted grin, shaking his head. You’ll live. Sucks to be the center of the wrong kind of attention, though? Deep breath, detective hat’s off, case solved, exterminator’s hat on. The cooler part of the job. Identifying the nature of the beast to the trained, old private eye was the easy part. Now it is fun.

❝Wait on me awhile, will ya? Just gotta... wrap this up with the ol’ sheriff an’ the whole county, else they’re gonna be at it all damn night an’ start graspin’ at every straw.❞ IT’S ALMOST CHILDISHLY CUTE, like a father watches his son fail to ride a bike. If you know, you know, if you don’t, you scrape your knee until you get it right. In this case, you won’t. He leaves Modi’s company for a minute to hit heads with the increasingly desperate Sheriff as he hears the midnight News channel vans already pulling up outside the crime scene. What will he tell them? The vacuum cleaner killer strikes again? Victim, male, 27, claw marks at the carotid, bled dry? In the distant conversation, he seems to yell at the federal agent but that’s hardly Alexander’s problem. A tip of the hat to the men working the midnight shift, and his work here is done. BACK AT MODI’S SIDE, he adjusts his jacket, grin of excitement on his face. This one’s on the house, Modi; been too long since he’s had a hunt that requires a bit of planning rather than just a one-two that punctures the beast’s lungs with his trident. ❝Think ya can point us to the nearest sleazy bar in town? Somewhere a pretty girl might find herself an easy score. That easy score; that’s you, partner.❞ That’s his plan. Draw her out. Let the vampiress lead you someplace only we know, eye to eye, cheek to cheek, one thing leads to another and then [...] just kidding. Just bait the demoness out to the nearest dark corner of the world and remove the nuisance. But St. Alexander cannot wait to see his reaction to the plan. ❝Has to be ya. She’d know my face if she saw it. Real shame, right, bein’ the revered monarch? Otherwise I’d totally do it. Sure you’ll do mighty fine, Mod.❞

#𝐈. IN CHARACTER. #𝐗𝐈. VERSE. MAIN. #maegtig

[moonmadmalk]

((A few people have tagged me and I think most everyone I know has been tagged already.. sooo here letsa go! :3 ))

B A S I C S

Full name: Xerxes ( Cyrus Locke )

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pan!

Pronouns: He/Him, They/Them

O T H E R S

Family: None really at them moment, (Currently unaware of status of parents)

Birthplace: San Antonio, Texas

Job (Current):  Local Funnyman  Currently Jobless

Job (Former): Barista at a local coffee shop

Guilty pleasures: Doesn’t really feel guilty about much of his hobbies

Hobbies: Reading, Telling/Researching joke, Video Games, Watching Cartoons and movies, listening to music and making playlists for him and his friends

M O R A L S

Morality alignment: Solid Good, and fluxuates between Lawful and Chaotic depending on mood.

Sins: Desire / Despair / Envy / Fear / Hunger / Pride / Rage (depends on who’s in control at the moment) / Sloth

Virtues: Charity / Chastity / Diligence / Humility / Justice / Kindness / Patience

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert

organized/disorganized

close minded/open-minded

calm/anxious

disagreeable/agreeable

cautious/reckless (Depends on his mania)

patient/impatient

outspoken/reserved (Depends on his anxiety)

leader/follower

empathetic/unemphatic 

optimistic/pessimistic

traditional/modern

hard-working/lazy

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

(In general shipping and such is a bit confusing for me, so....  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

OTP (canon characters): None

(non-canon characters): Wyrd (Heather Dane? maybe? [Still working that one out] )

acceptable ships (canon characters): None really??? (Haven’t really thought a lot of this stuff out hehe............ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

(non-canon characters):  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

OT3: ???

brotp (canon characters): Lacroix, Mercurio, Andrei, (Probably more!)

(non-canon characters): Everyone!?!?! Literally anyone he meets he is most likely going to be good friends with them. Unless they are a truly bad/awful person

NOTP: Can’t really think of any???? There are some who are certainly more like parental figures to him.

#Xerxes #About the OC #Good gracious im bad at this #screams into the void

[balletshoes-moved]

tagged by: @pristinette​ thank u cyn u da coolest tagging: @mercifulking​ @blucbones​ @bravest​ @bonepranks​ @wyrding​ (chara) @pnkfox​ @merchantnpc​ @warvigilante​

muse aesthetic.

bold the aesthetic for your muse. italicise what can be taken 2 ways.

the softest palms that never want to touch you until after a bottle of wine. / “ just braid your hair if you won’t brush it, at least, you useless girl. ” / pulling on your skirt with one hand as you shuffle away. / “ you’ll get it done before the day is up. ” /  guilt that isn’t yours to have. / it’s a crooked game, but it’s the only one in town. / chains.  / “ how could you do this to me? ”/ the sharp sting of guilt. / you feel something even though you’re paid to do the opposite. / the family you never had. / falling backwards through time. / quicksand. / drowning, but you don’t save yourself. / “ you’re getting better. ” / “ they smile like a snake.” / you’re the stars and the sky. / there’s a part of you that couldn’t stay away even if you were forced to. / they are your wings, there’s no doubt there. / “ let’s take off somewhere. let’s fly. ” / you edge a bit too close to the sun. / another ghost to take your place after every stumble. / deep roots in the ground slashed open in the sun. / rock candy melting in water. / waves rise and leave the foam behind. / the precipice you call home has a tip you’ll reach eventually. / happiness is the best front a man can take. / “ i’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you before. ” / you disagree; they’re more beautiful. / discomfort at the tiniest of touches. / the sky opens up when you see them. / rain comes down. / poppy fields. / your sanity hanging by a thread. / “ oh god, what have you done? ” / roommates weren’t supposed to be the smartest ones of all. / they’ve got a devil on their shoulder and an angel in their mind. / you try to help, but it only got worse. / now they’re dead, it’s all your fault. / adam & eve in the garden. / a temptress in crisp button-downs. / “ fuck, you’ve gone off the deep end, haven’t you? ” / they lie so perfectly you almost forget yourself. / the spark that lit the kindling on your funeral pyre. / sugar and spice and a taste for the dark side. / yes saint laurent black opium on your pillow, a scented cloud drifting behind you like a cape. / crisp green apples piled up on the table. / your shoes are sharp, but your wit is even sharper. / what a pretty one, they say. / you laugh without humor. / a soft, hollow spot sits in your chest. / there’s a place you’ll never leave no matter who tries to stop you. / the seat of power fits like a glove. / heavy is the head that wears the crown. / you share a space, but not a mind. / they think you are weak; you are, maybe. / “ what are you going to do with all of these pills? ” / an empty bird’s nest. / broken pencil tips. / there’s an empty paper in front of you that you’ll never fill. / “ we want you to succeed. i hope you can grasp that. ” / “ they weren’t there when it happened. ” / corruption. / there’s a red string tying you together. / the scent of whiskey on the horizon. / “ you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. ” / pink tipped fingers lock in secrecy. / 99 red balloons drifting through a hazy sky. / you try to lift your head up, but it’s so much effort. / always walking on sunshine. / there’s a million reasons to come down from the clouds, but you can’t be bothered. / hair twisted up with glitter butterfly clips like a haphazard mobile. / you drift, but you know where you’re going. / no one has any dirt on you because you’re infinitely spotless. / the empty side of your bed they crawled into when they were nine. / court hearings. / “ I miss you. ” / siblings are a funny thing. / they point out every family-shaped hole in every picture on the mantelpiece. / graves piled on top of graves. / blackbird screaming / wake in nightmares / are you an illusion? / I don’t feel real. / the dark winter night where you lost everything. / the numb mourning of reading your own gravestone.

#prompts. #long post / #headcanon. #all of these just make me go *minecraft oof*