#truthwitch fic

[youlovemeade]

Witchlands: Modern AU!

Hey!! So @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername made these awesome aesthetics and press blurbs for a Witchlands Modern AU, and I used those (with their blessing!) as a jumping off point for what will hopefully be a multi-chapter fic of idk how many chapters. I’ll probably post one per week so I can still do drabbles throughout the week too. No promises, though, because I’m not the best with consistency and as with all the writing I do, even that which is wholly my own, I start strong and fade fast and never finish... 

You can see the awesome aesthetics/press blurbs here:

Safi x Merik

Iseult x Aeduan

Ryber x Kullen

Vivia x Stix

I quoted some of the things in the Safik and Baeseult posts in my fic below. They’re really cool so I would definitely check them all out, like them and reblog them!!

People who asked for tags if I wrote this: @morebooks-pls @inopinion

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Susan Dennard, and the ideas came from @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername

Word Count: 1260

Rating: PG-13 for language.

Trigger Warnings: Reference to potential forced marriage. (Let me know if there are others I should add and I will do so immediately!!)

The magazine made a harsh slapping sound as it hit the coffee table. As soon as it was down, Safi changed her mind and picked it back up, tearing it open to the offending page and reading the article for the hundredth time.

Iseult didn’t quite sigh from her place on Safi’s sofa, but Safi could so easily feel the exasperation radiating off of her that she might as well have. Still, Safi said, “Found people my age to date?” Her grip on the magazine tightened until it rippled under her fingers. “As if I found Henrick. As if I sought him out, and now I finally came to my senses and found someone appropriate. And what is this ‘too close to be innocent’ bullshit?”

“Boys will be boys and old men will be old men,” Iseult replied, her voice monotone as always. “All of this was obviously out of Henrick’s control and you were at fault for enabling him.”

Safi didn’t respond to that, though, as she was already past Henrick and onto Merik. She turned the magazine so Iseult could see, folding one half behind the other to narrow the focus. “Look at this picture they put in here, Iseult.” She tapped her index finger furiously against the photo of her and Merik leaving the art exhibit opening, hand-in-hand. The tabloid had blown up their hands into a separate circle from the main photo. “Look!”

Iseult looked, quite dutifully, even though Safi had made her look thrice already, before meeting her friend’s eyes. “You slut.”

Safi groaned loud enough to shake her penthouse and threw the magazine behind her. It made quite a bit of noise as it fell through the air, but she didn’t bother to see where it landed. She just flopped down onto the couch to let her groaning continue.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Iseult said, her head tilted so she could see around Safi, as she apparently did want to see where the magazine ended up. “It seems like your plan is working.”

“We don’t know that,” Safi countered. “And we won’t know until I get a call from uncle Eron.”

“You say, as if he’s looked up from the bottle long enough to notice that you’ve done anything.”

Safi groaned again and tried not to let the truth feel like a hit. Iseult was right, of course, but it still pained her to think about her uncle, his drinking problem, and how easily messing up her entire life came to him when he was inebriated.

“Why did I do this, again?” Safi asked.

“I don’t know. You made the decision without me.”

“It’s an utterly stupid idea that puts me in utterly unbearable situations.”

“Again, your idea.”

“And Merik Nihar? I mean, honestly. Of all the people in New York - Merik Nihar.”

“Completely your choice.”

“His palm was sweaty.”

“Seems fake.”

Safi sniffed at that, indignantly. “Well. His tie was crooked.”

“That’s true,” Iseult replied, a ghost of a smile on her face that made Safi smile, too, despite everything. Her friend let the silence be for a minute before continuing. “I get it. It’s annoying. But this is what you want. Henrick hasn’t made the official engagement announcement, and now his team will hold off because of the publicity you have with Merik. They’ll tell Eron to get you under control and will wait until your press has calmed down to announce, and you, of course, won’t get under control and instead will make an announcement of your own: you’re Merik Nihar’s girlfriend. It will work.”

Safi found herself nodding halfway through, but her stomach still twisted with a sense of wrongness. She couldn’t relax, because something in her gut was screaming at her that this would go sideways, because all her plans always went sideways.

But Iseult’s didn’t, and Iseult was right in front of her telling her that it would be okay. So it would be okay.

“When?” she asked. “When do you think will be a good time to make that announcement?”

“Ryber and Kullen’s wedding? It’s just a few weeks away, and though they wish they could completely avoid the press, we know they won’t be able to. If you can post something to Instagram and draw the attention away from them...”

“Yeah,” Safi replied, and she nodded for good measure. “Yeah. I’ll ask Ryber.”

Iseult nodded, too, and Safi relaxed enough to reach down and start to undo the buckle that trapped her foot in her way-too-painful heels. When Iseult didn’t reach down to remove her own shoes - sensible tennis shoes, because Iseult was always sensible - Safi paused. “You’re not staying,” she said. It was a statement more than a question, because Safi was already sure of the answer.

“I’m not. I have an appointment.”

“To do what…?”

Iseult’s nose wiggled, just a bit, nostrils flaring, and Safi knew that she didn’t appreciate this line of questioning - which only convinced Safi to stay on it. “I’m meeting with Aeduan.”

Safi blinked at her. Once. Twice. Then she made quick work of sliding off her first shoe and unbuckling and sliding off the second, before throwing the upper half of her body over the couch in what she was sure was an inelegant sight. “You know,” she said, her hand clasping the previously abandoned magazine. “I was not the only one featured in this magazine.” She grunted as she pushed herself up from over the back of the couch and turned to face her friend again. She ripped the magazine back open and turned it back to Iseult, her finger this time furiously tapping a footnote below a picture of Iseult and Aeduan talking by a painting in the exhibit. “Are their recent meet-ups for dinners and at galas with their friends just casual?” She quoted. “Or is something else cooking?”

“If something else was cooking,” Iseult replied, cool as ever. “You would know.”

“Why don’t I know whatever is actually happening, even if you’re not whipping up a meal?”

Iseult didn’t have an immediate answer to that, which made Safi frown. She didn’t say anything more, though, because she wouldn’t squeeze the answer out of her friend. Even if she wanted to.

“He asked for my help,” Iseult said, slowly, in that way she always did when she was choosing her words carefully. Safi knew it to be a lingering habit from when she had to work to get over her stutter. “I’m helping.”

Safi held herself back from releasing a breath that would have sounded way too disappointed. “Is he okay?” Iseult nodded. “Fine, then. But if you or he need my help too…”

“I’ll ask,” Iseult reassured her. “Always. I know I can ask.”

Safi returned her nod, and then finally let out her breath in the form of an overly dramatic sigh. She let herself fully lay down on her couch, in a movement that could only be described as a flop. “You may leave, I suppose.”

Iseult’s reply to that was a pillow in Safi’s face, which had Safi laughing instantly. She kept the pillow where it was, letting its weight against her eyelids act as a comfort that would lull her into an afternoon nap.

“I am taking this magazine with me,” Iseult said, and Safi heard its pages flutter against each other as she picked it up. “And recycling it. Don’t overthink things.”

“That’s funny, coming from you.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Goodbye, Iz.”

Safi could hear Iseult’s smile even though she couldn’t see it. “Bye.”

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; A Witchlands AU

Chapter 8

When Aeduan’s old partner shows up, he is confronted with a shocking piece of news.  Meanwhile, Iseult learns that not talking is just as hard as talking.

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

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

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi @twilightlegacy13

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

“You surprise me, partner.”

Aeduan’s jaw ticced.  He didn’t need to look to know who was behind him.

“Never did hear where you ended up.  Not that I asked.”

Slowly, Aeduan turned to face Lizl.  She hadn’t changed since he left the force.  Her dark hair was pulled in a single tight braid, not a hair out of place, leaving her amber brown face bare.  Her badge gleamed against her policeman’s uniform, shiny, like she’d polished it the night before.  Aeduan knew that she did.  They’d been partners, after all.

As tall as Aeduan was, Lizl was taller.  He rolled his gaze upward, expression flat.  She was grinning smugly at him, like she’d caught him in a more nefarious act than buying coffee.

“What, no hug?” she asked innocently.

Aeduan didn’t react.  “What do you want, Lizl?”

“A cup of coffee.”  She folded her arms across her chest.  Her posture was deceptive in its casualness.  In the 14 years he’d known Lizl, he’d come to know that there wasn’t a relaxed bone in her body.  “Turns out this place runs a good bargain.”  She gestured to him.  “Free refills and a floorshow.”

Lizl’s gaze fell to Owl in his arm and Aeduan watched her expression soften.  She may have hated Aeduan’s guts, but there were lines she wouldn’t cross.  She wouldn’t pull any shots in front of a child.  She held herself to a strict moral code that wasn’t just reserved for convicts.  It was one of the things Aeduan respected most about her.  

That didn’t mean he had to like her, though.

Aeduan glanced over at the coffee counter.  Iseult hadn’t come back yet and some of the tension he’d been holding since Lizl’s surprise appearance loosened.  That kid was probably still talking her ear off and for that, he was grateful - even if that did mean she was suffering.  He didn’t want her to see him with a cop.  For some reason, he cared about what she would think.  He didn’t know why, but he did.

“What do you want, Lizl?” he demanded again more firmly.  

“Nothing.  You’re about the last person I’d ever want to run into,” she answered, a little of her casual exterior slipping.  There was a hint of sourness in her tone.  Her jaw clenched and unclenched with her lips pressed firmly shut as they stared at each other.  

“So,” she finally said.  “Is it everything you hoped it’d be?”

“Is what everything I’d hoped it would be?” Aeduan asked, more bored than curious.

“Life without the badge.”  Lizl paused.  “Or your daddy’s leash.”

So much for that strict moral code.

Aeduan swiped his coffee cup off the counter and, without so much as a glance at Lizl, marched to the door and left the cafe.  There were lines Aeduan wouldn’t cross in front of Owl too.  If he’d stayed, he might forget that.  Besides, he didn’t owe her anything.  If anything, he’d done her a favor by walking away - from police force and right now.

It didn’t take long for the bells above the door to Jitters to jingle again.

“I just don’t get it,” Lizl voice knifed through the cold.  It had started to flurry.  “That job was your life.  You were in your dad’s pocket.  Set to make detective.  Become head of the department when Bastien retired.  Why throw it all away?”

“Why do you care?” Aeduan snarled, pivoting and getting right up in her face.  He kept his voice low, not wanting to wake Owl.

Lizl frowned, not the least bit phased by him invading her personal space.  “I don’t care.  I’m just- confused.  You could have had everything.”

“And with me out of the way you can have everything.  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?  Make detective, have a shot at the promotion.”  Lizl only stared stonily at him and Aeduan shook his head, expelling some of his frustration and replacing it with exasperation.  “I don’t know why you're angry at me.  We were never friends.”

Lizl nodded.  “Just partners.”

“Exactly.  So what is the problem?  I thought you’d be happy that I left.”

A bitter laugh burst from Lizl’s mouth.  “Happy?”  She shook her head at the ground and dug her boot heel into the concrete, leaving little half moons in the thin layer of snow coating the sidewalk.  She buried her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket.  She seemed to be weighing her options - over what Aeduan had no idea.  He just watched, waiting.  When Lizl looked up, she was grinning, but there was no amusement in it.

“You have no idea, do you?”

Aeduan’s insides went cold.  “What are you talking about?”

Lizl looked off to the side.  Something had shifted.  The hostility was gone.  She just shook her head like she couldn’t get over whatever it was she was about to say.  Eventually, she looked him dead in the eye.  

“I didn’t make detective.”

A line wedged itself between Aeduan’s eyebrows.  He didn’t know what he had expected her to say, but he hadn’t expected that.  With or without Aeduan in her way, Lizl was a shoe-in for the job, a star cadet all throughout their time at the academy, second only to Aeduan.  No one worked harder than she did.  Her not making detective was… inconceivable.  

For the first time in months, Aeduan felt the heady rush of a facing puzzle itching to be solved.  There had to be some ulterior motive on the line here.  She wasn’t giving him the full picture.  

“And I didn’t get the promotion.”

Aeduan’s spine straightened.  He didn’t like the way Lizl was looking at him.  She was still wearing that awful smile that wasn’t a smile.  It set his nerves on edge.  

“Would you like to know who your father picked for the job?”

Aeduan found himself tensing, bracing for the answer without asking to be told.  

“Natan fon Leid.”

Natan fon Leid.  It took a whole 5 seconds for the name to sink in.  He’d grown into quite the impressive egotistical prick, having been a bully all of Aeduan’s childhood.  He’d never really understood how or why the jerk was stationed in the Domestic Violence Unit.  He wasn’t exactly a drain on the department, but as far as he could tell, there wasn’t an altruistic bone in Natan’s body.  The thought of him running the DVU was unsettling to say the least.

And complete bullshit.

“My father,” Aeduan said, doing nothing to keep the venom out of his voice, “would never replace Bastien with Natan fon Leid.  Bastien was a man of honor.  Integrity.  Natan is nothing more than a power hungry lapdog.”

“I agree,” Lizl responded without blinking an eye.  “And now he’s your father’s lapdog.”

Aeduan’s chest puffed out.  He hated the way his blood boiled at even the slightest mention of his father, even though they weren’t speaking - even though he had every right to despise him.  He still couldn’t temper the urge to come to his defense.  And that angered him even more - maybe more than anything Lizl had to say.  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he ground out coldly.  There wasn’t much else he could do with Owl curled into his chest.

“Ask him,” Lizl simply replied, ununciating each word crisp and cool.  It sounded more like a challenge than a suggestion.

He’d do no such thing.  

Aeduan had never been crazy enough to carry around some fancy notion that being partners had meant anything to Lizl.  She’d never liked him.  Hated him, even.  But they’d worked alongside each other for years and never let their personal feelings get in the way of justice.  

The snow was coming down in earnest now.  Owl stirred in Aeduan’s arm breaking the tension for them.  Lizl’s expression went blank and after a couple seconds of grudging deliberation, she gestured resignedly to her squad car parked by the sidewalk.

“Do you want a ride?” she asked.  She sounded tired, like she already knew the answer.

Aeduan didn’t reply.  He didn’t say goodbye.  He just turned away from Lizl and left her standing on the sidewalk.  There was nothing left to say.  Not to her, at least.

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

The new Fiona Apple album thrumming through Iseult's earbuds was doing nothing to cover up the lively debate going on in her head.

For what felt like the first time in forever, Iseult wasn’t working in the Children’s Room, but rather shelving books upstairs as she once used to.  She should have been relieved.  She could finally have a quiet evening without the stress of worrying about patrons coming up to her with questions or children unexpectedly popping up between bookshelves.  

But she wasn’t relaxed.  She couldn’t relax, in fact.  No, instead, she was torturing herself over whether or not to call Aeduan.

Leave it to her to let a complete stranger ruin her evening of peace.  She still carried his phone number from their encounter at Jitters yesterday in the safety of her pocket, and even though the first thing she'd done when she got to work was find his book, she had yet to get in touch with him.  

She’d said she would, so she should.  But with each hour that passed, it was growing more and more late, and the window of opportunity to call was getting smaller by the second.  Surely Aeduan would still be up.  But as the clock approached 9, she found herself wishing she had mustered the courage to call him during the day when it was still light outside.

For Iseult, nighttime meant winding down.  Eating leftover Arithuanian takeout right out of the carton in her monkey slippers and fuzzy bathrobe.  Curling up with a book and falling asleep mid-paragraph with the light on.  

But this was Veñaza City and she was some weird anomaly.  While she was nose-deep in Joan Didion, some twenty-something year old was taking their third shot of the evening before heading out to a party.  While she was setting her phone alarm for 6 a.m., someone was texting their hook-up.  While her and Safi fought over who got to take a shower first in the morning, someone was getting thrown out of a bar.

Veñaza was a college town and it was no secret to Iseult that she was living a much less thrilling life than her former peers.  While normally that wouldn’t bother her (why submit herself to the experience of doing jello shots when the option to eat a jello cup and not throw up was right there?), wondering if Aeduan shared her nightime habits made her feel self-conscious.  He may have had a kid, but that didn’t make him a monk.

She thought about what it would be like dialing his number and him picking up, his voice deep and rough sounding on the other end of the phone.  A shiver ran through her.  Then nausea.

She couldn’t do it.  

Late night phone calls were reserved for hook-ups or emergencies.  Not librarians.

She sighed.  She was left with two choices:

She could call first thing in the morning.  While she had just spent the last hour wondering what Aeduan did at night, this option brought with it another dilemma: how Aeduan spent his mornings.  Iseult didn’t know why, but he seemed like the type of guy to start his day early.  Down a glass of orange juice, go for a jog around the neighborhood, and be showered and dressed by 7:30 kind of guy.  

Iseult shook her head.  She really didn’t need to be fantasizing about his morning routine.  And she definitely didn’t need to think about him showering.  Nope.  She definitely wasn’t thinking about him naked and dripping with water.

Stasis, Iseult.  Stasis.

Then there was the more tempting and pathetic option: she could scrap calling him altogether.  And what great loss would that be really? she thought to herself.  It wasn’t like he was sitting by the phone waiting for her call.  He probably didn’t even remember asking for the book or giving her his number in the first place.  Her stomach dropped at the thought.

She was overthinking this.  Big time.

She rolled back to their conversation yesterday and how Cam had interrupted them.  She was sure that Aeduan had been about to ask her something just as Cam burst through the door.  She didn't hold it against the kid, but she was dying to know what Aeduan was going to say.  And then, of course, there was the mystery of the cop.  She'd seen them talking outside.  By the looks of it, it wasn't a friendly chat.  It had ended with Aeduan storming off and the woman cop looking troubled.

Iseult slipped a hand into her pocket and dug out the napkin with Aeduan’s phone number.  She unfolded it and looked it over, just as she had the dozen or so times since he’d given it to her.  By now she’d memorized the 12 neat letters strung together in broken cursive underneath the number.  Aeduan Amalej.  

A pulled in a shaky breath and retrieved her phone next.  For a paralyzing moment, she held them out in front of her, the number in one hand and her phone in the other.  Thinking.  Stalling.  

“Moon Mother, you are such an idiot,” she muttered to herself before unlocking her phone - her hand shaking with nerves - and punched in Aeduan’s number.

Right into a new text message.

Ok, so she’d told him he’d call him.  But this way she didn’t need to find out just how devastating her stutter be over the phone.  With her sanity hanging in the balance, copping out of calling was of little consequence.  There were way more pathetic things she’d done in her 21 years of living.  This wouldn’t be a highlight in her memoirs.  

With that in mind, she got to it and prayed that she typed faster than her determination could devolve into an entirely new spiral about whether or not a text was too casual.

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

Aeduan knew he was in trouble the moment he opened the book.  

Chapter One

My Father Meets the Cat

Owl’s eyes had widened as Adeuan read the words and she’d peered up at him from her place under his arm nestled into his side.  

It had taken every bit of restraint he had to keep his expression neutral.  The librarian just had to pick a book that featured a stray cat.  

Iseult had been right though: Owl loved the book.  Every night for the last week, Owl would crawl into his bed, make her nest, and sit there, impatiently waiting for him to finish meditating and running through his nightly stretches.  He made sure to take his time; he wasn’t about to teach Owl that she could get anything she wanted just by giving him those sad puppy eyes of hers.  He'd had plenty of practice resisting those eyes with Cora, who as a little more needy than Lisbet; Owl was powerless over him.  Most of the time.

Meditation was an important, albeit unexpected, part of Aeduan’s life.  It was the one lesson from Evrane that actually stuck.  Sometimes he wondered why, out of everything, this one practice never wavered.  Over the years, it had become more than a ritual in calming the body and quieting the mind.  It had become his anchor.  Something he depended on.  Somewhere along the way, he’d learned that how he started and ended his day was the one thing he had true control over.  He'd been taught early in life that there was no prelude to change.  If he could hold on to this one thing, he would.    

Luckily for Owl, he was done with meditating for tonight.  Even with his years of practice, he hadn’t found much solace in it.  He couldn’t get what Lizl told him yesterday out of his head.

He had told himself to forget about it the moment he’d walked away.  That the police department wasn’t his problem anymore.  He’d left for a reason, and even if he tried to convince himself that it was all because of Owl, he knew deep down that that wasn’t true.

Storming away from Lizl had felt good.  Right.  But now…

Doubt plagued his every thought.  He couldn’t shake it off.  This feeling that Lizl was telling the truth.  They’d never liked each other, but he knew that - just like him - she respected him enough to trust him on the job.  He saw it in the moments that mattered most.  She was one of the good ones.

And the fact remained that Lizl wasn’t a manipulator.  It wasn’t in her nature.  Why bother with mind games when honesty landed harder?  There really wasn’t any reason for her to lie to him.  So that meant what she’d told him was the truth.

But why?  Why would his father give Natan the job?  He was an unmitigated piece of shit and Ragnor had always shown very little tolerance for unmitigated pieces of shit.  If his father had promoted Natan to the top spot, then he had a reason.  A good one.  

He should just forget it, he told himself for the hundredth time.

For the next half hour, Aeduan found his mind wandering, even as he read aloud, and it was some time before he realized that Owl had drifted off to sleep.  

He sighed, letting his head drop against the headboard, and the book propped up in his hand fell closed against the comforter with a soft thwump.  He stared at the opposite wall, knowing he should transfer Owl to her own bed before it got any later, but he couldn’t find the motivation to move.    

Lizl.  Ragnor.  Natan.  Their names were an endless chant in his head.  A chant that rang of doubt and the promise of another sleepless night for Aeduan.    

There was only one way to put an end to the madness.  He’d need to go directly to the source: his father.

The thought alone was enough to make Aeduan want to slide down his mattress and pull the covers over his head.  He didn’t, of course.  But the impulse was there, as embarrassing as that was.  

It’d been 3 long months since he’d last seen his father.  3 months since he’d marched into his office, left his gun and badge on his desk, and walked out of his life.  Ragnor hadn’t even tried to get in touch with him since.  Aeduan hadn’t expected him to.

He didn’t know how he felt about that.  Hurt, probably.  His father’s silence was louder than most.  But Aeduan was the last bit of Dysi left on this earth.  Had it been easy for his father to let go of his only son?  He’d done that with everything else that reminded him of Dysi after she’d passed, so why not him too?

Pressure pounded behind Aeduan’s eyes.  His head ached.  Not getting more than an hour or two of sleep the night before must have been catching up to him.  Maybe he’d just let Owl stay in his bed.  If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t want to be alone right now.

A soft chime broke the silence in the bedroom.  Curious, Aeduan turned to his nightstand where the sound had come from.  His phone softly glowed with activity and he could see the animated little envelope on the screen that meant he had a new text message.  Careful not to disturb Owl, he reached for the phone and grabbed it from the stand.  He settled back against his pillows, expecting to see something from Lisbet, the only person he had the patience to text with - even if she did bombard him with memes he didn’t understand.  Before even opening the message, he was all ready to tell her to get off her phone and go to bed.

But it wasn’t Lis.

It was an unknown number.  He frowned.  But then he read the message, and he realized who it was.  His heart stopped.

Unknown Number – 9:07 PM

>> I found the book you wanted.  I put it on hold for you.  You can come pick it up anytime.  

>> (Hi.  This is Iseult from the library.)

Without even realizing it, the noise in Aeduan’s head faded to nothing.  Iseult had said she’d let him know about the book, but he was still surprised to hear from her.  And - he thought, checking the time - so late.  

He reread the message a couple more times before clicking the screen off.  He was about to return his phone to the nightstand when he paused.  

He should probably respond with… something.

Aeduan pulled his hand back, easing back on to his pillows, and opened the message.  His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of something to say.  His eyes flicked to Owl, dead asleep next to him, then he began typing.  

Aeduan - 9:18 PM

>> Ok.

Well.  Ok then.  Obligation fulfilled.

Aeduan took off his reading glasses and stowed them along with his phone on his nightstand before he switched off the lamp, plunging the room in darkness.  He settled beneath his covers and rested his head on his pillow.  He felt the ball of warmth that was Owl curled up beside him.  Moonlight streamed in from the windows, and for a few quiet minutes, he watched the snow falling outside.

An hour later, Aeduan rolled over and reached for the phone on his nightstand.

Aeduan - 10:16 PM

>> I’ll come by tomorrow and pick it up.      

[ghcfcs]

I wish there was more FanFics for the Witchlands series. I have read  the very few fics that exists already. I do not want to sound ungrateful for the content we recieve but I would like to see more... 

[sxfik]

all the stars in the universe

a/n: @safifonhasstrel sent me a prompt request (seeing a meteor shower) and i felt baesult would be the perfect couple for this! thank you for sending in things and i’m still taking more requests! enjoy!

Aeduan did not like waking up. It’s not that he disliked the morning, it’s that he disliked getting out of his very warm, comfortable bed, especially when Iseult spends the night over at his apartment. Who would want to get away from the bed when he can have his arms around Iseult’s warm, soft body? It’s the highlight of his day, going back into her arms, having her head buried into his chest as she slept quietly, being able to feel her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. So waking up in the mornings were hard but waking up at 3 am? It was pure hell.

“Aeduan, wake up,” a soft voice floated into his ear as he tossed to the other side, refusing to accept that he has to leave the blankets cocooning around him. Hands were around his biceps, shaking it as a urgent voice pleaded with him to wake up.

“Who is it? What do you want at this cursed hour? Don’t you know I just want Iseult…” he trailed off, struggling to come up with coherent sentences and annoyance creeping up his body. He opened his eyes and shut them just as quickly, feeling the fluorescent lights burning out his retinas. This is an act of god… see they’re telling me that I shouldn’t be awake right now by cursing my eyes. But nevertheless, he rubbed his eyes as he sat up in the bed. After a couple minutes, his eyes started adjusting to the bright light around him and Iseult, her messy, midnight hair and sleepy hazel eyes, shifted into focus in front of him.

“Why are you up at this god awful time? It should be illegal to be up this early. Come on ‘seult, let’s go back to sleep,” he grumbled, slurring his speech a little and yawning in the middle of the sentence, just to emphasize to her how much he likes his rest.

“No, not today” she said dragging him out of the bed by the arm, “there’s something very special happening tonight.” Aeduan looked longingly back at his bed as he stood up and followed Iseult. I’ll come back for you, my sweet. He followed her as she tugged him by the arm, watching her move around his apartment with ease, not able to fully process his movements or what he’s doing. All he knows is that Iseult’s holding his arm and leading him somewhere and he trusts that she won’t wake him up for no reason. She must know how much he likes sleep, especially since she’s experienced how, during the winter, he can make her spend all morning in bed, cuddling.

And suddenly, cold air is whipping at his face and he shivers at the quick change in temperature. She’s taken me to the balcony, he realizes. When he turns to ask why she brought him here, his breath hitches as he catches a glimpse of the sky. It’s a meteor shower, balls of white light streaking against the midnight sky and it was beautiful.

“It’s amazing” Iseult’s voice floats in a whisper, sounding awed at the sight and as Aeduan turns to look at her, his heart stopped beating. Her face was illuminated by the moonlight filtering through, her skin glowing white and her hair flowing back from the wind. Her lips were parted and her eyes were peering up at the sky as if it’s the most amazing thing she’s seen. And here he was, looking at her like she was the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you.” he said, not being able to stop himself, his voice making the decision before his brain can even begin to process what he’d done. But it didn’t matter because he loved her, he loved her so so much that it hurt, and keeping it in felt like he was bottling up another emotion and he couldn’t do that, he had to say it.

“I love you too” she said back, eyes looking up at him like how she was looking up at the stars. And that’s how he knew, that he’d give all the stars in the universe to have her look at him like that again.

taglist: @un-empressed @eilonwiiy @lseultdetmidenzi

[safifonhasstrel]

chapter 4 is up!

[kevin-day-is-bi]

Alright guys! I will now be taking prompts for either @lavenderlemonrose​ or I to write! Below is a prompts list. We will write a one shot or add the prompt into a current work. Send a number or prompt to my inbox, a fandom/character/pairing, and whether you want no smut or no angst. We will write: 

Heronstairs and Herongraystairs for The Infernal Devices 

Rowaelin, Manorian, Manon/Elide, Chaol/Dorian, and group ships for Throne of Glass

Andriel and Kandriel for All for the Game

Jurdan from The Folk of the Air

Nix/Kashmir for The Girl from Everywhere

Charlotte/Jamie from Charlotte Holmes

UPDATE:

We can also do headcanons! Below is a list of characters and fandoms we can do headcanons for. Please specify what type of headcanon you want (eg, fluffy Andriel headcanons, Dorian and Chaol being bffs headcanons, random Cress hcs, etc.)

Any character from Throne of Glass 

 Any character from Crescent City 

Any character from A Court of Thorns and Roses

 Any character from The Folk of the Air 

 Any character from All for the Game 

 Any character from Six of Crows 

 Any character from The Shadowhunter Chronicles (TMI, TDA, TID, TLH) 

 Any character from The Raven Cycle 

Any main character from Carry On

Any character from The Lunar Chronicles

Any character from Shadow & Bone

Any character from Truthwitch

Any character from Ember in the Ashes

Any character, but specifically the Marauders from Harry Potter

 And the main characters of Red, White, and Royal Blue

Fic Prompts:

“Fight me.” “You just want me to pin you against the wall again.”

“You’re here.” “Of course I’m here.”

Only one bed

Fake dating

“Did we just sleep together?”

“You promised.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“It’s not safe.”

“I screwed up.”

Height difference

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Everyone thinks we’re dating.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Cuddle me.”

“You want me to do what?”

“You lost your chance.”

“That’s a lot of blood.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“What did you say?”

“What are you doing up?”

“I think I love you.”

Reading together

“Isn’t this illegal?’

“Shut up.”

“Please stop.”

“Hear me out.”

“I need help.”

Pet names

“Don’t lie and say you’re fine.”

“You idiot.”

“Leave.”

“I hate you.”

Sick 

High school

College

Moving

Birthday

Sleepover

I’m sorry

[thevoidwell]

Planned Fic List

After I finish writing An Unexpected Introduction, these are the fics I have planned to write (I know, I have a problem).  I’ve finally put them into a prioritized list, and I figured I’d share it so you can all know what to expect!

A Matter of Pride [1 chapter] - Modern AU where, through a lot of miscommunication, Leopold and Vaness end up having to cook dinner together in spite of neither knowing how to cook

When Iron Wept [1 chapter] - Sickfic taking place right after Bloodwitch where Vivia has to take care of Vaness when her wound gets infected and she’s feverish

Through the Grapevine [1 chapter] - Safi finds out about Baeseult from Leopold, thinks that he’s exaggerating, and realizes to her astonishment that he isn’t

From the Awakened Ice [3 chapters] - Merik and Kullen get out of the sleeping ice at the same time as Lisbet and Cora, and find themselves having to look after the girls until they return to everyone else

Illicit Acquisitions [? chapters] - Multi-chapter fic taking place before Truthwitch, where Vivia and Stix are leading the Foxes and having more than a few adventures while doing it

Find me (always) [1 chapter] - Another fluffy take on the Baeseult reunion scene

Kindest Seclusion [3 chapters] - The Baeseult quarantine fic I meant to write ages ago but haven’t gotten to yet 

Fire and Prose [1 chapter] - A short scene with Mathew and Habim in the coffee shop, mingled with a bit of a character study into how they both got there

Just Once* [2 chapters] - Post-war fluff where the Nubrevnans all basically adopt Cam.  Merik and Ryber teach him how to read and write, and Kullen has him borrow a bunch of his books to read together

Never Again* [1 chapter] - A continuation of the previous story, but where Lizl teaches him some Carawen fighting techniques so he can defend himself and stay safe

Speechless [1 chapter] - When Aeduan meets his half-sisters, he realizes that there’s a language gap between them because of all the time that has passed, and miscommunication ensues

The gf au [? chapters] - A modern AU I’ve talked about before but haven’t really explained yet, I’ll elaborate more once I get around to outlining it

And there you have it!  The absurdly long list of fics that I’m going to write after An Unexpected Introduction.  I’m so excited for you all to read them, and I hope they sound as interesting as they will be to write!

[gilded-moon]

So that Alma thing you brought up from Truthwitch is, again, something I'd completely forgotten about up until now. Thank you for mentioning it because I feel like it's important to include in the fic I'm working on now, but god that's horrifying

You’re welcome! And yeah it’s disgusting. We never get to see Corlant from Alma’s eyes so it’ll be interesting to see how you do that. I’m looking forward to the fic.

[pearlgrayrose]

I just found your ao3 fics and screamed? You write for Truthwitch and Cinda Williams Chima? You are a blessing indeed. 🙏

Omg thank you!  I haven't written anything for Cinda Williams Chima in a little while, but if you have any requests (for that or for Witchlands), let me know!  I've got an ongoing Witchlands fic right now and I'm working on writing another short one, but I will get to any requests you might want, I promise 🙂

[amindbroadcast]

Witchlands Box Set Blog Tour: Day 9

(Blog tour graphic credit: Kaite of My Way By Starlight)

I am incredibly excited to be one of today's blog tour hosts for the box set of the Witchlands series, written by Susan Dennard (@stdennard). This hardcover box set was released on October 8 and includes the titles Truthwitch, Windwitch, and Bloodwitch. It also includes a full-color map poster designed by Jessica Khoury.

Truthwitch and Windwitch received brand-new covers for the set, and I love how cohesive they look alongside Bloodwitch. Cliff Nielsen is the cover artist for this series, and he did an excellent job.

In addition to checking out the box set, don't forget to check out Sightwitch as well (book 2.5 in the series)!

Below is some more information about Susan, the series, and both artists. I hope you're all having a wonderful day!

About the author:

Susan Dennard has come a long way from small-town Georgia. Working in marine biology, she got to travel the world—six out of seven continents, to be exact (she’ll get to you yet, Asia!)—before she settled down as a full-time novelist and writing instructor.

She is the author of the Something Strange and Deadly series, as well as the New York Times bestselling Witchlands series, and she also hosts the popular newsletter for writers, the Misfits & Daydreamers. When not writing, she is slaying darkspawn (on her PS4) or earning bruises at the dojo.

She lives in the Midwestern US with her French husband, two spoiled dogs, and two grouchy cats. Learn more about her on her twitter, instagram, or newsletter.

The Witchlands series synopsis:

For the first time, experience the first three volumes of Susan Dennard's New York Times bestselling Witchlands series--Truthwitch, Windwitch, and Bloodwitch--now together in the Witchlands Hard Cover Boxed Set.

Magic. Adventure. Romance. War. ... Welcome to the Witchlands.

On a continent ruled by three empires, many people are born with a “witchery”, a magical skill that sets them apart from others. Some command the wind, some the water, some fire, some metal. And some can master the truth, or time, or even death itself.

Now, as war breaks loose and magic is dying, two young women--a Truthwitch and a Threadwitch--may hold the key to a centuries old prophecy that could control the world...if they can survive.

Jessica Khoury (artist of the new, elaborate map included in the box set as a full-colour poster):

Jessica Khoury wrote her first book at age 4, a fan fic sequel to Syd Hoff's Danny and the Dinosaur, which she scribbled on notebook paper, stapled together, and placed on the bookshelf of her preschool classroom. Since that day, she's dreamed of being an author.

In addition to writing, Jess is also a fantasy cartographer, and spends far too much time scribbling tiny trees and mountains in fictional worlds. She is very passionate about orcas, Spanish soccer, and choosing the perfect font.

Jess currently lives in Greenville, South Carolina. She is the author of Origin, Vitro, Kalahari, and The Forbidden Wish.

Cliff Nielsen (cover artist for The Witchlands series):

Cliff Nielsen is best known for his work on projects such as Star Wars, The X-Files, Chronicles of Narnia among many projects including advertising campaigns, designs, and magazines. He studied in both traditional and digital illustration and graduated as valedictorian from Art Center College of Design in CA. His illustrations have been recognized for their excellence by the Society of Illustrators, Print, and Spectrum among others. Feature articles focusing on his work appear in design publications and fanzine magazines alike. Cliff has been an international speaker on digital art and has served as a judge for the Society of Illustrators and a variety of professional illustration award programs. He lives and dreams in Los Angeles, California.

[botherkupo]

B9, C10, D8

Thanks for the ask!

B9: Who is your OTP?

At the moment it’s probably the ML lovesquare from Miraculous Ladybug (it’s just the same two people for those who don’t know, lol.) They’re so cute and awkward with each other.

C10: What book could you just never get into, no matter how hard you tried?

I forgot the author’s name, but it’s called Truthwitch. My friend recommended it to me, and I was just either rolling my eyes or laughing at things that weren’t supposed to be funny while reading. Not the best reaction. I never finished it.

D8: Which fandoms do you read fic for?

Mainly Avatar: the Last Airbender and Miraculous Ladybug, but I also read Detective Conan, Magic Kaitou 1412, Harry Potter, Dragon Ball Z, Legend of Zelda, Kingdom Hearts, and whatever random thing strikes the mood.

[lonely-pages-of-ink]

Nine Person Pileup

tagged again by @ill-write-when-im-dead!

Relationship Status: Single boy over here

Favorite Color: Indigo or Lavender 

Favorite Ships: Tododeku, Klance and Drarry. fight me 

Lipstick or Chapstick: neither?? I dunno I don’t use either very much

Last Song: Boys Will Be Bugs by Cavetown 

Last Movie: Patch Adams. 10/10 would recommend 

Last Book: Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien 

Currently Reading: Truthwitch by Susan Dennard

Favorite Fanfiction: I don’t really have one since it’s so hard to choose but I love any angsty Peter Parker fic by the rad writer Bucket_Of_Stars on A03

I kinda already did this tag so I don’t wanna tag more people since I don’t know anyone :))))))))))

[eilonwiiy]

Though Lovers Be Lost ; a Witchlands one-shot

but I’m still times zones away  from who I was the day before we met. you were the first mile where my heart broke a sweat.

- andrea gibson

Summary: Merik Nihar has overcome death, but is it possible to return to the life he once had?

Ships: Safi/Merik

Tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, body image

Word count: 3.8k words

Read on AO3: here

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

There were disadvantages to being alive.

Merik stood before the Origin Well of Marstok, hands clasped behind his back.  The water shimmered with the sky above, stars leagues away now within arms length in the ancient basin.  The night air was stifling.  Unmoving.  Dead.

His witchery was gone.

Merik didn’t know what he expected when he went into the sleeping ice.  What was death to a dead man?  But here he was alive.  Given a second chance.  Or was it third?  

He ran a hand through his shorn cut hair.  Hell-waters, there was so much he didn’t understand.

“There you are.”

Merik’s heart stopped.  Swallowing hard, he peered over his shoulder.  The sight he saw stole his breath, and beyond his better judgement, he turned to face the woman emerging from the shadows wholly.

A mistake.  Noden curse him, even after death he was shown no mercy. 

Safiya fon Hasstrel was a domna once more.  She wore a traditional Marstoki gown, a single sheer strip of apricot fabric draped and wound around her body as though bewitched itself, leaving her golden arms bare.  Her hair had grown since he last saw her, since he caught her in his arms before plummeting to her death deep in a nightmare of lightning and wind, but the sandy waves still hung short by her shoulders.  She wore no adornments, save for the glittering threadstone hanging around her neck.  

Safi’s blue eyes gazed at him from across the forest clearing.

“Domna.”  

The corner of Safi’s lip tipped up.  “I was looking for you.”

Merik offered a stiff nod.  The hand clasped upon his wrist behind his back dug into skin and bone.  

Safi made her way towards him, a smile playing on her lips.  The grass beneath her feet rustled against the hem of her dress and Merik was momentarily distracted by the swath of exposed gold the slit in her skirts teased with each step she took, her skin practically glowing in the moonlight.  But then his gaze traveled lower and the warmth that bubbled in his abdomen was suddenly doused in icy water.  

“What happened to your ankle?”

The question cracked through the night, his voice rough from disuse, and Safi paused her steps, ending on what now Merik realized was a limp.  How did he miss it before?  She brushed her gown’s fabric out of the way and looked down at the contorted ligament.

“Oh,” she said, the word light, like she’d only just now noticed that her ankle was twisted in such an unnatural way.  Scars covered the skin of her foot, crooked and white.  She fidgeted with the fabric before rearranging it so that her leg was covered once more.  When she faced Merik, she stood a little straighter.  Lifted her chin a little higher.

“I broke my foot in Lejna.  Well,” -her mouth twisted in a grimace- “the Empress broke my foot.  Smashed it with an iron flail while I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to find the right pier.  It hurt like hell, and obviously, I didn’t make it, but it was worth it.”  Safi flashed Merik a wicked grin.  “She’ll never admit it, but I managed to give Her Royal Highness a black eye that day.”  

A burning heat filled Merik’s throat.  He couldn't tear his eyes away from her ankle.  

It was all his fault.  He had failed her, just as he had failed everyone else.  It didn’t matter that everything worked out in the end.  She’d gotten hurt, and he could have stopped it.  

Safi’s grin faltered in his silence.  She fumbled with her skirts, gave the scarred foot a more careful look, then peered back at Merik, hesitation in her eyes.  “Does it… does it look bad?”

Merik stared at her.  Blessed Noden, how could she look him in the eyes and ask such a thing?  Did she not see the monster he’d become?  The black shadows were gone, but he’d seen what stared back at him in the rippled waters of the Well.  The Fury.  He looked nothing like the prince he’d been when he’d first met her, all scarred skin and protruding bones.  Even as fine as the clothes he wore now were, they hung from his starved body.  Getting dressed now was a shameful and exhausting process.  Every rustle of silk dragged across his skin like a knife.  Wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  And Safi-

Hell-waters, she was rutting beautiful.  He could barely stand to look at her.  He’d forever be haunted by the kiss they’d shared.  Her hands on his skin.  Her body writhing against his, hungry, desperate for his touch.  The thought of it now only made him feel sick to his stomach.  Knowing for a few blessed seconds he had been hers… and that they could never go back to that.  He was the prince of Nubrevna no more, and the confidence - the arrogance - he’d touted around in everything that he did died along with the crown.  He’d never be able to expose himself like that to her again.  Not when he looked like this.  Even if it was taking every bit of strength he had left to not rush over to her and gather her in his arms.  For several long, agonizing weeks, he had thought her to be dead and all he wanted right now was to feel her heartbeat next to his.

Safi was alive.  

No, not just alive.  She was half of the Cahr Awen.

Merik had never been a believer in his aunt’s stories.  It all rang too close to hearsay and religious fanaticism if you asked him.  But now, standing beneath the moonlight with nothing but the glow of fireflies to illuminate her path, there could be no doubt that Safiya fon Hasstrel was the legendary light-bringer.

If nothing else, her new place in the world solidified everything he’d come to accept.  That he was not needed.  Not by Nubrevna.  Not by his people.  Even in his holiest of quests, he’d brought nothing but destruction to those he cared about.  

He would not make that mistake with Safi.  She deserved better.

Safi deserved better than a dead man.  Someone like the Hell-Bard commander.  Or even that big brute of a man, the one they called Zander.    

It was too much for him.  He turned away from her.      

But of course - of course - she couldn’t leave him in peace.  He was a fool to believe she would.

“Why won’t you look at me?” she demanded.

Merik said nothing.  He heard a huff of air.

“I’ve been looking for you all day.”  Frustration laced Safi’s voice, but not enough to hide her concern.  

“I...” Merik tried hoarsely.  He shook his head at the raw sound, throat bobbing painfully.  “I just needed some time alone.”

“Right.  Because a year trapped in a mountain wasn’t enough alone time,” Safi muttered.  A strained pause passed.  “I was worried.”

Merik rolled his lips through his teeth, the dry skin brittle and cracked.  “I am sorry, Domna.  I did not mean to trouble you.”

“It-” Safi cut herself off.  Her lashes fluttered with annoyed impatience.  “I wasn’t troubled.  I just- goat tits, can’t you just look at me?”

Merik’s jaw clenched and, silently begging Noden for mercy, he granted her her wish.  He kept his posture neutral, like a Nubrevnan naval officer at ease, hands still clasped behind his back and feet standing firmly on the ground shoulder length apart.  

“Happy, Domna?”

To his surprise, her eyes narrowed at that.  

“Stop calling me that.  Domna.”

“It’s what you are, is it not?”

“It’s not the title that bothers me.”

“Then, what?”  Merik kept his voice devoid of any emotion.  Like Safi was just anyone.  

As if Safiya fon Hasstrel could be just anyone.

“I see you for who you are,” he continued when she didn’t respond.  “If only you’d do me the courtesy.”

Safi’s already narrowed eyes turned into slits.  “What does that mean?” she spat.

In an instant Merik knew he’d killed any chance of her leaving him alone.  Stupid.  He should have kept his mouth shut.  But like Safi, he had a problem keeping his rage in line.  A low rumble of frustration ripped through his throat and he swung away from her again.  Boots stomping, he paced the small clearing, trying to avoid letting loose the fury his witchery no longer could.  The ring of cedar trees seemed to be shrinking in on them.  

“It doesn’t matter,” he retorted sharply, planting himself by the Origin Well.  Exactly where he should have stayed in the first place.

“No, tell me.  What did you mean by that?”

Merik shot a glare at her over his shoulder.  Quick and fierce.  Long enough to see the angry flush of her cheeks, but quick enough that he didn’t have to feel anything.  With a harsh exhale, he whipped back to the waters.  Even the ripples in the pool couldn’t hide the horror his face had become.  He glared right back at the monster.

He needed Safi to understand without him saying the words.  He needed her to see as he did now.

Merik breathed in deeply, held it, then let the air out slowly - like he would if he were calling on his witchery.  He did this again and again and again until his sunken chest rose and fell like the calm roll of the ocean’s waters after a storm.  

He should have been suspicious of the domna’s silence.  He wanted more than anything for her to leave him to his misery, but he found himself looking for her over his shoulder anyway.

Merik didn’t need his witchery to feel the shift in the air.  Safi’s expression was unnervingly blank.  An undercurrent of fear locked him in place.  

“What happened to you?” she whispered.  

A shiver ran through Merik.  His heart quickened against his chest.  

Come, come, and find release.

Come, come and face the end.  

Merik held her gaze until the words slipped out of him.  “I died.”  

The admission hung between them, heavier than the silence.  But Safi’s expression never changed.  She didn’t flinch.  She didn't run.  Her storm blue eyes held his, refusing to release him.  

“But...” she said slowly, and Merik could hear the questions coming.  None of that mattered though.  It was best to end this conversation sooner rather than later.  Spare her the pain.  

He released a resigned sigh.  “It’s… complicated.  And ultimately, doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” Safi murmured more to herself, nodding over the word.  Processing.

Then, her eyes flicked up to meet him.

“You’re right.  It doesn’t matter,” she repeated with more conviction.  And something else.  Had Noden heard his prayers?  Was this mercy?  Merik felt almost relieved.  He didn’t want to talk about this anymore than was necessary and he could feel his resolve cracking.

“You’re here now,” Safi declared, face softening, her lips trembling with the beginnings of a smile.

Merik’s heart sank.  

Hope, he realized.  That was the something he had heard before.  It saturated the air.  Poisoned his lungs.  Made him believe what she was feeling.  

That’s all that matters.  She hadn’t said the words, but he heard them.  If only that were true.            

Suddenly, Safi was striding towards him.  Long, determined steps.  Until she was standing before him, so close that her soft chest almost brushed against his.  He could count every freckle on her nose.  Smell the faint sea-salt in her hair, on her skin.  Horror spiked through him as her hands lifted into the air, time seeming to slow, reaching for his face like she going to-

“No.”

The word ripped from his throat, a monstrous, terrible thing, as Merik spun on his heel.  Blood roared in his ears - almost loud enough to hide the cry of frustration from Safi.

“I don’t understand!”

“That much is obvious, Domna,” Merik snipped and instantly hated himself for it.  He needed to get control over himself.  But she’d almost touched him.  He’d almost let it happen.  Almost gave in to his darkest desire.  

Monster.

A ripple of disgust rolled through him.    

“I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Merik’s head snapped to Safi, and one look at her downturned eyes, her chin dipped low, he knew he was in Noden’s watery hell.  He’d thought he’d known it before, been damned to walk the world with one foot in his grave.  But that was nothing compared to this.  Noden had his trident buried halfway into his heart from the moment Safi entered the clearing and he’d just twisted it the rest of the way.    

“You deserve more,” Merik finally forced himself to say, heart squeezing painfully.  “And I…” he swallowed, unable to finish the thought.  He shook his head once and straightened his spine.  “This is for the best.”

“Don’t.”  Safi’s voice cut through his like a knife as her eyes snapped up to him.  “My whole life men have made decisions for me.  Men I cared about.  Men I trusted.  All in the name of what’s best for me.”

“And I,” Merik ground out, “have spent my whole life seeing what I want to see.  I will do that no more.  Not to you.  I know what I look like.  Who I look like.”

“Who-?” Safi’s eyes widened, flickering back and forth over Merik’s face in confusion.  “What in Noden’s blighted waters are you talking about?”

Merik barked a single bitter laugh.  He’d had enough.  It was time to end this.  Pull out Noden’s trident and let his heart bleed out.  One last death.

“The irony,” he sneered.  “A Truthwitch who can’t hear her own lies.”

Hurt flashed across Safi’s face.  She gaped at him, stunned, and Merik, ignoring the way his chest felt like it was being ripped open, marched away from her, away from the Origin Well, and disappeared into the trees.  

It took Safi all of three seconds to recover, then, she was scrabbling after him.  Desperate hands grabbed at his tunic as though to stop him.

Just keep moving.

“Merik, please.  I don’t understand.”  

“Enough, Domna.”

“Can’t we at least talk?” Safi’s voice grew more and more panicked as she tried to keep up.

“There’s nothing more to be said,” Merik growled.  She had no idea how much it was hurting him to let her go.  “My face says it all.”

Safi breathed a hysterical laugh.  “Do you really think me so shallow?  Is that all you think I see?”

“It’s all anyone can see.  And you pretending that you can’t is pathetic.  I don’t need your lies.”

“Lies?”  Safi cried.  “Lies?!   Merik Nihar you are a sodding cow with balls for brains!  Do you want to know what I truly see?”    

It was too much.  She was too much.  Merik finally came to a crashing halt and whirled around, a tornado of fury, seconds away from tearing through the infuriating woman he was so unquestionably in love with, obliterating them both until there was nothing left to salvage.

“Yes, Domna, tell me,” he shouted, voice echoing through the trees.  “Tell me!  What do you see?”

With the same unbridled ferociousness, two fists gripped the open collar of Merik’s tunic and Safi yanked him to her.  Her face hovered barely an inch from his and she thrust her chin into the air forcing him to see nothing but her eyes.  They glistened with determination and unshed tears.  

“I see a man I once thought was lost to me,” she breathed.  Desperation caught in her throat.  A sob begging to be wrenched free.  “Please, Merik.  If you died - if you truly did die - please.  Do not make me lose you again.”

A big fat tear escaped the corner of her eye and the storm raging inside Merik reached its final crescendo.  He wrenched Safi to him and his lips crashed into hers.

Gone was the ice cold sleep.  Gone was the puppeteer.  All there was was Safi, and, with her heart thrumming against him, he realized with stunning clarity that this was magic.  Kissing Safi was the first three seconds after leaping off a cliff, the moment before your witchery ignites, when you’re falling and there’s nothing but you and the open air.  

Release rumbled through his throat, dark like thunder, as his hand buried itself in her hair and he deepened the kiss, surrendering himself to her completely, until the fiery hunger devoured his fear and doubt and burned it all away.  Safi sighed into him, her arms trapped against him, hands still gripping his collar.  He felt the hard press of her knuckles dig into his chest, almost painful.  He welcomed it and the bliss of knowing that she was here with him that came with it.

And then it was over.  Lightheaded, Merik leaned forward to brace his forehead against Safi’s, the heat of her blazing on his skin.  Moonlight spilled through the leaves painting them in ethereal light, their shared ragged breathing was almost deafening, alone, deep in the woods.  Tears clung to Safi’s eyelashes, stained her flushed cheeks.  Merik cradled her face in both his hands, his thumbs gently smoothing away the wetness.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered.  “Please.”

She laughed, a watery thing that broke Merik’s heart.  “Then stop being a royal ass.”

Merik couldn’t help it - he smiled and kissed her again.  Gentle this time.  A slow press of his lips to hers.  

Many minutes passed before another word was said.  The sounds of the forest slowly returned as Merik’s pounding heart settled and his blood hummed with happiness.  He watched Safi slowly rolled her lips together.  A sign of restlessness.  But he continued to absently caress the blush of her cheek, perfectly content with taking inventory of every inch of her face and committing it to memory.  The freckles dusting her sandy skin.  The moon glittering in her blue eyes.  The bump along the bridge of her nose.

Hold on.  

Merik traced the slope of Safi’s nose with his index finger and paused at the small protrusion.  

“Where did this come from?”  he asked.  Unlike with the ankle, there wasn’t so much concern in the question as there was exasperation.  

Safi pursed her lips, fighting a smirk.

“Well?” he demanded.  It was like scolding a child.

“Would you believe, I got into a duel with a pirate queen?”

“You know, Domna, I would.”  Merik pulled back slightly - enough so that he was able to give her a once over, but not so much that he had to release her from his embrace.  He didn’t plan on doing that any time soon.  “Tell me, are there any other new facets to your being that I should be aware of?”

Although the question aired on the side of teasing, Merik’s eyes darkened.  He was entirely serious.  If she had been hurt in any other way, he wanted to know.  

Color rose to Safi’s cheeks under the intensity of his gaze.  “None that I can think of.  Though,” she murmured, peering coyly at him, “perhaps there’s something I’m forgetting.  It may be worth your while to do a more thorough search somewhere more private.”

Merik’s heart skipped a beat.  And judging by the smug way Safi’s lips curled, she felt it.

Merik never thought he’d ever feel the scorch of lust ever again after dying.  His body was a broken, dead thing to be poked and prodded by Esme’s merciless hands.  And yet, blessed heat fanned out deep in his core, melting his defenses from the inside out.  Desire was a feeling long since forgotten until now.  But however wonderful it felt, he pushed the sensation down.  Just the thought of Safi enduring more suffering than what he already knew was enough to snuff out the flame between them.  

“I’m serious, Safi.”

Safi tilted her head and let her hands wander up his chest.  “So am I.”

A fresh wave of yearning flashed through Merik, more powerful than the one before.  There was no uncertainty in her sapphire eyes.  He felt his face flush and blinked away, only to become very aware of the silk wrapped over the lovely slope of her shoulder.  One tug and he was sure he’d have her bare.  It almost frightened him how fast his mind went there, when minutes ago he could barely stand the thought of putting himself in such a vulnerable and intimate position.  If he were honest, even in his lust-dazed mind, it still made his stomach queasy.

Something must have registered on his face, because Safi’s playful smile faded.  Merik felt her left hand twitch, warm against him - and then, it was gone.  He could scarcely breathe as he watched her carefully raise herself to his scarred cheek.  Her eyes never left him, watching for any sign of discomfort or unwant, hand hovering inches away from his face.

This time Merik stayed where he was, resisting the urge to pull away.  He could do this.  His grip tightened on her waist in anticipation and he closed his eyes, heart pounding against his chest, in his ears, overwhelming all other senses.  

There was no stopping the sharp hiss of breath when skin met skin.  Safi’s touch, like his witchery, was a ghost of what should have been there.  He could barely feel it, most of the nerves on that side of his face burned away in the explosion that killed him.  

Grief he couldn’t explain throbbed at the base of his throat.  A burning sensation that spread behind his eyes.  He cracked them open and his chest expanded painfully at the sight of Safi’s eyes.  They were the color of the sky - and he was falling headlong into it.

Merik expelled the air that he’d been holding and let himself lean into her phantom touch.

Maybe it didn’t matter that he couldn’t feel her.  Maybe knowing mattered more than feeling.  Knowing that it was Safi touching him.  Standing in his arms, warm and alive, looking at him like he was the only thing that existed.

Besides, he did feel it.  In his heart.

“I thought you weren’t that type of girl,” Merik murmured huskily when he found his voice again.

“I’m not,” Safi murmured back, her thumb still stroking the ridged skin just below his eye.  “But I’m also not the same girl you met in Venaza.”  

“Nor am I the same man.”  Merik’s forehead dropped to her’s.  He pressed his eyes shut like he was praying to Noden for help.  A shaky breath rattled his chest and he felt the tear that fell from his undamaged eye.  “Safi, there’s so much I still need to tell you.  I wasn’t lying when I said it was complicated."

“Then tell me,” she urged him kindly.  “I want to know everything.”  She paused.  “Is that something you think you can do?”

Merik nodded numbly, overcome with emotion.  He kept his downturned gaze anchored to the hand on his chest covering his heart.

“Ok,” whispered Safi before falling into silence.  Then: “Can I at least kiss you one more time before you do?”

Merik answered her with a searing kiss, and a whisper of a breeze rustled through the trees, carrying a promise of hope.

[stdennard]

Mass Effect/Truthwitch crossover fan fic....that I wrote.

Like I said on Twitter, I have ZERO memory of writing this weird fanfic last year. I just discovered it on my hard drive while cleaning up a few folders.

SURPRISE, SOOZ! YOU’RE WEIRD AF.

But I can speculate why I wrote this. And share it, for laughs.

Sometimes, when I’m really freaked out by a project and feeling the pressure, I write “fanfic” with my own characters in a world I love. Usually video game. 😉

It’s like, I trick myself into thinking, This is just for fun! Then, I write and write and write, ladeedadeeda! And eventually, I get my head back into the whole writing-game.

Anyway, enjoy. This was chapter one (of only 2). Iseult is called Isabeau, Owl is Delilah, and Aeduan is Aidan. And instead of returning to the Monastery, they’re returning to the Citadel...And Aeduan is a Spectre, not a Bloodwitch monk.

Yeah, it’s weird. I clearly SMASHED together the world of Mass Effect and the Witchlands, so you’ll notice there are some major ME inaccuracies (like a Quarian with biotics -- ha!). Hopefully you can look past.

Also, I haven’t edited this at all. It’s pure first draft.

Enjoy!

So this was the Citadel.

Isabeau Garyan was not impressed.

Oh, to be sure, the Citadel was impressive—sheer size alone made it at least ten times the size of the largest base she’d ever worked on. And the ship traffic, the people, the movement and sound and light wherever her eyes landed—yes, all of that was impressive.

Still, though. Ten years with the Alliance. Ten years of waiting to come here, and this was…it. She felt no surge of joy behind her breastbone, nor any churn of anticipation in her gut. Even the awe she’d expected at the sight of such technology—such a coming together of so many races in once place—wasn’t showing up on cue.

All Isabeau felt was sleepy. And hungry. Endlessly hungry ever since the beacon—

No. She wouldn’t think of that. It haunted her dreams; why endure it during waking hours as well?

“Doc.”

The lieutenant’s voice crackled over the ship’s comm system, and for the first time since the Citadel had come into sight, Isabeau peeled her face off the starboard observation room’s window.

Her face left a grease mark behind. She winced before voicing a tired, “Yeah?” She was breaking protocol being so casual, but ever since the beacon—ever since she’d been the one to touch instead of the lieutenant—he’d been tiptoeing around her.

“We’re about to dock. Can you find Delilah? Get her suited up?”

“Sure…sir.” Isabeau threw the title on for good measure, even though she doubted Aidan…Lieutenant Harris cared. He might have two weeks ago—hell, even two days ago, but that showdown on Eden Prime had changed everything.

Isabeau wasn’t sure she liked it.

Actually, scratch that. She knew she didn’t like it. It had been easier when she’d been just “Doc” and he’d been her superior officer. Now, though…Now everything felt fuzzy.

The kid wasn’t helping things.

“Delilah?” Isabeau called, poking her head into the mess hall, which the child had laid claim to—and which no one had dared tried to argue with. The fact that she could kill all seventeen crew members with a single thought might have had something to do with it.

That and the fact that their Commander was pretty damned insistent they all give Delilah exactly what she wanted, even if it meant eating every meal in the crew quarters or locker rooms.

Isabeau didn’t mind. In fact, if anything, she’d been grateful for the excuse to avoid communal meals. People weren’t really her…thing.

When Delilah made no appearance in the darkened hall, Isabeau crept all the way inside. She could feel the girl’s aura, humming like hornet’s nest in the farthest corner. It rushed against Isabeau’s own biotic array, rhythmic. As if in time to the girl’s heartbeat.

Still, Isabeau didn’t cross the room to her. If there was one thing she—and Aidan—had learned since finding the child on Eden Prime, it was Do Not Spook Delilah. At least not if you wanted to keep you head attached to your neck.

Her biotic shockwaves were just that precise.

And she was only six years old. Maybe seven—meaning she didn’t even have a biotic implant yet.

“We’re about to land on the Citadel,” Isabeau went on, leaning against the nearest table. Though bolted down, the metal groaned ever so slightly. “Remember what Aidan was saying about the Citadel? It’s where we’ll meet more people like us—people from the Alliance. And, we’ll see the Intergalactic Council, who’ll help us figure out exactly…”

Who killed everyone in your life on Eden Prime. That was the truth, and though Isabeau had no doubt Delilah knew that—that her limited years were no hindrance to her grasp on the situation—she didn’t want to say it aloud.

So instead she finished with, “…where to go from here. Okay?”

No response, but then Isabeau hadn’t exactly expected one. Delilah hadn’t spoken a single word since they’d found her; Isabeau hardly expected her to start gabbing now.

But the girl did rise up, showing her pale Quarian face with flat nose and blue scales that fanned out from around her eyes.

“You’ll have to suit up.” Isabeau waved toward the adult-sized Quarian suit hanging in a heap by the door. It was far too large, but it was also all they had. Delilah, like all Quarians, could not risk direct exposure to too many non-Quarians. Though the girl kept a biotic barrier going at all times—the energy cost of which was unfathomable—there were simply too many people on the Citadel for her to possibly keep all contagions out.

Probably. Then again, Delilah could lob off a person’s head with less difficulty than it was now taking Isabeau to cautiously scoop up the environment suit. The silky purple layers whispered against Isabeau’s fingers, while the mask clunked against the metal floor. For half a breath, pity unwound in Isabeau’s chest. She’d grown up wearing this suit. She’d grown accustomed to it after years of working in places that would kill. Around people that would kill.

But for Delilah, all of this was new.

By the time Isabeau twisted back toward the mess tables, Delilah had crawled into view. She had a way of keeping her chin tucked down, as if she’d done something wrong. As if she waited for a reprimand. On the rare occasion she actually met someone’s gaze, she had to roll her eyes upward. A flash of connectiong, then her gaze would snap down. Her head would tuck even lower.

“I’ll help you dress,” Isabeau offered.

No reaction, no reply. The girl did approach, though, if slowly. And she did step into the suit’s legs, which Isabeau held open for her. Then her arms slid into the sleeves, and finally, the face mask slipped over the back.

Isabeau, waiting crouched before her, stayed silent throughout this process. She held the suit where Delilah needed; she tugged when the girl couldn’t reach. But no fast movements. No impatience. It had been hard enough to get Delilah to come near her that first week. Aidan—and only Aidan—was safe in the girl’s eyes.

“Ready for me to zip it up?” she asked, running an eye over the suit’s limbs. The extra length pooled in fat, wrinkly bags at Delilah’s wrists and ankles, and the fingers and foot were far too large. She looks, Isabeau thought, just as she had every time the girl had had to suit up, like a candle left to melt in the sun.

At Delilah’s rustling nod, Isabeau gripped the zipper that was meant to dangle mid-stomach but in stead dangled mid-thigh, and slowly—so slowly—inched it upward. For several long moments, the only sound was the fastening’s zzzzzzz and the endless whir of the ships.

Then the zipper was up, and Delilah’s biotic hum finally quieted. It didn’t vanish entirely, like most Quarian biotics did once in-suit, but it shrank back. Muted, like a quilt draped over the hornet’s nest.

Isabeau pushed to her feet. Her knees protested with a crack. “Let’s go find Aidan, yeah?” She offered Delilah her hand.

Delilah didn’t take it, though, and Isabeau hadn’t really expected her to. They did, however, walk side by side out of the mess hall toward the elevator to the main deck.

And that, Isabeau decided, was progress.

Read chapter 2 here!

[sxfik]

hey guys! i just transfered (what i think is) all my fics/drabbles over to ao3! i go by the username colorfuldreams! check it out if you’d like!

[safifonhasstrel]

Modern Coffee Shop AU in which Safi needs a new job, and Matthew offers her a job as a barista in his coffee shop.

Read the first 2 chapters now!