#The “Lover of Morella” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

malthemagnifisent · 6 months

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Pairing: Aerin x Male!elf Mc (Cyrus)

Plot: After so many relationships and friendships ruined by the interference of his brother, Aerin was determined not to let anything ruin Cyrus’ opinion of him. He couldn’t abide the thought of the one good thing in his life being turned against him, and perhaps that left him with more anger and possessiveness then he realized.

Content warning: Mentions of Baldur abuse, and very slightly 18+ scene at the end, but nothing really happens. It’s mainly just kissing and Aerin like unties MC’s pants.

Tag list: @zhoras-bitch @rosepetals1 @saibug1022 @oh-so-youre-a-nerd @baldwinboy5ive (enjoy)

Baldur had always made sure to ruin any little thing that Aerin had to himself, and that included every moment, gift, and even person that Aerin found some enjoyment in. He’d destroyed Aerin’s favorite toys when they were young, and as they grew older, he took away even his peace.

The worst of all had been when he’d ruined the one good relationship in Aerin’s otherwise miserable life. He’d formed a friendship, perhaps even something more, with the son of a nobleman, and for a while, Aerin had been almost happy.

Then Baldur had found out, because he always found out, and before Aerin even had a chance, his brother had crushed the relationship in his hand and left Aerin floundering.

Somehow his brother had managed to wheedle his way under the skin of his friend, whispering all sorts of lies in his gullible ear, until finally his one bit of solace had turned away from him with nothing but anger.

In Aerin’s mind, everything of his was going to be ruined eventually, and Cyrus was no exception. Even with Baldur gone, he couldn’t discount that somehow Cyrus would be turned against him, and perhaps his fears drove him rather mad at times as jealousy and possessiveness became all too easy.

Everyone wanted Cyrus; that was a fact. He was smart and beautiful, brave beyond belief, and the hero of Morella, to top it all off. People wanted him, and Aerin couldn’t blame them, but still, Cyrus was his; Cyrus had chosen him, and he would be damned if he’d let anyone take him away.

There was a party in the castle of White Tower, and Cyrus, as usual, was the center of attention. He smiled politely as he talked with pushy nobles, all of whom wanted just a minute to speak with the famed hero of Morella.

Aerin would have been at Cyrus’ side, but just a moment ago he’d been sent for drinks, and as soon as he’d left, partygoers had descended like vultures. If he thought Cyrus’ minded, then Aerin would have hurried back, but as it was, he didn’t think Cyrus cared that he was being swarmed by admirers.

It took him some time to find a waiter through the thick crowd, and when he did, it was to the realization that he’d completely lost sight of Cyrus, so despite his best efforts, he may have been rather short with the servant as he snatched up cups of wine and hurried back through the crowd.

Realistically, he knew nothing would have changed in just those few seconds—that Cyrus would still be standing where he had been before, laughing and smiling until all the warmth of the room seemed to be coming from him.

That’s what he expected, at least, but when the crowd parted, he had a sinking feeling as he realized Cyrus was no longer standing among the chatting nobles.

His hands trembled slightly on the long stems of the wine glasses, but he paid it no mind as he set them down on the first table he saw before walking up to the dispersing crowd of men and women.

“Where’s Cyrus?” He snapped, glaring at one of the women he knew had been surrounding his friend. (or lover perhaps, he didn’t know what to call him.)

She looked at him with a familiar expression of distaste, one he’d gotten used to seeing from everyone whom he used to know. Not everyone had been as forgiving as Cyrus, and there were still people in Whitetower who saw him as nothing more than a corrupted prince who’d almost ended the realm.

Luckily for him, along with that hatred came a sense of fear, and usually he would have detested that anyone was still afraid of him, but now he was grateful for it, as it had the noblewoman responding in an instant.

“He went to the garden; Lord Edric accompanied him.”

That was all Aerin needed before he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the doors and into the cool evening air. His hands had clenched into tight fists, and each breath was a pain to draw in.

The scar on his chest ached, stretched as his lungs expanded, and burned in the cool air, but all that was what he’d grown used to; he’d come to expect that pain. What he couldn’t accept was the fear and misery of having the one truly good thing in his life taken away.

Lord Edric was a familiar name to him; he’d been friends with Baldur; that is, if anyone could really be considered friends with his late brother, and Aerin couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone with Cyrus for even a solitary moment.

God knows what he would say, what poison he would whisper, what lies he would tell, and how he might turn Cyrus against Aerin like Baldur had done so many times.

He stumbled over his own feet slightly as he heard Cyrus’ voice ahead of him, sounding clearly through the garden where no other sound but the wind could possibly be heard.

As he rounded a grove of trees, Aerin heard Lord Edric laughing and spotted the pair standing a few feet away, a good distance between them but not enough for Aerin's liking, not when Lord Edric could reach out and touch Cyrus if he tried, not when he could see the fine details of Cyrus’ eyes or smell the scent of the bath oils he used.

Those things weren’t for him; they were for Aerin, all for him.

Then Cyrus laughed at something Lord Edric had said, and Aerin couldn’t breathe anymore. He cleared his throat and stepped toward them, his head held high and his dark eyes fixed on Edric with the same kind of disdain he used to wear when he’d been so full of corruption that there had been no anger or hatred to feel.

“Aerin, I’m sorry I wandered off; I needed some air, and Lord Edric said he would show me the gardens,” Cryus said, his smile turning real, softer, brighter, and so much warmer than the false happiness he’d been showing before.

Without giving it much thought, Aerin strode forward and met Lord Edric’s eyes. “Leave us; you’ve taken up enough of his time,” he said, to the silent indignation of Cyrus, who seemed to be struggling with what to say.

It wasn’t often that Cyrus was left speechless, and if Aerin wasn’t so filled with anger and jealousy, then maybe he would have had room to feel proud of himself.

Lord Edric appeared ready to argue, but Aerin refused to give him a chance, the same way he refused to let Cyrus be taken or ruined. He raised his hand and nodded pointedly back toward the castle doors, where light was spilling out into the gardens and the sound of the party could still be heard.

“The hero of Morella has more important things than standing here and talking to you, Lord Edric,” he said, which finally seemed to get his point across as Edric’s lip curled back before he took the time to nod toward Cyrus.

“I’ll see you back at the party, I’m sure,” was all he said before he finally obeyed Aerin and walked away, leaving Aerin standing in a cloud of his own jealousy that anyone would take up Cyrus’ time, time that would be better spent with Aerin himself, time that was precious, as he didn’t know how much of it he would get before Cyrus was no longer his.

Silence prevailed for one long moment before Cyrus spoke. “That wasn’t necessary,” he said, looking at Aerin with such obvious disapproval that he almost felt bad for a moment.

Only a moment, though.

“You should stay away from Edric; he’s not as nice as he looks,” he muttered, turning to look over at the castle, where Edric had retreated and was luckily no longer in sight. He must have followed Aerin’s instructions and returned to the party.

Cyrus suddenly stepped in front of him, and Aerin was forced to confront the disapproval he’d been hoping to avoid. “Do you not trust me to figure that out on my own? What did you think was going to happen?” He asked, placing a hand on Aerin’s shoulder and holding him gently in place, as if Aerin would have left, if he would ever leave again. He would stay rooted to the spot as long as Cyrus wanted.

“He was friends with Baldur; years ago they were close, and besides that, you’re-“ Aerin broke off, breathing heavily, his head hanging low so his eyes could focus on the hand that still rested on his shoulder, the gentle weight helping him stay steady and warm even as a cool breeze blew around them.

Quirking a single eyebrow, Cyrus leaned down a little, and Aerin was forced to meet his eyes. “I’m what? Gullible?” He asked, already trying to piece out what Aerin had been about to say, but predictably he was failing, and Aerin should have been content to let him keep wondering, but for some reason he couldn’t.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Aerin was speaking, spilling his fear and anger, every word laced with jealousy and a sort of possessiveness he didn’t know he had in him. “No, you’re mine; you’re mine, and I can’t have you taken away,” he snapped, though as soon as the words left him, he felt bad for how they’d sounded.

To his credit, Cyrus didn’t even react; he just continued to stare at Aerin, clearly waiting for something better—some explanation that made sense and wasn’t just Aerin’s fear of being abandoned.

Cyrus suddenly gripped Aerin by the upper arm and pulled him deeper into the garden, behind another grouping of trees, so no one from the castle would have a chance of seeing them. “If I remember correctly, I’ve never been the one abandoning this relationship; that’s always been you,” he said, and perhaps it was a low blow, but Aerin couldn’t deny its truth.

He had been the one to run before this; he’d been the coward; he couldn’t handle his feelings well enough to keep Cyrus close, but now he was here to stay, and whenever he was determined to stick around, things inevitably fell apart.

“Every friend I ever made was driven away; Baldur got in between every relationship I started to build; I don’t know how he did it, but every time he made them leave,” Aerin said, shrugging his shoulders to break free of Cyrus’ grasp.

He couldn’t stay still when he talked of Baldur; even the mention of his brother set him on edge and put him into a state of such nerves that he simply had to move. Bakdur’s presence used to mean almost certain punches, so sitting down had never been an option; standing still was no better either, so pacing was the easiest.

“And what? Do you think he’s still pulling the strings from beyond the grave?” Cyrus asked as his hand suddenly settled on Aerin’s chin, and he was held in place by slim, cold fingers, pressing indents into his pale cheeks. “Your brother has no power over me; he never did.”

Swallowing thickly, Aerin reached up and grabbed Cyrus’ wrist, pulling the hand from his chin so he could step closer, crowding into Cyrus’ space like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re mine; I will not give you up,” he said, his free hand now tangling into the front of Cyrus’ shirt, clutching tightly at the rich fabric.

“No one is asking you to give me up,” Cyrus responded, his cool fingers enclosing slowly around Aerin’s wrist, gently tugging his hand away so the space between them was clear and Cyrus was free to lean down and rest his forehead gently on Aerin’s. “You think Lord Edric will steal me from you?” He chuckled, the notion seeming absurd the longer he considered it.

Aerin made a sound of frustration, and in an act of desperation, he pulled Cyrus closer and pressed their lips together. It wasn’t anything like their other kisses, though that was to be expected, as kissing Cyrus was never the same as it had been the time before.

Cyrus was so easily distracted from his earlier indignation as he grabbed Aerin by the waist and began to walk slowly back. The trees rustled above them, and the sounds of the party swelled for a moment before suddenly Aerin’s back was pressed against a tree, and he could think of nothing else but the hands trapping him there.

A hand snaked into his hair, and Aerin was lost in bliss as Cyrus trailed his lips down across his neck, sending fire skirting across his skin and making him crumble under the anticipation of being further burned alive under Cyrus’ touch.

The kiss broke, and Aerin whined in protest, as he always did, because he’d be happy to continue until he ran out of air. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought to die with Cyrus kissing him.

“Everyone wants you; you know that,” he said, his breath ghosting over Cyrus’ lips as he refused to lean back; he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping away.

Cyrus chuckled softly and shook his head. “I do not know that; I know you want me, and that’s what matters,” he said, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of Aerin’s lips.

“When people are near you, they can’t keep themselves from looking, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to hide you away, because for once I have something that is all mine, and I want to keep it that way." Aerin knew it was probably a bit much, that no one wanted to be kept on such a tight leash, but he couldn’t help the way he felt, the jealousy that tore out of his chest anytime someone made Cyrus laugh.

He wouldn’t have blamed Cyrus if the man decided to leave him, if he fell for the charms of one of his many admirers. Any of them could have given him more than Aerin could offer, but Aerin wouldn’t let go without putting up a fight to keep him.

“I never noticed when people were charmed by me; I’ve always been too busy checking if you were watching,” Cyrus mused, like his words weren’t everything Aerin needed to hear, as if they didn’t fuel every bit of desire and need he had.

Aerin tried to stop the shaking of his hands, but it was no use, and instead he employed the nervous energy as it should be used by pulling Cyrus down into another heated kiss. His fingers fiddled gently with the ties of Cyrus’ silken pants, giving every chance to pull away before he tugged at the fabric and began to open the ties.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, his hand moving gently along the exposed strip of skin where Cyrus’ shirt had ridden up.

His hand dipped lower, and Cyrus shuddered against him, his forehead coming to rest on Aerin’s shoulder as his breaths began to shake.

“Yours, all yours, Aerin.”

And just like that, Aerin was insane again, driven mad by want and corrupted with possessive emotion that he knew no amount of light could cure. This was here to stay; this longing was never going to fade.

Cyrus was his, only his, and he’d be damned if he let him be taken away.

#choices #playchoices #mine #play choices #pb #bolas #blades of light and shadow 2 #blades of light and shadow #my writing #writing #mc x aerin #bolas aerin #aerin valleros #prince aerin #aerin x mc #choices aerin #choices fanfic #fanfic

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asexualcloud · 8 months

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hi this thought randomly came into my mind so here is what i think nevermore characters would be doing in romance novel set in medievel times

annabel lee: kill her rich husband and run away with her lover after stealing her husbands money

lenore: the lover

pluto: would have some forbidden love shit going on and eventually die

duke: would either drive the getaway car for annabel lee and lenore or be the other guy in plutos's story (who also dies)

berenice: kill her rich husband, take his money, remarry, rinse and repeat

eulalie: random witch woman

montresser: the rich husband

will: the butler who gets a spin-off series

prospero: not in a romance novel, hes doing his own shit

ada: the maid who has one line in the entire book and that line is something like "here is your drink" but is the fandoms favorite character

morella: magic fairy woman

the deans: stand int the backround the entire time, and at the end, wake up the protag cus, holy shit it was a dream all along (exept in plutos story. pluto would have a sad gay story)

#nevermore webtoon #romance novels #annabel lee nevermore #lenore nevermore #pluto #duke nevermore #berenice nevermore #eulalie nevermore #montresor nevermore #will nevermore #prospero nevermore #ada nevermore #morella nevermore #the deans nevermore #sad gay story

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dutifullynuttywitch · 2 months

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A Whitetower Festival

Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Mal Volari x Autumn Nightbloom, Wren Volari x Vivi Volari

Rating: Teen (fluff)

Word count: 1900

@choicesfebruary2024 for Eros, pragma

Summary: Mal and Autumn enjoy their first Whitetower festival of friendship and love surrounded by friends and family.

Quote by the wonderful @aallotarenunelma thank you my friend I absolutely adore it! 🥰

Mal awakens to the sounds of boisterous laughter rising up from the children’s bedrooms a floor below. A quick glance at the beautiful woman sleeping next to him confirms his suspicion, Autumn could sleep through a bloody earthquake undisturbed! Chuckling, he places a soft kiss onto her forehead before gently disentangling himself.

Today would be a busy day.

It was Whitetower’s annual festival of friendship and love, a joyous celebration filled with music, storytelling, dancing and tasty foods from across the realm.

Mal had always enjoyed the festivities.

As a child, he’d dart between the rows upon rows of market stalls filling the main streets, stealing sweets to bring back to his sister Wren and the other orphans. Wren loved the candied lollipops while he favored the caramel-filled chocolate figurines of the Lovers Ittar and Bakshi, only sold on such a special day. He’d wander around for hours under the flickering lights of lanterns, captivated by the riveting tales of adventures and star-crossed lovers sung by bards across the public plazas. The annual festival was one of the few times he’d truly felt like a kid.

As an adult his enjoyment had shifted to the rowdy inns and drunken debauchery – drinking and swindling lordlings of their coins at card games, dancing the night away in the company of pretty ladies and the occasional Contessa.

This year he had very different reasons to look forward to the celebrations. It was the first he would spend with Autumn. And the first they’d share with the children they were caring for at the orphanage. Mal and Autumn had enlisted the help of Nia, Wren and Vivi to help them watch over the dozen rowdy children so they could all enjoy the festival’s offerings.

He quickly dresses and bounds down the stairs from their attic bedroom. He’s met by a whirlwind of tiny bodies and limbs greeting him and tugging at his clothes for attention, all talking at once about dreams they had last night, a game of knights and dragons they wanted him to join in on, if they could have pancakes - no, eggs - for breakfast…

“Well good morning to you too!” Mal chuckles as he guides them towards the kitchen and sets upon preparing breakfast, fielding excited questions about the festival.

“Good morning children!”

“Morning miss Autumn!”

Autumn makes her way towards Mal, stopping to hug and affectionately greet the children.

“You didn’t wake me, again. I see you’re not making your Heroes of Morella pancakes this morning?” She wraps her arms around him, peering over at the stove.

“Morning Kit, figured you could use the extra sleep.” He kisses her lightly, distracted by the eggs and sausages sizzling in various large skillets “And those pancakes are the one thing you can do better than me in the kitchen, I figured I’d let you have that little victory.”

“I see your ego’s still bruised from that particular defeat. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to remind you of it every single morning, your magnificence.” Autumn smirks as she reaches for the coffee.

“Now see, for my pride to be wounded it would’ve had to have been a fair fight –”

He turns around and takes her in, almost dropping the skillet.

“Kit, you’re…”

Mal swallows, momentarily at a loss for words as Autumn twirls gracefully, showing off a new red satin dress she bought specifically for the festival, delicate lace worked up the sleeves and bodice.

“Speechless my love?” She teases, trailing a finger along his jaw. “Am I beautiful, stunning, the most striking woman you’ve laid eyes on? To think you once won me over with your silver tongue!”

He quickly recovers, pulling her close.

“Kit, you’re all of those things and more. You’re absolutely ravishing in that little number. In fact, I think I’m going to march you right back up to the bedroom, festival be damned.” He whispers before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, hands tracing the lacy detailing along the bodice.

“In front of the children, brother, really?”

Wren chides from the doorway, moving aside to let her wife Vivi and Nia in. The children run over to greet the familiar faces.

“Priestess Nia, look at my light orb! I’ve been practicing just like you showed me!” Young Daniel produces a bright white orb of magic, proudly floating it high above him.

“Good job! You’ve been working on your breathing exercises, Daniel, I’m very proud of you.” Nia beams down at the smiling child, as Lini and Matt approach her, creating their own small orbs to show her their progress.

“Miss Vivi, did you bring us any of your honey almond sweet rolls?” The twins Navina and Nico ask excitedly.

“Miss Wren, will you teach us how to draw again?” Little Mia looks up at Wren, smiling shyly.

Mal waves at them from the kitchen, busily plating the breakfast while Autumn joins the onslaught, wrapping each woman in a warm hug before ushering everyone over to the dinning table.

“I see you’ve dressed for the occasion!” Wren smiles, taking in Autumn’s bright red dress.

After an animated breakfast, the gang heads out towards the festival.

The adults walk up a busy street lined with vibrant market stalls, keeping a close eye as the children excitedly run up and down the stalls, playing tag and marvelling at the colourful foods and wares. Mal and Nia stop at a few stalls teeming with candies to purchase treats for the children.

“I wanted to surprise your brother. You know he’s been talking about this festival for weeks?”

“Judging by what we interrupted this morning it seems to have worked!"

Autumn smirks "He was quite... appreciative."

"My dear, you could wear a burlap sac and my brother-in-law would still find you the prettiest woman in the realm."

The three women giggle at the thought.

"You know, Mal always enjoyed Whitetower’s celebrations. Those were some of the few days where we could just relax and have a bit of fun."

Autumn's heart twists as she thinks of Mal and Wren's difficult childhood. Vivi gives her wife's hand a soft squeeze.

Wren kisses her before continuing, "Did he tell you he’d sneak me out of the orphanage and steal the most delicious sweets? We’d sit down by that fountain over there stuffing our faces. I spent hours marvelling at the pretty women dancing, twirling around in their colourful dresses.” She grins at the memories.

“Those pretty women impressed you so much you up and married one!” Vivi jokes, planting a soft kiss on her wife’s lips.

“True, I went and found the prettiest of all and tricked her into falling in love with me."

"No trickery required when one is as charming, talented, gorgeous as you, my love."

Autumn smiles as the two women share a tender moment.

“Wren, I’m so glad you and Mal had each other growing up. And that you and Vivi found each other later in life. You’ve endured your share of hardships, but you created such a loving family.”

“And we’re glad you’ve been patient enough to endure our Mal! I had given up hope he’d ever find someone to settle down with. You are family too, you know? Even though my goofball of a brother hasn’t grown a pair yet to officialise it.”

Wren grins widely at Autumn’s rapidly flushing cheeks.

“Wren, we live together, are literally running an orphanage together. Can’t get much more official than that…”

“Sure.” Wren and Vivi share an amused look.

Just then, Mal approaches, a hand behind his back and a mischievous smile touching his lips.

“Kit, close your eyes and open your mouth.”

She looks at him suspiciously but oblidges.

She gasps at the burst of flavours hitting her tastebuds, the richness of chocolate mixing with salty caramel.

“Hmm this is heaven.”

She sighs as he hands her another small chocolate statuette sculpted to resemble the lovers Ittar and Bakshi.

“These are my absolute favorite! I’d wait all year to steal them as a kid.”

“Please tell me you actually purchased these ones?”

“Naturally, Kit, wouldn’t want to be a bad example to the children!” Mal winks.

“You mean a worse example than you already are, recounting your heists as bedtime stories!”

“They love my stories!”

“And they’ll want to follow your example.”

“But see, that’s where you and Nia explain to them how virtuous heroes always win and voila – no harm done!”

Mal flashes her a devilish grin and takes her hand before she can argue any further, pulling her towards an open area where Nia and some of the children are dancing to the lively music of a bard.

He expertly twirls her around the plaza, then dips her, delighting in Autumn’s melodious laugh. They lock eyes, losing themselves in the moment, gliding along to the joyous rhythm of the melody.

"You know, Mal, this could quite possibly be the first dance we share where we're not in mortal danger."

"Kit you may be right. I hope this isn't too boring for your tastes?"

She smiles at him, "Nah, this is perfect."

He steals a kiss as the last melodious notes echoe across the square.

They change partners, Autumn starting a vivacious jig with Nia as he lifts little Lini, spinning the giggling girl around. Wren and Vivi join in, sharing a tender dance before joining hands with several of the children in one large circle dance. The group spends the following hours dancing, laughing, playing games with the children and trying all manner of sweets.

As the sun sets, they gather around the main square’s large fountain, smiling contentedly, bodies and minds satiated. Some of the younger children start yawning, the day’s excitement finally catching up to them.

Once all the children are tucked in, Mal ushers Autumn up to their bedroom and onto the rooftop. He lays down thick blankets and takes her into his arms as they settle down with contented sighs.

They part ways with Wren, Vivi and Nia, Mal and Autumn carrying little Lini and Mia home as the other children run ahead, chattering happily if a little more subdued.

The soft notes of a romantic ballad waft up from the festivities down below. Above them, the night sky is alit with thousands of twinkling stars.

“I’ve been wanting to steal some time alone with you all day, kit… and get you out of that beautiful dress the moment I saw you in it.” He smiles, tracing his fingers lightly along the lace down her arm and bodice, making her shiver.

“I take it you enjoyed your present?” Autumn smiles sweetly at him, reaching up to kiss him softly.

“If by enjoyed you mean tortured every second of the day that I couldn’t whisk you away, rip it off and kiss you breathless, then yes, Autumn, I very much enjoyed my present.” Mal chuckles, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.

“It does feels like we don’t have much time to ourselves these days. Though the children had such a wonderful time today. As did I. And it was lovely to spend time with your sister, Vivi and Nia.”

Mal gazes down at her, suddenly a little hesitant.

“Autumn, I realize that I started this orphanage while you were… trapped away… I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated in any way if this is not the life you had imagined for yourself.”

“Mal, look at me,” she cups his face gently, “I am exactly where I want to be, with whom I want to spend my life with. Taking care of these children with you fills me with such joy and a sense of purpose. I love you, and I love this life we are building together. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

“Gods I was hoping you’d say that.” Mal murmurs relieved, capturing her lips in another fiery kiss.

They continue to share loving kisses long into the night, lulled by the gentle music floating up from Whitetower’s celebrations.

#playchoices #blades of light and shadow #mal volari #blades of light and shadow 2 #mal volari x mc #mal volari x autumn nightbloom

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likeastars · 1 year

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As per insistent request of @phantom-of-the-laboratory @arachniids @incorrect-nevermore and everyone else screaming in agony under my post:

Cishet! Nevermore AU

Let's go

Lenore is 💫🤢💫not like other girls💫💫🤢

She isn't disabled in anyway btw

Yes a tree fell on her but just to kill her brother to give her a tragic backstory

No leg injuries and trauma and shit to deal with

She escapes her family because they want to marry her off and succeeds and doesn't even burn her house down 😭😭😭😭😭😭

White raven isn't canon obviously

Annabel isn't half as developed as she is in canon

I'm thinking stereotypical mean girl underdeveloped

She's there just to make fun of the protagonist and highlight how much of not like other girls she is

Nooooo backstory given to her no motivations no unhealthy homoerotic obsession

She and lenore met in life before but Annabel just ditched her. No gut wrenching I Am Hurting You Because I Have To no big bad feelings about sexism and obviously no slowly falling for the one you where supposed to use

........

Wait a sec guys I am thinking about the Balcony Scene I need a breather

Alright

Obv there are still some people shipping it bc. Yk. Rivalry

And the whole fandom hates them

Dnis and reasons why they are toxic and shit

Ada is even worse off than annabel she's just a minion no personality whatsoever

Morella too she's the happy go lucky friend that appears in the beginning to be of support but doesn't actually do anything

Pluto exists only to be comedic relief and nothing else

He's the butt of every joke and his anxiety just makes him a "scaredy cat"

Berenice and Eulalie say exactly one word each and they are the webtoon's one gay couple

They die

NOW DUKE IS HARD

I'm very torn

He could be part of the *drumroll*

Harem

Of the webcomic

Because we need all of the people in the world to go after the main character are you kidding

So I can see him as a second male lead, the friend to lover

BUT ALSO

He's black. And pretty flamboyant.

And since I'm pretty sure neither black love interests nor bisexuality/gender non conforming people exist in these type of stories

I am also type casting him into the gay best friend trope

Prospero is also a part of the 💫harem💫 because I said so

He's Annabel's boyfriend (obviously) but she mistreats him and he's actually such a good boy inside 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Yes he helped in all the things she did but he wasn't actually participating 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

But he's still not the main lead

Because that

Obviously

Montresorry

Wait

I meant

Montreal

Wait

Montrefucker

YOU KNOW WHO

Bad boy turned good with a secret come on

There's x reader ff of him

Ppl justify him in every way possible

Will is his minion

again no personality no possibility of redemption no storilines

AND

MOST IMPORTANT THING

Lenore isn't masc >>>>>:(

#nevermore webtoon #lenore nevermore #annabel lee nevermore #pluto nevermore #montresor nevermore #duke nevermore #prospero nevermore #nev

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foxytoxx · 4 months

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Ravaged

Words: 962 Pairing: Astarion/f!Durge (DurgeResisted) Read on AO3 Summary: He wanted to finally do some good and change lives. So Astarion became the hero he himself would pray to be saved by oh so long ago. TW: Canon typical violence. Tags: Fluff, Setting the scene. A/N: This idea has been a little brain worm that has been wriggling in my head for a while now, based on one of Astarion's spawn endings. Thank you for checking this one out. This one was rather short, but longer chapter ahead.

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𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

It had been six months since the day they had stopped the Absolute and saved Baldur’s Gate from its tentacled grip. Since then Morella and Astarion had taken to the road, exploring all that Faerûn had to offer. They had used their travels to search for a safe way for Astarion to walk in the sun again, or even cure him altogether.

A cure had proved itself to be a difficult endeavour, but they had been incredibly lucky to come across a ring of Sun-Walker.

At first they had thought nothing of the ring, there wasn’t anything exceptional about it. It just looked like an old ring with a small set ruby, but Morella had felt the Weave radiating within. They discovered its magical property by accident. While travelling they had seeked shelter in some old church ruins for the day. As the sun had climbed the morning sky they had been ambushed by a group of bandits. This in itself hadn’t been too difficult of a fight, but in an adrenaline driven last attempt the final bandit had pushed Astarion out from the shadows making him tumble into the rays coming through a cracked wall. In terror Morella had sliced the man’s throat and quickly pulled him back into the shadows. They both looked shocked as he remained unharmed. In disbelief he rose to his feet and reached his hand into the light again. Then ripped his armour off in a hurry and stood once again, arms outstretched bathing in sunlight. Morella could have sworn a tear rolled off his cheek, and she couldn’t help bursting into tears herself. He had worn the ring as a pretty accessory, but since that day hadn’t removed it from his hand.

It had surprised them when Withers’ party invitation had shown up during their travels. Morella had been ecstatic, she had missed the team dearly.

At the party she had stumbled over a chest of letters, all from people they had encountered during their adventure. One stood out to her. It was a letter from the Gur tribe to Astarion. She pocketed the letter until later that night when the festivities had calmed down.

Astarion sat by the river watching the sun rise from its slumber, colouring the morning sky a peachy pink. It was serene. The only noises were either of their drunken friend snoring away the booze or those of the forest waking up. Soft, approaching footsteps broke him away from his daydreaming.

“You are up early, dear.”

Morella smiled and sat down next to her lover leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I found something for you. And I figured you might not want everyone around when reading it.” She pulled the letter out from the blanket she had thrown over her shoulders in a vain attempt to keep the morning chill at bay.

He took the letter with a puzzled look.

“Have you read it?”

Morella shook her head, her long silver braid swinging across her back.

Astarion steeled himself with a deep breath before reading. She couldn’t help but read over his shoulder, mentally preparing for all manner of outcomes. She studied his face as his eyes darted over each word. A shivering sigh escaped him. She took his hand in hers.

“Astarion…”

He glanced over to her, kissed her forehead. Wiggling his hand loose from hers he wrapped his arm around her, quietly gazed back at the sunrise.

“You know… During our tadpole escapade… I never thought of myself as a hero. I despised it even when others insinuated it.” A smile caressed his lips as he looked back at her.

“But I’m starting to think the title suits me.”

Morella let out a small giggle.

“That’s what I've been saying for some time now.” She nudged him playfully.

She let out a small yelp of surprise when he suddenly pushed her to the ground. He was on her in a blink, showering her in heartfelt kisses.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” His voice was nothing more than a tender whisper.

“Yes you could. You only needed a little push in the right direction.” She cupped his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I will take credit where it’s due though, because you are one stubborn bastard.” He chortled at her remark.

“But you are one hell of a beautiful bastard. In every sense of the word.” She pulled him into another kiss, digging her fingers into his curls.

“Oh by the Hells! Honestly, you two are a menace!”

Morella jumped trying to stifle a shriek. Astarion laughed, and sat up, meeting Shadowheart’s green eyes with a small spark of danger. Morella’s face flushed bright red and tried to hide in her hands, cursing under her breath.

“Shit, didn’t expect you up, Shadowheart.”

“My, I didn’t take you for a voyeur, cleric. If you want a show, all you need to do is ask.” Astarion plastered a wolfish grin on his lips.

“Please, Astarion. I’ve heard and seen enough of the two of you for a lifetime. But I came to wash off the stench of booze.”

Morella sat up, beaming. Shadowheart’s frown melted into a smile unable to stay annoyed at her friend. The women stripped down and bathed in the river, splashing and laughing. Astarion watched them. Glancing back up at the sun, he couldn’t stop the warm smile forming across his lips. He felt happy, grateful, satisfied, and safe.

Slipping the letter into his pocket, he made a silent vow to himself. He would honour his now peaceful life by being better. Helping those in need, and Hells, if that meant he could kill all the corrupt evil-doers and monsters in his path… Well, who could be mad at him for that.

#astarion fic #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 #astarion #ravaged #astarion x durge

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lovehugsandcandy · 6 months

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Aerin drabble 1 because I am a clown who never learns

Aerin always liked the elven story of The Lovers, two souls that formed one God..

The idea that the two were destined to be intertwined for eternity? That each soul was one half of a whole, beating as one, never to part?

Before, long before, when all he had were sheets of parchment and ink-scrawled words for comfort, it was almost as if the tales contained an assurance: there was somewhere even he could belong.

And after, well after, after darkness and chains and the swoop in his stomach whenever the Hero of Morella so much as glances in his direction, he knows the truth. There is no pairing of souls for him. His soul is doomed, having lost the right to belong anywhere, separated eternally by his own bitter flaws and abject weakness.

How appropriate, that even stories, his single source of comfort amid the torment of his past, provide him no comfort amid innumerable regrets.

#i don't remember how to tag at all #sorry #or do anything but feel pain #aerin valleros #aerin valleros x mc #amy writes

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baubeautyandthegeek · 1 month

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Accidentally In Love – Beverly Keane/Dolly Scarborough/Tamerlane Usher/Morella Usher

A/N: Day 11 for @polyamships Multiamory March. GIFs made for me by @whoreofthecottage

Morella Usher really doesn’t mean to fall in love with Beverly Keane, even as she watches Tamerlane Usher, her former sister in law and now lover and wife, with Dolly Scarborough. Dolly, she knows, is surprisingly close to her own personality in some ways. Sweet, shy, a little sharp when she needs to be, but the woman’s charms are not lost on her, she knows too that Tamerlane and Beverly have been close since they met at a summer camp, so perhaps, just perhaps, falling for Beverly is all that is needed to make this polycule official. Doubles, yes, but different enough that the four feel distinct all the same.

#morella usher #tamerlane usher #beverly keane #dolly scarborough #beverly/dolly/morella/tamerlane #tfothou #fall of the house of usher #the fall of the house of usher #midnight mass #day 11: double #multiamory march

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blackplaaague · 10 months

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Art Fight/Comic Info let's goooooooooo

The protagonist of my webcomic (by the same name), Victoria, or Vic, is a college-dropout-turned-mad-scientist and single mom, raising the revived child she crafted in the name of Science.

She lives all alone in a decaying home, with the memories of her father, a similar-minded man, and the ghosts of her murdered family members.

Daughter of Alphone and Morella Darken, and adoptive mother of Frankie Darken, Vic is related to a lot of people-- very few of whom are still alive. She's dated a lot of people, too-- how many folks can brag they've gone steady with a vampire?

Her relationships have been tedious-- as a bisexual woman in a fantastical version of the 1910s, many of her lovers had to keep their time together a secret.

It's not her fault society seems rigged against her-- so what, she's a little tiny bit mentally and physically unwell, and thinks women are pretty? In what world is that a crime?

Brighthill, it seems.

She's currently in a relationship with vampiric heiress Tabitha Carmelle, and fighting off an older, jealous ex with murderous intents.

All she has to do now is keep her creation out of the public eye and bide her time until she can flee Brighthill.

#Victoria Darken #art fight 2023 #art fight #art #team werewolf #team vampire #oc #webcomic

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sun4lrgirl · 9 months

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Meet your Posher, Denise.

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liviusofpella · 3 years

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a great combination of fluff, smut, and angst: NSFW(ish) ABC

pairing: Tyril x human!MC (Selene)

word count: 4600

warnings: NSFW

an: nsfw alphabet template by this lovely soul with the slightest change

tag list: @brycesgirl @tyrils-star @lxdy-starfury @rysdumortain

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)Except for being exhausted, Selene is vulnerable, on full display for Tyril (quite literally), and a bit emotional. That’s actually when Tyril and her have the most personal, heart-to-heart conversations.“I met with Deryth today.”Tyril propped his head on his hand while lying on his side and looked down at his lover, carefully covering her naked body with duvet. His hand then rested on Selene’s hip where his fingers stroked the delicate skin.

Several weeks earlier, during a family dinner, Tyril’s father pointed out that ever since Selene and Tyril came back from Whitetower, he could sense a powerful, ancient energy from her. Adrina immediately agreed and encouraged Selene to meet with Undermount’s walking encyclopaedia/prophet/generally the one with no official title but the go-to lady when there’s any kind of trouble. Although Tyril made no remarks that evening, he agreed with his family. Ever since Selene their battle with the Shadow Court, since she wielded the Blade of Light and was able to open portals, he felt that something... unlocked. Something clicked into place.

“What did she say?”

“A lot of unsettling things, actually,” Selene bit her lip gently and turned to lie on her back. With her eyes set on the dark ceiling, she continued. “But also... nothing concrete. She said she’s been expecting me since I set foot in Undermount because she could feel my magic. She also admitted the same thing your father said.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her body to eventually rest flat on the blonde’s stomach, his finger outlining a faint scar on her abdomen.

“She confirmed that a war is coming, and I’m going to play a pivotal part in it but this time I might not... make it through.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What ar-“

“But it’s not anything I wouldn’t know for a few weeks now,” she interrupted. “I think... she just confirmed my worries. I could still play dumb when those were just my dreams but now... I don’t know, Tyril. I don’t think I’m strong enough to go through something like this again.”

“We’ll be right by your side, Selene,” he responded immediately, his gaze burning a hole in her face.

“I know, love,” she cupped his cheek in her palm and smiled faintly. “That’s exactly what worries me the most.”

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tyril’s an absolute boobies-guy. The amount of time this man has spent on one-on-one meetings with Selene’s cleavage would make him the greatest warrior in the history had he spent it on trainings. Even (or rather especially) when they’re already going to sleep, his hand finds its way under Selene’s shirt where it rests throughout the night.

As for Selene... she couldn’t have possibly picked her favourite part of him. She adores every. single. body part of this man.

Due to her constant reminders of how much she loves his body and all the differences between the two of them, Tyril’s outlook on himself changed. He didn’t exactly begin to look out for himself when there were blades involved as she asked him, but he did want to look good for her. And himself. But mostly for her, although she started working on improving his way of thinking.

However, she does have a soft spot for his muscular back covered with several very old scars. She loves giving him a proper massage after a long day and placing kisses from one shoulder blade to another. But what she loves the most is watching his back as it’s covered with long deep-blue, purple, half-noon shaped and sometimes bloody marks that her fingernails leave.

C = Choking (basically an addition to Kink)

“I’m not sure about this, Selene,” he admitted, warring with himself whether to do what do asked and literally choke her or to simply refuse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. People do that, and they’re fine,” Tyril raised his brow, looking at her, all flushed, her hair a mess, a few finger-shaped bruises on her hips, and biting her kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve read that in a book.”

“Did you?”

“Just trust me,” she chuckled, turning to lean against a drawer and swayed her hips invitingly against him, basically impaling herself with his cock for the fifth time this evening.

He still wasn’t sold on this idea but Selene was so sure this would work he was willing to give it a try. However, the second an obscene moan left her lips after a rather hard and smooth thrust, all his inhibitions were forgotten.

Selene guided his hand from her breast to her neck, forcing him to put some pressure there, and he happily obeyed. Selene was like clay in his hands, always happy to fulfil his every wish and always making sure he felt at least as good as her. That night, he wanted to fulfil one of her wishes, however strange it seemed to him.

He pinned her hips to the cold wood with his, fucking her mercilessly as his free hand worked on her bud, leaving her a moaning mess within seconds. Just as his lips busied themselves with her shoulder, guided by her reactions he put some real pressure on her throat, careful not to hurt her.

“This is the last time we are doing this,” he concluded a minute later, holding a panting and somewhat cheery Selene in his arms.

“You’re no fun.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tyril would never admit this out loud, especially to Selene, who’s known as one of the biggest gossip in the whole Morella and an even bigger tease, but for a rather short amount of time he was very jealous of Mal (actually, scratch that, he sometime still is), his light approach to life and his relationship with Selene. The way he could joke about everything and tease the hell out of her while Tyril himself was overcome with guilt and anger. When his sole mission was destroying every single piece of the Shadow Court, Mal would still find the strength to raise the group's spirits, cheer up and motivate them. The way he would make Selene laugh.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, Tyril absolutely knows what he’s doing. He often leaves Selene breathless, red, and speechless because he’s that good.

Selene on the other hand... well, she knows a thing or two. She’s a great observer and a quick learner, but she doesn’t exactly have much experience. She happily takes everything Tyril’s willing to show her, though.

“So... I’ve found a book,” Selene stated, blushing a little. Tyril watched her curiously as they sat in a secluded part of the House Starfury’s garden, basking in the early afternoon sun.

“What book?”

Biting her lower lip, Selene began untying her dress, wanting her body to catch as many sun rays as she could until the sunset. She tossed the material aside and rested her head on Tyril’s lap. “Remember the one Mal was so interested in?”

“You mean the one he stole?”

“The one he borrowed,” she chuckled, raising a hand to cover her eyes from the sun. “For an indefinite amount of time.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I found a similar one.”

“Somehow I had a feeling this would happen one day,” the elf concluded, eyeing Selene’s slowly raising chest. “What about it?”

“Oh, please. You know what I mean.”

Of course, he did. But he also so happened to love teasing her.

“We need to work on your communications skills,” he commented, with a barely contained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chuckled. “I just thought that we could give it a try. Also, I have a feeling I am really going to enjoy watching you as you read it.”

“I already did.”

“No way,” she grinned and sat up to look at Tyril’s sun-kissed face. “When?”

“I have spent a lot of time in the library and that is all I am going to say on this matter,” Tyril admitted, smirking as his hand rested on the small of her back, his fingers gently stroking the hot skin. “If you are so eager, I believe we can start our little experiment early.”

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Against the window. Against the drawer. Against the door if they’re feeling risky. Honestly, even a boulder in the middle of the woods would do if it was big enough to lean Selene against it and fuck her from behind.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Due to Selene being a massive tease, they usually share a laugh or two during their bedroom playtime. Though there was also that one time...

“I am not ticklish,” Selene assured, sliding her hands up and down his muscular back. Tyril smirked, a devilish plan already forming in his mind, and

“I am afraid I will have to check that.”

“I see you have a death wish, Lord Tyril,” she teased, narrowing her eyes. “And since we both know I’m a much better warrior...”

The elf chuckled and raised his head from between her legs to admire the purple chain of love bites along her stomach. Set on not begging just yet, Selene bit her lower lip and watched her lover delightedly until she realized what he had planned.

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Honestly, I find it really hard to believe that the elves grow hair anywhere except for their heads.... I mean, they don’t even grow beards....... Therefore, elf boy is smooth as a baby. Not that Selene minds. Nothing obstructs the view, right?

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Tyril knows that one way to make Selene aroused is dancing. She takes full advantage of how incredible a dancer Tyril is. She adores the fact that he’s willing to patiently teach her everything about his culture, which includes dancing.

“I actually practised this one,” Selene admitted, looking deep into the elf’s blue eyes. Tyril’s left hand slipped down just above her butt, pushing her towards him, leaving absolutely no space between their bodies.

“You have?”

“With your father,” she giggled, seeing the shadow of jealousy on her lover’s face. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Colour me surprised and impressed, then,” he smiled. The hand that’s been resting on Tyril’s back moved up to the side of his neck to pull his face closer.

“Since I’ve mastered this dance, I think we can already proceed with our activities,” she whispered against his lips. “I already got a head start.”

“I can see that,” Tyril smirked as he realized the only thing covering Selene’s body was a thin, white nightgown and definitely no underwear.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The first week without Selene by his side was tough but the second week? On the 9th day, Tyril seriously considered moving to Riverbend forever just so he wouldn’t have to wake up alone ever again. This being said, the vision of seeing her in a few months was... depressing.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to remember me by,” Selene smiled flirtatiously, making herself comfortable on his lap. Having freed his left hand of a book, she guided it to her waist and then higher, and higher until it reached his favourite plaything covered with a thin, lacy material.

Seeing that the strained smile fell of her face as she watched him carefully, Tyril sighed quietly. “I know.”

“No,” she protested immediately and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek while doing so. “Quit glooming. This is supposed to be a good memory.”

He didn’t want her to leave. Not now. Not ever. But they’ve had that conversations many times now, and it wasn’t fair to try to change her mind again as she was clearly set on seeing her brother and taking a well-deserved break from Undermount. Not that he would be able to convince her to stay. She’s too damn stubborn.

“It’s our last night together for some time, love,” she whispered. “Take what you need. Remember me like this.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her thigh, trying to imprint the feeling of her soft skin in his memory. Trying to remember her taste, her scent, everything about her. Because when it came to Selene, he was greedy. He wanted to know everything about this woman, to know her every thought, every worry. He wanted to be the only who knows her taste and makes her make such sounds.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he begged in between kisses as his warm hands explored her body anew.

“I’m yours, Tyril. Always.”

Remembering how hot her skin felt under his palms, those sweet sounds she would make, and the way she called herself his over and over and over again with no hesitation, he would relieve himself to get himself through the day.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let’s be clear: Selene is the much more extreme one here. She has a choking kink which actually made Tyril consider a lifelong celibacy for a second just so he wouldn’t have to do it to her again. The fact that Tyril is much older also does the trick for her. And much taller.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Literally. Except for Tyril’s family’s private chambers, there hasn’t been a surface the two of them hadn’t christened when they were alone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tyril would never admit it, but he finds it extremely hot when Selene turns into a sassy/bad-ass/protective mode. He’s caught himself on that the first time after she easily took out one of Imtura’s corrupted pirates. And then when she fought like a maniac with the corrupted Captain, already using magic as easily as she’d been doing that since the day she was born and swinging her sword like it was her hand.

Selene is actually a sucker for some romanticism.

She would usually come home much earlier than Tyril, which had its pros and cons. The good side was that she had time to think, to write to Kade, and to just unwind. One of the biggest cons was the fact that she had to wait many hours into the night waiting for her man after a long day and – let’s just say – she was very excited. She categorically refused to touch herself, therefore, she was sentenced for waiting, wriggling in a chair, doing some stupid breathing exercises.

It was a quarter after midnight when she felt his familiar hands embrace her from behind and his warm lips already leaving wet kisses on her bare shoulder up to her neck.

A gasp, followed by a surprised moan left her lips when Tyril’s lips started leaving red marks on its way and his hand quickly made it inside her panties. Scratch the romanticism. After a whole long day she didn’t actually need it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Tyril would never do anything to physically hurt her even if she asked – the choking she once asked for was the only thing he agreed to do and he swore to never do it again.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

To Selene’s delight, Tyril loves going down on her. For his own pleasure. He’s also become quite fond of getting quick blowjobs in the middle of the day. In the middle of the city. In a fairly secluded area. Or inconspicuous handjobs under the table during parties.

Selene’s hand was stroking Tyril under the table, as they watched most of the guests dancing around the ballroom.

“Are you sure there’s no room that we could escape to for a minute?” Selene muttered, playfully stroking his tip with her thumb and watching him clench his jaw and take deep breaths.

“If there was such option, we would be there for the last few minutes already.”

She grinned hearing the struggle in his hushed voice and put more pressure on him, motivating him for a bit quicker finale this time as the song was slowly drawing to an end. The elf swallowed hard, watching as she reached for her champagne glass with her free hand. After she’s taken a small sip, she leaned over and kissed the red-cheeked man, drinking his quiet pants off his lips. Selene grinned through their kiss, feeling some wet, sticky substance in her palm.

“It’s a bit hot in here, isn’t it?”

Adrina smiled as she sat across her brother with an elegant elf by her side. Selene smiled back at the beautiful woman and took another sip of her champagne. “It is indeed.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Unless they’re short on time, they’re slow and sensual. Tyril takes his sweet time making sure not to skip any part of her body, driving her crazy at the same time. He pays special care to Selene’s scars, remembering how insecure they make her feel.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often)

“We have about five minutes before Adrina comes in here,” Selene mumbled and bit her lip to muffle the moans that threatened to leave her mouth. Tyril’s lips worked tirelessly on her neck as his hips slammed into hers.

“That’s plenty of time,” he smirked, pulling her butt towards the edge of a counter he sat her on. Selene wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, making sure he stays right where he is. “Although if you’d like me to stop-“

“Don’t you dare.”

Tyril’s right hand slipped between her legs, his nimble fingers irritating her soft spot expertly, just as his lips caught hers to muffle her moans.

They froze immediately when a soft knocking on the door followed by Adrina’s sweet voice reverberated in the room. Panicked, Selene pushed Tyril and jumped off the furniture, hurriedly smoothing her hair and fixing her dress. Tyril did the same, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the terrified look on her face.

“Imagine if she opened the door,” Selene whispered, helping Tyril smooth his dishevelled hair.

“We wouldn’t scare her for lifetime, if that’s what you worry about,” he chuckled.

“It’s not her I worry about, it’s me! I could never look her in the face again!”

Tyril snorted and leaned over the balcony door nonchalantly, amusedly observing Selene as she opened the door and greeted his sister.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Not at first, no. However, the farther they are in the relationship, the more Tyril begins to succumb to Selene’s ideas of quickies in public places and trying out some positions from the notorious book.

“It feels wrong, Selene.”

Selene looked up to see his flushed face, and took him out of her mouth for a second.

“Oh, so I can just walk out right now?”

The elf’s Adam apple moved slowly up and down as he swallowed and bit his lower lip. “I’d rather you don’t.”

“Then shut up.”

Tyril’s hand involuntarily slipped down to Selene’s hair, guiding her not-so-gently, and he quickly looked around the secluded library row to make sure they’re still alone.

He gripped the bookshelf with one hand just as he was almost there and glanced down on Selene who watched him intently with her beautiful blue eyes. With his chest heaving and tensed stomach muscles, Tyril grit his teeth not to make any noise when he came.

Selene grinned as she pulled his pants back up and stood up to place a tender kiss to the elf’s under jaw. “One could think you kind of liked it.”

Tyril brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind repeating this in the future.”

Chuckling, Selene stood on her tiptoes and kissed her man, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“No bodily fluids exchange in my library, kids.”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Tyril Starfury doesn’t go for rounds. Tyril Starfury goes for proper sessions, no matter the time of the day, although he has a soft spot for the morning shifts.

T = Timid

Tyril’s anything but timid. The fact that he was willing to fuck in front of the whole city of Whitetower? Yes, there we go. Over time, he doesn’t even pay much attention to hiding his feelings for Selene from his family. Or the elves of Undermount. *cough* handjobs during parties *cough*

Selene on the other hand learns to be more confident. Tyril quite quickly learned that the teasing is just... a ruse. But with time and endless assurance from her man of his love and devotion, she learns to ask for what she wants.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

Oh, Selene is the greatest teaser. There’s nothing in this world that makes her happier than watching Tyril flush because of her dirty comments, lose his composure, and get boners in the most inappropriate moments.

She loves to distract him as he’s reading the council’s newest proposals by sitting half naked on his desk, sneakingly squeezing his butt as he’s talking with the heads of other houses during balls, and leaving juicy love bites on his neck before they go out to the town. In this way she gets to hear him moaning before noon, and she marks her territory, letting other women know he’s taken. Two birds, one stone, right?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Tyril makes it his priority to get Selene as loud as humanly possible when they’re alone. Unless they’re in a public place for a stealthy quickie, then he does just enough to make her almost-as-loud-as-possible. He loves seeing her struggling to stay quiet, he loves teasing her like that, fully knowing she would rather chew off her own tongue than to let a moan escape her lips when they’re in public.

However, it cuts both ways, right? Selene is a mistress of drawing incomprehensible moans from her man, especially in the most inappropriate moments – like during dinner in a bar or in a library. Especially in the library, where they’ve earned a few warnings already.

“Selene, I swear, if we get a permanent ban from the librarian, I will send you back to Riverbend.”

“Feisty,” she chuckled, stroking his calf with her foot under the library table. “Do it more often.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“I’m starting to think you’re letting me win,” Selene panted, smirking at Tyril whom she had pressed against a wall, with the tip of her blade an inch away from his throat. Tyril raised his hands defiantly, smirking at her.

“I would never do such thing.”

“Then I believe I have surpassed my master.”

Selene lowered the blade slowly and let it fall to the ground when Tyril’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her and picked her up to slam her against the wall. “You did indeed. Therefore, I believe I deserve a consolation prize.”

“We wouldn’t want you to go into pieces, would we?” she chuckled, pulling him close to crash her lips against his. They still had a few alone minutes left and like always they were more than willing to spend it a bit nicer than on pointing blades at each other.

Selene was also more than happy to use the fact that their trainings excited him to her advantage. “Are you certain you want to stay here? Someone will come-”

“Too bad for them, then.”

“I’m really liking this side of you,” she grinned and tangled a hand in his long hair as his lips sucked hard at the skin on her collarbone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A solid (and a bit scarred) six-pack and a thick, definitely-above-average package. If it was up the Selene, he would walk around Morella naked.

“What about this one?” she asked, kissing a long, purplish scar under his ribcage.

“Kaya.”

“It’s been over a year,” her brows furrowed a bit. “It still hasn’t healed?”

“Magic wounds take longer to heal.”

Selene nodded, and watched his face while placing tiny, tender kisses along the scar. “You have quite the collection, I must admit.”

Tyril chuckled.

“This is the last one,” he pointed to a rather deep scar on his left hip. “No distressful story behind this one.”

“For once,” she grinned. “Is this the one Mal gave you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my favourite one.”

“It better be, I have it because of you,” he smirked, brushing the hair out of her face.

“You have it because you love me, and you wanted to defend my honour. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Touche.”

Placing a series of wet kisses down his abdomen, Selene wrapped her hand around him, already hard and waiting for her touch, drawing a surprised gasp from the elf. “Though I believe you deserve some acknowledgement for your courageous defence of my honour.”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Tyril is a young, handsome elf, who happens to be the love interest of many, and have a gorgeous woman by his side. Of course, he’s horny as hell. As much as he’s trying to hide it, Selene knows exactly what and how often he needs, as it happens to be her.

“Not again,” Selene giggled, feeling something hard on her thigh. She slid her thumb over Tyril’s kiss-swollen lips, admiring how soft they are. “I would like to come out of this room eventually.”

“I’m afraid this is not going to happen today,” he chuckled as Selene pushed him to lie on his back and straddled him, taking him all in.

The sun was slowly descending, and they haven’t left their bed ever since they woke up this morning.

Tyril marvelled at how the orange sun kissed her pale skin, how beautiful she looked blush-glazed cheeks, and even at how eager she was to go for another round even though the tiredness was evident on her face.

“Selene, no.”

“Come on,” she sighed as he took his hand away from her neck where she guided it. “We’ve talked about this.”

“And as far as I recall I told you I am not going to do this ever again.”

“Fine.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

“I love you.”

A small smile crept up upon Tyril’s lips, and he subconsciously wrapped his arm around Selene’s body. He muttered something back, slowly drifting back to sleep. Knowing Tyril, Selene just assumed it was either “Love you too” or “I know.” A soft smile appeared on her lips as she felt his steady heartbeat on her back. Tyril would usually fall asleep first, hugging her so tight she sometimes had problems breathing.

Once she was certain Tyril had fallen asleep, she turned around to look at his peaceful face and was surprised to see a faint of a sleepy smile in the corners of his lips. “Don’t ever forget that,” she whispered, placing a featherlight kiss between his brows.

#tyril starfury #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #tyril x mc #tyril fic #the quintessence of my writing lmao smut fluff and angst(ish)#while writing this i might've motivated myself and i WILL be writing some additional fics with the use of those ideas #also i have no clue how tf the spacing in tumblr posts works so if there are weird looking space IM SORRY I TRIED MY BEST

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undermounts · 4 years

Text

Empire of Light—Prologue: Of Monsters and Men

AO3 | Table of Contents | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: In the sparkling capital of Morella, strange things go bump in the night.

Notes: this is a sequel to my first Blades 2 fic, Ashes and Embers. If you haven’t read that yet, you can do so here!

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Whitetower was not the sort of city that slept.

Even at the oddest hours of the morning, there was always some sort of trouble afoot—sometimes good trouble, sometimes bad, but always mischievous. The evenings were filled with the merry music from open tavern doors, the raucous laughter of drunkards, the rapturous cries of lovers, and other things that went bump in the night. Deals were made in dark alleyways, schemes were carried out amongst thieves atop the terracotta shingles that lined moonlit rooftops, and assassins and mercenaries earned their coin in underground fighting pits, where the wealthy and poor alike frequented to bet on the odds.

The Temple of Light, mercifully, was always quiet, and Cili loved quiet.

Cili, however, did not love Whitetower. He couldn’t wait until he ascended the full rank of priesthood—even though that was many years away—so that he could lead the pilgrimages across Morella or the recruitment journeys that picked up orphaned magic users such as himself, if only so he could get out of the city. It was too loud, and in some places, like the Nooks and Crannies, too smelly. In fact, if Cili had to pick a few words to describe Whitetower, they would simply be, “too much.”

Cili could still remember the day he had arrived in the capital city three years ago, not long after his fifth birthday had passed, when the priests had brought him to live at the Temple. Permanently. To put it quite frankly, that day was one of the most terrifying he’d ever had.

Whitetower was overwhelming, a sensory overload. After crossing through the city’s borders, Cili had seen more people within a few moments than he’d ever seen on the quiet farm he grew up on. The sheer volume of people that occupied the capital made him nervous—they were a tide he could get lost in, could drown in. He was used to small communities and houses that were fields apart. Even after three years, he was still adjusting to living at the Temple with all of the other acolytes and priests.

The Market District was especially stressful. There were so many people, so many voices, smells, colors, and sounds—all of it blending together into a cacophonous mess that made Cili cling to the sleeves of the nearest priestess and bury his face in her robes.

And beyond what Cili had experienced in his sheltered upbringing at the Temple were the stories he had heard. Some of the older students at the Temple gossiped about Whitetower’s underworld, the secret guilds of thieves, mercenaries, and assassins. Apparently, there were entire networks of tunnels hidden beneath the capital, dozens of secret passageways, and hundreds of peepholes for espionage.

The first time Cili had heard the gossip was in the hours after lights were out and the acolytes were supposed to be asleep. After that, he had spent the following day scouring the walls and rafters of the Temple for spies. He’d soon realized that he was acting a bit foolishly—the Temple of Light was perhaps the most secure place in Whitetower, right after the palace, but he still made sure to stay close to the priests whenever they were led throughout the city for their weekly services. While the other acolytes spoke of the criminals of Whitetower with some degree of awe or amusement—mostly about a thief dubbed the “Whitetower Reaper” that had mysteriously vanished a few years ago—Cili could only pray that he never encountered such rabble.

Nobles, knights, Light-users, traders, merchants, thieves, and assassins—Whitetower seemed to have it all.

The one thing Whitetower did not have was monsters. At least not of the beastly kind, with fangs and fur and claws. Although, the same could not be said of those ruled by greed and ambition… No, Whitetower was not home to strange creatures, aside from the occasional noble-owned voxper.

Or at least, that used to be the case.

Now, a giant, winged creature stood guard on the city walls with a blazing fire in his lungs. And unbeknownst to the general public, strange beasts prowled the shadows…

Cili quietly shuffled down the moonlit marble halls of the Temple, collecting and extinguishing the old candles that had been burning all evening and replacing them with new ones he would light tomorrow morning. This was the last part of his daily routine, his final task of the day as one of the younger acolytes, and his least favorite chore. He would never admit it, especially around the older children, but his heart always beat a little faster when he carried out this task, the tempo increasing with every flame he extinguished. Cili was not afraid of the dark, but he was afraid of the things that may lurk within it.

Growing up in the quiet countryside, Cili had never had any reason to believe in the folktales about wicked monsters or strange beasts that would snatch little children out of their beds at night. He’d only ever encountered lapna and kromps, which were more or less content to stay away, especially if rewarded with food. But after the events of the last year—portals opened to the Shadow Realm, the Crown Prince’s death, the Dreadlord’s rise and fall, the Battle of Ash, the Blood King’s ascension, and the guardian dragon’s arrival…. After all of that, Cili was no longer sure what to believe. He only knew that whenever he blew out a candle and stared into the shadows that crept in, he had the sinking, dreadful feeling that something was staring back.

Cili came to a stop in front of one of the white marble statues that lined the Hall of Saints. This statue in particular was of Saint Damaris, who was known for protecting children—especially orphans. This was Cili’s favorite Saint of Light, even if Damaris’ death was one of the more gruesome ones on record. Cili had learned that Damaris had died during the Great War—as most famous Saints did—while protecting a chartered boat of orphans from winged shadow gargoyles as they crossed the Silban River to safety.

Cili looked down at the candles at the base of Damaris’ statue, glanced at the darkening hall around him, then decided to extinguish those ones last. He did not mind having the Saint’s protection for a little while longer.

Cili continued down the Hall of Saints, blowing out and replacing candles as he went. As he did, he recalled the names of the Saints and their stories, a tactic he had once used to strengthen his memory of the famous figures that had soon become a habit. Saint Ahlai, protector of settlements along the Golden Coast, drowned while defending a cluster of fishing boats from a bloodsquid during a storm. Saint Noa, protector of travellers, stoned to death while protecting a royal procession from raiders. The list went on and on—Saint Pasha, Saint Viktor, Saint Emira, Saint Holland, Saint Calla, Saint Athos… One tragedy after another.

As he went about his task, Cili wondered if anyone he knew would one day ascend to the status of saint. A part of him hoped not. Revered as they were, almost every Saint seemed to meet a tragic end.

Cili reached the end of the hall, coming to a halt at the base of Saint Alina’s statue. He gazed upon the Saint’s alabaster countenance, her beautiful face at once nurturing, fierce, and sorrowful. She was one of the most popular saints, known as the protector of the innocents. Cili shuddered as he recalled her particular demise: burned while defending a town of human serfs during the Great War. The young acolyte shook that gruesome thought from his head as he withdrew a fresh candle from his basket and placed it at the base of her altar and leaned down to blow the flames out.

The moment the last candle guttered out, Cili felt a sudden chill wash over him, as if he had been plunged into a frozen lake. He inhaled sharply, clutching the basket of candles tightly to his chest as ice spread through his veins and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Something was wrong.

Heart pounding in his small chest, Cili slowly turned around. There was nothing behind him, although he found no relief in this small discovery. With the doors to the outer courtyard of the Temple closed and most of the candles extinguished, Cili was shrouded in darkness. His attention tunneled to the flickering semi-circle of candlelight that surrounded Saint Damaris’ statue, the only source of illumination in the entire hall aside from the watery moonlight

Cili’s blood was loud in his ears. He could not explain it, the inexplicable urge to run. Something was watching him, he could feel it. Waiting for him.

Cili inhaled deeply, his breath shaking ever so slightly as he smothered the urge to run toward the ring of light. Surely this was just some sort of joke. If anyone was watching him from the shadows, it was the other acolytes, playing a prank on him. Cili had a bit of a reputation around the Temple of being easily scared, after all. If they wanted to get a reaction out of anyone, Cili was the perfect target.

“This isn’t funny,” Cili declared, his voice quivering despite his best efforts to keep it steady.

No response.

“Marco?” he questioned as he clutched the basket of candles tightly to his chest and then slowly began to creep toward the other end of the hall, careful to keep his steps steady so he did not betray the immense fear he felt. He did not want the other acolytes to get the satisfaction of seeing him run. “Jude? I know it's you guys. You can cut it out. I’m not afraid.”

Again, no response. Then—

There was a rustling sound, like the flap of wings. Then the scrape of something solid and heavy against the smooth marble stone and—

Cili lost his nerve and ran, dropping his basket of candles as he sprinted for the semi-circle of candlelight around Saint Damarius. No sooner had he begun to run did the creature in the shadows flare to life.

A horrible snarl ricocheted off the marble and alabaster floors of the hall, followed by the abrupt boom of beating wings and the click, click, click of talons snapping against the floor.

Something hot and leathery struck Cili across the back of his legs and he stumbled, crashing to the floor only a few paces away from Saint Damaris’ light. Cili’s chin throbbed from smacking it against the marble tiles, but he shoved himself to his hands and knees, hastily scrambling for the ring of light like his life depended on it.

It did.

Cili waited until he was fully within the semi-circle of candlelight, naively believing that the light of a few measly flames would keep the mysterious creature at bay, before he flipped onto his back, throwing his hands up as he finally faced the beast.

His scream lodged in his throat, which felt as if it had been swollen shut with fear.

Cili did not know how to process what exactly was before him. He had never seen a creature like this in his childhood storybooks, had never even heard of a creature like this, either from the other acolytes or the old storytellers that sat around Whitetower’s town square.

The beast had the face and wings of a bat, although its body was distinctly humanoid, corded with rippling muscle. But the creature’s composition was not nearly the strangest thing about it. The beast did not have skin nor fur, but rather, it appeared to be made of shadow. Tendrils of darkness wicked off of its body like smoke and glowing lines of reddish orange light trailed along its arms and torso, like molten lava bubbling through the cracked, blackened surface of cooled magma.

As it slowly prowled forward, the gargoyle screeched at him, baring a mouthful of razor sharp teeth and Cili flinched back, throwing up his hands defensively. He called desperately upon his teaching of the Light in a vain hope that something the priests had taught him would be useful in warding this creature away, but defensive magic was too advanced for someone his age, its teaching withheld until he reached his tenth year.

The young acolyte scuttled backward as the beast stalked toward him until his back met the base of Damaris’ statue. Trembling, Cili’s eyes were trained on the gargoyles taloned, hideous feet as it lumbered closer to the circle of light. Closer, closer, closer—

One of the gargoyle’s talons breached the light.

And nothing happened.

Cili whimpered, realizing that there was nothing that could save him, not the candlelight, not Damaris, and judging by the quiet that still settled over the temple, not the priests, either. Desperate, Cili conjured an Orb of Light in his palms, the only bit of magic he could confidently do. In response, the gargoyle hissed, rearing back as a clawed hand swung forward, narrowly missing Cili’s face as the boy lunged back. Almost instantly, due to his fear and lapse in concentration, the Orb guttered out.

Panicked, Cili tried and failed to conjure another Orb of Light as the gargoyle shifted over him. Cili’s hands fell uselessly into his lap as the monster cornered him against the marble statue, its tepid breath ghosting over the boy’s face as it opened its gaping maw wide for the killing blow.

Left with nothing else to do, Cili closed his eyes and began to pray.

“Light guide me through this endless night and protect me from the darkness. On Viktor, on Calla, on Athos and Alina. On Noa, on Pasha, on Damaris—” Cili broke his prayer and sobbed desperately. “Saints, save me!”

The doors to the Temple slammed against the walls as they burst open, and a flash of Light so bright it was blinding illuminated the room. The beast above Cili was thrown back by the blast and struck the opposite wall with an animalistic whimper of pain.

Cili’s gaze snapped to the open doorway where two cloaked figures appeared, silhouetted by the night sky and the mist that drifted across the cobblestone roads of Whitetower. The one on the right, distinguishable by the taller stature, swayed ever so slightly as the one on the left lunged forward with incredible grace and speed. Cili just barely caught the glint of steel before two blades shot out of the cloaked figure’s gloved hands. It was only until Cili followed the path of the blades that he realized the Shadow beast had gotten up from its supine position against the wall and had begun to charge toward him once more.

The blades sunk into the gargoyle’s stomach, slowing its advance. The monster roared in pain and frustration as its wings snapped out, lifting its body into the air. There was a whizzing sound and sickening squelch as an arrow embedded itself in one of the beast’s wings, quickly followed by another arrow that struck the other one, causing it to crash to the ground once more. Cili looked to the taller figure, who now brandished a glittering bow of silver and gold metal. Beneath the folds of their coat, he could just make out the silver hilt of a sword.

No sooner had the beast fallen from the air did the second figure with the knives spring forward, gripping the protruding shafts of the arrows and using them as leverage to shove the gargoyle back, pinning it to the wall. The Shadow creature howled as Cili’s rescuer used their weight to trap the beast, then yanked the arrows down, shredding its wings to the point of uselessness. The cloaked figure pulled back, unsheathing a knife strapped to their thigh, and raised the gleaming weapon high, prepared to stab deep into the beast’s heart.

Cili’s breath caught in his throat. He could not believe what he was witnessing, could not believe that he was about to watch these mysterious heroes defeat this monster, could not believe that he was saved.

Cili’s heart dropped like a stone as the creature lashed out with its snapping teeth, forcing the cloaked figure to jump back, leaving just enough room for the gargoyle to swing out with a muscled arm. The back of its taloned hand caught Cili’s defender across the midsection, batting them aside. As the figure tumbled to the ground, their hood fell back, revealing a head of shoulder-length, dark, and wavy hair. The face underneath was tan and ruggedly handsome, distinguishable by a well-kept beard and a scar that crossed a single eyebrow.

The beast shoved away from the wall, lurching toward the doors out of the Temple in a desperate attempt to escape with its life. But then the other figure was there, moving faster than a wicked wind as they darted forward and struck with their gauntleted fist, catching the gargoyle with a blow so savage and powerful, the weakened creature rocked backward, stunned.

Like the gears in a well-oiled machine, the man on the ground swung his legs out, catching the beast by its shadowy ankles. The Shadow creature slammed into the ground just as the man rolled out of the way and shoved himself up to his knees. He brandished his dagger once more, stabbing clean through the monster’s shoulder to pin it to the ground.

His voice was low and gruff as he demanded, “Do it!”

Cili watched in awe as the taller figure unsheathed the sword at their side—the strangest blade Cili had ever seen, crafted of steel but threaded through with a blueish, crystalline substance that resembled forks of lightning. The figure lifted the sword high, a silver glow—The Light, Cili realized—emanating from their hands and spearing down the blade as they stabbed down, piercing the gargoyle’s chest, and presumably, its heart.

There was a bright flash and Cili watched as the Shadow beast dissipated into nothingness.

When the Light faded, Cili gaped at the space where the creature had once been. There was nothing left behind to indicate that it had ever existed within this temple, nothing but a few soot stains on the milky white marble floors.

A soft, tired sigh drew Cili’s attention away from the marks on the floor and he looked up in time to see the taller figure rest the tip of their sword against the floor and lean against it as if winded. The man quickly retrieved the blades that had clattered to the floor after the Shadow beast disappeared and tucked them away before snatching the arrows as well. He clambered to his feet just as his hooded companion straightened, nodding gratefully as they slid the offered arrows back into their quiver and sheathed that peculiar sword.

Cili watched in awe as his rescuers righted themselves, the realization dawning on him. “You’re Saints, aren’t you?” he breathed, slowly pushing himself away from the base of Damaris’ statue. “That’s why you saved me.”

Immediately, Cili’s rescuers stiffened, their attention snapping to him for the first time since they arrived as if they had just remembered he was there.

“Aw, hells,” the man muttered beneath his breath as he quickly yanked the hood of his cloak up, concealing his face beneath the shadows once more.

The two figures wordlessly glanced at each other as Cili’s gaze flicked between them, awaiting an answer. He could not believe it. They had heard his prayer. The Saints had come. The Saints—

“We aren’t Saints of Light.” The voice that replied was dulcet and sonorous—a woman’s. Cili thought he could listen to her speak all day.

“But I saw you use the Light,” Cili insisted, shaking his head as he got to his feet. There was still a slight tremor in his legs, his body still thrumming with adrenaline, although he paid no notice. “I prayed for you and you came—”

“We aren’t Saints,” the woman repeated gently, glancing over her shoulder at her companion before she took a slight step forward. “We’re just… devout followers of the Light. Purging the realm of darkness.”

Cili tilted his head, leaning forward in an attempt to see under the woman’s hood. Sensing his efforts, the woman pulled away and Cili frowned, although his disappointment was short-lived. Another thought crossed his mind. “So you’re… like adventurers? Heroes, like those in the storybooks?”

Cili had a feeling the woman was smiling as she tilted her head to the side. “Something like that.”

Cili nodded slowly, his gaze sliding from her concealed face to the soot stains that marred the floors. “What was that thing?”

“Just a monster,” the woman replied. “A bad guy. But it’s gone now. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Cili chewed the inside of his lip, sidestepping away from the spot where the creature had died. The danger was gone, but he still felt unsettled. “Will more come?”

It was the man who replied this time. “Not if we can help it.”

Cili frowned, unconvinced, but did not reply.

As if sensing his unease, the woman reached out with nimble fingers and swiped something off of the man’s person, much to his dismay, but before her companion could protest, she knelt before Cili.

“Do you want to know what you can do if one of those beasts ever comes back?” she asked gently.

Cili’s eyes widened. He was nodding before he even realized he was doing so.

The woman held up her hand. Between her slender fingers was a small, sheathed knife. But Cili’s attention was not on the blade. Instead, his gaze lingered on her skin, which was a pearlescent shade of blue and horribly scarred as if it had been severely burned. A single gold ring adorned her thumb.

The woman took Cili’s hand and pressed the hilt of the blade into his palm as she spoke. “The priests at the Temple will teach you how to protect yourself and others,” she told him. “That sort of training will be invaluable. But magic won’t always be there to help you, especially if you choose not to use it.”

Cili’s brow furrowed. “But why—”

The woman shook her head. “That is a choice you will make when you are older and understand the world better. And you must make it for yourself. But until then, you should know how to defend yourself without magic, too. Just in case.”

She curled Cili’s fingers around the hilt of the blade. “This can help protect you, but you must only use it if you are in grave danger, understand?”

She waited for Cili to show that he did. When he nodded, she continued.

“If one of those beasts ever comes again,” she said slowly, a teacher guiding a student. “You take this—” She squeezed his hand, guiding it toward her chest. “—and put it here. Understand?”

Cili swallowed. “Yes.”

He looked up then, peering beneath the woman’s hood. He just barely glimpsed her pointed ears and a blur of green that was so bright, he thought they might be gemstones, and caught a whiff of starflowers, pine, and mist, before she pulled away. The woman dropped his hand as she straightened and stepped back.

“Be careful,” she instructed him. “And only use that when absolutely necessary.”

Cili nodded.

The woman stared at him for a few moments longer, her gaze heavy without being seen. Then she bowed her head. “May the Light guide you.”

Cili echoed her response, still shell-shocked as she turned on her heel and faced her companion.

“Uh, yeah,” the man said, reaching into the folds of his cloak. When he pulled his hand out, a glittering silver coin danced between his fingertips. He flicked it towards Cili, who caught it against his chest, confused.

“This’ll be our secret, yeah?” the man prompted, his hood shifting as he gazed around the Temple and sighed. “Bet they don’t pay you enough for this stuff. Wandering around creepy hallways at night.”

Cili did not know how to tell him that the Temple did not pay him at all, so he only nodded and replied, “Yes.”

“Right,” the man said slowly, before turning on his heel to follow his companion. As he went, he gave a lazy salute. “Light guide you, kid.”

Cili watched, stunned as his two rescuers made their way toward the doors that led out of the temple, their whispers carrying in the empty hallway.

“Please tell me you did not just bribe him.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who taught him to kill a man, so I don’t think either of us are winning role model of the year, kit.”

Cili waited until they were halfway down the marble steps that led up to the Temple entrance before he scrambled after them, hiding behind the door to watch them go. They both moved like shadows, lithe and nimble as they stuck to the darkness and leaned against each other, as inconspicuous as any other couple wandering around the city after a night in the taverns.

Bewitched by the two figures that had just saved his life with magic and steel—he was still not convinced they weren’t Saints—Cili followed them as quietly as possible off the Temple grounds and into the misty streets of Whitetower.

It was not until they reached the end of the block that his rescuers straightened, putting a casual distance between them. As they shifted apart, Cili saw why.

Cili watched from behind a barrel, mist swirling around his calves as his rescuers met up with two more cloaked figures, hidden in the shadows of an apartment that sat atop a shoemaker’s shop, which was closed for the night.

“I thought I told you to stay home,” the woman murmured, her voice nearly inaudible as she brushed her hand along the slope of another figure’s shoulder. Her other hand twisted behind her back, the mist churning with it. “Where it’s safe.”

“Oh?” the figure replied liltingly with a teasing edge as his head fell to the side. “Are you giving me orders now?”

A low laugh filled the air, full of warmth and affection. The sound was so entrancing, Cili almost didn’t notice that the mist had thickened around them, nearly concealing his saviors from sight. By the time the woman finished laughing , they were just fading blurs in the fog.

“I would never do such a thing,” Cili thought he heard the woman reply, “Your Majesty.”

Cili’s breath hitched and he moved to follow, but the fog was so thick, he could barely see his own hands.

He tried to find the mysterious figures by sound alone, but when the mist cleared, they were gone.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Notes: And we’re back

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