#tyril x f!mc

[missameliep]

Bonds of Sea and Fire - Part 2 (Blades of Light and Shadow)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x Arwen (MC - F!Elf)

Summary: How can trust be forged? At the Wraith's deck, Arwen and Tyril have a conversation under the stars.

Word count: ~3.000

Rating: G

Notes:

* English is not my native language;

* Characters belong to PixelBerry;

* This takes place between chapters 6 and 7 from Blades of Light and Shadow - Book 1.

This is my submission to @choicesaugustchallenge hosted by the lovely @lilyoffandoms - Day 10: late night talking under the stars

At the deck of the ship, Imtura was on her natural environment. Not a member of the pirate crew would dare blink at one of the instructions the captain shouted.  

The Wraith’s sails, filled with a fair wind, spread like wings, taking them away from those cursed islands until they vanished. The sunrays peppered the waters with a shimmer that rivaled the fae fishes’ glow, and there was so much beauty in the world one could risk forgetting the dangers lurking not only in the shadows. 

The waves were like mischievous kids, crashing against the hull and spreading a salty misty all over the deck, heaving the ship high into the air just to let it fall and catch it once more.

The motion was harsher than she’d like, however Arwen was confident. Confident the ship would carry them to the shore no matter the weather. A confidence born from the faith on Imtura’s abilities and determination to find the missing shards and bring Kade back.  

The challenges faced were enough to seal the bond and she came to trust not only her, but all the companions – even if the feeling might not be mutual when it comes to one of them. Her gaze, like in so many occasions these past days, was instantly drawn to the other elf of the party, cleaning the blade of his sword at the opposite side of the deck.

With a heavy sigh, Arwen lets her head fall back on her crossed arms. Eyes on the blue sky and on the passing white clouds, she tries to relax, but her mind constantly drifts to the two shards inside her satchel. Two more to go. At least a week’s journey until Undermount after beaching.  

Hopefully, they’d find the next one there. 

Hopefully, she’d also find the answers to questions of a lifetime. Her heart races with the idea of finally be among her own people. Her people. What a change would it be! 

While the sun gently sinks on the horizon, its golden rays set the sky ablaze; the blue welcoming all shades of orange and red. 

The first star appears, and dusk announces the time of joyful songs, chatter and games. Bottles of the strong orcish ale are passed from hand to hand, while the sound of seagulls is replaced by extraordinary tales, laughter and music.   

The party of adventures eagerly joined the crew, except for Tyril, who does not seem to share the same enthusiasm or friendliness. The elf managed to keep himself the further away from the buzz without jumping ship. After days spent at the sea without a moment of quiet solitude, she supposes he’s reached some personal limit. 

While Threep was gnawing the third fish on a stick, Nia smiled listening to all sorts of anecdotes and jokes, blushing at the obscenities spilling from the sailors’ mouths and Mal’s as well. The man is not intimidated by the orcs towering over him and sat at the improvised table for a game of cards.  

Mal winked at Arwen when she caught a glimpse of one card tucked into his shirt, and she stifled a chuckle at his audacity or sheer recklessness before returning the gesture. Their flirtation, she notices, assumes more and more an air of camaraderie. 

Her contemplation is halted when the bench squeals with Imtura’s weight. The orc slumps beside Arwen with a smirk, gulps the ale and offers the bottle to the elf. 

“Enjoying the sail, landrat?” 

“I’ll be fine as long as there are no storm and no more grobtars,” Arwen quips.  

The orc let’s out a loud guffaw and with a massive hand pats her shoulder. “Worry not! Just good weather ahead. And trust me, if those grobtars know what’s best for them, they’ll avoid the Wraith for a long long time...” 

Besides them, the alcohol blushed Nia’s cheeks, and loosen Mal’s tongue, who shares the most passionate narratives about his deeds and conquers, who involves a lot of flirting his way out of trouble. 

“What’s wrong with that elf friend of yours?” Imtura asks, tilting her head in his direction. “Afraid of the sea, is he?” 

Arwen shrugs, unsure if the orc is concerned about Tyril or annoyed by his aloofness like the rest of the crew seems to be.  

Listening to the exchange, Nia suggests someone should invite him to join them for a cards game and cast a not-so-subtle look at Arwen. She wonders if Nia noticed the fleeting glances exchanged between the two or assumes she’s got a better chance at talking him into accepting the offer for being an elf herself. Either way, she accepts the challenge.  

Without a word, she takes the bottle, stands up and unconsciously rake her fingertips through her windblown hair, combing it back in place as much as possible. 

The wooden floor creaks beneath her feet when she approaches him, who glances over his shoulder acknowledging her presence. 

Tucking stray locks of his long hair behind an ear, his gaze follows her attentively, and by his expression and the absence of a scowl, she chooses to believe her company is a welcomed one.  

Tipping the bottle of ale at him, he purses his lips and shakes his head.  

“My senses must be sharp.” 

“Imtura says we can expect nothing but good weather,” she replies leaning against the railing beside him, but keeping some respectful distance. 

“The sea is untrustworthy,” Tyril confides.  

There’s bitterness when the elf utters the last word that is not missed by her keen senses. After the past days of companionship and fighting side by side, she hoped his opinion of the party would have changed for the better. Or mostly, his opinion of her.  

“Is it only the sea you do not trust?” she asks and grimaces after gulping the strong ale. 

Mulling at her words, he fixed his gaze at the starry sky. 

“Have you ever seen a swordsmith working?” 

Even though it was an unusual question, Arwen confirmed she had seen many times the blacksmith at Riverbend forging all sorts of objects. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the heat in the air and hear the clang of metal on metal. 

“The craftmanship requires not only strength, but mostly diligence and a great dose of patience. The swordsmith cannot hurry the process otherwise the blade might flake and shatter… Trust, I’ve learnt, must be forged like a sword. And one cannot be certain it is perfected and will withstand until it’s drawn and tested. Peace is not a good test for a sword, like a smooth sea does not make a skilful sailor,” he concluded in his grave tone without meeting her eyes. 

“Trust, friendship and loyalty, I believe, can be forged by different and unexpected means.”  

Her statement is met by a quizzical stare that lingers far too long to be ignored.  

“You think I am naïve.” Her words break the heavy silence that fell upon them. 

Something crosses Tyril’s face, and he shakes his head to deny her assumption.  

“I do not, but...”  

There’s a long pause and she struggles to not fill the silence.  

His gaze flicks from her face to the infinite dark sea surrounding them, and she almost expects him not to complete the sentence. But he speaks again and when he does, his words are drowning in sorrow. “If you freely offer your trust to the undeserving of such gift, they’ll take it for granted and won’t hesitate before stabbing your back...” 

His body has become so rigid with tension that if not for his long raven strands blown by the salty breeze one could mistake him with a statue. While he stares at the sky, she wonders which kind of betrayal stole his faith in others. 

“What do you suggest then? Should I mistrust everyone including yourself?”  

Her questioning sound a lot like teasing, which partly is her intention to try and light the mood. However, judging by the seriousness of his expression contemplating the sky as if the answer could be hidden among the stars, he considers it worthy of a genuine answer. 

“Trust no one outside your house.” He pauses and his gaze turns away from the sky to meet hers. “I learned it from my father once I was old enough to stand on my own feet. Your house and your blood – those are the sole things that matter and upon which you can rely on...” His face remains impassive, but his voice wavers with emotion and she struggles to control the urge to reach for his hand. “I suggest you consider the advice from someone who’s seen what happens if one loses sight of that...” 

Sipping the ale, she cast a longing glance at the sea and thinks of her life at the nurturing community of Riverbend. Such a long way from where they are now! Her thoughts return to Kade, her only family. His blood is not her blood, but her fate and his are the same. They were united to share the kind of sincere love that would take either of them to the ends of the earth to save the other, just like she is doing now. 

“Not some advice easily taken...” she mutters the words hoping they’d disappear into the throat of the bottle. “Not when you’re twice orphaned....”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, a glimpse of sorrow crossing them, before he uttered an attempt to apologise in what she assumes is part of Undermount’s fine etiquette.  

“It was a long time ago...” she dismisses with a forced smile, despite the hollow in her chest that aches more frequently than she would let anyone suspect. “With no house to have my back... I guess my experience and perspective on the matter might be a little different from yours...”  

He nods, and his gaze contemplates her face until he averts his eyes. “I suppose.”  

She releases a breath, thankful he does not press on.  

When she looks back at him, Tyril’s chin tilted up, exposing his elegant long neck, and his gaze is fixed on the stars again.  

Maybe he’ll speak of the constellations, she hopes; maybe he’s lost in thoughts that are not meant to be shared with her, which would be less desirable. Her heart aches, fearing to have this moment abbreviated. 

Arwen takes another swig at the ale, building the courage to bring another topic and encourage him to maybe speak more of himself. She doesn’t exactly know why, but she craves to learn more... Probably because he’s an elf and holds the knowledge she so long desired; or maybe that’s just what she keeps telling herself to not think about the other reason for her eagerness... 

She licks her lips, and a warm smile curls them.   

“May I ask you a question?”  

His long black hair sways when his head turns, and his eyes return to her face. It’s difficult to determine if it’s the sight of him and his piercing eyes or the sea that makes her sway gently. 

“Are you a poet, Lord Tyril of Undermount?” 

“Excuse me?”  

“A poet,” the words slowly roll from her tongue.  

“You mock me?” he scowls, and she stifles a giggle. 

His face is always ready to respond with indignation, as if expecting to always meet the worst in those around him. It’s amusing, but also makes her wonder the depths of the loneliness this mindset brings. The frown is back, and she'd like to erase it with a kiss, right between his eyebrows, to help erase whatever poisons his mind.   

“Mock you? Absolutely not,” she stresses the negative word and heaves her hands in theatrical surrender, unable to supress the grin parting her lips. “I’d never dare mock someone who could slice me in half like butter and not break a sweat!” And look like a gorgeous angel of death while doing so...  

“I’d never draw my sword against you!” his response is quick and apparently more truthful than he intended.

The butterflies on her stomach almost flee through her mouth, taking her voice away with them, but she whispers, “You wouldn’t?”

He coughs and covers his mouth.  

“Don’t be absurd!” he scoffs. “Everyone knows that is not the appropriate punishment for mockery and slander according to the elven code!” 

“Oh, right,” she utters with sheer disappointment. 

The graveness of his expression gives way to the slightest twitch of his lips, and that’s when she sees it: the small, almost imperceptible smile, and the glint of mischief in his eyes.  

She gasps, “Was that... a joke?” 

“Everybody knows I do not joke about such matters. Or any matter at all.” His face is still quite serious, but his voice not so much. It wavers as if he's struggling to contain the laughter bubbling inside. What would it take for him to let it out? “Beware, if you sustain those false accusations, you might face time in the dungeon...”

“Oh! We don’t want that, do we?” she teases.

The amusement reaches the corners of his eyes. 

“Wow! You cracked a joke and evaded the question... I’m impressed, Tyril!” 

“Ludicrous allegations are not worthy a rebuttal,” he finally says, his words coated by a lilt of a laugh and his lips slightly curled at the corners. But it isn’t enough. She needs to see him smiling, unabashedly baring his teeth, cackling with her... so relaxed that his beautiful blue skin would be freed of the soft lines marking the area in between his eyebrows.

“Too late! I already have evidence.”

“Evidence?” he echoes.

Grinning, Arwen moves a little closer, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

“The sword was a good metaphor. Fits a trained warrior like yourself, but hints you got the heart of a poet hidden in there…” She points at his chest, and his eyes narrow, but not in a menacingly way; there’s a hint of amazement at the gesture. When one of her fingertips lightly touches the armour over his heart, Tyril visibly swallows, despite not drinking anything. 

A teasing smile plays on her lips, appreciating the way his cheeks have darkened again, tinting themselves in that lovely shade of lavender she’s fascinated with. Would his cheeks be soft and warm against her fingers? 

“And since you did not deny my assumption, from now on, I’ll be picturing you writing poetry late at night, pen in hand, eyes squinted in concentration... Warrior by day, poet by night...” 

He takes a deep breath and a step away from her, then sharp words fly from his tongue, “How could I make time for poetry when the Shadow Court is spreading their corruption in these lands? Endangering the entire world? I could never waste precious time with such frivolity!” 

“Can’t you do both?” Her lips roll inside her mouth, and she moistens them, giving them both time to contemplate the idea. “Can’t you allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the beauty in the world, love and whatever else moves you... without losing sight of your quest? I believe it can be a motivating force to achieve greater things...” 

“You assume much about myself, including that I would have any talent for poetry...” 

“I’m certain you do, and I envy you.”  

A wistful smile curls her lips when she remembers the first time she saw the sea at Port Parnassus, the way her heart filled with so much joy and craved to have Kade’s talents and compose a song to immortalize that feeling, to share it with him once they are reunited.  

“When I first saw the sea, I was just...Wow!” She waved her hands to try and convey all that excitment. “My first thought when my brain stopped screeching was 'Gods, I wish Kade was here!'” She takes a deep breath, and leans forward, letting both her elbows rest on the railing, the bottle held close against to her chest. “If he were there, he'd have the perfect words... and five minutes later he'd pop a new song and just capture that moment... you know? But he was not there... I was and it seemed like a waste of prettiness... What will I tell him?” She shrugged. “The sea was huge... and blue... and... I don’t do metaphors! And I'm physically uncapable of rhyming!” 

“Maybe you underestimate your capabilities...” he said softly when she stopped rambling.

The bottle almost plummeted into the dark waters, and she took it to her lips once more, before speaking again.

“Kade is the storyteller, the singer... My talent with words is from an entirely different nature.” She winked at him to make sure he understood what she meant by that, and he looked away, which usually is not what happen when she does that with her charming smile.

“Hey! Kit, are you and Elf boy coming over or what?” Mal question rings in the air and she’s reminded of what she came to do in the first place.  

“Would you like to join us? We’re playing cards, sharing tales…” 

A mere glance at the groups, and the crease between his eyebrows returns and looks even deeper than before.  

She risks a pat on his arm, and says softly, “The swordsmith needs something to work on...”  

Tyril’s eyes flick to her face, and his reluctance slowly vanishes. With a nod, he accepts the suggestion and follows her towards the improvised table. 

“Oh, look!” Nia cries, “How fortunate! Mal was about to tell us of the encounter with Duke Erthax!” 

“Listen closely, elf boy, you can learn a thing or two!” 

Tyril halts and Arwen looks over her shoulder.  

“Does your party really requires a thief?”  

“We’ve been through this,” she huffs amused, “you cannot throw Mal overboard.” 

The elf sighs.  

“May I?” Tyril asks, pointing at the bottle, and she hands it. The elf coughs loudly after taking a swig not anticipating the pungent taste, drawing the attention of the group who failed at pretending not to pay attention at the two of them. 

“It’ll get better.” She pats his arm lightly. 

“The taste?” he snorts. “I highly doubt that!” 

“Everything.” She winks and receives the bottle from Tyril’s hand.  

When he crosses the last steps and takes a seat with the others, she smiles to herself, celebrating this small victory, anticipating the others certainly to come. 

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AtoW: Oct 6 - 12, 2024

✒️ = Fanfic | 📱 = Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA+

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Bonds of Sea and Fire (Series) ✒️ | Tyril Starfury x F!Elf!MC - @missameliep Part 3

Daenarya 🎨🏳‍🌈 | F!Human!MC - @acesamateurart C: @storyofmychoices

Strike a Pose 🎨 | Aerin Valleros x F!Human!MC - @erixadraws

The love I gave you is yours to keep 🎨 | Aerin Valleros x F!Human!MC - @erixadraws

DESIRE AND DECORUM

Once Upon a Summer - Part 1 ✒️ | Hamid x F!MC - @missameliep

GHOST OF US

Grey and MC 🎨🏳‍🌈 | F!Grey Morrison x F!MC - @pilitella C: @haruyuki728

HIGH SCHOOL STORY

Take me high, high, high, high ✒️🏳‍🌈 | Aiden Zhou x M!MC - @zhoumeyourlove

OPEN HEART

Autumn's Embrace ✒️ | Bryce Lahela x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

Diagnosis: Jealousy ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @jerzwriter

Our Miracle Baby (Series) ✒️ | Rafael Aveiro x F!MC - @rafasgirl23415 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Pumpkin Heist 📱 | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @liaromancewriter

THE PRINCESS SWAP

Safe With Me ✒️ | M!Clarke x F!MC - @bri1234

RED CARPET DIARIES

Forehead Kiss 🎨 | Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @cashweasel C: @theartoflovingthomashunt

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Ghosted (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @kristinamae093 Chapter 13: Family Ties

Princesa Real 2 (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @belencha77 Chapter 43: El peso de la verdad Chapter 44: Conflictos y promesas Chapter 45: Conflictos y promesas Chapter 46: Sombras del pasado

Turning the Page (Series) | Liam Rys x F!MC - @tessa-liam Chapter 15: Bridge of Dreams

CROSSOVERS

High School Story / Princess Swap

The Prince Swap (Series) ✒️ | M!MC & M!MC - @lover-also-fighter-also, @cadybear420 Chapter 1 - Part 2: How To Be You

[lovehugsandcandy]

like a ghost into the fog

Pairing: Aerin x f!MC, Blades of Light and Shadow

Ratings: Explicit/18+/N*FW (the last part contains sex, maybe swearing?)

Word Count: ~4,600

A/N: Title from 'Round Here' by the Counting Crows

Summary: 5 times Aerin and Raine weren't reunited and 1 time they were

i.

The desert is boiling, even at night, and Raine lacks both the motivation and strength to set up a tent. Instead, she merely unfurls her bedroll directly onto the sand and plops down, exhaustion both physical and mental making even another step just out of reach.

She waits, until she can hear Tyril's quiet rhythmic breath, until Imtura has settled and stilled, as the darkness surrounds her like a shroud. Then, the tears start, slowly at first, tracing down the slope of her cheek, and then faster, harder, until she realizes that dehydrating herself in the middle of an endless desert is foolish, but she can't stop her eyes from pouring out onto the sand below.

Of all the troubles she knew she would encounter in her quest, the sudden disappearance of the fallen prince hadn't even registered. But now that it's happened, she can think of nothing else.

Swiping at her cheeks, she turns her attention to the night sky over her head. Above, where there had been only darkness, pinpricks of light work their way through the night. At first, it's one star, then two, and then a blaze, constellations popping from the atmosphere faster than she can count. It’s dizzying, the swirl of stars above her head in the desert’s open void; the sobs slow, then cease, tears drying in the omnipresent heat, and each new bloom of light sparks a bloom of hope.

She can see The Lovers, tied together in the southwest sky, while Nithrax stands guard in the north, and she can trace each constellation as clearly as if they were ink on parchment, clear sky a canvas for the points of light and images of the Gods above her.

And finally, above her, the crescendo of this nighttime vision—a shooting star, sweeping overhead, brighter and brighter as it flies across the horizon. Her breath stalls, waiting, as it peaks in the distance, before its arc descends and slowly, gradually, it fades away.

She releases the breath she was holding, and the exhale sounds like prayer in the night. Maybe the star was a portent. Maybe the journey would ease. Maybe they could close the rifts. Maybe her heart could heal. And maybe he would find peace, in whatever shape it took.

Maybe the stars would align for them again.

And with that hope, underneath the blanket of stars twinkling to her, she finally sleeps.

Only seven miles away but a world apart, Aerin tends the fire outside his tent, poking at the tendrils of flame with a stick. It’s quiet in the woods, with only the stray chirp of a cricket or popping of tinder to keep him company, but he’s still alert, attuned to the surrounding darkness. Horrors can emerge abruptly in the night, he knows it as well as anyone, and a battle alone amid the moonlight would be far more treacherous than if he had companions at his back.

Raine.

The name comes to him unbidden, and he pushes it away. He can’t help her; Gods, he can’t help anyone, least of all himself. All he can do is keep the small fire alive and ponder his next move.

Once the blaze is stable, he leans back in a huff, rich grass buffeting his head, and gazes up through the trees. Past the rich foliage, he can just see a few stars, light fighting through the gauzy clouds, and he tries to focus his mind on his next move when he sees it—there!—peeking through the trees, moving above him, a curving light far above the atmosphere. 

He’s seen shooting stars before, a few, huddled alone and shaking amid the castle towers, but this is different. Its light is pure and bright even at distance, and he can’t take his eyes off of the sparkling trail.

Some ancient peoples thought that shooting stars were foreboding, predicting evils yet to come.

Others thought they promised good fortune to all who were lucky enough to see them, sprinkling magic and luck through the trailing sparkle.

He watches the star’s graceful orbit across the sky until it’s blocked by the trees above, disappearing in the ceiling of green, and he wonders what fortune the star would bring to him.

ii.

It feels like an eternity that he’s been traveling alone but Aerin knows it’s only been about a week (8 days, 7 hours, and 13 minutes since he stole away in the night - he’s not counting but the ache makes it impossible to ignore just how much time has passed). In that time, Aerin has learned how loudly his thoughts echo in the dark, how quickly rations are depleted when he doesn’t have access to simple shops, how vile the word ‘traitor’ is when hissed by those who catch sight of him.

He’s learned how important it is to stick to the shadows.

His hood stays over his head, tightly, hiding his hair, and when he bows his head, he can sneak by unnoticed, skirt the edges of crowds as he moves through the small towns that dot the coast.

He’s in such a small town, an hour south of Port Parnassus, huddled in the back booth of a dingy tavern. His companions - past companions - would be at home here, particularly the thief; the room is full of shadowy corners and the patrons pay him no mind, lost in their own dealings and trickery. He sips his ale, slowly, lost in thought; the din doesn't permeate his senses, not even when the door opens and a blast of cool ocean air sweeps the room.

He doesn't hear the jangle of coins, misses the awed voices ('the Hero of Morella'), doesn't recognize the hushed tones across the room.

When the door opens again, he again doesn't notice, lost in his own world, in the shadows (is the darkness in the tavern or is it in him?). 

He just sits and thinks and aches.

iii.

Aerin's fingers linger over the familiar bottle, asphodel in liquid form, vial cool to the touch. The shelf is lined with stopped bottles, reagents, tinctures, salves, and balms. He grabs the ground evenbloom, looking at the label while debating which would be the best investment of his dwindling stash of coin, when a bell rings from the front.

"Hello, travelers!" He ignores the shopkeeper's greetings until he hears the response.

"Hello!" Nia's ducelet tone rings out and, even now, months since he has seen her, he knows it is her like he knows his own hand. The vial almost falls from his grasp and he rushes to return it to its place. "You have an amazing shop! We just wanted to look around, if we may."

We. And footsteps, multiple. Nia's not alone. Aerin is torn - the desire to peer around the corner, to catch just one glimpse, is sudden, overwhelming. He's already started tiptoeing down the aisle before he stops.

"I'm almost out of herbs," Mal says. Aerin can't breathe, freezes in place. He just-

"Is your chest still bleeding?" Tyril asks and Aerin cannot stay to hear the rest. He glances around and, right there, behind him, is a small doorway. He makes a break for it, footfalls as quiet as possible, dodging past a surprised employee before pushing out the back. 

The doorway leads to an alleyway, and he sprints faster, following maze-like corridors until he's sure he's free of the group. 

Unfortunately, one cannot outrun guilt.

He stops only when he is halfway across the city, chest heaving in exertion in a side alley. The cobblestones are uneven under his feet, and the buildings around him are covered in soot, but it's a shadowed place to hide. He sucks in a breath and sputters, smoke from the butcher nearby catching in his lungs. This is absolutely pitiful behavior, unseemly even for a former prince, even for one who's fallen from glorious heights to tragic lows, and he slumps against the wall, ashamed.

He can't- he can't be seen. He has no excuse, nothing of worth to share, nothing by way of explanation, and the world to atone for. His legs give out and he sinks to the ground, amid the dirt and grime, and buries his head in his hands.

He doesn't move until after nightfall, when the darkness around him provides comforting anonymity, when he can vanish into the darkness.

iv.

It's ridiculous. Raine knows how foolish it is, so she keeps her mouth shut, leaves her friends to enjoy the festival, and slinks through the crowds. She knows there are many festivals throughout the small towns that circle the capital, occuring often, ale flowing for days, so it's a nonsensical desire but she sets her sights on a small tent at the edge of the fairgrounds. Purple and gold striped flags flutter in the gentle wind as she steps closer to her goal.

She's almost there, fifteen yards away at most, when a flap of the fortune teller's tent opens, a hooded figure emerging to slide quickly into the crowd.

Her heart catches in her throat. She couldn't be sure, but it almost- it could have been-

Her feet move before her mind catches up, sprinting towards him. She doesn't have a plan and doesn't know what she would say or demand or, in her weakest moments, beg. She just moves, her legs charging forward, dodging through the crowd, pushing past tourists and townsfolk alike. At one point, a vendor pushes a cart into her path, and she leaps, soaring through the air only to vault over the wares, never missing stride, keeping the deep green of his hood in sight.

Her heart pounds, legs straining with the effort as she catches up, closer, ten yards, then five, darting around a small child and diving forward, shoulder to the small of his back as her hands wrap around his waist. They fall forward into a pile of limbs, bystanders gasping as they roll together, head over feet, their momentum landing them sprawled in front of a cart selling ales and liquors.

“What by the Gods are you-”

She leans over and tugs the hood off his head. “Aer-” The word dies on her lips as blond hair emerging in a messy tangle. It’s not him. She sags against the earth and only her pride prevents her from weeping. It’s never him.

“What is wrong with…” The man trails off, pushing up onto his elbows as his glare softens. “Aren’t you the Hero of Morella?”

She doesn’t feel heroic now, side smeared with mud, palm scraped from her tumble. Words don’t exist to describe the mortification and loss she feels; she pushes up to her feet, head hanging down. “I’m sorry; I must have confused you with someone else.”

And she flees.

Across the fairgrounds, Aerin drops a pair of coins into the palm of the fortune teller. If she recognizes him, she doesn’t say a word; her eyes widen for an instant before she beckons him to sit. He settles into his chair, nose wrinkling as the incense wafts through the room, and wrinkled fingertips slowly turn his hand.

“I see a betrayal in your past. It cuts you deep, to this day, regret like a stone holding you down.”

"This is sounding very familiar," he drawls. "Repetitive almost."

She continues on as if he said nothing, finger tracing a path across his palm. "You had a decision to make recently. I see the crossroads, here." She points to something, but Aerin only sees flesh. "Did you make your decision?"

He blinks. "Yes." He wishes he felt as sure as he sounded.

"Good." She turns to his other palm. "For your future-"

"Dark and full of terror? Unyielding pain?"

"Don't you think you've had enough of that?" she chides. "I see knowledge. It's always been important to you, knowledge, learning, but it's critical now. She needs it."

"Who?" 

She ignores his question, but he's certain he already knows the answer. Everything always comes back to Raine. "There is knowledge only you hold that needs to come to light." Her hand tightens in his palm. "She needs to know."

"What… what knowledge?"

Her face is imploring, but she doesn't answer, only dropping his palm against the table. When it becomes apparent she’s finished, he turns to leave, but her voice stops him midstride. "One last thing, Prince-"

"Former Prince."

"-she has forgiven you."

He pauses, narrowing his eyes, hand clutching the tent flap behind him. "Really."

"She has."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Do you really?" Her stare is hard. His chest suddenly aches, a dull pain right in the center underneath layers of scarring and recrimination; he can't help shivering at a memory of lips ghosting across his scar. "The question is," she continues, "have you forgiven yourself?"

There's no answer he can give to that question, no reply in any realm that could come close to encompassing his complicated feelings on that subject. He only turns, slipping out of the tent, vanishing into the crowds and the night.

v.

Raine is tired, the type of exhaustion that seeps into weary bones and lingers, a perpetual twinge embodying her every movement. They are no closer to ridding Nia of shadow, and, as days pass, her condition worsens, more and more of her time and thoughts spent in a haze of darkness. She is tired of fighting, tired of worrying, and, right now, wants nothing more than to sink into the exquisite bed in this palace room and stay there until the problems of the realm are nothing more than memories lost to the passage of time.

She crosses the room, intending to do exactly that, but pauses at the sight of a parcel on her bed. It's small, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, folded piece of paper balanced atop. She tilts her head. Is it clothing? Is there some royal party she had forgotten about?

The top of the paper is blank, but, when she unfolds it, the first word makes her start, paper falling in a gentle sway onto the plush carpet.

It's not the word. Her name is a perfectly logical start to a letter. But the writing - neat, regal. She knows that handwriting, knows it like the back of her hand, has traced those lines while huddled away in her tent, unsteady fingers walking over the consonants and vowels more times than she can count.

She stoops to get the paper, and it trembles in her hand; she takes three steadying, deep breaths- inhale, exhale, breathe- before she continues reading.

Raine-

I apologize I cannot give you this in person; though, of all the apologies you are owed, perhaps this minor one is all I can yet provide.

I told you I would be there if you needed me and my understanding is that, perhaps, that time has come. I know better than most how to remove shadow corruption and, while I am loath to dredge up these particular memories, it seems like you need them now more than ever.

Please find everything you need within this package. The ritual is complex, difficult, but if anyone can succeed, it's you.

Yours, always,

Aerin

She looks around, blinking stray tears from her eyes, but the room is empty. With the halls teeming with knights and guards, it should be impossible for anyone to sneak in, but he knows this castle better than most and, in particular, this room, the one he chose for her before, before, before. That he could slip in, past the guards, past her friends, and find this very room? The security risk alone should concern her; instead, she is almost comforted. Even in an opulent cage, even in her darkest times, he can still reach her. 

She wishes she could have reached him, too.

She opens the parcel with shaking fingers: a large book, three tallow candles smelling slightly of sage, a gilded cloth wrapped tightly around the blade of a stout knife, a pink crystal glowing softly in the candlelight. Her fingers pause over each one, taking in the gifts he left for her, imagining that the warmth of his palms still lingered over the items he so carefully wrapped.

Once she has examined each and every one, she cracks open the tome and begins to read, exhaustion gone as she drives toward a solution. 

i.

It's not obvious, but, by now, she knows the signs. The movement of the door, a whisper over silence and just enough to make her stir. The change in the air, barely perceptible by her skin but just enough to make the goosebumps erupt on her arms. She groans. Why is he here? The coronation is tomorrow!

"What do you want, Mal?"

A throat clears behind her. "Not Mal. Though I apologize if you were expecting him."

She sits up so fast that the sheets fly from her torso, pooling around her as she peers into the darkness. She's in a nightgown, the chill of the night prickling her skin, but she's wide awake now, too stunned to be embarrassed. Her breath is caught in her throat as there's one footstep, then another, and finally, he's appearing out of the shadows, a dreamt-of apparition made solid before her eyes.

"By the Gods," she murmurs, edging to the side of the bed, her bare feet finding the stone floor as she takes him in.

He looks tired, dark smudges under his eyes, slightly pale, but well, alive, pulling back his hood to nod a greeting. "Raine. I just wanted to congratulate you on your coronation tomorrow."

"Aerin. Where have you… what have you…" She stands, toes curling to steady her trembling legs, sheets slipping to the ground. Tomorrow, she is to be Queen; she truly should be far more articulate. "...you're here. In Whitetower."

"I've been here for a while, actually."

"Yet you never made my way to visit me?"

His smile is wry, and the blush that flits across his cheeks is so familiar that she can almost pretend to feel its heat warm her palms. "I wanted to. The whole escaped felon and enemy of the realm situation puts a damper on social visits, you know."

"The documents are already drawn. I'm going to pardon you. Tomorrow. After…" She trails off as he blinks dumbly at her.

"I-  I'm not sure that would go well with your citizenry."

She can see through him in a heartbeat, his foot scuffing a jagged trail against the floor. "You saved Nia." She takes a hesitant step forward and, when he makes no move to flee, continues closing the distance. "I don't care what anyone has to say about it, including you. You are worthy." She takes care to stress the last word, but he only shakes his head.

"No, you saved her; you were able to complete the ritual."

"With your guidance. Your faith in me was not misplaced, Aerin."

He shrugs one shoulder. "It never was."

"And mine was not misplaced in you." She watches him through her lashes. Up close, he embodies all the memories she clutched so close in the night. Tangled curls trace down his forehead, sloping over eyes brimming with intelligence, and the pout of his lips is so intimately familiar that her stomach lurches. "Did you-" She could curse the hitch in her voice. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

He glances away, avoiding her gaze; moonlight filtered through the clouds highlights his face, and his eyes glow like gemstones. "I… there is still more work to be done."

"Always," she murmurs. "But are you going to stay? Here?" The 'with me?' is unstated, but it roars with the throb of her heart.

His gaze is slow to find hers again, but when he finally catches her eye, he looks hesitant yet forthright, equal parts young prince beside a lake of Light and hardened soul who battled darkness within. And, as always, he can hear her heart as if it strums in his own chest. "If you'll have me."

She can't hold back, not now, not when he's close enough to touch, and his hazel eyes peer cautiously at her underneath soft curls. She takes the last step slowly, closing the distance until they share a space, her hand skimming the front of his tunic as the room, the coronation, Gods, the utter realm fade away, and there is nothing but Aerin and his hand rising to sweep over her cheekbone.

"Raine… you have no idea how-"

She doesn't wait for him to finish the sentence, as she has some idea—every idea—that his nights away have been spent like hers, longing and yearning. She cannot yearn any longer, pushing forward to taste the way his lips part under hers, to relish the way his palms cradle her cheek. Every needy sound from his mouth is swallowed by her own, and she drinks them all in, eagerly, pulling him even closer as if a lack of personal space could ever make up for the previous distance, when she spent sleepless nights just wondering if he still lived.

She pulls back as moisture falls on her cheeks, and she's surprised to feel tears pooling in her eyes.

"Raine?" His fingertips are tender as they wipe away the lingering tears tracing her cheek. "Are you - what's wrong?"

"I thought you would never return. I thought you wouldn't come back."

"I told you. I wrote… I said that I would be there if you needed me."

Her fingers grip the front of his tunic tightly, fabric straining in her hold. "I did need you! I did! We journeyed through both realms, over and over, and you weren't-"

He dives forward for another kiss, rougher, unrestrained, his hands finding her waist to drag their bodies together. "You didn't." His lips brush her cheek before traveling to the shell of her ear, the side of her neck. "You didn't need me. You defeated the Ash Empire. You saved the realm."

"I still needed you." Her fingers find his chin, so she can raise his head and stare intently into his eyes. "Aerin, I need you."

The sound that slips past his lips is raw, undignified, but she doesn't have a second to react before his lips again meet hers, and it's a blur of movement and sensation. One instant, he's kissing her until her lips tingle with it; the next, his tongue traces the straps of her gown, and her knees buckle so fiercely that he needs to hold her up, cradled against his chest as he continues his careful ministrations. His hands cup her waist as he prods her backwards, until the back of her knees collide with the mattress and she falls onto the feather mattress.

He follows her down, bracing himself over her, but his lips never leave the curve of her shoulder, lower, tracing the skin right at the edge of the lace, his lips worshipping the slope of her breast with a reverence she only felt in dreams.

She shifts as insistent hands tug, nightgown pulled over her head, vanishing along with her good sense and any vestiges of propriety. "Gods, Raine, you're-" His words fall into a groan as her own hands make quick work of his clothing, the tunic falling to the floor. She pushes, hard enough that shock flits over his face before she scrambles over him, and she can feel the hard lines of his body as her thighs bracket his.

"Maybe I will keep you like this." She touches the mark at the center of his chest, tracing the tendrils of scar tissue as they whorl across tender muscle and skin. "Make it so you can't just disappear."

"I won't." His tone is so assured, so confident, that her hand stills.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

She can't meet his eyes; she only stares as her own unblemished fingers stroke his scarred skin. It's huge, so close to his heart, and it strikes her that removing the stone could have been yet another of the endless ways he could have been lost to the dark. "Don't say that."

"Why? I mean-"

"The last time—" Her voice hitches, and it's pitiful, embarrassing, how easily the Hero of Morella is undone. "Last time… you said… you…" She can't continue the train of thought,  lost in the memory of his lips drawing trails of lies across her skin, "and you left."

"You know why I left."

"I know. I understood. I just didn't know if you would come back."

Aerin grabs her hand, raising it to his lips for a kiss that would be almost chaste if it weren't for their utterly indecent position. "I will always come back."

"Prove it."

His answering kiss is all-consuming, fire licking down her spine and forming a pool of heat in her stomach. She moves, carefully, a slight shift; his mouth falls open as she slides down, slowly, every inch a revelation. As she rocks into him, his hands don't stop, pulling her down for devouring kisses that makes her toes curl, palms sliding down her back until every vertebrae sings, hand circling her hips and then lower until he is the entire world and she can only bask in every sensation of pure rapture.

He remains a quick learner as his fingertips become reacquainted with her body. Her legs shake with every touch, and it's too much, she can't bear it, teeth digging into her lips to muffle the sounds of pleasure building at the pit of her stomach. It only takes one more thrust, one more twirl of his thumb, and she's flying, falling, release sparking from her core and outward through her limbs. Her vision goes white, blind to anything but the line of his neck as he cranes his head, deaf to all but the moan from his lips.

She rolls onto the bed beside him, draping an arm across his torso as her breathing slowly returns to normal. When she's cogent enough to make sense of the world, she's shocked to find him staring at her.

"I'm not going anywhere." Aerin's voice is calm and measured. "Not unless you ask."

She props her head up on an elbow to stare into his face. "Why would I ask?"

"Escaped felon, danger to the realm and all the Light touches, remember?"

"You will be pardoned." Her mind shifts to tomorrow, to the pageantry that awaits. "Would you want to be more? More than just free?"

"What?"

"Would you want…" She tangles her hand in his hair. "You know much more about royalty, the duties of ruling, how to manage a kingdom."

“No.” He cuts her off, her hands still among his curls. “We both know what happened when I had power last. I’m not-”

“You’re not who you were.”

"None of us are."

It's a conversation for another time, her future as Queen, his future as the man he was always meant to be. "You know," she says, laying down again, over him, and his heart beats a steady rhythm in her ear. "Nia will be pleased to see you. She always said you would return."

"She was always too trusting."

She huffs a laugh against his chest. "Unfortunately, the reunion will be short lived. Imtura will cut you in two."

"Oh, yes. Your heroic friends. I almost forgot what it was like to have my life constantly threatened."

"They're joking. Mostly. Will you play nice with them?”

“Probably not.” The smile flits across his lips, charming and sure, and she’s desperate to taste it again but is desperate for one more assurance.

“Will you really stay?”

Aerin pauses, holding her gaze so she can’t look away, can only wait with bated breath for his response. His voice is low, single word imbued with every ounce of royal gravity he possesses. “Always.”

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Shadows Creeping

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow, Book 2

Pairing: Aerin Valleros x elf!f!MC (Reina 'Ray' Nightbloom)

Genre: Angst

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, torture, involuntary drug use, vague sexual themes, crippling guilt, general sense of hopelessness, Valax is exaggeratedly evil

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: After a botched raid on the Ash Empire outpost, Aerin finds himself locked in a tight chase with Princess Valax. The labyrinthine dungeons beneath the Shadow Court Fortress stir up some of his darkest memories. Will he be able to escape Valax, or the ghosts of his past?

A/N: Post book 2 chapter 8. The story is mostly inspired by @secret-fungi with a little bit of @spacetravels. Valax is very OOC in that I made her so evil (for the plot!) I actually feel kind of bad about it. Also, shamelessly using this as an opportunity to practice writing action sequences. Enjoy (you won't).

Taking a sharp left, Aerin dives into the secret alcove behind an inconspicuous shabby tapestry and slowly slides down the cold stone wall, greedily gasping for air. Thank the gods he has memorized the layout of the dungeons beneath the Shadow Court Fortress so well, even if the Ash Empire has… redecorated the place since they took over. Admittedly, he hasn't had the chance to properly look around—and he really, really hopes to keep it that way. Still, this little chase, unfortunately, left him enough time to notice the fresh blood spatters in some of the empty cells and hear the blood-chilling screams of unfortunate souls trapped deeper in the labyrinth of these wretched hallways. 

'Lovely,' Aerin mutters to himself, allowing his eyes to close for just a second. 'Very lived-in.'

His solace is hopelessly fleeting, shattered by the distinct clicking of heels against cold stone. Distant for now, the footsteps echo ominously in the dim candlelit hallway—the only path that could lead Aerin to freedom. And each one of them is louder than the last.

'The famous Prince Aerin,' Valax's voice seems to resonate through every nook and cranny of the dungeons, a low purr of a big cat about to jump its prey. 'Please forgive us for the cold welcome, your highness. We didn't realize we would be receiving such an esteemed guest.'

So they have identified him already. That's unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected. One of the guards must've recognized him during the earlier scuffle. Aerin bites his tongue, fighting the urge to curse, knowing that any sound would instantly reveal his hiding place. It was supposed to be a straightforward mission — get in, grab the supplies, get out. Two hours, maybe three, tops. Or it would be, hadn't he run directly into a squad of the most elite Ash Empire soldiers, led by Princess Valax herself. Why was she here, anyway? Last he checked, she was supposed to be chasing Ray and her merry band of intrepid adventurers all over the forests of Morella.

And yet, here she was.

'I've heard so much about you, you know. It's almost as if we're acquainted in absentia.'

Of course she has. Aerin knows what they say about him in the Ash Empire. Dreadlord's errand boy. His resident Lightrealmer lap dog. His little—

Aerin bites the inside of his cheek, hard. Distracting him is precisely what Valax wants. The self-pity can wait until after he's free. Now, he needs to think.

His bag of supplies has grown much lighter after he parted ways with Ray and others. The Shadow Realm's charred wastelands can be challenging to find herbs in. Especially the healing ones — the migraine has been killing him. And the skirmish with the soldiers earlier has depleted his already very unimpressive reserves even further. But surely, he can come up with something?

His fingers fumble through his bag, searching for something—anything—until finally closing around a half-empty pouch of dry resin, and Aerin clutches it so tightly that his knuckles grow white. Yes, it isn't much, but it will suffice—and at that moment, that's all he's asking for.

The approaching footsteps grow uncomfortably closer, each one counting down the seconds before his demise. Aerin's heartbeat matches their eerie rhythm, but he's ready. With swift precision, he sends a tiny pouch of flaming resin skidding across the floor toward Valax's feet and the next moment, it erupts in a thick cloud of bitter black smoke. Aerin launches. He can feel the rush of air as Valax's hand nearly grazes his hood, but the surprise is on his side. Twisting like an eel, he slips away from her outstretched grasp and bolts.

He knows better than to believe that his little diversion will stall Valax for long, his instinct keen as ever. Behind him, a fierce gust of wind, strong enough to bend trees, sweeps the smoke away in one fell swoop. A second more, and it might have toppled Aerin too, but he lunges into the nearest open chamber just in time. Behind him, the heavy metal door slams shut with a deafening boom. 

The room he finds himself in is peculiar. A large, dimly lit chamber welcomes him with the quiet hum of strange machines, the ticking and clicking of odd knick-knacks and the soft glow of iridescent vials. Metals cages bare their bars ominously in the dark corners of the room. His gaze takes it all with greedy interest. At a better time, Aerin could spend hours here, figuring out the purpose of each strange device and weird contraption. Now, though, he scarcely has a moment to take cover behind one of the towering metallic cabinets and calm his breath. Just in the nick of time before the door opens again.

Valax pierces the room with her dark, heavy gaze, no doubt noticing every minute detail before stepping inside. Her steps are slow and deliberate as she circles the room, a shark sensing the smell of blood, and each time her heel connects with the floor, it's a sledgehammer blow to Aerin's temples.

'Your friend Reina told me so much about you, you know,' Valax purrs.

Every one of her words is a stone in an avalanche. But it's not even the words themselves; it is the sheer wrongness of hearing that name uttered by this voice that truly shakes Aerin to his very core. He knows Ray is not particularly fond of her full name, not really. She told him she'd always found it too old-fashioned. It made her sound like some stuck-up Whitetower noble, she said.

Unless it was him who called her that.

'Ah, we've had so many wonderful times together. In this very room, actually,' Valax continues. From his vantage point, Aerin can clearly see Valax's hand as it tenderly caresses the large stone table in the centre of the room. As his eyes follow her movement, it dawns on him that the table has leather straps at each corner. 'Yes, she became quite talkative at times. Especially after I treated her to a bit of belladonna and dreamroot tonic.'

A chilling shiver slithers down Aerin's spine. He's familiar with the effects of belladonna tonic. Thank Vostrasz, that sadistic bastard. He loved dosing his victims with this vile concoction and watching them as they screamed, unable to escape the visions of their worst nightmares. Aerin has witnessed its effects once, the memory carved into his mind. A young man, skin glistening with cold sweat, empty eyes with freakishly wide pupils staring at something only he could see, dry lips whispering a desperate plea as tears streamed down his face. 

As if compelled by some wicked force, his gaze is drawn back to the stone table. For a haunting second, he can see Ray's lifeless body sprawled upon it. Bile surges in his throat. He shuts his eyes and clenches his fists.

'She screamed so loudly. Screamed until she had no voice left to scream with. Would you like to know what she screamed, your highness?'

He needs to get out of here.

As Valax turns her back to him, Aerin seizes the opportunity and hurls a small pebble to the far corner of the room, where it lands in a tiny clink. Valax's head snaps towards the sound, and Aerin jumps, throwing his whole body onto the massive cabinet serving as his cover. The cabinet creeks, staggers, and topples right towards Valax's head. Vials and boxes spill across the chamber in a cacophony of clatter and crashing. Amid the ensuing chaos, Aerin rushes towards the exit, swiping a bunch of supplies laid out on one of the side tables into his bag.

Unfortunately, he doesn't make it all the way. Valax, with her inhuman strength, halts the toppling cabinet mid-air with a single hand. Crouched behind an overturned table, Aerin can see the dark veins pulsing on Valax's forearm as she holds the cabinet still for a moment, metal crumpling like paper tissue under her fingers, then shoves it back into the wall. One of the glass vials must have shattered against her forehead because he can see a strange iridescent liquid mingling with dark blood as it slowly trickles down her brow, but otherwise, Valax doesn't look hurt at all. Just pissed.

Holding his breath so as not to make a single sound, Aerin frantically sorts through the ingredients he managed to snatch. There is some dry hemlock and foxglove. A vial of dragonfly wings. A pouch of saltpetre and sugar. Oh, if only there was sulphur… Please, let there be sulphur…

In his frantic state, Valax's voice is cold and still like a blade. 'Don't do it, Aerin. That's what she said... She seemed so scared, too. Terrified. I wonder what you did to scare her so badly, your highness?'

Aerin grits his teeth, forcing his hands to keep working through the tiny vials, but his mind is, unfortunately, much harder to control. He knows nothing of Ray's nightmares—there is no way he could know—but he's got plenty of his own. And as Valax's words keep ringing in his ears, one in particular raises its ugly head. 

Smears of blood blooming on the throne room floor. A portal buzzing with dark magic. Tang of metal and ozone in the air. Nia—the priestess's limp body in his arms. He tries not to look at her face—it's easier this way. Instead, he only looks into the portal, Shadow Realm's lifeless landscape spread out before his eyes. He's so close. One tiny step away. But just before he's about to take it, he glances back.

Briefly, his mind registers Mal's face, twisted with rage. The terror in Tyril's eyes. Imtura's teeth bared in a scorching scowl. But in the end, it's her face that is burned into the back of his eyelids.

Her cheeks, oddly wet. Her body, trembling ever so slightly. She looks so tiny at that moment. So lost, like a puppet with her strings cut. And so utterly, heartbreakingly sad. She doesn't make a sound, but her lips curve around the words, and Aerin swears he can hear her voice as she pleads, 'Don't do it.'

'Maybe you should try being afraid of me as well!' Aerin erupts, letting go of the pent-up anger as he hurls the burning concoction he mixed up at Valax, then dives through the doorway. Behind him, the makeshift bomb explodes with a deafening roar of fire, its fiery breath shuffling the hair on Aerin's nape. The skin on his hands and knees burns, scraped from the clumsy fall. But the pain is so worth it. So worth the feeling of dark satisfaction blazing through his veins. Having this place where Ray suffered countless days and nights reduced to ashes… It's invigorating. 

Celebration will have to wait, though. Aerin knows that destroying Valax herself won't be as simple as her laboratory. The echoes of the explosion still ringing in his ears, he scrambles to his feet and takes off in the direction of the dungeon's exit.

He doesn't get far before the sinister sound of Valax's approaching footsteps reaches him again.

'So, the Dreadlord's little lapdog has some bite, too. Still, that won't be enough,' Valax… giggles? It's a disturbing, chilling sound that makes the hairs on Aerin's arms stand on end. 'Unfortunately for you, you don't have quite the same… effect on me as you do on the Realmwalker.'

In this dark, horrifying dungeon, her voice rings with eerie delight, as if she's remembering a very funny joke, and Aerin is not in on it.

Aerin has no time to dwell on it, though. Reaching a crossroads, he takes a sharp right and, hiding behind the corner, steals a glance over his shoulder. As expected, Valax is closing in, tendrils of smoke and shadow swirling around her body as though she carries a piece of the very fire he started on her.

'You see, the Realmwalker and I have spent so much time together. Months… Why, I would almost consider us to be close friends! And she has told me many, many things over those months… About you, too! Aren't you curious, little princeling?'

Why are you listening to her, his mind screams out. She doesn't know where he is. She's just baiting him. Trying to get a reaction, provoke him into revealing himself. There is no reason to believe a single venomous word that escapes her lips.

'I'm sorry, Aerin. That is one of my favourites. Do you like it, princeling?'

Lies, lies, lies, every single word of hers. After all, whatever would she ask his forgiveness for when everything… Everything is his fault. And yet, as Valax's words echo in his ears, Aerin swears he can hear her voice—

Ray has always been so strong. He's seen her in battle, the hero of Morella, as deadly as she is beautiful. But her heart… He knew her tender, bleeding heart. Always too kind to people who didn't deserve it. To people like him.

Of all things, his mind goes back to the night of the fair in Riverbend—their night. He remembers her skin, dressed in nothing but candlelight, her body melting under his touch like wax as he kissed her thighs. The mighty hero, in his arms, exposed down to her very soul. It struck him then, the power he held. At that moment, he could break her. It wouldn't even be hard.

The thought terrified him. He had power, once. And look where it got him. Power… It brings out the darkness within people. Most live and die without ever truly experiencing it, but Aerin has seen his shadow already. He looked it in the eye. And that is how he knew he could never allow himself to touch her again.

He clenches his teeth and tries to melt into the shadows, away from Valax's piercing gaze.

'Come back, she said. Oh, why wouldn't you come back to her, princeling?'

Aerin knows he shouldn't listen. But every word that falls from Valax's lips is a drop of acid eating away at his very soul. Perhaps that's why he doesn't notice the shadowy tendril winding around his ankle.

Pale rays of early dawn filter into the tent as Aerin hastily packs the last of his admittedly unimpressive belongings.

Ray still lies amidst the crumpled sheets, her hair tousled on the pillow. She's asleep, yet her brows are still knitted together in a painful frown.

That night, he didn't sleep at all, the chatter of his own thoughts too loud to let him rest. For a while, he just laid there, silently studying her face. She whimpers in her sleep. What awful things does she see when she closes her eyes? He didn't know; he just stroked her hair tenderly until she seemed to calm down. Her frown never went away, though. Why is it that every time she is with him, she looks like she's in pain? The thought made him feel ill.

Finally, he secures his bag and steps toward the exit, his goodbye letter resting on the nightstand. Before him stretches the forest that skirts the edges of Riverbend, tranquil and beautiful in its robe made of golden dew. But just as he's about to step into the dawn, he glances back. He just can't help himself.

As though sensing his gaze, she stirs in her slumber and raises her head. Aerin freezes. Her lavender eyes twinkle for just a second, half-obscured beneath the heavy fawn lashes. From her perplexed expression, it is clear she's not yet fully awake.

'Aerin?' she exhales.

'Yes,' Aerin replies, the word sticking in his throat. 'It's me.'

He's utterly still, fearing that any sudden movement or noise will awaken her further, revealing him standing there. Fully clothed. With his belongings in tow.

'Come back,' she asks, her feather-soft voice piercing right through his heart.

'I'm just getting some water. Go back to sleep.'

It's so hard to keep his voice straight, but he manages. He's lied for so long it's become second nature. Finally, Ray lets out a compliant hum, seemingly convinced by his words, and falls back onto the pillow. Aerin lingers for a few more moments, then finally walks away. Her voice still echoes in his ears, but his mind is made up. This is for the best. If he stays away, he won't be able to hurt her again.

That's the lie he keeps telling himself.

The shadow yanks him closer to its master. Aerin almost loses his balance but rolls away at the very last second. In one fluid motion, he draws a short blade from the sheath on his shin and slices through the tendril, freeing himself.

But it's too late. Valax stands in front of him, and behind his back, the corridor stretches into a dead end.

In one last desperately hopeless attempt, he tightens his grip on the hilt and lunges at Valax.

'Help me,' Valax whispers, the plea laced with cruel amusement.

His stomach drops, and his head spins, but he almost manages to keep his composure. Almost.

Valax leans into his attack, sidestepping at the very last moment, and strikes his wrist with an open palm, sending his dagger clattering across the dungeon floor. Her other hand grabs his throat and slams him into the wall like he weighs nothing at all. The back of his head connects with stone in a hollow thud. It's over.

Valax's clawed fingers tighten around his neck as she studies his face with a ruthless smile.

'You'll serve as bait quite nicely,' she declares.

'You're wasting your time,' Aerin chokes out. 'She won't come for me.'

But his lie rings hollow. He might have believed it once, but not anymore. Not for a while. As if reading his mind, Valax smirks.

'Oh, but I think she will.'

Ray will come for him. Once upon a time, this thought would've filled his stomach with butterflies, but at this moment, it sounds like hollow dread. She will come here, into the Shadow Court Fortress, right into Valax's eager clutches. Because of him.

How foolish he was to think that her anguish would end if he just stepped away. Even now, even here, he's still putting her in danger. Still hurting her. He really is good for absolutely nothing, isn't he?

Darkness begins to engulf his vision, but just before it consumes him entirely, Valax abruptly releases her grip. Aerin collapses to the ground, his body limp, coughing violently.

'But until she does, we have much to discuss,' Valax says, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling until Aerin meets her gaze. Her eyes are dark and cruel as she studies his face. Then she grins. 'I wonder if you'll scream her name too, little princeling.'

She doesn't need to guess. She knows he will.

[aria-ashryver]

Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 1&2)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Raine) Words: 2.2K Ratings/Warnings: General; mention of (Nesper) pregnancy

Summary: Five times Tyril attempts to braid Raine’s hair; and one time those threads begin to come together again as they should.

A/N: Written as a gift for @thosehallowedhalls as a part of the Choices Secret Admirer event! It was such a delight to write for BOLAS again. Also participating in Choices February 2024 with the prompts Eros, Philia, and Pragma. Thank you Caro for letting me borrow your lovely Raine! 🌷🎀

Raine bit down on a laugh as Tyril strode into their bedroom, a scowl biting deep into the angular lines of his face. She rose to meet him, settling a hand against his cheek.

‘There’s the frown I fell in love with,’ she teased, laughter bubbling out of her as his brow furrowed further at her words. ‘We’ve had so little to trouble us these past few weeks — I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten how to brood.’

‘I am not brooding,’ Tyril brooded. 

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist, closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss she pressed to his jaw.

‘Thank the stars Adrina has the stomach for these tiresome nobles and their courtly swill. The entire Venesterium seems determined to vex me. The sooner we escape this evening’s ball, the better.’

Raine grinned. ‘Mal and Imtura have been rubbing off on you.’

Tyril’s eyes snapped open. ‘How dare you.’

‘They have!’

‘I… forgive me.’ Tyril paused, stepping back to take in the sweep of silver-blue silk swathing Raine from head to toe. His face softened. ‘Here I am complaining about the nobility, when I should be telling you how utterly radiant you look. You are dazzling spring water beneath the noonday sun, a pure vision of Bakshi come to life. You are the very stars themselves, beloved.’

Raine’s chest glowed. She tangled her fingers with his, swishing her shoulders back and forth.

‘Look,’ she said proudly. ‘My dress has a cape!’

Tyril chuckled.

They were still getting used to life in Undermount. To peace. 

To not being woken by Imtura’s snores, or the quiet cadence of Nia’s morning prayers; to the soft bed linens they’d traded up from hard-packed earth; to days that held no more danger than social faux pas and politics, instead of threats to their lives, to their friends, to the realm itself.

Well. Realms, plural, Raine thought. 

All that time running back and forth across not one but two different planes hadn’t exactly left much time for updating her wardrobe — that, at least, was one aspect of their new life together that Raine had quickly adapted to. Every last seamstress and tailor in Undermount was vying for House Starfury’s patronage. Raine had wasted no time taking advantage. 

‘You’re looking rather handsome yourself,’ she told Tyril, running her fingers over the ornate metalwork embellishing his robes. ‘What’s all this?’

Tyril’s face flattened into a frown again. 

‘Adrina’s doing,’ he groused. ‘House Starfury has been steadily regaining our former standing. Our coffers are stable, our contracts are shoring up, Father has been able to rehire the staff he let go with considerable bonuses. My dear sister, in all her brilliance, has decided that means I needed to look suitably ludicrous for our re-entry into elven courtly society.’

‘I think you look lovely.’

Tyril’s face pinched in distaste. ‘Have you seen the size of this ring? It’s a House Starfury heirloom.’

Tyril flapped his hand before Raine’s face — rather unnecessarily, in all honesty; there was little chance she’d have missed seeing the ring, given that it was the size of a small continent. There, on his left pointer finger, was a sparkling affair of curlicued silver and diamond, set with a sapphire so immense, its sale could have supported the entire population of Riverbend for a solid year or more.

‘Can you imagine what our roguish friend would say if he took one look at me in this get—up?’

‘Mal would call you a prissy elf boy and probably wet himself from laughter, yes.’ Raine pursed her lips, trying not to grin. ‘I take it Undermount’s finery and flattery isn’t to your liking any more, then?’

‘The flattery never was,’ Tyril said, his eyes trained on Raine as she slipped into a seat at the vanity and finished applying a kohl liner to her eyes. ‘The fineries?’ He hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’ll admit, the novelty of clean sheets and dry boots is wearing off faster than I’d expected.’

He stepped up behind her to run a brush through the silken gold of her hair.

Raine closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, remembering for a moment the mornings Nia had done the same. She had no problem braiding her own hair, of course, but sometimes she and Nia had helped each other tease away the tangles and road-dirt, fixing one another’s hair in readiness for travel and combat. 

It had grounded them both. Anchored them in the present, in the living pulse of their Light. Soothed them on the days when the darkness was too heavy to speak through.

Raine met Tyril’s piercing, blue gaze in the mirror over her shoulder. He raised a brow in silent question.

‘Would… would you braid my hair for me?’

A soft smile lit his face. 

‘Whatever you would have of me, I would give to you.’

The minutes passed in silence as Raine gave herself over to the gentle touch of her lover’s hands. He’d almost finished a passable —if slightly uneven— braid, when his ring snagged on her hair, pulling a section loose at the front. 

‘Drat! Apologies, this ring is impossible. I’ve never seen a piece of jewellery so cumbersome — Gods forbid it’s wearer deign to lift a finger to do anything for themselves. Though, I suppose that’s rather the point, isn’t it?’ Tyril clicked his tongue. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea how I am supposed to hold a sword with this monstrosity on my finger.’

‘Tyril…’ Raine caught his hand, holding his gaze for a long moment. ‘You don’t need to anymore.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes grew round, unguarded. ‘I suppose you are right. Yes, I don’t… right.’

Standing, Raine fixed the end of the braid with a simple leather band.

‘You’ve no wish to fix the snag?’

‘No, it’s fine. I rather like it.’ Raine glanced at the fall of hair that had tugged loose. ‘We don’t want to be too put together for the smarmy nobles, do we?’

‘We do not.’ Tyril cupped Raine’s face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone, sighing fondly. ‘You are exquisite, Raine. Do you know that? You are perfect. Celestial. I almost want to keep you all for myself. You know… we could just stay here, tonight.’

Laughing, Raine swatted at Tyril as his gaze grew hooded.

‘Tyril!’

She was rewarded with the sight of one of his rare and dazzling smiles. A secret sight, just for the two of them. It still caught her stomach up in swooping knots every time Tyril smiled.

‘Fine,’ he said, warmly, ‘let us away. But we are leaving as soon as the dessert courses are over.’

Raine’s hand found his.

‘Deal.’

‘Why do you get a cool half-cape?’ Raine grumbled, as they wound their way through the cool expanse of the public gardens. ‘I want a cool half-cape. Instead I get idiotic, too-long sleeves.’

Tyril’s face remained impassive as he nodded at a passing head of house; the gardens were bustling this morning, the lush greenery offering a cool respite from the late-spring sun. Raine greeted the elf in kind with a cordial wave —or, she tried to— the gesture botched by the yards of gauzy fabric tangling about her hands.

‘I hate everything!’ she shrieked under her breath. ‘I am this close’ —Raine raised a hand, snarled when her sleeves got in the way again, flailed her arms about until her hands were free, and pinched her thumb and forefinger before Tyril’s nose— ‘to ripping these awful sleeves off and shoving them into that fountain.’

Tyril smiled, tucking his hand against the small of her back and steering her neatly away from the aforementioned fountain. They walked instead toward a cluster of chatting nobles whom Tyril would rather have avoided, but knew he ought to greet.

‘Adrina is close to closing a significant contract with House Moonchaser,’ Tyril said quietly as they neared. ‘It would be a shame to offend their head of house by destroying the gift she bestowed upon you. Damaging such a gift would be perceived as a deliberate snub.’

‘Godsdamn it all to the blackest reaches of the Three Hel— ah, that is— hello, Lord Frostcrow! Yes, the gardens are looking splendid this morning, you are quite right.’

Their welcome ball had been pleasant enough. Raine had bewitched the gathered masses with her effortless radiance —not that Tyril was surprised; his lover stole his breath with every passing heartbeat— though none had been more taken with her beauty than the Lady of House Moonchaser. The elven matriarch had insisted on gifting Raine a custom-made dress from her personal seamstress as a show of welcome from their House.

It had been delivered late that morning — a heavy concoction of lurid pink velvet and silver embellishments, complete with decorative pearls, ribbons, and something Raine had described as “a headache masquerading as fashion” to be woven into her hair to match.

Raine had thought the whole thing garish… but, it would do well to be seen wearing the garment publicly at least once, so here they were.

Tyril had tried his hand at braiding her hair again that morning. Raine had humoured his attempts —there was something intimate and tender in their stolen moments of quiet together as he worked the ribbons through her hair— and for a time, he’d been rather proud of his efforts.

At least, until they’d made the journey from their small manor in the hills and into Undermount proper, and the whole thing had begun to unravel under all the weight. The imperfection irked him. Damn it all, he wouldn’t stop until he was the single most talented personal hair stylist in all of Undermount!

‘Stupid elven politics,’ Raine muttered, blowing a strand of hair from her face as they continued on with their stroll. ‘I look ridiculous. I’ve slept in war tents with less fabric than this dress. How am I supposed to defend myself in a swordfight with these sleeves?’

‘Were you not the one reprimanding me for my obstinate refusal to relax?’ Smiling, Tyril dropped a gentle kiss to the top of Raine’s head. The braid sagged a little further. ‘Perhaps you might take your own advice. We are safe, beloved. There aren’t any agents from the Ash Empire hiding under the magnolias, waiting to ambush us the moment we—’

‘A MISSIVE! A MISSIVE FOR YOU, LORD STARFURY!’

Heart in his throat, Tyril spun on instinct to find the point of his dagger hovering mere inches from the face of a wide-eyed courier. Beside him, Light crackled in Raine’s palms, her stance poised to strike, her expression nothing short of thunderous.

‘Apologies!’ The courier squeaked. He pinched an envelope between his trembling fingers, prodding it meekly toward them as the colour drained from his face.

Sighing, Tyril flicked his wrist in a practised motion; the dagger slid smoothly from his palm to tuck itself inconspicuously in his shirtsleeve. 

He really ought to thank Mal for showing him that particular trick, Tyril thought. He wouldn’t, of course, on account of that would mean actually thanking Mal for something, but the gratitude was there all the same.

He tugged the letter from the courier’s hand. The shiny, wax seal bore a small paw-print in the centre.

‘An urgent missive from the most humble Threep Percivacurus Pompedorfin and the magnanimous Loola Coriandropolis Dupopodolis, dispatched via high-speed drake-courier service out of Whitetower,’ the courier recited breathlessly. He swayed on his feet.

‘I think you should go and sit down for a minute or two, buddy,’ Raine told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ‘Drink some water, catch your breath. Maybe have a think about whether or not it’s a good idea to sneak up behind people who were recently involved in the harrowing trauma of saving the entire Godsdamned realm from certain doom and yelling at them, you know. Turn that one over in your head a couple times.’

‘That— I— yes. Sound advice, my lady.’ 

Bowing stiffly, the courier departed, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

‘By the Light,’ Raine muttered. She sounded as tired as Tyril felt.

‘Every day I think to myself, “the general populace couldn’t possibly grow any more dense”,’ Tyril murmured, watching the terrified courier wobble away, ‘and every day, they find new and fascinating ways to prove me wrong.’ 

‘Um… Tyril?’

Caught by the horror in her tone, Tyril turned to see a sheepish Raine inspecting her hands. Two smoking, fist-sized holes burned clean through the trailing sleeves of her dress.

She winced. ‘Just how important was that contract with House Moonchaser, again?’

Feeling a headache coming on, Tyril scanned Threep’s letter. His mouth dropped open.

‘Oh! Never mind that — Raine! Threep and Loola are expecting!’

Raine clutched at his hands, giddiness sparkling in her eyes. She squealed.

‘You’re joking. Baby nespers?! How adorable!’ Her eyes bugged in her head. ‘Oh, Gods, wait. An army of Threeps…’

The budding warmth in Tyril’s chest flipped to alarm. ‘Oh no… Oh, we need to start stocking the larder, yesterday.’

Stricken, Raine nodded. ‘I’ll place an order for a few bushels of dried anchovies.’

‘Whatever number you are thinking,’ Tyril said, ‘double it.’

Click here for: [Next - Pt. 3&4]

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesfebruary2024 @choicesfandomappreciation @thosehallowedhalls @lilyoffandoms @stars-are-within-me @jerzwriter

[missameliep]

Nothing is impossible with you - Blades of Light and Shadow - Tyril Starfury x Arwen (f!elf!MC)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Characters: Tyril Starfury; Arwen Nightbloom (F!Elf MC); Siora, the healer (f!Elf); Mal Volari.

Pairing: Tyril x Arwen

Rating: G (see notes bellow for tw)

Word count: ~1,5K words

Summary: All her life, Arwen never ever got sick. All of a sudden, she''s fallen ill and letting someone take care of her and find out what's wrong will not be an easy step for someone so used to be on her own.

Notes:

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

English is not my first language.

Based on this ask sent too long ago by my dear friend @princess-geek to whom I dedicate this little silly fic. Again, Happy late birthday, sweetie!

TW: non-graphic mentions of sickness/vomiting, pregnancy.

This is also my submission to @aprilchallenge - prompt: family.

Growing up, Kade used to be sick often.

Even as a child, Arwen could recognize the earliest signs and take care of him. Whenever the winds and the flower season came blowing pollen everywhere, it would get him feverish and coughing for weeks at a time. Weeks before the season started, she would bring home the herbs from the wetlands to make him medicine, like she was taught.

Other times it was the rain or haze or the invisible creatures that surround the humans despite the existence of the Light and are said to put you to bed with your flesh crawling and your stomach twisting with pain. These evil creatures seem to have an aversion of elves or couldn’t prevail against the strong blood running through her veins since she never ever got sick.

The only thing that once or twice got her to bed were the orcish ales brought to the tavern, that were not like the ales of her land and could almost burn your skin and set you on spontaneous fire. But that was not on her, some more resistant to liquor than she ever was succumbed to a bottle of those greenish evil concoctions.

Therefore, the second day she woke up nauseated and no food or drink could settle on her stomach was absolutely unusual.

“Maybe I’m no longer used to elven food...” she coughed, and resumed washing her face with cold water.

“I’ve seen you eat the most questionable food over the years, my dear... food that the mere sight of twisted my insides... and not once you fell ill...” Tyril said, worry frowning his brows while he held her long braided hair back, and observed her pale face reflected on the mirror. “And you were feeling nauseated before we gotten here.”

“Perhaps the treasure was really cursed,” she pondered, gripping the edge of the sink for support and snarled, “If I die because of it, I’ll forever haunt Mal...”

“It was merely a tale to keep the weaklings away from the island. There was nothing magical about it... I assure you.”

“I hope you’re right...”

“I am and I think we should see a healer...” he said, dabbing a clean tissue on her chin and neck, but Arwen was too stubborn to agree with him just yet. Maybe tomorrow she’ll feel better.

“I’m not sick!” she growled from the other side of the door, despite Tyril’s insistence that she would let him inside – which she didn’t and he sat by the door for the next hour in silence.

At night, she crawled to bed after one cup of tea, trusting the queasiness was finally gone, and he worried about the extreme paleness of her cheeks and lack of energy. A strong fear settled in his heart.

“Let me take care of you, dearest of my heart,” he whispered against her hair. “Tell me where it hurts, and I can find a spell...”

“I am fine now,” she stubbornly refused his aid, but not the welcoming arms or the strong chest where she laid her head and immediately fell asleep.

On the third day, before sunrise, Tyril found the space beside him in the bed empty and wouldn’t have it anymore. One of the healers of Undermount was called to the Starfury House, and after a moments deliberation, Arwen allowed her walking inside the room.

The elderly elf with skin as dark as the night and long ash blue braids that reached just above the hip bone approached her in silence and helped her back into bed. Her voice was soft and melodic as the jingle of tiny bells.

“How long you feel ill?” she asked. Leaning against the wall, Tyril shook his head in disapproval when Arwen replied she wasn’t sick, and insisted on the elven food theory.

“Four days, Siofra. Maybe more,” he said, “She hasn’t eaten anything these past two days.”

“I ate bread yesterday.”

“A slice of it and immediately threw up.”

“I had bergamolkan tea with honey and lemon,” she said pointing at the cup by the bedside table, “and I’ll feel better soon...”

The healer’s gaze flicked to the tray where the teapot and cup were, and she sniffed it. Tyril and Arwen shared confused looks, and the other requested silence.

“You are not ill.”

“I know,” Arwen said throwing a smug grin at Tyril. “It’s a curse.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“What?” Arwen cried out, her eyes bugging out.

If the female elf was clearly shocked with the news, the smile that parted the male elf’s lips was merely an external evidence of the glee that invaded Tyril’s heart with those news.

Having children was something they spoken briefly right after they got married, and being an elf from one of the Great Houses, Tyril is expected to produce heirs worth of his ancestors to both honor tradition and become valuable members of their society, and loving Arwen as much as he does, the idea has crossed his mind often.

“Just like it came, the morning sickness will be over soon...” Siofra said and explained what else could be expected in the future. Then she requested for silence again, one hand on Arwen’s wrist and her piercing ice-blue eyes fixed on the other’s eyes.

“I hear two heartbeats in your womb,” she said now with a small smile of her own.

“What’s wrong with the baby?” Arwen inquired.

��There’s nothing wrong, my dearest,” Tyril said, lying a hand on her shoulder. “The Gods favoured us!”

Her hand immediately went to her own chest. “Do elves have two hearts?”

“Fear not, you have two babies growing inside of you,” the healer took her hand affectionately, and Arwen used her free hand to cover her mouth, afraid of saying something she might regret or throwing up despite having nothing on her stomach.

“No more bergamolkan tea. It is bad for this sickness... I’ll prepare a concoction that will make it settle, and everything you’ll need to feel better. I’ll tell the cook to make a clear vegetable soup.”

After Siofra, the healer, was gone, Tyril returned to Arwen’s side. The shock was still visible in her features, while she was lying in bed lost in thoughts staring at her stomach. For the past months on their journey through the lands with the Rogue, one couldn't say they have done much to prevent a pregnancy.

“Light of my days,” he called softly and her gaze darted to his face. “Talk to me. Share what troubles your heart.”

“How did I not know?” she muttered. “I should have known.”

He sat on the bed and took her hands in his.

“How could you? You have never been pregnant before...” he said with a lilt of laugh, not to tease, but realizing some of the extraordinary joy flooding his being. “Now we know, and we’ll take good care of you and our little night-blooms.”

“How can you not be freaking out, Tyril?” her voice raised to an unnatural higher tone. “There are not one, but two of them growing inside of me!”

“The more the merrier.”

“Not the best moment to quote Mal...”

“I have dreamed of children with you. How could I be anything other than absolutely thrilled with this news?”

“Because I know nothing about babies!” she spoke quickly, without pausing to breath, “I don’t remember being a baby. I don’t think I was ever around a baby.. –”

“Does anybody remember being a baby?” he interrupted, but she didn’t even hear his question continuing with her ramblings.

“- And I can barely take care of myself. I eat bad, I drink too much, and doing dangerous things is basically all I know how to do...”

Tyril knew none of those things was true. Arwen had a heart of gold and was always ready to take care of others, even himself, who needed not to be cared for, or so he thought. Besides, there is nothing they can’t learn or do together. They have learned to fight and trust each other. They can do this too.

“We’ll learn together,” he offered with a big smile.

“Two babies, Tyril. How could you do this to me? I don’t know how to take care of one. How can I care for two?”

“It could be worse,” Mal jumped in, leaning against the door-frame, even though he wasn’t invited to this private conversation, “it could be three babies. And you only have two hands and tits.”

Arwen didn’t laugh and reached for the cup, but Tyril didn’t let it be thrown at the Rogue’s direction, solely because it would make a mess and he had no desire to clean it, nothing to do with the friendship forged over the years.

“Please, go,” Tyril requested, and Mal bowed and cried from the door, “Congratulations, daddy!”

Tyril’s eyes rolled to the skies, and his attention returned to his wife. His fingertips caressing her hand and the ring on her finger.

“We can do it, Arwen. Trust us.”

Her pink lips compressed forming a thin line and her eyes stared into nothingness, which Tyril recognized to be a sign of the deepness of her thoughts.

“What if I can’t?”

“Maybe alone you can’t... But together, we can. Besides, can you imagine two tiny versions of you in all your magnificence to shower with all the love in our hearts? Running around the house? Blowing dandelions on the garden?”

This was enough to bring a small smile to her lips.

“Or maybe two little versions of you, two small broody elf boys that I’ll get to carry with me and love deeply until their frowns became smiles...”

Her expression brightened with a big smile and Tyril kissed her forehead.

“We're going to be parents,” she whispered against his chest, when he held her close.

[peonyblossom]

Ships I'll Write For

for reference :)

Pixelberry

Alpha

m!Channing Lowe x m!MC (Kalani Mochizuki)

America's Most Eligible

Carson Stewart x f!MC (Juliet James)

Blades of Light and Shadow

Nia Ellarious x f!human!MC (Iris of Riverbend)

Valax x f!human!MC (Iris of Riverbend)

Mal Volari x Tyril Starfury

Mal Volari x Tyril Starfury x m!elf!MC (Hades Nightbloom)

Bloodbound

Adrian Raines x Gaius Augustine

Dirty Little Secrets

m!Carpenter (Emmett King) x m!MC (Brooklyn Peters)

High School Story

Wes Porter x Ezra Mitchell

Payton Saunders x f!MC (Lola Williams)

Michael Harrison x nb!MC (Jamie Baxter)

Mia Warren x Katherine

Ajay Bhandari x m!MC (Matty Wright)

Hollywood U

Thomas Hunt x f/nb!MC (Jackie Winters)

Hot Couture

Marco Di Vincenzo x f!MC (Analise Moore)

Immortal Desires

m!Cas x m!Gabe x nb!MC (Reese O'Malley)

Lewyn Junius x m!OC (Jude Junius)

It Lives Anthology

Noah Marshall x m!MC (Harry Spear)

Noah Marshall x Connor Green

Connor Green x m!MC (Jesse Harrison)

Ava Cunningham x f!MC (Raven Adams)

Stacy Green x f!MC (Ivy Lovelace)

Imogen Wescott x f!MC (Fiona Vance)

Tom Sato x m!MC (River Vance)

Danni Asturias x f!MC (Merliah Vance)

Abel Flint x nb!MC (Ollie Bridgers)

Lincoln Aquino x nb!MC (Keagan Burke)

Amalia de León x nb!MC (Lottie Hamilton)

Jocelyn Wu x f!MC (Eleanor Wilkins) (slowburn)

Matthias McQuoid x m!OC (Ezra Wilkins)

Laws of Attraction

Gabe Ricci x Aislinn Tanaka x nb!MC (Sav Zarza)

Open Heart

Ethan Ramsey x m!MC (Sydney Valentine)

Ethan Ramsey x Tobias Carrick

Aurora Emery x Sienna Trinh

Queen B

Zoey Wade x f!MC (Quinn Hughes)

Ian Kingsley x f!MC (Quinn Hughes)

Untameable Anthology

m!Kit Jackson x m!MC (Jules Rojas)

Mandy Martinez x Ryder Wilson x m!MC (Barrett Kemp)

Gravity Falls

Stan Pines x Reader

Stan Pines x nb!OC (JD Willows)

Ford Pines x Fiddleford McGucket

Grey's Anatomy/Station 19

Mark Sloan x Jackson Avery x Lexi Grey

Mark Sloan x Jackson Avery

Meredith Grey x Derek Shepherd

Meredith Grey x Andy Herrera

Victoria Hughes x Lucas Ripley

Izzie Stevens x Denny Duquette

Ben Warren x Miranda Bailey

Cristina Yang x Teddy Altman

Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Throwback Fic #4

Unexpected

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal's Orphanage]

Pairing: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!MC, human) ; Tyril x Maiele* Maiele belongs to @lilyoffandoms as do Tyril + Maiele's children Book: Blades of Light and Shadow (future) Word Count: ~1,300 Rating: General, fluff, some angst Prompt: @choicesficwriterscreations : Celebration

Synopsis: Daenarya has an unexpected realization while she, Mal, and the boys (Rayden + Lydo) are visiting Tyril and Maiele.

Daenarya stormed into the room a full five strides ahead of him, not even bothering to greet Tyril, who welcomed them at the door. She plopped down beside Maile with a huff. Arms folded across her chest, her eyes red and puffy as she rested her head on her friend's shoulder.

Maile carefully closed the Elven text he had been reading. His gaze shifted toward Mal and Tyril, having now had time to catch up. "What did you do?"

Mal threw his hands up in the air. "Why do you assume it's me?"

"Perhaps because, it usually is your fault," Tyril quipped, his lips pressing into a smirk. "I'm honestly not sure how Daenarya has put up with you for this long."

"No one asked you, Elf Boy."

Maiele's brow rose challengingly at Mal as he wrapped Daenarya in a supportive embrace.

"I didn't do anything," complained the Rogue. He slumped into the armchair furthest from them, kicking his feet up onto the ornate wooden coffee table.

"Where do you think you are?" Tyril scoffed in disbelief. "Even our youngest is more civilized. Feet off the furniture."

Mal sighed in frustration but complied with the request. He had little energy left to fight. He raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. "I swear. I don't know what I did. Daenarya, please—"

If her looks could kill, Mal would have been a deadman.

"Have you tried apologizing?" Maiele suggested.

"For what?!" Mal grumbled. "One minute, we were laughing with the boys on the way here. The next, she was in tears and wouldn't talk to me."

"That doesn't sound like Daenarya," Tyril argued. "She's the reasonable one of the pair of you, which says a lot."

"Not lately."

"What's that supposed to me?" Daenarya broke her silence, her eyes glistening once more.

The hurried footsteps of children as the front door closed behind them pulled the attention of the adults, their argument ceasing.

Rayden ran forward, a bundle of flowers held haphazardly in his small hands. "To make you feel better, Mama."

"Oh, sweet boy—" She sniffled, the tears pooling in her eyes breaking at his gesture. She pulled her soon-to-be adopted son into her lap. "They're so beautiful. Thank you." She held him to her chest, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"You're squishing me," he giggled.

"My apologies," she smiled, loosening her grip before squeezing tightly again. Her heart felt lighter with each passing second. "I love them and you! Both of you." Her attention shifted to Lydo waiting nearby with Maiele and Tyril's three children.

"Nassandra helped me pick the right ones," Rayden continued, holding up the flowers to her face. "We picked the blue one because it reminded us of the trip we all took a couple of moons ago. Do you remember? There was that whole field of blue and purple flowers dancing in the breeze where we had our picnic."

"I remember," she nodded, her lips pulling up as her eyes creased in the corners, the memory of the trip drifting into focus. It had been a beautiful time, the nine of them laughing and playing, the pair of adults taking turns sneaking off savoring a few precious moments alone while the other pair entertained all five children. "We had fun, didn't we?"

Rayden nodded. "Everyone was really happy. I want you to be happy again."

Daenarya rested her head on his. "I know."

"Maybe we can go back there again? Right now?"

"Hmmm...That would be fun, wouldn't it? Maybe we should wait a little longer, though. We were just there a couple of weeks ago."

"Nuh-uh. It was two moons!"

"I don't think so. It couldn't possibly be that long ago."

"No, the boy is right," Tyril interrupted after some mental calculation. "That trip was 57 days ago, to be exact."

Her brow furrowed in consideration, the color draining from her face as an unexpected realization came into focus. Her attention shifted quickly to Maiele, "Watch them for me?"

"Of course. Everything okay?" He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she passed Rayden off.

"Mal, I think we need to talk." She chewed her lip as she gestured for him to follow her outside.

"Look, Kit, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry." He placed his hand on her shoulder, her back still toward him once they were outside.

She stood frozen, too afraid to share her realization.

He moved in front of her, his finger hooking beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his. "Please talk to me."

"I think I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"I thought I was just overwhelmed and stressed with the adoptions and taking in the new kids at the orphanage. I thought I was just tired and moody. I thought I had just snuck too many sweets with Rayden and Threep. I thought that trip was just the other day. If it really was two months ago—"

His jaw dropped. "We're having a baby?"

She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded. They had talked about kids, but then they started the orphanage and ended up with a houseful of children in need, two of whom they were adopting.

His lips captured hers fiercely without warning as he enveloped her in his arms. "We're having a baby," he breathed between flurried kisses.

"We're having a baby!" She repeated as they broke apart to catch their breath. She rested her forehead against his, tears streaming down her face. "What about the boys? What about the other children? What about—"

"Shhh—" He cradled her jaw, brushing the tears from her cheek. "We'll figure it out—together."

"I love you, Mal Volari."

"I love you, my beautiful, Daenarya." He kissed her again and again, smiling wider and wider each time. He lifted her into his arms, spinning her around as his excitement grew.

Daenarya screamed at the sudden movement, her joy replacing the sadness she had felt earlier.

The sound of her shriek brought the children running, followed closely by Maiele and Tyril.

"Are you okay?" Rayden ran toward her as Mal set Daenarya down. "You screamed. I was worried."

"I'm sorry for scaring you." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "I was happy, that's all."

He hugged her. "I'm glad the flowers worked."

"Me too."

"Can we go back to playing now?"

Daenarya brushed a kiss on his forehead. "Go ahead."

They watched as the children bounded off, certain to find an adventure of their own.

"Looks like you two made up!" Maiele smirked happily. "Do you two need a room while the kids are distracted for the moment?"

"I think we might be a little too late for that," she shrugged coyly, her hands drifting toward her stomach.

"Really?" Maiele's eyes widened at the news as he moved to her.

"Yeah." She nodded eagerly, unable to school her widening grin.

"Congratulations!" He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He kissed her cheek. "I'm so happy for you."

Mal cleared his throat, trying to push Maiele away from her.

The elf towered over him, giving little consideration to his attempt to separate them. Instead, he pulled Daenarya further away. "You've had your turn." His focus returned to her as he looped his arm with hers. "We should celebrate! Come on, I have just the thing."

Mal stood speechless as Maiele led Daenarya back inside, the two of them giggling gleefully as they discussed the news.

Tyril's firm hand clasped on his shoulder. "Congratulations. You and Daenarya will be wonderful parents. You will be an exceptional father."

His face softened at the genuine tone of the elf's words. "Do you mean that?"

"The reprobate thief I met in Port Parnassus those years ago? No." Tyril paused, his gaze washing over Mal in consideration. "The man that stands before me presently, however, undoubtedly, yes."

"Thank you," Mal choked out, at a loss for words once more.

"That is not to say the child will be civilized or dignified in any manner." His lip twitched up. "Come with me. I am certain we can find a bottle of fine wine worthy of the occasion that you have yet to relieve us of."

Mal smirked proudly, "I wouldn't count on it."

A/N: Mal and Daenarya are both a little chaotic(affectionate) in their own ways. I feel like they talked about having kids, they want to have kids, they didn't take precautions against having kids, and yet, I imagine they would both be oblivious to her being pregnant at first. I imagine she's had signs and symptoms for a couple of weeks and they just made excuses because it never even occurred to them. lol Maybe they'll be more organized and responsible when the child is born?

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this! Tags in a reblog! Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

[mikaelsrose]

Ghost of You

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 1

Word count: 1720

Rating: T

Warnings: emotional hurt

Category: angst

A/n: where there is angst potential, there I am as well. it’s short, it’s painful, enjoy

Tag list: @lxdy-starfury @starlight-starfury @watatsumi-island @lazypartridge @sophie-summer @lilyoffandoms @brycesgirl @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

“Then, if you don’t mind, once this is over I’d love to go back to Undermount with you.”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy than to come back home with you, my love.”

Benumbed, Tyril observed the bloody droplets’ road down the sandy stone wall of his chamber in the Whitetower palace. The pulsating pain in his left hand indicated, at best, a split knuckle, yet it could not amount to the agonising pain in his heart. It had been three months since Reyna was captured, and they made almost no progress in coming up with a plan to rescue her. Despite the countless hours spent in the realm’s biggest, most abundant library, despite desperately begging the most prominent magic wielders to open a portal to the Shadow realm, they made no progress. It was time to head home.

“Hey, don’t be a stranger, okay? We’ll keep digging as well,” Mal patted the elf on the arm as he mounted his drake. Tyril nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Nia gave his healthy hand a faint squeeze. Noticing her worried gaze, he squeezed back. The Priestess could not forget the agonised wail he let out one night, the same one she heard deep in the elven catacombs when they learned the truth about Kaya’s fate. Hearing the heartbreak in her usually composed friend’s voice broke her already strained heart. “Please take care of yourself, Tyril.”

“Reyna’s a mighty fighter, elf. We’ll find a way to get her back,” Imtura comforted, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

“That’s assuming she’s still alive,” he muttered and before anyone could scold him, added: “Keep pushing Aerin. Resort to violence if necessary.”

The orc nodded and after a brief goodbye, Tyril gave the command and the drake took to the skies.

Upon arrival at the Starfury Manor, he requested for a guest room to be prepared and headed for the library, where he spent the following days. Combing through several books a day, the elf paid little attention to the food his family provided, the need for sleep or any of his representative responsibilities. It was not until a week later that he returned to the manor for the night, steering clear from his bedchamber, the one in which he spent a night with Reyna. 

The blue tint of the night sky and loud hoots of the native red-feathered Undermount owl indicated a late night hour. Despite the exhaustion, he found the strength to scribble a short journal entry.

Day 126 

Another fruitless night at the library. No news from Whitetower. Reyna would scold me for losing hope, but how am I supposed to believe there is a way when we haven't even stumbled upon anything helpful? What if there is no way?

According to Nia, Prince Aerin still refuses to cooperate. Or perhaps even he doesn't know how to help. I suppose he wouldn't withhold such knowledge, knowing it is Reyna who needs help.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The information of Reyna's abduction resounded in every town, giving way to a wave of terror at the possibility of the dangerous enemies returning. Grateful nods and welcomes turned into pained looks of worry and compassion, forcing Tyril to hole up in the library where nobody bothered him. 

The notion of people pitying him implied an impasse, and Tyril was far from giving up. He was convinced that there was a way to open a portal, and he just had to find the right book. 

He rubbed his eyes, allowing a few tears of exhaustion to roll down his pale cheeks. 

That night, led by the ghost of melancholy, Tyril made his way to his chamber. 

Lying on his side, Tyril closed his eyes and his hand instinctively reached for her, only to be welcomed by a cold emptiness. 

Convinced he could still smell her flowery lotion on the pillow, the elf hugged the fabric to his chest, his thumb involuntarily stroking the material as if he was holding Reyna. 

"Please, hold on for a little longer, Reyna," he whispered, lulled to sleep by the soothing owl song. That night, just as every other night, he dreamt of Reyna; however, this time it was not a nightmare.

"Unless you fancy an ugly scar, stop wiggling for a moment," Reyna scolded, patting the wound on his neck with an alcohol soaked gauze. Tyril clenched his teeth and endured the medical care in silence. Once the wound was cleaned and bandaged, Reyna pressed her lips to his warm and slightly damp temple while Tyril, finally allowing himself a moment of respite, rested his head on her chest. His eyelids closed instantly as he felt safe in her embrace. 

Dragging his own feet, Tyril made his way through the city’s market district, ignoring the delicious smells of honey cakes and cheerful shouts of children dancing to a visiting bard’s song, a tale of Morella’s brigand of heroes. 

As he took a seat by a humble pond in the heart of a communal garden, the image of his beloved slipped into his mind, bringing about the memory of Reyna comforting him after Kaya’s funeral. A low, pathetic chuckle, resembling a shy sob, escaped his throat. Was losing the people dearest to his heart the price for saving so many lives? Had he not paid enough already?

The days and nights became a blur. Had he not kept a track of days in his journal, he would not have the faintest idea how long she’d been gone. Journaling was to be a way to keep his thoughts organised, but it did not stand the test of time. His daily scribbles rather quickly turned into letters to Reyna, letters he could not send. 

Encouraged by Adrina who could not bear to watch the limitless sorrow of her beloved brother, Tyril decided to return to his roots, a traditional meditation known as Erinza, typically a fifteen-minute conversation with the Gods which he had abandoned whilst on his quest. Now, as if both to atone and to beg them for help, he meditated for an hour three times a day.

As much as they could, the Starfurys helped to comb the library shelves, partially to help bring Reyna back, and partially to keep an eye on Tyril, making sure he ate and took naps. The dark circles under his eyes, matted hair conveniently gathered in a messy bun and unhealing wounds on his knuckles indicated that not only was he not taking care of himself but also that his nerves started to wear thin.

My dearest Reyna,

today marks the 250th day of your absence. I’m ashamed to admit that, realistically, there is nothing we can do for you. The last dove from Whitetower arrived this morning, saying that our friends had to resume their responsibilities, leaving just me and your brother searching the libraries. Imtura promised to check the plundered scrolls in Flotilla. Perhaps the orcs will have more luck. I certainly hope so.

I fear the Gods have forsaken me, Reyna. Despite my desperate pleas, there is no sign of anyone listening. 

Tyril sighed and scored the last sentence out of the entry. He was embittered, yes, but he knew better than to treat the Gods as djinns who would make his wishes come true. 

Throughout the day he struggled to keep his anger at bay, the sense of injustice, guilt, and punishment desperately clang to him while at night his dreams were plagued by the horrific possibilities of the abductors' tortures, thus despite catching a few hours of sleep, he'd wake up even more exhausted than before. The shadows took everything from him. When he almost gave his life trying to rid the world of danger, restore his House’s reputation, and give his beloved friend a proper closure, the darkness still found a way to destroy him. 

Whenever he felt the anger and urge for vengeance, he remembered the person he became thanks to Reyna. Before they met, his quest consumed him, sheer fury permeated every cut of his sword, and every conversation he held with the innocent residents. Reyna showed him a different path, a path that was kind but just, filled with love and compassion. As the walking testament to the incredible person she was, Tyril aspired to encompass what she taught him. To honour her memory.

Day 360. I fear that had there been a way to enter the Shadow Realm, we would have found it a long time ago. It’s time to look realistically at this situation. I have once again lost the one closest to my heart and I can’t shake the persistent thought that had I been faster, more decisive, she would now lie next to me. 

He failed. It was time to admit defeat. He failed Kaya, and then he failed Reyna. 

Once the hope for finding a way to rescue his beloved dwindled, almost exactly a year later, Tyril contended it was high time he returned to the family and social life. On a warm June night, he represented his House at a wedding of one of the House Ascendant heirs. Watching the elven pairs effortlessly sail through the floor, Tyril remembered last year’s masquerade—remembered how despite the looming danger of the Shadow Court he managed to dance with Reyna, how quickly he always forgot about the surrounding world whenever she was in his arms, and how incredible it felt to hold her so close. For a split second, he could even see their ghosts dance again, and he felt a familiar stinging in his eyes. Sipping on his honey wine, he pondered praying to the human gods, but he was shaken out of his thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder.

Adrina was looking at him with a warm smile. "May I have this dance, Lord Starfury?"

Tyril nodded absent-mindedly. As he led his sister across the floor, navigating amongst the cheerful elves, he imagined he was holding Reyna in his arms. Alas, Adrina's tall stature painfully reminded him of the harsh truth.

Day 365. Today I visited Kaya’s grave, begging her for help. I know I shouldn’t bother a resting soul—alas, I’ve become utterly desperate, love. Come back to me, Reyna.

[petalouda85]

Chase

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

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

Word count: 1.0k

Concept: Tyril encounters his worst enemy.

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

AO3 link: x

A/N: this started as a joke and I just ran with it. Something a bit more lighthearted than what I'd normally write and I think is much needed with everything going on. Hope you all like it

It was a lovely morning in the village. The blue skies were clear, and the afternoon summer sun was thankfully not too hot as Tyril and Kaya headed into Riverbend for their usual supply run, the toddler wrapped and strapped snuggly to her father’s back, babbling happily as they traversed the path into town. 

As they entered and headed to the various destinations on their errand run, the elf nodded greetings to all who he encountered, many of them also stopping to wave to the child on his back, the girl squealing with delight each time. In the few times he stopped to chat, usually at a stall, he caught up on the happenings in the small village.

On the forefront of everyone’s mind was a kerfuffle in the town earlier in the day; somehow, a pen of geese had gotten loose, and the creatures had ended up terrorizing and chasing some unfortunate folks around as they had traversed through town. Thankfully, by the time the elf had entered the village, almost all had been corralled back into their pen. 

Tyril went about his usual business, getting the items he needed, chatting to a few of the villagers before heading back to the sanctuary in the woods. Kaya had been babbling throughout most of the errands, ready to be set down and let out her energy. 

When they entered the homestead, Tyril gave the area a quick glance over, finding Kassandra nowhere in sight. Nothing to worry about; she’d probably just gone back into the house to take care of something. He knelt in the grass, putting his basket of goods down next to him, and he began to work away at the knots of the sling. Once loose, he carefully worked and moved the fabric and the child to the front. 

“Here you go.” He muttered as he placed her down on her usual spot in the grass, turning away slightly to continue with his unpacking but turning often to check on the child; last thing he needed was for her to wander off and he wasn’t about to have her close to the treeline again.  

The peaceful bliss of the homestead continued, the day progressing much as it always did, Tyril keeping a close eye on the little girl, at one point running to keep her from crawling too far away. 

The girl seemed highly entertained by her little attempted escape, laughing and giggling as her father carried her back. After he placed her down, Tyril watched her for a while ensuring she was staying in her spot before he turned back to his task. He cluttered around a bit more when there was a faint rustling sound of grass behind him. He smirked as he turned, expecting his little escape artist to be halfway to the treeline again. Instead, he froze in place, finding himself face to face with the creature he despised so much: a goose. Kaya was silent in her spot as she too looked to the bird, though it paid her no mind. It stared at him with those empty, beady eyes and he stared back, trying to deny the slight knot forming in his stomach. The goose stared a little longer, giving a small hiss before lowering its neck, picking up speed. 

“Oh no.”

He dashed towards the nearest thing to him that offered some height: a shut storage barrel. Quickly, he jumped up, stomach sinking when he noticed the goose still charging at him. Without a thought, he grabbed onto the edge of the roof and yanked himself up even higher. Once seated, he looked down, eyes widening when he saw Kaya still sitting in the grass with a cheeky smile on her face while the goose continued to hiss and squawk at him, angrily flapping its wings as it tried to reach him. It honked, making Kaya laugh. 

“Not helping, Kaya!” He said through gritted teeth, the child continuing to laugh. The noise drew the goose’s attention, making Tyril’s stomach drop. “Hey!” He shouted, the goose immediately looking back at him. “Eyes on me, you little devil!” It hissed at him again, still flapping its wings menacingly; he didn’t feel so brave anymore. 

“What in the hells is that noise?” He heard shouted from the door before Kassandra appeared around the corner, immediately stunned to silence. Her eyes met his before shooting towards the goose and then towards the still laughing toddler in the grass. She repeated the sequence again before her hand shot up to her mouth, covering up a laugh. 

“This is humiliating enough as it is!” Tyril shouted back, kicking towards the goose. He heard her burst out a laugh while the goose honked again. “Kassandra!” 

“Oh alright!” She laughed, shaking her head. She carefully walked towards the angry creature, hands held out in front of her at the ready.

In a flash, she grabbed onto the neck of the creature, just below the head and, in a quick maneuver, she chucked the creature high and far, back towards the treeline; in any other situation, he would’ve complimented her aim. As the creature frantically flapped its wings to slow the fall, Kassandra ran and grabbed Kaya.

“Time to head inside.” Tyril didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped down from his perch and ran after Kassandra into the cabin, locking the door behind them once they were both indoors. Both made a dash for the window, where they watched the goose land and ruffle its feathers. It honked grumpily before waddling back into the forest. 

As the creature disappeared, Kassandra burst out laughing again, Kaya joining her. 

“Very funny.” Tyril said, trying his best to look grumpy despite a hint of a smile at his lips. 

“It was for me.” Kassandra said while looking at their giggling toddler. “Daddy was being silly, running away from that mean goose.” Kaya giggled a little longer before she made a honking noise, the imitation rather poor though it made Kassandra laugh. Tyril took the little girl from her mother, giving her a little poke in her stomach. 

“Why do you do this to me, Kaya?” The girl simply honked again. The smile finally crept through his grumpy expression. He turned to Kassandra. 

“Not a word about this to Mal.” She teasingly smiled. 

“Not a peep.”

[wordholic]

longing is the place of exile

pairing: aerin valleros x f!mc

summary: Aerin and Aria return to the Deadwood and confront their feelings.

note: rated G but there's some mentions of mc's experience while being held captive in the shadow's realm (such as valax taking mc's blood). wc: 3.9k. takes place around ch5. i wrote this solely because i wanna smooch his little face. and also i wanna study him under a microscope

comments and reblogs are always welcomed <: (tagging @choicesficwriterscreations ) ao3 link

Aerin had always had, in his mind, a plan for jailbreak. 

Sure, yes, siding with the Shadow Court, threatening a priestess' life, and committing fratricide made life imprisonment a somewhat sound punishment, but he wouldn't be caught dead resigning his years to a dingy, run-down prison tower. He'd much rather spend the rest of his life hiding from guards and living in shadows. 

Over the year, the plan had grown from a mere idea to an intricate web of schemes and back-up plans, as well as back-up plans for those back-up plans. In fact, if he hadn't been dragged out of the depressing cell to go on an 'adventure' with Morella's heroic saviors, he probably would've broken out in a month or two. 

Well, that was in the past anyway. Right now he found himself craving (for the first time) the cell’s creaky cot and undisturbed silence– gods, the silence–

Imtura's thunderous snores seized the moment. With a stifled groan, he rolled over, facing the crackling campfire.

The group had been forced to spend the night here in the Deadwood after a long day of trekking and fighting off monsters. While the notion of resting was pleasant at first, it soon proved to be difficult. It's a miracle any of these people managed to fall asleep, Aerin thought as he got on his feet and planted a step on the dry forest floor–

ZAP. A savage pain jolted up his leg. He cursed under his breath and stumbled back onto the ground, temporarily paralyzed by the sting assaulting his muscles. He'd forgotten all about the barrier Tyril had set up around his tent. He might not be behind bars, but he was still a prisoner.

"Aerin?"

His head snapped up. Immediately he caught Aria staring at him from the other side of the fire, partly startled, partly suspicious. "What are you doing?"

Something compelled him to put on an act, so he did, spreading his numb leg out and positioning himself in a way that wouldn't show how much discomfort he was in. "I find it impossible to fall asleep in a place like this."

Aria shot a knowing glance in Imtura's direction. A lopsided grin crept up to her lips. "It does take time to get used to that."

"Glad you agree. My solution was to go for a walk, but…" he gestured vaguely at the space around him. "That is also impossible."

She nodded. Then he realized that it was much stranger that she was awake as well. "And you? Don’t tell me you’re still not used to that."

"Please, that snore is nothing to me." She cast a meaningful look into the dark woods beyond the camp. "There's just… a lot on my mind, I suppose. I was going to take a walk myself."

Their eyes met once again. A silent understanding was passed, and after some contemplation, she added, "You should come with me."

He made a doubtful hum. "Should I? I mean, it's the middle of the night, and your friends here think that I'm a ticking time bomb. You're not scared some harm may come to you out there?"

To his surprise, she smirked at the mere idea. "We'll be safe from monsters as long as we don't make much noise, plus we both know you're no match for me. And to answer your question, I'm not scared of you, even if it's against my better judgment."

She came to a full height before him, limned by the dancing fire behind her, and he held his breath.

"After you," she said with a flourish, motioning outward. "My advice is to stick to the right side."

Still skeptical, Aerin stood up once again and took a cautious step, this time leaning toward said side of the opening. Amusement took over his expression as he made it out without being electrocuted.

"I don't suppose your mage friend made a slip while casting my shield?"

"...Let's just say I have more trust in you than all of them combined."

With that, the two set off at a leisurely pace, Aria illuminating the path in front of them with a wooden torch and Aerin waiting for the right time to break the silence. All around them, crickets chirped in harmony. The air was dry and still. Lifeless trees were shrouded in pitch black where the flame couldn't reach, concealing whatever dangers lurked within them. 

It suddenly seemed less of a good idea to be wandering around in the dead of night, but at least… Aerin debated with himself. At least they get to spend some time without everyone else keeping their watchful eyes on him.

"So," he started, stealing a glance at the back of her head. "A penny for your thoughts? Specifically those that managed to keep you up after a whole day of toil."

Out of the corner of his gaze, he could see her trying to tether her emotions to the ground, but the flash of trouble was unmistakable. It seemed that he wasn't the only one putting up a front. 

Just as he thought she was going to ignore him completely, she shook her head. "I'm worried about the others." 

"Is this about the extremely depressing moment you guys had earlier?" The question escaped him.

Aria shot him a withering look before returning her attention to the road, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion.

A year ago, the five of them had been formidable, no doubt drowning in glory and praise, victory and pride. They'd been Morella's newest legends, the ones who managed to pry off the Shadow Court's icy, greedy grasp. They still were, at least that's what Aerin believed, but time had passed. It was as Aria had pointed out: they were tired and still hurting from grief. They'd gone different paths, too. They might've managed to find their rhythm with each other before, but things had changed, and it's not easy to recreate the same picture with new puzzle pieces. 

It wasn't anyone's fault but time's, but he could still see on her shoulder the impossible weight of responsibility. The world was hers to save again, and this time she also had her companions to stress over. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it would be the worry etched between her brows.

Though he supposed that she couldn't have changed much, given that she'd been captive the whole time. 

He chewed on his lip, this time threading his words delicately. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly happened when you were in the Shadow Realm? I mean, I know the gist, but Mal said that you'd mostly slept through it, and I seriously doubt that."

Aria swallowed hard. He wondered if they were thinking about the same thing– the barren, devastated land, the despair and hopelessness permeating the air. 

Somewhere off in the distance sat a lonely log. They took their time heading towards it and sat side by side, shoulders brushing against each other in the newfound proximity. This close, Aerin could properly observe the wavering flame burning in her eyes and the way it painted shadows across her countenance.

She was every bit as beautiful as the day they'd met, and he could never tell her that.

"Mal was right, I was out cold for the most part… but I still remember what happened," she started. "I remember the room they kept me in, the leather straps bound around my limbs. I remember regaining consciousness every once in a while and feeling devastated when I saw that I was still stuck in the same place… that no one had come to save me.

"Usually I would wake, and then Valax would come and take my blood until I passed out again. The cycle went on and on. I was no more than a helpless prey waiting to be slaughtered. There were times when I thought that I was going to die there, that one of those days I would slip into unconsciousness and that would be it. I was going to die in another realm, away from my friends and Kade."

Her posture slouched as she recounted the past, head bowed as if trying to fold into herself. There was a noticeable tremble in her hands, and Aerin would give anything to be the one to hold her close and tell her she was still alive and safe, except he didn't have the right. He hadn’t even known about her abduction until just a few days ago.

"Even worse was the nightmares. There were horrors when I was awake and horrors when I was asleep, and I was always alone in my dreams. Sometimes I would see Tyril and the others, but they'd be wrong. They were cruel and vicious, and it was either that they did terrible things to me, or that I'd have to do terrible things to them. Those dreams terrified me, and I was always drenched in sweat when I woke up.”

Nightmares were not new to Aerin, and if he had to be honest, the 'creaky cot' and 'undisturbed silence' never did help much. He hadn't had one good night's sleep since he'd been defeated, not when he knew that he was doomed to be a prisoner, a traitor, a monster for as long as he breathed, and probably long after he was dead too. 

And if he did manage to escape confinement, who's to say that he'd be safe from those affiliated with the Shadow Court and wanted his head on a spike? And now he was also against the Ash Empire, no less. The stakes had only gotten higher.

The point was, he knew how the mind could turn into your worst enemy. That was probably why sitting next to Aria and adventuring with her after all this time felt surreal to him– because she was always different in his dreams. Sometimes cold and unforgiving. Other times hurt and broken. But never as… genuine and honest as she was now, heart on her sleeves and all.

She suddenly laughed, trying futilely to dispel the gloom with a shake of her head. "I'm lucky I forgot everything that day; otherwise I wouldn't have been able to make my escape. But these memories have a way of returning. They’ve been surfacing from time to time, haunting my mind." 

Her shaky fingers were clenched around the cloth on her lap, and Aerin knew that any one of her companions could take her hand and have it mean more than a thousand words from him, but they were alone and he couldn’t bear seeing even more hurt color her features.

So he reached out and wrapped his arm around her, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, his heart shuddered.

“It’s like the whole world’s moved on but I’m still stuck here.” 

“I know what you mean.” He whispered, recalling all the times he’d sat by the barred window and strained his ears for the sounds of the outside world. “…I wish I’d known earlier what happened to you.”

She scoffed good-naturedly. “So what, you could escape from the luxurious prison and come save me?” 

"Sure, maybe I would've figured something out."

Aria said nothing to that, lost in thoughts. Then, with a start, she tore herself away and restored the distance between them, brows tight with a thousand unspoken thoughts. "Whatever. It's all in the past now." 

Aerin had a feeling she wasn't just referring to the kidnapping.

As silence draped around them, she let the strong, determined mask slip over her face again. The whole day both of them had been hiding behind false pretense.

"Wait," she craned her head, frowning. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She raised a finger, prompting him to keep quiet, and he rolled his eyes.

A beat later, she stood up and grabbed the torch. "There's water nearby." She illuminated the foliage around them and began following the general direction in which the branches and scarce leaves were bent. Aerin scrambled to his feet and followed suit.

"Should we be wandering even further out?" he asked.

She merely shrugged. After a few minutes, it became apparent to him that she was no longer a stranger to the road she was taking. The twists and turns she took were concise. Something had clicked in her head. 

She'd been here before.

And so had he, as he soon discovered.

They'd managed to find their way back to that fateful lake. It was precisely as he remembered– glimmering with an abundance of magic, casting whimsical hues on its surroundings. The moon managed to reach down through the grotesquely crooked branches to shine down on the water, specking it with starry sparks. For once, the air smelled like something other than depression and death. There was sweetness in every breath he took, courtesy of the dreamlike flowers that bloomed along the shore.

"Just how I remember it." He bent down to rub a smooth, roundly shaped leaf between his fingers. "We did have some good time here, didn't we?"

Aria rolled her eyes so far back that she probably strained something, but he didn't miss how she crossed her arms stiffly, eyes darting around as if desperately looking for a distraction. "If by 'good time' you mean playing me like a fiddle, then yea. We sure did."

Hurt bled back into her face, and he angled his own away before it could crack his facade. He knew hiding behind snarks was never going to grant him the olive branch that he wordlessly longed for, but it was still tenfold easier than asking for the impossible– her forgiveness.

Yet still, what she said wasn't true, and he couldn't let that become her impression of how that night went down.

"I know how this sounds after everything I've done, but I wasn't trying to trick you that night." 

Her expression was evasive. Unreadable. "What were you trying to do then, if not to bribe my trust?" 

"Nothing," the response was immediate. "There was no ulterior motive, Aria. Everything I said was true, and everything I did, I did it out of my heart."

He wished that he'd been a better man. Maybe then he wouldn't be standing where they'd laid their souls bare, trying desperately to make her understand. What good would it do if she believed him anyway? A criminal and a villain, he was never destined to be anything more than a footnote in her story. He could never force his way back into her life, let alone attempt to heal her wounds when he'd been the one to wield the knife. 

But she was the only soul who ever truly saw him as he was, and she'd been the person he'd wanted to hurt least in his grand schemes, despite how little that meant now. He just couldn’t let his feelings go unspoken.

Finally, she lifted a tentative gaze to him. He could see the exact moment her armor shattered. The slightest bit of hope crept into her expression, and it quickly seeped beneath his ribs as well.

"I can't trust you when there's still so much I don't know, Aerin," she says quietly. "I've been trying to understand why you joined the Shadow Court. I had a hunch that your family played a part in your decision, but the picture's still hazy."

The memory of his family was an ache that he actively avoided. He still felt rage gnaw at him when he thought of all the ways they disregarded him, and he’d be lying to say that he regretted the way the Blade of Shadow protruded from his brother’s chest. He did what he had to do.

He drew in a deep breath. It'd never been easy to broach this topic, but if he'd managed to open up at this same lake with the same person a year ago, maybe he could do it again. 

"Fine. I'll tell you everything." He took a seat on the soft grass and patted the spot next to him. Shortly after, Aria followed suit, quietly encouraging him to go on.

So he did. More than two decades of neglect and belittlement came tumbling out, as well as the shadows that lurked in the corners of his dreams, beckoning him to the other realm, promising him all the power he needed to change the world.

"Most people were so preoccupied with getting on my brother's good side that they didn't realize what a bleak future awaited Morella if it was to fall into his hands, and for the few that weren't busy singing praises, they cared too much about their status to speak up. Anytime I appealed to the court, they shot me down like I was some babbling kid. Eventually, I reckoned that no one was going to take me seriously."

"I'm guessing that's where the Shadow Court came in?"

He nodded. "They promised me power, and my brother would've plunged Morella into a living hell. I thought…" He balled his hands into fists, staring narrowly out at the tranquil water. "I thought I could finally get everyone to see things my way."

"Even if it meant sacrificing the lives of innocents? Even at the cost of my friend?" Aria speared him with a look, and he averted his eyes. 

"...It was my only option, and I was willing to take it."

She turned away, seemingly mulling over his words. Now that the truth was out in the open, a weight had been undoubtedly lifted from his mind… but the bitter taste of guilt lingered. The sins had been committed. There was no undoing the harm he'd done, regardless of how noble the cause might've been.

When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. "Have you ever had second thoughts?"

"I suppose I have," his mouth curled into a bittersweet smile. "The whole time we were walking along this lake, I was lamenting our ill-timed meeting, even more so when I welcomed you at the palace. I couldn't stop wondering how things could've changed if we'd met sooner…" He trailed off, realizing himself. With every thread of memory unspooled, the defense around his heart was crumbling piece by piece. "Though I suppose there's no use dwelling in the past, is there?"

"I supposed not, but we still have the future ahead of us. You can still do better. Make up for what you've done."

That stupid, innocent hope crawled back again, yawning in his chest, pushing away all the doubts that'd been plaguing his mind. "You really think so?"

He held his breath as she reached out and placed her hand atop his. Her skin was calloused from all the tireless fighting, but it was warm and familiar. It was only when his hand instinctively turned over to grab her fingers that he realized he'd underestimated just how much he missed her.

In return, she gave him a brief squeeze. It lasted only for a split second, but he felt as though it could ground him. "I know so." 

Tranquil as the night was, the space around them felt tight all of a sudden. There was a tingle in his hand that longed to graze her skin, a tightness in his throat that threatened to spill whatever softness he'd been burying inside him, and he knew that he should look away before his face said something he couldn't take back, but it was impossible to do so when violet and turquoise waves were rippling across her features, highlighting the longing the mirrored his own.

His heartbeat was going so fast, he was surprised it was still safely contained within him. My heart still beats for you, the confession died on his tongue. Did he even have the right to say something like that, after all this time?

At first he thought that he'd imagined her lilac eyes darting down to his lips, but then she leaned forward imperceptibly, boldly. Her other hand, trembling, came up to hold his cheek.

"Are you sure?" Was all that he could muster in that closeness.

"I'm sure." 

Her eyes drifted close, and she slanted her lips against his. 

It was sweet and cautious, but enough to light up every nerve in his body. Whatever resolve that'd been holding him back dispersed as her tongue swept across his lower lip, and he readily parted his mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He untangled their hands and moved to cup her neck, relishing the way her pulse quickened under his thumbs. 

The tension lining her torso melted away as he tipped her head back, letting whatever that was unutterable to him spill into her open mouth, desperately and eagerly, with the likeness of a man starved of oxygen. He'd spent the better part of the past year dreaming (and resisting to dream) of having her this near again, and it was even better than anything he could've imagined. She was here and real and smelled like home, even though he had never understood what the word meant. Her fingers were tangled in his curly hair, drawing from him noises of contentment with each tug, and he couldn't help but trace his hands over the contours of her body before coming to a rest on her lower back, praying silently that this moment would stretch out forever and ever.

The moment ended eventually, as all things did. Face flushed and out of breath, he pulled away and dared to glance at her.

There was the slightest hint of hesitation behind her glossy eyes, like she was replaying in her head what'd just happened. Suddenly, with her face a breath away from his, he had a feeling he was back in the Shadow Court's macabre throne room again, holding her at knifepoint, feigning indifference at her bruised and crestfallen look. 

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he was right in believing that there was no way she– or anyone, for that matter, would give him a chance again, let alone forgiveness. 

A defeated sigh interrupted his racing train of thoughts. There was a wistful smile that Aria couldn't quite fight back as she knocked her forehead softly against his, letting their breaths swirl together. 

"I just can't seem to listen to reason when I'm around you," she murmured, gaze downcast. "But I do trust that you can walk a different path, Aerin. Not to mention…" her next words came out in a hurry. "I can't do all this… saving the world business without you."

He couldn't help but chuckle, his heart thumping like a gavel inside his chest. "Feels like the world’s always depending on you."

This time her smile went all the way, reaching every corner of her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "What can I say? I am a hero." She shrugged. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… I need you to stay with me. No matter what comes, we'll figure it out, I promise."

His heart squeezed at the confirmation; he wasn't as damned as he thought he was. She'd still have him, even as he was. The yearning in her eyes was a living thing, and after all this time, what was he to say except yes, yes, I will stay with you?

So he brought her knuckles up and pressed his lips to them, like hot wax making its mark, like a prayer, a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Little star falling

Paring: Tyril x f! elf (odelia

book: blades of light and shadows

word count: 2165 

rating: y/a ig for swearing and sexual themes but no smut

category: good old- rewrite

warnings: mentions of bullying and mental health issues.

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

Tyril stood on the outskirts of the party, watching as his peers ran around and screamed in glee. “Don’t you wish to join them?” His mother asked. He looked up to her and frowned. “They don’t like me.” “That's nonsense, Tyril you are a sweet boy, You just have to put yourself out there and people will love you just as much as I do.” She promised, pinching his cheeks before showering with kisses. 

He knew the truth though. He was different. He was wrong. 

“They called me dull.” He admits. His mom frowns, and takes him into her arms, and for some reason he cries. He had long since grown used to the teasing, but still he cried for some unknowable reason.

“My little star, You are perfect.” She promised. “I’m nothing.” He said, because if he didn’t the world would stop turning, it was a natural law at this point. When you hear his name, “oh he’s nothing,” will follow shortly after. 

“No Tyril, My precious star, you’re everything, You’re going to be the brightest star the world has ever seen, You’re going to prove everyone wrong, because You’re perfect.” She promised. “But no one likes me.” He said

“You’ll find them, but in my experience, the people that’ll mean the most to you will find you, just when you need them the most.” She explained “why can’t they come now?” He asked “I don’t know, baby,” 

“But I do know that when you meet them, and you will, they will see you for the kind, thoughtful, very handsome boy you are, and every moment you’re with them you’ll be at ease, because they’ll love you no matter what.” his mom told him. 

He didn’t believe her then. He cried and cried, she wiped his tears and kissed the top of his head, but in the back of his head he knew that she knew the truth. That he wasn’t good. He was bad. He was different. 

His father’s advice was to straighten his back and his act. ‘Don’t mess this up, Tyril, you’re a Starfury.’  If He spent enough money on never ending classes maybe his son would catch up to the elflings.

He tossed himself into everything he did, he gave his all to everything and still he was the least of his peers. He tried. 

You couldn’t count the times he stayed up, studying till he passed out, and practicing magic till he ran himself to exhaustion. He was in the yard practicing his swordsmanship til daybreak, till his blisters burst and bled and his blood made him unable to grip his sword.

He went to social functions and smiled, laughed and tried to jest, trying to keep up and fit in.

His mind never let him get too comfortable, always reminding him of the truth.

He wasn’t witty or clever, He wasn’t good at music or socializing, he wasn’t good at this. Truth be told he could only pride himself on being the best dualist. 

And for his bravo he stood before someone he thought was his best friend, Bloodied and bruised and she laughed. 

“Poor little lord- are you going to cry now?” She mocked. He stared at her in disbelief.

“But-” “get out of my sight before I do your house a favor and rid the stain that is your presence from its history, You pathetic little worm.” She threatened.

He ran. Just like he was a boy, instead of hiding behind his mothers legs he ran out of Undermount, He ran.

And he didn’t stop running until a voice called out to him. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going.” “I’m not the one running blindly into strangers.” he replied with a scowl. “Are you sure about that?” The elf asked. 

She wasn’t noble, he knew that for sure, She didn’t bare a family crest. But her golden eyes reminded him of a noble family he couldn’t quite place. 

 but even then he continued to run. 

Until he ran into her and her merry band of idiots once again, and after exchanging their tells of why they wish to hunt down the shadow court they looked to each other. 

“It would seem our journeys are linked, then. Wherever the shards are, those under its influence are sure to be close by. I’ll accompany you on your hunt for the shards, But I won’t let you slow me down.” He said. And this woman had the nerve to look amused. Her brows raised and the corners of her round lips quirked up. 

“Oh that’s wonderful!” the priestess started to exclaim, only to be cut off by the other human. 

“Hang on. Us slow You down? You’re the one murdering your way across realms, we just want the shards.” He said 

Tyril tore his eyes from the woman’s and shifted them to the human, his hand reaching to the hilt of his sword. 

“I’m doing them a kindness… Not that I expect you to understand that.” He defended. 

The elf looked between the two men and sighed. “We need all the help we can get, Mal and he doesn’t seem like a bad ally to have.” She said,

At least there was only one idiot in the group it seemed. 

“I’ll do whatever I can to aid you until the shadow court is dealt with, you have my word.” He said 

The human glares at him for a while before he shifts his gaze to the elf and sighs. “You better be sure about this, Odelia. It’s your brother whose fate hangs in the balance, after all.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” She asked with a glare. 

Tyril glanced at the Priestess, and couldn’t help but feel like a child watching their parents argue. 

But then the elf looked at him, and smiled- like he was worth something. He noticed her staring as he looked down at the fae fish, and in the middle of the night when it was his turn to stand watch she came to him and smiled, draping her blanket over his shoulders before sitting next to him.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to worry yourself.” he said, swallowing nervously as she looked at him. “I’ve never met another elf before.” she admits, at this he raises his brows.

“Your kin?” He asks “None but my adoptive brother... He’s a human.” She admits “You’re from the kingdom of elves- aren’t you?” “Undermount? yes I’m from house starfury.” he says watching as she nods.

“A noble, huh?” “Of sorts.” She smiles  “What’s it like?” she asks “To be noble or undermount?”

“Both.” “Suffocating at times…. If you don’t fit the standards then…. you don’t have…. anything.” He admits

He glanced at her, wide eyed with wonder and curiosity (The same look she gave the human scoundrel). and maybe he selfishly wanted that look to himself, or maybe he couldn’t crush that. He couldn’t be the one to kill the vision she had of it in her mind.

Whatever the reason, he smiled softly and started to tell her only the most wonderful things about his home. 

He didn’t know when he let her into his heart, it seemed that she was always there… He didn’t know when he started to fall. Maybe it was then, when she draped her blanket over his shoulders, or when they played poker, over sleepless nights where she’d stay up and listen to him talk of his favorite constellations.

or when he’d listen to her speak on her dreams of adventure, that in her village she was a Physicians apprentice, That the pay was horrible and insulting to someone of her skill- she delivered four babies, saved a whole camp of soldiers, and have kept him alive(a jest) but she did it because how else was she going to pay for food and board.

She wondered if money solved everything. He asked if that was what she wished to be, a physician and she said it was hard, that some people think the worst of her simply because she’s an elf- it's a hard job that pays less than her traveling and offering her assistance. She asked if being a lord was what he wanted and he couldn’t answer. 

It was probably under the stars, her lit blue looking at him with a soft smile. 

… “that's not why I stare at you, Tyril.” She said  …

It must’ve been at that moment.

Or maybe those were all sparks but the flame was after that, those nights.

“Why do you always look surprised when I want to spend time with you?” She asks “I… Suppose I'm not used to thinking of myself as someone anyone might Choose.” He admits  “We’ll have to get you used to it, then, won’t we?” she replied

Maybe it was then, seeing her dressed up and so in awe of everything around her. 

He stood back straight with a grin on his lips as Odelia held onto the medal around his neck. “It suits you.” She says against his lips. “Do you think Undermont will give you one?” She wondered out loud. “probably not, but you’ll likely get a title.” “Oh good, then you’ll only be stuck with newly accessed trash and not commoner trash.” she said cheerily. 

She took off the medal around her neck and placed it on his. “This is yours.” “If undermount doesn’t award you, then i’ll just have to.” she explains.

“You are everything.” She says with a grin, a level of sincerity that he couldn’t help but believe.

He grinded and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Her hands encased his face, her laughter breaking the kiss. “You’re squeezing the life out of me, Ty.” “I’m just- very happy to be with you.” He admits. “Well, I already knew that.” she replies with a grin.

She intertwined their fingers and looked at him with a small grin. “Let’s go back to our rooms, love.” she suggested “... there isn’t truly a need to, is there? It’s private enough.” He said 

She looked at him a bit shocked before bursting out into laughter. “Why, Tyril. Are you into having an audience?” she asked “not particularly, no but when I’m with you I feel all my inhibitions slipping away.” “That might not be a good thing,” She says, her hand on his hip, drawing him close with that grin of hers. 

“Though, If someone wanted to watch I’d have no qualms with them seeing how lucky I am to have you.” he told, and this woman who had spent months flirting and teasing him, flushed. 

“Ever the charmer.” she muttered, pulling him down to kiss her before leading him to the nearest inn they could find. 

And when he awoke he found her sending a bird off with a letter. “What are you doing?” he asked, she turned to look at him and she grinned.

Jumping onto the bed and making her way to his lap with that same grin. 

“Good morning, my love.” She says “good morning, beloved,” he said. His words only make her grin widen. “I love it when you call me that.” she says, pressing a kiss to his throat. 

His mother was right. About so many things, but she was right about Odelia- his right person came along and was stolen before his eyes….. And he did nothing.

When his mother passed he thought he’d remember her face forever, nothing in this world or the next could make him forget her…. But time steals more than just your youth, and there are days where her image evades his memory. 

So he took to drawing Odelia’s portrait, doodling it on his notes and journal pages but he finds as the months go by all that remains is her smile and eyes. He wrote down her words so he never forgets.

He draws, and with a doodle of her grinning, staring up at the sky, her hair sprawled out beneath her it makes him think back to sleeping under the stars.

 “I Can feel you staring,” She muttered, rolling to face him. “It’s to make up for all those times you’ve stared at me- distracting me from battle-” “you noticed?” she whispered. “Of course I noticed.” 

She laughs a bit like she found herself funny for not realizing before she rolls to hide her face in her bed roll. 

“You must think I’m a fool.” she muttered, almost…. Bashful. “Why would I think that?” He asked “Because-” She paused and looked into his eyes, she searched for a while before she laughed to herself. “Oh.” she muttered, then she let out a little laugh.

“You must hate when people stare at you,” “It’s alright if it’s you, I understand you must be very curious about your people,” “that's not why I stare at you, Tyril.” She informed in a tone that meant he missed something very obvious.  “Why else?” He asked. She simply laughs at him- at whatever he didn’t know.

“Good night, Tyril.” she whispered, as not to disturb any of the others. 

[storyofmychoices]

The Quest for Daenarya

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

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!MC)

Other Characters: Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Thalassa (OC orphan), Lysander (OC orphan), Ovisa (OC orphan)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow II, Chapter 3

Word Count: ~2,600

Rating/Warnings: Teen to be safe; blades (daggers, swords), angst with a happy ending

A/N: I had wanted to publish this before chapter 3, but life got in the way. I still hope you enjoy my version of Mal x Daenarya's reunion.

Synopsis: After hearing her stories, Thalassa, Ovisa, and Lysander decide it is their quest to bring Daenarya back to Mal, they just never imagined it would be so easy.

This follows Shadows of Hope (Mal's grief) and Her Legacy (where the children were introduced).

Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest. Her steps, once confident and purposeful, now felt hesitant and uncertain. It had been a year since she last saw him, not for her—or at least it had not felt like it to her— but for him. The anticipation of their reunion weighed heavily on her. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of him and the orphanage he had opened, a dream they had once shared. She was proud of him, more than words could express, but a profound sadness tugged at her. They were going to build it together. They had whispered plans late at night of the life they'd build and the lives they'd save. She knew how much the orphanage meant to him, how much it meant to both of them and not being there had been a constant ache in her heart since she had first learned of it. He did it, though, and she admired him so much for that.  

A lump swelled in her throat. Her thoughts shifted, swirling with doubts and fears. What if their connection had faded during their time apart? What if he had moved on, found another Contessa (or two) to fill the void she had left behind? She couldn't blame him. That was the life he led—but that was before her. The idea of losing him, even though they were worlds apart, was a pain she couldn't bear to imagine. She swallowed hard, putting the idea out of her thoughts. Even if he had, it wouldn't take away from the man he became in her absence, the man she always knew he could be. 

As she neared the orphanage, her steps grew slower, her anxiety intensifying. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, determined to face whatever lay ahead. She needed to see him, to tell him everything, and to hopefully share in their dream once more.

"Shall we wait here?"

The elf's voice startled her, drawing her back. His presence along with Nia's reminded her that this was more than a happy reunion. There was still a job to do, even if for just a moment, she had let herself forget. Forget the stakes. Forget the journey that awaited them. Forget that two of her friends were beside her. For her, it was just them. Just her and Mal. 

She nodded subtly as she climbed the 3 stone steps to the orphanage door. She paused for a moment; her fingers ran over the sign reading "Mal's Orphanage", and below it, the words "no longer forgotten". Her heart swelled with pride and admiration. 

Her closed fist hovered over the door as she worked up the strength to knock. She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself as she rocked her fist forward, only to find the door opening before she could make contact with it. 

Three little faces greeted her. They instinctively took a step back, the oldest standing protectively in front of the younger two.

"Oh, hello," Daenarya offered softly, a smile of delight filling her face. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just looking for my friend. Maybe you know him?"

The children studied her closely, whispering to one another.

"That's her!" Thalassa insisted, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "We found her!"

"Are you sure?" Ovisa questioned. "I wouldn't think our first quest would be this easy?"

"She looks just like her!" Thalassa continued. "You've seen that drawing Mr. Mal has in his room. That's her." 

Lysander considered the girls' words a moment, thinking back to the drawing and looking at the woman standing before them. "I think you're right." 

"What do we do now?" Thalassa questioned. The three children ignored Daenarya as they stood huddled in the doorway.

"We should just make sure," Ovisa advised. "We don't want to get this wrong." 

"Agreed!" Lysander turned back to the stranger at the door. "What's your name?"

"Daenarya." 

Thalassa squealed and bounced in place, vibrating with excitement. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"We really did it!" Ovisa cheered along.

Lysander stood proudly. He couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement. He tried to hope for Mr. Mal and the girls, but he didn't think any of them would ever be able to save her, but here she was. "Can you wait here?"

He shut the door, closing Daenarya outside before she had time to reply. 

Ovisa opened the door again, poking her head out. "We'll be right back." She closed it once more.

Daenarya couldn't stop the giggle of amusement rising in her chest. Any doubts or worries melted away at the sight of those precious children. He did good. 

A scream of anticipation pierced the air as the children bounded through the house. No door or wall in all the realms could contain their flurry of excitement as they ran through the halls and rooms, screaming for Mal. 

Mal ran to them at the sounds, questioning what could be wrong, fearing the worst, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger, ready to fight anyone who might threaten them. 

"We found her! We really found her," Thalassa screamed, pulling on Mal's arm, attempting to drag him forward. 

"It's her! We did it," Ovisa added, pushing the drawing of Daenarya she had taken from his room in his face. "We checked and everything." 

"I didn't believe it, but the girls are right. We found Daenarya," Lysander agreed. "Can you believe it?"

Mal's head spun at the fast pace of their words but also from what they claimed. He knew how much they wanted to help, how much finding her meant to them since first telling them her story, but it couldn't be. He just didn't know how to let them down. They loved their make-believe games, but this one hurt more than any other could. "Did you now?" He finally offered, trying to play along. 

"We did! We really did!" Thalassa continued pulling on him. Her small frame did little to move the strong rogue. 

"I'm so proud of you." His smile was weak, not reaching his eyes that glistened at the sound of her name on their innocent lips. "I will need to hear all about your worthy quest."

The children exchanged looks. There really wasn't much to tell about their quest. They hadn't really considered that before. 

"Well, we were going to go out and look around town," Ovisa started. She conveniently left out the part where she had planned to pickpocket some nobles. "We wanted to do research and ask around, but really all we had to do was open the door."

"So you found a magical door? A portal to the Shadow Realm?" Mal played into her story. "We'll have to alert the palace at once."

"No, I don't think so," Ovisa shook her head in confusion. She turned her attention to Lysander. "Is the front door magic?" Her eyes widened at the possibility.

"I don't think so," he pondered it a moment.

"The front door?" Mal questioned. "Of what?"

"Of here!" Thalassa dug her heels in, pulling harder. "That's what we're trying to tell you."

"This isn't a game?" His heart pounded in his chest.

"What game?" Lysander didn't know what he was talking about. "We really found her. She's outside."

Mal's feet carried him down the halls to the front of the building. His thoughts were torn between hope that they were telling the impossible truth and the pain of it being their attempt to cheer him up. Each step felt like a lifetime. The excited cheers and chatter of the children pulling and pushing him forward was a distant sound. All he could hear was the sound of his heart drumming in his ears, ready to break when she wasn't there. He couldn't let them see him like that. 

"Maybe I should go alone," he decided when they finally reached the door. 

"Awww," Thalassa let out a soft whimper. "But we wanted to see!"

Lysander pulled the girls back a step. "We're here if you need us."

Mal offered a half-hearted smile as he patted them on the back. "I'm so proud of all of you. I hope you know that."

"We do," Ovisa hugged him. "Now go!"

Mal nodded, reaching for the door. He schooled his face, hoping not to let his disappointment show to them. The door crept open slowly. Instead of the dark streets of White Tower waiting for him, he saw what he could only believe was a mirage of her. 

He closed his eyes, shaking away her memory. He couldn't do this. Not now. He could break down later. But not while the children were there. He counted his breaths and shook the tears away, knowing that when he opened his eyes, the vision of her would be gone. 

But she wasn't.

Her glistening eyes met his own as she stood locked with his gaze. "Mal." 

She rushed forward, throwing her arms around his neck. She buried her face in him. 

It took him a moment longer to return the gesture. He half expected her to melt away if he touched her, but she didn't. His arms enveloped her as he pulled her closer. 

As Mal held Daenarya in his arms, the world around him seemed to blur and fade away. The sensation of her presence, her warmth, her breath against his neck, was almost too much to bear. His knees grew weak, and for a moment, he feared he might collapse under the weight of his emotions. Everything he had felt during their time apart, the grief, the longing, the guilt, all of it surged to the surface in this one overwhelming moment of reunion. He clung to her as if she were his lifeline as if letting go would mean losing her all over again. She was his rock, his hope, and his strength. If it was not for her, he wouldn't be standing now. 

"Is it really you?" His words were a broken cry in her ear.

"It's me." She clung to him, refusing to let go. "It's me."

"How?" 

Her hands cradled his face as she met his gaze once more. She needed to see him. "It doesn't matter right now." Her thumb brushed over the coarse hair of his beard. "I'm here now. That's all that matters. I'm here." 

Unable to contain his overwhelming emotions any longer, Mal gently pulled Daenarya closer, his lips seeking hers in a tender, passionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with longing and love. A kiss that spoke of all the time they had spent apart and all the moments they had yearned for this reunion. All the pain and sorrow of the past year melted away, leaving only the pure, unbridled joy of their love. The world around them could have crumbled, and they wouldn't have noticed. For at this moment, it was only the two of them. 

The laughter, cheers, and eventual "eww, gross" sounds from the children were distant. Tyril and Nia brushing past the reunited couple, ushering the children inside, was a blur. 

Nothing in all the realms mattered more than the love passing between them. This was what he had spent a lifetime searching for. A priceless treasure, worth more than gold and diamonds, someone who made him feel whole. The only place his heart longed to be— home. In her arms, that was home.

They parted, only to catch their breath, their foreheads resting together. 

"I failed you," Mal grieved. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

"You could never fail me," Daenarya marveled. "Look at what you've done, what you've created. This life you've made for the children—I couldn't be prouder. You are the best man I've ever known, Mal Volari."

"I am pretty great, aren't I?" He teased, trying to get out of himself. His light-hearted tone faulted. "I tried everything."

"Shh—" She pressed her finger to his lips. "That part is over. I'm here now. That's all that matters."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing her softly. His eyes closed, breathing in her familiar scent for the first time in a year. She hadn't changed a bit. 

"Are they still kissing?" Ovisa called.

Thalassa stuck her head out a window before Tyril could pull her back in. "I think so. Hey! You're no fun." 

As Tyril removed Thalassa from prying into the couple's moment, Ovisa relieved him of the sword on his waist. "Wow, this looks really sharp." She held the blade up, studying how the light reflected off its shiny surface. 

"How did you get that?" Tyril's words stumbled as he stood in disbelief that anyone, let alone a small child, could have taken his prized weapon. "Get back here with that."

"Nuh-uh." Ovisa jumped up on the couch, holding his blade out to him. "Who do you think you are? Her—" she pointed the blade back toward the door. "—and her—" she pointed it at Nia."—we like. You, we don't know!"

"Ovisa," Nia approached calmly, holding her hands up. "Remember we talked about this; we don't take things that don't belong to us. You don't need to do that anymore."

"But what if I like taking things?" She pouted. "Look at how shiny it is!"

Tyril snickered. "Leave it to Mal to open an orphanage for thieves."

"How did you expect them to survive before this?" Nia questioned. "We're teaching them a better way."

Lysander stood next to Ovisa. "You still didn't answer the lady's question. Who are you?"

Tyril took an astonished step back. "Tyril of House Starfury."

The children broke out into laughter. 

"No, you're not silly," Thalassa pulled on his arm. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Can I touch your pointy ears? They look so big. I could just scream!"

"I am Tyril Starfury; surely, Mal has told you stories," he replied incredulously. A scowl pulled on his lips. "He may have used the name 'Elf Boy'."

"He has told us stories of Elf Boy, the great elf of House Starfury, but you're not him." Lysander took the sword from Ovisa, holding its tip to the elf's chest. "Are you one of them, from the Shadow Realm?"

"Maybe he's part of our quest," Ovisa decided. "We have to vanquish the imposter."

"Why would you children think I'm an imposter?"

"You're too tall?"

"I'm what?"

"TOO. TALL." Ovisa over-enunciated the words, making sure he understood.

Tyril stood dumbfounded. "Look at the blade; that crest is the crest of my house."

"You could have stolen it!" Ovisa pressed her hands to her hips. "I stole it from you, so does that make me from House Starfury too?"

"This is ridiculous," Tyril stammered, searching Nia for assistance. The priestess hid her face behind her hands to cover her laughter. "You are enjoying this. This is what I get for defending the realm with you a lot. What did he tell them."

Daenarya couldn't help but stifle her own laughter as she listened to Tyril try to reason with the children, their voices carrying through the still-open window. "What did you tell them?"

A devilish smirk pulled on his lips. "I started with the truth, Kit. That ought to count for something."

Her brow rose curiously, "And what did you end with?"

Mal ran his hand over the back of his neck. "Elf boy's height might have decreased with each story."

"How tall is he now?" 

"Shorter than me." 

Daenarya shook her head, "he will not be pleased."

"And that's different from any other moment, how?"

"You're trouble."

"Your kind of trouble?"

"Always," she replied, her lips drifting back to him. They would save Tyril from the children...eventually.

In my original HC for the orphanage I had the part about Mal telling stories about Tyril and his height getting shorter each time, but Tyril (and Maiele ~@lilyoffandoms ) became such an important part of Mal and Daenarya's life that it never worked out in my orphanage to do that, so I was happy to sneak that in here. Though I know if Maiele were here, he'd sit back and enjoy the show. He would be helping the children find flaws in Tyril's defenses just to see how long Tyril would argue with the kids.

I hope you enjoyed my reunion for Mal and Daenarya. My poor Mal with his 5 stages of grief could not be so chill as chapter 3 Mal. I get what PB was going for, but I've sent years developing these characters and that's not my Mal, but I get those that did enjoy it.

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate any and all support!

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Things left unsaid

Blades of Light and Shadow

Summary: A continuation/slight rewrite of Blades 2 Chapter 3. Autumn reunites with Mal after her escape from the Shadow Realm. She stays the night to explore their relationship after a year apart.

Warning: Ⓜ️🔥 Angst, Explicit/NSFW 18+

Pairing: Mal Volari x f!mc (Autumn Nightbloom)

Word count: 1,900

At the orphanage, after having tucked away the children for the night, Autumn, Mal, Nia and Tyril discuss what she’s learned from her time trapped in the Shadow Realm and the latest existential threat. The conversation turns to finding the last member of their party, Imtura.

Mal sits back in his chair and exhales sharply.

“I may have been keeping track of her. She’s been hanging around a tavern in a village about a day’s travel from Whitetower.”

“So what are we waiting for, then? Let’s go find her.” Autumn makes to get up, mind set on the mission ahead.

“I think it would be best if we waited until the morning, Autumn. That way I can make arrangements for acolytes to look after the children while we’re away. And some of us could use a good night’s sleep…” Nia looks pointedly at Mal.

“I’m fine, Nia,” Mal waves off his friend’s concern, “let’s go find the princess and get this Ash Empire-busting show on the road.”

But his quip doesn’t quite land, Autumn notices. And his trademark smirk doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“Nia is right.” Tyril declares, “Let us all get what rest we can tonight. From the little you have shared, Autumn, our quest will be far from easy. We can meet up at the palace at first light to gather supplies for the road.”

Everyone nods their agreement.

Tyril pushes off from his chair, followed by Nia.

Autumn hesitates, glancing Mal’s way, suddenly unsure.

She catches him looking at her intently, in his eyes a mix of uncertainty, sorrow and longing.

She feels an ache in her heart.

In her messed-up, altered memory, it had been mere days since they’d laid in a loving embrace in her palace chambers, sharing dreams and promises of a life together.

But he’d gone through a whole year’s worth of growth and experiences without her. Her very surroundings, this orphanage, a testament of it. How much had he changed? Had he found a different kind of happiness in her absence? Was he still her Mal?

“I’d like to stay here tonight, if that’s okay with you?” She asks softly, tentatively.

Mal exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Of course, kit, I’d like that.”

“We’ll see you both tomorrow, then. Try to get some rest.” Nia stops behind Mal, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. He nods, giving her a soft smile in return.

“And I know I’ve said it a dozen times already but it’s so good to have you back, Autumn.” She beams, wrapping her dear friend in a tight hug before stepping out into the night.

The moment the door clicks shut, a palpable tension settles in.

“It really is.” Tyril nods his farewell, a smile tugging at his lips.

Mal and Autumn observe each other from opposite ends of the table, faces in turmoil.

Afraid to release the weight of unspoken truths.

Elation at being reunited, but also uncertainty… and a latent anger at all the stolen time.

Her growing anxiety at feeling left behind, her friends having shared a whole year’s worth of living while she’d been locked away, frozen in time. The cold terror that grips her whenever she thinks of her recent imprisonment, knowing that Valax could open another portal at any time, anywhere, to drag her away again. Incapacitate her. Cut her open and steal more of her blood and life away from her. How Autumn feels utterly powerless to stop her.

His guilt at having failed to stop Valax from taking her, failed again and again in his attempts to free her from the Shadow Realm. A deep-seated trepidation, knowing he can’t possibly protect her against such a powerful enemy, though he’d readily give up his life for her. Shame he’d lost hope in ever seeing his kit alive again… He doesn’t deserve her.

But he sure as hells can’t live without her.

Suddenly, Mal strides across the room and lifts Autumn into his arms, pulling her into a searing kiss. He tries to convey all of the love and fear and hurt and regret.

All the emotions he can’t make himself say out loud.

She holds on to him for dear life, returning his kiss with just as much fervor, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Autumn, gods how I’ve missed you. You have no idea, this past year without you, I can’t even…” He trails off, burying his face into the crook of her neck, sucking in a ragged breath.

“Mal, I’m right here.”

Neither can promise it will be all right.

Not until all the rifts have been sealed and the threat gone. And even then, some scars may never quite fully heal… but at least they have here. now.

Mal cups her cheek tenderly. He captures her lips once more, softly, coaxing, seeking entry. She moans as he parts her lips, tasting her.

She loses herself in his kisses, threading her fingers into his much shorter hair as his hands explore her, rediscovering, caressing, sending delicious shivers up her spine.

He pulls her flush against him, and she can feel his need.  

“Hmm Autumn, I’ve missed this, gods I’ve missed you.”

“How about you show me just how much, my handsome rogue?” She whispers in his ear.

His fingers tighten on her hips, eyes darkening at her invitation.

“Your desires are my command, kit.”

She makes to unbuckle his armor straps but he stops her, warm hand over hers. “Wait, let’s take this somewhere more… private.”

He lifts her up, carrying her up a few flights of stairs as she distracts him, lithe fingers caressing his face, soft kisses peppering his jaw and neck.

He takes her into a vast attic room and lowers her reverently onto a soft bed.

The moon shines through a large slanted window, bathing the room in an ethereal glow.

As he unstraps his weapons and armour, she takes in her surroundings, curious.

The room is sparsely furnished, with an imposing dresser off to one side. She spots a table cluttered with papers, maps, parchments and a few leather-bound books. On a far wall stands a cabinet filled with artifacts, jewelry, golden goblets and knives. A few richly colored Parnassian rugs strewn across the floor.

He catches her appraising gaze and sweeps an arm across the room with a flourish.

“Welcome to my humble abode, kit.”

“I like it. It’s very… you.”

“Is it now?”

He smirks as he peals off the last of his clothes slowly, teasingly, then settles down next to her.

“But right now, I’m more interested in the man than the place…”

She marvels at his naked body, drinking him in.

Mal trails hungry kisses down her jaw, her neck, undoing the straps of her dress with practiced movements.

She sighs, then gasps, as he pulls off her dress in a smooth motion, blazing a hot trail along her chest with his mouth and tongue, calloused fingers caressing her stomach.

“I have to say, your presence vastly improves the place, kit.” He whispers onto her skin, his beard titillating her senses.

"Oh Mal, ever the charmer." Autumn giggles breathlessly.

Mal trails bites followed by hot kisses from her breasts to her collarbone, then neck, before recapturing her mouth in a hungry kiss.

“Gods Autumn, you’re stunning. A work of art.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, your magnificence.” She purrs as she trails her fingers along his chest down his chiseled abs, wrapping her hand around him, stroking, relishing in his deep groan.

He caresses every inch of her skin with deft fingers and his wicked mouth, rediscovering her and delighting in all the wonderful gasps and moans he elicits. Mal fully intends to show Autumn just how much she means to him, how much he missed her, by ravishing her and worshiping her for as long as she’ll let him.

The delicate, teasing caresses soon overwhelm her senses.

“Ah yes, gods Mal… just like that.”

She gasps as he finally kisses between her thighs, every brush of his talented mouth and fingers provoking wave after wave of intense pleasure.

“Hmm… Autumn, you taste as good as I remembered.”

She’s on the verge of unravelling under his praises and caresses.

“Mal! Please, I need you, all of you.” Autumn tugs at his shoulders, desperate to kiss him, feel his body against hers, feel him inside.

He chuckles at her commanding tone and happily obliges, wrapping her into his strong arms as he sinks into her, both groaning at the delicious sensation.

He sets a slow, languid pace, intent on teasing every ounce of pleasure out of his wonderful kit.

The feel of his powerful body moving against her, his familiar scent soon overwhelm Autumn. She urges him on, increasingly impatient, pleading. Their rhythm grows frantic, until they both cry out, reaching their peak together.

“Well, that was... exquisite.” Autumn sighs contentedly, sinking back into her lover’s arms.

She gazes up to find Mal smirking, self-satisfied.

“Now don’t let it get to your head, your magnificence.”

“Can’t help it if I’m good at everything I do…” He drawls smugly, avoiding a pillow aimed at his face.

He wraps her in his arms, basking in the afterglow.

His fierce, beautiful kit. Back in his arms after so many desolate months.

Mal caresses her tenderly as they both fall into a contemplative silence.

After a while, he looks at her, eyes tinged with sorrow. “You know, I dreamed of holding you like this every night you were gone, Autumn. I tried so hard to find a way to get to you. I… I’m sorry I let you down….”

“Mal, you kept looking, you didn’t give up on me. It means a lot.” She smiles sadly.

Mal winces, the familiar pangs of guilt back again.

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t have appreciated a rescue party say, a year ago,” she smiles wryly, “but we all know crossing the realms is near impossible. I know you all did everything you could to reach me. I keep wondering… if I’d somehow been able to wake up sooner. Escape sooner…”

“What do you remember from your... captivity?” He asks cautiously.

Her body grows tense in his arms.

The nightmares.

Her friends, Mal, taunting her, attacking her.

Flashes of the lab. Feeling trapped, strapped onto a gurney.

Unable to move or scream.

Sharp pain.

The smell of blood… her blood…

Over and over again.

She is unable to speak, frozen. The emotions too raw. Unable to process. Not yet.

Mal holds her tighter, protectively. Wishing he knew how to take away her pain.

“Autumn, I’m here for you, no matter what. Whatever you need, I… I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

His assurances slowly pull her away from those dark memories and back into the present.

Back to this moonlit room. To the relative safety of her lover’s arms.

“I know.”

She manages a weak smile before burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent, trying to center herself.

They still have so much to figure out, to talk through. They’re still in mortal danger. About to embark on yet another impossible mission.

But for tonight, at least, they can find some solace in each other’s arms.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Sunday Six #3

Sunday Six

Haven’t done one of these in a hot minute 👀

Elhalas - Tyril Starfury x F!Elf!MC Raine Nightbloom - Blades of Light and Shadow (this one is more plot-based though)

She found herself in a world like death.

One where hellfire rained from the heavens, and ash drifted through the air like blackened snow. If there were any gods watching over this realm, then they had abandoned it long ago.

The charred earth splintered beneath her feet with each step she took, the only sign of a land that had once flourished with life but now lied in ruins, having crumbled in the wake of devastation and leaving only a distant memory behind.

Above her, the red sun stared down like a watchful eye, blazing with crimson fire as it followed her every move, as its hellish glow painted the sky in blood.

It had not spared anyone from its ire before, and she would be no different.

@choicesficwriterscreations @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @lawrencebarkley

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AtoW: Aug 4 - 10, 2024

✒️ = Fanfic | 📱 = Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA+

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Bonds of Sea and Fire (Series) ✒️ | Tyril Starfury x F!Elf!MC - @missameliep Chapter 2

THE DEADLIEST GAME

Love isn’t something you find 🎨 | Jun Seong x F!MC - @weetlebeetle C: @storyofmychoices

Through the Pain ✒️ | Jun Seong x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE ELEMENTALISTS

A Brush of Magic ✒️ | Beckett Harrington x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE FRESHMEN

The Graduate (Series) ✒️🔥Ⓜ | Chris Powell x F!MC - @eadanga Chapter 5

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Book 2 Cover 🎨🏳‍🌈 | M!Cas Harlow x F!MC x F!Gabe Adalhard - @rjschoicesstuff

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

When Love Lasts (Series) ✒️ | Gabe Ricci x F!MC - @eadanga Chapter 11

OPEN HEART

And Baby Makes Three 📱 | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @genevievemd

Bitter Brunch ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @jerzwriter

If It Were Canon...AU (Series) ✒️ | Tobias Carrick x F!MC - @jerzwriter Second Thoughts

Mono~poly (Series) ✒️ | Multiple Pairings - @jerzwriter Chapter 4: Moving On Tobias Carrick x F!MC

Say It ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @alj4890

The Garden Party 📱 | Tobias Carrick x F!MC - @jerzwriter

The Next Chapter ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @liaromancewriter

RED CARPET DIARIES

Only Her ✒️ | Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You (Series) ✒️ | Maxwell Beaumont x Olivia Nevrakis - @alj4890 Chapter 7

Ghosted (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @kristinamae093 Chapter 12: Betrayal

Princesa Real 2 (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @belencha77 Chapter 20: Caminos Cruzados Chapter 21: Sorpresas en Roma Chapter 22: El Último Brillo Chapter 23: Final Agridulce Chapter 24: Secretos y Desfiles

Savage Love (Series) ✒️ | Drake Walker x F!MC, Liam Walker x F!MC - @angelasscribbles Chapter 28: Here Comes The Bride?