#a little appetizer before promptober

[iironwreath]

Repair [Cadiana]

[a rewrite of an old thing—took me a while to get to but I wanted to rewrite cady's older pieces into exandria like I did for union. this takes place during the year the party is in the feywild. and now it's longer than it was before oops]

Cadiana darkened the terrace of the house. It should have been easy—raise a fist, knock. They had done it before without hesitation, but it was if she were stone again, her limbs heavy and locked in place.

It was by both miracle and effort they found the house at all. Emon had always been a large city, being the first stretch of land to greet newcomers from Vasselheim, but it must have at least tripled in size in the last three centuries. Cadiana had missed so much time that Gwessar had become Tal’Dorei. 

She curled her fingers into her palms, shoulders creeping upwards. Even a subtle shift made noise, tiny clicks of overlapping plates like a second set of joints. 

They had been to their mother’s grave, but none of the surrounding plots belonged to their father. There were too many ifs: he could have moved anywhere from several months to two hundred years ago. He could have been executed and then burned and sacrificed to Neminar’s demonic legion. Cady wanted to complete the puzzle of where he'd gone—potentially sniffing out the start of a trail, then seeing if it ended in another grave or a living relative. Why hesitate, when she knew what she wanted? 

Passer-bys were unbothered by the armour-clad half-orc looming on a doorstep, too caught up in their own chatter or getting from one place to the next. Elspeth and Hadrean waited across the street, Elspeth attentive on Cady while Hadrean surveyed everyone else.

Cady inhaled, raised an arm, and pounded on the door.

Inside came a call, footfalls, then the door swung inward to reveal an elven woman. Her hair was ginger and cropped close to her skull and there were a sprinkle of freckles beneath a pair of pewter-blue eyes. They were similar to her father’s—to hers. 

Cadiana was a few inches taller and could see into the front hall. A staircase climbed the left wall. Furniture had been replaced and rearranged, and the scent wasn’t one she remembered. A dwarven woman, blonde, stood with her hands on her hips in an archway on the right wall, across from the stairwell. She wore a pair of half-moon spectacles that made her look like she could examine Cady for faults.

“Can I help you?” the elven woman asked with a perfunctory smile. Her accent was from Syngorn. The trophy dagger at Cady’s hip weighed heavy. 

Cady cleared her throat. “Cadiana Jacqueline Steelsong. I’m a paladin of Erathis.”

The woman’s eyes cut up and down her tabard. “I can see that.”

“I’m not here on any official business.”

“What brings you here, then, Cadiana of Erathis?”

There was no eloquent way to phrase it. “I used to live here.”

The elf shared a glance with the woman over her shoulder. “Did you?”

“I did. I was wondering when you purchased the house, if you did.”

The dwarf sidled up beside the elf, arms shifting to cross her bust. “Must’ve been about nine years ago now? Why, you lookin’ to buy it back? We’re not lookin’ to sell.”

Her accent was from Kraghammer. It sent a shiver of memory through Cady—of years spent warring beside them. She closed it behind her teeth, trying not to grind them.

“No,” Cady said. “I was wondering if you bought it from an elven man. Ginger hair, about this tall.” She measured outwards from her mouth with a flat hand.

They looked at each other quizzically. “No?”

Cady massaged their temples with one hand. “Damn it.”

“We might be able to help if you gave us more,” the elven woman said, now with a sprig of amusement. “You’re not lost, are you?”

Frustration pricked at the back of her neck and her posture snapped taut. The women, to their credit, didn’t flinch. “I’m not lost. I’m looking for my father.”

“What was his name?”

“Rhys’Erowyn.”

The elf scratched at her cheek, looking apologetic. “It doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry.”

“Taverns’ll be the next best place to ask,” the dwarf added. “Keep fishing with that name and eventually you’ll get a bite, I’m sure.”

Cady’s mouth went firm. “Thank you.”

The couple nodded and eased the door shut. Cadiana backed off the terrace. She trailed the seams of the house with her eyes—the door’s casing, the windows, then past it to the shingles of the roof and the chimney pointing into the dome of the sky beyond. It was the pale pastel of blue hydrangeas, and the occasional cloud scudded by. 

The home had felt more capacious when she was younger. Homes back then hadn’t always been built with orcs in mind, but her parents had made due. The church had always been home more than this place—where she bunked down, where she had made her first friends.

A part of her wanted to say goodbye to it, like it was important, somehow—but they normally didn’t ‘do’ things for the sake of it, for sentimentality. Normally she had orders that determined what was important for her. A part of her missed that—she could seek out as much guidance as she wanted, but everything was only ever a suggestion, never demanded.

Maybe it was to see if there was any remnant of her mother that wasn’t stone, earth, or bones—a scent, possession, or painting. A grave hadn’t been enough. She wanted something with more life and memory, to know that not everything had been or would be war—but it had been so long. The dust had settled. Maybe her father was that missing link.

Was it even the same building if there had been an attack from the Chrome Conclave, or did it just occupy the same address? Emon looked like it had a fresh coat of paint over fresh scars, but its core remained intact. Tal'dorei wore scars on its body as much as its people—she hadn’t seen the physical scars from the Scattered War yet, though she’d been told where to find them. The mental ones—she was living proof of that. 

She reached up to brush her fingers against her lone tusk, then wrung her left hand to pinch the stub at her knuckle. Homes could be rebuilt from the ground up—did it make them the same home? Could she be rebuilt?

Had she ever been broken? Could she replace what she’d lost?

They turned in a huff and strode back to their companions.

[everythingcanadian]

Slake, Sate, Satisfy

Pairing: Thomas Barrow/Tom Branson

Rating: E or NC17

Warning: Blood Sucking (Vampire!Thomas) and Smut

Summary:

Thomas craves. Tom will provide for his lover. Day 11 of promptober: Crave

When Thomas shows the signs of cravings Tom is quick to pick them up. The almost green-yellow tint of illness on Thomas’s cold and pale skin. The sap-slow change of Thomas’s eyes from that beautifully sharp grey to a darker tone that just grows darker by the day. The fine tremors that start in Thomas’s hands and body. Barely there if one didn’t know what to look for. 

Being Thomas’s lover, it’s easy to pick up on the small things. And being a werewolf helps as his senses are fine tuned. Tom notices everything when Thomas’s need for blood starts to cause that deep craving. Where violence becomes a byproduct and not something to caution against. The dread that settles in the rooms Thomas finds himself in. 

The look Tom gives Thomas after dinner, when the family goes through for drinks or to break off to head to bed, is one of understanding and a touch of anger. Thomas should have come to him as soon as the need presented itself. 

When Thomas finally brings Tom his customary post supper scotch Tom just looks into his stormy grey eyes and raises his brows. Thomas nods, closing his eyes briefly while being so close to his love. 

They find themselves in Tom’s room, on Tom’s bed, with Thomas between Tom’s thighs sucking kisses into such warm and plump skin. They waited awhile after Tom headed up to bed and Thomas and Andy were dismissed for the evening to enjoy their own servants’ supper. By now Thomas was ravenous for Tom’s blood. 

If he hadn’t been by his mate it would have been easier to wait to feed. But being by Tom- it did things to Thomas that he only had a handful of times in his life. The desire to mark and provide pleasure while seeking his own was new, however. Thomas had never been in love with his knowing donor before. And Tom soaked up everything Thomas gave him. 

Stroking Tom’s cock while nuzzling and eventually biting into his meaty thigh gave them both a rush. Thomas drank in arousal and pleasure and happiness suffused in Tom’s lifeblood. Once he’d slaked his thirst he’d sate his hunger for Tom’s thick and deep red prick. A little bit of pain was the appetizer to the meal that Thomas loved to gorge himself on. 

It wasn’t just blood he craved. It was intimacy and sex and love. For him, Tom was eager to provide all three. He felt fingers stroke through his graying hair while he swallowed a few mouthfuls of Tom’s blood before slowly licking over the punctures to stem the flow and help close the wounds. Tom’s own healing would quicken the process. 

The moment Thomas tasted just salty skin under his tongue he kissed and nosed his way up to Tom’s thick and hard cock on his belly. The foreskin pulled back from the swollen and red tip. It was a treat they both indulged in often. Tom almost cried out when Thomas kissed and licked the crown before swallowing him down. Nosing at brown and coarse curls while swallowing around Tom’s prick. It wasn’t going to take long with how Thomas and Tom were in love with each other and this type of activity was a favourite. 

Sloppy and wet sounds were music to their ears. The little moans Tom gave out added to it. Soon Thomas heard the soft encouragements Tom was giving him. Little praises and soft endearments. 

He was close and Thomas could both smell and taste it. Thomas looked right up into Tom’s eyes and that was enough to tip the Irishman over. Thomas swallowed down everything Tom gave him. If they were alone in the house Tom would be howling as he came down Thomas’s throat. 

Coming up and off of Tom’s slowly softening cock he could feel his own arousal heavy between his own legs. He wasn’t too far off from his end either. 

“Lay down and let me suck you, love. Return the favour so to speak.” Tom grinned as he panted. 

“I don’t want you to get up yet. You'll still be a bit dizzy.” Thomas moved from between welcoming thighs and crawled his way up the bed a bit so he was kneeling by Tom’s side. “Can I have your hand instead?”

Tom nodded, spitting into his palm with the added effect of looking up at Thomas with that lopsided grin. Thomas’s hips stuttered as Tom wrapped his hand firmly around Thomas’s solid cock, beginning the even paced strokes Thomas liked. The answering quiet moan was perfect. 

Thomas tipped his head back, then rolled it to the side and he started to fuck Tom’s fist, racing his way towards his own orgasm. He wanted it badly and he earned it. Tom tightened his hand and finally gave in to Thomas, stroking quicker and giving those loved little twists at the head to really pull Thomas over. 

A punched out grunt and Thomas was throbbing in Tom’s hand, spilling his seed over Tom’s chest and hand. Tom tugged him through it, humming with contentment as Thomas gently slapped his hand away. 

A quick trip to the loo resulted in Tom washing his hands and coming back to see Thomas under the covers and ready to cuddle after their love making. Tom loved this part more than the actual acts themselves. 

Thomas pressed his nose to Tom’s throat as they settled together. Alarm set. Curtains closed. Door locked. They were safe to rest through the night. Tom fell asleep quickly in Thomas’s hold, with Thomas tucked under his chin. Thomas drifted into a sort of half-asleep half-awake state, resting his mind and body for the next day.