#Or Tyril's ears??

[masked-alien-lesbian]

😭😭😭 "come back to me..." "I'm trying Imtura!"

[theclassycandy]

just going on and on about how tyril's arc if ur romancing him now that mc has been gone for a year. more under the cut and in the tags!

When i tell you there NEEDS to be so much ANGST AND PINING. I love Tyril so much and I miss him so much but when I tell you want this story to go INTO DETAIL ABOUT HOW MUCH HE HAS YEARNED FOR MC. I want there to be PAIN and SUFFERING!!!!!!

He has been learning all about the realms from the best tutors in Undermount ever since he could remember so is he scouring libraries all over the land to find something???? Anything????? To find his beloved mc????

I believe that this bow was used by mc (if you had the diamonds for it) and WHAT IF HE KEPT IT AS A WAY TO REMIND HIM OF MC AND HOW HE SHOULD NEVER STOP FIGHTING FOR THEM AND FOR WHAT HE BELIEVES IN.

Does he think about mc and how they made him feel? Does the pain of losing them keep him up at night? Does he think about how unfair it is that first he lost his best friend, Kaya, was banished from Undermount, saw an evil elf take her place and body and the person that helped him seek justice for her, the love of his life, was taken as well? Does he think about how their kindness and heroism was only repaid by constant peril??? Does he think about they were supposed to return to Undermount together but he returned only to search for answers on how to get them back????? Does Adrina and his father have to check on him and how he's doing because they know he's neglecting himself to find answers for finding mc???? Does he cry to the Gods about how he hopes they look down on him with pity and mercy for them to be safe and alive to come back to him????????????? ESPECIALLY IF YOUR MC IS AN ELF - DOES HE MOURN HOW MC WAS SO EXCITED TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THEIR OWN PEOPLE AFTER NEVER BEING SURROUNDED BY THEM THEIR ENTIRE LIFE AND NOW HE THINKS THEY WILL NEVER GET THE CHANCE???????!!!!!!?????? DOES HE DOES HE-

[nightprincekieran]

i will pinch someone if we don't get tyril's long free flowing hair back in book 3 I'm going to be honest 🙏

[mikaelsrose]

tyril finally slutting it up with his hair loose and an earring. my man is embracing his inner slut ❤️‍🔥

[megas-choices]

Looks like someone special is calling out to Tyril...

My first animation! Have to thank @liviusofpella for inspiring me again when I sent her this ask. His ears would twitch like a cat 💕

Did my best with this one! This is my first time making an animation, and it was very limited (44 frames max!) due to my very basic iPad. Hope you all like it!

The little chibi who's calling out to him (and the reason he's blushing) is my MC, Willow! And if you can't tell, she has a new design 👀 Been wanting to make a Blades 2 redesign for her, but I haven't found the time. Soon, I hope! I've got this first draft design from what I imagined her new look would be like.

[lampyri]

tyril doodle ft. big ol' ears

[malthemagnifisent]

Pairing: Aerin x Male!elf Mc (Cyrus)

Summary: The Elves of Undermount and King Arlan of White Tower form an agreement, to be sealed by the marriage of the King’s youngest son and Cyrus of House Nightbloom. A political alliance between the two was long in the making and important to uphold, so despite the heavy burden, Cyrus knew he could not shirk his duty and could only hope that his husband would be good to him.

Notes: There will be another part to this story soon enough, I wanted to make it multiple chapters cause why not? I think there’s a lot of material to work with

Tags: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd @baldwinboy5ive @lilyoffandoms @guinevre @vicissavior @lancelotsimp

“Why me?” Cyrus demanded, suddenly and loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing in their ears as they flew toward the palace of the white tower.

“Because you’re unimportant to Undermount,” Tyril said back, which Cyrus had known was the answer, but he still wanted to hear it out loud.

The tensions between Undermount and White Tower had been rising, and in an attempt to smooth over that tension, a simple deal had been made. A marriage was an easy alliance that was not so easily broken, and Cyrus had been chosen as the most obvious choice to be given away.

Because, like Tyril said, he was not important. Sure, he had mobility, but his family was dead, his contributions to elven woxiety would not be a great loss, and marrying some human prince would be a better use of his time.

Or so everyone thought.

So he’d been packed up, given a Drake, and Tyril Starfury as an escort before taking off to White Tower to meet his new fiancé, a man named Aerin.

They’d never interacted before as Cyrus had never gotten to stray far from Undermount, and he wasn’t the most pleased with the arrangement, but it was considered his duty, and shirking his duty would get him nowhere.

Besides, there was a small part of him that was interested in seeing the world. He’d never been given duties that brought him far, but he had a curious mind and was hoping to see the best in the situation. The best part was that he would get to see something new.

The peaks of the white tower came into view, shimmering softly in the setting sun. It made the white stone shine orange and yellow, which would have been a beautiful sight if Cyrus wasn’t so absorbed into his own head.

As they drew closer, it became clear that there were people waiting for their arrival. At first, they appeared as little more than tiny specks, but soon it became clear they were people. Not close enough to make out any features yet, but Cyrus still felt a tightening in his chest and forced himself to look away from the looming castle with its many white spires.

“What if he’s cruel?” Cyrus blurted out, his fear finally slipping out, but it was far too late for any real assurance. He didn’t know the man he was to marry; he didn’t know his humor or temperament; he didn’t know if he would even like the man.

He liked to believe that no deal would have been made that would put him in harm's way, but he didn’t truly trust that all the elves in Undermount would care more for his well-being than whatever alliance stood between the elves and humans.

They would gladly give Cyrus to a cruel man if it meant they kept their power and peace.

Suddenly, the drake dropped steeply, and Cyrus was forced to tighten his grip on Tyril’s waist. The wind flew wildly through his hair and made his eyes water as they came into a steep landing, and the dragon's feet alighted gracefully onto the stone floors.

He heard the chatter of the people around them, but was too busy getting his bearings to really pay attention to what anyone was saying. Tyril, of course, did not have the same problem; he slid off the drake with ease and the same refined grace he always possessed.

“King Arlan, this is quite the reception committee,” Tyril said, and as Cyrus finally got his wits about him, he realized it was true. There were nobility, guards, and servants gathered for their arrival, all of which seemed overboard to Cyrus, but who was he to say how the humans did things?

With a quiet sigh, Cyrus slid from the back of the drake, landing behind Tyril, his head held high and his back painfully straight. He’d been quite trussed up for his first meeting with his betrothed; his hair had been braided back and swept to the side, thin gold wire was running through the dark strands, and intricate clips had been secured at the base of the braise.

And while he looked a little windswept, it didn’t detract from the obvious effort put into his appearance.

“We are happy to welcome you to our home; the alliance between Undermount and White Tower is a long one; it must be maintained,” King Arlan was saying, to which Tyril dutifully nodded along, though out of the corner of his eyes he glanced back at Cyrus, silently checking in, making sure he still stood strong.

Tyril was not very clear with his care, but Cyrus always managed to pick up on it, and right now he appreciates it far more than he usually does.

With a deep breath, Cyrus schooled his expression and put on an easy smile before stepping forward and lowering his head in a respectful greeting. “It’s a pleasure to be here, King Arlan. I am Cyrus of House Nightbloom. I hope this arrangement between our families will help further solidify the relations between our people,” he said, his voice steady, never wavering for a second as he stood up straight again and met the king's eyes.

Two men stood beside the king, and Cyrus knew one of them was his betrothed, but they were both dressed in fine clothes, both Prince's; one was the older son whom he had no interest in, but he couldn’t tell which was which, at least not until King Arlan smiled and gestured at the slightly shorter of his two sons.

“This is my son, Aerin. I trust that the two of you will have much to discuss together,” he said, allowing Aerin to step forward.

The prince looked nervous, not as well put together as Cyrus was, but he didn’t look all that intimidating, and Cyrus was glad it was him and not the other brother he was being married to. He didn’t want to sound rude, but the king's older son had a rather unsettling air about him.

“It’s good to meet you; I know this has been in discussion for a while, so it’s nice to put a face to your name, Cyrus,” Aerin said, bowing his head much the same way Cyrus did before he reached out and gently took Cyrus’ hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, which were flushed a slightly darker blue, irritated by the cold air from their flight.

His cheeks, however, turned darker for a very different reason. The kiss on his hand was a very human greeting, but it was sweet nonetheless, and Cyrus found the tension in his shoulders melting away.

It looked like things could be worse. Aerin seemed sweet, and he wasn’t unattractive. Which Cyrus noted with some relief. He would have been fine if his spouse did not physically appeal to him, but he thought it would make things far easier if he did find them attractive.

Luckily, it seemed he had come out on top with Aerin.

“I hope the two of us will get to know each other well,” Cyrus finally responded, and he was glad to see Aerin smile, seeming happy with the exchange between the two of them. Perhaps he’d been just as unsure of the arrangement as Cyrus was.

Clearing his throat, King Arlan brought attention back to him. “The ceremony will take place tomorrow, for tonight we thought it best we leave my son and Cyrus alone and allow them to become acquainted,” he nodded at them both, the perfect picture of grace as a king. “You will be given a private meal together, if that is acceptable to you, of course." He explained, addressing Cyrus directly at the end.

“I have no objection; it will be good to speak with Aerin,” he responded, though he felt he didn’t have much of an option but to say yes. This was expected of him, and he would do his duty.

Both he and Tyril were garnering stares from their surrounding audience, and it was starting to set Cyrus on edge. He didn’t like being watched; he stared at it like some sort of spectacle. The people of White Tower were most likely not used to seeing elves, but Cyrus wasn’t exactly used to being around humans. At least he had the decency to not stare.

The king said something that Cyrus didn’t catch, and suddenly they were all walking inside. Tyril walked beside the king, but Curis stuck by Prince Aerin, who seemed almost surprised that Cyrus hadn’t left. He didn’t see any reason to stand by anyone else; after the wedding, Tyril would be gone, so he needed to get used to being without the man.

“Have you ever been to White Tower?” Aerin asked, speaking up so suddenly that Cyrus caught him off guard, and he wasn’t sure what to say, despite the obvious answer being a resounding no.

He raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to think of something more to say that would actually be an engaging response. “No, I’ve spent my life in Undermount, and there was rarely any reason to leave,” he explained, getting a little distracted as they walked further into the palace and the beautiful architecture became more apparent.

The ceilings were high and carved with intricate details, and above them on the walls were windows of stained glass that reflected multicolored light into the ground, all of which rippled and shimmered as the sunlight shifted through clouds and the leaves of tall trees. “I am glad to be here now; it’s beautiful,” he said, turning his head ever so slightly so he could meet Aerin’s eyes.

The prince had nice eyes, soft and brown, with long feathery lashes that cast shadows on his cheeks when the light hit him at the right angle.

“I am happy you like it; I'll show you around after we’ve eaten,” Aerin said, brightening up at the prospect of showing Cyrus his home. It was obvious the prince held a fondness for it, and Cyrus envied that a little. He liked Undermount, but sometimes the way things were done was so exhausting, so confining, and so strict.

Things seemed freer here.

“We have beautiful gardens here, and the library is wonderful; it’s one of the most extensive collections in the kingdom if you're interested in that sort of thing,” Aerin added, stepping a bit closer to Cyrus and looking happy to share. It was rather endearing.

A snort of condescending laughter sounded to the side of them, and Cyrus looked over to see Aerin’s brother walking at a pace behind them. He’d forgotten that the others were still there, and Baldur’s interruption wasn’t appreciated.

“You’ll bore him to death before the two of you even reach the altar,” Baldur said, laughing far louder than was necessary. If his tone had been different, then Cyrus could have brushed it off as a rather tactless joke, but the crown prince sounded like he meant every word as an insult.

The way he laughed was clearly meant to mock, and the ensuing look on Aerin’s face was something that told Cyrus that this was a regular occurrence.

Clearing his throat, Cyrus cast Baldur a withering look and very pointedly looped his arm through Aerin’s own, which seemed to shock the prince so much that he actually stumbled over his own feet. “I’ll be happy to see the library actually; I expect you’ll have interesting Tomes on magic,” he said, directing his words at Aerin but making sure Baldur heard them as well.

It didn’t sit well with him to have a brother-in-law who acted cruelly, so he didn’t intend to take any shit from Baldur, no matter how much he expected to get his own way.

It turns out he expected it a lot, because he sputtered and glared for a moment, looking ready to start a fight, before suddenly the king was speaking up and announcing the party was to split. Cyrus and Aerin would be given a private meal together, while Tyril, Baldur, and King Arlan would dine more publicly. Hosting various lords and ladies at a dinner.

Cyrus was glad he’d get something more private; he didn’t think he could take being a spectacle at the moment.

He understood people’s interest in the arrangement being made, but he’d only just arrived and didn’t feel like being bombarded. He wanted to get to know his fiancé without prying eyes all around them.

They said a brief goodbye, and Cyrus locked eyes with Tyril as they went their separate ways. Aerin and Cyrus were then led by a servant down a short flight of stairs and into a moderately sized dining room, where a table had already been laid with a meal. The room smelled of fresh, cooked meat and fragrant tea. It was nice.

“You were very nice earlier, about the library,” Aerin said, slipping his arm from around Cyrus’ as he stepped forward and pulled out a chair, gesturing for Cyrus to take a seat. “If you’re really interested, then I will be happy to show you, but you needn’t pretend; I know it may seem like a dull pastime,” he added, looking sheepish and unsure of himself.

He stepped away then and took his own seat, across the table from Cyrus, who smiled reassuringly as he picked up the cup beside his plate and took a small sip of the floral-smelling drink inside. “I wasn’t pretending; I would be glad to see the library; even if I wasn’t interested in books, I would still be happy to go with you; we’re going to be married, and I want to know what you enjoy,” he explained, which once again seemed to shock the prince.

Cyrus had a feeling that Aerin didn’t often have people who showed interest in his interests.

“Besides, I feel your brother needed to be put in his place,” Cyrus added, turning his gaze down to his plate, which was beautifully put together. A small bird of some type had been roasted and was topped with a sauce that smelled vaguely like something he ate back home in Undermount.

He would miss the food back home, but perhaps he could find new favorites—things he enjoyed even more.

“It’s better not to get on Baldur’s bad side; he can be rather-“ Aerin broke off and clenched his jaw, looking angry for the barest of moments before his shoulders slumped and he just began to cut up his own food. “He is not used to being told off,” he finally finished, noting a fact that Cyrus had already picked up on quite easily on his own.

“Well, perhaps it’s time someone stood up to him; I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and if we’re going to be married, then I will take that seriously,” Cyrus said, taking a small, practiced bite of the food, which coated his tongue with a salty taste. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I didn’t stand up for you?” He asked, wondering if anyone had taken the time to stand up for Aerin before.

Cyrus could understand not having people on his side; as the last member of House Nightbloom, he was often pushed to the side, shunned, and regarded as lesser in some way, so yes, he understood, and perhaps it meant the two of them could have a marriage built on that understanding, that they were the same and would be on each other's sides.

The sound of a bird singing outside drifted in, but Cyrus was more enraptured by the look on Aerin’s face, the open surprise at being treated kindly.

Cyrus hoped he could make kindness the norm for the prince so that he wouldn’t be shocked by it again.

“I want this marriage to work. I do not expect anything more than friendship from you, of course, but I would like us to be friends at least,” he said, watching as Aerin’s expression continued to twist with surprise.

Eventually, however, the prince’s lips curled up in a smile, and he nodded. “I’ll gladly be your friend; I have not had many of those in my life,” Aerin responded, and Cyrus got the impression that he really would treasure a friendship just as much, if not more, than a lover.

[petalouda85]

Names

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairings: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 2.7k

Concept: Continuation of Tightrope. Tyril and Kassandra have an unexpected visitor in Riverbend and discuss their upcoming parenthood.

Tags: @liviusofpella, @megas-choices, @starlight-starfury, @dutifullynuttywitch, @thosehallowedhalls, @choicesficwriterscreations

AO3 link: x

A/N: I’ve been thoroughly sucked into the world I established in “Tightrope”; I have so many ideas for it that I will likely need to make a separate masterlist for it eventually. Enjoy this little ball of fluff and hint of spice at the end. And of course, I had to include some crocheting in this fic

Riverbend had its charms.

In retrospect, Tyril had had his reservations about settling in the village despite being the one to suggest going there. There had been an underlying fear that the town would still be a hotbed for tourists and the curious, wishing to see the home of the legendary hero of Morella. But with the new world order, it seemed that few were interested in their legends. Furthermore, the inhabitants of the town had seemed keen to keep their own safe from unfriendly eyes, especially once news of the pregnancy began to leak out. Their loyalty and protectiveness had been a soothing balm in these uncertain times.

There was a time in his life where he couldn’t imagine never using magic for the most basic of tasks nor that he would live in such a humble place. But strangely, he found himself quite comfortable in the small village. Sure, he was quite a spectacle to behold – there weren’t any elves in Riverbend after all - and children would gawk at him, the occasionally brave one asking to touch his ears or show off his magic but most never treated him any different from the rest; it surprised him to admit that he preferred their company to those of the highest houses in Undermount. There was none of the needless extravagance, none of the posturing; the people here were honest and straightforward and uncomplicated.

He walked the familiar path from the edge of the forest towards the heart of Riverbend, a square lined with various shops. He made his way to the bakery, the bell tinkling as he opened the door. Soon, the baker appeared, giving the elf a smile as he approached the counter.

“Good to see you again, Tyril. The usual?” The elf placed his basket onto the counter.

“Yes.” The baker nodded and immediately went to retrieve the usual items, packing them carefully into the basket. Soon the order was filled but when Tyril reached to grab it, the baker stopped him, signaling him to wait. He dashed to the back of the shop, soon returning with something wrapped in brown paper.

“Some apple strudels for Kassandra; she was asking about them last time. No extra charge.” He said as he placed the item in with the rest. Tyril smiled a little.

“Thank you.” After laying out the payment, he grabbed the basket and headed out of the bakery. He required only a few items on this errand and before long, he turned towards the path that led out of the market square, ready for a quiet and peaceful night.

“Elf boy.” Tyril turned at the sound of the nickname, blinking twice to ensure he was not imagining the rogue leaning casually against a cart full of hay. The man flashed his signature cocky smile as he approached the elf.

“What are you doing here?” Tyril asked as the two shared an embrace. Once he pulled away, Mal patted him on the shoulder.

“Had some business in Zaradun. Thought I’d come by on my way back to Whitetower, see how you were doing.” Tyril couldn’t help but smile.

“A most welcome surprise. Come on; Kassandra will be happy to see you.”

The two men walked in silence out of the city square, Tyril eventually turning onto a smaller path which led towards a more hidden trail into the woods. Immediately, the din of the village gave away to the peaceful embrace of the forest.

“So, how is the great adventurer Mal Volari? Last I heard, a lovely elf caught your eye.” Tyril smirked when Mal playfully shoved him.

“Not a word to Kassandra; she’ll never stop teasing me.”

“My lips are sealed.” The two exchanged a chuckle.

“So how is Kassandra?” Mal asked after a moment of silence.

“She’s doing wonderful.”

“And the little one?”

“Everything’s going good. A few more months to go. Aderyn has been so helpful.” Tyril stopped walking, looking ahead on the trail, his mind restless for a moment. “I won’t lie. I’m nervous. There’s a part of me that’s uncertain if I’ll be able to handle it all. Fighting monsters I am more than capable of but children and babies…” Tyril turned to look at Mal when the man placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s normal to be nervous. But if you can survive two world ending scenarios, you can survive dirty diapers and a screaming baby. The kid will be lucky to have you as their dad and Kass as their mom; it’s more than most kids have.” The scoundrel said, his typical bravado replaced with a genuine and sincere tone.

“Thank you, Mal.” The two exchanged a smile and continued their trek further into the woods, the path soon widening into a small clearing, where a humble cabin stood with a small, fenced garden and a smattering of other small buildings, forming a small homestead. It wasn’t much but it had become home in the months they’d been there; close enough to Riverbend to have all their necessities met but far enough to allow them peace, quiet, and safety from prying eyes. Next to the cabin was Kassandra, busy chopping wood.

“Kassandra.” Tyril called out. The woman lowered her axe, dropping it entirely when she turned and saw the visitor.

“Mal!” She called out joyfully, running to him and giving him a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you two, obviously.” He pulled away and briefly glanced at her now-visible belly. “Excuse me, three.” Kassandra laughed and hugged the man again. “It’s good to see you, Kit.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“You going to invite me in?” He teased, smiling deviously when the woman pulled away and punched his shoulder in good nature.

“If you’ll give me a minute. I have to finish this up.” She walked back to her work area, slowly bending down to pick up the chopped pieces on the ground and adding them to the stockpile by the side of the cabin.

“You know Aderyn said to avoid heavy lifting.” Tyril said as he joined her in the space. The woman held up the piece of chopped wood with a grin.

“This is not heavy lifting.” She then snapped her fingers and a heavy log gently lifted off the ground, floated towards the chopping block, and casually lowered itself onto it. “And magic can lift the rest.” The elf couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“Stubborn as usual.” Kassandra smirked and reached up give him a quick peck on his cheek.

“And you love me for it.” Taking his hand, she walked back towards the house and entered it, motioning to Mal to follow.

The inside was quaint. It didn’t bear the status of the rooms of Whitetower nor the grandeur of the Starfury estate, but it was comfortable and provided all that was needed for the two and future third inhabitant. Kassandra took the basket from Tyril’s arm and placed it on the table in the kitchen area. He joined her as she pulled out the brown package.

“What’s this?”

“Apple strudel. The baker put some in for you since you were asking for them.” Touched, Kassandra opened the package and pulled out one of the treats, immediately taking a bite from it as Tyril began putting away the items in the basket. When empty, he turned to the counter and began pulling forth the items they would need to cook that night’s dinner: cutting boards, knives, pots, and pans. The elf had it down to a routine, a practiced dance.

“Grocery shopping, cooking? Since when is elf boy the poster-boy of domestic bliss?” Mal asked, lounging on the bench by the dinner table.

“Since he doesn’t live in a fancy elven estate anymore with servants and butlers.” Kassandra answered, her mouth half stuffed with the pastry. “But don’t knock him too hard, Mal. He’s gotten much better over the months.” She quickly finished her treat before joining Tyril, helping him prepare the food.

“I appreciate your confidence in me.” Tyril whispered to her as she began to peel and cut the potatoes.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Yes, you absolutely destroyed the pot the first time, but you make quite the stew now.” The elf chuckled a little before returning to the task at hand.

The night passed joyfully, the three catching up and swapping stories from their most recent escapades, Mal weaving his usual colorful tales. He also informed the pair of the happenings around the rest of Morella, all relieved that no dire threat had emerged since the joining of the realms; only minor squabbles and internal conflicts that didn’t require their legendary touch. Morella was rebuilding and, for now, peaceful.

Once the dinner was finished and all the tales had been told, Mal took his leave, making his way back to town as Tyril and Kassandra set to their usual evening routine.

“I’ll clean up this time.” Tyril said as Kassandra began to reach for the used bowls on the table.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go relax.”

“Alright.” Kassandra reached up and kissed his cheek before making her way to the open area next to the kitchen, sitting down on the small couch and pulling a basket to her; it wasn’t one he’d seen before.

She reached down and grabbed a small swatch in the shape of a rectangle alongside an attached ball of yarn and another item, a small wooden stick with a hook at the end. She got comfortable and began to use the hook to work the working thread of yarn into the little swatch. He watched her for a time, fascinated by the movement of her hands and the yarn; he’d never seen anything like it before.

“What are you doing?” He asked after a time. Kassandra stopped her work.

“Crocheting. Aderyn’s been teaching me how to do it.” She held up her project. It was a mishmash of color, and the finished swatch was slightly lopsided.

“What will it be?”

“A blanket. For the baby.” She returned to her work, adding a few more stitches. “Seemed like a fitting thing to do. I remember some of the women doing that when they were expecting a baby.” Tyril smiled a little and quickly finished his cleaning before meandering over to the woman, standing, and watching her work at her project for a time.

“Did your mother do that for you?” He asked. Immediately, her hands stopped.

“I-“ the words were lost in her throat, her face falling. She gulped and looked down sadly at the blanket. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Tears welled in her eyes, and he knelt before her, placing a comforting hand on top of hers. She grabbed onto it and glanced at the blanket again. “Did your mother ever do something like this for you?” He thought for a moment before shaking his head.

“I was raised by a governess mostly. And by the time Sarenya took over, I was too old for such things.” He ran his hand over the in-progress blanket, seeing and feeling the love imbued into the fabric.

“Seems that we both missed out on typical parent/kid things.” Kassandra mumbled. He squeezed her hand.

“All the more reason to ensure they do have those things. Give them everything we didn’t.” Kassandra only nodded in response, but she had a relieved smile on her face. She lay her hand on her belly and the two sat in silence for a time, basking in the quiet comfort of each other.

“Boy or girl?” He asked. The woman briefly glanced at him before looking back at her belly.

“I don’t know. Though the older women in town think it’s a boy. I don’t really care either way; I just want them to be happy and healthy.” Tyril rose and went to sit next to her.

“As do I.” The moment he was settled, Kassandra put her work away and leaned her head on his shoulder. He quickly wrapped an arm around her, resting his head on top of hers. “We should probably think of some names for them.” He said after a time. He felt her shift under him.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Terran.” Tyril said after a moment.

“That was your ancestor’s name, right?”

“Yes. The one we saw in the visions room.”

“Hmm.” Kassandra was silent for a moment. “A name belonging to someone brave and noble and strong. Though I wonder if your father would have a problem with that name; you did say he criticized that ancestor.”

“He did. But there is no denying that Terran was a great warrior and general.” Tyril placed a kiss on her head. “Besides, I don’t think my father would criticize if he knew you liked the name. He’s rather fond of you.” Kassandra shuffled around and looked up at him, her expression happy and slightly relieved. He gave her a smile in return.

“Regardless, we shouldn’t rush in picking a name. There might be something else we’d like.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” They spent the next few minutes discussing a few possible names, debating the pros and cons of each option. Before long, they were just calling out names, sometimes devolving into giggles at the suggestions.

“We need to think of some names for a girl too.” Kassandra laughed after their game had gone on for a time. She moved out from under Tyril’s arm and got comfortable in her new spot.

“Alright.” He also moved into a more comfortable position, facing Kassandra. “Do you remember your mother’s name?” He suggested. Kassandra looked sad for only a moment before shaking her head.

“No. But I have something else in mind for a girl. Something better I think.”

“Oh?” He sat up straighter, his curiosity piqued. Kassandra looked down at her belly once more, a warm and fond smile on her face before she turned her gaze back to the elf.

“Kaya.” Tyril forgot to breathe for a moment, staring into Kassandra’s eyes, her expression genuine.

“Really?” He asked softly. She reached up and cupped his face in her hand, running her thumb gently over his cheek.

“She was someone special to you. And why wouldn’t I want to name our baby after someone intelligent, compassionate, and kind?” Tyril remained silent, tears welling in his eyes but unable to look away from hers. He tried to find words to formulate some response. Unable to find them, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips, the movement slow but the emotion potent and fervent. After some time, he pulled away, never looking away from her.

“You’re amazing, Kassandra.” She smirked and moved closer, straddling his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” The two laughed before Kassandra leaned in for another kiss. It began chaste and sweet but quickly devolved back to the deep kiss from before, the movement slow but passionate. He held onto her at the hips before slowly moving a hand down her leg, hiking up her skirt to grasp at the bare skin, the woman letting out a light gasp at his warm touch. She, in turn, moved her hands down his neck, opening his shirt and sliding her hand under the fabric, caressing the warm skin.

Suddenly, Kassandra pulled away with a light gasp.

“Kassandra?” She shook her head.

“I’m alright. They’re kicking.” She rubbed her hand over her belly in a calming manner. “Already taking all the attention, aren’t you?” She teased, causing the elf to chuckle as well. After a few minutes, she returned her attention to him, cupping his face in her hands. “Now, where were we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He teased. Kassandra smirked before placing a quick kiss on his lips.

“I think this is the part where we head to the bedroom and ravish each other in every way possible.” With a smirk, he shuffled forward slightly, making sure that her legs were secure around his hips.

“Then hold on.” He stood up from the couch, lifting her with ease. Kassandra kissed him once more as he moved to their room, clicking the door shut behind them.

[dutifullynuttywitch]

A thief’s oath

Blades of Light and Shadow

Summary: Takes place after Blades of light and shadow 2. Autumn (MC) and gang have defeated the Ash Empress and merged the kingdoms. Mal wants to take care of his tired kit, so he makes good on his thief’s oath.

Pairings: Mal Volari X MC (Autumn Nightbloom)

Rating: Teen

1600 words

It’d been mere hours since that fateful decision to merge the realms. A cataclysmic change with repercussions they’d only begun to fathom.

Mal gazes out of the Light Army’s command tent, shuddering at the skeletal trees now dotting the green forests and the movements of shadow creatures roaming the landscape. The sky alternates between blue and purplish hues, late afternoon sunlight streaking faintly through rolling storm laden clouds.

Autumn, the Hero of Morella twice over now, had jumped into action, convening the leaders of Whitetower, Undermount, Zaradun, Flotilla, the Goblins and Ashen kingdom to discuss peaceful coexistence. They had been at it for hours, with Tyril, Imtura, Cherta and Willow working to influence their fellow delegates, Nia doing her best to advise king Arlan as Priestess of Light, and Valax mediating with the Ashen lords, all poring over quickly redrawn maps and borders.

“Who do you think you are, you insolent fool, to claim the lands south of Riverbend?!” King Arland glowers at a haughty Ashen lord, face contorted with rage.

Figures, Mal sneers, the powerful squabbling over land and power with complete disregard to us common folk.

At least his kit and their friends were doing everything in their power to do right by the people of the newly merged realm.

His gaze warms as he takes her in. His brilliant, beautiful Autumn. Her brow creases as she works with Valax to mediate between King Arlan and the Ashen Lordling. He notices the dark patches under her eyes. A tired tenseness in her movements.

In two strides he’s at her side, snaking an arm around her waist as he whispers gently in her ear.

“Kit, my love, time for a little break.”

“I can’t. Kindda in the middle of something.” She pecks him on the cheek, making to dive back into the negotiations.

Mal tightens his hold, and she huffs impatiently.

“Mal, we have to figure this out! If we can’t reach compromises, we risk war.. again!”

“I get that, Kit, but we’re talking a complete re-drawing of the world map, the integration of new cities and people… it’s gonna take more than a couple of hours crammed in a tent to figure things out and you all know it. You’ve barely slept over the past few days, and let’s not forget you just fought and vanquished a god. You need a break.”

He kisses lightly behind her ear, his hand moving from her waist to her lower back in soothing circles.

“Plus, I recall taking a thief’s oath a little while back.” He gazes at her, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “And I intend to keep it.”

Her eyes sparkle at the memory of stolen kisses, her body melting in his strong arms.

“Remind me again what that oath was, your magnificence?”

“Well, the first part was to whisk you away. It’ll have to be a temporary escape for now.” He whispers in her ear, nipping at the lobe and trailing soft kisses down the back of her neck.

Autumn flushes at his ministrations, a warmth building in her belly. She relents.

“A short break would be good. Tyril, Imtura, Nia, Valax, you guys fine if we step out for a bit?”

Imtura smirks knowingly at her friend’s flushed complexion. “Go, Autumn, we’ve got this.”

“Aw thanks, Immy, much obliged!” Mal smirks mischievously, wagging his eyebrows. He ducks out as an empty cup flies past his head, Imtura bellowing “I told ya not to call me that, landrat!!”

He takes Autumn's hand, strolling across the camp towards their shared tent.

She breathes in the crisp air, already feeling a little of the tension lift. “Thanks for this, Mal. I didn’t realize how much I needed a breather. Things were getting pretty tense in there.” She sighs wearily. “Honestly this is all a little overwhelming. Give me monsters and bad guys to fight any day, but politics… really not my cup of tea.”

“Hey, you were brilliant in there, Kit. Everyone listens to you, the Hero of the Realms. Don’t you ever doubt yourself.”

She smiles at his fervent tone, giving his hand a grateful squeeze.

“But you can’t always be there for everyone and not take care of yourself. We’ve both learned the hard way that doesn’t do any good…. So… let me take care of you.” He finishes softly.

“Mal, I love you.” She turns to him, her handsome rogue, and pulls him into a soft kiss.

“I love you too, my kit, always.” Mal deepens the kiss, tasting her, hands roaming freely making her gasp.

“Mal, tent. Now. “

He chuckles and leads her faster across the camp, stealing hot kisses along the way.

Soon Mal ushers her into their tent, lighting a few candles before settling onto the bedroll, gently pulling her down next to him.

“Now, about the second part of that oath…”

With a flourish, he produces a bottle of Celestial Vintage.

“… a bottle of the finest wine a man can steal! Swiped it from the tent of a pompous elven lordling.” He winks, flashing her a devilish grin.

She leans in for a kiss, chuckling. “Please tell me it’s the only thing you’ve swiped from our allies? Unless you want to single-handedly derail our peace talks...”

“You know kit, I’m all about redistributing wealth. And I can’t think of anyone more deserving than you.” He purrs against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“But don’t worry, nothing else of value’s gone missing. Thief’s honor.”

He grins and produces a pair of glasses, pouring them both a generous serving.

Autumn takes a sip, closing her eyes as she marvels at the familiar explosion of taste, the brightness of sunshine blending perfectly with the crispness of snow and sweetness of honey.

“Hmmm… just like that bottle in Undermount.”

She cracks an eyelid to see Mal gazing at her intently, a soft smile lighting his features.

“Our first date.” He leans in to brush his lips against hers, his breath ghosting her cheek.

“Hah! You admit it was a date!” She grins triumphantly, taking another sip of the wonderful nectar, feeling a delicious warmth spreading, slowly melting away some of her weariness.

“Well… yeah, it was most definitely implied.” He chuckles, a little bashful.

“Implied being the key word. Were you, Mal the Magnificent, great adventurer and seducer of countless Contessas, nervous to ask me out?” She bats her eyes sweetly, biting her lower lip to hide a smirk.

“What? No? Never! I just …. Figured I’d play it cool, considering your propensity to flirt with any and every two-legged creature in the realm.” He growls playfully at her, leaning in to steal a heated kiss, savouring the sweet effervescence of wine lingering on her tongue.

She smirks and straddles his hips, earning a satisfying groan.

“Oh, I see. You, my charming. Rakish. Absolute flirt of a rogue. Were worried I’d say no.” She punctuates each sentence with a kiss. “I wonder, my handsome scoundrel, how can I convince you that you’re all I could ever want?”

“Now that’s very easy, kit…” Mal whispers huskily, snaking his arms around her waist and holding her flush, trailing hungry kisses down her neck. “We can start by ridding you of all of these pesky clothes.”

All too soon, Autumn sighs, untangling herself from her lover’s arms, making to return to her duties.

She laughs heartily as she pushes him onto his back, losing herself in her rogue’s embrace.

Mal grabs her waist, tugging her back into a lazy caress. “Wait, kit, rest just a little longer.”

She kisses him softly, settling back into his arms. “You know, we’re really stretching this ‘break’.”

She considers, “You’re right, about these peace talks requiring proper time and patience if we want to get it right. I’ll suggest we relocate to Whitetower Palace for now. We’ll eventually need to travel the realm to help the communities rebuild.”

“I’ll follow you wherever you go, kit. As long as you’ll have me.” He kisses her softly. “Though I am happy we’ll be in Whitetower for a little while. I’ve been wanting to check up on the orphanage, make sure the kids are doing good.”

“Mal, have I told you how proud I am?” She gazes up at him intently. “I’m glad others are now seeing what I always knew about you, that under all this bravado, you’re a pretty honorable man.”

“S’nothing, really,” Mal smiles ruefully, “wanted to do good by you. Also, to give these kids a better life than I had growing up…”

“Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more.” She plants soft kisses along his neck and chest before continuing, a little hesitant. “Actually, we haven’t talked about what we’d do after all this… I was wondering if... if you’d let me help you with the orphanage?”

Mal looks at her in surprise “That’s what you want? To stay in Whitetower?”

“I want to be with you, Mal, and you’ve made a life here with your sister and Vivi, Nia, the kids… I’d love to be part of it. Plus, I’m an orphan too, remember? Kindda invested in helping you give them a better life.” She smiles up at him softly.

For a moment, Mal is speechless. Then he beams with pleasure, pulling her into a searing kiss. “I’d like nothing better, Autumn.”

“Well then that’s settled! Let’s meet up with the others and get about moving our negotiations into Whitetower.” She pushes up, quickly getting dressed.

“But there’s still wine left!” Mal pouts, searching around for his boots.

“To be continued, then.” Autumn smiles wickedly as she saunters out into the darkened camp.

[storyofmychoices]

Shadows of Hope

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!MC) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow II, Chapter 1 Word Count: ~3,000 Rating: Teen to be safe; emotional hurt (I'm sorry!) Warnings: drinking, depression, hints toward suicidal thoughts A/N: I use dialogue and the setting from chapter 1 in the beginning to set the scene, and then incorporate Daenarya's dream with Mal's at the end.

Synopsis: She was there, and then she was gone. Mal would move heaven and earth to bring her back, but what happens when he can't?

"A toast!" Daenarya's smile widened, filling her face as she lifted a glass toward her friends. This new life of hers would take some getting used to, but she couldn't imagine a better group to experience this journey with. "To beating the Dreadlord."

"To green things and fresh air!" Imtura added, grateful to have escaped the Shadow Realm.

"And sunshine," Nia beamed, basking in the glow and safety of the warm sunlight that streamed into the White Tower palace gardens. The priestess of light might not be serving the temple, but she was going to spend her new freedom experiencing all the world had to offer.

Tyril feigned a frown, though his smile was still visible in the corner of his lips, betraying his stoic nature. "This is ridiculous. You may as well toast to the bees."

"Agreed!" Mal cheered, his jovial spirit soaring high. He was damn proud of the man he had become over the last few months and it was this crew that helped him get there. "To the bees. May they teach Tyril to have a better attitude—" 

The Rogue's laughter roared through the gardens as the traveling crew clinked their glasses together. They had done it. They had done the unthinkable. They had not only defeated the Dreadlord and the Shadow Court, but they had traveled to the Shadow Realm and returned, a feat no one had ever done before them. They also rescued Nia, Kade, a second Nespar, and discovered the Blade of Light. 

The group's spirits were high as they enjoyed the jubilant atmosphere. They didn't know what the future held, but they knew whatever it was they were ready. Together.

But that thought barely had time to glimmer to light, before darkness descended, shattering the revelry.

A swirling purple vortex cuts the serene gardens. Soldiers of the Shadow Realm march out. Mal drew his daggers, Tyril his sword, Imtura her axes, and Nia her light. They would fight and win, they had to. 

But then she came. 

The Dark Elf. 

Before anyone could react, she had seized Daenarya, her grip like an iron vice. With a malevolent grin, she dragged her back into the Realm of Shadows. The room fell into stunned silence. The laughter was gone. The drinks were shattered and spilled on the floor. Their weapons remained clutched in their hands, yet she was gone. The portal sealed shut before them, leaving only their memories that she was ever even there. 

His grasp on his daggers tightened, his muscles straining beneath his armor. This couldn't be how it ends. Not like this. Not without her. 

Mal drew in a long, measured breath. His eyes closed as he paused. The world around him stilled in response. The warm sunlight caressed his cheek. He could hear her whispering in his ear as she pressed a kiss there. The soft breeze from the open window carried the fragrant scent of sweet peas, like the ones he brought for her. His grip on his dagger loosened as he felt her hands over his. She was still there. He exhaled slowly, resheathing his weapons. It was only then that he had heard his friends. 

"You okay, Land Rat?" Imtura questioned, concern lacing her words.

"Mal!" Nia cried, her hands on his shoulder, shaking him back to them.

Tyril's hand moved in front of his face, trying to sense if any dark magic lingered on him. 

Mal snapped back into awareness, taking a step back. "What in the three hells is this?"

Nia wrapped her arms around him, her eyes filled with tears. "You're okay." 

"Of course I am," He responded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She took a step back, studying his face. Her gaze shifted to Tyril.

"I sense no darkness or magic," Tyril decided. He rested a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Which part?" His tone was snarky, his smile cocky. "The part where we beat the Dreadlord and were celebrating, or the part where my girlfriend was kidnapped by a dark elf?"

"He's fine!" Imtura slapped him on the back. 

"Fine is a relative term," Tyril added skeptically.

"What's wrong with you, Elf Boy." Mal shook his head, his face twisting in confusion. "We're wasting time. Let's raid the armory again and go rescue Daenarya." He marched forward, pushing past his friends. 

"Mal—"

The way the elf said his name would haunt him in ways he couldn't know yet. It was soft. It was pained. It was broken.

"The portal's closed," Tyril explained. "We have no means of opening it again." 

"We have to try," Mal demanded. 

"I'm not saying we won't, but it won't be easy."

"Nothing ever is."

"I know." Tyril's reassuring hand was there on his shoulder again. It was heavier now. "We will not rest until we have rescued her, but rushing into things won't help. We need a plan. We need to research."

"I'm not going to stand here while Daenarya is being tortured and having gods knows what done to her." He pulled his shoulder away. "We are getting her back. One way or another. We are getting her back."

"Aye!" Imtura agreed. "I'm with the land rat."

"Me too," Nia added. "Daenarya risked her life to save mine. I owe her everything."

"Obviously, I am in, as well. It will be a challenge, but one I would be honored to accept with the three of you." 

Mal nodded at his crew. "Then, it's decided. We rescue Daenarya."

"We should check the royal records and library for any information about realm crossing," Tyril offered. 

"I'll check with the temple to see if there is any light magic or rituals that might be of assistance," Nia suggested.

"That leaves you and me, Princess—" Mal's smirk grew as his hope rose. "Weapons and armor. We will need all the tactical help we can get." 

"My kind of duty!" Imtura nodded, giving him a one-time pass on the Princess comment. 

Mal held his head high as they each went off to their tasks. Daenarya wasn't lost to the shadows, not with them readying to rescue her. 

Hours turned into days. 

Days turned into weeks. 

Every lead they found led to failure. 

One defeat after another, smothering their hope a little more with each failed attempt. The once bright light filling their eyes had dulled. Dark circles hung beneath their weary gaze. Lines of exhaustion dug creases across their faces. 

Day after day, week after week, they worked tirelessly to save her, but now it was physically killing them.

Emotionally, they were no better. They were unraveling—fast. The spark of optimism that once fueled their determination now flickered like a dying ember. Frustration lurked beneath the surface. Mal found himself snapping at Imtura over the smallest things, their camaraderie strained by the constant setbacks. Nia, usually a calming presence, had her patience tested as she argued with Tyril over their research and what powers they could harness from the light. 

With each passing day, the bonds that held them together grew more fragile without her. She was the glue that brought them together, and without her... without her, they were just 3 very different people with a common memory.

In the dimly lit room where they gathered to discuss their most recent findings, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension. Mal's jaw clenched as he glanced at Tyril's furrowed brow, and the elf's narrowed gaze showed his growing impatience for the human. Imtura, once the heart of their humor, now responded to jests with a forced smile that failed to reach her eyes. Nia struggled to keep her voice steady as she raised concerns about their dwindling options.

Weeks turned into hopeless months.

The weight of their mission pressed down on them like a relentless storm. It tore them apart until all that remained was the fragments of a group that once was celebrated, but was now pitied and avoided at all costs. 

Mal's gaze darkened, and he snapped at everyone at any word. Nothing was enough. Nothing was right. Nothing was his way. But most of all, nothing brought her back. His burning rage consumed him. He lashed out at his friends who tried to console him, his once-charming demeanor replaced by a bitter and resentful man.

"I shouldn't have ever let Kit convince me friends are anything more than a liability," Mal snapped. "You lot couldn't save yourselves. How could I rely on you? I'll save Daenarya myself." 

The rage in Imtura grew; she drew her ax as he walked away. Her grip on her weapon tightened. No human would speak to her like that and draw another breath.

Tyril stood in her path, a somber expression on his face. He shook her head. "Let him go. He's lost more than the rest of us."

The remaining three agreed to go their separate ways. They'd never give up on trying to rescue her—Daenarya was strong; if anyone could survive the Shadow Realm, it was her. The knowledge brought little comfort. 

As he walked the cold streets of White Tower alone, his gaze fell upon the disgraced temple of light. His jaw clenched as he remembered what he had seen the last time he stepped foot in there. Yet, his feet carried him toward the glimmering building's white steps. He climbed the stairs, one reluctant step after another. Mal had never been a religious man, but he had tried everything else. He promised her he'd try everything, so that meant this as well. 

He fell to his knees at the altar, begging the gods of old, new, and anyone listening to save her. He offered everything he could think of, anything he could use to bargain with them. His soul and his life were among the last. His life didn't matter, hers did. She saved the realm; she got a rag-tag group of misfits to work together. It wasn't them; it was her. Let him be damned but bring her back. Only silence filled the room in response. 

Mal traveled the kingdoms, searching for any religion to turn to, anything to breathe life into the embers of hope that vaguely glowed within him. Without hope, he knew there would be nothing left of him. 

He dragged himself back to the Temple of Ellara, where their journey first began. He fell beneath the statue of Ittar and Bakshi, the two souls that formed one god. The lovers. If anyone would take pity on him, it was them. He cried out, begging and pleading for refuge. The only response was the sound of his sobs echoing in the hallowed halls. 

He was alone.

Daenarya had been taken.

He had pushed his friends away.

The gods had failed him. 

He was alone.

He should have been used to it. Gods know he had spent his life with that feeling, yet this time was different. This time was heavier. Because this time, he knew what it was like to have a family. This time, he knew what love felt like. This time, he knew how it felt to have hope, to trust in a future that might be okay, and to lose it all.

Now, he was alone, and there was no escape from the pit of despair he found himself in.

He didn't remember how he got there. He didn't know how long it had been. All he knew was he was back. Perhaps it was where he was always meant to end up.

Mal retreated into the shadows, seeking solace in the dark, forgotten streets of White Tower. It was a place where no one remembered your name, where he could be as lost as he felt inside. His despair was a suffocating weight, threatening to consume him entirely.

"I tried, Mom," he whispered as he leaned against her grave, a bottle of liquor in his hand. "I tried," he repeated, drinking the remaining liquid. 

His fingers massaged one scar after another. Some were new, most old, and some had even been forgotten. But that was then. That was when she was there to listen to every story, hold his every pain, and share the burdens that shadowed his past. Without her, the pain returned. Every pain he had ever felt, all at once. It was suffocating. It was all-consuming.

"I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to her grave and dragged himself back toward the abandoned building he had been squatting in. His steps were weak as he shuffled down the streets. Every muscle in his body ached. His weathered skin and sunken features made the once infamous White Tower reaper unrecognizable. People scurried in the shadows to avoid passing him. No one dared approach him for fear of what he had become.

With another bottle in hand, he entered a dilapidated building. Forgotten and abandoned, the place reflected his own broken spirit. He collapsed on the floor of his new "home". He couldn't stop the chuckle growing at the word. She was home, but she took it with her, and she was gone. 

He held his dagger in his hands. A beam of moonlight slipping through one of the many holes in the structure glinted on its surface. Was tonight the night? Was this the end? 

His heavy eyes fought to close, his body desperate for sleep. He refused to let himself fall. Sleep meant dreams and, in his case, nightmares. Or, on the rare occasion that nightmares didn't consume him, he was left with only a dark purple vortex, sucking out the last of his life force. There was such little left to give. 

The bottle fell from his grasp, the liquid spilling on the floor as sleep overtook him. Instead of being greeted by the monsters and darkness that had become his only companions, he found her. She was beautiful. Just as she remembered. Her smile stirred the forgotten embers of hope that lingered deep within him. 

His body trembled at the thought of her. He smiled weakly, nervous and uncertain. "What does this mean?" 

Her fingers attempted to thread through his once luscious locks, now dirtied and tangled. Her gaze was soft as she spoke. "It means you can open that orphanage we dreamed of."

His eyes filled with unshed tears. He had forgotten about their dream. The night they had celebrated their victory, the promises they made to one another. "It would be nice to give poor kids a better life than I had. Make it so they don't have to steal to survive."

She nodded, her face beaming with pride. "It's a worthy goal. One might even say a noble one."

"Please. Anything but that." He was far from noble. He was one step above the shadow court themselves. Darkness had consumed almost every part of him.

"And Mal, my Magnificent Rogue, I promise you, no matter what... we'll be together again," her voice was a whisper in his ear—the warmth of her breath a welcomed old friend. 

"Just try not to lead me on any wild goose chases, Kit," he teased, forgetting himself. "You know how Elf Boy feels about geese." His voice was light, and laughter rumbled on his lips for the first time since she was taken. 

Mal leaned in, closing the gap between them. His lips brushed over hers, sparking the flames of hope inside him once more. His body filled with warmth. 

"And you know—" He continued. "I will always find you." 

As he reached to embrace her once more, the vision faded away, leaving him once more surrounded by darkness. He reached for the fallen bottle. Whatever remained at the bottom was better than nothing. 

His hand hovered over the glass container, something stopping him. Her words echoed in his ear. 

We'll be together again. 

Hope. 

For the first time in a long time, he had hope. 

He wanted to believe he could find her still, but he knew he had no other paths to exhaust. So he would do the one thing he knew would keep her alive. Make their dream a reality. He would build their orphanage. He would save the children of White Tower from the fate he and Daenarya had suffered. He would build a better future from the ashes of the world that had forgotten them. 

His hope turned to determination. If he was going to remain in this world without Daenarya, he would make it better—a world deserving of someone as kind and brilliant as her.

Moment by moment, day by day he poured his grief and his love into that building. It became a testament to his devotion to the woman who had made him a better man. 

With each nail he drove into the walls, and with every floorboard he replaced, he whispered her name. He imagined her smile, her laughter, and the dreams they had shared. It was as if she was there with him, guiding his hands. He could still hear her whispering his name beside him.

Sooner than he could have imagined, in the heart of the slums of White Tower, a run-down, forgotten building transformed into a home. Their home, if only in spirit. Though quiet now, soon, he hoped, the rooms would teem with laughter and light-hearted squabbles of children he could rescue in his orphanage. The place would be one of love and hope. He would tell stories of the woman who saved the realm and who saved him in doing so. He would make sure her light lived on in this realm. If anyone deserved to be remembered, it was her. 

"For you," he whispered as his fingers ran over the sign reading "Mal's Orphanage". Beneath the name, in smaller lettering, read "no longer forgotten". He wouldn't forget her. He wouldn't forget the man he became because of her, and most of all, he would make sure the children he rescued were never forgotten. He would show them a better life, a beautiful life filled with the most powerful magic he had ever learned from Daenarya—love and hope. With those two things, the world would never descend to darkness again. 

A/N #2: This is not edited, my heart broke writing it and I can't bear to read it back right now. I hope you enjoy it, despite how painful it is. My heart is absolutely broken from the first chapter back. Mal's struggle with his grief as he goes through the stages.

I'm going to create a new masterlist for Blades 2 because I'm going to keep my orphanage as my personal canon timeline from Book One. Book 2 stories will be an AU. I know that makes no sense, but to me, my orphanage will always be my personal favorite place and my canon.

[number-0-iz]

OKAY OKAY OKAY BLADES CHAPTER ONE THOUGHTS BELOW THE CUT

(This is on mobile so I hope it works)

With the first image, he'll yes, badass. AND AS FOR THE 2ND, I LOVE HIM

God I LOVE THIS.

Loved this. This was so badass. I wanted to balance the skills out so I chose Intimidation from the diplomacy skill

WE LOOK SO FUCKING BADASS OF COURSE I HAD TO BUY IT

Okay so theory time. Looking at his ears he might be/might have been an elf. I think he is the first realmwalker and exists between the liminal space to help others like him. I also think that the gem in the staff is the same kind as the one we got from our dream. Like a harnessing of power of some kind. I think we might make a staff out of it like the watcher.

WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE HELL?

IT HAS BEEN A YEAR? A year?

BRB I'm just gonna cry over Tyril being scared and sad and looking for us and now being distant and closed off again (probably similar to other LI) and my poor other husband Aerin being in jail for a year. I'm just full of emotions rn.

[a-cloud-for-dreams]

Unreleased & Incomplete #2: The Greatest Gift

It was an odd feeling that Tyril wasn’t able to explain. The last time he felt like this was when he was dragged along to save Kade and stop the Dreadlord. A realization that their paths were forever intertwined Now they were his friends. No, his family. But he felt it again, when Eclipse was born.

It was love. No, excitement. Perhaps it was fear?

“I think it’s ridiculous,” Tyril grumbled next to Raine. “I don’t know why you're not stopping him.”

“Why, should a future Lady not know the lucrative art of picking pockets?” She teased while lying in the soft grass. She plucked a flower, gently feeling the soft petals between her fingers.

His gaze hardened, as if confused by her response. He threw his hands in the air. “Yes?!”

She laughed. “They’re just playing. And it’s not like she would ever do anything to make you cross with her.”

The couple looked at Mal and Eclipse, chasing each other around the field. Salem walked in soon after with one of the orphans hiding behind her. Kymani, Raine thinks the name was. She was a half-elf and one of the newest members of her and Mal’s orphanage.

Eclipse’s ears perked up immediately. She tilted her head to examine her soon-to-be friend. Tyril's heart beamed with pride at the sight. That's who she was. Her parent's pride and joy. The future Lady of House Nightfury.

[secret-fungi]

Tired soul, rest your weary bones

Pairing: Tyril x F! elf MC (odelia)

Book: blades of light and shadows book 2

word count: 1345 (it's just a lil baby)

Rating: t

Category: Angst

warnings: talk of scars, implied tortured/ experimentation (really not anything more than what we were told in the game)

summary: Mc's year in the shadow realm.

tags: @lawrencebarkley @sophie-summer @agattthaa @choicesficwriterscreations

She didn’t remember the year she missed, or maybe she didn’t want to.

She remembered waking up, slurred muffled voices and the feeling of her blood being drawn from her body.

She remembers a hazy light above her that she looked at before a toothy grin came into view and she was asleep again. 

She remembered being delirious, with fever or blood loss she doesn’t know- she remembers withering, trembling on cold stone floors and crying uncontrollably.

She remembers dreaming of Tyril, and in those moments she’s no longer adrift in a ever restless sea but she is simply floating in a lake, still and calm. 

And then she dreams she is in a lake, the one they camped next to in the deadwoods, and she dreams of Mal, jumping into the water and smashing her, Tyril making an unimpressed comment and Nia and Imtura jumping in after.

Tyril looks at her, her finger’s barely touch his outstretched hand and suddenly they are in undermount, he tilts his head to the side and leads her to his room.

He sits on his bed and smiles at her, his voice is so far away- he’s so far away she’s with him but he’s out of her reach. 

His voice muffled as if he was in a different room.

She misses him. Somehow in her dream she feels a sense of loss, an urgency that she can’t explain. She wants to reach out to him but she’s too weak so she stays slouched limply on his chair as he plays a lute.

She doesn’t think he can play the lute, but there’s something in the way his elegant fingers strum the strings and how his voice calls out.

A sad melody that’s ancient- older than them, older than his father and forefather, he sings in the tongue of threep, The old language long forgotten probably even by Tyril himself.

It's familiar but she can’t quite place it.

I lie as I dream of you. My ears are ringing, all I hear is you singing.

If I close my eyes I’ll be home soon.

Can you call them memories? each memory is a blur, She knows not if it was the same day or if it was night, Each time her eyes would roll back into her skull and her head would lull, unable to keep it upright it would fall back, and  she would go limp, and then she'd be barely just awake, her eyes half closed and her body limp and it would start again a new dream like memory.

She knows the pain she felt when she finally woke up was nothing compared to the pain in her dreams, and though tired she could stand.

The only thing she knows to be true is that she ran, and ran, and the burning that went through her whole body as she did. It hurts! Her mind screams. But she ignored it, She ignored everything that wasn’t helping her escape.

and while she ran she heard his song, She heard birds chirping and her family calling for her. 

She sees a woman that looks like her smile as she looks down at a baby.

She sees Kade, throwing a rock at a village kid for pushing her into the rocks in the river. 

She can almost touch it- she can almost hear them- “come back to me, Odelia.” They cried in the saddest voice you’ve ever heard.

Her muscles trembled with every stride, her hands shook as she tried desperately to open a portal.

Hold onto those feelings, focus. Focus. 

They’re waiting for you on the other side with honey wine and cream cakes- They’re waiting for you.

“Odelia, please come to me!” Tyril cries, his voice echoes and she hears him start to pray, an ancient prayer to an ancient god, long forgotten and long since they’ve answered prayers.

Opening the portal was as if it took the air from her lungs to do- she leapt inside and stumbled, unable to find her balance.

She fell to her knees on a groundless floor.

In front of her stood the man from her dreams, and as his cloak falls away she notes his clothes that she’s never seen before.

It was as though he wore weaved stardust, the strands of all that is and all that will be and of the stars around them bound together in his coat.

“I am the Watcher. We will speak again. Soon.” He says.

There was a sense of familiarity in his eyes.

The voice in her head. He saved her.

She felt her eyes roll back and her head lulled.

“No no- you mustn’t sleep here, my child.” He said, tapping her forehead once.

And then she was home. She was in Whitetower and now she ached, How desperately she wished to cry, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why.

It only had been a day, they're all probably still here.

“Odelia you’ve been gone for a year.” Kade says.

He’s curious and excited and he walks a beat too fast for her sore muscles to keep up with but she tries, nonetheless. She's just happy to have him back.

She can’t remember if these are dreams- if these are nightmares she’s made up a trick of her mind or if there’s any truth to them.

      So when asked she says nothing of her dreams.

“You’ve gone gray.” Tyril says, as they laid on her bed. he brushes her hair out of her eyes and smiles gentle at her.

It's much too soon for an elf her age to go gray, and they both knew that, The two of them knew more than they’d care to admit just yet.

He drops his hand to her hip, his thumb stroking an old scar she can’t remember where she got.

She looks different from she used to. The first thing she did when she got to her room alone was strip in front of the mirror.

Maybe two dozen knew scars- maybe only seventeen. A patch from her arm a little bigger than a coin was scarred.

Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw as though her restraints were far too tight.

And the front piece of her black hair had gone white, There was dirt deep under her nails and an ache all over she couldn’t heal- no matter what she used, no matter what potion or scale, feather or salve she couldn’t get rid of the aches.

“Odelia?” He calls again, softly so softly. “hmm?” “You can tell me anything, you know.”

She brings him closer to her, hiding her face in his chest and places a kiss above his heart.

“It was but a day for me, my prince.” She says.

Because She can’t bring herself to trouble the elf that hardly looked like he was taking care of himself.

Between the two of them she’d guess he was the one being experimented on.

“If you say so, but if…” “I’ll tell you, if I remember anything more, if anything changes, i’ll come to you.” She says.

Its not a lie, not truly because if she finds out her dreams are memories she’ll reveal them, but for now- why worry her friends over silly dreams.

The elf had apologized to her at least a dozen times for ‘failing her’  she doesn’t know if he could take it if she truly was hurt.

She traced every new scar on his body, ran her hand over muscles that weren’t as developed the last time she saw them, and in the silence of the night where no one but they were awake, they held each other.

Each one is just as desperate as the other. But just below the surface there was a truth she refused to acknowledge.

She had lost something precious. She had lost herself, too.

Her chest felt cold and tight and her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall.

“Thank you for waiting for me.” She whispered.

“I’d wait for you till I die.” He swore. “Just try not to do it again.” “Definitely not.” She agreed with a laugh.

[mikaelsrose]

Starry Night

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 3 Word count: 4000 Rating: T Warnings: emotional hurt Category: hurt/comfort Synopsis: Having reunited with most of her party, Reyna discovers the true extent of the traumatic events of the previous months. A/n: special thanks to @starlight-starfury for encouraging me to include Tyril speaking elven 🫰🏻 × Calanín - my light: elven word of affection, the elven equivalent of the Common language's "my love;" the elves believe that love is often fleeting, but the Light is constant, and the most precious resource they possess. Tag list: @starlight-starfury @cashweasel @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @brycesgirl @agattthaa @secret-fungi @megas-choices (if anyone wishes to be added/removed pls let me know!) @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Nia, Mal, and the children had developed a routine, thanks to which the kids changed into their pyjamas, brushed their teeth, and were tucked in under thirty minutes. If one would take Nia at her word, developing the schedule took weeks, but due to eager cooperation the group managed to reduce the time from two hours to just thirty minutes, saving the guardians a considerable amount of time—time that they would spend reading, searching, and discussing the possible methods of rescuing Reyna. After ten minutes, Nia and Mal returned downstairs, having wished the kids a good night and slumped in the chairs, exhausted. Soon, the giggles and banter upstairs quietened down, and Mal breathed out a sigh of relief while Nia smiled at her friends, her features softened by the warm candlelight. 

“Can I offer you anything? Water, tea? We don’t have much, but I’d love to host you properly,” the Priestess chirped, already rising from her seat, but Tyril held out his hand to stop her. 

“It’s alright, thank you, Nia. Save what you have for the children.”

Nia nodded, while the elf rested his left hand on Reyna’s thigh, gently squeezing it in a poorly disguised display of affection. Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she vaguely covered his hand with her own before addressing the rogue before her.

“Lord Weasley of Riverbend, huh?” 

Mal smiled sheepishly and scratched his neck, blushing faintly as if he had been caught in a lie. “I had to improvise, and Riverbend just happened to occupy my mind an awful lot lately.”

“Gotta admit, you really nailed the accent. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were a native,” she winked, drawing a laugh from Mal.

“What can I say? I had spent an awful lot of time with you, kit.”

Nia joined the conversation. “How is Kade? I’ve been meaning to visit him, but there was always something urgent to attend to, and…”

“He’s doing just fine, cooped up in the library or in the royal gardens with Loola and Threep. He’s made the Master Librarian his archenemy, though.”

The Priestess chuckled. As Mal rested his arm on the back of her seat, a quiet yawn escaped Reyna’s lips and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She rested her head against Tyril’s shoulder, continuing to smile at her friends. Although she did not feel the true length of her absence, she had missed them, and at that moment she felt at peace. 

The idyllic atmosphere was disrupted by a quiet childish giggle coming from the top of the stairs, and the group's heads turned simultaneously in that direction. Mal sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his tired eyes before addressing the children.

“Guys, we talked about staying up past bedtime!”

The grave silence that followed his remark was soon interrupted by barefoot steps and the creaking of the old wooden floor. A frail, pale blonde girl stood next to Mal and whispered in his ear, her big eyes glued to Reyna. In response, Mal smiled at the child and nodded. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

The girl nodded her head excitedly, and he addressed his friend. 

“Kit, this is Nyra, she's a big fan of yours.” 

Reyna's brows furrowed. "Fan?"

“Mal and Nia often told us stories of your adventures! My favourite is the one when you ran after Duchess Xenia and fought her! I want to be as brave as you when I grow up!” the girl chattered reedily. “Can I ask you a question?”

"Ask away, Nyra," she sent the girl an encouraging smile, squeezing Tyril's hand under the table. 

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I'd be crazy not to be afraid,” she smiled. “Bravery isn't about not being afraid, it's about doing the right thing despite fear."

The girl nodded, drinking the words off Reyna’s lips, staring at her heroine in awe. 

“Now go to sleep, Nyra,” Mal rubbed the girl’s arm, softly pushing her towards the stairs. Before disappearing in the darkness, Nyra waved at the couple, and Reyna sighed.

“Said like a true hero,” Nia concluded while the men agreed silently. 

“It’s good to see you, guys. I just wish Imtura was with us.”

“We’ll find her, don’t fret, Rey-Rey,” Mal assured. The nickname made Reyna groan.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“How about Rey of Sunshine?”

Reyna glowered at him. “Mal, I’m warning you.”

“Reiny?”

“Oh, I like Rey!” Nia joined in the conversation, grinning. 

“What do you think of “Reine”? I think it suits your personality,” the thief continued. “What do you think, elf boy?”

Tyril, smiling softly at the course the conversation took, looked to his left at his partner, his eyes glistening with the reflection of a nearby candlelight. “I believe my answer falls under a public display of affection.”

Nia brightened up. “Aw! It’s so nice seeing you two together again. Tyril had been so miserable without you, Reyna.”

“Tyril, my man, I’d like to remind you that we were direct neighbours at the Palace and their walls are surprisingly thin, so you really shouldn’t be em—”

Tyril cut in, blushing. “Stop talking.”

Grinning, the rogue continued teasing, pointing to Reyna with a nod of his head, while Nia and Tyril grew considerably more abashed. “I see you already had a chance to celebrate.”

Reyna touched her neck, remembering the necklace of red love bites that her lover bestowed upon her the previous night, and bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She forgot to cover the bruises in the morning as she was in a hurry. The Priestess intervened.

“Stop teasing them, Mal. They’re young and in love, of course they celebrated their reunion.”

In love. The couple looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, but Nia continued, oblivious to their discomfort.

“I’ve been meaning to ask before—” she bit her tongue, cleared her throat, and continued. “Who said it first? Was it romantic? I bet it was! Tyril always had a way with words and—”

“Oh, Priestess, read the room!” Mal chuckled. The redhead’s smile faltered as she raised her eyebrows in question, tilting her head slightly. The rogue explained. “Look at them! Elf boy’s about to turn dark purple, they obviously haven’t said that yet.”

Nia’s lips shaped into the letter “o” as the realisation dawned on her, but before she had a chance to apologise, Reyna intervened. “Alright! It was great to see you, but we should go. It’s getting late, and we need to rest.”

“True,” Mal agreed. “No offence, but you look terrible, lordling.”

“It takes one to know one, thief.”

“You don’t like my haircut? You wound me,” with feigned offence, Mal placed a hand over his heart, making Tyril roll his eyes. Reyna smiled at the exchange, but agreed with Tyril. Mal looked exhausted, the dark spots under his eyes and slouched posture explicit evidence of that. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Hugging Reyna goodbye, Nia whispered, squeezing her eyelids tight. “Please, don’t disappear again.”

Reyna rubbed her friend’s back reassuringly before moving away from the warm embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your disappearance wreaked havoc, kit,” Mal admitted quietly, patting her back. “I know it may look like we just moved on, but there wasn’t a day Nia didn’t stay up late sifting through the Temple’s scrolls in search of rescue. Whenever I got a promising lead, it turned out to be just an urban legend. We—” his voice broke. In no hurry, Mal took a deep breath and moved away, his hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders. “We really tried, kit. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Reyna smiled comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mal. I’m here, in one piece, am I not?”

He smiled. “I suppose.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Unpersuaded by her assurance, Mal nodded weakly, and before the couple took their leave, he patted Tyril’s arm. “Don’t let her out of your sight. See you in the morning.”

Strolling through the streets of the capital, slowly climbing towards the Whitetower castle, Tyril and Reyna grudgingly discussed the following day’s plan, in the meantime looking around for a seamstress. Despite the late hour, one of the very last vendors was still folding clothes in the town square, and being in desperate need of a more appropriate gear, Reyna left Tyril waiting outside. Patiently pacing around the ornate fountain, the elf studied a nearby florist when his gaze stopped at a bouquet of familiar flowers in the man’s hands. It took a bit of haggling and bragging about his title for Tyril to purchase the flowers imported from his homeland—black-petaled frilly sunflowers with luminescent red stamen—but he purchased them, and he could not suppress the proud smile on his face when Reyna emerged from the building with a paper package in her hands. He handed her the gift wordlessly.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?” 

“There is no occasion. These flowers are native to Undermount, we call them melissë anar’insil. They were my mother’s favourite, she grew them in our garden, and…” he bit his lip, blushing slightly. “And they remind me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, awestruck. “Thank you, Tyril. But you shouldn't have, they look like they have cost a fortune."

"There's a possibility that the saviour got a discount."

A hearty laugh escaped her lips upon hearing the word saviour yet another time the same day. "Admit it, you like being the hero."

Tyril bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. "I suppose the title carries some benefits."

Chuckling, she climbed on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips to his for a short, sweet kiss. She could still faintly taste the sour lime lemonade with mint on his lips, the drink he claimed his favourite, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She thought of their first, and at the same time last, date—the day they partook in festival activities, roamed the streets of Whitetower holding hands, made love in a secluded tower, and ended up intoxicating themselves at a local tavern with Riverbendian drinks. As if reading her mind, Tyril’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“Does the name of the flower mean anything in Common?” she asked, interlacing their fingers. Resuming their lazy stroll back to the castle, the elf nodded, yet he took his time with the answer, eventually smiling sheepishly. 

“It translates to ‘the lovers’ sunflower.’ These sunflowers are considered the flower of royalty in Undermount as due to their rarity only the wealthiest can afford them, and they symbolise devotion, loyalty, and adoration.”

Nodding, Reyna brought the bouquet closer to her face and took a deep breath. The smell was sweet but not overpowering, reminding her of the first days of summer, and the exact smell of Tyril’s bedchamber in Undermount. She remembered walking out to the balcony when he fell asleep and seeing the luminescent stamen in the darkness, thinking how otherworldly they made the garden look. 

“I can see why these were your mother’s favourites.”

“Their appearance is but a fraction of the reason for her admiration. Mother adored them because father asked for her hand in marriage with half a dozen bouquets of these flowers and had showered her with grandiose bouquets ever since on the most important occasions. She always said it’s a perfect addition to any confessions and talked very fondly of the day Adrina was born as father had the Manor’s ballroom filled with flowers,” Tyril reminisced, his gaze distant but a smile was playing on his lips.  

“I’d love to hear more about your mom, she sounds like a very kind soul.”

Tyril nodded. “She was. However, that is a story for another day. We should hurry, it will rain soon.”

The moment Tyril locked their chamber's door, the toller announced the clock struck eleven and Reyna plopped down on the mattress exhausted. 

"You don't have to buy me flowers if you want to propose, I'm a simple girl, Tyril," she teased, yawning. The elf flushed purple, realising how inauspiciously he crafted his words back in the town square, and smiled at her. "Duly noted."

"And if you want to fool around, just stay the word," she winked, unlacing the corset of her dress. "Not today, though, I'm dead on my feet."

"Ever the romantic," he smiled. As he helped her out of her clothes and into a loose nightgown, Tyril made sure she was tightly tucked in, and soon joined her, stroking her back until she fell asleep.  

People have a saying, one that Tyril overheard while patrolling the streets of Port Parnassus, just minutes before he first bumped into Reyna. They say that what does not kill will make you stronger, and during the year she was gone he prayed it was true. He hoped all this suffering was not in vain.

Yet now she was here with him and he felt everything but stronger. He felt weak, broken, undeserving. He couldn't protect her. It should've happened to him. 

He hadn't slept the night before—after he lulled his beloved to sleep, he stayed guard in case of the worst. It gave him plenty of time to look at her, admire the features that he had prayed to see again, to assess the damage she had suffered at the hands of… Of who exactly? She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't push her. Overwhelming her was the very last thing he wanted to make her feel so soon after returning; alas, because of that choice, his imagination was running wild. His mind was painting the pictures of Reyna running through the obsidian desert, fighting the remaining Shadow soldiers, battered, aghast, and disappointed she had to save herself because the people closest to her had failed. 

Studying the fresh horizontal scar on her inner arm, Tyril ventured into a dangerous territory of fear-fueled theories as to what lay ahead. The Shadow Realm was an unexplored area, where unlike Morella they were on a hiding to nothing. Tyril did not doubt the loyalty and capability of their group, but they managed to win the fight against the Dreadlord by a stroke of fortune—had it not been for the Priestess’ sacrifice, the party would have lost at least two members, himself included. If the new enemy was indeed a competition to the Shadow Court, they needed allies. 

Tyril noticed that upon her return, Reyna not only possessed new wounds and scars, but also lacked that mesmerising glint in her eye, her movements were slower, and body weaker, not to any sudden or loud noises paralysed her with fear. Reyna came back different. Tyril would even risk saying that it was not Reyna who came back. Not the one he knew. It was someone new entirely.

The woman next to him took in a shuddering breath, her fingers gripping the duvet tightly. Restless even in her sleep, Reyna was indisputably facing the consequences of living through numerous traumatic events within a short time period without respite. Reaching forward, Tyril smoothed out the worried crease between her brows with his thumb, deluding himself that with this simple gesture he was able to transfer all her worries onto himself. 

Take the utmost care of her and relay that Father and I rejoice at the news of Reyna’s return! 

Against his will, Tyril’s mind replayed the moment of reading Adrina's letter. Could he truly protect Reyna? Without demur, he would give his life trying to ensure her safety, albeit such sacrifice seemed pointless from his current standpoint. If he was gone, who would protect her?

“I suppose sleep is not my ally tonight,” she sighed to herself, having woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep. Wrapped in their sheets, Reyna observed Tyril, carefully studying his back, the hair that cascaded over his muscles, the way the moonlight reflected on his skin and how utterly ethereal he looked against the starry night sky. He was sitting on his legs on the balcony, facing the city, unnaturally still. As concern gripped her heart, Reyna cautiously walked over and touched his shoulder. 

"Tyril, are you alright?"

The elf looked up, snapped out of his reverie, and his hand covered hers mechanically. "I was meditating. I'm alright."

As it dawned on her, she covered her lips with a hand, doused with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's— that makes much more sense than what I feared," she blubbered. She did not intend to reveal the exact reason of her concern, he did not need to hear that her initial thought was that he had been petrified the same way Kaya was. "I won't bother you any longer, I'll just—"

Tyril slowly rose to his feet and rubbed her arm. "It's alright, Reyna, I was supposed to finish a long time ago anyway. Let's get you back to bed."

As his hand rested on the small of her back, he noticed the dampness of her skin. 

"Do you do that often? Meditate?"

He nodded. "It's supposed to be only thirty minutes a day, but…" he sighed. "Once the feasible solutions were depleted, I started praying for a miracle. There was nothing more that I could do but pray, so I prayed for hours on end."

Reyna bit her bit as an impulsive thought emerged in her mind. "Would you pray with me?"

As the look of surprise flowered on his face, his brows furrowed, but his expression changed into a kind, encouraging smile within seconds.

"Absolutely. Is there anything in particular you'd wish to pray for?" 

Her answer was affirmative. "Do you mind telling me a bit more about your prayers first? I'm not exactly religious, and I don't know much about your gods, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Anyone is welcome to seek comfort and guidance from the gods, you needn't be religious for that," he reassured. "We do not have many prayers per se as we'd rather engage in a silent conversation with the gods during meditation, but should one need a prayer there is a universal formula. I can't know for certain, but I believe the gods would look kindly on prayers for blessing or good fortune," he explained, gently rubbing her back as he guided her inside. As they made themselves comfortable on the silk carpet, assuming the exact position Reyna found him in, the elf interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his lap. "I suppose one could also pray to nature, as do orcs, although I haven't heard of my kind practising that."

"I'd like to pray for Kaya, to put in a good word for her, so she can rest easily," she breathed out quickly, almost cutting him short. When his expression fell, she rapidly added: "Unless that's not how it works, then—"

"No, it's just— it's very thoughtful of you," he smiled, and Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wish, you may repeat after me, but it’s not necessary since you may find it challenging to pronounce certain words.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded and took a deep breath. As soon as Tyril noticed her shoulders relax, he began reciting the prayer, slowly, pronouncing the words clearly, giving her time to repeat. 

“Alcarvalda nostar, varyando o in nór nosyë, iqulmë lissë an vilissë o Kaya Duskraven. Cé pataro imbi eleni, nínion ‘nin gwannad lîn. Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.”

As he finished, the elf stroked her knuckles softly, observing her carefully. Reyna was on edge, that was clear, although he could not figure out the exact reason—however, as tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes, he intervened, closing her in an embrace.

"Do you think she rests in peace? That Xenia's deed hadn't influenced her eternal rest?"

"I believe our Gods are omniscient and just, and as they welcomed Kaya, they saw her for the wonderful person she was before her life was stolen from her."

She hummed in response. They stayed like this for several minutes until Reyna’s breath evened out, and a yawn slipped past her lips. Tyril helped her climb onto the mattress and lulled her to sleep, just the night before, telling her a story of Undermount society’s attempts to open the city to the world. "Thank you," she whispered. “I— The prayer did bring me some comfort.”

Two hours. It took only two hours for Reyna to wake up again. She sat up straight, her skin blanketed with sweat. Tyril stroked her back through the damp gown as she took deep breaths to compose herself. 

"It's alright," he comforted repeatedly, allowing her to rest on his chest and cry out all the emotions bothering her at that moment. 

But it wasn't alright. At that moment, Reyna could not remember the nightmare that caused her to wake up drenched in sweat and with a plea on her lips, but she felt utterly devastated and powerless, and no amount of consolation was able to calm her down. Her heart would not stop pounding against her ribcage as tears would not stop flowing down her cheeks, and the terror she awakened to deftly transfigured into suffocating panic that immediately alerted the elf. 

Fixing their position so that they were sitting facing each other, Tyril's palms cradled her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Reyna, focus on me, alright? Breathe with me, take as long and deep breaths as you can, and hold it in for five seconds," he instructed, feeling his equilibrium wane as the woman before him struggled to settle her nerves. The calming spell was ready to roll from the tip of his tongue when at last Reyna took a deep, shaky breath. 

He counted down the seconds out loud for her, time after time, until her muscles relaxed, and the body became heavy in his hands. The back of his hand wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead as he laid her down, back to the same position she woke up in, and kissed her cold temple, pressing his lips for several long seconds.

She hadn't slept well the night before, and that night would probably be no different. Rubbing her back up and down, he proposed to tell her another story, in a poor attempt to help her fall asleep. 

"Just hold me, please,” she pleaded. And as a devout worshipper, Tyril held her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, although his heart ached seeing his partner in pain. 

"Are you asleep?" 

Startled, Tyril blinked repeatedly to rid his eyes of the remainder of sleep. "No." 

“I want to cut my hair.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze focusing on the pendulum clock on the far side of the room. “Now? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need a change, and my hair reminds me of what—” she held her tongue. “Will you help me or not?”

Rubbing off the blur in his eyes, Tyril rolled off the bed and approached the mirror she was sitting in front of.

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it."

Visibly unstrung and beaded with sweat, Reyna sat facing the vanity mirror, holding back tears. Unconvinced, he took his own sword from her hand and gripped the hilt tightly. Several seconds and one skilful swish of the sword later, inches of her dark locks hit the floor silently. Holding her blurry gaze in the reflection, Tyril inquired further.

“Calanín, what’s troubling you?”

Reyna dismissed his worry with a shake of her head and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. “Sorry for waking you up,” she added before disappearing into the dimly lit room. The last sound he had heard before drifting off to a turbulent sleep was that of Reyna climbing into the ornate bath. 

As the full moon gave way to the sun, coolness to sparkling dew and thin fog, the couple set out to meet their friends, shyly setting out on a new adventure, leaving the turbulent night but a memory. 

[agattthaa]

Not pretty, beautiful

Pairing:Tyril Starfury x f!HumanMC

Word count: 1.283

Warnings: happy (if you don't look too deep into it) very different from my last one, if you read it, there's drinking ale with friends in a bar and it's very clear the author never got wasted

Tags: @lawrencebarkley @secret-fungi

She should have known better than to just let the boys be boys, but the night was simply too fun to act like the big sister she always had to.

So when Mal took both Tyril and Kade to a drinking game, she just let him, focusing on drinking ale and gossiping with the girls about the people of the bar, their companions and about people from their homeland, who the other two didn’t know, but that never stopped them. 

A couple of days before, she, in the deepness of her heart, feared that a day like this one could never happen. But her wildest dreams came true. 

Kade was safe. She was safe. All her friends were safe. And together, they defeated the Shadow Court and together they stayed. 

So if even the priestess woke up with a headache, everything would be alright. 

Or so she thought. 

Kade was the first to, quite literally, hit his head on the table. Both the rogue and the mage clearly outdrinking the youngest. The human quickly got up, in the intention of aiding her brother, but Nia placed a hand on her shoulder. 

-Don’t worry, Raine. I can take Kade to his room. Besides, I think you and Imtura will have a much harder time. -She pointed with her nose to the other two members of their group, and quickly lifted Kade, passing the boys hand through her shoulder and getting up the stairs that connected the bar to the inn. 

-I'll take the theft and you the elf? 

Imtura looked at them, both already too intoxicated to want to drink more and both too stubborn to accept a defeat. Raine simply nodded, walking towards both of them. 

-Okay boys, you're both pretty, but now is time to sleep. -She took the half-filled mugs from their hands, looking at them with her must disproving look. 

-You are even prettier, Rain. But if you could please give me back my mug, I'm about to beat elf boy in this drinking game. -The rogue tried to get the mug back, but the girl, who was considerably less drunk and a lot faster, got out of the way, making him fall on the ground. 

While the rogue complained that it was unfair, that he would have won if nobody got in the middle of it, while Tyril saw the hand extended and instead of getting up from the bench, he rested his face on it, closing his eyes.

-I won.

-Indeed. And what do you plan to do now that you won this very serious competition, my lord?

His indigo eyes opened only to look at her. And look at her he did. 

-You are beautiful. -He contacted after a couple seconds in silence, winning a smirk from her.

-Why, thank you very much kind sir. 

He pulled her closer, hugging her hips and looking deeply into her eyes. 

-Not pretty, beautiful. Just like the dawn. And also the stars. And also the moon. And...

-Okay, lover boy, let's get you to bed.

The bar was almost full and people were starting to look at the odd couple and to pay too much attention to the declarations of the elf, making the girl's ears just a little bit red. 

-I do think you are the most beautiful woman that has ever walked into any of the realms. -He got up from the bench and walked willingly to any direction that she pulled him, but too slowly and never stopped talking. 

-In fact, I believe you are the most beautiful creature that has ever existed in any of the realms.

If the almighty hero of the realm was red before, she was now scarlet. 

-Look at them. Why do you never scream how beautiful I am in a bar full of people? -A woman, who Raine pointed out earlier to Nia and Imtura that was getting very chummy with her lover, asked her partner, who simply answered. 

-Look at them, they are young and in love. When we were that age we did way worse. 

And if she was scarlet before, now she was almost purple, so she tugged the elf, trying to make him walk faster. 

When they finally walked into Tyril's room, he simply dropped himself on the bed. 

-C'mon Tyril, you have to take the armor off. You'll be uncomfortable otherwise. 

She closed the door and walked towards him, but as soon as her hand touched the armor, he pulled away from her, and with his eyes still closed, turned around, away from her. 

-What now?

-My girlfriend, she'll get upset if you try to undress me. Very upset. Murdering upset, you should leave.

To  that, the human had to bite the inside of both her cheeks so she wouldn't laugh too much.

-I am your girlfriend. 

To that, the elf turned around quickly, opening his eyes and giving the most lovestruck smile Raine has ever seen. 

-My love, you are here. You have been gone for far too long. -He got up, hugged her close, making the girl let go a small giggle. -While you were away, a woman tried to undress me, but I made her go away, do not worry. 

Raine did her very best to keep her expression as plain as she could. 

-C'mon Tyril, let's take this armor off. 

To that he let go of her, turning to his side and letting her undo the clasps that held the armor together, pulling her towards the bed when the metal and the ground met. 

-You have no reason to worry, beloved, I never touched her nor let her touch me. -The girl only laughed at it.

-Tomorrow morning will be a lot of fun, that's for sure. 

-Raine. -He stopped smiling, looking deeply into her eyes.

-Tyril?

-Are you aware of how much I love you? 

Her heart stopped. 

-No, how could I be if you never said it? 

The elf suddenly sat up, looking at her lover in complete despair.

-But you must know, right? Now I'll tell you everyday, so don't stray away because someone called you pretty. -To that, she pulled him into her arms, feeling him relax instantly. -For you are more... you are beautiful.... like the dawn..... and the…… stars.

She could feel him starting to fall asleep, so she started to caress his hair, smiling to herself.

The morning would be fun indeed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-How are we feeling this morning, champion? -She handed him a mixture of herbs that should make him feel better, eventually.

-Never let Mal talk to me again. -His hands were both holding his head, she could almost feel his hangover in the air. 

-But you were so proud of yourself. The complete champion of the longest drinking game we ever did.

-And I made a complete full out of myself and embarrassed you and myself in front of a lot of strangers, for that I apologize, my love. 

-You have no reason to do that. It was funny. -She took the empty cup off his hands. -Besides, you have no reason to worry, I won't go anywhere, never. Because you aren't just pretty, you are beautiful, like the dawn, like the stars…. 

She poked his side, making him go purple, hiding his face on his hands. 

-I shall never drink again. 

-And, of course. -She took his hands away from his face, kissing each before placing her lips on his. -Because I love you, very much so. 

He smiled, even more lovestruck than before. 

-And I love you even more, my heart. 

He closed his eyes, meeting her lips again and praying to every god that she would never leave his side.

[lilibeams]

Tyril bad end continued - even if TEMPEST

WARNINGS: evil Conrad, noncon, exhibitionism, mindbreak, voyeurism, Anastasia is a virgin, spit as lube

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

DON'T LIKE DON'T READ

Conrad makes Tyril hold Anastasia's arms on the bed while he rips off her clothes and plays with her before fucking into her hard.

He spits on her pussy and forces his fingers into her tight, virgin hole. She's shaking and crying, biting her lip to stay quiet.

Anastasia isn't sure how long she can be brave like this, to hold in her cries. She's not experienced in this. This is not death. It's worse. And she didn't know what to do.

She can feel her heart shattering, with Tyril behind her and holding her steady with a seemingly cold indifference and Conrad between her legs working a third finger into her.

Anastasia's not wet at all and Conrad's ministrations hurt. He's starting to get annoyed. He spits on her again and presses his thumb down on her clit hard. She jolts in Tyril's hold, her back instinctively arching.

Conrad sneers, pleased. He wants this to feel good for him; he prefers being able to slid his cock in smoothly.

He pulls himself from his pants and lets his cock rest on Anastasia's stomach for a moment, admiring the sheer panic and horror increase tenfold in her face.

Tyril's hold tightens, but Anastasia mistakes this for him anticipating her struggling anewed. She can't help but cry as she looks at Conrad's cock, the first cock she's ever seen.

She tries to scoot back and away from him—and his cock—but she can barely move. She's trapped.

Conrad laughs cruelly, and, without warning, bullies his cock inside her with enough force that he sheaths himself fully inside her in one go, forcing her gummy walls to make room.

Anastasia screams. Her hymen broken, her skin torn.

He doesn't give her time to adjust; he just thrusts hard, making it as painful for her as possible. He loved seeing the look of pain and despair on her face, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Blood rings Conrad's cock as he forces it deeper into Anastasia's pussy.

But Conrad easily becomes irritated at her screams and yelps of pain. He snarls at Tyril to make her shut up.

Tyril reluctantly shifts closer to Anastasia, so close that she's forced to lean on his chest so that he can hold her still with an arm and put a hand over her mouth.

~

It's been a few months since that day, and Tyril knows that Conrad has been rather proactive in breaking Anastasia down, even though he hasn't been permitted to see her at all. He can hear her screams through the walls. Everyone can hear, but they pretend they don't.

Conrad has summoned him to his chambers and Tyril knows why.

When he enters the room, the sound of moans, skin slapping and lewd squelching filled his ears. The smell of sex filled his nostrils.

Anastasia was bouncing on Conrad's cock. He was propped up against the head board of the bed, his hands resting on her hips. But it was Anastasia who was doing everything. She was the one sliding up and down his cock and she moaned in pleasure. She begged him to let her cum. And Tyril was forced to watch.