#cyris

[skelebellie]

if Drífa has one fan its me! if Drífa has zero fans i’m dead!

litterally so in love w/ @seahagart tav Drífa. she’s so well designed and so interesting!!! i had to sketch her and do some interactions with my tav Cyris.

i know Cyris would see Drífa and be like… “”soft””. they have no perception of intimidation and likes that Drífa is so blunt. makes it easy on them for not having to look for tone indicators. definitely makes biscuits on Drífa’s tum while they sleep for a sensory.

i can also see Drífa noticing that Cyris isn’t eating, likely bc their in the woods and they avoid red meat- or they just forgot too. and Drífa one time saw Cyris all giddy at the fish market (Cyris’ safe food is fish. odd safe food for a weird guy) and Drífa is like like- “Fish. You Eat. Now.” bc it’s important to eat in order to survive.

they def would be snuggling and both of them are just like “soft” vs “warm” and neither care. completely platonic touchy pals bc Cyris is a texture parasite.

speak bubble guide below!

1: “Drífa saw you no eat? No worry- Caught fish. Take Pick. Eat well.”

2: “Drífa I’m going to kiss you.” (happy stimming and happy tears except with a complete poker face.)

3: Doesn’t mind. Warm body = warm nights.

4. Had a nightmare, finds Drífa comforting.

[filthyraven]

Imma start posting daily! Cyris with his boyfriend Alex <3 Alex belongs to my friend

[mostautisticangel]

poll for my followers cause im curious

[eirinstiva]

Theatre kid!

Bertie Wooster sent me a letter with the first part of "Jeeves and the Chump Cyril" and as usual he starts with a bit of Woosterian philosophy. Being in America so far from Aunt Agatha leaves him enough time to think about his life in England. He can't live forever running away from his aunt.

I know that London is a biggish city, but, believe me, it isn’t half big enough for any fellow to live in with Aunt Agatha when she’s after him with the old hatchet. 

Well, at least he could try (?)

Another marital fight moment of coldness between Jeeves and Wooster. The reason: purple socks. This time I agree with Wooster, purple sock are very fashionable like the ones I have un colour purple with coffee cups. Very stylish!

So there's this guy... Cyril Bassington-Bassington. Should Wooster babysit him? Wow~

“I am familiar with the name Bassington-Bassington, sir. There are three branches of the Bassington-Bassington family⁠—the Shropshire Bassington-Bassingtons, the Hampshire Bassington-Bassingtons, and the Kent Bassington-Bassingtons.” “England seems pretty well stocked up with Bassington-Bassingtons.” “Tolerably so, sir.” “No chance of a sudden shortage, I mean, what?” “Presumably not, sir.”

I tried to read this aloud and my tongue was suffering.

How can somebody fall in prison in less than 24 hours since arriving to a city? I know that for some reason some people around Bertie end in prision for different things, but less than six hours is record!

Has Cyril Bassington-Bassington called yet? On no account introduce him into theatrical circles. Vitally important. Letter follows.

I think that maybe this time the plot is against Bertie. The only thing he needs to avoid is to leave Cyril near anything theatre related, and the first thing he does is to present him to a scriptwriter!

Jolly old Caffyn has given me a small part in that musical comedy of his, Ask Dad. Only a bit, you know, but quite tolerably ripe. I’m feeling frightfully braced, don’t you know!” He drank his drink, and went on. He didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t jumping about the room, yapping with joy.

Cyril has talent!!

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go on the stage, you know,” he said. “But my jolly old guv’nor wouldn’t stick it at any price. Put the old Waukeesi down with a bang, and turned bright purple whenever the subject was mentioned. That’s the real reason why I came over here, if you want to know. I knew there wasn’t a chance of my being able to work this stage wheeze in London without somebody getting on to it and tipping off the guv’nor, so I rather brainily sprang the scheme of popping over to Washington to broaden my mind. There’s nobody to interfere on this side, you see, so I can go right ahead!”

And a good(?) idea! Cyril deserves a chance to be an actor and Wooster the chance to use purple socks, but he needs to mend his relationsip with Jeeves...

Hard decisions.

[jurassicteeth]

Inspiration for this doodle is from a convo with @mothrodent

[weepingwitchkingdom]

I wonder what people thought about Cyril and Runa's rivalry before it was revealed in TWT, like what did they think caused Runa and Cyril to hate each other so much? Did they think it was just a really bad breakup or something???

[aubrietarose]

Cyri showing off her colors for #WerewolfWednesday 

[saltiestblkgirlofall]

A Song of the Moon and the Sea [Chapter 1]

Summary: Even amongst her hidden people, there were stories of sirens and seductive creatures, lurking beneath the murky depths of the ocean. She had put little stock in her mother’s tales, until a battle forces her to land near a sea serpent’s domain.

Notes: So. Here I am, simping for the damn fishman. And who is surprised? Absolutely no one, least of all myself. I had to hop on the Namor bandwagon, it's only right. (Although I just wanna talk about that moment, and by talk I mean fry him up and serve him with butter sauce before licking the sauce off AYE) A lil bit of housekeeping: I write OC content. If you don't like that, adhere to the golden rule of fandom: don't like, don't read. And more than that, I write black female OCs exclusively. I, a Afro-Caribbean woman, write for myself first and foremost, I just post in the void. If you would like to be tagged, LMK. This story will (hopefully) have Saturday updates and be less than 10-15 chapters. Takes place in the same continuity as Spark.

Word Count: 1.75k

Warnings: Namor is his own warning and you can see the seeds for an obsession planted in his chapter.

177X

The crash had broken the still of his watch.

Namor had observed from a distance as something plummeted from the skies and crashed into the surf near the small, uninhabited island. Sense told him to leave matters be, to return to his people. He had heard the distant sounds of a battle, beyond the roar of the storms. Even at a distance, he could see flashes of light, hear unfamiliar screams. It had been less than a year since some stinking surfacer had washed up onto the shores of the island. Namor followed, intent on killing then dumping his body in the ocean. 

Only for the man, in the tongue of the hated invaders, to begin babbling about ‘angels’ and ‘demons’. From what he could glean before putting him out of his misery, his ship had been attacked by angels. They had ‘stolen’ the ship’s human cargo, brutally murdered the captain and then sunk the ship. 

He had sneered and stabbed him through the neck, before returning to the sea. Let the beasts of land have this carrion. 

Now…he wondered if that thing hadn’t just been babbling out of fear and pain. 

Through the darkness of the night he spotted something. A person. Small and feminine, wearing black armor and a pale mask which covered their face. A pair of long, silver white wings extended out from their back.

As he drew closer, the figure drifted down from the surface of the water, sinking like a rock towards the tranquil ocean floor. He was able to reach them, extending his arms. The tides gently pushed the body into his grasp.

What was this creature? This thing? Whatever it was, he should drown it. Clearly it did not possess the means to breathe underwater, as he did. 

Yet he rose, bringing them just above the water so that they could breathe. It was a woman, small and solid, based on its shape alone. The black and silver of their clothing, soaked through by the saltwater, glittered in the moonlight. 

After several moments, they choked, spluttered, and he saw water drip from the small gap between mask and face. Curious, he thought to himself. 

From behind the mask, he could see eyes the color of the moon staring back at him. They were bloodshot and confused. When she spoke, it was with a liquid accent, as smooth as seaglass. 

“Who are you?” She breathed. 

“My people call me Ku’Kul’Kan.” Her eyes widened behind the mask, ever so slightly. “But my enemies call me Namor.” He heard her sharply inhale, gasp, and clutch her side. When her hand came away, there was silver blood on her hand. He ignored this, focused on her eyes for a moment. Eyes were windows to the soul and he could see fear in them. Abject terror and flightiness. But something intrigued him. Reaching up, he made to take her mask off.

He grasped, and tried to pull, as she grabbed at his wrist, weakly trying to extract herself from his grasp. She struggled with all her might, and it did not even phase him. He cocked his head curiously and reached down, grabbing the smooth surface of the mask. He pulled. It did not give.

Her soft hands squeezed his wrist and she groused, “It won’t come off, even if you attempt to rip it from my face.” 

“And if I killed you?” Namor purred, a threat woven through the sensually intoned works. “Could I remove it then?” 

—

The woman was silent from the shock. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, like a bird fighting to be free of a cage. She could see her second’s disapproving expression now, his lips parting to tell her that she should not have sent the others away. Now here she was, in the grip of a man dripping in lunar stone, jade and precious metals. 

“You have nothing to gain from killing me.” 

It was a bluff. Breathless words thrown out by a woman who did not believe them. The man holding her stared silently, watching, waiting with his cruel, deep brown eyes. And then he smiled thinly, baring perfect white teeth with sharp incisors. The winged warrior squirmed in his grasp, but he held her fast and tight.

Would she see Valanca’s gates again? Or had this meeting only sealed her unpleasant fate? Her intent had been for this to be a straightforward raid. To destroy one of the surfacers’ grim, black boats, rescue their victims, and then return through the Moon Gate. Now she was at the mercy of…whoever this mysterious man was.

Her vision swam, body laboring from the numerous injuries she had sustained.

“No.” He finally answered. His smile remained the same, but his gaze grew just a shade warmer. Is he amused by me? She thought. “Although perhaps I may have nothing to gain from your harm, I would lose nothing by killing you.” The smile on his face grew sharp to the point of becoming threatening. Her chest began to ache, and true terror filled her body. He held her tight, preventing her escape. His physical strength far exceeded her own. “What do you think, my lool ujo?”

“Lool ujo?” She tasted the words on her tongue. “What are you talking about?” 

“I have told you of my name.” He said. “What of yours?” 

“…” The woman’s blood crawled. When her mother yet lived, she’d told tales of the surface. Of sirens which dragged even their kind down to the murky depths of the ocean. Never fly too close to the ocean, my child. Her mother had warned her, imploring her with large, dark eyes. 

“Cyrianthe.” She mumbled. His body felt firm and warm against hers. There was power in names and yet here she was giving hers freely, as though under compulsion. “My people call me Cyrianthe.” 

“Cyrianthe.” Her name sounded like sweet blasphemy upon his lips. Sensual in his musical accent. “And tell me, Cyrianthe. Why should I release you?”

“Because I mean you no harm.” Her voice was small, but steady. Firm. “I simply wish to rest and then return to my home.” 

“What makes you think I should let you go, hm?” Her mouth became dry, as though cotton had been stuffed into her throat. In his mind, she had already seen too much. She flailed, and the feeling of her wings smacking him caught him off guard. He dropped her, and Cyri took the opportunity to get away. 

—

Namor watched as, without a glance back, Cyrianthe swam (flailed) to the shore. It was clear she didn’t know how to swim, but he admired her tenacity. Her wings beat loudly against the water, not so graceful now that the feathers were saturated by the sea.

She crawled upon the beach, briefly removing her mask to retch up seawater and bile, but still, he could not see her face. Without bothering to replace it, she promptly collapsed halfway out of the water, wings spread wide. 

If she was left there, the surf would drag her back out to the ocean. And given her exhaustion, she was likely to drown. He watched, he waited, he sighed and swam towards the shore. As he emerged from the water, he took the opportunity to study her. 

She was wearing vibranium, but it felt different from that found in Talokan. Her black clothing felt soft, but when he pulled, it did not give, as though made of steel. Despite her pittance of strength, it was clear that she was a warrior of some sort. Kneeling down, he hefted her gentle weight into his arms, careful with her wings, and walked further up the sands with her. 

When they were clear of the shoreline, he placed her back down upon the white beach and stared. 

A high forehead, hair concealed by a wrap. A broad nose from which blood the color of molten silver dripped and plump lips, with high cheekbones. Her skin the color of freshly turned earth. Her brow was tensed in pain. The rising sun gave her skin an ethereal glow. 

Between her wings lay a sheath, and he pulled forth a sword with grooves etched into the sword. Slashing it downwards, he was shocked when it lengthened, becoming more akin to a bladed whip, blue-white energy crackling and sending a light shock up his arm. He turned the blade this way and that, admiring the craftsmanship. Carefully avoiding stepping her outstretched wings, he stepped around to Cyrithin’s head. 

Carefully, he turned her over onto her front. She didn’t appear to be bleeding there. Her chest rose and fell gently, and she let out what sounded like a moan of pain. He frowned, until his eyes trailed up to her wing. It was bent at a strange angle. Ah, he thought. It must be like sitting strangely on one’s leg or arm. 

He pushed her back onto her stomach, and her wing flopped onto the sand, free once more. 

The light caught on her hand. He leaned over her. And grinned at the sight. He crouched down for several moments, then stood back up and returned to the water—he had what he wanted. 

—

It was hours before she showed even the minimum signs of life. 

Namor watched as, an hour after sunset, she finally sat up. She looked around, as though dazed. 

Slowly, she staggered onto her feet. Her wings spread, silver from tip to tip, the great mass of feathers and bone engulfing her smaller body. The pale and cold light caught on her inhuman appendages, colors dancing against the glossy sheen of the feathers as she flapped once, twice. 

He couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away. 

She launched herself into the air and he dipped back beneath the waves as she flew over the ocean. 

She swooped low over where he hid, as though she could see him—sense him. Circled once. Twice. 

And then as quickly as she had appeared, she vanished into the dark, cloudy night. As though she had never been there at all. He peered at the knitted bracelet he had taken from her wrist—made of some fiber he could not put name to, embedded with pale stone. It looked worn—well loved. A little smirk curled his lips. It was a memento. A treasure of some sort. It must hold some value to her. 

The moon flower will come again, he thought, eyes fixed upon the night’s sentinel rising into the sky. 

And when she did, he would be waiting.

Translations:

lool ujo: Moon Flower

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @muse-of-mbaku

[3xm-draconic]

Debts to Pay. (werebat Cyris and Astarion story)

Summary: Cyris and the gang fight whimbly in her alchemy emporium…

“Ok we are here…now how do we get in and kill her? (hic)” Astarion hiccuped as he rubbed his painfully full stomach, “There is an open window up there, do you think you can fly or climb up to it and get inside so you can unlock the door?” Wyll turned to Astarion, “I (hic) think so…” he grumbled.

Astarion assumed the form of a little bat and attempted to fly but was…too…heavy.

Astarion came crashing back down where Cyris caught him in his arms “darlin let me do the climbing” he kissed the plump little snowy bat.

 Cyris tried to climb up…but only managed to scratch up his fingers “damn it” he hissed, “let me try” Wyll said as he used the spell “Levitation” to get himself up to the window “no luck guys, the door’s locked from the outside in here” he called back to the others, “let me try” Gale smirked.

Gale cracked his knuckles…and cast “FIREBALL” at the door. 

“Welp the door’s open now” Cyris mumbled as he, Gale and Batstarion hid from the guards who were coming to investigate, “Really Gale?!” Bastarion  chittered angrily, his tiny voice squeaking venomously at the wizard, “ah I’ve always wanted to do that…” he laughed.  

In the ensuing chaos they managed to sneak past the guards and into the store, it was a large open-market style shop full of alchemical and apothecary supplies, no one would ever suspect it to be a front of a large industrialized outpost drug lab.   

Wyll would be up stairs waiting to regroup with them after he lockpicked the door, while they explored the warehouse level of the building they watched the workers create some of Toril’s worst drugs, seeing all the intoxicants being created brought back painful memories to Cyris, even worse it bright back a craving for them.

But he was better now, he didn’t need Traveler’s Dust or Dreammist to escape, he finally had freedom and he wasn’t going back. Halfling-leaf on the other hand is something he enjoyed since his teen years back in the shire, smoking it with his dad and with his brothers after a hard day’s work in the garden, that he didn’t mind indulging in every once and a while.

Seeing the large bushes of the leafy plant artificially growing in magical planters sparked his intrigue “hmmm…maybe I should get some of those for the house…NO,  no focus!” he reprimanded himself “kill the bitch now, smoke a bowl later” he had to admit it though…it smelled good.

A sudden loud shriek and a succession of bangs caught their attention…

“Is that what I think it is…?” Gale hushly said in aw, “Holy…” Astarion and Cyris gawked, a little unicorn foal was stuffed in a cage much too small for it. Whimbly was smacking the cage viciously “SHUT UP!” she venomously hissed at the poor creature, “look!” Cyris pointed to another cage. Inside was another unicorn…

Its horn looked like it had…been amputated… along with two of its legs and its eyes…one of its ears…  

“Gods…” Astarion gasped “is…is this bitch selling unicorn parts as alchemical ingredients?” he snarled, “no” Cyris sadly turned to him “she’s turning them into Vornduir, it’s a drug made of “animal essence” and herbs. The more powerful the animal…”, Astarion and Gale frownd “the more potent the drug…”

“We need to act, I’am not letting her hurt those poor creatures” Astarion growled, “got a soft spot for ponies?” Cyris teased, Astarion rolled his eyes and kissed Cyris “yes…now let’s kill this old crone”.

They descended into action…

Astarion snipped two guards off the catwalks where he saw Wyll sneaking by to rejoin them, Gale buffed the party with a spell that made their weapons magical, Wyll dropped from the second floor right behind a third guard and took him out on the drop and Cyris bum-rushed Whimbly.

“Didn’t I kill you?” Whimbly drawled, “you did…I got over it” Cyris shrugged.

“Well, looks like I’ll have to make sure I put you in the ground myself this time” Whimbly snapped.

She casted a spell… “mass suggestion”...

Cyris was unaffected, Astarion and Gale made their will saves against it…Wyll though…

“Hey bozo, Kill your friends” Whimbly commanded,  great…now their fighting Wyll…

You see after Cyris made a deal with Mizora, Wyll’s patron, by promising to get her a really powerful magic item in exchange for Wyll to be free of his contract Wyll became a paladin…

A very, VERY powerful paladin…

“SHIT! Wyll, buddy snap out of it!” Cyris cried as Wyll started swinging at him, “Gale you have to break Whimbly’s concentration” Astarion shouted, Gale nodded…but unfortunately he was out of spell-slots… 

However…there was one tactic he had learned from Roger…

Gale ran up to Whimbly…

And bitch-slapped her.

Stunned silence filled the room…

“Ah. yes. I do believe I may have…fucked up..” Gale whimpered, “oh pretty boy~” Whimbly cood “you THINK?!” she snapped as she swung at him.

Gale ,who had been learning a monastic tradition from Roger, dodged her swing and immediately began running around the room like a frightened chicken…

Wyll stumbled out of his daze “what’s…happening?”, “Gale slapped a bitch and now he’s in hot water, we gotta bail him out!” Cyris said as he charged at the hag, “Gale did WHAT?!” Wyll gawked, Astarion was laughing too hard to really answer him.

Cyris tackled Whimbly to the floor and started whaling on her with his claws, Astarion and Wyll handled the guards as Gale regained his breath…

Whimbly knocked Cyris aside but he recovered and took a large metal rod from a box nearby and used it to pin her against a support beam…

“Cyris…doll~” she murmured sweetly “you kill me you’ll kill your mother, I have her Soul contracted to mine~” she hummed, Cyris growled “YOU'RE LYING!” he bent the rod around her, holding her in place “My mother would never come to you!”

Whimbly smiled “oh sunyboy…my sweet baby…she came looking for you a LONG time ago…”

Cyris smiled in return…

“You know something whimbls…when you live with a gambler like you for so long you pick up on their tells…” Cyris picked up a bottle of alchemist’s grease “and I KNOW when you are bluffing…”  

Whimbly frowned and her eyes widened “don’t. YOU. DARE!” she screamed…

Cyris dumped the bottle over her…

Then lit a match…

They freed the unicorns and all the others who were kept prisoner by Whimbly and they even got the stone…too bad now half the dock district is now on fire…

The gange walked back to the mansion bruised up but otherwise unscathed.

“I can’t wait to propose to Fireworks!” Wyll hummed happily “I want to do it in the garden if thats ok with you, she loves the fountain and all the birds that come by to drink from it”, “go for it” Astarion nodded as Cyris gave Wyll a thumbs up.

“Speaking of darling~” Astarion turned to Cyris, “after the brain is dead you have a very important job to do”, “right, planning our wedding” he ginned, “not just that sunshine” Astarion nuzzled him “you have to introduce me to your family”.

[lilakrain-exe]

Hunters, those who stalk the outer bounderies of the Ecliptic line, are undaunted by the anomolies and stowaways who gather there, easily taking in any who have wronged the Havens or those sought after by more lucrative buyers. Cyris has chosen the life of the bounty hunter, growing his power and waiting to pick up the scent of his arch nemesis. Wating for his chance to kill the calamity that once destroyed his life.

[the-director-clavell]

VELLY!!! 😘😘😘

I forgot to ask you,,, But what are your 'pronouns'? I vaguely remember Crispin explaining them to me, but all I can remember him saying is that mine are 'he/him'. ;)

ALSO I hope you're having ✨✨✨GREAT MORNING✨✨✨

@director-cyrano

My what now? Ah right, this is all the rage with the children. "He/him" should suffice, thank you.

[skelebellie]

some memes i bullshitted based off cyris’ time back in baldurs gate.

and it wasn’t an accident. cyris practically punted the kid into waterdeep.

[kota-stoker]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPENED!

Five slots are available, more information regarding rules and prices can be found here.

Note that the prices had to be readjusted again.

Some of the works I’ve done in the past:

Astarion and Ilfirine for @int9

Cyris and @lingering-nomad's Szordryn for @ashensparrow

Astarion and Haedir for @catnip-tequila

Thorn for @bi0ticbitch

Astarion and Nym for @changeling-fae

[mostautisticangel]

don't you just hate it when the autism is an actual disability instead of Lie In Your Bed And Write Fanfiction While Listening To The Same Song On Loop For Seven Hours Disease

[eirinstiva]

Wooster: How can I stop Cyril's theatre career?

Jeeves: Well...

Last year I met at least two kids of the same age saying meaning things to other people, and just like in this story, their parents said anything and laughed off their kids' words. Use this as a plot weapon in priceless ✨

[jurassicteeth]

Men are awesome 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨