#illithilit

Marketplace traffic was awfully slow that afternoon, with a few stragglers here and there browsing amongst the storefronts and stalls. One such stall was tucked away in a quiet, cozy little corner, propped against a rickety wooden cart.

A myriad of pleasant sights and scents could be seen and smelled from this stall — bundles of balsam and autumn crocus, fresh bread buns shaped like doves, carved wooden animals for children, and a variety of rings and necklaces, all made with gentle loving care.

The woman at the stall sat with her head down, focusing on threading a needle through an embroidery piece. The scales on her forehead shimmered in the warm afternoon sunlight as her brow furrowed, concentrating on her work.

She was completely unaware of someone approaching until she glanced up, giving a startled jump in the process.

"A-A thousand apologies," Annalise stammered, quickly placing her needlework to the side.

The suggestion weighs heavy in the air while she mulls over Methil's words. She had grown accustomed to the Mindflayer's company, more than accustomed. He had been a presence in her life for a long as she could remember, the family advisor to the most renowned woman of their entire household. There was no one else that she trusted in the way she trusted Methil - if one could call it trust. Whatever their dynamic was, she valued his insight and despite the nature of his suggestion the sentiment of which he made his approach was appreciated. Minthara is seated, half lounged with her heel on the seat, an arm on the top of her knee as she turns her head to look at the Mindflayer. She releases an amused smile, "You are correct, he deserves to be put into a jar." The response comes in Drow, eye turning forward with the soften of her expression, contemplating still as she drops here and down and sighs. In truth she should put a dagger into his skull and put the dagger atop her collection, she should make a special place for him as a reminder to never lover again. Her lips twitch and then, "I will contemplate this further, thank you..."

Then her head turns against the chair, eye returning to him, "And Methil?" Another brief silence, then, "Do bring me the jar you think he would look pretty in, please."

@illithilit asked: "You know I love and care about you, right? You're not alone. You'll never be alone, not as long as I'm here. I'm never leaving you; you're stuck with me."

ah, orianna. taking in her beauty as she spoke such words with passion, it was difficult for gale not to be struck with the constant realization which had haunted him of late: he did not deserve her. no matter her hellish origins, she had more than proved what a true friend she was — and, beyond that, a trusted confidant and kind, dedicated lover. the type of being who did not shirk from honesty, but knew how to uphold a man in a delicate state as gale was ... such a person was a rare gem. and, to top it all off, they'd been brought together in the most dubious of circumstances in which she had no reason to give him her trust, only for her to then stand by his side, value to his counsel, and protect him in a way no one ever had before. could he be blamed for feeling it was all so unreal?

yet for all his doubts, the wizard was well aware they all lay in himself and not in the woman who stood before him. and oh, how she had such a way of reassuring him, of making him truly believe he was worthy of her attentions and affections. a soft sigh exhaled, his lips turned upwards to form the softest of smiles, hands clasping around one of hers.

"i know. i know, and i don't think i'd ever have the words to accurately express how grateful i am." her hand was given the gentlest of squeezes, then raised so that a soft kiss could be pressed to her knuckles. "that may just be a new milestone for us, you know: the first time you've rendered me nearly wordless. it's not an easy feat, but then again, i'm not surprised you've managed it this quickly. this is you we're talking about, after all. and you are the most incredible person i've ever had the pleasure of knowing. of loving."

___

Baldur's Gate. In other words; home.

Slight relief washed upon him, then. But merely slight. For Ashen knew that a tadpole lie in his skull, and, unexplainably, he had not yet been turned into a mindflayer, nor did he feel any other adverse effect. It was simply dormant. However, he could not simply pick up his life where he had left it. Firstly, he would not risk the lives of others for the ticking time bomb in his head, should he one day transform. Secondly, there was something terribly wrong with the Flaming Fist ever since he returned, and he could not quite put his finger on what.

No healer would do, he had learned that much throughout his journey home. He was trying his best not to let despair gain him, at least, but it was still with a sense of urgency that he took the direction of the headquarters of the Society of Brilliance. If anyone knew anything, it would be them. To Hells the risk of rumours spreading through the city that their chaplain was infected. This was his last resort.

Three quiet knocks on the door.

misc poetry sentence starters

sol'rys offered a quiet,  frustrated exhale in response.  now that the thrill of adrenaline had worn off to an unpleasant ache   ---   and ache he did from the beating he'd taken,  unnatural shadow-cursed creatures hitting harder than any living thing ought   ---   an equally unpleasant unease coiled within him.  

“all i am saying is you should worry more of yourself,”   he responded,  pushing away how terribly his pride stung.  the effort was evidently in vain and far too little,  as he couldn't seem to wrench himself from arguing with the other man (once again). it was quite different,  though,  seeing the other ache and bleed for him and his own weakness.  

ROYAL, FANTASY ROMANCE AND SPICE. // @illithilit

A hiss came from the tiefling as the fabric was bound around a cut he had foolishly gotten. Though it would heal up quickly enough but it was still kind of the other to help him.

Oh, Amis, his beloved husband. He was, without any understatement, Ashen's reason to live. He was his reason to get up everyday, his breathing air, his comfort, the warmth to which he always, always returned. Despite the years that passed, he still felt butterflies whenever such loving sentences were offered, still blushed when the Githyanki complimented him with words so gentle, so tender.

Ashen was kneeling at the feet of his sitting husband, holding both his hands, looking up at him with an adoring look. In response, he kissed his knuckles an amount which seemed to be a thousand times, pressing the back of his hand against his cheek to feel his warmth.

He was right. For quite a few weeks after meeting for the first time, they had never admitted to loving each other. Not for lack of it; but because loving him seemed so natural that a confession was nearly superfluous.