eilonwiiy

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; A Witchlands AU

Chapter 13

After spotting Iseult with Leopold at the library, Aeduan has decided to walk away from their tentative friendship. But a weekend with his sisters (and the impending doom of Valentine's Day) puts his resolve to the test...

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

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From inside the car, Aeduan felt as much as heard the muffled thud of the trunk being closed.  A moment later, the passenger door swung open and Libset and Cora piled into the backseat, wearing matching school uniforms that were barely visible under heavy winter coats.  

“Do you have everything?” Aeduan asked, closing the book he’d been reading and setting it on the seat beside him. 

“Oh it’s nice and warm in here,” Lisbet said a little out of breath.  She tugged at her seatbelt and snapped the buckle into place.  “Yes, we have everything.”  

“Sketchbook?” Aeduan asked.

“Yes.”

“Colored pencils?”

“Yes.”

“Snow pants?”

“Yes.”

“Extra socks?”

“Yes.”

“Pickles and Rook?”

“Yes!” Lisbet and Cora replied in unison. 

Aeduan twisted around to look at his sisters.  After picking them up from school, they’d stopped at their house long enough for them to grab their belongings for the weekend.  Owl, nestled between them in her car seat, was still napping from the car ride to Ponzin.

“You’re sure you have everything?” Aeduan pressed a third time.  As he said this, his gaze lingered on Cora.  Once, she’d forgotten to pack her favorite pair of pajamas and Aeduan would never forget the shitstorm that followed.  However, today Cora only flashed him a toothy smile and nodded, hugging her stuffed elephant to her chest. 

Aeduan looked at Lisbet for confirmation.  She nodded.

He turned forward in his seat and soon they were pulling onto the sleepy street his childhood home lived on.  He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of the climbing rose growing on the side of the house.  Once upon a time it would blossom with roses, white with the faintest tinge of pink, its vines climbing higher and higher with every passing year so that its limbs eventually reached the window to Aeduan’s bedroom.  

Then his mother died.  Now it clung to the side of the house like a long-legged spider, naked and dead.  

“He wasn’t home,” Lisbet said as they passed Covent Academy.  Less than 20 minutes ago the place had been swarming with children, the air thrumming with excitement for the weekend, while cars sat bumper to bumper on both sides of the road.  Now all that was left was a tangled web of footprints immortalized on the snowy lawn and a few cars sitting in the teachers’ parking lot.  Lisbet waved to the familiar crossing guard packing up their gear into the trunk of his little hatchback.  He stopped, freeing a hand to tip his baseball cap in recognition.  

“Da works in Tirla on Fridays now.”  

“I know,” Aeduan gruffed out, though in truth he had not.  Lisbet said nothing else and Cora pounced on the opportunity to chatter away about her friend Marta and a game they had invented at recess.  Aeduan half-listened while the rest of him went through the motions of piloting the car home.  

Ragnor.  This was probably the longest Aeduan had gone without seeing his father.  It didn’t take much maneuvering on his part to avoid crossing paths (Ragnor made it easy by never being around), but what was less easy to avoid was the matter of his own absence, not when he shared his father with two other people.  For as long as Lisbet and Cora had been alive, they’d all lived under the same roof together.  Until, suddenly, they didn’t.  

“Do you have glitter?”

Aeduan blinked out at the highway, having lost track of the conversation.  “Do I have - ?”

“Glitter.”  The word came out hushed, almost reverent, even in Cora’s eight-year-old voice.  “I need it for my valentines.”

His sisters had made it very clear that their weekend plans would require craft supplies - not exactly something he kept on hand.  Owl hadn’t yet expressed an interest in expanding her artistic palette beyond coloring (thank god) and as for Aeduan, even with swaths of free time at his disposal, he had not been hit with the sudden realization that the solution to all his problems lay in a cross stitch.  His life may have detoured to new lows as of late, but he wasn’t that far gone.  

As far as he was concerned, February 14th was just another day in the year.  It took little effort on his part to ignore its existence, just another one of the many benefits of reaching adulthood.  When he was a kid he had no say in the matter.  He’d been forced to participate in every inane ritual the holiday called for, including handing out valentines to all of his classmates whether he liked them or not.  That kind of public humiliation was far behind him, but thanks to the exploitations of corporate capitalists everywhere, the spirit of St. Valentine was still very much alive, and unlike him, Cora and Lisbet were more than happy to participate in the annual brainwashing. 

“You’re eight,” Aeduan had said over the phone the night before when Cora finished rattling off her list of demands.  “How many valentines could you possibly need to make?”

“I have a lot of friends,” Cora had informed him matter-of-factly.  Then she’d asked, “How many friends do you have?”  

And so ended further discussion and Aeduan reluctantly resolved to stop at the nearest arts and crafts store before picking them up from school.  Currently, a sizable chunk of the store’s inventory sat in the trunk of his car, though there was one notable exception.  

“I didn’t get any glitter,” Aeduan said.  Cora’s crestfallen gasp was an arrow to his heart, but he otherwise managed to look diffident.  

“But my cards!”

“They’ll be full of just as much love with or without them,” Lisbet consoled her sagely before Aeduan could say anything.  

This was not what Cora wanted to hear.  She squeezed Pickles tight and directed a pouty glare to the window.  Aeduan reached next to him for a paper bag sitting in the passenger’s seat.  He passed it to the backseat.  “Sulk or snack?  Your choice.”

Cora only held Pickles tighter, expression deepening into a scowl that could rival Owl’s.

“She can do both,” Lisbet said, taking the bag and opening it in her lap.  “Oh.”

Aeduan glanced over his shoulder.  “What?”

“You got donuts.” 

“You like donuts.”

“I know I do.”  Lisbet pulled out a rainbow sprinkled donut and took a bite.  She chewed it slowly, like she was trying to deduce its molecular makeup from a single taste.  Then, “Did something happen to Jitters?”

Aeduan’s foot tapped down on the gas pedal and he pulled ahead of the station wagon in the lane next to them before veering smoothly into the open road in front of them.

“No.”

“This is the second time you’ve gotten donuts.”

The station wagon’s horn blared.  Aeduan sped up.  70 mph.  80.   

“You usually get Jitters on Fridays.”

“If you don’t want donuts anymore, just say so,” Aeduan said, lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror and giving Lisbet a formidable look that immediately transformed him into their father.  Lisbet barely noticed.  She picked at the sprinkles on her donut, imparting a pensive hm for him to ponder over.  

Aeduan knew that hm.  It belonged to his father and, by the laws of genetics or overexposure, it had been passed down to him.  Lisbet was far too young to be using it.  He jabbed a knob on the dashboard and music flowed from the speakers.  Aeduan recognized the song though he did not know the band.  It sounded like every other generic pop anthem played on the radio - soulless, but just catchy enough to get stuck in your head for hours after hearing it.  They rode the rest of the journey in silence save for the radio, each song bleeding into each other, as indistinguishable as the next, until the familiar skyline of Venaza City appeared.   

“Can we stop at the library?” Lisbet asked. 

Aeduan had to work to stop himself from visibly bristling.  He kept his eyes fixed on the car in front of them, a battered winnebago.  Thick exhaust clouds billowed out of its tailpipe, the engine rattled. 

“What do you need at the library?” he asked.

“A book.”

“Why didn’t you bring something from home?”  Aeduan’s next exhale came out heavy with irritation.  “I asked if you had everything you needed for the weekend before we left, Lis.”

“I’ve read all my books.”

Aeduan didn’t say anything at first.  It was a solid explanation.  She was an even more avid reader than he had been at her age, though her insatiable appetite for make-believe stories was thankfully less tragic than his at the time.  Aeduan rapped his fingers along the steering wheel. 

“Won’t you be busy making your valentines?” he asked, attempting to appeal to her with reason.  “I was led to believe you two had lots of friends.”  He eyed Cora in the mirror and caught the tiniest curl of a smile partially hidden behind Pickles’ big ears.  Lisbet, on the other hand, frowned.  

“Why can’t we just stop there on the way home?”

Why indeed.  

A week had passed since Aeduan had last seen Iseult and, to his annoyance, even less time since she’d crossed his thoughts, never failing to have Leopold fon Cartorra rudely in tow.  He didn’t know what he hated more.  The possibility that Iseult may share something with a moronic halfwit such as Leopold or how the plausibility of that possibility made him feel.  In the end, it didn’t matter.  He had decided to keep his distance, and with that choice came a strangely freeing sense of relief.  At first, he’d been angry with himself for resorting to such drastic action.  But then he’d realized what an unnecessary weight it’d been to carry around, that warring feeling he felt whenever he saw Iseult.  He barely knew her, and yet, she loomed so big in his thoughts.  It was too much.  Aeduan didn’t have room for her.  He had enough problems in his life, real problems.  Like finding a new source of income (he couldn’t stay unemployed forever) or what he would do if the adoption fell through (he never let himself entertain this scenario for too long).  Letting go of what he could only describe as a tentative friendship at best was the sensible choice.

But Aeduan wasn’t about to share any of this with Lisbet or Cora.  He was an adult.  He’d earned the right to not have his life choices analyzed by his little sisters, and someday when Lisbet grew up, she’d earn that right too.  He did not want to go to the library.  Therefore, he would not go to the library.   

“Let’s just go home,” he finally said.

From the rearview mirror, Aeduan saw that Lisbet was giving him a strange look.  

“What?” he demanded.  

“You’re being weird.” 

“Thanks,” Aeduan deadpanned.  She’d have to be a lot more imaginative than that to put a dent in his ego. 

“I don’t get why we can’t stop there,” Lisbet trudged on.  She waved a hand at the window, the storefronts lining the street leading to the city square slowly passing by.  “It’s not like it’s out of the way.”

“I’m the one driving.  I’ll tell you whether or not it’s out of the way.”

“We’re literally going to pass it in 10 seconds.”

“Lis.”

“I’ll be quick.”

The winnebago in front of them came to a sudden stop and Aeduan slammed his foot down on the brakes.  The car jolted forward, startling Cora and waking Owl.  Honks of outrage immediately sounded off behind them.  Lisbet only stared at the reflection of Aeduan in the rearview mirror, an unmistakable challenge in her bright, pale eyes.  Aeduan could feel the traitorous way his heart was racing.  He tried to tell himself it was from the near accident he’d almost gotten them in.

“Fine,” Aeduan gritted out, sounding like he was using a very different f-word.  

Lisbet leaned back in her seat, smug satisfaction written all over her face.  Tugging sharply on the steering wheel, Aeduan swerved the car around the winnebago, sending a venomous look to its driver as they passed.  

He didn’t feel much like the adult anymore.

[eilonwiiy]

I’m back to writing Bookends and it feels so gooooooood

Here’s a snippet from chapter 13

Safi was busy getting ready when Iseult entered their apartment.  

“So what book is it again?”  Safi asked, pulling her shirt off over her head and disappearing into her room.  Iseult stared after her.  

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course, I am.”  Safi reemerged wearing a different top, a loose low-cut blouse that would look lethal paired with her leather jacket.  She inspected herself in the mirror, posing at a couple different angles before giving her reflection a satisfied nod of approval.  “I’ve heard you gush about this book so many times I didn’t even have to read it.”

Safi slipped on her jacket and tucked her long hair out from under the back with a flourish that, had they been out on the street, would've caused several heads to turn.  She looked especially good for a night of discussing the machinations of reclusive witches and their covenants.

Safi noticed Iseult staring as she dabbed on some lip gloss.  “What?”

“Nothing,” said Iseult with a small shake of her head.  “You just look nice.”  

“Should I change into my wimple?”

“That won’t be necessary.”  Iseult dropped her apron onto the small square of counter space that acted as their kitchen table and shuffled into her bedroom.  She stopped in front of her closet and stared at its contents.  Several minutes passed. 

Iseult had planned on just wearing what she already had on, but watching Safi making eyes at herself in the mirror she was suddenly self-conscious of the loose threads at the cuffs of her wool sweater and the ever-lingering smell of coffee beans that clung to everything she owned.  That aspect of her being couldn't be helped regardless of whether or not she changed, but she could at least look like she hadn’t been out in a field shepherding a herd of sheep all day.

“That’s nice,” Safi said, watching Iseult inspect a plum colored sweater from the door.  

“Mm maybe.”  Iseult passed on a couple more unremarkable shirts before stopping on something else.  It was a dress.  An especially pretty dress, in fact.  It had been tucked out of sight for so long she’d honestly forgotten she even owned it.  It was simple in its design, long sleeves and a high neck collar that made up for its noticeable lack of length, and made with a soft velvet that tapered off at the waist.  The thing Iseult really loved about it was the nearly imperceptible stars stitched into the fabric with gold thread that winked like the night sky when the light hit them just right.  

For Iseult, shopping was rarely ever an inspiring experience, but she remembered falling in love with the dress the instant she saw it.  There was a small hole on the underside of one of the sleeves, which was the only way she was able to afford it.  Even with the discount, she remembered how guilty she felt after taking the plunge and walking out of the store with it.  Spending a chunk of that week’s paycheck on a dress that she’d likely never have an occasion to wear.  

Iseult took the dress off the hanger and draped it onto the bed.

Safi beamed.  

[eilonwiiy]

[eilonwiiy]

[eilonwiiy]

[eilonwiiy]

Horizon Forbidden West ▶ ⤐ Kotallo｛5/∞｝

[eilonwiiy]

I saw an onrushing storm. The future comes hungry, for man and machine. It will catch me, I expect. Catch us all! So enough hunts, enough visions. I’ll run-- chase that teasing sun to the Forbidden West.

[eilonwiiy]

It is always easier to blame gods or legends than it is to face our own mistakes.  This land is no more cursed than any other.  It is simply seeped in too much blood.

[eilonwiiy]

[eilonwiiy]

[eilonwiiy]

Witchshadow musings...

Ever since I finished Witchshadow, I’ve been trying (and failing) to collect all my thoughts about the book so I can write up a post... but I think I need to get one thing off my chest before I can go into anything about the story or the characters.  It’s overshadowing all other thoughts about the book so I’m hoping once I just say it, I can let it go and move on. 

In truth, I’m a bit bummed about Witchshadow.  My disappointment has very little to do with plot and all to do with the fact that Iseult’s story needed to be two books. 

I don’t really feel like spending too much time speculating why Susan’s editor had her combine two books into one.  There’s too much about the publishing world I don’t know enough about and making assumptions isn’t something I feel like doing.  It will only be more frustrating than cathartic, so I’m not even going to go there.  Aside from the obvious culprit, money, all I can guess is that she wanted Susan to wrap up the series sooner rather than later because of the developing tv show and/or other projects.  And you know, maybe within the context of their conversations around it, going down that avenue made sense.  Who knows?  I can only speak from my perspective as a reader, and as a reader, it really didn’t work for me.

Iseult’s story desperately needed space to breathe.  And when you’re already three books into a series, with the overall trajectory of the story mapped out, being tasked with cramming two books into one seems like a ludicrous, if not impossible, demand.  How do you do that without killing the integrity of your story?  How do you preserve the plot for the remainder of the series?  It gives me heart palpitations just imagining being in that position.  It just shows how little control authors have over their stories at times.    

All I could think about while reading Witchshadow was, “I wish Susan had been given the space to write Iseult’s story the way she originally envisioned.”  She deserved it.  Iseult deserved it.  Readers deserved it.  It kills me that we missed out on so much story.  Because all the fundamental plot points were there!  Again, I didn’t take much issue with the actual story.  But for a series as complex as The Witchlands is, it suffered being boxed into such a tight space.  While I firmly believe this series is purposefully enigmatic, several points that I’m sure have been cooking since the very first book came across as rushed and underdeveloped because of how much needed to be crammed into this installment.  Which is tragic!!  Anyone who’s ever listened to Susan talk about writing and storytelling knows how much thought she puts into her work.  There was just too much to cover for one book.  Aeduan was basically cut from the book to make it work but that’s a rant for another day

To be clear, my love for this series hasn’t changed.  I just wanted to get this out of my system because I felt like it was holding me back from talking about anything else.  For the most part, I like to keep my fandom experience positive, but the occasional pinch of salt won’t kill me.  It’s kind of an inevitability that the things we love will have a misstep and disappoint us (I’m a life-long Star Wars devotee - I know that all too well), but I’m here to have fun, so that’s what I’m going to do.

[eilonwiiy]

uh huh

[eilonwiiy]

[eilonwiiy]

can december slow down??  i’m not even remotely in the holiday spirit yet and we’re only two weeks away from christmas. :’(

[eilonwiiy]

Moon Mugs

Alive Ceramics Shop on Etsy

[eilonwiiy]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… the only Disney remake I want is an animated series of The Black Cauldron/ The Chronicles of Prydain done in the style of the Dragon Prince.

Oh, the style of TDP would suit this dark, epic fantasy series so well. We could have one season for each of the five books, and Taran absolutely stands as a Callum type of hero figure! With a series I believe Taran could become a very unique, enjoyable protagonist. 

Once TDP ends, I absolutely need this on Disney+ for my animated fantasy fix. THIS is the kind of creative opportunity and thinking which Disney remakes should be born out of, not just doing a carbon copy of every classic.