#Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time (Celyssena x Sylrin)

[celyssena-sunfire]

Celyssena: Hey do you wanna go back to the house? We’ve been doing a lot here on the Isles lately.

Sylrin: That’s kind of a long way but alright. We’ll have to take a boat.

Celyssena, who can teleport: oh I forgor

[celyssena-sunfire]

whoops.

totally not called whoops because that’s what its called in google docs Again hUGE THANK YOU @cure-our-darkness​ for providing Sylrin’s pov/dialogue in certain places, as well as editing my horrible grammar (i didn’t ask her to do that part, my grammar is just atrocious). This one is a little longer than Affection, I’m honestly just getting stronger the longer time goes on. Enjoy~

--

“I’m gonna shower.”

You replied with some kind of cheeky comment like; ‘Okay! Be there in a sec,’ because you were in the middle of something. Sylrin hadn’t said another word and you assumed he had gone to do just that— take a shower, when it occurred to you twenty minutes later, that you didn’t hear the shower. You’d heard the water come on, but it was completely silent now.

You put down what you’d been busying yourself with and call out; “Sylrin? Did you wait for me?” 

With no answer, you make your way to the bathroom. He’s in there, all right, and he isn’t showering.

He’s stretched out in the tub, one leg propped next to the faucet. His head reclined against the back lip of the tub, eyes closed, but the worst part was the water. It was a dark shade of pink, evidence of why still slicked all over his body like he was too tired to scrub the blood off.

You almost let out a gasp. Almost.

He turns his head to look at you, but at the expression on your face, he lifted his head. He had a gash right above his right eye, blood crusted into his hairline and across his face. 

“Don’t worry Spitfire,” he gives you a lazy smirk; “You should see the other guys.”

You let out a sigh as you make your way over to him, sitting on the lip of the tub. You reach forward and brush his bangs away from the cut on his forehead, earning yourself a very muted hiss from him. 

“You can’t sleep in the tub,” You say, finally; “There isn’t enough room for both of us.”

“Can’t sleep, but there’s room for other activities,” he says with a shit-eating grin. Were he uninjured, you would have splashed him for his cheeky comment before taking him up on the offer.

Instead, you return the grin; “Maybe later, meathead.”

You clean him up the best you can. Turns out, most of the blood wasn’t his— with the exception of his face, however. There wasn’t much you could do for the bruises and scrapes, but you did spend a good twenty minutes sewing up his forehead after he declined Cadence’s assistance.

“You sure you’re alright?” You ask after it’s all said and done. You make him follow your finger with his eyes, the wound on his head giving you cause for concern. He’s humoring you for the moment, his gaze flitting between your finger and your face.

You’d gotten him out of the bathtub, into dry clothes and sat him on the toilet lid. Well- his jeans were on. His shirt was still bunched around his neck.

Not that you mind the view.

“Yes,” he says, rolling his eyes. Then he leans in and kisses you, a quick, clean moment before he pulls away with another grin.

You know him too well by now to fall for this charade. You give him a big, warm smile, as if you’ve fallen for it, before saying; “Was that supposed to distract me?”

You suppose it’s because you’re fussing. You don’t play mother hen that often, if ever; as there was never really a need when you were on your own. Whenever you did, however, you went hard. Even when caring for others, your competitive nature showed through.

“Yes,” He replies, again, as if you’d asked if he wanted something for dinner. Asshole.

But- he was your asshole, and he was fine. While you knew the numerous ways he could attempt to distract you, you also knew the markers of whether he was fine or not. The learning curve had been a steep one, but you weren’t exactly the type of girl who gives up easily. 

“Forgive me for worrying, Meathead,” You lean down, pulling him to your lips by his t-shirt, “But it’d be an awful tragedy if we lost you.”

“Oh yes, there’d be weeping in the streets,” He scoffs, sarcastically.

“There would!” You say, mocking offense, “I would be weeping in the streets!”

He gives you another shit-eating grin, and you share a brief moment of silence together before he huffs out a laugh, “Good, you can keep Cadence company.”

You love your boyfriend, you really do; even when his cheeky remarks break through your attempt to study his face for the thousandth time. You shake your head, still admiring his brow ridge, including the fresh wound over his eyebrow.

If only kisses could actually heal wounds.

“Oh no, she’s your best friend, that’s your job,” You snort, kissing his forehead; “Come on, I’m pretty sure whatever I was cooking is burned now.”

[celyssena-sunfire]

affection.

Big thank you to @cure-our-darkness who helped me with writing Sylrin for this one! I do so enjoy writing fluff and hurt/comfort as much as I enjoy writing angst, and she gave me the idea a few days ago.

--

You hear him before you see him, his footfalls were heavier than normal. He sounded weighed down, like someone had tied chains to his ankles.

Your door is already open, he knows he’s allowed inside without invitation. He sits— no, slumps in one of your frumpy chairs like the air around him was going to crush him. Not only was the air around him thick, he looked awful. You could see that it had not been a good time, it was etched into the lines on his face.

“Sylrin...” Because you lobbing the word ‘Meathead’ at him would feel more akin to an insult than a beloved nickname right now, “What’s wrong?” Because everything was not okay.

When he doesn’t answer, you sit up from where you lay on your bed. “Come here,” you beckon.

He does as he’s told, heaving himself up as if he were digging himself out of the embrace of a grave, so that he can sit with his back to you on your bed. You don’t begrudge him, though.

Instead, you lean forward and kiss the back of his head. You press your face into the back of his neck.

“Do you know what I love about you?” Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper; “You have so much love. Your heart is so big, and so strong. And you’re brave, because you know how scary life can be and you do it anyways,” You feel a smile creep across your lips; “I am enamored with the way you hold yourself, your confidence and your voice. The way you walk, the look in your eyes as we travel across the continent.”

“You give yourself over completely to the people you love, and you’re more than willing to go the distance for people you don’t even know.” 

You lean back as he turns to face you. Despite your words, he still looks drawn, a proverbial Atlas holding up the sky. “I’m so tired, Spitfire.” 

You wish the lights were off, so that he didn’t have to see how sad that admission makes you; how it makes your ears droop, how it makes your face fall. You reach up and cup his cheek. “Rest, Sylrin. You’ve more than earned it.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead he turns away from you for just a moment, you feel his lips brush against your fingers that still gently held his face. He lingers for a moment like that, and then he’s turning back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist before pressing his face into your shoulder. He ragdolls in your arms, like when he was trying to get your attention and you were ignoring him, so he’d sit on you until you stopped. It was a silly comparison.

You allow his weight to carry the both of you down, sprawling across your bed. Your arm is trapped under him, but when you attempt to free yourself, you notice that his entire body has gone slack. He’s asleep, right here in your arms.

He’s safe.

You lay back and let him have your arm, your heart and whatever the hell else he might want. You don’t even remember what you were doing before he came in here-- you’re sure that it’s laying somewhere on your bed or on the floor, forgotten; not that you cared about it anymore. Your other arm goes around him, you hold his sleeping form tight.

“I love the sound of your voice,” You whisper, “I love you even when you get mad, or frustrated. I love your drive, your smell, the fact that you prefer a shield to a sword,” You rest your cheek against his forehead.

“I love you.”

[celyssena-sunfire]

have faith.

The Thorns do their job. You hate playing your part.

It wasn’t that you hated flexing your power. Generations worth of arcane sparked at your command, and you were always pleased to use it. No, it was not the use of your talents that you hated, it was the way you had to go about it. It was turning on your former comrades. 

It meant defending people you hated, and standing before them as the embodiment of everything they believed you to be. A screaming pillar of fire and rage, driving opposing forces apart like two positively charged magnets. You would have been fine with the war just leaving the neutral parties, and finally wipe that whole cursed family off of the face of the planet as they did to your’s, but life was never that kind to you; and the way Cadence looks at her comrades always meant they had to step in.

The ground is holy where she walks, whereas the earth you trespass upon is scorched by your footsteps. It is because you are beyond salvation, a voice whispers in your mind.

It was true, no one in your family was blessed by any higher power. You reached out and plucked it from the hands of the Gods themselves. One could not depend on the Light, when it did not come as it was called. There was no Light in the caves beneath Belo’melorn Lodge. There was no Light in the vault. Only bloody ruination and the shivering death of Gods.

Have faith, you once said to Sylrin, you have so little faith in them; without a hint of irony in your voice. Without noting your own hypocrisy.

Your fire diminishes, and the soldiers that once parted like the seas for you, stare in confusion. You will not be Celyssena Felo’vir today. Today you will be Cel.

“My brothers and sisters,” You turn to the Horde as Cadence addresses the Alliance; “The war is over.”

{ Mentions; @songofthemeadow‘s Cadence, @jackleansparrow‘s Sylrin }

[celyssena-sunfire]

the flesh is weak.

You have nightmares, but they don’t send you into the arms of your lover. You wish they did, but you were always filled with the urge to run. So you ran, out of the dormitories like a bat from Hell, across the foyer and it’s glittering projections, straight into the Archive. It was huge, dark, and you had a built-in excuse as to why you were there. Almost no one here slept well.

You force yourself to stay up, to keep your mind active rather than dwell on the visions that haunt your sleep; but you quickly realize you can’t stay here forever. Slowly, you make the journey back to your room, metaphorically dragging your bare feet across the floor in dread.

Perhaps it was desire, or fear that takes you to his room, but you don’t go back to your own. Instead you open the door quietly, letting in only a sliver of light to illuminate your path from the door to the bed. You can see his back from here, tan flesh covered in artful black swirls, feathered wings; and written word. His own personal scripture, and his body was the libram it was kept in.

You shut the door behind you, enveloping the room in darkness once more. Slowly, you steal across the floor like a child whose scared of the dark, seeking comfort from a parent. 

Sylrin won’t fault you for this transgression, neither of you were afraid of the dark. You feared what lurked within. 

As you come upon him, he’s already woken up. He fell asleep on top of the duvet again, and still in his jeans; but rather than attempt to fix that, he stares up at you with those blue-gold eyes glowing in the dark.

You slot into his arms as if they were made for you. 

What was that old poem again? You fit into me, like a hook to an eye. You were obviously the hook, needy and sharp. You needed love, you grasped at another person the way shipwreck victims cling to wood. You needed to commit the sin of touch as much as possible, your desire for other people’s voices and arms was as voracious as the hundred years you spent utterly and completely alone.

You almost didn’t want to come. As you lay there listening to his heartbeat, you feel unworthy. All of your nightmares were full of ghosts, all of your monsters had long since forgotten about you, or stopped caring. His were tangible, with long claws and sharp fangs. He held you all the same. If you were broken, at least you both could be broken together.

You tell yourself this over again, thinking over the events of the past week. All of your monsters were gone.

You close your eyes and try to forget the visage of Jaehaerys, standing just beyond the Thorns’ reach.

Mentions; @jackleansparrow‘s Sylrin

[celyssena-sunfire]

the soul is willing.

Something I did, that failed to be charming. Things that I said are suddenly swarming

He comes in the dead of night.

This isn’t how it always goes, sometimes it was you who went to him. Sometimes you would laze about in his room for hours, reading books or being annoying, and he allowed it. Sometimes he’d come into your room to do the same. Sometimes there was laughter, loud and raucous. Sometimes there was screaming and yelling, not the angry kind, you tried not to yell at each other. It had only happened once, and apologies had quickly followed.

But this wasn’t normally how it went, listening to the pitter-patter of his bare feet across the floor as he stole into your room. As he sneaks under your duvet with a wordless admission of a nightmare.

He is quick to cuddle up as close as he could to you as you wrapped your arms around his bare torso. He was greedy, and so were you; latching onto each other in desperation as often as you could.

As hungry as you are for the act of touch, you lean away from him ever-so-slightly and ask; “Do you want to talk about it?” your voice feather-light.

“Not tonight,” He answers, his voice just as quiet.

You card your fingers through his hair, still damp from sweat; “That’s okay,” You smile, as if he could see it in the dark.

Your voice isn’t meant for a stage, everyone pokes fun at you when you sing during karaoke; but tonight you feel is made exactly for your voice. You start to hum, a shaky tune your sister used to sing to you when the nightmares of the purge kept you awake.

Slowly, the tension in his body bleeds away and his breathing deepens. His grip on your nightgown slacks as he drifts off, head nestled against your chest.

{ Mentions; @jackleansparrow‘s Sylrin }

[celyssena-sunfire]

shouts of deliverance.

There’s no remedy for memory Your face is like a melody

You’ve seen a ghost.

You hold the broken, shattered remains of your father’s staff in your hands, the feeling of raw arcane still rippling through your body. How it had escaped the initial purge you had no idea, but now it was destroyed and Occadormi was free, at least, as close to freedom as you could give her.

You’d told the Thorns everything, and the goat hated you for it. Cadence had set her mouth in a fine line. You don’t know her that well, but you think that it’s better than the reaction from Mia. Lastly, Sylrin hadn’t condemned you. He’d said nothing, but you knew him. He’d whispered things in the dark to you that had sent shivers up your spine, had chilled you to the bone. It was only fair you returned it in kind, eventually.

And as you stood there, shivering in the wake off the death of a dragon full of magical energy, everyone realized that there was another monster in the room. You.

But then you see him. Barely visible, barely there, but you see Jaehaerys standing as close as he dared.

You gasp. You shout, because you’ve just seen a ghost. Jaehaerys was dead, you saw it yourself, a burning body crying out for you, his skin sloughing off in your hands as you reached for him.

And you had reached. Reached with all your might and all you came away with was gore and you had screamed. Screamed and cried and vomited as soon as your sister said it was safe to rest. You didn’t rest. You haven’t truly rested in years, because specters haunt your sleep.

And now they haunt your waking hours, you suppose.

Sylrin holds your shoulders. He’s trying to guide you back to the present, rather than allow you to languish in your past. Gods, you love him. If you could stomach the touch, you’d kiss him; but the idea of intimate physical contact at this moment leaves you overwhelmed. You live with his hands on your shoulders and his voice. He’s alive. 

When it’s all said and done, you blame your outburst on the staff. Surely you could blame a fit on the amount of arcane that ricocheted off of your arms and into your bones, traveling through your body like electricity. It used to be your father’s. Surely they believe you’re an emotional wreck.

Surely they hadn’t seen your dead lover standing off in the distance.

{ Mentions; @songofthemeadow‘s Cadence & Mia , @jackleansparrow‘s Sylrin }

[celyssena-sunfire]

Despite knowing that Sylrin would often show up to neutral events, Celyssena was still surprised to see him at another party. She hasn’t been this surprised about seeing him in a while, but she had a feeling it had something to do with the way her stomach fluttered when she saw him now, or the way her heart raced when their eyes connected from across the way.

They had a kind of magic about them, the type that led them to places where nothing was happening, even at parties. They were like the opposite ends of magnets, they couldn’t be kept apart by anything- or perhaps it was the morose topics of their conversations that drove others away. Not everyone appreciated macabre subjects like the end of a war, the loss of a relationship, or a humorous remark of the size of one’s balls.

And once again, they were in a corner, all by themselves.

“Hey.” He greets her, looking down on her. Had his gaze always been that soft?

“Hi.” She quipped. In her entire life, she had never been shy. She felt someone else’s timid nature creep up upon her suddenly, a girlish grin finding its way to her face as she looked down for a brief moment.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Have you?”

“It’s not that important.”

Celyssena tilted her head in confusion; “Well if it isn’t important enough for you to tell me first, can I tell you something?”

“It’s not that it’s not important it’s just it’s not that important-” His brows furrow; “I’m sorry, um-”

Celyssena feels like someone shoved cotton down her throat; “I actually, uh- I wanted to talk to you about-”

They went on like that for several moments, spinning their wheels in the mud as they both made several fruitless attempts not only to talk over each other in increasingly nervously-clever ways, but also to sputter over half-formed words that died in their throats along with their spasmind nerves.

“You know what? Why don’t we say it at the same time?” Celyssena suggested, feeling slightly bold. She was bold. She’s always been bold. She’s The Woman!

Sylrin shrugs, nodding his head at this suggestion; “Yeah, let’s go for it.”

With a nod, she says; “On the count of three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Thr-” They both immediately spat out the words; ‘I like you’, or was it; ‘I have feelings for you’? It was blurry for Celyssena, like out-of-focus motes of light. It wasn’t clear, because she’d placed her hand on his cheek, and he had his fingers on the side of her neck. It seemed like a very long time, like a slow-motion picture; and then no time at all, as their lips met there in their very own corner of the universe, and all of the rest of the world melted away. None of it had ever existed anyways, it that brief moment.

@sylrin-featherblade

[celyssena-sunfire]

 ‘GAME OVER’

Send ‘GAME OVER’ For a Glimpse at one of the Worst Possible Ends for My Muse

This story starts like many others. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love. But this is where it changes- boy and girl don’t get their happily ever after. Instead, it ends on a battlefield, where girl cradles a dying boy in her arms, begging him not to go. He’s done so well, he’s turned over a new leaf. The world wasted his newfound goodness.

And this woman will not forgive the world.

Celyssena tracks down Astadris, and demands he make the same ‘adjustments’ to her as he did to Sylrin. Then she kills him.

She merged herself with Cyanagos and turns Wrathion into the first Sunfire Weapon in hundreds of years, threatening to shatter him should the Wyrmrest Accord make any move against her. She kills Genn Greymane, and throws Sylvanas Windrunner into the Engine of The World in Northrend. No one has seen the Banshee Queen since.

Then, one day, an old friend appears in her warpath- her peace path, her path to peace through force. Zaennicus stands in her way now.

They fight. Zaennicus simply won’t quit.

“I won’t stop. You and I both know death knights feed on violence and pain.”

“Sylrin wouldn’t want this.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I know.” Right before she engulfs him in flames.

Celyssena Sunfire has engineered peace on Azeroth... but at what cost?

[ Thank U @unabashedrebel! Mentions for: @princessalannah and @jackleansparrow! ]

[celyssena-sunfire]

Sylrin devours you, body and soul. It wasn’t ownership so much as it was giving, you gave yourself over to him, and why not? He gave himself to you as well, let you hold his broken soul in your hands. You were hardly the first to hold it, of course, but he let you despite the gentle murmurs of; please, Cel, don’t break my heart. 

And so you give yourself to him, allow him to take a look into that dark void you called a past. He doesn’t ask for an explanation from that dark infested place in your head, but offers only the softest of expressions. It wasn’t pity, he wasn’t looking at a kicked puppy; he was looking at you, and his gaze was one of understanding.

Feat. @cure-our-darkness‘s Sylrin

[celyssena-sunfire]

Celyssena: I know why you're so depressed, it's because you have updog.

Sylrin: What's updog?

Celyssena: CADENCE GET IN HERE I TOLD YOU I COULD GET HIM TO DO IT-

[celyssena-sunfire]

♦♦♢

Send Me Diamonds For Random Headcanons!

A Random Headcanon-

♦ Celyssena’s killed someone before. She’s killed a couple someone’s.

♦ Ardelle found her in Feralas a couple years ago living in some ruins. She gave her a cover story where she wanted to rejoin Quel’thalassian society and Lor’themar gave his A-Okay. You will quickly learn she has a weird sense of “reintegration” since she really likes to party.

A Random Headcanon With Sylrin-

♢ Sometimes she just chills out really quietly in his room with him in the Thorn’s Tower. Sometimes they get really loud and people yell at them to stop shouting because their conversation is getting way too animated.

[ @jackleansparrow ]

[celyssena-sunfire]

ooc;

K so this is based on a conversation I had w/ Kat-

Whenever Sylrin or Celyssena are upset, one looks at the other and goes; “Cats in Stormwind?” “Cats in Stormwind.” and then she polymorphs them and they knock shit over in Stormwind.

Cadence recognizes their fur patterns now. She knows EXACTLY which cats they are.

[celyssena-sunfire]

Enough of this pathetic prattling, child. Your father would have never approved of Featherblade. A voice cuts through Celyssena’s thoughts like ice. Like a knife.

He is a monster.

“Hush,” She dares to breathe, retreating somewhere she wouldn’t be overheard, to whisper to her sword in secret; “If he is a monster, then what am I?”

@sylrin-featherblade

[celyssena-sunfire]

okay but me and Kat literally just talked about how Celyssena acts when she’s drunk ( re; like a girl pretending to be drunk at a party but she really is just Like That ) and she’s just fucking having the time of her life on the dance floor and Sylrin is like “haha look at that hot mess” and then “... ah shit that’s MY hot mess”

[celyssena-sunfire]

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Valentines Asks

Celyssena rests her chin on her fist; “The ideal date? That’s pretty easy to answer.” She smirks; “On the beach, with Sylrin, preferably with chocolate covered strawberries, candles and lots of free time. Oh! And I hope the beach is private.” She grins. 

“I might even bring my special daisy dukes.”

[ Thank u @maerynblackwood! ]