the rare ceri LL oc art and LL art in general

when will the LL dev team Communicate and come back from the war :Pensive:

It's coming!

I can't wait to play it! The trailer was so cool (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

Precious Novae scenes but it’s all my wife, Cyrille (+ my comments, for substance)

+ Elouan, because they are THE duo

(Spoilers for up to halfway through chapter 13)

first sighting! I thought she was pretty when they first showed up, and now, years later, she’s even prettier

‘why did I let Elouan talk me into this’

(Under the cut because things got long)

I just think this shot is so funny. She’s so annoyed lmao

She!!! Is so pretty!

Annoyed Cyrille 2.0

She <3 I wonder if everyone in universe thinks she’s wearing a wig because of how fabulous her hair is

This scene is so short but SHE IS SIMPLY STUNNING (Their dynamic in one shot)

MOTHER (mommy?)

Back at it again when you’re supposed to be having fun, cyrILLE

Making people uncomfy at balls since the late 1600s (more proof for my autistic Cyrille headcanon?!?!)

She’s so pretty <3

The most majestic hair in France, by Cyrille Le Valois

I’ve always thought they look like they were going to have a fistfight over that brooch (personally, I think Sulvain would win in the end but Cyrille could hold her own)

Her running shots in these few pages are hilarious. Does she like running? or is she going ‘sir, why am I running, I am a respectable woman and ladies do not run’

The one who will cuss you out while still managing to look better than you, even in a crisis

#/let Cyrille have a whole sword fighting scene 2k23 PLEASE

The detail of her eyes in this shot (’I am literally dying and you’re trying to steal my sword? Make me die faster? What?) >

MA’AM?!?! She straight up disarmed him with her scabbard, while actively dying, and caught the sword before it fell. AN ICON I STAN FOREVER

As this chapter goes on the little detail of her face going grey/bluer is such a nice touch. So when she actually passes out you realise ‘oh shit she’s literally blue in the face’

HOW does she have the skill to be so pretty while dying? I don’t know if I want her or want to be her

CYRILLE IN A DRESS when I tell you I lost it when this cover page came out I lost it

Brb busy SOBBING I love her, I’m so proud of her

‘I am at my LIMIT with this weird magic shit’

Elouan and Cyrille HE LOVES HER SO MUCH A KING If I liked men I’d want an Elouan

This is deadass my favourite shot of them they’re so cute

I love her dumb expressions so much

Cyrille’s really out here being a nerd about the magic room while Elouan is busy being Elouan

She has such a nice profile, like I want her nose

Elouan: ‘I know you’re trying to debrief me on everything that went on but I’m busy making an engagement ring’

SHE SAID YES THEY’RE GETTING ENGAGED I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR

Happy Feast everyone! I hope your holidays are filled with warmth and light

Prompt 8: Shed

You need to stop hiding.

In some form or another, Esredes had been told this most of his life, from multiple sources, and usually quite harshly.

"It's like I'm talking to a wall! Do you even hear what I'm trying to tell you?!" Some variation of that had been screamed at him repeatedly by Christophe, an old fellow Temple Knight he was fast friends with way back in the day. Compared to now, Esredes hadn't even been as layered with his emotions back then, and yet still. Apparently it was enough to enrage who he thought was his friend so much he tried to murder him, and that was the end of him and that relationship.

Beyond that, people often said to be honest with them or they were leaving him. They threatened him with it point blank, then when he yielded, they left him anyway, or stopped listening in the middle.

Osiris asked him why he didn't just be honest to give people less power over him, and it turned into a whole fit. The first person he reached out to help for in a professional sense told him it would scare people off, yet ultimately concluded he would never be able to be both himself and be well liked.

On and on and on and on, he was accused of being insincere, of hiding things, and his explanations never seemed to satisfy anyone. It seemed they truly didn't know when he was speaking from the heart.

So when Esredes was out on the Black Iron Bridge with Elouan, by pure chance, he couldn't help but feel his blood turn to ice when Elouan quietly asked a question completely out of nowhere. "Do you manipulate me?" "What...?" "Do you mani-pulate me," it was even quieter this time. The two had been embracing as Esredes tried to comfort him, yet all of a sudden he pulled away and looked him over. "You, ah, sometimes do things that remind me of my exes. I didn't really put it together before." Like the people who did unspeakable things to Elouan. Like the people Esredes entered the deepest pits of his own mind upon encountering. "You keep assuring me that things are okay and that there's nothing to worry about and it makes me feel like you don't want to open up. That, well, when things aren't okay I think you try to insist that they are, like my exes. Is it so you keep me around? So I don't leave like other people do? Because I said I wouldn't leave you, but I want you to be honest with me. Please." Esredes couldn't lie to Elouan. Not in depth, anyhow. The Gridanian had stuck by him like a puppy to its owner since their second interaction, and the very idea broke his heart. And yet, this was not a conversation he was prepared for, though in retrospect he should've anticipated. So he dropped his arms to his side and regarded the taller Elezen. "...It's not a you thing." He began. "I don't open up to a lot of people. It's too much to put on most people, and everyone has much louder things to say than me. I prefer being quiet. If everyone is loud, no one is heard and helped out."

The amount of time Elouan stared back at him was very uncomfortable. It felt like seconds turned into minutes as he waited for anything to happen. And when it did, his eyes hardened. "So you do manipulate me." The words felt like icicles stabbing Esredes directly in the bone. "You're--You act like my exes. Like Priya and Jean and," Elouan cut himself off. Esredes could hear the venom creeping in. Oh, Esredes had chosen his words wrong. Elouan stepped back and wrinkled his nose, drawing his lips back. "You don't have to manipulate me to stay, Esredes! When you do that, you're--you're no better than them. And I know you can be better--I've seen it! You need to open up, that's what friends do, Esredes. If you don't open up, even a little--what kind of friendship do we have? Not opening up is, is just like us being a client and counselor together. I want a friend, not a manipulator. I want honesty," Elouan was shouting as Esredes stood there in complete shock, eyes wide in horror. This was going far off what he'd been dreading. Elouan was never this cold, and yet here he had done it. He'd brought the worst out in even him. "I..." Esredes tried to find the words, but they weren't coming. No, no. Try again. "Just because I don't pour out my heart to you quickly doesn't mean... I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around himself and turned to the side, staring off the bridge. "It's not easy and simple, Elouan. Some people can't simply speak. It's not that I don't trust you or anything, I just don't want to burden your already heavy heart with mine. It's too much for most people to bear. And I'm supposed to be helping you." Elouan bared his teeth at him. "I don't need it to be quick! Not everyone can open up quickly and I understand that--it's like with Baptiste and he didn't open up quick." Esredes caught in the corner of his eye, Elouan's hand curling into a fist. He couldn't stop himself from tensing up. A hot flash came over him. Elouan was a person much like Christophe in disposition, and similar in terms of combat capability. But he- he was more stable, right...? It didn't matter to Esredes, in this very moment, that they were completely alone. That he could transform and fly away or fight back, if the worst were to happen. In this moment, he felt very small, and very alone. Elouan's fist went to press against his hip. "You burden me by manipulating me! Opening your heavy heart doesn't make you a burden--how else can I be a good friend if you don't open up, even a little? I don't--Esredes, why do you say 'supposed' to? Is that as a friend or, or a counselor? Do you want to help me or is it because you have a duty to fulfill? I don't want to be a duty for you. I want to be a friend, not a chore." Elouan was practically snarling, his voice only growing more angry and completely broken. "You're not a chore, for Gods' sake!" Esredes' head snapped back up to look at him with narrowed eyes, and Elouan flinched, before meeting him with a piercing gaze. "Why would you be?! I mean I'm supposed to be helping you because you're my friend! Because I want to see you finally heal after all you've been through! Do you think it's fun to watch how emotional you get all the time? No. You're hurting and you need help, you need someone to listen without judgement and finally help you recognize what you really are, and I... I don't want to let you down in that." Elouan's ears flattened against his head. "No, I know I'm a mess. And emotional. And, and a lot for people." Elouan's eyes softened, and he slowly approached Esredes. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. "....you won't let me down. Not when you're honest with me and...not manipulating me. Can you promise not to do it again? Anymore?"

And just like that, the momentary fire went out, but the dam wall had already cracked sufficiently, and out came the pouring water. "...I'm a monster, Elouan." He admitted, quietly. "Monster...?" "That's the problem. Not just because of what I am. But because I've had to hurt so many people because of it. Far more than Baptiste ever did, though I certainly didn't vivisect them. Had the war not ended, I'd still be out there, not even legally existing, a wanted criminal, probably dead by now. And how could I ask anyone to want to hear about that...?" "You hurt people? But...how? By manipulating them? Or, or by hurting them with your words? You don't have to ask when, when I'm offering to hear about it, Esredes. It's your past and, even though it's bad, it's important to talk about. I want to listen." And Esredes tried to explain, a lot. About Iceheart, about the war, about everything that happened there. Elouan seemed to understand, to offer reassurance that he wasn't a monster, until Esredes got to a certain confession.

"...Your father. When Baptiste paralyzed him in your mother's home and I dragged him outside. The two of us... took turns ensuring he would never hurt or come near either of you again." Elouan regarded him with a look so incredibly hurt. His muscles tensed and stiffened up, as if to prepare for an attack. The scar on Esredes' neck flared up in pain. "You, you and Baptiste..." he said quietly. "You tortured my father?" His hand withdrew from Esredes' shoulder. Esredes had been staring off for a while now instead of making eye contact, so he didn't see what happened to the hand. But a part of his mind imagined it curling into a fist or hand coming for his face, or going to his sword and then trying for his neck just like Christophe. Elouan came close, and- hugged him tightly from behind, resting his head on his right shoulder while his own shook. "Thank you for opening up to me, Esredes." He said after a long stretch of conversation after in which they gradually calmed down together. "I...I know it wasn't easy, but I've not left you, aye? I'm not leaving,"

And he meant it. He never did. From that point on, the remainder of the layers upon layers of masks Esredes had on gradually fell away, until he stood in Elouan's presence each time they were together as the thing underneath it all.

Elouan wasn't the first, of course. There had been Seraphiaux and Ceila and Vette and so on before him. He was just the most recent to pass the test. And after him came Azarah and Kainen. Mysterious and stoic yet lovable Kainen, the Knight Commander Dragoon who invited Esredes to the Grand Company of Eorzea and stuck with him through all the ups and downs, telling him he was enough for him and he deserved a second chance. His girlfriend Azarah was in truth, easier to let himself down around. Not through any fault of Kainen's own, but Azarah was close to Esredes' wavelength. She understood reality and all that came with it in the same way as him, as well as what must be done with it. Sometimes you needed to break a few rules. The two enjoyed many an alcoholic drinks together over light and deep conversations both, bore the horrors of the Final Days together, and an implicit trust formed. Azarah was an outsider. She was Dravanian with Sharlayan heritage, she was Limsan Lominsan, she wasn't of Coerthas. That meant she was safe. That meant she understood. Once in the course of Sky Vigil, there had been a catastrophic misunderstanding between the three of them. By instinct, Esredes clung to Azarah and had let his tongue loose on Kainen for the first time ever. It didn't take long for him to regret this. Kainen had been more patient with him than most people, and shown him nothing but trust and kindness. Esredes knew he had to return to him with a bouquet of sweet sultans and acaia flowers, and tell him that he understood. He understood as someone else promoted into a high position at twenty-six that mistakes would occur, and it was no easy position to be in. The pressure alone was clearly eating the poor Dragoon alive. To his surprise, Kainen opened up to him that night, more than he ever had before. Esredes had leaned on Kainen quite a bit before, but for once his senior experience with life had to lend words to the confusion of idealism in trying to be better. Oh, Esredes had really panicked for reasons unfair to Kainen. What were either of them but two men who simply wanted to do better in the face of the harsh winds of Ishgard? What was he but something between a friend and a mentor of sorts Kainen desperately needed, lest he risk doing something he'd deeply regret, as Esredes did many times over? As the night air blew over them both, and Esredes looked out upon the Empyreum district, something in him broke. The last remains of his sky-high reinforced walls crumbled away, and he felt light. Soon he was ensuring Kainen knew how to fistbump properly, and then leaning back and soaking in the night air.

For once, he felt he didn't need to be afraid of anything anymore.

But there were others like Kainen and Azarah, even if he'd known them for less time. Others who felt safe enough for Esredes to let layers go around. And so for the next while following that conversation, Esredes began to lighten up in certain company. He cracked more jokes, he made more quips, he wasn't afraid to lightly tease and remark on both himself and others. To be and feel more honest, if only while company lasted.

Soon came the yearly Peace Day Festival, or Armistice Day. Against all odds, he found himself managing to enter the Cathedral this year, when previously he'd avoided it, and sitting next to Alvere of all people. The priest's sermon was good. Very good. He spoke of the true importance and meaning of peace, of the strength of choosing to cooperate and put aside hatred. It reminded Esredes of the time he stood in front of a group during a remembrance service for Saint Shiva, and told them of how he could not renounce his own hatreds as Ysayle had, but that meaning was found in making a new world together. The priest said to build the goodwill and friendliness to end rivalries, and Esredes caught himself looking to Alvere at the same moment he looked at him. Perhaps Esredes took his words to heart, for he bought a bouquet of white lilies at the market and gave them out to everyone he appreciated as a gesture of joining him in allyship, even Alvere. He watched Alvere win the tournament and then had to be his voice for the winning speech. He talked to dozens of people he knew and gave friends cookies he bought at the marketplace.

It was the perfect day. It was going to be the perfect day. The hour was late at the ball, and he was in the middle of discussing with friends. But one question lead to the mention of Saint Shiva, and then it all began to unfurl. "Please don't mention her right now," Esredes had tried in some form to explain as he felt the age-old panic well up within him before he could stop it. "We're in a crowded room. I don't know everyone here. I don't know who could be a risk." They questioned, of course, who would possibly be trying to kill him here. He didn't know. There was no guarantee he was safe, it was Peace Day, but he was himself, and Ishgard was Ishgard, and- He was powerless to stop himself from going right back to normal. A taller Elezen he'd seen earlier when he talked to Alvere stepped up behind him, and asked him if he needed an escort home. This Elezen was not a normal Elezen. Horns sprouted out of his head, his nails were clawed, and he even had wings and a tail. Esredes was used to dragon blood mutations, of course, but never one this severe. This was one of his kind, come to help him come down from his sudden paranoia. Here, of all places, Esredes hadn't expected to find one of his own- but that was the nature of heresy. It came when you least expected it. They recognized it in each others' eyes. Soon Esredes was pulling him aside to come to the uninhabited kitchen for a private chat. He always needed to know another harrier's story.

The two switched to Dragonspeak to trade stories. Esredes gathered this man was a Dragoon who took the blood from one of Ratatoskr's, and considered himself one of hers, but had previously been run out of Iceheart's movement for his very status as a former Dragoon. Yet clearly, he still wished to protect his kind and help the bond between man and dragon heal. It felt so good to speak in Esredes' truest language, that which was universally understood between his kind. After that embarrassment on the ballroom level, he could speak true to everything he was. And he saw opportunity. "Well. You might not feel you belong with us, but. Like said, heretics are made, not born. And I uh. ...Happen to be very high up in the network. And I don't see a reason why not." "I'd..." The Dragoon opened his mouth for a long moment, then looked away. "A dragoon, antithetical to your purpose... I wouldn't make you go through the trouble." "Is it antithetical, though? What you've described of your actual purpose- sounds very much not." He squeezed Esredes' changed hand as his expression tensed- they'd been keeping a set of hands between them clasped together after Esredes described being reborn from a Temple Knight into her icy love. "As you said, you test your luck already. I test my luck, already. I wouldn't even know where to start." "Beggars cannot be choosers in the network. We don't all get to start off correct. Numbers are down with the war over. The bottom line is we need -people- if the New Age is to survive. And we are stronger together, reborn as we are. Were you not saying something to this effect earlier, approaching the Inquisitor?" "I am in a... dangerous position, were I to take up your offer." He eventually said to this. "Are you not already in a dangerous position by existing as you are? Is it really any more dangerous?" Esredes could see the tension, the consideration, the churning as the Dragoon opened his mouth to speak, but didn't. Instead he sighed softly and smiled. "I'd have a reason beyond my heritage. I can see the safety in numbers, but the jump is... just too far." Esredes frowned, and he felt the excitement in him sink. He'd said all the right words and listened in earnest, and yet this one wasn't bending. Wasn't willing to join him. Maybe he needed to push harder. So next he asked him if he felt happy being alone. He could tell he didn't, and was in denial. "Might I introduce myself proper, then?" He asked next, earning a nod. He bowed to the Dragoon. "Esredes Rosemond. Esh Loohn. Former Temple Knight, now and forever Knight of Shiva's Will. Successor to Lady Iceheart." The Dragoon whistled and leaned back. "Is that title official...? Successor?" A fanged smile came. "Or are you fucking with me? Your skills in Dragonspeak aren't fit for successor, even a man denied when Lady Iceheart reigned can catch that."

Esredes blinked, and was left speechless from the sheer shock of processing that response. Of all things, after the exchange they'd just had, he didn't expect such a harsh reception. "...Well. If you say so, I suppose." Esredes looked away, towards the manor's exit. The last of his excitement burned to ashes, and the walls rebuilt themselves in an instant. He'd gotten too comfortable, too excited by opportunity. He'd forgotten that even his own kind often rejected who he was. He needed to try, needed to manufacture the right mask to put on. It could never be that simple. He had let his guard down, and he'd failed because of it. So Esredes soon turned to go. "You don't need to run from me," the Dragoon said. "I reached out for a reason." Esredes stopped, but was silent. He listened to the Dragoon continue to try and talk, but heard nothing of interest anymore. So he put his gloves on. "Be well." "Fury, damn it all..." The Dragoon muttered. "Keep your support system open. There's no telling when another situation like mine comes up. If you don't treat them proper, I will." And just like that, Esredes' walls iced over. "What in the hells is that supposed to mean." "If you plan to do better by Lady Iceheart, I'd start by being more open. Work with the right people. Don't... coerce. Welcome. I've got a beautiful man at home who loves me, horns and tail and wings attached. What makes you better than him?" "You have no right to tell me how to operate, loner." Esredes retorted, the venom infusing each word. "You wouldn't understand the weight of a thousand lives on your shoulder. If you're so content to shut out the chances people give you, you've no right to judge them for it. Kiss your man harder if it's the only thing that brings you comfort. I have more people to worry about than myself. Goodnight."

Esredes stormed off in a hurry. He wandered through Empyreum until he accidentally came across Elouan and Marcelloix. Ah yes. Now in the present, Baptiste had come and went- a development Esredes didn't want to admit he saw coming- and to Esredes' surprise, Elouan very quickly found himself with Esredes' right hand man instead, of all possible people. Truly, Esredes hadn't expected them to hit it off like that, but he was happy for both of them. He knew both of them intimately, and that they both needed it. Marcelloix, as he went by, was someone who reminded Esredes too much of himself. He was another lost Temple Knight who Esredes found, and offered a hand to when he surely thought he'd kill him. Marcelloix was safe and pleasant company, but he closed himself off to people too much, and it worried Esredes. A great part of him was relieved to see Elouan start to make him happier. The two were immediately concerned for him, and so he broke down in front of them. About what had just happened, and how nothing he did was enough for others. The two calmed him down, and in the morning they were all having breakfast at Esredes' house.

Naturally, the discussion came to them being together now. They'd not yet actually discussed it all together yet, after all.  This lead to Marcelloix admitting he was happier now, and how in the dark he'd felt before. "Since it all began, there was only one person that I had truly hoped would be able to see past the facade and know me," he explained to Esredes. "I tried a number of times over the years, but with everything else going on, it was just easier for him to see only the mask. The mask made more sense; it made me what he needed me to be in those moments... and I was always happy to be that for him, no matter how much I wished for otherwise." Esredes raised an eyebrow. "And then what?" "And then I finally couldn't wear the mask for him anymore. Having him not see me was... too much. So I brought breakfast to his house and took off the mask... I'm still waiting to know the results." Esredes took another sip. "Masks don't hide anything if you already know what is underneath, Marcelloix. What makes you think I'd forget your face?" "Because so often you only responded to the mask..." "You put it up like a privacy curtain. All the time. And when it feels like I ask you if you want to come out of your room yet, you inevitably say no. Don't want to talk about it. I could never forget the expression on your face when we met. I saw so much of myself in it and it hurt. There was nothing more I wanted than to fix it. Soothe it. For a while I felt you were... happy isn't the right term, but. Resolved to your new purpose. And then slowly you began to put too much of yourself into it. Do you truly think I don't notice the shifts in your demeanor, your almost compulsive need to crack jokes nowadays? The way you're not sincere with almost anyone anymore? That it hasn't concerned me for a long while now to the point I keep contemplating forcing a mandatory vacation on you? I'll give you the flirting, it's harder to tell how serious you are about that or not when I can't comprehend you ever being into me. Not when you know I can't reciprocate. But that's what I do. I ignore these things when they come my way. I don't like making it awkward." He sighed a little. "But otherwise? Do you truly believe I don't know exactly what you're doing simply because you won't talk about it when I nudge you, that the distance you create doesn't quietly hurt in its own way, that I don't worry a lot about if it's my fault its occurred? That I don't know who you are? You're not just your darkness, Marcelloix. You never have been. And I never wanted you to simply be that and nothing more. But you're like me. At some point, you shut down and go on instinct. And I regret not having the courage to confront you sooner." "All this time," He sighed and rubbed his face. "You never said... any of this. I took it to mean that you didn't see, or didn't care to see... So yes, I withdrew. I could put on the mask and lose myself in the work to forget. Soon that wasn't enough, so I would put on the mask and lose myself in anyone who would have me... It never lasted."  And so tears began to fall from Esredes' right hand man. "I needed to hear my best friend say that he could see me. To tell me that I was still myself and that it was going to be okay. I needed everything that you just said..."

What was he doing wrong? Why did it take someone he trusted so intimately getting together with someone else he trusted intimately for him to realize something he felt was so obvious? He didn't mask around Marcelloix, not for the most part. He was one of his people, he knew all of Esredes for what it was- and even he was going to tell him he wasn't showing himself to him?

At times like this, Esredes frowned to himself and imagined looking in a mirror. What would it reflect back at him, if he was truly such a jumbled mess of dead identities and fleeting emotions that no one could see him?

Here Esredes thought he'd started to figure it out. How to be lighter, how to try and be more of. Himself, whoever that was. And yet, he was fooling himself, by assuming it was enough. Maybe there were no gates and checkpoints to his wall. Maybe his hollow center and shallower emotions were the problem.

He sighed to himself. Maybe he hadn't and didn't know how to magically achieve this way of being everyone wanted to see him for. Maybe it didn't exist at all. All he knew is he felt that feeling of lightness, and it was his only lead to go on. His only way to figure out and understand what he was doing wrong, what he was supposed to do. He had no idea in the seven hells if he could achieve this, but at the least, he was still alive, and content to keep trying for now.

@shieldbcund @kainenmarlowe @zarah-ffxiv @syerraffxiv @bravenew-urianger

Rohesia and Elouan? For the character impression meme! -shieldbcund

Twelve, what a ponce.

It nearly comes right out of her damn mouth, when she catches sight of that bright-white armor. Fuck, even for the elezen of Ishgard, presumably likelier than anyone to fight in the snow, it's a shouting beacon, by her reckoning. Like it's begging to be stained with blood and dirt and soot in the first battle he gets to. White is for those fancy bastards who can afford to keep it - on anyone else, it turns grey in short order.

She takes a breath and unclenches her jaw, doing her best to turn her attention away again. It's not like this one's taking up space, or really doing anything. If not for the inevitably clanking, she wouldn't have known he was there. And, well, elezen all sort of have those punchable faces, don't they? Something about towering over everyone while being thin as reeds lends itself to looking down their noses at people. They're not the only ones... and it's only a touch their own fault.

So Roh breathes out and lets it go, though she doesn't let it stop her from keeping an eye on this fellow as he moves.

Only... the first thing she sees has her blinking in surprise. The decoration had been hidden at first, but it's still there when she opens her eyes again; delicate white flowers, tucked into his hair.

... If he is a ponce, he's an interesting one.

( @shieldbcund Thanks for the ask! )

I’m doing an October inking challenge! The rules are: work traditionally, in black and white, in a 1:1 format, and try not to spend more than 20 minutes on a piece at most. Unfortunately 1) I’m a perfectionist and 2) I want to get better with hatching and doing tons of tiny lines takes longer than just filling an area with black, so. Some of these may have taken longer than 20 minutes. But it’s been really fun so far. :D

Part 2 here! Part 3 there- and finally part 4 :)

making a deal

This will be hard to do I think :). Can you describe the romanceables' routes in a few words?

Ah, ‘a few words’?! ∑(; °Д°) My worst nightmare, haha!

Apologies for not cutting this all down further, and for the quality of what’s below, but I hope this is satisfactory! ദ്ദി(˶‾᷄ᗜ‾᷅˵ ᵕ) I tried to rush this to force the word count down as much as I could, but my poor wordy habits die hard (and not at all)!

Onto the main romances . . .

Akil: Forbidden. Challenged. A false betrayal to old ideals, corrupted loyalties. Learning to accept. Declaring his own path, following his heart before his mind. A tenuous tomorrow . . . unless he makes a better one for you both.

Kamiko: Fearful. Guarded. Bridging the divide, a new kind of strength. A new meaning for sacrifice. Quiet, devoted, a love built by trust. The shadow to your light.

Sigmund: Deceptively Slow, Suffocatingly Quick. Loyal, Sacrificial. Safer apart, but you're his. He wants you to be. Fears—and knows—he doesn’t deserve it.

Imka: Nervous. Startled. Helpless. Falling too quick, caring too much. Learning to be bold, to be herself. Learning to love herself like you do.

Elouan: Scarred. Wanting. Pleasant, but cold. Burning up within. Real love for the first time. Forgiving, or Forgetting.

Jae: Flighty. Teasing. Scared to Commit, Scared to be Yours. Looking past the present, washing down the past. She’ll be with you, sticking through hell and tomorrow. Bird without a cage.

Niccolò: Clumsy. Genuine. Flawed, imperfect, real. Peeling back the layers of the self, loving every bit. Facing eternity, immortality. And then, facing chaos before the end. What it means to be a human who loves.

Mutya: Grounding. Pinning. Unwinding, unraveling. Letting loose, standing firm. A pillar to lean on, one to support. Opening up to the vulnerability of love and hurt.

Fyodor: Star-Crossed. Soulmates, artificially made. Broken pieces forced together, ripped apart. Unstable. Glorified. Putting all his hopes in a dream, and learning to love the reality.

And for the others . . .

Dearil: Unwanted. Tearing up stitches, reclaiming what was lost and never his. Desperate to keep, bound to ruin.

Curadora: Wrong place, wrong time. Covert. Watched. Reunited, yet slipping from her grasp, pulled apart by the need for a new age and new people. Wait for her, please.

Retriever: Fast, messy, reigned back, and broken free. Hesitant on the outside, drowning within. Now or never, before the final piece of him meets the fall.

Lempo: Saccharine. Selfish. Unbound. Escaping the world, and oneself, together.

Bones: Regret. Recovery. Letting go. Pushing and pulling, the madness of love.

Mishka: Humanizing. Bitter. Eternal. First Love, Only Love. Doomed.

Thank you for this interesting ask! (´∀`)

Keep all shenanigans out of his museum.

Breath ( ´ ▽ ` )

It's cool to be under the rain, but not to be sick!

Don't worry Elouan! Your umbrella is on its way! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

All My Dreams Take Place in Heaven, Where It's Quiet Lying Next To You

For @novaemberbingo 2023: Prompt- Outfit + Library

Cyrille paced back and forth across her bedroom, hands twisting around each other, well aware she was spiralling into a panic but completely uncaring all the same.

“I can’t do this. Everyone will be able to tell.”

Elouan, from where he was lounging across their bed, responded, “You can do this, darling. Do you remember what I told you when you first told me?”

He rolled over to face her and opened an arm, beckoning her to join him. Sighing deeply, she walked to the edge of the bed and flopped into his waiting arms, shoving her face into his shoulder.

“Tell me again, Elouan,” she said, absently rubbing circles into Elouan’s arm.

“I said: I’m in a bit of awe, I thought you were Cyrille’s sister or something. You could go to court in a dress and no one would be able to tell you were born a man. And then you punched me for being insensitive.”

“I did…and it seems to have worked. You’re the only person who really sees me. But…I don’t know…are you sure nobody will recognize me? If even one person thinks they’ve seen me before and puts it together, I’ll lose my job, my status, and will be decapitated and burned alive!” She was getting frantic, her heart pounding through her chest, breath quickening to a frantic wheezing. 

“It will be fine, everything will be fine. Here, breathe with me,” Elouan grabbed her hands and tucked her further into his chest, encouraging her to match her breathing to the movement of his chest, “If it gets to be too much, then we can just come back home, make a nice cup of tea, and I’ll read you some poetry or something.”

“That sounds a lot nicer than what I thought I’d do,” she replied, muffled into her lover’s chest. It was becoming easier to breathe, easier to exist without the world seeming like too much. 

“And what would that be? I’m assuming something impulsive, knowing you.” Elouan wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think he was. Cyrille was well aware that he was trying to distract her out of her panic, and worse yet, it was actually working. 

Sighing, she responded, “Maybe…I was probably going to get overwhelmed and run back home as quickly as I could. Probably be crying as well, then shut myself in here, never to be seen again.” 

Elouan laughed at her dramatics, a lovely, undignified snort that made her giggle every time. “Yeah, I think my idea is better.”

“You think pretty highly of yourself, Elouan,” she teased, pulling away from his embrace to get dressed into her favourite outfit- her sole dress, the solitary set in her vast closet that actually felt like herself. 

Wriggling into her stays, she turned to Elouan, silently requesting his help in lacing everything up and adjusting the extra bits and bobs that gave the illusion of a full bust and wide hips, rather than her narrow chest and narrower pelvis. 

Elouan sighed affectionately at her as he responded, “Shush, Cyrille. What do you say?”

“Alright,” she sighed, running her fingers across the luxurious blue silk of the dress she held. Spinning to face her lover, she put on her best ‘you love me so you’ll do what I want’ face, and asked, “Can we go to the library? I’d like to see if they have some texts about demonic possession and witchcraft.”

“Is this about that necromancy expert I hired? Again?” She knew her lover well enough to know he was exasperated at her bringing up his ‘expert’s’ questionable expertise, but all the while amused at her sincerity. 

Well, Elouan would say she was like a dog with a rope, stubborn and unwilling to let go of a topic. Tomato, tomato.

✯✯✯✯✯

Ambling their way through the streets hand in hand with Elouan, Cyrille was not freaking out, thank you very much. She was fine. Not nervous. Completely normal, going about her completely normal day with her completely normal boyfriend. She’s not nervous, shut up. 

“So…how is it?” Elouan spoke up from beside her, his warm brown eyes focusing on her face. 

Nervously tapping her fingers across the back of the hand she was holding, she responded, “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. Nobody’s giving me weird looks yet. I am still very nervous though.”

“See! I told you! Unrecognizable, especially with your hair up. Everything will be fine, trust me,” Elouan said, beaming, as he ushered her up the steps of the library. 

“I’ll try,” she sighed, dropping her voice to a whisper as they entered the quiet environment. She may have trouble with situational awareness, but she knew enough to know you were quiet in a library. Thanks , mother. 

“But you might have been right on coming out here. A rare occasion,” she continued. 

They were deep within the folklore section by that point, and Cyrille was left hoping that there would be at least one text that was missed when any and all of the books containing topics ‘wrought upon by the devil’ had been last purged. Alas, her luck was nonexistent. 

She groaned and dropped her head onto a bookshelf, hoping they were deep enough in the bowels of the library so she wouldn't be stared at too closely. 

“Hey! I’m right most of the time,” Elouan responded, reshelving a book she had pulled out in her research. 

“Sure, Elouan. Say whatever you need to make yourself feel better,” she quipped.

“Oh, be quiet Cyrille.”

Giving up, she returned her final book to its spot and turned to her lover. “I think not. Anyways, do you want to go to the market? I want some flowers for our bedroom.”

“Sure, I think we may need some bread as well. And I’d like to buy you a new hair ribbon.”

“Elouan! You don’t have to,” she protested. It seemed like every time they went to the market for one thing or another she returned with yet again another hair ribbon, sparkly trinket, or some other object that had caught Elouan’s eye.

“I want to! Pretty ladies shouldn’t have to buy their own hair ribbons,” he said, ushering her from the library, offering his arm as they made their way back down the stairs. A true gentleman, her lover was. 

“Well, if you are insisting, I won’t stop you,” she teased. 

Elouan laughed, victorious, as she turned her gaze to her lover, basking in his vibrant joy. 

____Author's Note____

I wanted to get SOMETHING out for Novaember before November actually ends, as I am a full-time student about to go into final exams (rip), and am by far a much better (and faster) academic writer, so here's something that's been in my drafts for months half-finished. I'm planning on doing a bunch more of the prompts, but no promises that anything else will actually be out during November.

This is completely un-beta'd, so some grace and/or tips on whether this is actually accurate to the characters would be appreciated- especially since I've never a) written men or b) dated/liked men so hopefully Elouan doesn't read too much like a butch lesbian. Big thanks to my roommate for listening to my complaints and questions while writing this- especially considering the fact that she's never read the comic lol.

Title is from 'Crying During Sex' by Ethel Cain

Historical notes:

-- Cyrille isn't being dramatic when she's talking about how she would be murdered for being trans- if anything she's understating. The likeliest punishment would be decapitation, since she's canonically nobility, and/or burning at the stake, for 'gender fuckery'. -- All of the outfit pieces described are historical pieces that would have been worn at the time- with some additions based on what I think would have been done for gender affirmation, as I couldn't find any sources on what that would have looked like at the time. The best place for accuracy in historical clothing that I've found is costuming books, if you're interested. -- This isn't explicitly talked about in this fic, but Elouan's last name (Losa) indicates that he is either Spanish or Italian, and means 'slate'. Cyrille's surname (Valois) definitely indicates French nobility and may have connections to the historical House of Valois, who ruled France for about 250 years (would LOVE author confirmation/denial on this at some point). If she is descended from the House of Valois, it's likely through her mother's line, as the reason they lost the throne was that there was an absence of men the crown could go to (I like to think that Cyrille, by either a family curse or simply bad luck, is the first AMAB person in the Valois line since)

Not a historical note but still kind of important:

-- I write Cyrille as Autistic (or at least somewhere on the ASD spectrum) because I can see a ton of similarities between how Cyrille is written and my personal experiences with being Autistic, so she's also autistic. If you want the meta, let me know lol :)

Playlist!

Dancing the evening away at the Dragonsong Armistice Day Ball.

ft. @shieldbcund‘s Elouan!

Junelezen Day 17: More Heroes

Bathed in the warm glow, you follow them into darkness, And each obstacle is felled like you've not seen in a long time. We push, we bleed, we restore light to the land- together. As you raise your sword and rush to your place in the battle, tell me once more, Who are they which stand by you? Have you seen a new dawn, or merely the same sunrise as always? Creature of the shadow, answer my call to arms, Who are you? Here in the darkest hour as the sun sets once more, Who are you? Who are you really, now?

@kainenmarlowe @shieldbcund

Driftwood's Pastel Squad representing. Featuring Arden Baen (me), Elouan Volfmoenwyn (@porxienapper), Rokka Kvet (@violetlypurple) and Noelle Auberlaine (@just-the-mage).

Day 4: the darkness

Happy spooky month :)