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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 months ago

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chapter xxv – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 4,100+

masterlist

Y/N wanted to wake up to Eris’ warmth wrapped around her, to have his autumn scent taking over her senses once again, and his strong arms reminding her that she was protected, safe.

But Eris had left hours ago – and so stealthily that Y/N had no idea when.

Instead, Y/N had shot up in bed breathing heavily.

There had been a surge of power. So strong that it jolted the witch from her deep sleep.

Both her movements and the surge woke Ronan up, growling as if there was danger in the bedroom.

“Eris,” Y/N breathed.

Somehow she knew the power had erupted from him.

Something was wrong – very wrong. Even the night Eris had defeated Beron, even the night Y/N followed him deep into the forest to test his new strength…she had never felt such power come from Eris.

If he were using it now, then he was under some sort of attack.

Y/N jumped out of bed, flinging off her nightgown and threw on trousers and a tunic – quicker than worrying herself with a dress or a damn corset.

If she was off to battle, she would order a sentry to fetch her the same armor Eris had forced upon her before.

But Y/N needn’t look far, for as soon as she flung the door open, she was met with a handful of sentries standing guard outside her chambers.

Amongst them were all of Eris’ smoke hounds. And as soon as they heard their master’s mate open the door, they had shot to their feet and whined with anticipation.

Y/N’s eyes raced amongst the sentries, half expecting Lucien to be with them.

But Eris’ brother was nowhere to be found, which meant he was surely with him.

“Where is the High Lord?” She asked curtly.

“There was rebellion in Drumenthoul,” the highest ranking responded quickly. She recognized him well enough to know his name: Captain Respen.

Her brow furrowed. “Lord Muiris’ demesne?”

“Yes, my lady. It is one of Autumn Court’s largest cities. Its subjects attacked the manor of the late lord, after they heard of the attack on you. His son retaliated, using what was left of his father’s army to wreak havoc on his own people. But it appeared to be an attempt at a trap.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “Walk with me,” she ordered all of them.

Instantly, they fell into step with her.

“Ready my horse with my weapons,” she continued. One of the sentry rushed ahead to do as she asked, making his way to the stables. “I must go to him.” Then she looked at Captain Respen and silently told him to continue.

“Before the attacks started, Lord Muiris’ son had called for reinforcements...from any Lord who did not agree with the High Lord’s usurping.”

“They knew Eris would aid his people and they used that to lure him intro a trap with a bigger enemy than he could have anticipated,” Y/ noted aloud.

“Precisely, my lady.” He didn’t hide how impressed he was with her intelligence. She had the makings of a High Lord's wife, despite her mortal and witchling upbringing.

“Do not fear though, Lady Y/N. Eris anticipated such an attack. He brought his best infantry.” Respen hesitated before he added, “And he has gained much power since becoming High Lord.”

Y/N knew Respen was trying to calm her, to assure her Eris couldn’t be in danger. But no words would calm her.

“And you were left behind to guard me?” Annoyance was clear in her voice.

“Protecting the High Lord’s mate is no lowly task, Lady Y/N. It is a great honor. The High Lord will take no chances at you being attacked while he is preoccupied with civil war. It would be the exact time for an assassination attempt.”

When they reached the courtyard, Aengus was indeed ready, with her sword, bow, and satchel of arrows attached to the saddle.

But Y/N suddenly remembered that Drumenthoul was on the north coast of the court.

She had included cardiography in her Autumn Court studies. And it would take days to reach.

Why had no one said anything?

“Can someone winnow me?” She asked.

All the soldiers shifted uncomfortably, not meeting her gaze.

Captain Respen was the one who broke the silence. “We are under strict orders to do no such thing.”

He at least had the decency to look guilty about it.

That was why no one had questioned her orders to grab her mount: she would never get close to the danger in time.

“Lucien is with them?” She asked quietly.

He nodded.

“So I am to just wait here?”

Before anyone could answer her, there was another surge of power.

Between the courtyard of the Forest House and the outer gates, there was a half mile.

But despite the distance, Y/N could see him – no – she could feel Eris. And she sensed that something was not right.

The next second, she was jumping onto Aengus, and digging her heels into gelding. The horse needed no other signals to throw him into a run.

“Accompany Lady Y/N,” was the last thing Y/N heard before she was in the forests and meadows between the courtyard and outer wall.

When she was close enough to take in her mate, she noted that while Eris was walking on his own, his entire body was tense.

A gust of wind hit her. “He is injured…faebane…faebane…faebane.”

Another gust of wind. “He took…his beastly form.”

Y/N had heard of the High Lord’s beast form from a night of drinking with Cassian. He tried to scare her by sharing the murderous creatures she could stumble upon in the Prythian wilderness.

“But none are more terrifying than the beasts of High Lords," he had whispered to her for dramatic effect. Then went into great detail of the few times in his centuries when he witnessed Rhysand’s own beastly form.

Y/N still didn’t know much about them, but she did know it drained one's power. It was no parlor trick, but a skill that only a powerful High Lord could wield – and use sparingly.

That must have been the blast of power that had woken her up.

When she was just a few yards away, Y/N swung her leg over the side of the saddle and jumped while Aengus still cantered and had yet to come to a stop.

“Eris!” Y/N gasped at the sight of him.

Though he walked on his own, Lucien watched his eldest brother with caution a few steps behind him.

And now Y/N could see that Eris had at least twenty arrows sticking out of his back.

Then she heard the galloping of her guard catching up to them.

As soon as Eris’ spotted them, his posture straightened even more.

He does not want to appear weak in front of his men, Y/N realized.

“The infantry?” Y/N asked the two of them.

“Only a handful lost,” Lucien told her. “But many injured. They are being winnowed. The rest will return on horseback.”

Y/N turned to her guard. “Ready the infirmary tents! The injured will be returning any moment. Have a female alert the human women that I will need their help. They will know what to prepare.”

Captain Respen barked orders at the others, but he and another lingered.

“Leave us,” she ordered them, more harshly than she ever would if the situation did not call for it.

Respen eyed Eris.

“Do as my mate demands, Captain.” The High Lord finally spoke.

Y/N was surprised by how strong his voice sounded, when it was becoming more and more clear to her how much pain he was in.

Respen and his lieutenant nodded before galloping back to the Forest House.

Once they were out of eyesight, Eris fell to his hands and knees.

“Eris!” Y/N whispered, not wanting any fae senses picking up their panic.

“For Cauldron’s sake!” Lucien growled as he helped his brother off the ground with Y/N.

Y/N carefully put one of his arms over his shoulder, while Lucien did the same with his other arm.

“How bad?” She hissed.

“I shall live,” Eris muttered.

His pale skin was not its usual glow, but sickly looking. His hair was covered in mud and blood – and she could only hope most of it was not his.

“It’s the faebane,” she acknowledged.

Eris and Lucien looked at her with surprise. But she ignored them.

“Can you ride?” She whispered to Eris.

He gave her a shaky nod. “Behind you,” he clarified.

She nodded and whistled for Aengus. “Lucien, help me get him in the saddle.”

Y/N climbed on first, and pulled him up as Lucien lifted from the ground.

Eris growled at the pain, making her heart race with panic.

As soon as he was sitting, Y/N gave orders. “Lucien, get a cot brought to my witchery. Do it yourself and tell no one. Discretion is key.”

Lucien nodded and winnowed to the Forest House.

“You want to show them how strong you are, then show them,” Y/N muttered before she urged Aengus into a gallop.

When they got closer, she softly urged him. “Take the reigns.”

Eris did as she said.

Y/N knew why Eris did not winnow back into the Forest House on his own. She knew why he would not show pain, despite his back being littered with faebane-poisoned arrows. There were those who still questioned his power. Therefore, he would not show weakness.

Instead, it looked like two lovers returning after sharing a relieved embrace.

Y/N jumped down from Aengus and handed the horses to a stableboy, making sure not to watch Eris with worry as he dismounted on his own.

“Make sure all the healers have been alerted,” Eris told his sentries. Then he looked over his shoulder of the forest and meadow they had just come from.

With the wave of his hand, a hundred tents appeared out of nowhere. Healer tents for the injured that would soon be brought back.

“Come,” Y/N offered her hand to her mate.

Eris didn’t hesitate, taking it and letting her lead him into the Forest House.

——

Y/N had offered Eris a pain relieving tonic, but he refused it.

Not having time to argue with him, she fluttered about her witchery, brewing a potion and cutting herbs.

All while Eris sat patiently on the cot Lucien had snuck in.

Within minutes, Y/N had a healing paste ready.

“The arrows,” she gulped. “Shall I remove them one by one or all at once?”

Eris met her gaze over her shoulder, “All at once.”

“I will help,” Lucien offered.

“Touch me with your grimy hands and I will set you alight,” Eris growled in warning.

Y/N ignored the outburst. “Ready?” She whispered.

He nodded.

But Y/N moved in front of him and crouched before him. She took both of his hands in her own, squeezing them lovingly.

She closed her eyes and started chanting a spell.

And Eris immediately felt his back start to heat.

Even as a bystander, Lucien felt the witch’s power fill the room.

Eris almost forgot he was about to suffer, too enamored with watching his mate take over with her magic.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, but they looked at no one and nothing.

Lucien watched as they glazed over in white, which they had all put together was only when she was stretching her magic to new and powerful heights.

And then, as if there was an invisible lasso around all of the two dozen arrows in his back, Y/N’s spell got louder and then abruptly stopped. Along with her spell ending, the arrows were all ripped from Eris’ back in one pull.

But the only noise that came from the High Lord was a low growl.

Y/N gasped at the exertion of power, and was quickly trying to catch her breath.

But her eyes had returned to normal.

Lucien leaned over to look at Eris’ back. “Well, you sure got all of them.” Then he bent down to pick up the fallen arrows from the ground, burning them in his palm until they were ash.

“You better clean that up,” Y/N warned as she saw it flutter to the floor.

She turned her attention back to Eris. “Alright?”

He just nodded.

“I must clean the wounds individually now,” she told him gently. “Some will need stitching, but not many.”

Silence filled the room as the real work began. Y/N treated Eris’ wounds as if he were made of glass. She was gentle and kind, always giving him a moment when his body tensed with pain. But he never complained and barely made a sound.

“It was not…it was not how it should be,” Lucien finally spoke after some time. He was sitting on the ground now, knees propped up as he watched from the corner.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked with confusion.

Lucien watched Eris, who would not meet his gaze. “Beron’s beast form was that of a multi-tailed fox – still a tremendous size – and with the wings of an owl. Smaller than the beasts of the other High Lords, but still ever so deadly.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And…?”

But Lucien didn’t speak.

“I was something else,” Eris finally answered, trying to pass through the subject.

“Something more,” Lucien corrected darkly.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted quietly.

But Eris just stared at the ground, his face emotionless.

Lucien cleared his throat awkwardly, but continued. “He too turned into a fox, but that of a bear – something to rival even Tamlin. He had the antlers of our court’s stag. And the flames…he was engulfed in flames.”

Was it fear in Lucien’s tone... or awe? Y/N couldn’t figure it out.

Lucien finally finished with, "The arrows you pulled from his back are just those of hundreds that failed to take him down.”

“Then I shall thank this beast when I see him,” Y/N snapped. “For he seems to be the reason that Eris returned alive.”

That was her only warning to Lucien to stop his antics.

“Leave us,” Eris ordered his youngest brother.

He didn’t need to be told again.

“I will check on the injured,” Lucien announced to no one in particular.

He closed the door louder than necessary, making both of them roll their eyes.

The only sound to be heard was the crackling of the fire in the witchery.

“How do you know how to treat faebane?” Eris’ tone instantly switched to the softness that was only reserved for his mate.

“I shall tell you when you tell me why you ran into battle without waking me," she countered grimly.

Eris was smart enough to look guilty, even though she couldn’t see his face as she worked on his back. “I did not wish to worry you.”

“And being woken up by your surge of power was not more worrisome?”

“I did not realize you would sense my magic in such a way,” he admitted.

Y/N paused her healing and walked around to look down at him. “You could have been killed, Eris. And I never would have even said goodbye.”

Without hesitating, Eris reached up and gently grasped the back of her neck, pulling her down until her lips crashed to his.

She was sure the movement did not feel good for his back. But one would never know from the way his body only tried to pull her in further.

The subject was lost for a few moments, while their lips moved together.

Eventually, they pulled apart.

“You are right,” Eris told her, voice raspy.

“I am right?” She questioned, suddenly forgetting what they had even been talking about before he kissed her.

“I should have woken you before I left,” he clarified.

Then he smirked. “But I knew you would have tried to come.”

“Of course I would have!” She admitted with a playful glare.

His eyes darkened in warning. “You cannot rush into battle alongside me every time there is danger I must face, Y/N.”

“And why not?”

“Because I need you safe. Do you forget why you are here? And because these are not your battles to fight."

Y/N looked into his eyes before she answered, “They would be if I accepted the bond.”

She yelped when she was suddenly sitting across Eris' lap. He had pulled her so swiftly that there was no stopping it.

“Do not tease me with such things, witch.”

His body felt so hot, it was as if there was fire itself beneath his skin.

Y/N swallowed. “I need to finish healing your back, High Lord.”

Eris watched her before allowing her to get up.

A tension filled silence settled in the room.

“Will you let me see your beast form?” She finally asked him, her tone innocent.

Eris smirked, only because he knew she couldn’t see it. “Why, so you can make me your pet, like Ronan?”

“I think it would be rather hard to cuddle a grizzly fox that was immersed in flames…” She thought aloud. “Cuddles would be much easier when you are in this form.”

Y/N had finished with her spells and healing salve, and was now wrapping Eris in gauze to keep it in place and protect the mending.

“Where is this torment coming from?” Eris asked as he slowly stood.

Y/N stepped to him, her eyes seemingly innocent.

Then she suddenly kissed him again, but pulled away only after she bit the corner of his lip, making him hiss – not from the pain, though it did sting – from arousal.

“For not waking me,” she answered, as if it were obvious.

She stormed out of the witchery and threw open the door to his bedchambers that were next down the hall.

“Also, I put a sleep tonic on my lips. So you will want to get in bed in the next few minutes, or you will be passing out on the cold, hard floor. And if you ruin my hard work from that, I shall punish you even worse.”

Eris looked at her, utterly stunned.

“You poison your High Lord?" His eyes narrowed playfully. “Finally, your true self is revealed: you are an evil, little witch after all.”

She ignored his teasing. “To bed, now.”

Eris sauntered past her into his personal bedchambers.

She waited until he sat on the bed, then she slammed the door behind her.

Instantly, she started chanting a protection spell.

Yes, she had just knocked Eris out, which left him even more vulnerable than he already was with his injuries and exertion of power from using his beast form.

Therefore, she would not leave him unprotected.

She knew his guards would be lingering further down the hall. Lucien would have ordered to give the two of them space until further orders.

All of them straightened to attention when they saw her round the corner.

“The High Lord is to stay in his rooms and rest,” she explained firmly. “If he comes out, do not engage. One of you is to inform me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Lady Y/N.” They all said in unison. There was no mockery or questioning; their tones held only respect and understanding.

—🍁—🍁—🍁—

Eris awoke feeling much better than he probably should – and he knew he had Y/N to thank for that.

It was dusk now. And he’d left for battle before the sun had risen that morning. So he must’ve been asleep for quite some time.

Y/N’s poison had knocked him out so quickly that he hadn’t even bathed since battle. Though she had cleaned his wounds, he probably smelled of sweat and blood.

Eris quickly went to his bathroom and bathed, finally ridding himself of the battle filth.

Then he threw on a simple tunic and trousers, and rushed out of his chambers.

His sentries were waiting for him and bowed immediately.

“The injured?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

Captain Respen stepped forward. “Tended to, High Lord.” Then paused before he added, “More were lost, their injuries to dire. The healers did all they could.”

Eris frowned, but gave a slow nod.

“Where is my mate?”

All the sentries behind their captain shared a look, silently communicating.

“She insisted that you are to stay in your bedchambers and rest,” Respen explained.

Eris ignored that. “Where is she?”

——

Eris entered the grounds where all the healer tents had appeared. He expected to hear moans of pain or tears of grief. But there was a subtle peace amongst the camp.

The sun had just passed the horizon, leaving the forest and sky with a unique mixture of faded blues and oranges.

“This way, High Lord,” Captain Respen nodded in a direction past the tents.

Servants had erupted countless fire pits to both warm the camp and make visibility easier for everyone, despite faelights glowing inside each healer tent.

Eris’ walk slowed when he heard the giggling and laughter.

It was not a common sound in Autumn Court.

Once they walked past the last of the tents, Eris halted.

Y/N, ran around with the mortal children they had been sheltering. It appeared they were playing a game of tag. But every time one of them got away from her grasp, a gust of wind would tickle them, causing a fit of giggles.

“She has been running around all day, aiding the healers in any way she can. She has saved many lives today.” Captain Respen told him quietly. “When someone finally managed to get her to take a break, she came to entertain the children whose mothers were still helping the wounded.”

Eris didn’t respond, just watched his mate, who looked utterly exhausted, yet smile and played with the children despite it.

“Will she stay?” Respen dared to ask his High Lord the question that all of Autumn Court had come to wonder.

Eris ignored him, but the clenching of his jaw was visible.

He stepped towards his mate, purposely making noise to bring attention to his arrival.

The children’s laughter stopped immediately at the sight of the High Lord. Some of them even eyed him with fear.

“It is alright,” Y/N assured them.

Then she beckoned Eris closer, to her.

He did as requested, following that invisible string attached to his heart.

“Is it true you turned into a beast?” One of the brave children asked hurriedly.

Y/N bit back her smile.

“Can you show us?” Another cried out before Eris could even answer.

“I do not think your mothers would appreciate that,” Eris told them.

“I don’t have one. So can you at least show me?” Another begged.

“Now, now,” Y/N playfully scolded them. "The High Lord is far too powerful to show off his gifts like some court jester.”

“Awww!!!” They all whined in unison.

But Eris kneeled before them, pausing dramatically to get their attention back.

The children leaned in, believing they changed his mind.

With a subtle and small flick of Eris’ wrist, his palm twisted to the sky, and fireworks erupted above them.

The children cheered and jumped underneath the fireworks as they continued to erupt in every color they could ever want, some even turning into little animals before exploding.

They tried to catch the falling light in their hands. But it would always disappear before they could, creating a new game for the children.

Y/N moved to her mate’s side to join him in watching the new joy.

“Neat trick," she told him.

Eris gave her a shy smile. “I used to do the same for Lucien when he was a child. Sometimes it was the only thing that could stop his crying fits after father… reprimanded him.”

But they both knew it was more than reprimanding.

Eris sighed. “It has been so many centuries, I almost forgot about it entirely...until now.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N asked him.

“I am fine,” he answered too quickly.

She sighed, but didn’t push.

“My guards say you have not rested since tending to me,” he pointed out.

She shrugged dismissively. “There were many injured. And the healers were overwhelmed. I helped as much as I possibly could.”

“And I am grateful for it.” He countered. “But for someone who does not wish to join this Court, you certainly care about its inhabitants.”

“Shhh,” she warned. “None of that. I am quite tired.”

The next second, Eris had scooped Y/N up in his arms.

“Eris!” She admonished. “Your injuries!”

“My injuries are healing – thanks to you.”

Eris passed his guards, who had been watching over them from a distance. “Once the fireworks finish, make sure the children return to their mothers and caretakers.”

“Of course, High Lord. The children will be looked after.” Captain Respen bowed.

When they were at the doors of the Forest House, Eris locked eyes with one of the footman who stood at the ready.

“Bring dinner to her bedchambers,” he ordered.

The footman nodded and rushed off.

Eris looked down to see that Y/N had closed her eyes and rested her head in the crook of his neck.

“Are we too tired for a bath?” He asked quietly.

Without opening her eyes, Y/N mumbled. “Never too tired for a bath.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “Good. It is my turn to take care of you.”

“Will you promise that I will wake up next to you tomorrow morning?”

“I promise, Y/N.”

-----------

Thank you thank you thank you for your patience. I'm sure no one will read this...but work was really terrible around the holidays. I was trying to find a new job, but the job market is so terrible. So my mental health just took a real hit. I've also really gotten back into reading, so that because my thing unwind after work, instead of writing. I had also been doing a lot of different personal art projects – painting, editing, and photographing. And those started feeling better than writing for me.

Anyways...thank you for those who stuck with me and were patient and supportive.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #gust & flame #eris vanserra #eris #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris fic #autumn court #lucien vanserra #lady of autumn #high lord of autumn

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the-dust-jacket · 7 days ago

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This is a PSA that goes out to the several lovely people I have talked to who really want to pick up a copy of Wicked to read with their six-or-seven-year old musical fans. Look y’all, Gregory Maguire's dark fantasy novel, with its violence, sex, politics, and Broadway-belting-free ending, is not aimed at elementary schoolers, but good news there are plenty of books that might hit the spot!

Here are a few MG books with flying broomsticks, evil overlords, magical school drama, and big questions about just what makes someone a good witch or a bad one.

The Dark Lord's Daughter, by Patricia C. Wrede (Dealing With Dragons also makes an excellent read aloud)

Abby In Oz, by Sarah Mlynowski (from the Whatever After series)

Which Witch, by Eva Ibbotson (so many witches trying their wickedest)

The Dark Lord Clementine, by Sarah Jean Horwitz (it's not easy living up to a legacy of villainy)

The Marvellers, by Dhonielle Clayton (magic school misfits)

The School for Good and Evil, by Soman Chainani (are you a hero or a villain?)

Kiki's Delivery Service, by Eiko Kadono (a gentler story, with plenty of flying on brooms!)

Egg & Spoon, by Gregory Maguire (Russian folklore and whimsical adventure)

Witchlings, by Claribel Ortega (covens and curses and quests)

Amari and the Night Brothers, by B.B. Alston (magic school isn't always a friendly place)

The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy, by Ann Ursu (who does the story serve?)

Witch Boy, by Molly Knox Ostertag (who gets to be a witch?)

For another subversive take on Oz, there's also the YA novel Dorothy Must Die by Danielle Paige.

And of course, there's always the OG Wonderful Wizard of Oz, or maybe Glinda of Oz for some more witchiness, or The Emerald City of Oz for intrigue and villainy.

#Wicked #Oz #middle grade reads #ask a bookseller

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acourtofquestions · 2 months ago

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Chapter 7 has some very Kingly moments for Dorian:

Asterin gave him a wicked grin. "Morning, Your Majesty."

"It is a king's mercy you receive," Dorian said coldly, "and I'd suggest being quiet long enough to receive it." Rarely, so rarely did Manon hear that voice from him, the tone that sent a thrill through her blood and bones. A king’s voice.

But he was not her king. He was not the coven leader of the Thirteen.

Dorian's sapphire eyes churned, the hand on his sword tightening. Manon tensed at that contemplative, cold stare. The hint of the calculating predator beneath the king's handsome face.

"A king without his crown asks for a lowly spider's name," she murmured, her depthless eyes setting on him. "You cannot pronounce it in your tongue, but you may call me Cyrene." Manon ground her teeth. "It doesn't matter what we call you, as you'll be dead soon."

But Dorian cut her a sidelong glance. "The Ruhnns are a part of my kingdom. As such, Cyrene is one of my subjects. I think that gives me the right to decide whether she lives or dies."

"You are both at the mercy of my coven,"

Manon snarled. "Step aside."

Dorian gave her a slight smile. "Am I?" A wind colder than the mountain air filled the pass.

He could kill them all. Whether by choking the air from them or snapping their necks. He could kill them all, and the wyverns included. The knowledge carved out another hollow within him. Another empty spot. Had it ever troubled his father, or Aelin, to bear such power?

Manon ignored the spider. "And when she shifts in the night to rip us apart?"

Dorian only inclined his head, ice dancing at his fingertips. "She won't."

Cyrene sucked in a breath. "A rare gift of magic." Her stare turned ravenous as she took in Dorian. "For a rare king."

Manon glanced to Asterin. Her Second's eyes were wary, her mouth a tight line. Sorrel, a few feet behind, glowered at the spider, but her hand had dropped from her sword.

The Thirteen, on some unspoken signal, peeled away to their wyverns. Only Cyrene watched them, those horrible, soulless eyes blinking every now and then as her teeth began to clack.

Manon angled her head at him. "You're … different today."

He shrugged. "If you want someone to warm your bed who cowers at your every word and obeys every command, look elsewhere."

Her stare drifted to the pale band around his throat. "I'm still not convinced, princeling," she hissed, "that I shouldn't just kill her."

"And what would it take, witchling, to convince you?"

A muscle flickered in Manon's jaw. Things from legends—that's who surrounded him. The witches, the spider ... He might as well have been a character in one of the books he'd lent Aelin last fall. Though none of them had ever endured such a yawning pit inside them.

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throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

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dictionaries

Manorian x f!Reader

Summary: You and Dorian learn a new word.

Warnings: none

A/N: a crack drabble apology for @nestaismommy

“Manon,” Dorian called as she entered the room. “What do you grok?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, hiding the laugh bubbling in your chest.

Manon paused, looking at him as if he’d grown three heads. “Excuse me?”

“What do you grok?”

You flipped open the dictionary, holding it up for her to see, she stalked over towards you, squinting her eyes at the page.

Grok | Verb | GRAKH

To understand something profoundly and intuitively

“You both are ridiculous.”

“What do you grok?” Dorian repeated, a small smile creeping up on your face. She let out a low exhale, closing her eyes before turning back to him.

“Ripping out men’s hearts.” She deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

“You like me too much for that.”

“Don’t test me,” Manon snapped, but the corners of her lips twitched. “What do you …” she paused, as if she was hesitant to even entertain him. “Grok?” the word rolled awkwardly off her tongue.

“Ways to piss off a Witch.”

She snorted, snatching the book from you and turning to a random page. “Churlish. Irritable and rude.”

“Sounds familiar,” you murmured, and she cut you a sharp look before flipping a few more pages.

“Defenestrate. Remove or dismiss from a position of power or authority.” Her finger paused and her head tilted. “Or .. to throw someone out of a window.”

You looked nervously at the window, and then at the look on her face. “Call me churlish again, see what happens.” She snarled half-heartedly at you.

“You are acting quite churlish today, witchling.” Dorian said with a wicked grin, before throwing a shield up between him and Manon, just in time

#throne of glass imagine #throne of glass drabble #manorian x reader #manorian x y/n #poly!manorian x y/n #poly!manorian x reader #manon blackbeak x reader #dorian havilliard x y/n #dorian havilliard x reader

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shadowdaddyazriel · 2 years ago

Text

Night Cap (rowaelin x manorian smut)

Warnings: this is just pure filth. foursome m/m/f/f etc etc. lmk what u thinkkkk

Across the bar, a shimmery blonde had been eyeing Manon for some time now. She had intense turquoise and green eyes, and a wicked smile to match. She was mesmerizing, tossing her hair and chatting animatedly with her hands to the bartender when he came over.

Beside her, a huge male leaned his arms on the bar, eyes closely watching the blonde’s every move like he just couldn’t get enough of her. He had silver hair and a swirling black tattoo that started at his temple and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. The two kept snagging Manon’s attention, squirming in her seat when they met her glance.

The bartender walked away and the blonde caught Manon’s eyes once more. A slow, sly grin spread across her face as she leaned over to whisper something in the male next to her’s ear. His eyes immediately flicked up to meet Manon’s and she almost went liquid under his intense stare. Her cheeks were on fire. The male nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

The blonde stood up then, walking around him, trailing her fingers lightly across the top of his back as she went. Spinning on his stool, he stood to follow her, his height towering over hers. The two headed for the dance floor, directly in Manon’s eye line. A thrill shot up her spine as the two began to writhe against each other on the dance floor, the blonde grinding her ass against the huge male’s lap. Manon’s jaw loosened at the sight, her eyes utterly fixated on the blonde’s form as she arched back into him, and the possessive way the fae male gripped her hips.

Manon felt Dorian’s minty breath on her ear as his arms wrapped around her. She hummed, leaning back into him. He smelled divine and male and hers. Manon wanted to lose herself in him, to play out every fantasy she’d imagined when looking at the fae couple dance together.

“See something you like, witchling?” Dorian purred into her ears. She let a shiver snake down her spine. Dorian had always been open to exploring Manon’s sexual desires. A small part of Manon wondered if Dorian hadn’t wanted to just as much as she had.

When she looked back at the dance floor, the couple was gone. She fought the urge to let herself sag in disappointment. Her brow furrowed. She’d been sure the couple was propositioning them, but perhaps she’d read it all wrong.

“Is it true?” A high, clear voice called from behind Manon. She turned to find the blonde behind her, the fae warrior wrapped around her and towering over her. Dorian gave them both a wicked grin, looking back and forth between Manon and the blonde like it was solstice morning.

“Is what true?” Manon asked, eyebrow arched. Her voice was deep and sensual.

“That ironteeth pussy is as good as they say?” She said, a sinful glimmer filling those beautiful eyes of hers. Manon’s stomach heated and she felt Dorian’s hand slide across her lower back.

“Better,” Dorian drawled. The blonde and her fae both looked shocked but definitely, definitely intrigued.

“Wanna find out for yourself? Quench that curiosity?” Manon smirked at her. The blonde eyed her, clearly liking her confidence and handle on her sexuality.

“I’m Aelin, this is Rowan,” she said, gesturing to the man behind her.

“Manon.”

“Dorian.”

“Rowan’s flat is two blocks away if you care for a nightcap,” Aelin cooed. Manon looked at Dorian, who shrugged. Taking that as a yes, Aelin slid her hand into Manon’s, lacing their fingers and tugging her towards the door.

Back at Rowan’s flat, Aelin poured them all drinks, passing them out. They all sipped, feeling the warmth resetting in their stomachs. Manon wasn’t nervous, exactly. She’d been a part of group sex a few times in her long life. Something about Aelin and her confidence, though, seemed to call to her.

“And you, pretty boy?” Rowan asked, his voice a deep rumble reverberating in his chest. Dorian’s head shot up to take in the fae warrior. A corner of Dorian’s mouth pulled into a crooked grin.

“What about me?” He asked.

“Do you fuck as good as you look?” Rowan asked. Dorian’s grin was utterly feline. He quirked up an eyebrow at Rowan.

“Wanna find out?” Dorian saw the flash of lust in his green eyes, with no small amount of pride. Dorian aimed to please in the bedroom, and Manon had no doubts he would be utterly performing for them all by the end.

Aelin tipped her head back, draining her cup. She sensually lowered herself to her knees, looking up at Manon from under her lashes with a wolfish smirk. Manon looked down her nose at the queen.

“Crawl to me,” Manon commanded. She saw the shiver run down Dorian’s spine at her words. Aelin looked as though she were about to start purring. She languidly crawled across the floor on her hands and knees to Manon.

She placed her delicate hands on Manon’s knees, gently pushing them apart and baring Manon’s drenched panties to her. She groaned, sliding her hands up Manon’s thighs and under her skirt. On her knees between Manon’s legs, Aelin pressed her mouth gingerly to the witch’s. They moaned breathily into one another’s open mouths. Their wet, warm tongues lapped against one another, discovering and devouring.

Still kissing Manon, Aelin slid her hands higher up Manon’s skirt, wrapping her hands around the sides of Manon’s panties, and sliding them down her legs and off. She turned, slingshotting them into Rowan’s lap, who looked seconds from pouncing on them both but was remaining patient. Dorian just looked like his smug and charming self.

Aelin tugged Manon closer to the edge of the couch, pushing her legs even farther apart, putting her soaking wet pussy on display for them all. Dorian bit his lip and Rowan’s eyes darkened at the wetness between her thighs.

“You smell divine,” Aelin purred, the flat of her tongue dragging up the center of Manon’s pussy with a feral groan. “And taste even better.” Manon panted, lacing her hands at the base of the blonde’s head, pushing her face impatiently back to her core. Aelin chuckled, the vibrations making Manon writhe against her.

Aelin’s tongue dipped inside Manon’s hole, fucking her with her mouth. Manon’s eyes rolled back into her head in ecstasy. Dorian palmed himself through his pants at the sight, painfully hard already.

“Hey, Buzzard,” Aelin murmured to her mate, “come get a taste of her before I keep her all to myself.” Rowan eagerly obliged, walking over to drop to his knees before the witch. He was so muscular and devastatingly beautiful Manon almost came at the sight of him bowing before her before he roughly gripped her thighs, tossing them over each shoulder. He looked up at her, locking in her stare as he kissed from her knees down to her pussy with wet, open-mouthed kisses. Rowan began fiercely sucking her clit as Aelin situated herself, straddling Dorian’s thighs.

Aelin gasped as she ground down against Dorian’s covered cock. Manon watched the look on his face as his jaw dropped open, parting his perfect pink lips. Aelin licked a stripe up his neck before pressing her mouth to his, placing her tongue in his mouth, still covered with Manon’s wetness. Dorian moaned at the familiar taste, and a shockwave of pleasure filled Manon’s belly.

Manon gasped as Rowan landed a harsh smack to the side of her thighs. She looked down at him wide-eyed. He lifted his head, her wetness coating his chin. Gods, he was like a god among men.

“If I’m going to eat your pussy, you’re going to give all that attention to me,” he snarled. “Look at me. If you look away or close your eyes, I stop and you don’t come.” Manon felt a thrill rip through her at the challenge.

Manon panted in anticipation, Rowan’s warm mouth only inches from her core. The cold air hitting her wetness was driving her mad. She writhed against him, but he didn’t budge.

“I require acknowledgment, little witch,” he growled, turning his head to harshly sink his teeth into her thigh. She gasped at the pressure and light flick of his tongue.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes, what?” He barked.

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered. She wouldn’t call him anything else. Those other names were only for Dorian. Who was currently whimpering under Aelin’s touch desperately. Manon wanted to look, but she wouldn’t disobey him, needing to come too badly.

He gave her another rough smack to her thigh.

“Good girl,” he snarled, using his thumbs to open her pussy to him, groaning at the sight of her. He licked her like she was a delicacy, her legs still thrown over his broad shoulders. He flicked his tongue against her clit in a way that had her screeching and squeezing her thighs against the sides of his head, which she discovered he liked very much.

“Filthy girl gonna get herself off on my thigh?” Dorian hummed from a few feet away where Aelin’s legs straddled his powerful thigh, relishing the friction of his jeans. “My pussy aches for you,” she whined.

“It’s my thigh or nothing,” Dorian directed. “Rub that pretty pussy against my leg and show me just how bad you want me.” Manon loved when he used that commanding tone with her. Her mouth opened slightly, feeling her orgasm building when Rowan immediately pulled his mouth away from her.

She whimpered, arching and crying out for him. She’d looked away when he told her not to. She couldn’t help it. The sight of Aelin and Dorian was so intoxicating. “If you’re going to act like a little brat, I’m going to treat you like a little brat,” he fussed.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be good I promise, please touch me,” she practically begged. He gave her a hard look before leaning down to lick her.

He held her open for his tongue with one hand and palmed his throbbing cock through his pants with the other. Manon barrelled toward her climax at a blinding speed. She watched Rowan as he palmed himself and worshipped her cunt with his tongue. She screwed her eyes shut with a cry, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Rowan kept sucking her too-sensitive clit. She tried to push his head away, but he was having none of it.

Manon felt Dorian’s phantom hands wrap around her wrists and pin her hands behind her back, leaving her utterly at Rowan’s mercy, of which he had exactly none. He sucked her clit roughly, sending her into her second climax. Tears streamed down her face and she howled like a banshee at his tongue lapping against her. He didn’t stop until he’d devoured every drop of wetness from her swollen cunt. Then, thank the gods, he allowed her to collapse back into the couch to catch her breath, dropping her legs from his shoulders.

Rowan stood, walking to where Aelin still ground against Dorian’s cock through his jeans, a wet spot smeared across the front of the fabric. Manon wanted to lick it off. She chewed her bottom lip.

Rowan’s hand gripped the hair on the back of Dorian’s head, roughly jerking his head back until his lips parted. Dorian’s throat on display for her, Aelin suckled at it. Rowan spit into Dorian’s mouth, a mixture of his saliva and Manon’s cum dripping from his lips to Dorian’s tongue. Dorian swallowed with a deep growl.

Rowan made to pull back, but Dorian stood, pulling Aelin with him. Aelin wrapped her legs around his middle as he smashed his mouth fiercely against Rowan’s. Rowan kissed him back forcefully. As Dorian licked the roof of Rowan’s mouth, Manon took advantage. She lowered herself to her knees in front of Rowan, pulling at his belt.

Still kissing Dorian, he helped her with his free hand, shoving his pants off and kicking them away. He quickly ripped his shirt over his head. With shared smirks, the rest of them followed suit, abandoning any clothing left on them.

Manon swirled her tongue against the pink head of Rowan’s massive cock, lapping up his pre-cum greedily, eager to taste more of him. He was delicious. His breathy moan was even more delicious. She wanted to hear that sound forever. Licking the underneath of his cock from his balls to his tip, she swallowed him deeply into her throat, relaxing and taking him to the hilt.

His entire body shuddered as he instinctually tried to pull her off, but she swatted his hand away, caressing her tongue against the base of his cock. He bit back a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

Having none of that, Dorian reclaimed his mouth. Feeling left out, Aelin forced her way in, the three of their mouths moving together as Manon swallowed Rowan’s cock. He jerked under her touch, panting and a sheen of sweat coating his chiseled chest.

“Fuck,” Rowan snarled, an angry look on his face. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you, little witch.” She hummed in excitement, the sound vibrating the cock still lodged deeply in her throat. Rowan grimaced at the pleasure.

“Tie her hands behind her back,” he commanded Dorian. Manon couldn’t see him, but she already knew Dorian had that goofy grin on his face she loved so much. The face he made when he toyed with her and edged her to the gods.

Manon’s hands snapped behind her back forcefully and she pulled back, allowing Rowan’s cock to exit her mouth. Strings of saliva still connected her to him. Rowan wrapped a massive hand around the base of himself, squeezing hard.

“Both of you on the couch,” Rowan demanded to Dorian and Aelin. “You’re going to touch yourself for me to see while I fuck her pretty little throat like a cocksleeve.” Gods, she loved Rowan’s filthy mouth. It almost rivaled Dorian’s. Dorian stroked his hard cock, grinning like mad at Manon. She loved him so much she felt like she might burst. She knew he would always allow her to do whatever she wanted, just as long as he got to tag along.

Rowan pressed a thumb against her lips, directing her focus back to him. She opened her mouth for him. He pressed a thumb roughly to her tongue, grabbing her jaw to hold her in place. He slid the head of his cock down her throat, not waiting for her to be ready. He released her jaw to grab the sides of her face.

He gave a few tentative thrusts to allow her to find his rhythm, and then he wasn’t gentle with her. Which is exactly what she liked. He impaled her throat over and over. Every time he bottomed out, she swallowed, clenching her throat tightly around him.

With the way she was sucking him, he wasn’t going to last long. She supposed he hadn’t expected her to know how to suck cock the way she did. Many, many years of practice were on her side there. Dorian moaned from the couch. He watched the way drool dripped from Manon’s mouth as Rowan fucked into her.

Rowan jerked her off him roughly, gasping and grabbing the base of his dick tightly, trying to keep himself from coming. He closed his eyes as he panted, trying to recenter. Manon grinned at Dorian, who winked at her. Dorian heavily benefitted from Manon’s bedroom experience.

“Why don’t you come sit that pretty cunt of yours on my face,” Manon said, raising a seductive eyebrow at Aelin. Did she just… blush? Oh, Manon liked that. She’d do whatever it took to see it again.

Manon laid back on the soft carpet, propping her legs to expose her drenched cunt to Dorian where he still sat on the couch, slowly gliding his hand along himself. Aelin chewed her bottom lip, swinging a leg on either side of Manon’s head. But Manon was having none of her sudden shyness. She gripped her soft thighs and pulled her down onto her face. Gods, she was so wet.

“This all for me, princess?” Manon praised. Aelin nodded fiercely, grinding her wet pussy against Manon’s open mouth. Manon offered her tongue and Aelin fucked herself on it, legs already twitching with pleasure.

“Your tongue feels so fucking good,” Aelin panted out.

Manon felt the head of Dorian’s cock notch at her entrance, slowly gliding upwards to spread her wetness to her clit. He teased both of them, rubbing his dick slowly through her folds. When he slowly began to push inside her, she moaned loudly against Aelin, which had her giving a high, feral keen. Manon chuckled as Aelin bucked wildly against her mouth, legs tensing on either side of Manon’s head.

Dorian fucked her slowly, just as distracted by Aelin as she was. Manon could feel Dorian’s cock twitching inside her as he hit her cervix, pushing so deep she could feel him in her stomach. Aelin came with a screech, collapsing off of Manon, who used a finger to wipe Aelin’s wetness from her chin and push her finger into Dorian’s mouth.

Rowan positioned himself behind Dorian, a bottle of lube in his palm. He slathered his cock in the lube. He landed a harsh smack to Dorian’s ass as if announcing his presence. Dorian pushed all the way inside Manon and stilled. Manon chewed her lip as she watched every whimper and moan fall from Dorian’s pouty lips until Rowan was all the way inside of him, just as he was inside of her.

Rowan bucked his hips into Dorian, which pushed Dorian further inside Manon. She cried out, grinding against his cock. Aelin positioned herself on the side between Manon and Dorian. She lowered her mouth to flick her tongue over Manon’s clit lazily. Manon arched off the floor, squeezing around Dorian tightly, which wrought a string of curse words from him.

“Fucking do that again, my god,” Dorian panted. Rowan pulled out to the tip and roughly fucked back into Dorian’s ass. Aelin obliged, sucking Manon’s clit with a fierceness that rivaled her mate’s. Manon writhed and cried, her senses overstimulated with the pleasure.

“P-please, I can’t,” she begged.

“You can and you will,” Dorian growled. “You can take it. My good girl.”

At his words, she came, milking Dorian, who roared with his pleasure.

Rowan gritted his teeth, fucking Dorian harder, smacking his ass again, but harder this time. Hard enough to leave a handprint on his ass. Manon knew Dorian loved that shit. He always loved when she marked him up.

Aelin glided her tongue against the base of Dorian’s cock as Manon slid her fingers between Aelin’s legs. She was so wet that Manon easily slid two fingers inside her, fucking her with her hand. Aelin hummed her approval, bucking against Manon’s hand as she turned her attention back to Manon’s clit.

“F-fuck, I’m not going to last,” Dorian yelped.

Rowan wrapped his hand around the front of Dorian’s neck.

“You come when I fucking say you come,” Rowan snarled. Dorian’s eyes rolled back in his head as Manon twitched uncontrollably underneath him, her climaxes just rolling into each other at this point as she pulsed around Dorian.

Aelin closed her eyes as Manon pressed her thumb to her clit, rubbing while she fucked her cunt with her long, slender fingers. Aelin cried out, gripping Manon’s fingers as she came. Manon kept her movements going until Aelin physically jerked back from overstimulation.

She lay back against the couch, legs spread wide and revealing her abused pussy to them all. Rowan grunted, looking at his wife spread out like a feast. Rowan gripped Dorian’s throat again.

“Fucking come. Now,” Rowan commanded, voice breathy.

Dorian whimpered as his back arched, spilling his cum inside Manon’s tight cunt. Rowan pulled out of Dorian, once again clutching himself to keep from coming. It must have been painful by then.

He pressed his cock into Aelin’s pussy with a hitched gasp. He fucked her gently, bringing himself to the precipice and spilling inside of her, burying his face in her neck. Dorian pulled out of her, watching as his seed dripped out of her.

“So fucking good for me, witchling,” he purred, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip.

They eventually showered and reclothed themselves with shaky legs and tired eyes. Dorian carried Manon the few blocks back to their apartment, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear the whole time, reminding her exactly who he belonged to, no matter who they had fun with. And goddamn, was it fun.

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rufousnmacska · 2 years ago

Note

can you write a passage where Dorian came to the wastes and Manon is informed that twins were born in one of the families (for the first time since the witch kingdom was reborn)? 💙

Hi anon! This is going to be quick and I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Thanks to @itach-i for talking this through! Please excuse any typos or mistakes 🥰

***

Word of the twin’s birth spread like fire through the Witch Kingdom. Manon had insisted the mother-to-be stay in her keep and be attended by the best healers in order to maintain some semblance of privacy. But news could never be held for long. Especially when it was news of this magnitude.

There had been some witchlings born since the war, but to Crochans, the clan unaffected by Queen Rhiannon’s curse. The witch who now held two witchlings in her arms was a Blackbeak, the first Ironteeth witch to give birth on these lands for hundreds of years. That she’d bore twins was a secondary source of awe and celebration.

Manon had visited the witch only briefly, feeling uncomfortable when she’d been asked to bless the witchlings. As if she were the Three-Faced Goddess herself. She was merely the queen.

Merely, because she often caught herself feeling out of her element in ruling. She longed for the simplicity of battle, without the actual carnage that came with it. Day in and day out of city planning, crop reports, settling meaningless disputes between witches… she had no patience for it or for the balancing act of managing so many personalities.

“How do you do it?” she asked Dorian that evening. He was visiting under the pretense of establishing some sort of treaty between their kingdoms. But the treaty had been signed within twenty minutes of his arrival.

He laughed quietly, dipping his spoon into the steaming bowl of stew. “I delegate as much as I can. If I could delegate everything and spend my time lounging and drinking, I would.”

Now Manon laughed. “That sounds exactly like you.” Growing serious, she added, “I do delegate, but everything here is so new that even with Petrah and Bronwen to help, it all ends up back on my desk.”

“How are the witchlings?” he asked, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Fine at the last report. Both healthy. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Their arrival should help ease some of the tension. With the curse officially broken, witches can feel free to truly settle here. Perhaps, start families.”

Manon eyed him. “I guess so. Why are you so concerned?”

He shrugged. “It just eases the pressure for you.”

He went back to eating but Manon wasn’t convinced. Dorian had reacted strangely to the news of the births. She would have expected some mild happiness at the news of a stranger having twins, even with the curse looming over them. But he’d been truly excited. Almost as excited as he’d been when Yrene had given birth last year.

“What’s going on?” she asked, taking hold of his hand and forcing him to look at her.

Dorian took a breath, trying to calm his nerves.

“When I heard the witchlings survived, I couldn’t help but wonder if…” He trailed off, his face a portrait of hope, his eyes shining brightly.

“You wondered if I might want to try for an heir?” she finished for him.

He smiled, a silly looking grin, and brushed his hand through his hair. “I did.”

She hated when he did that. That grin and ruffled hair and blue eyes. It always made her heart stutter.

“I’m only telling you this because we promised to never hide anything,” he explained. “If you aren’t ready, or, or…” he paused before pushing on, “or would rather choose a different father, I would understand.”

Manon smirked. “You’d understand if I wanted a witchling with some random human male and not you?”

He glared at her as her smile grew wicked with teasing.

“I would not understand but I would step aside for you to make your own choices,” Dorian said through gritted teeth.

Standing and moving around the table to sit in his lap, Manon pushed his curls back down so they were no longer sticking up and distracting her.

“Thank you, princeling,” she said, kissing his cheek. “My choice is you. I made it a long time ago and I’m sticking by it.” He laughed and squeezed her waist. “But I’m not ready for that yet.”

Squeezing her tighter, Dorian tucked his head under her hair and kissed her neck. “I’m not ready either, witchling. But it’s nice to know that when we are, we won’t have to worry about any curses.”

The kiss turned into more and their dinner was forgotten.

When Dorian left for Adarlan the next morning, their goodbye felt different. Weighty in a way she’d never sensed before. They’d made a promise to each other last night, one that hadn’t caused any fear or worry to bloom in her chest. Instead, she felt calm. Part of a team.

She wondered if this was what marriage felt like?

Dorian was already flying away when the thought popped into her head. Maybe when she visited him next month, she’d ask him.

💙💛💙💛💙💛

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #my writing #anon art

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limey-self-inserts · 11 months ago

Text

Roadtrip

Word Count: 5.4k F/Os: Angor Rot (platonic) Summary: Occurs after Episode 18 - Angor is stuck without his teleportation Shadowstaff far from Arcadia, and a familiar face makes an unexpected trip out to get him back. Content warnings: Misgendering, panic attack

art tag crew: @bugsband @rexscanonwife @chimerakisses @faerie-circle-ships @carbo-ships

------

There were clear and definite disadvantages to having lost the Skathe-Hrün. Injured pride still prickled sore and open under Angor’s chest. That a fleshling child had managed to wrestle the staff from him, kick him through the Shadow Realm, and escape almost unharmed.

Still, he had the Killstone. He had won that over the Trollhunter, snatched one of the Triumbric Stones out of his grasp, and beaten him and that other cumbersome troll. It had surprised him that the one called Aaaarrrgghh had somehow managed to evade his blade, but size meant little to mobility and strength when it came to trolls. Not to mention Angor had heard enough comments for a certain someone regarding his own size, stone frame, and speed.

He could travel fast when he needed to. He was certainly covering a good enough distance in this outrageous desert. His mark acted as an internal compass, guiding Angor back towards his prey in Arcadia.

If not for the damned sun.

Without the Skathe-Hrün, there was no shadow shield. Without the shadow shield, there was no way for Angor to withstand the merciless sun in this shadeless space. The first day, he’d carved out a shelter from himself from a partial opening in a convenient rock wall before the sunrays broke the flat horizon. The second day he’d actively hunted down a suitable cave to crouch inside, scowling out at the mice and critters that skittered out into the bright heat beyond his reach.

The time was good. He was away from that coward Strickler, space for his own thoughts beyond the nagging internal tug of the Inferna Copula pulling him back towards his task. He could sit and plot and plan for his next steps to deal with the Trollhunter. And perhaps then to deal with the Impure. Or maybe both at the same time. Or maybe just Strickler.

That was the one Angor hated most at the moment. The one to compel him, the one to taunt Angor’s soul in front of him, wielding that wicked ring that the Pale One had moulded from his stone. After so many centuries under her compulsion, Angor had forgotten what it looked like. He’d almost forgotten how it had come about.

But someone had gotten into the history books and decided to go rooting around with words and now his memories simmered cold and full of holes but still furious. Much like Angor himself.

His village. How could he have forgotten his village?

If he had his soul, he could return. He could vanish into the dark like he had done once before, before Strickler and the Janus Order dragged him back into the neon lights of a new age. He could return, far far too late for any good now. He’d be alone. But he would be free at the very least.

He just needed that ring.

And to get that ring, Angor needed to survive getting back to Arcadia.

By the end of the third night, he’d managed to leave the desert behind. Prickly trees were still trees, and either side of the long flat road was framed by broken cliffs and wandering pathways. The road still proved the fastest direction to travel along for the time being, Angor easily slipping out of sight when one of those cars or vans came careening along it. Idly he wondered if Strickler had noticed Angor’s prolonged disappearance from Arcadia. Maybe he simply considered the lack of an assassin to be Angor doing his duties. On the one hand, Angor doubted the Impure to care much. On the other hand, Angor’s soul on his hand seemed to be the one thing keeping him above his peers in the Order. It was why they sent the witchling after all, and that plan had worked so well for everyone in this situation.

Hmm.

It’d been three nights without a dry comment, a poor attempt at humour, a muttered complaint, or a cautiously offered word of comfort. And it bothered Angor, now that he thought about it. The subtle discomfort that had been dragging at his stone, different from the Inferna Copula or his usual hollowness. He didn’t like it.

The silence drowned out other thoughts. He needed to be able to think clearly, to devise a strategy to lose the leash on him, but how could he do that when he kept expecting someone to say something and then those words simply didn’t come? What had Strickler been thinking, to tie Angor down with a fleshbag that even now acted as a distraction? A wretched witchling at that. A distraction and a failure who could barely even cast a spell.

No. He didn’t mean that.

Angor’s fingers scratched at his chest, bits of stone flaking under his claws. Almost always at the brink of falling apart, it felt, even though he knew his body stood firm. He needed to stay focused and keep walking.

An engine rattled in the distance, coming up from the unknown city far ahead. As always, Angor slunk into the side of the cliff, hiding among the shadows. A van, somewhat batted and with some unpleasant oil streaks over the blank white paint, rumbled its way up the road…and then slowed. Pulled off to the side. Angor curled his lip, pressing himself further out of view while pulling his dagger from his hip. If he needed to cut the throat of an unfortunate human, so be it.

“Angor?”

His eyes widened, just a touch. That was not just any unfortunate human. Avalon’s voice echoed off the sides of the valley, as they called out to him again.

“Angor? Come out, the sun will be up in an hour.”

Silently he peeled himself from his hiding place. Their back was half-turned, eyes glancing about as they scoured the sides of the road and the heights of the cliffside. Their attention was elsewhere.

Angor squeezed the dagger’s handle. In the brief few seconds their head turned away from his direction, he was moving out from his hiding spot completely, bearing down on them in silence. At least, until the shadows moved and formed. A trident raised as their hands moved, connecting with his open wrist but not his weapon hand. Despite having responded fast enough to the faint shuffle of rock and dirt, their aim was not enough to keep the blade edge from their neck.

The stone did not connect with skin. Angor’s hand, caught by trident prongs, trembled in the last bits of momentum that tried to continue moving forward. Avalon’s eyes were wide and pale, teeth bared in instinctive rage. Not like a human. Certainly not like a troll. More like a furious feral beast, a collared dog one word away from the command to kill.

“Good work,” Angor mused. His hand dropped away, taking the knife with it. Panic still danced in Avalon’s vein as they slowly released a trapped exhale and let the trident turn to smoke in the air.

“If you’re going to compliment me for almost getting beheaded, it’s not going to bode well for my sparring lessons,” they cracked. Angor grimaced, pulling away as he stalked around them and towards the van.

“Very well. Your aim was poor and you left yourself vulnerable by defending the wrong side.”

“Mmm, that’s more what I expected,” Avalon muttered as the smidgen of pride was abruptly flattened by disappointment. Hurrying in Angor’s footsteps, they overtook when he hesitated at the van’s side, looking the big beast over. All it took was a small click and big shove, and the side door was pushed open. The windowless interior was bare, apart from an extra tyre hung on the wall and a box shoved in the corner near the seats.

Angor had many questions. But for now he held them back, instead bending over to step into the van. The metal creaked and groaned, suddenly filled with a heavy weight of troll, and for a moment Avalon thought the suspension would give out completely. But the van held together, and Angor continued to squint around the interior as he slowly sat down on the floor.

“Well, uh…I’d say make yourself comfortable but it looks like you already have so-” Avalon gave Angor a double thumb’s up and promptly reached for the van door, pulled it back and closing off the outside world. Not a few seconds later one of the front doors opened and they scrambled back into view, shuffling in behind the steering wheel. The engine rattled to life once more, and with a slight groan of protest the vehicle swung around on the road, heading now in the direction that Angor had been travelling.

There was definitely more strain to the van’s motion and speed, compared to getting out this far. Avalon gritted their teeth just a little as they hopped up another gear, urging the engine to comply in gathering up momentum. Only once were they going at a reasonable speed for the highway did they let out a long sigh.

Now was the time, Angor thought.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“Mmm? Oh, uh…you know when I asked you about those stasis crystals and you told me to ‘go look and familiarise myself’ so I went and rooted around in your pouches?”

The memory was clear enough in Angor’s mind. But how was that connected to how they’d found him? The space between his eyes scrunched up tight in confusion, before reaching back around to the pouch in question. Stasis crystals, flare crystals - oh hello. He plucked out the charm, holding the bead of green light between thumb and forefinger, before twisting around to fix Avalon with an almost proud scowl. They spared a quick glance over their shoulder, spotting the burning gold look digging into their skin, and promptly shrank down just an inch in their seat.

“I mean…you do almost exactly the same thing.”

“You placed a tracker’s charm among my items.”

“Aaand look where it got us. Toddling along the highway, back to sunny - no, that’s bad - back to sweet ol’ Arcadia!” They finally looked properly at Angor, through the reflection in the rearview mirror, and that smile was…somewhat pained.

“Mmm. The one place where the Janus Order had specifically placed you to keep watch on their errant member,” Angor commented with a narrowing of eyes. He could see the moment where a cold realisation hit, the pained grin becoming nauseous, Avalon returning their focus to the road but the rest of their focus rapidly disintegrating into a panicked stare that Angor could see in the windshield’s reflection. He turned himself over to kneel, to face the same direction as them, regardless of how the van bounced a touch from his movements. It didn’t take much effort to steady himself against the back of the driver’s seat.

“You have risked the wrath of those who still hold you tight to their whims,” Angor continued, voice low and risking to tip over into a growl. This wasn’t teasing - he knew the weight of punishment that now threatened to rise over Avalon’s head. And they knew it too. Their eyes flickered as their focus briefly shifted to the reflection of Angor’s eyes in the windshield. Cold panic condensed into sharp motivation. Their hands squeezed on the steering wheel.

“It was a risk worth taking to get you back,” they muttered. “I wasn’t going to let you get caught out by the sun, wherever you ended up.”

“What if I had fallen further? Weeks away from Arcadia. Would you have fled from the Order’s fury to track me down still?”

“Of course.” No hesitation, not even for a second. It threw Angor more than he’d prepared himself for. Avalon pressed on regardless of his surprise, barely managing a half-smile. “Even if I’d had to chase your sorry damn ass to Alaska, I would’ve followed you. Janus Order bearing down on me or not.”

“Not even if they threatened death upon you?”

“Absolutely. Fuck them.” The van’s engine revved as Avalon pressed their foot harder on the gas pedal. It took a second of inhaling breath, their anger faltering from that burst of simmering rage back down to a cooler temperature, for them to settle themselves once more.

They would have risked the Order killing them, taking them away from their home once and for all, for him.

“You are reckless,” Angor muttered, watching as his words dug into the back of Avalon’s neck. “You allowed yourself to be led astray by emotion. You could have risked the Order doing away with you completely. You still do.”

Silence. Heavy and aching. Avalon kept watch on the road, pinpricks of the streetlamp lights glancing off the beads that gathered in the corners of their eyes.

“I know that Strickler would not have wasted time or effort on ensuring my safe return. So…thank you.”

Avalon’s eyes widened in shock, twin discs of bright blue in their reflection. Hurt turned to surprise, to unconditional warmth that flooded into Angor as well. He couldn’t stop that sensation, always present in their company but now filling the whole van space around them. Their smile was small and yet mustered a strange relief throughout Angor’s chest.

“Thank you,” Avalon whispered.

“I…would have done so too, if our positions were exchanged,” Angor admitted quietly. Not just because they were important to the task at hand, but for an end to the silence that he had become so hating of in these past few days. Somehow they’d become necessary to being able to think and rest. It was unthinkable and true.

“Risked death to come and save my sorry ass from the risk of dying?” Avalon questioned, trying to smile but something choking their voice. Human emotions - strangely tolerable nowadays.

“I seem incapable of learning one lesson,” Angor replied. “Still, you have proven loyalty. I can’t deny the importance of that. And so, you have earned a little more of my respect, witchling.” His voice rumbled dangerously as he added, “Even if you did choose to be underhanded in sneaking a tracking charm onto my person.”

Avalon laughed, their voice less damp and more nervous now.

“You’d have never said yes if I’d just out and asked,” they muttered.

“Correct.”

Another small laugh. It buzzed about Angor’s ears like a pixie, with the threat of distraction just as high but the painful effects not as present.

The van rumbled along. Outside the windows, the sky peeked past the sloping valley walls as the road began to descend. Twilight blue lightened with pale orange, clouds turning to streaks of red near the horizon past the city lights below. With how they travelled down the hill towards a spread of streetlamps and windows, it was more like Avalon was driving the pair back into a starry night. But the sun would indeed be rising soon.

Angor’s attention drifted, examining the van’s interior more. He’d never been in one of these vehicles, not even since Strickler had explained them to him. Part of the reason being the majority were simply too small for his size. At a push he could probably outpace and outmanoeuvre these weighty beasts. This one at least was large enough to fit him, and would provide apt shelter from daylight. Although the last time Angor checked, Avalon definitely had no access to one of these sorts of vehicles.

The front seats were a mess. A bag of food stuffs lay askew at the feet of one of the empty seats, along with a couple of pillows and a thick blanket. Water bottles the size of Angor’s hand were jammed in there too, one empty and one halfway done.

“How long did you wait to come and find me?” Angor asked. There was no malice to his question, no underlying blame. Avalon knew he could be petty at times and certainly capable of revenge. But this? No, it was just a question. Didn’t stop their heart rate from skipping up a notch though.

“About a day,” they replied. “Once morning came and I saw the Trollhunter and his friends going around like nothing had happened but you hadn’t shown your face, I figured something was up. The tracking charm confirmed it. I asked Strickler if he’d sent you to collect something and he denied it, saying you were in the process of whatever next step you were on and that if you needed me you’d get me. I just…I had a bad gut instinct.” Their attention shifted briefly, brow furrowing in confusion. “What did happen out there?”

“The human girl took the Skathe-Hrün,” Angor explained, and Avalon sucked a breath through their teeth.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah that’ll fuck things up,” they muttered. “When you didn’t show up in the evening like you always do, I decided to try and…go get you.” They hesitated. Fingers tapping on the van’s wheel. “Stole this van.”

“You stole this vehicle.” Angor’s deadpan held neither pride nor disappointment in its tone.

“I wasn’t going to get you with a shitty little car, was I?! I needed something that could tote you back if - if you -” Avalon’s fingers were strumming up a faster tempo. Grim thoughts lingered on the outskirts of their mind, and they hurriedly stuffed them back out of reach. “Mostly needed something that could keep you safe from the sun, if you weren’t able to teleport back yourself.”

There was more to have been commented on there. Angor chose, perhaps for Avalon’s benefit, to not do so. He could leave those threads aside for another time or simply ignore them for his benefit.

“You need not have expended such energy and risk were I only a few further days away,” he grumbled.

“You, sir, are on foot. You don’t know how long it would’ve taken to reach Arcadia the rest of the way by your method of transport,” Avalon snapped back. “Look, if we keep going back with a couple more stops for, y’know…human stuff. We should be back in another few days.”

Angor squinted. Leaning further forward, he considered Avalon’s face. The shadows hung deeper under their eyes, expression drawn as they did their best to ignore how he drew closer.

“How much rest have you taken while coming out to find me?”

This time the hesitation was far more drawn out. Avalon licked at their lips, daring a cautious glance over their shoulder to catch Angor’s focused glare. He waited with the patience of someone who hunted well.

“Did a couple of all-nighters. Pulled over for power naps when I felt I was getting too tired,” they replied quietly.

“Avalon.” Their name echoed with a deep dismay, and it seemed to kick something over in their head. Pulling off to the side of the road with a sharp turn, Avalon tossed the van into brake and spun around in their seat.

“What?!”

Teeth met teeth. Their snap and glare colliding against Angor’s rolling growl. His claws dug into the seat fabric, small tearing sounds barely heard past the van’s engine still sputtering in the background.

“You steal this van, you risk the Order on your neck, you push yourself against your limits,” Angor intoned. “I admire loyalty, but not when it threatens to break. What good are your actions if they will only harm you in the end?”

Avalon trembled. Exhaustion, anger, maybe both. Maybe some secret third thing that even they didn’t know about. But they didn’t break away from Angor’s glare.

“Everything. Everything matters. Anything I can do is good,” they replied bluntly. “When my choices are the will of people who have made it known they don’t care about how I feel about shit, and the wellbeing of the one person who has in some, small, stupid ways cared about me? Then yeah, I’ll burn for him.”

For the first time in a long while, Angor felt a sharp jolt of true surprise. Avalon had often voiced this strange silly intent to keep him safe: his job was to kill the Trollhunter, their job was to look after him through it. For a while he’d thought it some pathetic attempt for the witchling to keep their hands clean of blood. But the words still remained, even in the first trials of breaking stone and snapping bone. The words got louder, in the quiet dark and in the grip of dizzying poison.

And now? Here? Such fealty could be so easily manipulated, a puppet on someone else’s strings, a dog on a leash that couldn’t see the stick for the loyalty it had for the leash bearer.

Angor was done with puppets and leashes.

Sitting in the contemplative silence, he could see Avalon’s energy beginning to wane, their shoulders dropping. They still fought to hold his gaze, but there was little left to fight with. He reached out, a claw dragging at the edge of their cheek to test how easily they gave way. And give way they did, falling back down into the driver’s seat, one hand on the dashboard to steady themselves.

“You have found me now,” he said, keeping his voice to a steady rumble. “Do not burn yourself still. I say you rest, and we return once you have slept.”

The fight crumbled. If Avalon had been tired before, they were truly exhausted now. Slowly they nodded in agreement, shuffling around to turn off the van’s engine completely.

“Okay. Okay,” they murmured. “I need to cover up the windows first.”

Dawn finally began to crack its true light over the city below as Avalon pulled up a series of sheets, pinning them over the inside of the van windows. The orange swathe vanished behind a dusty muted grey, swallowing the van interior into a dimness, not a true darkness. Angor settled back down to rest his back against the seats as he listened to Avalon scrambled clumsily, pulling out their sleeping necessities. Finally, eventually, there was stillness.

“...Are you upset that I came out here?” Avalon asked quietly, voice almost muffled by seating. Angor pondered the question. The answer was easy. The truth was not.

“No,” he replied eventually. That would be all he’d say of his gratitude.

After a while, Avalon’s breath turned from steady to sluggish. Angor sat, not restless, quiet and contemplative. Soon the pair would be back in Arcadia, and he was certain that the Impure Strickler would have words for their disappearance. The hunt would not be broken. But bitterness still bubbled below the surface, hand-in-cold-hand with the thoughts that had been stewing for days now.

Angor was going to get that ring.

He could try to trick Strickler into giving it up. Scare him enough that perhaps he’d deem his slimy life salvageable by returning the ring. Destroy his reputation within the Order. But the Inferna Copula was still Angor’s soul, and if he stepped too far out of line then all Strickler needed to do was yank and Angor would be stopped.

Briefly he glanced backwards, down at Avalon. They would make for a suitable way to try and reclaim the ring, with how they were able to get close to Strickler during the day. By far they trusted him enough that they likely would do as asked, if he asked. But the ‘how’ remained - taking the ring through underhanded measures (they could sneak a tracking charm into his pouch but he doubted they could sneak a ring off someone’s hand in broad daylight) or brute force (Strickler was a snake but snakes had fangs and the Janus Order was a full hydra of them) would not be easy. They had already decided to walk a tightrope once for his sake. He didn’t want to see them slip.

There were other avenues, of course. Other ways to go about this. Strickler would surely have enemies, and the enemy of one’s enemy was…not a friend, but a tenuous ally potentially.

Angor’s eyes lit up as a puzzle piece slipped into place.

The Trollhunter boy, of course. There were plentiful reasons for him to want to go after Strickler, the two were opponents on different sides of a large board after all. It didn’t help that Strickler had been the one to send Angor Rot after him, nor the case with the enchantment that linked the Impure’s lifeforce to the boy’s mother. If nothing else, twisting the arm by reminding him of their difference in skill level would be an apt way about it.

Looking back up, Angor could see that the light outside had shifted. The sun’s glare wouldn’t break through the cloth shield, but time had definitely passed. Avalon remained very much asleep, although with half the blanket kicked off and curled as best as possible into a ball. It didn’t take much effort to reach over and readjust the blanket.

The sound of car engines outside caught Angor’s attention sharply. There’d been plenty of traffic going past, idle noise throughout the hours. But these had pulled up close by and then cut off. His instinct prickled under his stone, picking the dagger from his belt.

The sun would be overhead by now. Shadows would be spread over the ground, the light facing down.

Gritting his teeth, Angor found the interior handle of the van and pulled it sharply, tugging the van door open.

Two cars were parked outside. A small group of people, a varying blend of human faces, all dressed in similar attire to Strickler and other humans that worked in that school of his. If it weren’t for the goblin faces that pressed against the window of the other cars, or for a painfully familiar round face with a stick of facial hair, Angor might have considered these only humans.

Cast still in shadow, he fixed the group of Impures with a dangerous glare. Even without the Skathe-Hrün, he was a master assassin for a reason.

No-one moved for a moment. The round faced one, Otto he faintly recalled, finally took the first step.

“Where is the witch?” he said sharply. Angor’s teeth sharpened on those words. He hadn’t heard Avalon move for hours, not even when the cars pulled up, but he doubted their body’s necessity to rest had pulled them into that deep of a sleep.

“They are here,” he replied.

“You must inform her-”

The growl that rolled out of Angor could have shaken mountains. If Avalon hadn’t been awake beforehand, they had to be now. Several of the Order members took a cautionary step back. Otto carefully readjusted his glasses. Angor could see his hand tremble in the motion.

“You must inform them that they are required to return to Arcadia at once. Else this will be seen as a violation of their contract,” he continued.

“There is no violation. Their task is to assist the Impure Strickler, and they are doing so.”

“But abandoning their grounds-”

“He ordered them to come and find me,” Angor interrupted. “And he is one of the Janus Order, is he not? They were placed in Arcadia to work for him. And so they do.”

A couple of the Order members began muttering to each other now. Otto’s expression went from a faux disapproval to a more realistic disgruntled. There was an opportunity to drive a wedge in, and Angor did enjoy a good opportunity for such things.

“Did he not inform his own Order?” he mused aloud. “Strange how easily it is for him to allow such things to go on out of sight and earshot.”

“Tell us what else he has planned,” Otto said a bit too quickly. Angor’s grin turned hungry, and the Impure realised his mistake.

“I do not take orders from you,” Angor growled, his smile feasting on each nervous face. “I only take orders from he who wields the Infernal Copula. And I see no ring on anyone’s finger here.”

A door quickly opened and shut with a slam. Angor didn’t bother to examine who had dived into the vehicle out of panic. His eyes were fixed on Otto, watching his expression for every shift, every sweatdrop that wasn’t just the noonday sun attacking his black attire. Little twitches across the Impure’s face carried thoughts, processing, the underlying score of fear and anger and threat of betrayal.

Good. Make them stab each other in the back.

“We will continue our work for Strickler,” Angor said firmly, before anything else could be turned back towards him. “The witchling will return once it is complete.”

“See to it,” Otto snapped, as if he had any say in the situation. His gaze flickered back and forth, looking for the person in question who, by some miracle, had not appeared at any point during the discussion. A slow venomous smile appeared before he doffed his hat. “Give them our regards.”

Angor snarled at his back as the Order members packed up, each slinking back to their cars before pulling away sharply back onto the road, goblins jeering at Angor from the back windows. Once they were little more than dust trails, he grabbed the door handle and dragged it shut once more.

Silence. Broken by small shaking breaths.

The van creaked as once more Angor got down to one knee, peering over the van seats. Still partially curled up on the seats, Avalon held themselves in a death grip, eyes wide and watering as they exhaled like someone was strangling them.

“Avalon.”

Barely a flinch. Angor gritted his teeth, before reaching over. Grabbing their shirt, he ignored the sudden break of their stupor and how they let out a sharp cry of panic as he dragged them over to his side. Their legs seemed unable to steady them, so one hand held them upright. The other hand gripped the side of their face and chin, turning their eyes on his. Their whole body trembled as their hands grabbed at his arms, tears now rolling down their cheeks as words failed to fall from between panicked wheezes. Angor’s grip on their head tightened carefully.

“Look at me,” he rumbled. “Look. Breathe.”

Avalon let out a small choked sob. It was enough to pry the edges of this ailment from their chest, as the wheezing became smoother, then deeper. His thumb pressed into their cheek, the cold a shock and a balm on their mind as all the shrieking panicking thoughts grew quieter and quieter. Long minutes passed before their body seemed to maintain composure once more, pulling in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly.

“Thank you,” they whispered.

“I told you of the risk,” Angor admonished, ever so lightly.

“I told you I knew about it. I just…didn’t think they would come after me so fast.”

The leash was tight. Tighter than expected. And it throttled them when faced with that fact. Avalon’s eyes closed, head relaxing into Angor’s palm. The motion startled him briefly, prompting him to shift his grip to their shoulder and keep them upright without their face seeming to melt into his hand. They quickly straightened up, coughing uncomfortably.

“Still, thank you for covering for me,” Avalon said hurriedly. “We should probably get going before they get too much distance on us, in case Otto decides to compare notes with Strickler.”

“Somehow I doubt he will,” Angor replied, watching as the witchling pushed themself over the van seats, tidying up the space for driving once more. “It is good to be cautious. But we aren’t going back to Arcadia just yet.”

“I - we aren’t?” Avalon squinted in confusion.

“There are some things I must collect, to deal with the Trollhunter and Strickler both. His time with the Inferna Copula comes to an end on my terms.” Angor’s words rolled together in a growl. Avalon watched him with a small sense of awe, before determination fixed on their brow and they nodded.

“Good. ‘Bout time he got some comeuppance,” they said. Carefully the sheet was removed, making sure no sunlight reached the back of the van, and then re-pinned over the van seats as a curtain. With Avalon out of sight, Angor settled back down to sit as the van engine spluttered to life, and the vehicle jerked and jumped its way back to cruising along the road.

Perhaps this was a good moment to test out questions. To pry into actions. To ask why. But Avalon did not take that moment. A shame.

“So, where are we going?”

“Due north-west of Arcadia. There are old troll grounds in the unmarked dirt.”

“Okay. And what’s down there?”

“You’ve been reading Strickler’s books. Tell me what you know of pixies.”

#writings #self insert #platonic self ship #world: trollhunters #ship: rotten magic

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mort-the-destroyer · 1 year ago

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In celebration of ao3’s return, here’s the sneak peek for the next chapter 🍾

***

“Thief! Stop right there, we have you surrounded!”

Apple had been so consumed with the mysterious necklace that she hadn’t notice the large mob of witches approach. It wasn’t long before they had her cornered, wands and weapons drawn.

“Stay where you are!” A raspy voice called to her. “You have nowhere to run.”

The witch slowly advanced with her wand in hand and pointed it near inches from Apple’s throat. She could feel heat radiating off the tip like the heat from a smoking gun.

“There’s been a misunderstanding…” Apple said, choosing her words as carefully as she could. “I found this necklace near a bush on the ground, I didn’t know it was yours.”

The witch gave her a quizzical look.

“You saw an expensive pendant just laying on the ground and didn’t think that it may have belonged to someone?” She let out a wicked laugh.

“Did you hear that everyone?” She cried the the rest of the group.

“Our little guest here just happened to find it! She also just happened to put it on, and just happend to activate it too! How lucky!”

Some of the crowd laughed along with her, but most of them just looked away in discomfort.

“Um, Candice?”

A short young witchling in the crowd interjected.

Everyone turned to stare at the objector.

“Sorry to interrupt but I don’t think-“

“Don’t call the coven leader Candice you moron!” The witch beside her interrupted.

“Why not? That’s her name isn’t it?”

“Your’e suppose to call her Head Witch like everyone else! Candice is too formal, it makes it sound like you know her personally.”

“But I do know her personally! We were at her cottage last week you idiot!”

“Don’t call me an idiot, you moron!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

“Hey stop it!” A third pink-haired witch stepped in. “You’re both dumb! I’m literally the only smart one in this family.”

“Stay out of this stupid!”

“Yeah! You’re even worse than we are!”

“Stupid?” The third one gasped, face turning red with anger. “

They began to bicker amongst each other, and the crowd turned to watch them.

“Let me say what I wanted to say! I had a point to make!” The first short witch shouted.

“What point could you possibly have come up with?”

The witch took a deep breath.

“I was going to say that if the girl was trying to steal that pendant, why didn’t she use her magic to fight back?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If she did use it after getting caught it means she doesn’t know how to use it, obviously!” She scoffed.

“Enough!” Cried the coven leader. “We can figure this out after we interrogate the thief.”

“But Head Witch-“

“What? What is it?”

“She’s already escaped.”

“She WHAT?”

#eah #ever after high #apple white #a twisted switch #ao3

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galindafication · 2 years ago

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welcome to london, GALINDA UPLAND! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like ARIANA GRANDE? well, no matter, we hear that you are TWENTY-FOUR and working as a KINDERGARTEN TEACHER. we also hear that you currently HAVE your memories from WICKED and have a tendency to be DELIGHTFUL as well as NERVOUS.

will correct people if they call her 'glinda' instead of 'galinda'. the 'gah' is very important to her

has twin daughters named ellie and farrah, both named after her best friend elphaba and ex-fiance fiyero (their father). they're four years old and are mini galindas. very polite, but also very curious

when fiyero left her, she found out she was pregnant a few weeks later. she had no way of contacting him, nor did she know how to do so, so she was unable to tell him that he was going to be a father. she was upset with him for a long time for leaving her, but he'd been extremely faithful and loyal to her, even with his feelings for elphie. she decided she couldn't stay mad forever, and she knows that you don't choose who you fall in love with, so she made her peace and just wants them to be happy together. the curse brought her to london when she was still pregnant with the twins, so they have never been to oz but have been begging to go

is a kindergarten teacher and loves her job endlessly

can appear a bit oblivious

her signature color is pink, but her wardrobe is a variety of pretty, light, pastel colors. the twins usually wear pastel colors or pure white

loves video games

collects fairy figurines, witch figurines, and crystals

always wearing perfume

has a large collection of smell good lotion (and yes, she uses all of it)

loves anything vanilla flavored

has a ridiculous amount of cups. mostly cute water bottles, but it's way too many, but she DOES use all of them, she rotates between uses

loves to color. maybe it's childish, but it gives her something to do and it's always been one of her favorite activities

has lots of fidget toys. she loves clicky, clacky and crunchy sounds, so she has quite a few that she likes to mess with at home

has two refrigerators! one is for food, the other is solely for drinks

her house has to be cold year round. it helps her breathe better, and she likes to be cozy, so if she or the girls get too cold, they just wrap up in sweaters and blankets

always doing some sort of project or craft. if it's something simple but fun, she adds it to the curriculum for her kindergarteners

she calls all children munchkins. she refers to her students as "her" munchkins. she calls her own kids witchlings

has her own language. she speaks ozian, so some words are different. float / floating = floaticate / floatifying. confused / confusing = confusicated / confusifying and so on so forth

always has snacks on her

has an emergency bag that she keeps with her at all times. it stays in her purse. it's got bandaids, antibacterial cream, a tourniquet, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, pads, tampons, pantyliners, pain medication, a few portable chargers, a flashlight. she keeps it very organized, too. each thing is in it's own ziplock bag so it's easy finding and nothing is rattling around loose. she also keeps water bottles with her

has quite a few pretty light up things. a moon that lights up different colors, a light up lava lamp, light up salt lamp, cute stuff like that

is one of the sweetest people you'll ever meet

can get pretty nervous if she doesn't know what's going on around her

loves making new friends and meeting new people

makes lists. lots and lots of lists. they're all over her house

can fall asleep anywhere

loves to read

likes learning new things

her favorite mode of transportation is her magic pink bubble

will never say no to ice cream or coffee. in fact, her favorite ice cream is coffee flavored

she's not one of those "don't give me advice if i didn't ask for it" people. she appreciates advice. and she doesn't mind parenting advice either. she may have been mommy for four years, but every year is her first time raising witchlings at that age, so she'll take all the advice she can get. yes, even from non-parents. she doesn't believe that only parents can give good advice or ideas

#wal: intro

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prudenceisawitch · 6 months ago

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It had seemed the woman thought her a fool, unable to pick up on the disdain in the young woman’s words, her comment short and clipped. She had only been in this god forsaken town for a year’s worth of time now and of all the people and things that go bump in the night she’s had to encounter over the past two centuries weren’t quite as miserable as those who inhabited Salem. It was like something had sucked the life from its inhabitants and replaced their ever loving souls with something slimy, black and full of wretchedness– and this girl was no exception. While Prudence had urged herself to not mirror the disdainful eye roll, she was overwhelmed by an all different sensation as the human equivalent of a golden retriever bounded upon them. An absolutely wicked grin spread across her lips as she observed his interaction with the girl. The arrogance the raven haired beauty exuded was exhausting and Pru had half a mind to snap her neck and bathe in whatever oily blackness would surely leak from the girl. Trailing a finger across the lengths of his jaw, Pru idly twirled a lock of his hair between her fingertips, lips pursed as her extremities twitched while the girl seemingly mocked her. Turning her attention from the blonde male, she interlocked her fingers before her waist and smiled sweetly. “Oh, Vivvy…,” in the next moment, Prudence was upon her, fingernails digging into her chin as she held the young woman’s jaw in her hand, a predatory gaze in her eyes, “it’s not very smart for you to have your little– experiment running around. I can taste him.” Releasing her grip on the girl’s jaw, she laughed, head tilting over her shoulder to eye him once more. “I can taste your magic, so I suggest you do what is likely to be the first intelligent thing a poor little witchling like yourself has ever done –go home– and take your pet with you.”

Barf.

Was she actually serious? There was one thing Vivienne absolutely hated was a fake smile and women who tried to pretend to be nice. This one didn't look, didn't feel like she was nice. Be a bitch, shoe me who you really are, Vivienne wanted to say, but didn't.

Yes, Vivienne absolutely was a hypocrite.

"Magical." She repeated, her brow arching. If this was what she thought was magic... Well she truly felt sorry for her then. What a tragic life she must live. Poor thing.

Well, not everyone could be as blesses as her to hold Satan's favour. That thought alonewarmed her heart. Or whatever it was that beat inside her chest. "We-..." She was cut off when she heard her name being shouted.

"Vivvy!" The witch did an immediate eye roll. "I can't believe I found you! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Lucky was an experiment gone wrong. A month ago or so, Vivienne wanted to show Daphne that yes, the stuff at her occult store worked and no it wasn't by using her powers, but the stuff that was in the books. She chose a fairly good looking boy in town. Lucky was a farmers boy but he could have been so much more if he just tried a little. Put on a bad to the bone attitude, pretend to be an airhead and he'd have the world at his feet. But now, Lucky was just an airhead.

The book worked, of course, but now she had Lucky looking for her at every corner.

So there she was, standing between two evils. Neither was a good choice, and rnning would just make her feet hurt. "Do you want him?" Vivienne offered, poiting at Lucky while speaking to the woman. "He could definitely make it more magical."

#vivienne x pru #lucky blue x pru

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gillianfx · 3 years ago

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A Witchling’s Wicked Game Children of Chaos by Kelsey Elise Sparrow

A Witchling’s Wicked Game Children of Chaos by Kelsey Elise SparrowGenre: Fantasy Synopsis Frail. Lost. Alone. Distraught. Selfish. I can identify with none of those words. I’m known as the polar opposite of them. Look up “goody two shoes” and “know-it-all” and you’ll probably find a blown up picture of me. That’s been my jam for the first fifteen years of my life. Suddenly, it wasn’t. I…

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#A Witchling&039;s Wicked Game #Children of Chaos #Fantasy novel #Kelsey Elise Sparrow

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soath · 2 years ago

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Luz takes deer uncle Philip to hexide for a show and tell or beast keeping class, some students are fascinated some are shocked and some are terrified and probably regretting mistreating Luz if they ever did

I feel like he’s probably very careful about keeping a low profile. No visits to town, no participating in Eda’s various hijinks, always staying in the woods or the Owl House. It doesn’t do to attract unnecessary attention, Edalyn’s a criminal and he’s trying to covertly manage an empire.

As soon as Luz arrives all those considerations go out the window. Maybe it’s the centuries of babysitting interminable demonic niblings warping his brain, maybe it’s the presence of another human, one who isn’t yet fully tainted by this place (though she unfortunately shows many signs of being taken in by wicked sorcery), but he goes into full protection mode. Yes, he’s going to walk her to school every day, yes he’s going to snarl at her witchling friends, wicked creatures trying to ruin another perfectly good human life. He won’t show her any glyphs, she doesn’t need to learn any more sorcerous tricks (she figures them out on her own unfortunately) but he WILL pictorially offer to murder the entire grudgby team.

Bump is a bit hesitant about having a giant monster help with the Curses: Not Even Once school assembly, but Luz offered, Eda refused, and he does make a very convincing demonstration. It leads to a significant reduction in human oriented bullying.

#asks #goo uncle philip au

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wormwoodandhoney · 2 years ago

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Mid-Year Book Freakout Tag

I’ve read 109 books so far this year! I like to look back on my last half of the year and see what kind of books have stuck with me! I stole these questions from YouTube.

best book you’ve read so far in 2022? A few of the top: Black Sheep, Piranesi, Little Thieves, Passing, Pet, The Final Revival of Opal & Nev, Kaikeyi, Warbreaker, Scout’s Honor, Legends & Lattes, Giovanni’s Room, Witchlings, Someone Who Will Love You in All of Your Damaged Glory

best sequel you’ve read so far in 2022? Jade Legacy by Fonda Lee. Nobody look at me. Nobody talk to me.

new release you haven’t read yet, but want to: I’m doing okay keeping up with new releases, but the two I have waiting at the library are Nettle and Bone (a fairy tale esque fantasy about a young woman intent on killing a wicked prince) and A Lady for a Duke, a historical romance featuring a trans heroine.

most anticipated release for the second half of the year: SO many! I have a huge list of upcoming books, and July - September have some great horror novels coming out. Some of my very top choices are: The Ballad of Perilous Graves, Don’t Fear the Reaper, The Daughter of Doctor Moreau

biggest surprise: This year I’m attempting to read a classic per month, and I’m constantly surprised by how much I genuinely enjoy so many of them! I know that’s silly, since they are classics for a reason, but so many times I am surprised by how readable/relevant they are.

favorite new author (debut or new to you): Gabrielle Union! I devoured both of her memoirs and found her FASCINATING and an incredible writer. I was always a fan of her acting, now I will read anything else she releases.

newest fictional crush: Maybe not a crush, but my favorite new character is Piranesi from Piranesi.

book that made you cry: Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt is a book about a grumpy octopus in an aquarium who becomes friends with an elderly widow. So good, so sweet.

book that made you happy: Witchlings by Claribel A. Ortega, a middle grade fantasy about a group of young witches who are sort of shunned by their town.

most beautiful book you’ve bought so far this year (or received): i didn’t buy this book but I borrowed Slewfoot from the library and I was obsessed with the incredible illustrations and also just the unique size of the book, I don’t know if I’ve ever read a book in that size.

what books do you need to read by the end of the year? I have a huge google doc in which I track the upcoming releases I’m most excited for, and there are just so many. Would you guys be interested in a more posts about new releases? I will say the classic I’m most excited to tackle in the upcoming months is The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, although I’m saving it for a colder month. I don’t know why, but the Brontes always seem like cold weather books for me.

#books #book rec

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salemsbane · 12 days ago

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OF COURSE, LEAVE IT TO DEATH TO SCREW UP HER PLANS. of all the moments she could've chose to pop up somewhere in her vicinity, to barge in on one of such crucial groundwork ― oh, agatha is practically bristling, the sharp warning in her eyes gone entirely ignored as the dead flowers are abandoned in favor of crushing underfoot everything the witch has been meticulously planting. she spares herself a moment on the patio, the trembling of outrage throughout her form like the snapping of power lines underneath merciless gusts of wind: sparks crackle underneath her skin, a rush of something else vying for her attention, ready to heed to her call. anxious to be drawn upon. instead, a long breath is sucked through her teeth as palms smooth down checkered dress in a display of composing herself, donning her best mask before promptly reentering the house with every intent to bring death to heel.

she knows that cursed woman, even now. she knows every twitch of her fingers is a step too close to unsheathing that wicked blade from her costume, to sink it into her skin or the fabric of reality itself. the former might be arranged when they are clear of wanda maximoff's prying eyes, but the latter? no, not yet. agatha meets the witchling's bemusement with the sheepish twist of a smile, floating closer to hook a hand around rio's elbow. nosy neighbor is a taken role, honey. “ now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. i was just getting out of wanda's hair ― her husband is on his way home and she's got them a delightful dinner planned. no reason for us to dally around, rosa. ” the edges of her smile crack just slightly when she looks at her former lover, ridge of her jaw running taut. violet flashes in otherwise grey eyes. and goddess, rio is just a terrible actor.

agatha doesn't give her a choice of response, tugging her instead back to the door with a ripple of shocks expelling from her fingertips over the reaper's arm, just enough to bite. she throws a coquettish wink over her shoulder for good measure, already reaching to close the door behind them whilst forcefully ushering the entity out. “ sorry about the flowers, hon ― rosa's green thumb is touch and go. ta - ta! let's plan a dinner all together next week, yeah? ” a weak farewell sounds just as the door clicks shut firmly. still confused, but not on guard. good.

her grip on rio doesn't relinquish for a second, marching her down the sidewalk even with an iron - grated; “ keep walking ” hissed into her ear: their violent little dance is impending, maybe a little eager after a handful of decades without, and agatha wants to get them as far away from wanda's perceptive little mind as she can before the inevitable blowout. as it happens, they're just at the end of her driveway before she deems the greyscale hedge bushes good enough coverage, releasing death only to stab a sharp fingernail directly into her chest as she rounds on her. ( she is definitely not lingering on how charming of a getup this hex manifested for her is, nor the loose curl of hair escaping from her updo. not at all. )

in an instant, agatha harkness is a walking storm of anger: her panting breath is the swift increase of wind bringing the clouds ever closer, her heart the rumble of thunder close behind. “ what are you doing here? ” how dare she? after all this time ― quick as lightning, panic flashes across her face as it stabs through her chest. has her cloaking failed? the darkhold still pulses strongly from its pocket dimension, and it makes no sense, but . . . her gaze stays firm on rio's face, like she could pry the answer from under her mask of false flesh.

I MEAN, THIS WAS UNEXPECTED. she'd come here to pick up a body, only to find herself somewhere in the 50s, even her own look changed. why in the world is she wearing a monochrome vest and slacks that don't even feel comfortable? why is her hair changed? it's magic at work, and she thinks perhaps it's just her mind hoping that agatha might be involved until she spots her through a window a couple houses over. she feels the surprise in her system, bringing with it unwelcome emotions, after so long with the darkhold concealing her ex lover from sight. she keeps to the shadows, hiding in the bushes watching the other woman walk around the house, and wonders what her play is. clearly, there is ancient magic at work here -- considering that even her own look is affected -- but what exactly.

it's hard to think with her mind is radiating with the name agatha, agatha, agatha, over and over and over. she can focus on nothing else.

whatever spell that holds this town hostage in a past century falls flat when it comes to her own desires. rio aches to finally get her fucking hands on her. she wants to claw at her so bad it feels like her ribcage is expanding with the pressure of it. she stands at the front door, knocking hard, fully prepared to draw out of her knife and slam agatha against the door. her body practically begs for it.

finally, after what feels like a century, the door opens and agatha's immediate glare is the most welcoming thing she's seen in ages.

she allows a smirk to cross her lips. gotcha, motherfucker, she wants to say, her hand twitching towards the knife that's concealed underneath her vest. the other woman is gripping the door so tight it just might snap. she feels the thread between them, forever tight and taunt, begging her to step closer, to take, to attack --

but then agatha steps forward, pulls her in, and rio blinks in concealed confusion. agatha is practically demanding she play along with the magic that surrounds them, holding her so tight that it would hurt a normal person. in her gaze there's anger, determination, a furiosity that she used to so admire in agatha.

i'm always one step ahead of you, agatha says.

well, two can play at that game.

the new neighbour in questions looks at them in confusion, and she acts fast. "i was just coming over to bring our new neighbour some flowers," she says, putting on the best 1950s accent she can. she's laying it on thick, and her eyes sprinkle in amusement as she wiggles herself loose from agatha's grip, pulling flowers out from underneath her arm. now, of course, very crushed and dead-looking. also notably lacking in colour, which she sort of hates. "oh no!" she exclaims, far too dramatic for the situation, and holds up the dead flowers to agatha's face. "such a shame," she adds, her gaze intense and locked in on agatha's eyes. her name still chants in her head, and patience is not her virtue, agatha's just lucky she doesn't pounce forward to attack her right there.

instead, she fully walks inside, because of course she does.

of course, she recognizes wanda. up close she looks the same as she always had, those eyes just like when she was a child, hiding away from the bodies of her parents. she is aware of the existence of the scarlet witch, but the connection hasn't been forged yet. she doesn't know, not yet, that wanda is her. "sorry about that, sugarpie. beautiful house you have here!" was this a fucking tv set? her eyes flicker over to the distance, as though she can feel the limits of it. she wants to take out her knife and rip the set open, and she knows that agatha can sense that desire. "so... unique."

#ladyohdeath #𖤐 ┈⠀ well˛ i’m exceptional. ❪ ic.#𖤐 ┈⠀ v. agnes of westview.

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