#OOPS FORGOT TO ADD BLOOD TAGS

[comidyye]

BOB-CENTRIC SPOOKY MONTH ZOMBIE AU STUFF .. as a general concept with no real story in mind : o))))

[crowfaraday]

"here's to another year of balancing crappy office party drinks up the stairwell."

[ghostorbz]

LOVESICK, CANNIBAL!

No affects plus ORIGINALLL

[spadefish]

successful* hunt

*at the cost of multiple broken ribs and a gore shower

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: caught that fever, I shouldn't be here (4/16)

Pairing: Astarion/Named f!Tav Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.5k Chapter tags/warnings: sexting, ruined makeup, mirror sex, red flag ass behavior, biting/blood drinking (full list on ao3)

Summary:

Every little touch or glance between Rosalind and Astarion causes a spark, and Rosalind's worried that something is about to catch fire.

Aaaaaaaaand here's chapter 4. I accidentally made this banner last week because I completely forgot about the Gale chapter. Oops lol. But this is almost entirely new content, maybe a few paragraphs were written prior but everything else is brand new. Hope you enjoy!

Next chapter ~ Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist Office Hours playlist on Spotify

“Twice in less than a tenday, you lucky girl,” Shadowheart says with a sly smile, tucking her feet underneath her and holding out her wine so it doesn’t spill on her white couch. Rosalind hides her pink face behind a deep sip from her glass.

“I dunno, man. I can’t tell what he wants with me,” she says with a groan, putting her wine down on the coffee table and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Well, what do you want with him?” Shadowheart asks plainly, as though answering is the simplest thing in the world. Rosalind scrunches her nose, unsure if she just doesn’t know the answer, or if she does know the answer and doesn’t want to say.

“I… I don’t know? Like obviously the sex is good. Really good,” she adds under her breath, and Shadowheart gives her a salacious look as her flush deepens. “But whenever he says more than five words I want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Is that really how you feel, or have you just convinced yourself to feel that way?” Shadowheart asks carefully, earning a glare from Rosalind. Nevertheless, she can’t bring herself to disagree, so she drops her less-than-menacing expression and covers her face in her hands. Taking a different approach, Shadowheart tries, “Walk me through the end again, right before the arcana professor came back in?”

“Ugh, I still can’t believe that happened. What a nightmare.” Rosalind takes another sip while Shadowheart stares at her pointedly. “Okay, he made some joke about having sex in my office, then I sort of hit him in like a ‘Stop it, you,’ kind of way, and then we like… hugged?” She recalls the events to the best of her ability. It’s been a fiveday already, and everything was a bit hazy to begin with.

“Did he seem sincere when he said it? Was it a ‘haha, jk… unless?’ sort of joke?” Shadowheart asks, and Rosalind realizes that her friend wouldn’t look out of place with a deerstalker cap and a pipe with the way she’s interrogating her. She stares blankly into her wine as she contemplates the question.

“It had enough plausible deniability to save himself from embarrassment. But he did seem kinda earnest, I think,” she finally settles on, and Shadowheart nods judiciously.

“So is that it? You’ll trade off fucking in each other’s offices until, what, someone catches you in the act?” she asks bluntly, and Rosalind almost chokes on her wine.

“I would certainly hope not! But I suppose,” Rosalind sighs, trying to decide if she’s ready to say the words aloud or not. “If he asked. I wouldn’t say no.”

“Asked what?” Shadowheart narrows her eyes, and Rosalind groans.

“You’re going to make me say it?” she whines.

“Yes.” Shadowheart stares at her without blinking.

“If he asked. Me out. On a date.” Rosalind breaks up the phrase, as though saying it continuously would hurt in some way. Shadowheart pats her knee sympathetically.

“See, was that so hard?” she asks, voice teasingly condescending.

“Yes, excruciating,” Rosalind pouts, taking a gulp of her wine.

***

Rosalind doesn’t see much of Astarion in the following days, but whenever she does, they share a secretive smile that sends a jolt of lightning right to her core. He’s far less aggressive in his attempts to fluster her, and she can only hope it means that they’ve called an unspoken truce. Nevertheless, she tries to temper her expectations so she’s not mildly disappointed every day that passes where Astarion doesn’t pull her into a supply closet. Years on various dating apps, and you haven’t been this down bad for someone in a while.

“Don’t forget that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead opens in just over a tenday, so if you haven’t gotten your tickets, now would be a good time,” Rosalind projects over the sounds of her students packing up. “And if you don’t want to pay for a ticket, you can see the show for free if you sign up to usher.”

“Wait, we have to pay? Where do we sign up to do the usherin’ thing?” Dondo’s head pops out from the huddle of his friends, conspiring to do gods know what.

“At the box office, but Dondo, if you’re going to be an usher you need to show up an hour early and be ready to work, understood?” Rosalind sharpens her voice and the cheeky freshman gives her a salute. “Alright everyone, enjoy the fiveday break.”

Once most of the students have filed out of the classroom, Rosalind lets out a heavy sigh and presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. She’s very much looking forward to cracking open the bottle of wine in her fridge with Shadowheart later.

She walks past her office towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, scrolling through emails on her phone. She doesn’t see Astarion coming from the opposite direction and stops short of barrelling into him. They lock eyes and smile politely, then she steps to her left just as he steps to his right. They share an awkward laugh just as it happens again in the opposite direction. After another few seconds of uncomfortable shuffling, he takes her by her shoulders and moves her to the side. She gives him a chagrined smile and quickly walks past, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks and the way her arms tingle where he touched her.

She gets to the bathroom and closes the door behind her, leaning against it to brace herself. Her stomach is roiling, though whether it’s from the embarrassment, the insatiable lust, or something else entirely, she can't quite tell. She wets a paper towel with cool water and presses it to the back of her neck. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, trying to will herself into temperance as drops of rapidly warming water run down her cleavage. It's a losing battle as the image of him bending her over the sink pops into her mind. She shakes her head, trying to think of something else, but that only makes it worse.

He has her pressed up against the bathroom door and with her wrists pinned together above her head.

No, stop, she scolds herself. But the second she banishes that image another one comes flooding in, her leg draped over his shoulder as he’s lightly sucking her clit with his fingers curled deep inside her.

Her phone buzzes suddenly, causing her to jump out of her filthy reverie. She looks at her screen to see a text from an unknown number.

-Darling, I can smell you through the door, it’s obscene.

She lets out an audible yelp and she immediately hears his laugh on the other side of the bathroom door. Is he just standing there?

-How the fuck did you get my number?

-Hope’s computer is not nearly as secure as it should be.

-Did it occur to you to just *ask* me?

-Now, where is the fun in that?

Rosalind grits her teeth but still finds herself suppressing a smile. He should not be this charming when he’s being a little shit. Before she can fully gather her thoughts, her phone buzzes again.

-Well, aren’t you going to take care of yourself?

She stares at her phone, mouth agape and cheeks quickly turning red. Her brain can’t formulate words, nevermind a response, but she doesn’t need to wait long for another text from him.

-If you don’t know where to start, I can talk you through it.

Her heart begins to pound as she pieces together what he’s suggesting. Her fingers shake as she hesitantly types her response.

-What should I do first?

She can picture the smile that spreads across his face, one of mischief and glee and wickedness. She leans her back against the door, breathing heavily as she waits for his first instruction.

-Touch your breast over that cute green sweater you’re wearing. Squeeze it, nice and slow. How does that feel?

She does as she’s told, fondling her breast with one hand and continuing to hold her phone with the other. Her nipple gets hard under her touch, eager for more.

-good

It’s a bit of a pain to stretch her left thumb across her screen, but she finds this too exciting to care. She imagines him leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, one long leg crossed over the other, looking completely unfazed. If anyone were to walk by, it would just look like he’s stopping to text.

-Lovely. Is your nipple poking through your sweater? Give it a twist. Don’t be shy about it, you know that I wouldn’t.

She pinches her nipple through the cotton of her sweater and just barely catches the moan as it escapes her lips.

-I heard that, very good.

She wants to curse his heightened hearing, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t add to the thrill.

-Tell me, how wet are you between your legs?

She moves her right hand down her front, slipping it beneath her skirt and touching the apex of her thighs. She’s already soaked through her panties and tights.

-very

-How do you taste?

She exhales sharply as she feels herself clench around nothing. She presses against her damp tights and licks the moisture off her finger.

-salty. Bitter

-Now, I don’t believe that for a second. You tasted sweet, last I checked.

Her breath wracks through her chest, her head fogged up by a thick cloud of lust.

-Get a better sample. Straight from the source.

She bites down on her lip to stifle her whimper. She pushes her hand down past the waistband of her tights and panties and slips a finger between her folds, scooping up the pool of arousal that’s formed there. She slowly brings it to her mouth and gives a tentative lick.

-A little, yea

-Don’t hold back, darling. Give those fingers a nice thorough suck. For me.

His words make her squirm, but she follows his instructions nonetheless. She takes her ring finger in her mouth and presses her tongue against it. Tasting her slick pulls a moan out of her, and she drops her head back against the door.

-Oh yes, I liked that. Very good. Would you like to properly touch yourself?

-pls

-Good. Get rid of those tights completely. They’re just in our way.

Rosalind rolls her eyes, the illusion breaking just a bit. Does he know what a pain in the ass it is to fully take them off? Can’t she just push them down to her knees? He seems to be able to sense her hesitation and his response is quick.

-I could always come in there and rip them myself, dear, but I don’t think you want that again.

The feeling of exasperation clashes with her arousal unexpectedly. She finally sighs and gets to unlacing her Doc Martens before sliding off her tights, panties, and socks in a single motion. The tile is cold beneath her bare feet and she’s just grateful that they keep the faculty bathrooms clean.

-ok

-Good girl.

The praise stirs something deep within her and she lets out her most embarrassing noise yet. She slaps her free hand over her mouth and she hears him laugh again on the other side of the door.

-Noted. Now, I believe I said something about touching yourself properly?

She slides her hand back between her legs and brushes her middle finger over her clit, letting out a shaky breath.

-Start slow. Small circles. Tease yourself.

She follows his instruction and her hips buck eagerly into her hand. She likes to take her time with herself, but this is borderline excruciating. Or maybe it’s just because she knows he’s merely feet away and she’d rather have him touching her.

-How does that feel?

-ineed more

-Do you, now? Start with just one finger, your pointer.

She groans softly at the insertion, breathing heavily.

-Does that feel good?

-yea

In truth she’s craving so much more, but she’s afraid if she makes that clear he’ll slow down even further.

Although honestly, would he even know? She can touch herself however she wants, she doesn’t have to play along.

But something keeps her from defying his instruction. It may be a stupid game, and she may be frustrated, but she’s more turned on than she ever remembers being at the height of her relationship with Aradin.

-Put in a second finger. Slide them in and out. Fuck your fingers like they’re mine.

He doesn’t need to have vampiric hearing to hear the guttural noise she makes. She moves her fingers in and out, but it’s not nearly enough to be satisfying. She widens her stances to try to get deeper, and she pushes against the door, making it rattle.

-Very good. Faster.

She keens and speeds up her fingers, palming her clit desperately. Her breathing is shallow and she tries to picture those piercing red eyes looking at her over his glasses, his devilish smile with a single fang poking out. But her imagination isn’t doing the trick and her wrist is beginning to cramp.

She needs to feel him inside her.

-pls more

-I need

-A station

-fuck

-I need u

The fingers on her left hand shake as she tries to text a single coherent thought. She tries to give herself the relief she needs, but at this point he’s the only one who can satisfy her. She pushes herself against the door, whimpering and whining, until her phone buzzes again.

-Unlock the door.

She gasps and pulls off the door as quickly as she can, unlocking it with her slick hand. Astarion immediately bursts in and slams it behind him before pulling her into a crushing kiss. She hardly cares when she drops her phone and it clatters to the tile floor. Considering how composed his messages were, his appearance tells a completely different story. There’s a thin sheen of sweat across his brow and the tips of his ears are pink. Their hands fumble together at his belt, trying to get it undone as quickly as possible. She pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees and moans when she sees his cock, flushed and a pearly bead of precum at the tip. He doesn’t waste any time in hooking a hand under her knee and pressing it against the door, spreading her wide so he can easily push himself in up to the hilt. She groans when he bottoms out, her walls clenching around the sudden fullness.

“Gods, you feel good,” he moans as she slides her hands into his hair and pulls him closer, trying to feel as much of him as possible. She latches onto the left side of his neck, nipping and licking the cool flesh, savoring the sweet saltiness of his sweat. He shudders and digs his fingers into her thigh as he begins to pound into her properly, each thrust making the door shake.

“Astarion, yes, gods, this is—” Rosalind can barely string two words together so desperate is her need. She clings onto the back of his neck, rutting her hips to meet his. She’s already so close with all of his teasing. He presses his forehead into the crook of her neck and her head falls to the side, her eyes landing on the mirror above the sink. She sees only her own reflection from the waist up, disheveled and well-fucked, lipstick smeared from his abuse. She whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut in embarrassment.

“Eyes open, love,” he growls, his free hand grabbing her hair and keeping her head turned toward the mirror. “I want you to see how pretty you are when you come.” She whimpers but complies, seeing her flushed features contort with pleasure and her breasts pressed flat by his chest. He pistons his hips into her, picking up the pace and revving up her climax with it. His breath is heavy on her neck, and she’s struck with a dizzying thought.

“Fuck, Astar— I’m close— bite me,” she manages, twisting her fingers into his curls. He grunts in assent and sinks his fangs into her flesh; she watches her mouth fall open into a silent moan as the shards of ice melt into that sublime warmth. Tears form in the corners of her eyes and mix with her mascara to create dark smudges under her eyes. A single drop of her blood runs down her decolletage and disappears into her cleavage. The sight of her face deep in bliss, of the red rivulet coating her skin, the feeling of his cock stretching her out as she throbs around his length is all too much and sends her crashing over the edge. She can feel his climax nearly instantaneously as he snaps his hips into hers, his cock pulsing as it spurts into her.

She rides out the wave of her pleasure, growing lightheaded as he continues to drink, and it’s only when she starts to grow limp in his arms that he pulls away. She finally turns away from the mirror to see him breathing heavily and licking his blood-smeared lips. There’s a look in his eye even more wild than the other times he’s drunk her blood.

“Gods, that was…” he pants, and Rosalind giggles sleepily.

“Did it taste different?” she asks, barely thinking as she reaches out and swipes her thumb across his lips. He watches in astonishment as she licks her blood off her finger and contemplates the flavor.

“It— yes. Very.”

Rosalind smiles, pleased to see Astarion struggling to form a sentence just as much as she usually does. She looks down at her tights strewn across the bathroom floor and groans.

“I can’t believe you had me take them all the way off,” she whines, picking up the nylon bunched with her damp panties.

“I presume this is still preferable to me tearing through them,” he smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “Although if you don’t want to worry about it…” He gently takes her wrist and pulls her hand still holding the bundle to his nose, inhaling deeply. She bites her lip as he maintains intense eye contact with her. “I can always keep them for myself.”

She lets out a shaky breath before snatching the bunch back with a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak,” she says without a hint of malice, and his face breaks out in a grin.

“Looking at yourself in the mirror again, are you?” he retorts with his ringing giggle. She rolls her eyes and turns away to hide her giddy smile.

“Is the hallway clear?” Rosalind asks once she’s finished lacing up her boots. Astarion presses an ear to the door and she holds her breath.

“I hear someone down the hall. Let me leave first and I’ll text you when the coast is clear,” he says in a hushed tone. She nods and he stares at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. He plants a quick kiss on her lips before slipping quietly out the door. She stands in the middle of the single stall bathroom awkwardly and suddenly catches sight of her ruined face in the mirror. She rolls her eyes — yet another consequence that only she needs to deal with — and grabs a paper towel, carefully wiping off her makeup to the best of her ability. It’s not terribly effective without makeup remover, but she manages to leave her lips only slightly stained and the black rings around her eyes significantly reduced.

As she’s resetting her face, she continually glances at her phone, waiting for his text. When she’s finally put herself back together and still no text, she’s worried that he’s pranking her. She presses her ear to the door, straining to hear any signs of voices, but her hearing isn’t nearly as sharp as his. She’s just about to give up and leave when her phone buzzes.

-All clear.

Then, after a moment,

-Thank you. You were a very good girl.

Her breath hitches before she groans at herself. She doesn’t need to let herself get this wrapped around his finger, that seems like a recipe for disaster.

Rosalind is relieved to see that the hallway is, in fact, empty. She pulls her keys out of her skirt pocket and unlocks her office door, and she’s immediately hit with Astarion’s fragrance. She sniffs her sweater, trying to figure out if it’s just lingering on her, but she has her answer when she sees a note left on her desk in a tidy, elegant hand.

Let me make you dinner. Tomorrow at 7.

Below it is an Upper City address.

Rosalind’s heart begins to pound with excitement, and the exhilaration of the invitation is almost enough for her to ignore the fact that he broke into her office to leave it.

Almost.

[agirlandherquill]

the never love

what better way to return to writeblr than sharing a confession scene? I love them I adore them, I obsess over them (and by which i mean 95% of this came to me at 5am in the morning, i was still awake, steadily losing my mind, and this may be one of the greatest things ive ever written - late night writing takes the win)

“You would run from me, now, in the middle of all of this? All because of an answer you refuse to give me?” “Yes. I would. Because you know I can’t do that. You know I am incapable of giving you that answer, any answer - You ask the worst question at the worst possible time, that is on you. My response is pointless Reid.” She fixed him with a hard stare but he could notice the subtle quivering to her lower lip. “Pointless.” Isolde repeated herself as though it would make her more certain of it. It only made him believe her less. He moved forward, ignorant of the blood staining his palms and cupped a hand to her jaw, ensuring she was unable to avoid his eye. “Then tell me anyway. Lie to me. Lie as well as you can and I will believe you, always. Lie for yourself. Lie for me. Lie for us.” He watched her draw her lower lip beneath her teeth in thought, his heart jumped at the possibility of her considering it, and then she sighed. “No matter the lie I tell it would never be right. It would never be a lie, Reid, not to me.” His throat threatened to close on him, he had to fight to get his words out and even then they were nothing more than a pathetic, desperate whisper. “Then tell me.” She tried to pull away and he let her, he watched her move one step from him, “I can’t.” Another. “I can’t…” A third. “I cannot.” A fourth. Then, hesitation. “I…” Her eyes dropped to her feet, he watched her nose scrunch and heard her quiet curses. Then her eyes were set upon him and she was walking, marching, storming through the wastes of the battlefield. And then she was in front of him. He could not move. He dared not to. This was on her. Everything was on her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he bowed his knees, refusing to lord over her in this moment. “I say this despite myself. I say this despite you, despite every reason I know in my heart and soul to be true.” She leaned her head forward and rested it against his, shutting her eyes. “Your heart does not beat alone. It beats with mine. I do not love you Reid Eldrich. I will never love you, and yet I am smitten. And that is my answer.” “You are?” His voice was smoke scraping at the back of his throat. “You are?” He had to ask again. He had to be sure. He had to know. He never knew that a something so small as a nod from her could break him, and there he stood, a broken man. “I have longed for you since the day I met you. The very moment. The instant your eyes met mine. And when you spoke to me… I knew, Isolde, I knew I would never be the same.” 

the writing demons were warring within me when i wrote this, and when i wrote the final few lines only a short while ago - i confess with my heart and soul that i love this, this story, and them

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list! (i forgot to add it when i posted, oops!)

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

@riveriafalll @lead-to-code @casualsuitturtle @floweryprosegarden @joeys-piano

@catwingsathena @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @anaisbebe

@drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @tiredpapergirl @pastelpinkhobbies @a-mimsy-borogove

[thepeculiarbird]

Oc in 3

Thanks to @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag!

Rules: find three pictures that fit the aesthetic of your OC! Make sure to cite your sources and add image IDs!!

(I forgot to tell the sources for the last two oc in 3 oops)

Noe :

🎨 / 🐶 / 🌳

And I think I have one to do but as always I'm so late on this.

Madhi :

🙂 / 📷 / ☕

Tagging all the writing mutuals: @raiden-makoto @sarandipitywrites @jaelink @aalinaaaaaa @lyutenw @buffythevampirelover @nettleandthorne @finxi-writes @arwenschepers @corruptedbread @whimsical-blood-fairy @unrepentantcheeseaddict @kidukami @ryns-ramblings @rowenas-my-fave-child @jezifster

[seasaltandcopper]

Six Sentence Sunday

tagged by: @lookbluesoup ty!

tagging (I legit don't know who to tag anymore, or who is active on here and likes to do these, so just ignore if this isn't your thing or grab it and say I tagged you if you wanna do it too): @whump-me @befuddled-calico-whump and @whump-queen

rules: share six sentences from a wip

completely forgot I had this piece languishing in my drafts, oops. another thing I need to finish at some point. one of those off the cuff ideas that got away from me and spawned a whole Thing. I have quite a bit more written on this, I might share more of it soon

tw for blood, non-graphic gore, implied mouth whump

Unsurprisingly, the prisoner huddled in the far right corner of the room flinched awake at the racket. A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling of the tiny cell bathed him in harsh white light; it washed out the gray concrete walls and tile floor, making the drying blood and filth streaking towards the floor drain look all the more gruesome.

It also reeked to high heaven—like sweat and blood and piss, and under that, the older, set-in aroma of rot and decay. Teddy made a face, not bothering to mask her disgust, and stepped inside. Something unnervingly tooth-shaped crunched under her boot.

“Room service,” she drawled. “Cold Campbell's chicken noodle, just like Ma used to make.”

teddy's such a bitch, I love her. also another oc I need to add to my masterlist eventually

[kytiapseud]

Gaze, Chapter 4

Chapter list Next

Pairing: Roman/Logan/Virgil

wordcount: 2440

Notes: Notes: A Role Reversal inspired by @edupunkn00b 's work 'Beside Me'. So, I seemed to have added part of this chapter on the previous post before I'd finished editing it. Oops? I'll try to be more careful of that.

Anyways, I added this to my Halloween series on ao3. So should I add the Halloween tag when I post this on tumblr now?

Also, I had trouble deciding initially who to put in what roles. Some of them I am still itching to try so I may do more. I'm considering making them one shots based on certain scenes. I have two in mind at the moment, both would be different reversals. I think I may work on the first one when it gets closer to when that initial scene would be for this one.

After the door shut behind them, Roman turned. He saw how Logan’s bedroom was just before a balcony-like hallway that faced a massive open area. He hadn’t even realized that they were on a second story. Roman looked over the railing in front of them down at the floor below. The view reminded Roman of the second story of Belle’s library from Beauty and the Beast for some reason. He could see there was grandeur to the rest of Logan’s home. He found himself really hoping he’d be able to get a tour of the place.

Logan stood next to him and threaded their fingers together. He smiled at Roman as he gently squeezed their held hands. Roman smiled and squeezed back. Logan had seemed like a man on a mission in that moment as he led the way down the stairs. A clear destination in mind.

 Logan brought them to a massive kitchen of all things. He let go to walk over and take down two goblets from a hanging rack next to the counter. Roman watched him in confusion. Logan glanced at Roman and stopped midturn to one of the refrigerators.

“Ah…I seem to have gotten ahead of myself,” Logan said.

“We can have-or, what were you planning to pour in there?” Roman asked, pointing at the goblets. He didn’t know if Logan was fancy enough to want to drink a blood substitute like it was wine. Logan nodded and went back to the refrigerator.

“We can drink other fluids aside from blood,” Logan said as he pulled out a glass bottle. “In fact, we need to.”

He turned back over and walked to where the goblets were. At the mention of drinking Roman unconsciously licked along the edges of his teeth. Logan smiled.

“Some prefer alcohol, I’m a fan of whiskey myself.” He poured a generous amount from the bottle into each glass.

��“But I thought this might be better for our chat. Here, taste.”

Roman picked up the glass closest to him and brought it to his lips. But as the sweet scent hit him, he looked up with a confused smile on his face.

“You like pineapple juice?” Roman asked.

Logan smirked. “Yes.”

Roman took a sip and leaned on the counter. He looked around at the various appliance and other kitchenware he didn’t know the name of. He wasn’t a big cooking person. He knew he should get better at it, especially when he lived in an apartment. He’d been meaning to get better with it.

“So, I was admittedly surprised to see you have a grand kitchen,” Roman said. Logan hummed and drank from his own glass.

“Virgil eats,” he said. Logan looked into his goblet and swirled the yellow liquid inside.

“I don’t mind cooking for him.”

Roman nearly bit his lip before remembering how his fangs pierced his lip last time.

“If it’s alright for me to ask…, I mean I don’t want to get too personal-“

Logan smiled at Roman. He leaned over the counter between them and ran his thumb over Roman’s lips, just grazing a canine.

“My blood runs through your veins, Roman. There is no such thing as ‘too personal’ between us now.”

Roman stared into the heat of his silver gaze and swallowed hard. Getting lost in his gaze proved to be distracting as he nearly forgot what they were talking about.

“Ask what you will,” Logan said, bringing his hand back down again.

Roman took a sip of juice to buy time and let his mind get back on track.

He spoke slowly, hesitating,

“You said that Virgil doesn’t love you…” He reached for Logan’s hand.

“But do you love him?”

Logan was quiet for a moment, looking at Roman’s hand over his. He shifted his hand and threaded their fingers together. He set aside his drink. Then he looked up at Roman.

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted. He sighed. With his other hand, he traced each of Roman’s fingers.

“I know it’s not my fault he changed, it’s mine.”

Roman felt the way that tugged at his chest, seeing that void of despair return to Logan’s eyes. What he would give to be able to slay the troubles of his love. Logan whispered,

“I loved the man he used to be.”

Roman hurried around the counter. He nearly slid over it, but had the mind to be careful of their drink glasses. He pulled Logan close to him. Thankfully physical affection was something that had always come naturally to him. Roman sighed as Logan sank into his embrace.

“Is there really not a way to get him out of your thrall?” Roman asked.

Logan let out a shaky sigh. He leaned his cheek against Roman’s shoulder and traced his collarbone.

“There are those who say it’s a possibility if I turn him…but apparently it’s not guaranteed to work.”

Roman’s eyes fluttered at Logan’s small touches. They nearly felt like a tease. He fought to slow his breathe as he continued.

“Well, what was it like for you? Do you remember feeling changed at all when you…?” Roman asked.

Logan stiffened in his arms.

“I…it has been so long that I can hardly remember my mortal life.”

Roman blinked.

“Oh…” Roman resisted the urge to immediately ask a bunch of questions about that.

“Really? Sorry,” Roman looked down at Logan, “I don’t mean…”

Logan shook his head. He reached up and stroked Roman’s cheek.

“Do not worry, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Roman swallowed dryly, He was affected by the soft and almost intenseness to Logan’s expression. Encouraged by the reassurances, Roman gathered his courage.

“If it’s been so long…how old are you?” Roman asked. He remembered Logan’s remark about Roman being young, and wondered just how young that was to Logan.

Logan subtly stepped back, but without leaving Roman’s arms. He watched Roman carefully as he said,

“I am over 400 years old.”

A choking sound escaped from Roman’s throat.

“O-oh, that’s…,” He cleared his throat. “Okay…I think I’ve heard stories say that Dracula was supposed to be that age.” Roman had probably heard Remus spout that at one point. It seemed like the kind of story he would have read.

Roman noticed Logan flinch at the mention of Dracula though.

“Oh, sorry. Did you like know him, or well, Dracula isn’t real though…right?”

Logan’s expression was hard to read as he quietly answered.

“The one I knew went by many names, Dracula being popularized by the novel…but I called him Remy.”

-

Logan was glad he got the chance to explore in Remy’s castle. He started wandering first in the top level, not traversing far from their room at first. He came across a mostly empty room with a grand bed that was well layered and looked quite comfortable. At the other end of the room was a large mirrored wardrobe. The lack of anything else in the room felt strange. Logan approached the wardrobe and then froze when he noticed he had no reflection. Right. He had heard that was another feature of vampires. He felt the unconscious shake of his hands at the realization. After waiting a moment for them to still, he tugged the wardrobe doors open.

He was surprised to  find a rack stuffed with clothing in various styles. Logan ran his hands over the clothing curiously, admiring the different textures. These were fine clothes, which meant expensive. Logan frowned as he looked down at his own woven tunic and loose leggings. They were the only clothes he owned before coming here.

 It wouldn’t have been the first time he felt like he didn’t belong. That it would have been better to have been born into a different class. Not even out of greed. Just, his interests in gaining knowledge of everything were hard to reach monetarily. He had been lucky his mother had found a reading tutor for him at some point when he was a kid. And then the count had been overly generous to give Logan glasses he needed. He had felt undeserving but immensely grateful, to be able to see better. Even now when he didn’t need them anymore with vampire sight, he wanted to wear them.

Logan shook his head, he didn’t need to think about that right then. He found himself wondering who wore these fine clothes. Remy surely didn’t use the mirror. There were a variety of styles Logan had never seen Remy wear. He was also fairly sure that Remy had lived alone before. Logan at least hadn’t encountered anyone else in the several days he’d been at the castle now.

Logan’s hands trailed over the clothes. They lingering on one particularly enticing dark blue silk shirt. He pulled it from the wardrobe and held it up to the moonlight that poured in from the windows. That’s when his eyes caught sight of the blood near the collar.

 He stared at it then brought it closer to the window where the light was a little brighter. Yes, that’s definitely dried blood there. He quickly returned to the wardrobe and began to examine each of the clothes in there. Most of them had small dabs of blood near the collars, some at the wrists. He stared at the shirt in his hand then at the rack in the wardrobe again. His head swiveled, looking at the large bed at the other end of the room. That would explain why the room was so empty.

Well, Logan should have known this was a possibility. Remy was a vampire, and the stories had to come from somewhere. This must be how Remy fed. And now he was so close to such a creature, was one himself.

How many people had once lived in this room? How long did they stay each time before Remy fed? Logan’s chest tightened and his throat closed up. He dropped the dark blue shirt and stumbled backward until his shoulders hit a stone wall. He then slid down to the floor and pulled at his hair. He would not cry. Why Logan as so determined not to cry when he was here, he wasn’t sure. Trying to hold it back gave him a headache though, which just made him feel worse. He couldn’t think about breathing. His mind stuck on his discovery and what this could mean. Those people had died in this room, hadn’t they? Was this the expectation now that Logan was a vampire? He would have to drain captured humans? Is that the only way he could get nourishment? Would Remy force him to do so?

Logan lost track of how long it had been before he felt cool, strong hands covering his. They gently pried Logan’s hands out of his hair.

“Shh, draga, it’s alright, you’re safe.”

Remy crouched in front of him. He gripped Logan’s hands together in his own and gently kissed his fingers.

“Breathe for me, draga. That’s it. Just breathe. That’s all you need to do.”

Remy moved both of Logan’s hands into one of his own to prevent more hair pulling. He sat on the floor and pulled Logan into his lap, cradling him. He wrapped both arms tightly around Logan and pinned his hands between their bodies. Remy rocked him back and forth, shushing into his hair, murmuring,

“Just breathe for me babe, just breathe…”

After a long while, Logan finally got a hold of his breath. Remy gently cupped Logan’s face with both hands and turned Logan toward him.

“Now, draga mea, would you like to talk about what has you so upset?”

Logan’s eyes shifted over to the still open wardrobe and the dark blue shirt in a heap on the floor.

“Ah,” Remy whispered. “You found my pets’ clothes.”

“Your pets!?” Logan exclaimed, pulling out of Remy’s embrace and scrambling across the floor.

His hand brushed against the dark blue silk, but he pushed it away from him.

“Is that how you refer to your victims? I haven’t seen anyone else here besides you. Did-did you kill them all?” Logan asked, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

In a blink Remy was next to him again. His arms wrapped tightly around Logan’s body, rubbing his back.

“Shh, shh, draga mea, no…”

He pressed kisses against Logan’s hair, his face, his neck…

“Your concern is endearing but misplaced.”

Remy drew Logan even closer, nestling him sideways against his chest. He draped on long leg over his lap.

“Every single one of them was a hunter who would have staked me if given the chance.”

Logan frowned and gripped Remy’s shirt. The though of someone harming Remy hurt deep inside him and throughout his body. Remy continued in a soft voice.

“Instead, I make my enemies my friends,” He smirked a little as he referred to making them his friends.

“I bring them under my thrall and they willingly give me what I need. It’s much nicer that way.”

“But, how is that willingness if you’re controlling them?” Logan asked.

Remy smiled and showed his fangs.

“Control is a strong word for it. I make them happy.” Remy nuzzled the side of Logan’s neck.

“It’s a fair trade. I-we-give them more pleasure than they ever thought possible. They give blood to sustain us. That’s all it is. It’s much more fun that way anyways.”

Remy gently lifted Logan’s chin until their eyes met.

“That’s all it needs to be.”

Remy turned and suddenly called out, only slightly louder,

“You may come in now, my pet.”

The door to the chamber opened. Remy twisted around Logan on the floor, straddling him for a moment before standing. He pulled Logan up with him. A man waited in the doorway, eyes fixed on Remy’s. Logan breathed in deeply, tasting the sweet musky scent that poured off of him. He ran his tongue against his on fangs, wondering what the man might feel like in his arms. The man stood at attention, staring at Remy, lips parted. “Is it time?” he asked with an eager smile.

Remy watched how Logan’s eyes were trained on the man. He felt Logan’s muscles quiver under his fingertips as he stroked his spine. Remy let his hand rest at the small of his back. He leaned close and allowed his teeth to graze his fleshy lobe as he whispered into Logan’s ear,

“Are you hungry, draga mea?”

Logan growled low in his throat. Remy grinned and kissed him. He ran his tongue over Logan’s teeth and dragged a hand through his hair. He broke away and turned, addressing the man in the doorway. “On the bed.”

[gearbroth]

Half-Life doodle dump  λ 2

[pausescreen]

it’s been a hot minute!

[kunoichi-ume]

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad

Characters: Torian Cadera, Noara Starspark, Balic Cormac and Elara Dorne-Cormac (I have no idea if she will ever take his name, but they are totally married so that’s how I am writing it haha) Story: Jedi Sitters Word Count: 3458

Note: This fic was inspired by this piece of art by @jemichiart, and the name for the little Rishii baby totally taken from @outcastcommander’s suggestion. This also ended up much longer than I expected, but I enjoyed writing this so I am not sorry. EDIT: I am however sorry I forgot to add the tags and link to the picture. Oops.

The sharp tang of blood filled the air as Torian made his way through the Rishi jungle, rifle held ready in case he needed it. He had set off that morning to go hunting but, apparently, he wasn’t the only being on the prowl for a challenge. Whatever had spilled the blood tainting the air had apparently already found it’s prey. He followed the scent, giving in to his curiosity that soon turned into alarm when he identified where the smell of blood came from. Not further into the forest, where wild beasts were known to roam, but into a small clearing he was familiar with. A clearing that housed several huts belonging to a small tribe of locals.

Blood spilled there couldn’t bode well at all.

They were a peaceful sort, the Rishii, despite being natural born predators. Despite their sharp claws and beaks, and ever sharper eyes, Torian ahd always found them to be a kind and welcoming bunch every time he visited their home world. Now that he called the tropical world home as well, Torian had hopes of befriending one or two of them. While he had never heard of a Rishii Mandalorian, the idea of one excited him and he’d welcome any of their number into his hunting party.

Stopped at the edge of the clearing, Torian observed the carnage with a keen eye. Several structures were only partially standing, walls and roofs caved in. Not a single dwelling was left as adequate shelter from the elements. Bodies, all belonging to the feathered locals, laid out across the ground. Claws, far larger than any he had ever seen a Rishii possess, had carved up the bodies the same way they had destroyed the buildings, gouging the ground to leave long, deep grooves in the packed dirt.

Torian sighed heavily, he was no stranger to death but there was always something tragic about the loss of innocent lives. These people were not warriors, not soldiers. They were families, with elderly and young among them. Now he was grateful Noara had not joined him this morning, she was not a hunter but enjoyed exploring the wilds at his side. Death, especially senseless deaths like these, always weighed heavily on her. Where Torian observed the carnage with a sense of sadness at the loss of life she would feel the full weight of grief bearing down on her chest. He loved the former Jedi with all his heart, but her upbringing in the Order still influenced her to behave in ways he didn’t always understand. It kept life interesting.

The sound of something hitting the ground pulled Torian's attention away from the bodies laid out across the clearing. Keeping very still, he strained to hear any other signs of life. Perhaps something in the damaged huts had shifted he wondered. But then a second, clearer sound filled the air. Cracking.

Moving quietly, careful to step around the bodies and blood, Torian entered the clearing and looked for the source of the sound. Nothing was out of place in the first partially standing hut he investigated, nor the second.

At the threshold of the third Torian froze in place, shocked still by what he found as his heart pounded loudly in his ears.

Sprawled out on the dusty floor was a small creature and, though he had never seen one before, it was obvious to Torian it was a newborn Rishii ik'aad. A baby. Something thick and shiny soaked the ik'aad's feathers, pieces of shell caught in the viscous liquid and littering the area almost like shrapnel from an explosion. It looked as though the egg that little thing once resided in had been stashed into the cabinet above where it sat, the door hanging open on a crooked hinge.

It wasn't hard to make the assumption that someone, possibly one of the child's parents, had stashed the egg away in hopes of safety. Luckily the door had held after the damage to the walls had displaced it until the danger had passed. And, equally lucky, was that the ik'aad had been ready to hatch.

Stepping into the destroyed hut, eyes far too large for the small ik'aad's face, lit up in delight when he came into view. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Torian couldn't resist carefully scooping the ik'aad up into his arms. The little thing barely weighed anything at all and his chest tightened at the idea that it was made an orphan the same day it was born. Torian was still a baby when he lost his parents, but at least it hadn’t been the exact same day. A foundling before even getting a name. Brushing some of the shell pieces off soggy feathers, he did his best to check if the child was healthy but truthfully didn't know what he was looking for.

The question of what to do never entered Torian’s mind, there was no debate to be had. Until he could find the ik’aad’s family, if any lived, the foundling was his responsibility. First thing first, he needed to make sure the newborn was healthy. Glancing around the hut, Torian grabbed a large red cloth and shook the dust off before wrapping it around the child. It was a warm day, as was the usual on Rishi, but he didn't want to chance the child catching a chill from it's soaked feathers. Once satisfied that the makeshift birikad would hold the ik'aad securely against his chest, he was quick to leave the destroyed village behind and head back into the forest.

Head turning all around so much Torian was concerned the ik'aad would injure it, the infant cooed excitedly while taking in the world for the first time. It was all Torian could do to keep from laughing, the pure joy of seeing the world with new eyes was infectious. When he reached the rough path he had taken into the jungle, no longer having to duck under branches, Torian switched from a quick pace to a jog. He wanted to get the ik'aad home as soon as possible, not only did the newborn need to be examined by a trained medic but he also had no idea what kind of food to provide. Luckily, when he had left, Noara had said she expected her brother and his wife to come by soon.

Balic Cormac, a giant of a man, wasn't Noara’s sibling by blood, but by choice which meant more to Torian in the long run. He had grown up without his blood around and Noara's had given her away. Better to rely on the family that chose to love you when you needed someone. As luck would have it, Balic's wife Elara was one of the most widely versed medics Torian had ever met. She should be more than capable of giving the little Rishii a proper checkup.

The ik'aad made an odd huffy noise, one that sounded almost put out and made Torian grin widely. "Don't worry ad'ika, you'll get a better look later," he said, smoothing his hand over the ruffled feathers slowly drying on the child's head. He'd make sure the kid got an eyeful before they decided what to do with him.

Walking into the Clan Compound Torian was struck with the still unfamiliar feeling of being home, a warm sense of contentment and belonging that he savored. It wasn't something he had experienced often in his life, having an actual home instead of just a temporary accommodation. When Noara had started talking about wanting to settle down, leaving the saving of the galaxy to others while they moved on with their lives, he hadn't been too particular about where they ended up. As long as he could hunt, house his clan and be with his wife he was happy.

Settling on a tropical world, one with plenty of beaches and ocean to keep Noara happy and thick forests and plentiful fauna for hunting had turned out perfect. Even the base they found was exactly what they needed, large enough to house everyone and any new members the clan might welcome in the years to come and all the animals Noara had taken to rescuing, while being secure enough to defend if they ever needed to.

They even had enough space to put in their own little medical center, which was where Torian headed first. With the Cormac's visiting, it was fairly likely they would either be checking the set up of the new infirmary equipment as Elara had been their main consultant on what they needed, or up in the cliff-side apartment he shared with Noara. Elara was a very driven, serious woman and he would be surprised if she didn’t want to get straight to work. Also the infirmary was closer to where he exited the jungle.

Barely inside the door Torian knew he had made the right choice. The murmur of voices drifted down the corridor toward him and he smiled. He had no idea how Noara would react to him coming home with an ik'aad strapped to his chest and, honestly, he was looking forward to finding out. She found far too much amusement in surprising him with the newest beastie she had decided to take into their home, it was only fair to turn the tables on her.

Several people were gathered inside the infirmary. Balic was leaning against the wall, not far from where his wife worked and even slumped down slightly he was still head and shoulders over everyone else. Several of the younger clan members, all in varying colors of armor, watched the blonde woman with rapt attention as she gave them a rundown of how to use a new scanning device. Noara was lying on the hospital table, obviously playing the lab wamp rat, and doing a good impression of an injured patient until she looked toward the door.

Sneaking up on Noara was almost impossible for Torian, she claimed to be able to feel him with the Force. He believed her, but it was still a hard sell. She claimed it wasn’t the same as how she felt another Force user, but something special because of their connection. She could feel him when he was near, even sense a bit of his moods if she tried.

Of course that didn’t mean he wasn’t determined to try, and someday he was going to manage it.

Instead of pretending to be hurt, Noara smiled brightly when he stepped into view and he could see the moment she noticed the ik'aad. Her eyes widened in surprise and she jolted up off the medical bed, head almost colliding with Elara's who had leaned over during her lecture. Only Balic's large hand yanking his wife backward saved them both from having their bells rung.

"Cyare," Noara said, pushing off the bed and hurrying toward him. "Meg vaar gar ganar?"

Muffled laughter broke out among the younger vod in the room. Noara had been working on learning Mando'a for a few years now, but like now still managed to get some words mixed up much to the younger generation's amusement. Instead of asking what he had, she instead spoke a gibberish phrase about what he had undeveloped. Or half grown, vaar, could mean either.

Cheeks flushing, Noara knew what the laughter meant but instead of reacting further she peered curiously at the ik'aad. "Who is this?"

Torian leaned his head down to brush his lips against her forehead, eyes fixed on the vod still smiling about her slip up. It was of course a message, to remind them she was their alor's riduur. Noara was more Mando than he could have ever imagined a Jedi turning, but part of him still worried about her being accepted by his peers. He knew first hand that it was possible to be Mando and still be treated like an aruetii. He'd be damned if he would let anyone make Noara feel like she wasn't enough.

Turning their head, the ik'aad looked up at Noara with wide yellow eyes. Noara returned the interested stare, reaching out to run her fingers through the matted feathers. "Poor little guy needs a bath," she said, raising her eyes to frown at him. "Are you babysitting or something?"

"Or something," Torian laughed before giving a quick explanation of his day. His story had the attention of everyone in the room and Elara was at his side before he had even finished.

"You should have said it was a newborn sooner," Elara chided him, holding her hands out. "Let me take a look."

Nodding, Torian braced one hand on the ik'aad's bottom before untying the birikad. Once it was loose Elara had the little one in her arms and was making her way back to the exam table.

There was perhaps a split second between her stepping away from him and the loudest shrieking he had ever heard come from a sentient being's lungs. Noara gasped as Torian darted around her, beelining for the table.

"What did you do?" he demanded, leaning over the table to see the small Rishii ik'aad lying on the bed and looking completely fine. Even the squalling had stopped, the moment he leaned over the table. Confused, he looked at the former Havoc Squad medic.

Humming thoughtfully, Elara shifted to block Torian from view. Again the ik'aad started crying loudly. Moving back, the cries stopped the moment golden eyes met Torian's. "Stay right there, where the child can see you."

Noara stepped up beside Torian, pulling a stool over for him to sit on and stayed by his side as Elara examined her new patient. This time the instruction she gave the watching vod was more hands on than the lecture she had given over Noara's 'pretend' ailment. Torian didn't pay much attention to the words she was saying, explaining everything she did, instead he was drawn to the small Rishii's eyes that seemed glued to his face.

Finally Elara set her instruments away, lifting the ik'aad and passing him over for Torian to hold. She delivered her prognosis with a bright smile. "That is one perfectly healthy Rishii baby boy you have there Torian."

"He is such a cutie," Noara said, perched on the edge of the table behind him and leaning over his shoulder to run her fingers through the boy's feathers again. "If his parents are dead, what do we do with him?"

Torian frowned, he hadn't thought that far and now that he was holding the small boy in his arms it just felt... right. Like he was meant to take in this foundling as his own, as his son. They had talked a little about children, though nothing in certain terms and had never discussed adoption. It was as much a part of Mandalorian culture as armor and fighting, they even had a set phrase for it.

How was he going to tell his wife he wanted to make them parents without even discussing it? Watching her smile as the boy gurgled happily at her touch, he had a feeling it wouldn't be too hard to convince her.

Before he could work up an idea of how to start that conversation, Elara cleared her throat to get their attention. "Actually, you should know that Rishii infants are known to imprint on the first person they see."

"Imprint?" Noara asked, frowning in confusion and the words sunk in for Torian. He knew what it meant, but never imagined a sentient species did it. By being the one to find the boy he had all but sealed the question of their future.

"It's a long lasting attachment to the first individual or object a creature sees after hatching. It's common in avian species," Elara explained in her serious manner before smiling. "Based on the child's reaction to being separated I can only assume he has imprinted on Torian."

"So that means..." Noara's voice trailed off as she looked between the boy and her husband. "Are you a dad now?"

Torian pulled his son closer at the hitch in her voice, "I guess, I mean I want to know how you feel about it before deciding anything."

Noara watched him carefully for a long moment before looking up at the crowded room. "Could we have some privacy please?"

"Of course Noara-doll," Balic said before pushing off the wall where he was leaning. He started herding the training medics out of the room before dropping a kiss on the top of Noara's head and leaving with his wife tucked tight against his side. On the way out the door Elara called back that she would arrange for some proper food to be up in their apartment for the boy.

Once they were finally alone Noara shifted closer on the bed to wrap her arms around Torian's shoulders, her chest pressed up against his back. She laid her hands on top of his, helping cradle the child against his chest. When she spoke her voice was steady, though little more than a whisper in his ear. "Are you ready to be a father Torian? I know we've talked a bit about it, but this would be starting now. No time to come to terms with it or get cold feet you know?"

"As sudden as it may feel, I think I am." Torian turned on his stool, dislodging her arms so he could watch her face carefully, "what about you? Are you ready to be a mother?"

"To be honest, no. I don't feel ready at all," Noara said, sighing sadly. "I still don't really know what a mother is? How to do it, you know?"

Holding the child with one hand, Torian cupped her cheek with his other one. "I don't know what being a father is like either but together I have no doubts we will figure it out."

"He'd need a name," she said after a tense moment, leaning her face into his cheek with a smile, "if we can't even manage that what kind of parents would we be?"

Torian laughed, the anxious worry he hadn’t really noticed in his chest relaxing at her smile. "Fair enough. Any ideas?"

“Not sure, never named anyone before.” Noara looked down at the boy tucked against his chest. "His eyes look like little suns don’t they? So bright and full of life."

"What about Tranyc?"

She frowned, "that's Mando'a right? Star... something?"

Torian nodded, impressed that she caught the unfamiliar word. "Star-burned, but that's the literal translation. 'Sunny' is a more true meaning."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I love you Torian," Noara said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again and kissing him. "And loving this little guy will be no burden I’m sure."

“No I don’t imagine it will be,” Torian said, standing and taking one of Noara’s hands to draw her off the table to stand in front of him. Adjusting his hold on Tranyc, he situated them so Noara was helping hold his son between them. “We should make it official, well as official as Mandalorians ever are.”

“I take it there is a set way to do this?” Noara’s eyes had a teasing gleam in them as she smiled up at him, “so tell me, how do we make Tranyc our son?”

Torian’s heart felt like it could burst, gratitude and admiration for Noara’s easy acceptance of their son almost overwhelming him. He had to clear his throat before being able to speak the adoption vow. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.”

“What does that mean?” she didn’t look up as she asked, her eyes fixed on Tranyc’s bright smile.

“I know your name as my child.”

“Very Mandalorian, direct and to the point. I like it.” Noara placed her hand on Tranyc;s head and repeated the vow. Like when they had spoken their marriage vows months before, it took her a few times so get the pronunciation exactly right. When she finished, she gathered their son in her arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek before laughing. “We really need to bathe our son,” she said, “and Elara should have an idea of what to feed him by now.”

Torian wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding Noara out of the infirmary. “Let’s take our son home,” he said, the words making him feel like he could fly. His entire life Torian had wanted a family, one that he could do right by. The way his father hadn’t. The way Noara’s parents hadn’t. They had both grown up without a family but together they had made one all their own. And, other than perhaps the day Noara agreed to marry him, Torian had never been happier than this moment.

Translations

Ik'aad - baby; child under 3 Birikad - baby carrying harness Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - adoption vow - lit. I know your name as my child.

[starship-squidlet]

New Music: Act 2, scene 7

Chapter summary: The aftermath of the fight with the Delanceys. Cora and Davey get to spend some time together.

Word count: 2,122

Warnings: blood tw, injury tw (nothing serious, but just as a heads up these are things that come up in the chapter)

Disclaimer: Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @i-am-a-wizard @xbanner-carriedx @chaotic-sunflower-galaxy (let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from the tag list!)

Links: Spotify playlist, YouTube playlist, ‘Just the Way you Look Tonight’ on YouTube

A/N: Hey, look, I finally figured out how to put the keep reading links in mobile!!! Now y’all don’t have to scroll past mega-long chapters any more!!! I’ll go back and add them into the other chapters at some point, too. Also! There are some deleted scenes that I’m going to be posting today or tomorrow! Two are from this chapter, and one is from an earlier chapter and I just forgot to post it then (oops). So stay tuned for those!

Previous chapter: Act 2, Scene 6

Next chapter: Act 2, Scene 8

Davey turned around as the door to the club opened, ready to join the others in their typical gentle ribbing of Jack, Albert, and Race for being late, but his comments died on his lips at what walked through the door.

Race and Cora came through first. Even with her face buried in Race’s shoulder, the filth covering Cora’s clothes was obvious, and Davey immediately knew that something was wrong. This conclusion was supported by the next people through the door: Crutchie, clutching a bloodied handkerchief to his head and walking half-supported by Jack. They were followed by Albert, carrying Elaine on his back, and Mush, holding another bloody handkerchief over his nose.

Henry was the first person to move, running for the first aid kit Medda kept behind the bar. The others shifted into action right after him, getting chairs to set Crutchie and the girls down in, getting them glasses of water, and wrapping ice in towels to help with swelling and bruises. Spot took Mush by the shoulder and led him into the bathroom. Albert set Elaine on one of the bar stools and helped her out of one of her shoes, grabbing one of the bundles of ice and holding it to her ankle. Race set Cora down and gave her a quick, tight hug before picking up another ice bundle and holding it to his knuckles.

Henry went straight for Crutchie, checking out the bleeding gash over his eye first. “This isn’t actually as bad as it looks,” he said. “I don’t think it needs stitches. The bleedin’s slowin’ too. Keep pressure on it until it stops.”

Davey noticed Cora’s eyes flicking around the room, like they couldn’t focus on anything. With everyone flitting around, chattering with each other, demanding answers, he couldn’t blame her. He stepped forward hesitantly and brushed a hand against her shoulder. She flinched away, nearly falling out of the chair.

“I’m sorry!” Davey said. “Come on. Let’s go over there.” He offered his hand to her. Cora took it, trembling, and let him lead her to the other side of the club, where they sat down in a corner booth. The high seats blocked out some of the noise the others were making, like they were in a bubble. Davey looked down and saw Cora picking at the skin on her hands, pulling it away from where it had split over her knuckles. “Hey,” he whispered, reaching out to take her hands. She pulled away from him with a little gasp. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Davey murmured. He held his hands up, then set them on the table. “I don’t want to hurt you, or scare you at all. I just want to help. What can I do?”

Cora shook her head and stared down at her hands. Davey nodded and crossed his arms on the table, resting his chin on them, hoping that his presence alone would help Cora relax.

Back over by the bar, an argument was brewing. Davey glanced over, trying to catch up on what he had missed.

“That’s it,” Jack was pacing back and forth, clearly furious. “That. Is. It. This is done. We’re done—all of it.”

“Jack, come on, you’re not makin’ sense,” Race said, shifting the ice on his bruised knuckles.

“No,” Jack snapped, spinning on him. “I said before—the last time—that we should stop before things got outta hand, but youse convinced me to keep goin’. Well, now it’s over.” He stalked over to Elaine and lifted her arm, showing a nasty scrape that went from her elbow almost all the way down to her wrist under the ripped fabric of her sweater. “Look at this. All of youse. Look at this, and at Crutchie’s head, and Mush’s nose. I’m not okay with this.” Elaine yanked her arm back and cradled it against her chest, glaring at Jack. “I ain’t gonna let anyone else get beat up over music.”

“What are you sayin’, Jack?” Mush asked, his voice low.

“It’s over,” Jack said, turning to face him. “All of this. The band. Over and done.”

“Jack, the Delancey twins have been beatin’ people up long before we started playin’ music and doin’ shows,” Albert protested.

“They didn’t start because of us,” Race added.

“Yeah, but we all became a target because of this,” Jack said. “Everybody knows that the Delanceys have been beatin’ up kids on Pulitzer’s orders since freshman year. Kids he couldn’t punish otherwise. Pulitzer wants to control us, that’s why he’s got Snyder and his goons patrollin’ the school all the time. If he can’t control us through legit means, he’ll do it through the Delanceys.” He flung his arms out. “Well, Pulitzer can’t control this. He tried—last night, he was the one who sicced Snyder on us, I’m sure of it. He’s doin’ whatever it takes to shut us down.”

“He’s doin’ whatever it takes, and he’s winnin’!” Mush snapped. “Because you’s lettin’ him! If we stop what we’re doin’ now, it’s tellin’ Pulitzer that we can be controlled, just like you was sayin’. It’s lettin’ him win and givin’ in to his pressure.”

“You’d really let him take away something that makes you as happy as music does over a couple of bullies?” Elaine asked softly.

Jack turned around and took her hands in his, looking up into her eyes. “If it would keep you—all of you, or even one of you—safe? Absolutely.” He kissed Elaine on the knuckles and released her hands, then turned around, looking at the rest of the group. “Look, youse may be okay with this, but I ain’t,” he said softly. “I ain’t gonna be responsible for anyone else gettin’ hurt.”

“You’re not responsible for this, Jack!” Finch insisted. “Pulitzer is. The Delanceys are. It ain’t your fault.”

“It’s none of our faults,” Spot said, taking a step closer. “The Delanceys is just a couple of meatheads. They ain’t thinkin’ for themselves. All they wants is to hurt other people. Pulitzer just gave ‘em an excuse to go after all of us. They was probably told that they could do whatever they wanted to us without gettin’ in trouble, and that just made us the easiest targets for them. The Delanceys have come after all of us before. It’s nothin’ new. Now we’s just easy pickins.”

“That’s the point!” Jack cried. “We’re easy targets to them. Why would they risk goin’ after anyone else when they could just keep pickin’ us off?” He grabbed Elaine’s arm again. “What’s it gonna take before we do let them win? Broken bones? Worse? What if they put someone in the hospital? What do we do then?”

Elaine snatched her arm back again. “Do me a favor, Jack. Don’t use me as an illustration.” She slid gingerly off the barstool and limped towards the door, stopping to pick up her bag. “It’s clear we won’t be getting any rehearsing done today. I’m going home.”

Finch sighed. “I’ll drive you.” He stood up and took Mush by the arm. “You too. Let’s go.” Mush didn’t protest, but let Finch pull him out of the club.

They passed Medda on the way out, and she gasped when she saw Mush’s face. “What happened?”

“The Delanceys,” Mush sighed. “Everyone’s okay. Henry’s patching Crutchie up now. Jack’s pissed, though, so fair warnin’.”

“Can I assume you all won’t be rehearsing today?” Medda arched an eyebrow.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be back tomorrow, don’t worry,” Finch grinned.

“I look forward to it,” Medda smiled. She patted Mush on the shoulder as she passed, and nodded down the street. “You’d better hurry and catch your girlfriend before she gets too far away.”

Finch glanced down the sidewalk and sighed. “Elaine! Wait! I said I’d drive you!”

Medda opened the door and stepped into the club. As advertised, the atmosphere was tense. Henry was taping up a gash on Crutchie’s forehead, Jack hovering nearby. Some of the other boys were close and seemed to be trying to help—Mike and Ike, Boots, JoJo, Specs. At the other end of the bar were most of the other boys—Spot, Blink, Albert, Race, Romeo, and Smalls. Medda looked around for Cora, concerned, but spotted Davey’s side in the corner booths and smiled to herself. She went to check on Crutchie first, and patted Henry on the shoulder. “That’s a nice job you’re doing there. If any of you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”

On the other side of the club, Davey glanced back down at Cora. She had her eyes squeezed shut, and her hands clamped over her ears. Davey raised a hand to brush against her shoulder, but thought better of it. “Cora? Cora, can you hear me?”

Cora opened her eyes slowly and looked over at him.

“They stopped fighting. It’s quieter now. It’s okay; you can uncover your ears.”

Cora moved her hands away for a moment. When Davey proved to be correct, she moved them down into her lap and started picking at her skin again.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Davey murmured, reaching out to take her hands in his. “It’s okay. You’re okay. No-one is going to hurt you. I promise. I won’t let them.”

Cora offered him a watery smile. Davey looked around, not really sure what to do. “Hey, Cora, what’s your favorite song? That we sing, at least. Or your favorite song to sing. Or perform. If… uh, if that makes sense.”

Cora stayed silent for a moment. Davey didn’t think she was going to answer, at first. But then:

“I like… I like when you sing Sinatra,” she said, her voice small.

“Oh yeah?” Davey grinned. “What’s your favorite Sinatra song?”

She paused. “Um… I can’t remember what it’s called. I liked the one you sang for your audition. That was real nice.”

Davey thought for a moment. “‘Moon River’? That’s a good one.”

Cora nodded. “It sounds real pretty when you sing it.”

Davey smiled to himself. “Thanks.”

They sat quietly for another minute. Cora shifted slightly and leaned into Davey. He very gently slipped his arm out from between them and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What other Sinatra songs do you like?” he asked finally.

Cora shrugged. “Lots. He’s got a nice voice. It’s soothin’. Like yours.”

Davey smiled down at her. “Thanks.” They lapsed into silence again. Once again, Davey was the one to break it, as he began to hum softly.

Cora glanced up at him as he began to sing quietly:

“Some day, when I'm awfully low,

When the world is cold,

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight.”

Davey didn’t miss the soft smile that was beginning to creep over Cora’s face, so he kept singing, emboldened now.

“Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm,

And your cheeks so soft,

There is nothing for me but to love you

And the way you look tonight.”

The rest of the club seemed to fade away. He could no longer hear the other boys talking—he wasn’t sure if it was because they had left, or if he was just so focused on him and Cora in their little bubble.

“With each word your tenderness grows,

Tearin' my fear apart,

And that laugh, wrinkles your nose,

Touches my foolish heart.”

The longer the song went on, the more Cora seemed to relax. She rested more and more of her weight against him, letting her head fall against his shoulder. Her breathing grew steady and even, and her hands relaxed in her lap, no longer tearing at themselves.

“Lovely, never, never change,

Keep that breathless charm,

Won't you please arrange it?

'Cause I love you

A-just the way you look tonight!”

Davey’s breath hitched in his throat and he stopped singing. Cora looked up at him, green eyes wide, but she didn’t say anything. Davey swallowed thickly and whispered the next words: “And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart…” He found himself leaning lower, drawn by some magnetic force to Cora. His voice cracked, but he kept going with the lyrics, his voice getting even softer.

“Lovely, don't you ever change,

Keep that breathless charm,

Won't you please arrange it?

'Cause I love you

A-just the way you look tonight”

He swallowed again and pulled away. Cora looked down at her lap again, her hands shifting like she was about to start picking at them again. Davey took a deep breath, leaned down, and quickly pecked her on the cheek. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were even wider, shining happily as a beautiful smile spread over her lips. Davey grinned back at her.

“Just the way you look tonight.”

[crownedscribe]

kas and isna baby!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE MY DISASTER PRINCESSES

im just gonna do both at the same time

Full Name: Isnama’erta and Kaseetri, I havent’ figured out their last names yet

Gender and Sexuality: They’re both cis girls, Isna is bi, Kas is pan

Pronouns: she/her for both

Ethnicity/Species: uhhh hmmm they’re both human and from different coutnries but i don’t have names for them yet so ???

Birthplace and Birthdate: i do not know for either bc im bad at planning

Guilty Pleasures: for isna: free time, f

or kas: cherries

Phobias: isna: any of her family dying, 

kas: isna dying 

What They Would Be Famous For: isna: twitter sjw lmao, 

kas: grew up in a rich family and was on a reality show a la the kardashians, disappeared for years after a family scandal and suddenly reappeared as a singer at the top of the charts and eventually wins an oscar

What They Would Get Arrested For: isna: she wouldn’t because she would never break the law. 

kas: she wouldn’t because she is very good at breaking the law.

OC You Ship Them With: each other!!! and also abra who i forgot to add to the tags oops

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: for isna: everyone who isn’t her blood relatives, kas or abra. 

for kas: aegher if he figured out who she is.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: isna: romantic dramas.

 kaseetri: romantic comedies.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: isna: horror. 

kaseetri: heist movies.

Talents and/or Powers: isna: she’s just really good at leading and that’s valid. also sometimes she can talk to dead people but that’s secondary. 

kaseetri: she can fly. and do parkour. 

Why Someone Might Love Them: isna: because she’s rly sweet!!! misguided, ut she means rly well!!! and she’s very loyal. 

kaseetri: if she likes you she would take a bullet for you.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: isna: because of her heritage/who she is. 

kaseetri: because of her family and her job.

How They Change: isna: learns that Law does not equal Ethical. also learns how to talk to dead people. 

kaseetri: she simply calms down a little.

Why You Love Them: isna: she was the first character of this universe that i created!!!!!!!!!! the whole story is built around her and she’s the protagonist even though compared to her siblings she’s rly not that interesting but she IS the most important and that’s very cash money of her. 

kaseetri: she is best girl ever and deserves the best and also she was the 2nd character i created!!!!!! in opposition to isna, the whole plot... well it doesn’t revolve around her but she was the kicking off point for why most things Happened.

[delicrieux]

pairing: kane x f!mc

fandom: playchoices, the elementalists

summary: she joins him.

warnings: uh… age gap i guess??

words: 2.8k (and i oop-)

author’s note: i thanos snapped. so a lot of people wanted to join kane so im giving that chance now with a dash of good old fashioned manipulation and sum romance. is kane still the villain? oh yea. does he actually like the mc?? up to you. i left this on a very pb like dramatic cliffhanger. will most likely not have a continuation unless TE disappoints me again lol ALSO! i recommend reading foreverland first.

tags: @tilliesmarshall - @somegdchoices - @lastfirstcupcake - @peach-space -@magicpijama - @zodiacsign1

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | buy me coffee☕

Weeks passed and there was no word of him, not a hushed whisper in the night, or even a gentle caress of spring wind in the morning. He had faded into smoke, melted into the world, into everything and nothing, and she couldn’t feel his presence and it frightened her more than she could admit. Her friends talked and joked and even Atlas came around to the idea of their mother – it is no doubt due to (Name)’s perseverance and exuberant energy – and her grades were up and all was just so swell except that he was missing. She knew she warned him against writing; she knew that showing himself would be terribly stupid. Yet she still expected him to just pop out from a corner one day and swoop her into his arms while they laughed and the whole world was nothing but chaos around them. That didn’t happen.

Nothing happened. She began to wonder was their encounter that night even real.

And then one morning she awoke early, too early, in a perplexed dream state that urged her to leave the dorm. The sun was rising, golden-orange and pretty, and her room was glowing in gentle spring colours, warm, soft, the contours of it blurry, misty even. In clumsy, sleepy steps and rubbing her eyes she stalked to her door, opening it, intending to get a glass of water, though as she stepped through the threshold a deep, inky darkness greeted her, and tiles were replaced by tall tickling grass and the night held two alien moons in it. The air was fresh and a breeze danced around her unruly, playful, familiar, though seemingly ancient. She stood at the foot of a hill, a faraway figure sitting at the very top watching the stars. (Name)’s heart jumped to her throat and she climbed closer, though she was slow and heavy as if someone was forcing her away.

But in the twin moonlight she saw the stranger’s face. Disbelieve washed over her like a freezing wave of seawater.  The woman resembled her and Atlas, her eyes, melancholic and dazed, gazed somewhere beyond this world. She did not see (Name) standing just ways below and her lips moved softly, her voice carried by the wind, “You absolute fool, wayward.” Her voice struck cord within (Name), “I cannot believe you would…do such terrible things. I almost do not want to believe them.” Theia tilted her head down to the earth she sat on, her gaze forlorn and her hand moving to touch the grass, “I almost don’t, old friend. “ A ghost of a smile played on her lips for the briefest moment before her face scrunched into worry, “I was going to tell you. Someday. I figured I had all the time in the world to do so, but I suppose that I…” She trailed off, “I saw…I know…I…One day you will meet two very beautiful and capable women. A day far far away from now. I don’t know how, or why, or if my visions are true, but you will. And once you do I want you to remember this. And I want you to promise me that you will do everything in your power to protect them. To never hurt them. And to bring them back to me.”

The wind blew past, ruffling her hair, as if in response to her request. Teary eyed she smiled, and her smile could have rivalled that of the sun, “You are the last person I should trust with this, Hurricane. But you are the only one I do.”

(Name) blinked and she found herself in her dorm, standing still by the couches, the clock ticking in her ears. She looked around, heart hammering in her chest, sweat collecting on her forehead, yet there was nothing that resembled her dream. Her mother’s face lingered in memory before it too became a ghastly blur. Just her voice, bell like and endlessly pleasant, foretold of …what? A prophecy? It was a silly thing to believe, but did she have a choice in the matter? She decided to tell Atlas once the girl awakes.

But something kept her from opening her mouth. At breakfast she stole glances at her sister, and she appeared as indifferent as she always did. And as their group was leaving, the last group to exit, and her friends continued onwards while she glanced back behind her, confusion making her frown. In her seat sat a letter which’s parchment she could not mistake for anyone else’s. She smiled with an exhale of bated breath, quickly exclaiming how she forgot something and rushed back before the doors closed. It sounded fake to her the reasoning. But no one suspected anything. Not now, nor when she came back from foreverland, either.

She hid the letter in her room and hid it well and continued her day as if nothing happened.

All went wrong in evening.

(Name) pales at the sight – Shreya stands tall and angry, her hands grasping Kane’s letter, eyes set ablaze from hate. She holds the letter up and (Name)’s eyes follow it, “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” Her voice is of contained anger, hot and harsh. (Name)’s expression must betray her because Shreya drops the letter onto the coffee table bitterly, crosses her arms over her chest, “I knew it.” She states, “I knew there was something wrong. I knew it since you came back from ‘clearing your head’. I knew you were hiding something, but this…” She shakes her head, momentarily struck by sadness, “I thought we’re friends. I thought you trust us…Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Shreya—“

“I get it. You know, I get it. He’s charming. And powerful. And yeah, he could use a makeover or ten, but I get the appeal.” She continues as if not hearing her name being called, “But he’s dangerous. And he’s vile and wicked and he is using you.”

(Name) holds her hands up in defence, successfully shushing her worried friend, “It looks really bad, I’m aware. But please listen to me. He’s really…not what you think he is.” Her eyes travel to the letter, a small, fond smile slipping on her lips as she takes a seat on the couch. Shreya continues to watch her, “He’s silly. And he likes to laugh. And he tells me the truth. He is the only one that tells me the truth.”

“He is manipulating you, you absolute dumbass.” Shreya cries in frustration, plopping down next to her, grabbing the letter and waving it in front of her eyes, “He is trying to turn you against us. Did you forget that he invaded the school? Nearly choked our professors? Hurt Atlas? Did he magickally forget to explain himself for all of that, or did you wilfully chose to ignore it?”

“He made a mistake. I know. But it’s different for him. Shreya he is…not of this world. Alma isn’t, either. You think she would think twice about enabling someone if they got in her way? They are something different all together. They see the world differently. They see the bigger picture.”

“Then don’t involve yourself with them. Either of them. They both give me the creeps.” She adds, more to herself.

“All Alma has done is frighten us. She forbade me to learn illusionary magick and she made me practice Blood magick in order to save Atlas because she almost killed her.” (Name) catches Shreya’s gaze, locks it fiercely.

“But Kane isn’t a valid option.” Shreya’s hands land on (Name)’s, squeezing softly, her eyes struck with worry, “I’ve seen that look before. You used to look at…” She whispers a name, near breathless, glancing away, “…the same way. And I’m not stupid. I know this runs deeper than friendship.”

“I…” (Name)’s voice dies in her throat, her odd dream resurfacing, “I think we…I think we were meant to meet.”

She tells Shreya of the morning she awoke to find herself trapped within a memory. Of how she saw her mother perched atop of the hill, telling stories of times that were and times that will be. All the while Shreya listened saying nothing. Her eyes were guarded and anxious and she had trouble believing it was not just another trick meant to weaken (Name). Alas, she caved in with a sigh and shoved the letter into (Name)’s hands.

“Open it.” She mutters and notes how (Name) smiles gratefully at her, fingers working quickly to peel off the wax. Shreya watches over the girl’s shoulder before she falls back into the couch, disappointed. (Name) glances at her, “Can’t read it. The letters swim.” She comments bitterly.

“Oh…” is all (Name) utters dumbly, “Guess he was serious when he said he doesn’t like sharing.”

“What?!”

-*-

The game of Thief was going great, as great as it can go faced with such a competent albeit pompous foe. One second the world was ablaze and she was having trouble breathing, ash dyeing her skin grey, as Griffin shouted commands, Zeph laughed somewhere hidden, the enemy team’s flag safe in her grasp. But then the scenery morphed and momentarily she was short of breath; the fire and the scorching air turned damp and cool and gravel stuck to her skin.

The sky is dark here, where ever this is, and she quickly jumps on her feet, on guard, ready to defend or attack – depends on what kind of game the Frost King deems necessary to play. But something is…off. She turns around and the fields sway from wind like sea at midnight. The road to nowhere continues onward into ambiguity, swallowed by fog. Though in her line of vision she sees a silhouette, one that approaches in a lazy step and she already knows who it is. Kane emerges from the mist like a wayward God, powerful and breath-taking. For a heartbeat she thinks it is an illusion; twisted, sinister, made to confuse her and she tightens her hold on the flags. But then an idea dawns onto her: she knows of no one perfect at illusionary magick from the Gildegraive’s team, nor should they know of who Kane is. She exhales unevenly, her heart jumping to her throat from excitement.

She is, despite the misconception, not an idiot. He would not pluck her from a game, even if he desired to see her so desperately, and the look in his eyes – violet, gem-esque, so pretty – betrays of something, though what she only has a hunch of. She knows why she is here and strangely enough she does not mind, “You need it.” She says before he can open his mouth. “The Sun Crystal.”

Normally he is easier to read, or perhaps he built that image for her, though now she is unable to know what he is thinking. Perhaps it is her new found taste for the finer, grander things, or the ever present want for a bit of mischief, or maybe she finally realises just how powerful she is, but she gives him a smile, feathery and genuine, “I’ll get it.” She says in a sing like tone, making him freeze, “I’ll get the Sun Crystal for you. That’s why I’m here, aren’t I? You didn’t even send an invitation.” She wags her finger at him, “Tsk-tsk-tsk. Naughty.”

To her relief he laughs, “You are too clever for your own good, (Name).” When he composes himself, a proud smile curls on his lips and he motions for her to approach him, which in a spring, quick step she does, “Though I must admit, I figured we are past proper invitations.” She falls into his embrace, and he hugs her tightly, “That would be…entirely too predictable, no?”

She tilts her head upwards, locks his gaze with her own, “If you think I will ask you to take me out to the movies, you are entirely mistaken.” She leans in, captures his lips in a teasing kiss, “That would be no fun.”

“No, no fun at all.”

“They will know I disappeared, though.” She lectures as they break apart, which she is not entirely fond of, “You picked a terrible time.”

He hooks a loose strand of hair over her ear, pinching her chin playfully, “You are the master of illusions now. Or have you not been practicing? Tsk-tsk-tsk. Naughty.” Her cheeks flare up with heat, and her throat shakes, mind drawing blank. She glares at him and he laughs again, with his arm motioning to the vast fields, “All yours, my dear.”

She has doubted herself many times. She has questioned her choices, though all of that seemed to change quite a while ago. While she can’t pin point when did this confidence started to grow within her, she feels none of her previous dark thoughts clouding her mind. With a steady breath she locates her magick – the sun, so foreign in this bleak, eerie place – and it glows within her, seeps through her skin, smells like flowers and pollen mixing with light summer breeze. Her eyes close and she concentrates, imagines herself, her every quirk, every awkward smile, every languid movement. And when she opens her eyes again, a mirror image of her stands just ways away, the resemblance uncanny and if not for the blank look trapped within her eyes (Name) would think that Atlas jumped into this world wearing a different hairdo.

(Name) looks at Kane, who regards her clone mildly impressed, seizes her up and down for any errors. (Name) smacks his chest; he raises a brow, “…Jealous?” He asks amused.

“In your dreams, Hurricane.” She misses the slight narrow of his eyes at the nickname, now focusing back on the illusion, “Can you…send her-me-…it back?” Her simulacrum is gone with a snap of his fingers. She turns to him, frowning as he watches her with an inquisitive gaze, “What?”

“Why did you call me that?”

All the tension in the air seems to dissipate and she feels a bit like her old self again, energetic and giddy, “Oh! Well, about that, I actually had this really weird dream about my mom and stuff and she was calling you all sorts of names like Wayward and Hurricane and I guess it just slipped my mind is all.” She explains in one breath making him snort. She stops to catch her breath, now thoughtful, “She also mentioned that…she knew you were going to meet me. And Atlas. Us both.”

“Ah.” He nods in agreement, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her closer, “I do recall Theia and her prophecies. Most of them were laughably untrue. Though…This one…Always had the feeling it was destined to happen.” He finishes in a lower, honey-coated tone.

“Then…does that mean--?”

“Yes. We are unavoidable.”

This time he kisses her and her eyes shut obediently, overtaken by his raw desire and the scorching heat of his touch. The world goes in vertigo; the air contorts from cold to warm and fragrant; instead of harsh gravel she feels feather-soft sheets tickle her skin pleasantly, his weight resting atop her. Her hands run in his hair and his hat yet again helplessly falls off, forgotten somewhere by the foot of the bed in this unfamiliar, dream-esque place. His lips roam to the side of her jaw, then her neck, and her eyes snap open as her whole body tingles. The ceiling spins and bites her tongue when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. She can feel him smile, enjoying this perhaps too much. Her fingers tug on his locks and he releases a sound that is low and dangerous and boundlessly delicious.

“The game will end soon.” She reminds, breathless, alluring, arching into his touch like a helpless flower. He merely hums against her skin, not too interested, “Do you want the crystal or not?” She wonders aloud, if only to tease him.

“I want you.”

He halts his movements suddenly, and fear stills her beating heart: had he taken her taunting seriously? She almost wants to whine, but when he finds her gaze his eyes twinkle with mirth, “Alas, you are a terrible tease.” He whispers, his lips grazing the side of her cheek, “Don’t take too long.”

She is plunged yet again as if into water, and her body goes in shivers once she finds herself back at Perderghast, terribly confused and undeniably hot. Irritation picks at the back of her throat in bitterness, yet time is of the essence, and he always was impulsive. She falls into step, at first somewhat slow and then picks up pace, lastly rushing to the Sun-Att classroom with a wicked grin. She wonders if her friends had figured out that the one occupying her spot is nothing but an illusion, or had it already melted? Will they be angry? Will they laugh? She would laugh. Then again, she had acquired a bizarre sense of humour recently.

She reaches the classroom and throws the door open, stumbling in and shielding her eyes from the blinding light. Her smile is immediately wiped from her face.

“Alma?” She questions, uncertain at first, her eyes narrowing with suspicion at the looming figure of the Blood Source watching (Name) with a displeased, ruthless look, “What are you doing here?”

thank you for reading! xx

[ao3feed-izuku-midoriya]

Subject K

Subject K by queenofleburritos

What was supposed to be a normal birthday goes terribly wrong.

Aka, I can't make a good summary and will come back to this later to do it justice. I promise you, you're in for a treat.

Words: 1273, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Relationships: Midoriya Inko/Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Original Characters

Additional Tags: Blood and Gore, usually will be mild, Torture, Experimentation, izuku suffers, these will not be in vivid detail because I can't handle that, Dadzawa, Dad Might, dad mic, All the Dads, I mean, A L L, Izuku needs all the love he can get, there will be original characters, ill do my best to not make them confusing... but idk man, not beta read we die like men, lets do this, OH I forgot to add a tag oops, Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, but HOW he gets it is... a spoiler

Read Here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/18377465