#my lifeline is just before cadence

[sluts4sirius]

there will never be a fic like the cadence of part-time poets, i’m sorry THERE JUST WON’TTT

[1800titz]

Okay, I wanted to write a TEENY bit amidst my frantic workload. Here we have just a crumb of that incubusrry idea. What do we think?

She’d fallen asleep. When had she fallen asleep?

The man at the foot of her bed is a shadow — face veiled by the angle of the dusk. His stature, though — broad, visibly — is enhanced by the traces of the sunset that streak through the window he eclipses. It builds him and cascades over his shape, and her eyes bound and imbibe in slivers. His waistline, his parted thighs, the crest of his shoulders, his arms, ominously at his sides. His head, tilted just a tad. 

Mila should be scared. She should be so scared to see this foreboding shadow of a masculine figure at the foot of her bed. Chills should thrive down her arms under the circumstances, terror should curl over the skin of her bones and manifest in a blood-curdling scream, expelled by her lungs. Pumping, pumping, pumping blood, her heart should be racing — Mila should be petrified. 

She isn’t. Instead, she finds ease in his presence. There’s an oddly ironic comfort to his company — a soothing sentiment that muzzles her racing thoughts and stifles what would typically be a hammering behind her ribcage. And when he speaks, his voice is a velvety croon that envelops her like a weighted blanket. He says her name. Two syllables that roll off his tongue with songlike cadence holding no tune. And it’s pleasant — his voice. Deep in inflection, a sweet melody to her half-awake eardrums, dreamy like a lewd fantasy in her REM cycle. It’s familiar, it’s the same voice she’s heard grazing against her ear, in the middle of the night, when he’s on top, his weight warm over her, when his hips rock against her own, when he stretches her with his cock. Mila, Mila, Mila, you’re so wet for me. When he slips his forearm between her back and the mattress, winding it and flipping their position with what seems like preternatural strength; Mila, Mila, Mila, bounce on my cock for me, baby. Just like that. And so she does — she follows the guide of his voice like a lifeline, lured by his song, siren-like. Lured by his touch, when he cocks his head up at her and squeezes her jaw in his colossal palm, the pads of his digits pressing into her cheeks. His hands are always a relief — they always carry a bit of a chill, they always soothe the feverish burnish of her own flesh (that a rendezvous with the man always seems to incite). That same jaw unhinges, an aimless mewl escaping when he grinds up and hits something extraordinary within her at a ridge, and he ogles her newly parted, strawberry mouth with eyes glazed by lust. He uses the opportunity to slide his thumb across and brush it against her tongue. 

“I know, baby, I know,” is what he tells her, his tone gentle like the soft touch squeezing over her love handle — he uses that to maneuver her hips, just gliding back and forth over him. It hits all the right spots. He hits all the right spots. He’s a dream. Literally. 

She’s dreaming, the young woman convinces herself — she’s dreaming about dreaming of him. He looms over her in hues of darkness that paint his muscles, and those muscles flex when moves to disrobe. Yes. Yes. Yes. 

“Mila,” she hears him beckon again. This one is sing-song-y and tailed by the subsequent sound of a belt buckle clinking. Leather yanked through linen loops. Her chest rolls on her breath. Yes, yes—

This is a dream. This is a very lucid dream, Mila thinks, but it feels very real when his touch cradles her bare ankle —the blanket’s been kicked off from her feet at some point or another. His cool touch presses over the joint, and his thumb swipes over the bone before the foot of the bed dips. He’s pasted a knee onto it, and Mila watches his form in motion, bathed in shadow.

“Gonna be a good girl and let me make you feel good tonight?”  

[kybercrystals94]

Grounded (Part 1)

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 3 | Prompt 3: “Bite down on this.”

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Broken Limb

Rated: T | Words: 911 | Summary: Crosshair is injured during a mission. [Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter]

Blinding pain greets Crosshair’s return to consciousness, and a sharp gasp ejects from his lungs. A hand clasps hard over his mouth, pressing so tight that finger shaped bruises will certainly form. Crosshair struggles against his captor, writhing, shaking his head frantically, but an arm wraps around his chest, and hot breath whispers against his ear, “We have to be absolutely silent, Cross, just a few more minutes.” The words are spoken on air, no voice, but Crosshair recognizes Hunter’s reg sounding cadence.

He sinks back into Hunter’s chest plate and nods. Hunter moves his hand, and Crosshair tries to breathe quietly, force himself to inhale and exhale steady, slow breaths. Agony stutters the attempt, making his breathing ragged.

An eternity and a lifetime goes by before Hunter’s grip around him relaxes. “They’re gone,” he says, voice still quiet, but present.

“What happened?” Crosshair manages to grit out. When he tries to sit up, his vision goes white. He barely suppresses the scream that tries to claw out of his throat.

“Don’t try to move,” Hunter warns.

Crosshair thinks of a choice comeback, but can’t make his voice form the words. He growls out a pathetic sound instead. He isn’t even sure where the pain is coming from, but it consumes him wholly.

“I’m going to lay you down,” Hunter says.

Crosshair offers a jerky nod.

In a few, excruciating movements, Hunter slides out from where he was holding Crosshair upright and lays him back on the ground. They are in a heavily forested area, evergreens looming over them, tops scraping an overcast sky. The underbrush is tall and dense, an excellent hiding place. Because they are hiding. Why are they hiding?

“What happened?” Crosshair asks again, more insistent, trying to ignore the pain induced nausea threatening to evacuate his stomach.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hunter asks instead, turning to rummage through his kit.

“If I remembered what happened, I wouldn’t be asking,” Crosshair hisses.

Hunter casts him a sidelong glance. “Answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”

Crosshair closes his eyes, willing himself to remember anything past the pain. “We split up…from Wrecker and Echo. Tech is with the ship. Radio silence after Tech discovered our comms had been compromised. I fell…” The sound of bone snapping is another memory that conjures up, but instead of voicing it, Crosshair lifts his head to look down at his leg.

“Don’t,” Hunter says, reaching out to stop Crosshair.

It’s too late. Crosshair chokes on a gasp at the mangled state of his left leg just below the knee. There’s blood. A lot of blood. And bone. There shouldn’t be bone.

His skin burns cold.

Hunter pushes him back gently. “Breathe, Cross, breathe.”

But Crosshair can’t breathe. His chest feels tight, compressed. No matter how hard he tries, the humid air feels impossible to drag into his lungs.

“--with me, breathe with me,” Hunter is saying, exaggerating his own breathing for Crosshair to follow.

A hand wraps around Crosshair’s, and he clutches it like a lifeline. Hunter leans into his space, making it where he can’t see his injury even if he wants to. He doesn’t want to. “Nice slow breaths. Good.” Crosshair knows he is not doing good with his shallow, gasping breaths, but the encouragement helps nonetheless. His breathing begins to steady. “Good job, just breathe. In…out…good.”

Crosshair closes his eyes again, willing himself not to panic. Panicking won’t do them any good. He knows this. He focuses on his breathing.

“I’m going to stabilize the wound so that we’ll be ready for when the extraction comes,” Hunter says after several long moments of letting Crosshair regain his composure. “I have a hypo for the pain, but it’s probably going to only take the edge off…under the circumstances.”

Crosshair’s stomach turns, but he gives Hunter a tight nod without opening his eyes.

Hunter lets go of Crosshair’s hand, and the loss of physical grounding is more alarming than Crosshair will ever admit out loud. He fists his own hands together, hoping the action will be comforting, but it isn't the same.

He can hear Hunter rummaging through their med kit again, then Hunter says, “Hypo,” before a needle prick bites into the soft flesh of his neck. The relief is small but immediate, a numbing warmth coursing through blood.

“I need to stop the bleeding. Wrap the wound to prevent any more contamination,” Hunter begins to explain. He sounds like Tech a little, the words he’s using. It’s strangely reassuring.

Crosshair feels the foliage by his head move as Hunter shifts closer. “It’s going to hurt,” he says. “I’m going to have you bite down on something so that…you know.”

Another stiff nod is the only affirmative he can give, and some kind of knotted cloth is put in his mouth. Crosshair bites down on it hard, teeth sinking into the coarse fibers of fabric.

When Hunter begins to staunch the wound, it takes every ounce of resolve Crosshair can muster not to cry out, although he does cry. He can feel pain induced tears manage to escape, mixing with the cold sweat that begins to track down the sides of his face. His hands, still knotted together, unlatch to claw at the ground. He tries not to move, but his body writhes slightly of its own volition.

“Almost done, vod,” Hunter says, voice barely breaking through the agonized haze.

Everything goes dark.

TBC

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[caffeineyum]

Bad Dream

The night was deep and quiet on Reach, except for the not-so-stealthy shuffling of pajama-clad feet outside John and Linda's quarters. The soft whoosh of the sliding door was almost drowned out by the hum of the base's sleep-mode operations.

John, whose usual sharp awareness was dulled by the first decent sleep he'd had in weeks, cracked open an eye. The dim blue light from the clock cast ghostly shadows across the room, making the trio at the door look like specters from some kid’s ghost story.

"Hey," John mumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep, "What's up, team?"Kat stood there, awkward in a way that only a teenager trying to appear unbothered can manage, her prosthetic arm catching the light as she crossed her arms defensively. Beside her, Rosenda clutched a raggedy tiger plushie like a lifeline, while Emile—his expression more sulky than scary in his skull-print pajama bottoms—seemed to be wrestling with the indignity of being seen in such a state.

"Um, sir... ma'am..." Kat's usually crisp officer cadence was replaced by the hesitant tones of a kid caught sneaking cookies. "We had nightmares. All of us. Kinda didn't want to be alone."

Linda, ever the mom of the group even when half asleep, patted the bed beside her. "C’mon then. There’s room for everyone."

Rosenda needed no second invitation, scampering over with her plushie in tow and hopping onto the bed with all the grace of a happy puppy. Emile followed at a more dignified pace, though the quickness of his movements betrayed his eagerness. Kat lingered by the door just a moment longer before giving in and joining, though she chose the foot of the bed like a wary cat deciding this lap might be acceptable.

John shuffled over to make room, the bed now a mosaic of Spartans and one brave stuffed tiger. "So, what were these nightmares about? Covenant back for a rematch in your dreams?"

"It's always Reach falling," Kat muttered, picking at a loose thread on her pajama sleeve. "Like a broken record. Can't turn it off."

Rosenda nodded vigorously, her words tumbling out in a sleepy slur. "And the monsters are so big, like, bigger than big. And so many teeth!"

Emile, ever the tough guy, added with a scowl, "They just keep coming. Waves and waves. And I shoot, but my gun's shooting marshmallows or something stupid like that."

Linda reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Rosenda's ear, her voice soothing. "Dreams can do that, make you feel helpless. But it’s just your brain being a drama queen. It’s all quiet on the real front."

"Yeah, and hey, look at it this way," John chimed in, adopting a mock-serious tone, "if your gun ever really shoots marshmallows, I'll make sure you get a refillable chocolate syrup scope to go with it. Turn it into a snack attack."

That got a giggle out of Rosenda and even a reluctant smirk from Emile. Kat rolled her eyes but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

The room settled into a comfortable quiet, filled with the soft, steady breathing of family—not bound by blood but by battles, shared dreams, and now shared nightmares. Outside, the stars were still, untroubled by the small dramas below, yet somehow serving as a silent reassurance that some things remained steadfast and true.

Awwww! This wonderful! Thank you for sharing with me!

[shouldaspunastory]

Thank you @oxygenforthewicked, for @dadrunkwriting

Cadence Tabris x Anders (Past Karl Thekla x Anders, sometime Post DA2, 941 words)

-----------------------------

"Anders," Cadence whispers softly. The mage shakes, his body curled in on himself, hands buried in and pulling at his blond hair as he gasps between tears and intermittent whimpers, the elf helplessly watching on and desperately longing to pull his lover into their arms. They do not wish to cause their lover any further pain, however, and Anders isn't exactly in any fit state to tell them what he needs or wants. So, Cadence settles on their knees on the floor beside him and waits, even as it makes their heart ache.

"I killed him," Anders whispers, voice hoarse when it seems he has temporarily exhausted all his tears, red rimmed eyes barely able to hold his lover's gaze as he looks up at them.

"Oh, love," Cadence replies, eyes full of empathy. Anders shakes his head.

"He had a moment of lucidity- A few minutes where he was himself. He remembered me, us... our life before they sent him to Kirkwall," Anders shudders. "Said that I carried a piece of the Fade into the world, in me and it brought him back somehow. Justice. But I didn't see it. I couldn't think- He said it was fading again, asked me to... But there's a way to reverse it. Why didn't I just-"

"Because you didn't know. You loved him. Because he asked you to and you didn't want him to suffer," Cadence answers gently, spreading their legs as a devastated Anders slowly crawls into their lap, curling himself around them and clinging to the elf like they're his lifeline. Perhaps they are. It seems only fair, Anders has whether he's known it or not, been one for Cadence many times.

"But..."

"You couldn't have known. You did the best that you could with what you knew at the time," Cadence offers soothingly. "It's been over ten years. You said he had a moment. A few minutes after Justice showed himself, before he was fading again. You think a decade of those flashes of who he once was and what you had would have been any kinder to him? To you?" Anders shakes his head, burrowing a little deeper into his lover and hugging him tighter. Cadence lets him, slowly carding their fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and quietly reassuring him that they are there, that they love him, and they aren't going anywhere.

"I know I never met him, and I'm sorry I never will, but if he loved you half as much as you've said, even a fraction as dearly as you loved him, then I cannot believe Karl would have wanted you to torture yourself like this- imagining what ifs or thinking yourself a monster. We cannot change the past," Cadence whispers softly with what they hope is a reassuring hug. "But we can do better with the future. We can take this," the elf continues gesturing towards the journal which has so thoroughly shook the mage's world, "and we can make sure everyone knows about it."

"I'm sorry," Anders whispers softly, trying to crawl away before Cadence wraps their arms a little tighter around him, preventing his escape.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Cadence replies, shaking their head, pressing a gentle kiss on his lover's crown.

"I left you to find him. And even after... I didn't come back. I don't know why you even came to Kirkwall to find me, but you certainly shouldn't have to listen to me talk about him, to comfort me."

"Anders," Cadence interrupts, voice gentle, but firm as they cup Ander's face between their hands. "Do you love me?"

"Of course, I do, but..." Cadence shakes their head.

"Do you think that I love you less for having loved Alistair first," the elf asks patiently.

"No," Anders concedes with a small frown, resisting the urge to melt into Cadence's gentle touch as their thumb caresses his cheek.

"I heard somewhere once that there are many kinds of love, but never the same love twice. My heart, I could never begrudge anyone who made you happy, who made you feel loved. Not truly. That is the kind of love I have for you."

"I don't deserve it," Anders replies softly, averting his gaze.

"That's too bad," Cadence smiles softly. "Because it's not about what is deserved. It's about choice, and I've made mine. It's you. It will always be you. Whatever you need, to whatever ends of the world that takes us," the elf promises fondly.

"This isn't going to go over well," Anders replies, ignoring the way his lover's words both cause his heart to ache and soothe it in equal measure. "It doesn't paint the surviving members of the first Inquisition, or the Seekers in a very flattering light. There are those that will reversing Tranquility will only bring about demons and chaos."

"For every one person where that might be true, there are at least a dozen others like Karl who passed their Harrowing and would never have fallen prey to a demon or harmed anyone, but happened to say or do something, or to look at a Templar the wrong way. If we let the fear of a few cause us to withhold the cure and oppress the rest, we are no better than the Seekers and Templars. What's say we start with Kirkwall," Cadence suggests with a slight smirk.

Anders's eyes are watering once more, although it seems doubtful there can be any tears left to shed, at least for now. That doesn't stop the mage from throwing himself back into Cadence's arms once more and crushing his lips to theirs in answer.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

---------------------------

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

[peralta-guaranteed]

do not mind me I am just here thinking about Jake being the little spoon with Amy while also being the big spoon with Mac and creating the perfect Peraltiago cuddle sandwich

(I do mind you very much anon because I had never thought about that before and oh my god do I need it now)

The sound of Mac's favourite new tv show echoes quietly from the bedroom when Amy steps out of the bathroom in a towel, and as stressed out as she still is after that hot shower she just enjoyed, the sight of Mac and Jake cuddling on her side of the bed is enough to make her shoulders relax, no matter what they've just put behind them. They're here now, safe and sound, Mac's eyes closed shut and his pacifier bobbing away, Jake's hand absent-mindedly stroking over his head, the other one wrapped around his middle to hold him close while he stares at the television screen across the room with hazy eyes.

-*-

They've all had a pretty hard and frankly scary week. Amy'd already warned Jake that she would probably not be home much to help out at all, gearing up for a major meeting and discussion panel with several higher-ups she was trying very hard not to panic about, and she was more than relieved that Jake had taken it all in stride even when daycare called in as well, to tell them that Mac's usual two days a week would have to be cancelled due to another outbreak.

And then Mac had gotten sick anyway, so sick that Jake lost his nights to sitting up with him as well, as Amy tiptoed in and helped as much as she could - she'd gotten maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, barely able to make herself presentable for work in the mornings, but she could tell from Jake's haggard looks every morning as she kissed him goodbye for the day that he'd gotten even less.

It was enough to make that week one of the few she underscored with a harsh black line in her monthly planner, but she added a red line underneath on thursday, when Jake called her at work - something he rarely ever did, sticking to texts she could choose to ignore until later if she was too busy - to tell her he wasn't taking any more chances and bringing Mac to the ER after the morning had brought another intense round of throwing up, 5 blown out diapers in under 10 minutes and a fever that made the super-smart kid thermometer she got them blast out a rather terrifying warning beep.

Seeing her baby with an IV in his arm as she raced into the ER after giving Holt the quickest explanation she could, quietly sniffling and sucking on a freeze pop Jake was holding for him while also hugging him in his lap, told her he made the right call before the pediatrician coming over to speak to her ever could.

-*-

"He needs more fluids than he could drink right now." Jake explained what the doctor had already said when she came over to kiss both him and Mac on their foreheads, a tired sigh from the both of them in response. "But his fever is already down from the medicine they gave him."

They were allowed to take him home for the night, luckily, after his fever had gone down some more and the nurses had made sure he'd kept at least one meal in, with another big bag of medicine and 'What To Do If...' instructional booklets Jake was reading out loud for her as she drove them home. Jake was holding onto Mac's foot in his car seat like a lifeline, even as his little buddy dozed on and off from the stress of the ER and so many foreign people around him, lifted him into his arms more carefully than ever to carry him up the stairs to their apartment, and Amy knew he was not going to just put him down into his crib-converted toddler bed, nor would Mac let him, the way he clung onto his shoulders with a sad little whine in his throat from the exhaustion of the past days.

So she'd switched on the bedroom tv for some comfort - screen time rules be damned in this case - while Jake got Mac into some fresh pjs, took him just long enough so that Jake could get into sweats as well, and promised to take over for him after her shower so he could jump in, too.

-*-

But she doesn't believe he's going to take her up on that offer as she sees them side by side on the bed now, Mac's back pressed firmly against Jake's chest as he curls around the little guy.

Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.

Mac is fast asleep now, as safe as he could ever be. On a normal day, she'd probably think about lifting him out of Jake's arms to put him to bed in his own room, but she'd rather sleep there herself than to break up their little bubble of quiet.

"You know you can turn it off once he's asleep." She whispers instead after getting her own PJs on, climbing onto the free side of the bed carefully.

"Beep and Boop are gonna explain why we need to recycle next." Jake mumbles as an answer when she leans over his side, strokes through his messy hair as she reaches for the remote on the bedside table.

"Your wife should not need to explain why you need to take the chance to sleep when you can after this week." She presses a kiss to his temple as the screen switches off.

"I feel like I've forgotten how to do that." Jake sighs, and she can see the exhaustion on his face, the lines around his mouth and bags under his eyes that actually make him look his age for once. "What if Mac wakes up again? I don't think he ate enough, and-"

"If he wakes up, you'll wake up. You always do." She says in the most soothing voice she can muster, her hand not stilling in his hair as she watches his eyelids flicker. "And even if you don't, I'm still here to wake up too."

Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.

She slides up to him without moving her hand from his nape, nestles against his back as he sighs once more, deeper and calmer than before. One of his hands lets go of Mac and settles on her thigh instead, wrapped around his hip to really stay close.

"I'm gonna call in sick tomorrow. Holt will understand." She mumbles against his shoulder where her head rests, her fingertips scratching along the very edge of his hairline as her other arm comes around his waist, finds his hand on Mac's tummy to interlock their fingers against his soft, even breaths.

"Love you." Jake mumbles in reply, and his voice is halfway into dreamland, she can tell from its cadence alone, but she still answers.

"Love you too."

She spends a moment longer awake, feeling the steady breathing of the two most important people in her world under her hands, before her eyes fall closed as well.

-*-

None of them have moved even an inch when she blinks awake first in the morning, and Jake growls in his sleep when she twists around to reach for her cellphone on the bedside table, so she's quick to settle back against him once she's sent off a sick-call text to Holt and receives, weirdly enough, a thumbs up emoji as a reply and nothing else.

There's a much more expected follow up of "Dear Amy, I hope you and your family will feel better soon. Give Jake my best. Sincerely, Deputy Comissioner Raymond Holt" when she wakes up again a few hours later, and Jake makes no noise in his sleep this time, when she sneaks around to the side of the bed were Mac is smiling at her wide awake. She lifts him out of Jake's hug as only she ever could without waking him, and they share a lazy, tummy-friendly breakfast before Jake pats into the kitchen with his eyes half-closed and hugs them both from behind before getting himself a massive cup of coffee.

"Did you sleep okay?" She asks with a smile as the cup lifts into the air as he downs it.

"You never sleep badly as the little spoon, Ames." He grins softly before kissing her, Mac's hand slapping onto his cheek from her lap to keep them from completely getting lost in their kiss.

"But I did dream about Beep and Boop making me sit through an exam about recycling and I completely failed."

[the-slasher-files]

GONE

INCLUDES BO X READER

This is taken me so long to write and not because I've been super busy but just putting my all into it and only writing this when I'm feeling in the angsty headspace... Now, this is a very broken Bo in all forms, at its almost a 2k description of you just laying on the couch with him, taking in his pain. If you read my write "Affection" it is a very similar writing style... so I hope you enjoy and feel all the painful and comforting vibes. tw suicidal dark thoughts🔪💕

MASTERLIST

“oh Bo” you sighed as the old dingy couch squeaked underneath your weight. It was scratchy and ripped on the corners, yellowed from the age and sunken where Bo would always sit at the end of the night. The house was quiet, too quiet. The man beside you was not making smartass remarks, or sexual comments, or even ranting about his day, he just sat there, staring at the piles of dusty books and the odd papers thrown along the ruff aged hardwood. Bo was lost in his own head, it was hard for him to hear you over the screams and howls of his memories and future premonitions. You didn’t know what particular thoughts had hounded him tonight but it did not matter, you just knew Bo needed a soft grasp to pull him from the swirling waves in his mind that threatened to pull him under. 

When you had woken up this morning he was already gone from the tangled cotton sheets, the hot Louisiana sun had flowed in through the lacy curtains of the home, replacing the warmth he had given you in the bed. It wasn’t strange when Bo was gone in the mornings, for the town he held so close forced him to wake early to fix the odds and ends. Sometimes you wondered what life for him would be like away from Ambrose, if he would be better off, but at the same time you could never imagine him away from it. The desolate town started to be an extension of Bo; charming, quaint, warm like his bourbon and alluring on the outside, with a little unease like his scars that were visible from his suit, but below the surface there was horrific pain, darkness and a truth that made your heartbreak and stomach swirl. 

Getting up and starting your day Bo’s absence screamed in your head, but you knew sometimes his and your affection would take a toll; He was never affectionate before you came along and it was a struggle for Bo to keep up the task some days. You understood that and would remember what Bo was taught; Love equalled pain. Most days it was better to leave him alone for the morning and let him collect the pieces of his wax mask and put on the act. You did not care if he had his mask on or not. You loved him either way. 

Craving his presence you continued your day, puttering around the house and finally leaving to the town over to pick up some groceries, and supplies for you and the 3 men. Coming home the sun was starting to set along the ridgeline and the sky was painted in reds and pinks, kissing the clouds and beckoning the darkness to chase the sun. Pulling up to the shared home, Bo’s truck was out front, and the ripped screen door banged in the breeze making a home in the cadence of the wilderness surrounding. Footfalls fell along the creaking steps and inside the home. Everything went silent once inside the crumbling walls. A shape of a man sat on the couch in the darkening home, he didn't bother with the lights because he probably didn't even realize the sun was going down.

Bo was gone. Gone in his dangerous thoughts.

It had only been a handful of times Bo allowed you to see him this way, just his shell, broken and tired. Tired of fighting, tired of his own mind. You were the only person he let see this side; Vincent had caught glimpses but then would get yelled at through a fit of triggering rage. To Bo you were the only person that could truly help him from the demons, beckoning him to the shadows, just like where they called and ultimately found home in his father; gun in hand and blood on the walls. It was the only way your nightmares -future premonitions- found Bo at the end. Dying by his own hand. Hands that could rip away just as easily as they could build and hold. Hold you.

Placing your bags down on the pool table to your right, you quickly shouldered off your jacket and carelessly kicked off your shoes among the other mess.

There you sat with him, not touching Bo, you just gave him time, hoping and praying he would just snap out of it and continue to lay on his charm, but that never came. Bo didn't even acknowledge you, not a glance, not a touch to your thighs, nothing. As still as one of the wax figures he sat, slowly breathing in and out, rubbing a thick thumb over the lip of the amber-coloured beer bottle dangling between his oil-stained fingers. The bottle was not even half-finished and it had begun to turn warm, the condensation gently letting a drop fall to the dusty floor every few minutes. Bo wasn't drunk yet, not even close, by the looks of it he had only taken one or two gulp's and let it hang there, warming in the Louisiana air some time ago. 

This is was the worst you had seen him, you could tell Bo's mind was racing with the shifting of his baby blues that seemed fixated on the old books and candle wax.

You knew that you needed to touch him but your hesitation ran deep and cold; Bo was like a beaten dog and touching him was a dangerous game, especially in this state; he could either lash out and hurt you or he would just leave from the embarrassment of you seeing him as such. Anything was worth a shot right now. You needed him back.

Gingerly you brought a small hand to his broad coverall covered shoulder, grazing the rough fabric Bo shuttered at the touch, his eyes became alive again as your other hand went to his thigh. “Bo... my love, it’s ok” 

His breath hitched and he snapped his head in your direction, you could see the fear, the torture in his features as his breath began to pick up through rosy agape lips, clutching the beer bottle like a lifeline. Bo looked scared. Scared of his thoughts. Scared of his memories. Scared by the fact that the demons had held him under the waves for so long just waiting for the bubbles to stop. Bo was almost a different person in this moment, he let his emotions twist his face openly. His pain was greater than his pride, you felt it, you could see it. Broken blood-shot baby blues were searching for something in yours, perhaps Bo was waiting for the taunting or berating or yelling his parents gave him when he was lost in emotions; but you smiled softly as a tear slowly formed along your lash line. 

This broke your heart to see him like this, but it broke him more allowing this vulnerability; He waited for you to rip out his throat like a wolf and spit back out in his face. You knew Bo had a tortured soul and a devastating past, he was held together like thin lines of glue to a broken mirror; one day the shatter was inevitable much to his dismay, but seeing it was too raw and painful yet, somehow beautiful in the torture. In this moment Bo was just a man, not the murderer of Ambrose or even the demigod he seemed to let you believe he was on the day to day, Bo was just the scared child of a broken home. 

“It’s ok baby...I’m here...” you spoke gently, grabbing the beer bottle from his right hand and placing it on the richly stained coffee table with a reassuring nod. “I’m here now” Bo didn’t speak and just watched you carefully like a wounded vulnerable animal to a predator. 

Slowly you placed your shaky hands along his angular jaw, feeling the slight stubble and running your thumb along the long jagged scar he wore with pride. Bo started to shift in the cushions, uncomfortable with the vulnerability and soft touches you placed on him. Some days it was more apparent than others that he was touch starved and didn't realize just how much he needed your fluttering fingers against his skin. Slowly you ran a small hand through his dark brown curls, cupping and now cradling the man you slowly pulled yourself to lay on your back, and brought Bo down with you, the couch springs creaking in defeat. 

His head laid upon your chest. He could hear your heartbeat. Proof that someone deeply loved him, had a beating heart that was fast and strong. You were here. You were not a figure of the town or a scared wounded woman in the chair or a ghost in his nightmares. You were here. It broke him more. He had something to lose now. Had a wound in his flesh that was you, it would never heal, and it stung every day waking up to you next to him, and tore a millimetre more with every smile.

Bo’s head rose and fell with your breaths as you slowly rubbed his skull and back, tracing the scars you couldn’t see under his shirt, just retracing from hardened memory. Bo haunted you. Hounded your thoughts every second you were together, and when you were apart it hurt, you missed him even though Bo was just down the hall. His sliver blade was lodged in your heart and it teased to make you bleed out.  

One of his large hands gripped the ripping old cushion as the other held your waist, unwavering. Bo inhaled your scent; sweetness of florals, softness of warm vanillas and the undernotes of him. A ghost of your souls intertwined in a dangerous perfume. And then a soft wail escaped Bo’s lips, --the breaking of the flood gates he held onto for so long-- with bared teeth against your shirt he pushed himself into you, almost wanting to hide away from the world in your ribcage. You gently cooed and hushed him, feeling the pain of his shattered soul. Hot tears stained your shirt as you held him tighter, as long as he needed, you were there. 

“It’s ok Bo... I’m here... you never deserved the hurt. Never.”

A broken crumpled mess you two became, melting together and running away like the wax of the candles. Holding each other until the morning sun showed its face, forcing the demons and hounds to retreat into the shadows only to surface later, but it didn’t matter, they were gone and Bo was asleep. At peace, as you counted his scars and recounted, as long as he needed you to hold him, you would. 

Broken and wretched like his parents taught him, a monster was asleep in your delicate hands, holding a beast, it ached inside your bones, and wounded you like a knife slipping in slowly and quietly between your ribcage, twisting with his every breath. You loved him and he loved you, in a broken mess. However long he needed you, you would stay.

[liminal-storage]

Kaleidoscope (2/2)

(Part two! The same warnings as before apply here as well, just a general warning for blood.)

------------------

Lashes fluttered over wide, dry crimson eyes. Relief, or something like it, flooded the woman's frame.

The huntsman could come no closer.

She'd been apprehensive at first. Setting up this little trap of hers came with a lot of risks. All of the time she'd spent poring over dusty tomes would've gone to waste if the wood creature turned out to be immune to her wards. He'd tear her to pieces and make it slow. She was sure of it. Just as sure as she was that the tables had now turned.

The beast stood static, frozen in place while he stared at the source of what had stopped him. A line of wire strung between the trees, iron nails and bits of plants tied along it. The metal glinted faintly in the dim haze of the forest, enough for him to see the carmine stain of her blood and some other, darker substance along the round nail heads. Whatever the mixture was, it smelled...familiar. Some old recipe often used to deter his pack in years long since past. Daubed on cold iron as it was, it made for a simple but potent weapon against him. A lifeline that he had no hopes of snapping.

No wonder she'd not detoured from the path in her flight.

"Clever," he rumbled.

"Resourceful," she countered.

Use your resources as often as as potently as you are able. Don't just sit politely on something like that, make it your own. Get what you want.

'Friendly' advice from a questionable man, and given in a slightly different context, yet she'd taken it to heart all the same. More of the wire made its way to her hands, looped between fingers and pulled taut as a garrote. She stepped under her barrier and approached him. The slavering creature made a sound like a rushing river, but he still did not move.

"Did you think I'd spent all my time away just living my boring little existence? I learned. I studied. Without you."

A question nagged away at the greenbeast's mind. What did she want?

"You've always been so...ineffective as a teacher. Slow and careful for the stupid little mortal, hm?"

Was it revenge, then? Retaliation for his time living in her skin? That did not seem to be the case. For she had allowed that as well. It only became a problem when the sand started to run out of the glued-down hourglass.

"If you want to pass this knowledge down to me as you claim, shouldn't you take it more seriously?"

Ah, that mouth of hers. Always running, always spitting venom and sass. At least in this case she had the means of backing those words up, looped around his shoulders and held to his throat.

"So then, what is all of this for? Did you truly put on an act to get me in this position?" He didn't believe it. No way did she have that sort of premeditated mindset. "You sound as though you resent me for taking my time with our lessons."

It was such a strange thing, hearing his typical cadence and speech pattern in that bestial tone. It was almost laughable.

"I do," she said honestly. "You have all the time in the world, but I lack that luxury. And yet in order to find the means to get you to take this at all seriously, I had to waste more of mine."

Earnestly, what kept him pinned in place more than the threat she held in her hands was disbelief. He'd thought her audacity something to behold before, but this bordered on irrational. He had chased her down with the intent of slaughtering her. Where was her fear? What's more, she'd talked a big game many times before. Why should this be any different? Lips stretched back over his teeth and he took one step forward.

A blinding pain seared through his flesh, the iron wire burning a thin line about his neck. It scorched like white-hot fire.

Not bluffing, then. He went still once more, choking and wheezing against the agony, raw and lancing deep through his nerves. The two stared at one another for a long while. Movement caught his eye, but it was only the wind moving his summoned overgrowth in a dance. Actaeon sat back on his haunches, and the woman at last lowered the wire.

Her eyes never left him. Fingers encircled a vial hanging from a cord about her neck, popped the cork, spread a dark and viscous substance over her hands. Dark-stained fingertips smoothed over his cheeks, smeared stripes across his skin as they came to rest by his ears. It was an almost intimate sort of touch, jarring in the wake of the pain.

"I have no intention of breaking our agreement," she said. "I owe much to you, just as I owe another. I don't like leaving debts unpaid. But you will teach me seriously, and you will teach me everything."

"Strange," the creature spoke. "You've turned your nose up at all of this before. What changed?"

"I did," she agreed easily. "I turned my nose up at a lot of things. What changed was I got tired of living blissfully in the dark."

So much time spent crying and complaining over every little thing she was powerless to control. Second guessing every action. It had been pitiable to listen to at first. He knew what it was to feel powerless. In time it grew to become annoying. Change didn't come easily. Had she truly opened her eyes? He was right to hold his doubts.

What a strange sight this was. A tiny woman holding an ancient creature by the sides of its head. Said ancient creature sitting like an obedient dog. Stranger still was the determination in her eyes, no trace of wavering to be found.

"Very well," he said at last. He bowed his head. If she went back on it now, he'd simply run her down again, heedless to her threats and wards.

"I will give you what you seek. Are you prepared for what you must endure in turn?"

"Yes."

She let him go and sat before him in the same prone sort of reverence he displayed. Now, at last, she looked conflicted. But only for a moment.

That single word spoken, she braced herself. She knew what was coming, and she was determined not to flinch from it. The beast opened its dark maw impossibly wide and leaned over, teeth catching deep in the woman's right shoulder. Fabric tore, skin broke, blood flowed. She shuddered, tensed.

"Then finally we have an accord."

This was going to hurt.

[utterlyinevitable]

17 for Raleigh x MC 👀

17. things you said that i wish you hadn’t

From the things you said prompt list. Send me a pairing and number and I’ll write a mini fic!

---

Master of None

“Just sell your song,” Raleigh insisted, not for the first time that day. 

He and Cadence were finally back at her apartment. Raleigh had spent an hour of their afternoon corralling after her rage-fueled tantrum. She had stormed out of the studio once they received news that the label would not be footing the bill for more than 12 masters. Cadence and her team had currently recorded 14 tracks with three more slated this week. The plug being pulled meant that the other two masters will belong to the producer unless Cadence comes up with the money to buy the rights back. 

“It’s my life! My entire story,” she yelled back. “These songs are who I am!” 

She couldn’t part with her work. Her entire heart was tied up in those songs. Where would she get the money to pay for them?    

“And you’ll write another one,” he said flatly from the kitchen where he was making a snack. 

Raleigh had suggested on selling one of the songs to another artist. In true Cadence Dorian fashion she was vehemently against the idea, even if it would give her the cash flow to buy a few of her tracks back. He even offered to loan her the money; of course she scoffed at that. Frankly, Raleigh was tired of hearing her complain and rejecting simple solutions. It wasn’t a hard decision for him.

“You’ll still be on the copyright, who cares if it’s someone else that records it? Sell the song and you’ll have the opportunity to write others.” 

“You don’t get it, Raleigh,” she shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t write your music.” 

He looked up from his sandwich and at her, dumbfounded; “I write my songs.” 

“With topliners, composers and ten other people in the room,” she scoffed.  

“Since when is collaboration fraud?” 

“I write 100% of my music. You wouldn’t understand.”  

For Cadence Dorian having complete ownership of and controlling creative liberties of her IP were of upmost importance. She just couldn’t fathom not having her work publicly tied to her name. Yes, Cadence Dorian’s a snob when it comes to craft. 

“You’re living in a delusion,” Raleigh shook his head more to himself than anything as he took another large bite.

He knew Cadence was new to the business and had a fantastical view of how things worked. He knew she thought that getting signed was a saving grace, a lifeline that let her pursue any and all of her creative endeavors. He realized she, never in her wildest dreams, would have imagined the nightmare that comes with the coveted deal. She was naïve to the bone Ellis dangled over her head; of the suits and 360-contracts and how every single thing she does for the next decade will be in service to the label and maximizing their profits. 

Unfortunately, the glass ceiling shattered today.

Maybe Raleigh Carrera wasn’t the most prolific songwriter, but he sure as hell was a fantastic musician and entertainer. His team is composed of amazing composers and lyricists who preferred to not be in the spotlight. They were the A Team. The industry was full of this type of partnership. Raleigh wished she understood that even the most indie of singer-songwriter’s collaborate. Collabing doesn’t diminish the creative integrity, it enhances it.

His small words fueled the fires already tormenting her hazel eyes; 

“If you spent more time worrying about your career than your ridiculous image, maybe you could empathize an inkling. But no,” she spat. 

“You don’t mean that.”

Her arms flailed wildly as she stomped around the living room; “’I’m Raleigh Carrera and I’d rather destroy things and party than write one goddamn good song. I care more about my ‘bad boy’ image than being respected in the community’,” she mocked in her best, deep voiced Raleigh impression. Hands firmly on her hips she added her most damning assessment of his character, “There’s only so much songs about booze and rebelling can do for you. Such hollow and shitty subjects. Write something real, Raleigh.”  

Oh fuck no. Raleigh could handle a slew of shit thrown his way. What he drew the line was his girlfriend calling him a fraud. 

“Say that again when you go double diamond and sell out a worldwide arena tour,” he volleyed right back just as spiteful. The forest fire in his eyes were dangerously close to overtaking hers. “Which you won’t ever get the chance to do if you don’t sell this song. Get your head out of your ass, Cadence.”

She expelled a high pitched huff in frustration.

Neither sad a word. 

Cadence paced over to the expansive windows overlooking the hustle and bustle of New York City. Raleigh watched her every step, waiting for the heat between them to die down enough to cross the distance.

Moments passed and he came to stand beside her, his calloused hand testing the waters at the small of her back. When she didn’t react his thumb began drawing calming circles. 

Ever so softly he broke the harsh silence, “You know I’m right.” 

Cadence stepped from his grasp and turned to look him straight in the eye. “What you are is a thorn in my side,” she huffed out with a breath of air. 

Raleigh’s brows knitted together. Sure she’s mad at the world right now, but what’d this have to do with him? 

“Have you even written a thing in the last six months?” She rose an all-knowing, accusatory brow. “No. You haven’t. Your tour ended last year. Sort out your own damn career before you come after mine.”

The way she said it - with absolutely no feeling and heaps of bitter indifference - struck him to the core. Raleigh Carrera thought Cadence Dorian could be the one he’s be delighted to move mountains for. She was the one that had him falling madly, quickly, deeply in love ever since she materialized in his life. Never would he have guessed she regarded him with contempt. 

“If I’m such a waste why are you with me, huh?” he threw his hands in the air and tried to keep from yelling. “Actually - don’t answer that. I’ll do you one better, Cadence. We’re done.” Raleigh moved through the living space, grabbing his things that were scattered around and shoving them in his leather backpack. 

He was moving too quickly for Cadence to rebuke. She wasn’t fully cognizant with what was happening; her mind was still stuffed with the grief and torment of losing her songs. 

Raleigh was standing at the door when it all clicked together. 

Shit. 

“Lucky for us the world thinks we broke up months ago,” he called before slamming the door.  

Cadence regretted the words the moment the reverberated rattling forced her to realize he had taken her heated rant to heart. Raleigh had been nothing but a wonderful friend and a sweet clandestine lover in the months they’ve been intertwined. She didn’t mean it. She was just pissed that things always seem to work out for him and now she’s stuck.  

But pride would get the best of her and she’d let him walk away for good. 

________________________________________

Masterlist

@choicesficwriterscreations 

Perma:

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Raleigh: 

@dulceghernandez

[imagine-loki]

It was his idea

TITLE: It was his idea

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

 +

i’d love an imagine where Loki turns someone looking for him into a long and convoluted game of marco polo or something

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I told y'all that prompt was giving me ideas. And now look at where it’s landed us! Face-first into a load of fluff! Sickly sweet fluff! Warnings of language and very soft Loki. Related to I signed up for this & I signed up for this, too.

=

Loki prided himself on his responsibility. Whenever he committed to something, he saw it through to the very end. It was a point of pride and he would be damned if, living on Midgard, he would let go of one of the fundamental traits that made him, him. So, when Stark had mentioned a reduction of his total workload, including the disappearance of a certain name on his roster, he did what every responsible, principled adult would do… he pretended not to have been informed.

And it wasn’t like that person had complained or made absolutely any mention regarding his continued presence. In fact, they often made plans with each other–books they want to read together, albums to listen to, meals to prepare together. It wasn’t his fault. It just made him atypically nervous to think of her alone in her apartment, clumsy and lonely. And, no, this was not some silly sentimentality… he was just fulfilling his promise. He just had a conscience. Wasn’t that the very reason he had been sentenced to this stupid little experiment?

Loki took the steps up to Charlie’s apartment by twos, his long legs easily climbing up to the fifth floor with an ease that belied his centuries of training. He could have used the elevator, he knew, but there was something incredibly awkward about being stuck with someone else in the small metal box for what seemed like an eternity (though he knew the trip was barely a paltry few seconds). He would very much rather just take the stairs. He needed the exercise after all the lounging he had been doing lately, anyway.

The front door was unlocked, as usual, despite Loki’s many warnings that it was unsafe for her to do so. Not that Charlie ever listened to more than half of what he said. She was a dear and seemed to like him well enough, but he would be lying if he said that she tended not to put a whole lot of weight behind his words of warning. Especially when those words of warning were mocked back in a perfect imitation to his own accent and cadence. He should have found her attitude irritating–she was obstinate. Like a mule. A very, very cross mule. It made him smile.

However, there was no way he could, in good conscience, just let her mock him. At least not without the littlest bit of payback. Loki had decided quite a few weeks ago that if she was not going to listen to what he said, he wasn’t going to talk, at all. Not in any significant manner, anyway. Not until she was forced to listen. He couldn’t decide if he was being brilliant or cruel, if he was honest. He hadn’t just brought this idea up on a whim. In fact, he would be ashamed to say how many books and research articles he had devoured on the use of similar techniques. Still, he was so taken by her cautious precision and reluctantly excited intensity that it was difficult to give the negatives any thought, even when she got annoyed.

Silent as the night, he slipped through the front door and closed it behind him. Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a glass of water. Nothing in her demeanor betrayed that she had heard Loki come in. In fact, she was perfectly content to hum to herself while she drank, seemingly waiting for that same Asgardian to arrive. Loki smiled to himself, putting his bag down and clasping his hands behind his back as he tiptoed around her to the living room.

Charlie bristled, sitting up straight after being slouched the entire time he’d been watching her. “Loki?” Her body shifted left and right and tilted her head, as if she would be able to see where Loki had gone off to, if she could even tell he was there. “I can smell your soap. You might as well have taken a soak in a pine tree smoothie.”

So, maybe she could tell he was there.

Her fingers itched at her scalp, a nervous fidget that Loki found her doing quite often. It left her plentiful curls all the more mussed and wild than what they usually were, though he found it quite cute. He noted that her locks were still slightly damp from an earlier shower, to which he tacked on the blame for the smell of sweet oranges floating in the air. Another fidget brought him to smile, especially now that Charlie was barely holding on to that annoyed groan rumbling at the back of her throat.

Charlie grit her teeth exceptionally tight and her eyes fell closed in irritation. “Marco.”

Loki snorted immediately. “Polo.”

“I fucking hate you. This has to be mistreatment.” He smiled, though he said nothing in response. Charlie seemed conflicted between throwing something in the general vicinity of where she thought he was and actually playing his game.

Focus, Charlie. Don’t rush, Charlie. You know there’s a chair there, Charlie.

His words rattled noisily inside her head, despite her best efforts to be rid of them. They were well-intentioned, as was this whole stupid game. She was just astoundingly bad at it. Half the time Loki had to remind her of the furniture that was in her own apartment, even though she navigated it just fine when she was on her own. The demigod riled her up in such a way that she often tripped and cut corners, until she inevitably ended up on the floor. Having to admit that he was right and that she did jump the gun whenever he was in her abode was more irritating than the game of cat and mouse he had concocted. And that’s not even admitting that this foray into sound sensitivity had improved her accuracy of every day tasks a considerable amount. 

“Marco.” She slid out of her seat and readied herself to follow the voice.

“Polo.”

He sounded further away than he had a moment ago, and Charlie swallowed the urge to scream. “Marco.” A whisper of a touch ran across her shoulders, over the skin exposed by her dress. She shuddered against the feeling and turned on a dime, eagerly pawing at the air and coming up empty.

“Polo.”

He sounded like he was in the kitchen now. Turning back around, she stepped lively towards his voice. While her mind was quick to pinpoint the exact location where she knew Loki was now standing, it seemed so focused on its task that it failed to remind her of the possible obstacles in her path. Several steps in, and her progress was halted by the tangle of her legs with something on her way. Her brain went into fuzzy panic as her feet flew out from under her and there was nothing to do but brace for the inevitable impact.

The breath got knocked out of her. Not by the floor, but by a sudden jolt in her momentum.

“I’ve got you, dove. Never fear,” he murmured into her hair as she clung to his shoulders like a lifeline.

“I hate you,” she repeated, though the phrase lacked conviction. Because it never mattered how many times she would trip and fall, he was almost always ready for a save.

“And, yet, you’re still holding onto me.” He was right. He had set her on her feet, but Charlie’s fists remained tangled in the fabric of his soft cotton t-shirt.

“Because the second I let you go you’re gonna start with the Marco Polo shit again,” she huffed. “Echolocation is clearly not for everyone.”

A second later she pressed her forehead into his chest and sagged into him. Loki chuckled under his breath and held her loosely to himself. She was warm and smelled like an orange grove and it distracted him long enough that he could quickly shove away the voice in the back of his head trying to guilt him. He was a monster. He couldn’t fix this. This would never be enough. On occasion he still wholeheartedly agreed, but maybe that was OK, to be that imperfect.

“What did you trip over?” He quizzed in an attempt to reign in his thoughts.

“The credenza. Again.”

“You know where everything is, Charlotte. Don't–”

“Rush to get to anything or you’ll forget in your haste,” she finished, imitating his cadence and accent perfectly. He laughed again and gave her a squeeze.

“If you spent half as long getting a sense of your surroundings as you do practicing that voice, you’d be crime-fighting through the city streets by now.”

“Color me uninterested, demigod.” The crisp, precision of her vowels prompted him to roll his eyes. “I can hear you rolling your eyes.”

“Me? Roll my eyes? Blasphemy,” he joked. Loki released her somewhat reluctantly, allowing Charlie to settle back in her seat at the kitchen table and himself a quick moment to survey her.

Charlie was wearing a flowy, canary yellow sundress, her feet bare as they swung back and forth beneath her seat. Despite her grumbly attitude, she looked bright–just short of incandescent–and it nearly hurt to watch her. Another set of voices, different from the first popped into his head, but these he promptly squashed and disposed of into the abyss before he could give them any mind. They, too, were distracted by the contrast of colors between her skin and clothes, and the flouncy ruffle at the bottom of her skirt. She looked pretty and he decided just then and there that it would be a waste for it to stay within those four walls.

“Let’s take a walk.” He dipped silently into her bedroom, grabbed a pair of sandals out of her closet, and dropped them into her lap with a pat on the head.

“And go where, exactly?”

“The park would be nice. We can grab some ice cream and–”

“And, what? Enjoy the greenery?” The sarcasm accompanying her smirk made him proud and exasperated in equal measure.

Loki sighed. “You haven’t been outside in a month. And last time it was to see, and I quote, that fucking fool of a neuro-ophthalmologist.” He kneeled on the floor in front of her. “Come on. Let’s get some sun, stretch our legs.” His fingers drummed on her knees, while he stared hopefully up at her face. Charlie frowned.

“You’re aware that I physically can’t see whatever stupid puppy dog face you’re making at me, right?” Her hazel eyes had still zeroed in on him in, regardless, when his hands caught hers on her lap.

Though his cheeks were now burning and his brain berated him for letting that detail, the whole reason he was here in the first place, momentarily slip past him. “Please.”

“Hard pass, buddy.” Loki sighed, getting back to his feet. Even though Charlie was all-in-all in a better place emotionally, he knew that she struggled with being out among people. More often than not, she would get overwhelmed by the ambient noises of the city, which at one point in her life had lulled her to sleep. She also complained about the fact that she could feel people’s gazes on her every time she stopped at a crosswalk or walked around a store. She said they felt heavy and awkward, though as often as Loki caught himself simply staring at the young woman, he wondered whether or not she was just picking up on his own brooding intensity.

He pressed a kiss to her crown before going entirely silent. Charlie groaned knowing exactly where this was going. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Her hands swiped in front of her, closing around empty air. “Ugh, Loki!” There was more silence. Muttering under her breath, she slipped on her sandals. “Marco.”

“Polo.” His voice carried the richness of laughter that Charlie would be more than happy to slap out of his system if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t physically find him.

Charlie stomped her feet. “You know, I can just stay inside, right? I don’t have to hang out with you.”

Loki shrugged, leaning against the open doorway. “Then, don’t.” She was glaring in his direction, arms crossed over her chest. After a moment, her shoulders slumped, the thought that he had actually left crossing her mind.

“L-loki?” Charlie’s voice was barely above a whisper and the little notch that formed between her brows when she was concerned, deepened. “Lo?” He forced himself to breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling as loudly as he could to tip her off, and her body immediately relaxed. “Marco.” Her voice was still small.

“Polo, darling.” She rolled her eyes and made her way towards the door. “Mind your fingers,” he remarked as he closed the door behind them. “Come along. Stay close.” He narrowly avoided her hands when she reached out to grab him. “Just listen and you’ll be alright.”

Charlie whined and pouted. “Yeah, until I walk into oncoming traffic because I can’t hear you over the sound of cars.”

“Have I ever allowed you to come to harm?” Charlie reluctantly shook her head. “I promise I will make sure you don’t get mowed down by traffic. I just don’t want anyone to think I’ve abducted you from your home.”

“Why would they think that?”

Loki chuckled. “I’ll give you a second to remember who I am, Charlotte.”

Charlie smirked. “Oh. Right. Alien attack. Enslaving humanity. That rings a bell.”

“Funny. You’re very funny,” he quipped, deadpan. He quietly walked backwards towards the elevators. “First one’s free. Polo.”

—

“M-marco?” Charlie wobbled over a dip in the grass. An arm swept around her waist and pulled her off her feet, carrying her easily across a distance she could not quite estimate.

Loki tutted under his breath. “I would think you would put up a little more of a fight when someone suddenly carries you off.”

“You smell like a Christmas tree,” she explained simply, sinking easily onto the soft grass she was set down on. Something cold was shoved into her hands and she frowned. “When did you stop for ice cream?”

“You truly do not pay a lick of attention when people are around, do you?”

Charlie giggled, licking her ice cream cone, happy to find a rich chocolate custard on her tongue. The sun was glinting off of her tanned skin and her eyelashes cast shadows over her cheekbones. The combination of the light and her dress made her seem like she was glowing. Loki shook his head, ridding his brain of those uncalled for thoughts as if he were one of those damn mortal drawing toys Stark called an Etch-A-Sketch. However, her second giggle in as many minutes proved more than effective at distracting him.

“What ever are you laughing about, Miss Camden?” He leaned forward and caught an errant smudge of chocolate on her cheek with his thumb.

“You’re an idiot.”

Loki guffawed. “You’ve awful manners, you know.” He bit down on his frozen strawberry bar to give himself time. “No, really. What are you laughing at?”

“It’s not people.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“That makes even less sense than your snickering.”

“You say I don’t pay attention when people are around. That’s not true. It’s not people. It’s you.” Loki’s heart stuttered so hard he dropped his treat. Charlie laughed again, throwing her head back as her shoulders shook. Her arm held her cone out in his direction. “Come on, I can hear the despair in your soul. And the thud of a popsicle. I know the sound well.” He bent to catch a drip off the side of the cone at the same time she gestured again. Another fit of giggles overcame her. “I swear all that wasn’t on purpose.”

“Yes, of course, it wasn’t,” he grumbled wiping away at the mess of chocolate on his face with the hem of his shirt.

“You know I can’t tell when you’re close, Marco.”

“Polo,” he replied, reflexively, sparking another giggle. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious. You’re just frazzled.” She took another lick, bouncing excitedly in place. “I would pay a hefty sum just for a peek at, y'know, all that deer in the headlights action,” she trailed off, gesturing at her face with her free hand. Fingers wrapped around that same hand, giving her a startle. The soft fabric of a handkerchief was wiping at her digits before dabbing at the very corner of her mouth.

“You’re a mess,” he whispered, touch lingering on her face far after her skin was clean.

“Loki…” His name in such a delicate, innocuous tone fascinated him more than any mystery anyone else could spin.

Loki shuffled closer, swallowing thickly. “Yes?”

“I have ice cream dripping down my hand. I kinda need to deal with it,” she replied, smirking. He released her all at once and watched as she tidied up her cone with an easy smile, though he himself was fighting the urge to scream in sweet, aching frustration. When Charlie offered her cone again, he held her hand steady as he had a taste to appease her insistence. However, the pit in his stomach that had opened up a few minutes prior did not allow him to have much more than that. “I’ve known you for eight months. Is it that incredibly surprising that I enjoy your company or, what?”

“Enough to purportedly have you zone out or trip over things? A little,” he admitted. Charlie shifted just enough to lean into his side, pointedly ignoring the gentle shudder that ran through him and echoed through her. He was extremely grateful for the fact that she seemed to be more concerned with whittling down her ice cream than with his suddenly anxious disposition. He channeled the anxiety into doting concern and let it bubble over. “Are you alright? Not too hot? Maybe I should have brought an umbrella to block away the sun–and you’re laughing again.”

“It’s not malicious.” She pinned her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from another laugh.

He shook his head good-humoredly, with a secret smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know.” His index finger wrapped around a corkscrew-like curl. “You don’t have a single malicious bone in your body.”

“You don’t know that. I might be really mean,” she riposted.

Loki chuckled. “I merely have a feeling.” He tugged the curl and watched it bounce back before he picked another to repeat the process. “Do you want to go back home?” He asked, now worried about pushing her too far, too fast.

“We can stay a little longer. I’m enjoying myself.”

“I’m glad,” he muttered against her temple before kissing her there. He flushed. Loki knew the affectionate gesture had become a bad habit, as of late, but he justified it as an innocent token–a non-verbal reminder that he cared for her. For her wellbeing, his mind hastened to add.

The phone in her pocket buzzed insistently and he bit back a groan. Of course Stark would find a way to ruin even this. He pulled the device out as Charlie crunched on her cone with a ghost of a smile still lingering on her face. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m, er, at the park.”

“I know you’re at the park. I’m asking what you’re doing.” Loki frowned, turning his head this way and that to find where the billionaire was watching from. “Left.” In the distance, Tony and Pepper both waved at Loki. Pepper seemed to have been trying to suppress laughter while Tony was favoring a half-hearted glare. “I thought I told you Charlie switched off of the chores service.”

OK, so perhaps Loki did a little more than pretend he was not informed of his schedule changes. Like, actively ignore the whole conversation, altogether. Loki could barely make out Pepper saying “chores? Is that what they call it these days?” beside Tony, over the line.

“Yes, you said.”

“Is that Tony? Is he mad because I’m enabling you in playing hooky?” She asked, brushing crumbs off of her face with the cleaner hand.

“I guess he is–wait, you knew I was…? Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, ignoring Tony’s complaints coming over the line.

Charlie’s empty gaze seemed to stare at him for a long moment before she pinched the bridge of her nose, and inhaled deeply. “Oh, I was kidding earlier, but I think he really might be an idiot,” she muttered to herself. She gestured with an open hand. “Let me talk to Tony.” Blinking confusedly, Loki handed over the device and she raised it to her ear. “Hiya, Tony. Yeah, we’re just hanging out. Was he expected anywhere else?” There was silence, and up ahead Loki could see Tony pacing as he spoke. “Oh. Then what’s the big deal?” She laughed, pulling the phone away slightly from her ear as she winced. “Jesus, Tony, I promise to have him back home by midnight with his virtue intact. I promise.”

Loki’s head snapped towards Charlie so quickly he felt it gave him whiplash. Charlie was wearing a large smile, head tilted slightly to the side as she listened carefully at the man freaking out on the other side of the call. “Tony, I am not spelling it out twice in one day.” There was a pause. “Yes, I did have to, and I’m not entirely sure he actually understood.” Charlie covered the mouthpiece and craned her head closer to Loki’s. “He’s here, isn’t he? I can hear the ice cream truck on his end.”

“Yes. A hundred meters, maybe,” he replied quietly.

He watched her deftly press the End Call button on the touchscreen and hand the phone back. The hand tucked against his side slid easily up his arm to his shoulder and stopped on his jaw. Her thumb barely brushed at his bottom lip and he could feel all the air in his lungs leave in a rush. Surely, he wasn’t still awake. Her lips nudged his more easily than he thought they would, tasting of chocolate and waffle cone and sunlight. Oh, he would be so angry if this turned out to be a dream.

“CHARLIE!”

Loki startled backwards at Stark’s voice hollering over the din of the park. He’d never had an out-of-body experience, but he reckoned this what that felt like. Tony was cutting right through throngs of people on picnic blankets and lawn chairs while Pepper attempted to persuade him back to their run.

“Time to get really good at Marco Polo, Lo.”

“Shit. Polo, Polo, Polo.” He hissed, snatching her hand in his, pulling her to her feet and sprinting off into a thicket of trees.

They stopped running only when the burn in their lungs and their legs was too much to take. Loki laughed, loud and rich and rumbly, pushing the shaggy mess of his hair back away from his face. Charlie was flushed, curls in disarray and leaning against an elm and panting to catch her breath. He sighed contentedly. Crowding her form against the tree, he buried his hands in the twists and turns of her mane before joining their mouths, relishing the way she tugged at his t-shirt to pull him impossibly closer.

“I was trying to say that I liked you, earlier, if that wasn’t painfully obvious–”

“Yes, yes. I get it,” he chuckled, leaning his forehead on hers. “Just, why?” The voices in his head were fixing to creep up and put a veil of gloom on his cheery heart.

“You’re my favorite monster. You’ve never made me feel like I needed to be fixed and that… has been more than enough.” Her fingers were making tidy circles into a bare strip of exposed skin at the hem of his t-shirt, sending a quiver down his spine at the sheer gentleness of the action. Loki felt a hairsbreadth away from falling apart in the most cathartic of ways. “Even though you felt guilty, you always treated me like a person, not a project, and… well… you kept coming back so I’m guessing you kind of–” He peppered her entire face with kisses, causing her to break out in giggles.

“Oh, Stark is going to have my head,” he whined as he forced himself to make space between them, lest he spend the next several hours snogging the life out of her.

“Why would he?” She asked, and there was a glimmer in her expression that seemed just short of dangerous. “Giving you the chance to play hooky with me was his idea.”

[kewltie]

There's a loud and insistent hammering at his door. It’s the middle of the night, just past eleven and Izuku doesn’t have that many people in his social circle to expect any kind of unexpected midnight visitor.  

He sighs long-sufferingly as he slowly climbs out of his self-made nest of pillows and blankets that he had been cocooning with his cat on this chilly autumn night, the TV continuing to drone on in the background. Fluffybottom hops off the couch and trails after him languidly as they make their way to the door.

"Who you think it is, Fluffybottom-sama?" he muses, tugging at his oversized sweater. He can already feel the cold settling under his clothes and brushing against his skin.

Fluffybottom meows in answer, tail waving in the air. "Yea, you're right I should just find out myself,” Izuku replies, approaching his front door.

The knocking gets more forceful with each passing second as he unlocks it. He opens the door to cold air and biting winds, the light from inside his home filtering through the doorway and in that moment he catches sight of a startlingly familiar red eyes glowering at him. Instinctively, Izuku slams the door right in Bakugou Katsuki's face.

He quickly locks it and slides to the floor in shock, legs all splayed out uselessly. Fluffybottom paws at him anxiously beside him and he hauls him into his lap, burying his face into Fluffybottom’s soft grey fur.

"Deku!" Katsuki hollers through the door like his worst nightmare had just come true. "Open the fucking door! I know you're in there!"

Izuku groans into Fluffybottom's back, arms around his cat like a lifeline. The last person he'd least expected to see after all this years is beyond that door right now and he's absolutely terrified. With heart racing a mile a minute and his hands won't stop trembling, he knows this has to be real.

Even Fluffybottom keeps himself quiet and still for once in Izuku's arms as though he understands Izuku's plight. "What do I do, Fluffybottom-sama?" he asks his cat. His single gold eye peers at Izuku and he mews, unimpressed against the continuous banging of the door.

"Why he is here?" he murmurs, brows furrowing with curiosity and dread. "He should be in Kyoto right now for his tour." Did something happen? Was he hurt? And why does it even matter to Izuku now? Bakugou Katsuki has nothing to do with him anymore.

Fluffybottom eyes him blankly before his ears swivels forward and head turns toward the living room area.

The audio from the TV they were watching earlier drifts to his ears, where he can still clearly make sound of a person speaking, and it picks up a shocking news: "—megastar rock god Bakugou Katsuki have been declared missing by official authorities as of today since 3:35PM."

Izuku blinks, eyes wide as he tilts his head back to look at the door warily.

"Deku," he hears Katsuki says. "Let me in." A pointed beat. "Please." He sounds desperate. Urgent even, like a man lost in the desert who had found his oasis at last but it's just out of his grasp. "I'm freezing my fucking balls out here."

Despite his hesitance and wrecked nerves, Izuku cracks a smile because even with the seven years apart this Katsuki still sounds like his Katsuki. Voice deeper and huskier, but still the same familiar cadence.

All of it is so nostalgic and bleeds over the cracks of his heart. He thinks it would be so easy to turn Katsuki away, but when did he ever do anything that smart for himself? Not when he’d ran away with Katsuki at eighteen despite their parents’ protests, chasing a dream of music and fame in Tokyo with a promise to always stay by Katsuki’s side before Katsuki decided discard him like trash by the road two years later.

He doesn’t have to do anything for Katsuki anymore. That part of his life is over now. Even if Katskui crawl on his knees before him, Izuku owe him nothing. Nothing at all. But—Katsuki had come to him personally for a reason so he should here him out at least, right? It's only fair. Because Izuku has always been weak for Katsuki.

That’s how he’d lost his heart in the first place all those years ago.  

He gingerly gets up from the floor with Fluffybottom tucked close against his chest and he breathes, shakily and with apprehension as he unhooks the lock. Katsuki must have heard it, but instead of barging his way in, he waits for Izuku's next move and so he does.

He opens the door once more to the man who walked out of Izuku's life and all over his heart at twenty to chase after his dream. The hottest star of the musical world, who'd been taking the nation hostage with his soulful songs and voice, Bakugou Katsuki; Izuku's ex-boyfriend, the man he’d loved and regretfully still does. 

[stepboldlyjess]

2nd October—Favourite 919 member that is NOT Morrigan (Lambeth)

I really don’t like this one. Lambeth is my favourite, and I knew it would be a challenge to write something for her. It came out pretty bad but I tried my hardest. I hope you like it.

Calling. Freezing. Burning. Flying.

Fear replaced the blood running in her veins. She was up awfully high, sitting upon a throne with a crown placed crookedly upon her head.

She didn’t know how she got into this mess.

Unit 919 had waved Miss Cheery and the Hometrain off of Station 919 before saying their goodbyes and opening their own doors and walking through. Lambeth had waited a bit longer, staring at her door. She knew something bad would happen before it did. She tried to call for help from one of her Unit members, but they had all gone home. She was all alone to fight this situation. She pushed open her door.

She didn’t find her Wunsoc wardrobe on the other side. Instead she was greeted by the Bonesmen in a dark alley. They had brought her to this horrid place and dressed her in flowing silks, just like the princess she used to be.

There was no way of getting out of this nightmare.

Calling. Freezing. Burning. Flying.

She didn’t know what these words meant just yet, but she repeated them over and over like a lifeline.

Everything around her was blurred by her tears she wasn’t letting escape her eyes. She wouldn’t let these monsters—these monsters who were gawking at her like she was some animal in a zoo—have the satisfaction of watching her cry.

What would happen to her, she didn’t know. And she wouldn’t know until just moments before it did. She just knew those four words.

Calling. Freezing. Burning. Flying.

She hoped she would be okay. Cadence had been auctioned off. She would never see her friend again. She was about to be auctioned off. About to have her secret known. About to either be blackmailed into submission, or about to be executed along with the rest of her royal family. Those two options were both as bad as each other, and she didn’t know which one she would prefer.

She had to do something to save herself. Maybe even save Cadence, too. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t because those four words concerned some outside force.

Calling. Freezing. Burning. Flying.

Goodness, she hoped she would be safe.

{~~~}

She clung onto Israfel finally letting the tears fall. He let her down gently on the ground by her Unit members Hawthorne, Cadence and Morrigan. They watched her in her distressed state and Morrigan threw her arms around her. Lambeth kept whispering thank yous in the other girl’s ear as she cried on her shoulder.

She didn’t know what she would do now, but she knew one thing: she wasn’t going to bottle anything up anymore. She was going to let her Unit members in, and show them the real Lam. She would do it for her family.

[spiltscribbles]

211 please! Any ship!

Notes: Thank you bubby! This actually helped me get out a slump lol, i really really hope you enjoy this fluffy mess and I would love to hear your thoughts!

A Reblog saves a life!  |  Send Me A Prompt

.-

Annabeth is a fully fledged adult now, honest.

She subscribes to the New Yorker, listens to podcasts in the morning while getting ready for her crummy, right out of college internship in one of the most prestigious architecture firms in the city. She votes even in the primaries  and remembers to reload her metro card before it’s out and has even got a God forsaken schedule that she relies on like a lifeline.

All this to say, Annabeth had really once thunk that becoming an adult meant your life turns stale and your days become monotonous. But that was before she began boarding with three literal definitions of spitfires in a Bushwick apartment way too small for four girls, and way to run down for the countless prank wars waged between them and the boys across the way. 

Annabeth tries telling Piper this one Thursday afternoon while she’s loading her Nerf gun with the water balloons that Rachel’s preparing with such precision that it kinda terrifies Annabeth shitless, if she’s being frank.

“’s too late to surrender now Chase!” Piper bellows, cocking and then setting down the toy gun in a neat row  for the next to be prepared. “It’s about honor now.”

“Honor?” Annabeth repeats in a voice that’s flat enough to cut.

“They’ve won the last two rounds Annabeth,” Rachel tells her, point blank as she ties the next water balloon to be passed off, alabaster skin freckled with paint like always when she comes back from one of her classes. “They’re getting too big headed over this.”

“Yesterday Leo offered to buy me a latte! The little fuck.”

Annabeth’s fair brows knit  together, totally confused to Piper’s sudden flash of anger, but reckons that it would be impossible to understand the perceived slight even if she asked Piper to explain.

“You guys are off your rockers,” Annabeth informs them instead, flickers her gaze over to Hazel for some support from someone who is actually sane. She in turn only shrugs, endeared looking as she returns to her sketches. 

“Et tu Brute?”

“it’s fun,” Hazel says in her southern drawl, which Annabeth once thought was sweet because it reminded her of venturing outdoors in the Virginia foothills when she was a tot. Though now Annabeth has decided  that the accent is actually a ploy  to make her sound welcoming for her pray  before she killed them off. Knows it for a fact that she’s done it with that friend who visits enough that he’s practically living with the guys too, which obviously means he was roped into all this ridiculousness.

“You’re either with us or against us baby doll,” Piper winks Annabeth’s way, starts a new round of ammunition with Rachel. “This one’s for Mama Fisher in the stars!”

“Insane! Fucking insane! Annabeth repeats emphatically before storming out there apartment to grab the mail, suddenly feels accosted with unwelcome nerves when she steps into the elevator only to be met face to face with one of the aforementioned boys across the hall, the objectively good looking, but impossibly kind one.  All ebony locks and crooked grins and eyes the color of sea glass.

Oh fuck.

“Annabeth,” he crows, positively gleeful sounding, which only makes it so her cheeks begin to redden, and her chest contracts.

“Percy, hey how’s it been.”

“Fine,” he says with a one armed shrug, begins scratching the back of his head sheepishly. And God fucking damn it, he doesn’t also get to be cute! That’s not fair! “You headed to work?”

“oh, ah yeah, I mean just for some overtime. We got commissioned for this new thing in Germany of all places, and they kinda need all hands on deck.”

He whistles, low and impressed. 

“Why do I get the sense that they’d crumble without you?” He asks with a quirked brow.

“Because flattery is a great way to make friends,” Annabeth smirks, strolls out towards the back row of mail slots  to get the inevitable pack of bills and adverts that’s waiting for them.

“Oy, I take offense to that Annabeth,” he sniffs, leans against the wall besides her, one leg crossed over the other, effortless in the whole CW pretty boy with a mysterious past shtick he’s got working for him. An even more hilarious thought on account to Annabeth knowing how his ma sends him a basket of homemade, blue cookies every Sunday afternoon, and that he spends most of his free time protesting for action against  climate change with his best friend from literal childhood, a scruffy, adorable dork named Grover.

“Is that right?” She snorts as she shuffles through the letters, tosses away the offer for a free garden gnome from some Lady named Aunty Em, crams a  coupon for a free panty from Victoria’s Secret into her bra, and texts the group chat for Rachel to pick up a letter from her dad and Hazel one from her older brother. 

“Course,” Percy sulks, big eyes glittering a thousand shades of green that it kinda takes Annabeth’s breath away. “I thought we’ve been friends, at least for a while now.”

“You know what they say about assuming Perseus,” Annabeth snorts, hip checking him as she makes the track down to the nearest subway stop, at least a five minute walk. She totally is not utterly elated over the fact that he’s still walking besides her, dimpling down like there were no where else he’d rather be.

“You know I didn’t even think you could allude to curse words,” Percy guffaws, impossibly bright and impossibly real. “I thought you were too prim and proper for that sorta behavior.”

“Shut up seaweed brains,” Annabeth laughs, can’t help the smile that breaks her face in half whenever he’s around.

“No deadass Chase!” he defends, emphatic. “I even bet Jason that you were related to like Grace Kelly or some shit, that it’s like illegal in your familial bylines to present yourself as anything other than perfect in public.”

“You are such a pain in the ass.”

“Oh my God! You did it again! It’s like it’s  Christmas!”

Faux aggrieved, Annabeth rolls back her head in exasperation, eyes alone definitely not enough to emote the proper level of feeling.

“Hey don’t blame me,” Percy raises his hands in concession. “You’re the one who refuses to have fun, like you were a forty year old lawyer.”

Annabeth hikes up her brows, affronted. 

“i have fun!”

“Right,” Percy snorts. “I’m sorry babe but Friday night board games don’t count.”

“Those are fun Percy!” Annabeth argues.

“You wouldn’t know fun if it hit you in the face!” Percy insists, stopping outside the stairwell. 

“And what? Pelleting one another with water balloons like we were Freshman’s in college again, that’s fun to you I suppose?” Annabeth charges, glare firmly set and weight slung to her left hip.

“Why yes Grandma, it is,” Percy tells her, words hugged in a playful cadence that really could entice anyone to commit a felony with him. The bastard.

“You are a prick,” Annabeth informs him waspishly.

“And you don’t always gotta be so stressed. I mean I respect the hustle Chase, but you’re allowed to just chill once in a while, let down your hair and all.” 

“You couldn’t handle that,” she sniffs, pulls out her card to swipe. “If I actually tried me and the girls would ruin you fools.”

“Is that right?”

“Wipe the floor with you,” Annabeth assures.

“Well then, looking forwards to the challenge Chase,” Percy beams, softly tugs on her high pony before walking back to the apartments. It feels like a legion of butterflies are swarming down deep in Annabeth’s stomach over the small contact alone.

“Damn you Percy Jackson.”

.-

“Remind me again why you’re helping? Hazel asks for the third time that Saturday morning as the four sum are crowded around the makeshift map Annabeth had sketched out for them to follow, fully determined now.

“Shh,” Piper swats at her arm, as if physically trying to shoo the question away. “Annabeth we don’t care as long as you explain the plan just one more time.”

“Slower,” Rachel tacks on, gnawing on her thumb nail nervously. 

“Right, well just listen closer ladies, this is a one and done deal, okay?” She’s met by a chorus of nods before she repeats her game strategy, one where each girl takes one of the four main hotspots around the building, skulking in the shadows until the predicted guy ends up there, surprised and defenseless when met by the water balloons of doom.

“I’ve already casually told both Jason and Leo that my parents were throwing us a brunch up state, so they don’t even know that we’re here.”

“God Annabeth if I didn’t think it would ruin our friendship I’d kiss you right now,” Piper sighs dreamily.

“Focus that pretty little head McLean,” Annabeth instructs, elbowing her side caustically. “You’re position is by the gym, Jason always goes there Saturday afternoons cause he thinks it makes it alright for him to get plastered that night.”

“You’re fucking a nerd,” Rachel tells Piper and both Annabeth and Hazel can’t help but nod along.

“No judgment zone!” Piper demands petulantly.

“Whatever,” Annabeth waves her off.  “Hazel you’ll be in the front, waiting for Frank to  come visit, and Rachel you’ll be waiting in the garden area where Leo comes to build one of his freaky gadgets.”

“Totally, you can count on me babe.”

“And what about you Annabeth?” Hazel asks.

“I’ve got Jackson,” Annabeth tells her, tone mock grave as she cocks her own toy weapon determinedly.

“So sexy,” Piper marvels.

.-

Their building rents out a corner on the bottom level to a small bistro with friendly smiles and tasty enough brew that it keeps them coming back. It’s where Annabeth and Percy had first met when he had moved in with the others nearly six months ago. It’s also the first place Annabeth heard his laughter, and where Percy listened when she went on a tirade about her crazy parents and their crazy expectations and how sometimes she just needed space away from all of it. It’s where Percy told her that his mother is the most important person in his world and how he thought he never cared what his father thought of him until he had to make a decision on what he’d major in, and of course he followed in Poseidon’s footsteps. It’s where they stayed up late trading stories about their complicated childhoods and dreams for their futures and the place that Annabeth knew for sure that if she let herself, she really could fall for Percy. For the candor in his brilliant  eyes. For the pretty smile he sports for the sake of his loved ones over himself, and for  the conviction in his beliefs.

Annabeth tries not thinking of any of that when she crouches down deeper in the dark nook behind one of the decorative plants as Percy gets up from his table, tossing out his latte and shouldering his work bag.

It’s now or never.

The moment Percy steps through the threshold Annabeth pounces up and aims. What she doesn’t expect is for him to keel over to block her, and instead of hitting his insanely chiseled pecks, the water balloon hits straight in his face. Close enough and hard enough that the water suddenly darkens to red, mixing with the blood pouring out his nose.

“Holy shit!” Percy cries, pinching his nostrils shut.

“Oh my God!” Annabeth yells, frantically grabs for a pile of napkins from the counter besides her— toppling over a mess of straws and sugar packets in her wake— and then dashes over to press them into his grasp. “I’m so so sorry! I didn’t in my wildest dreams imagine that would happen! I swear!”

Annabeth expects at least for Percy to bemoan the injury, but instead she’s answered by a frankly terrifying boom of cackles.

“Percy? Have you cracked? Did I knock your brains out permanently?”

“When you said you’d ruin us, I didn’t think you’d literally cause physical harm Chase,” Percy retorts, still fighting down bubbles of laughter.

“You’re manic,” she pouts, long suffering.

“And you’re terrifying.”

“Bet it works for you though,” she preens, can’t help but be boastful over the way a blush touches  the tops of his cheeks.

“Talk about adding harm to humiliation,” Percy grouces. 

“Poor baby,” Annabeth mock croons, thinks that today actually might turn out pretty amazing.

.-

She brings him upstairs to properly clean off the blood from his face and to come up with the conditions with at least a temporary truce, definitely not so she can finally trade a totally thrilling snog with him in privacy.

“You drive a hard bargain Chase,” Percy tells her, settling into the sofa as Annabeth unfolds her game of monopoly for them, having proclaimed that it’s a perfect time for her to prove how much fun board games can be.

“Oh hush,” she cuffs him on the back of the head playfully. “You’re just mad I won.”

“More like you committed battery,” Percy contends, pouting moodily, is only consoled when Annabeth leans forwards to kiss him again.

“You looked pretty bleeding— Oh God! Did I just say that out loud?”

Percy dissolves into a peals of laughter once more, and Annabeth tries her damndest to melt into a puddle right on spot.

“I can’t believe I’m so into such a maniac,” Percy tells her, eyes and smile glittering.

“SO rude,” Annabeth sniffs, arms crossed against her chest. 

“But accurate Chase.”

Annabeth doesn’t bother to argue anymore because Percy’s already slanted their lips against one another again, and he’s doing this insane thing with his tongue that it makes her toes curl.

Yeah, today turned out amazing indeed. 

[raging-violets]

Forever Is Not Forever / The Flash 6x14 - Death of the Speed Force ficlet

A/N: I got the idea for this right after finishing watching the ep. It���s pretty angsty for BarryCade. What’s going on in season 6 right now is really affecting the both of them. Also, light spoilers for the ep if you haven’t watched yet!

“Are you still mad at me?”

Cadence lifted an eyebrow. She continued looking out along Central City’s skyline through the STAR Labs lounge. Waited to figure out the right words before speaking. Nevertheless, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice when she said, “Am I mad that the balance between the Speed Force and the Fire Fall is now jeopardized and you didn’t tell me? Why would I be mad about that?” Nevertheless, she turned to Barry and reached out, gently rubbing his neck. Her powers may be affected, but he was losing his faster. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know, I…” Barry opened his mouth, started to respond, but found himself unable to. Tears sprang to his eyes and he quickly brought up his hands to cover his mouth. “I thought…I…” He turned, pressing his forehead against hers.

Cadence reached up and placed her hands along her husband’s cheeks, feeling him tremble beneath her grasp. She could regenerate her limbs, heal broke bones, and make mortal wounds look like they’d never happened. But this was a pain she couldn’t heal.

“I held her in my arms. I watched her die all over again.” He wiped at his eyes, but a few tears escaped, landing on Cadence’s cheeks and trailing down. “The Speed Force is dead because of me. Because of my choices. I just want to save everyone.” He opened his eyes, looked his wife in the eye. “Save you.”

“And you did,” Cadence reminded him. “Barry, what’s happening to the Speed Force…what happened,” she quickly corrected herself, feeling Barry tremble once more, taking in a shuddery breath. “That wasn’t your fault. No one knew that was going to happen. You wouldn’t have been able to save anyone without it.”

“What am I supposed to do without my speed?” Barry whispered.

“What am I going to do without my powers?” Cadence replied.

She’d felt what it was like not to have it before. When she was a kid, it didn’t mean anything to her, she was normal. Just like everyone else. But since receiving her powers at eight years old, her powers were a part of her. A big part of who she was. She wasn’t just Cadence, she was Flare, a hero for Central City, her family, and herself. She remembered how helpless she felt once having a meta dampener collar placed around her neck from those trying to kill her.

It was the most helpless she’d ever felt.

But what else was there to do?

“Maybe this is for the best,” Cadence remarked after a second of silence.

Barry blinked at her. “What?”

“Everything happens for a reason, right?” She continued to stroke his cheeks with her thumbs. Worked hard to hold back her own tears but felt herself failing. One of them needed to be strong, right? “Maybe you weren’t supposed to be the Flash forever. I’ve been Flare—” she cut herself off, stifling a sob. “I’ve had my powers for a long time. Maybe we’re done.” Her eyes searched his, hardly able to see through the tears that welled up. “Don’t you think after everything the Speed Force has put you through; the pain heartache, death…don’t you think you deserve a real life? That we deserve one?” Tears escaped the corners of her eyes and she tried her hardest to stay strong. “All the world’s problems on your shoulders, that shouldn’t have been your burden to bear.”

“Are you serious?” Barry asked, barely unable to do much more than a whisper.

“Maybe now we can be normal. You deserve to be happy, just like everyone else. Not everything needs to be about you.” Cadence sniffed hard. “It’s not always you that has to handle everything. Don’t you want that?”

Barry gave a weak smile. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Pulled her toward him. Not an intimate hug, but a lifeline to hold each other up. A tether to hold them together, to keep from breaking down. “I’m happy being a hero,” he said.

“I know,” Cadence agreed. The tears finally, finally spilled down from her cheeks and she broke into quiet sobs. “So am I.” She pressed her face to his shoulder. “Barry, what are we going to do?”

Barry shook his head, only hugged her tightly. Mourned for the death of a life they hadn’t thought would ever end. They survived Crisis…just to lose their powers anyway?

“Guys, we need you in the pipeline now.”

They’d have to figure it out later.

Tag List: @foxesandmagic @agb-random @papergirlpapertownn @iron-parkr @witchofinterest @hogwarts-is-my-wonderland @twinmasks @psychchesters

[reivenesque]

Cindereva CH12

Chapter 12: Her Prince Charming

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Dedicated to @himadrij​ who’s recent bingeing of this story has inspired me to actually start writing the next chapter. To the people who follow this story on AO3 this has been uploaded on there; but I am now positive the next chapter will definitely be up this century.

Fairy tale endings don’t happen to regular folk. At least, they don’t happen to Eva.

They happen to beautiful people like Noora and Ingrid. They happen to innocent, wide eyed girls like Vilde who dream about it since they were children. They happen to people who want it.

Eva never wanted it. At least, Eva never thought she deserved it because if life taught her anything, it’s that love doesn’t last and people you care about end up leaving you in the end anyway.

And up until that moment, she believed it with all her heart.

But Chris came back.

He made a promise to her and he kept it.

He came back to her.

He came back for her and to Eva that was worth all the fairy tales in the world.

She’s looking at his face, standing right in front of her and it’s hard not to believe that it’s all a dream; that it’s all in her head and she’s still back at her cottage lost in the throes of grief and sadness.

His face still looks the same, though his hair has grown – Eva can tell even though he has it brushed back neatly, not tousled and hanging over his forehead the way she’s become accustomed to seeing. Eva can spot a few new blemishes and scars that she knows hadn’t been there before, but it’s still the same face she sees in her dreams. His eyes are still the gorgeous green speckled with gold – intense and knowing though shining of experience and pain beyond his physical age – and they’re looking at Eva like she’s the only thing in the room worth looking at.

They’re looking at Eva in a way that makes Eva feel like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.

He’s dressed in a black uniform similar to the rest of his Southern kin though Eva notices that the Wolfhead embroidered across the left part of his chest and across his shoulder is woven with gold thread instead of silver like the rest of the Penetrators, and the eyes of his Wolf is adorned with two glimmering emerald stones – like the ones she remembers staring back at her through the darkness of the forest that fateful stormy night.

The only thing absent in that moment is his smile.

Chris looks as nervous and as emotional as Eva feels on the inside. It’s not something anyone else would have noticed because Chris hides his thoughts and his emotions better than most, but Eva can see it clear as day. His eyes sparkle under the light of the chandelier adorning the great ballroom, but they are also holding back emotions and tears and in that moment, Eva feels a little less nervous, if nothing else, it’s because she knows she isn’t alone in her feelings. She can see that Chris feels exactly the same and moment of amity comforts her, the same way Mrs. Skrulle’s grief had made her feel a little less alone with hers.

“Most gorgeous lady,” Chris says, unfurling his hand from where he has them clutched tight behind his back and extending it to Eva. His posture is slightly bowed in the show of respect Eva has come used to seeing, “Will you grant me this great honour?” he asks again.

Eva swallows the lump in her throat. Her heart has stopped thundering beneath her ribcage though it skips a beat when she tears her eyes away from Chris’s intense gaze to stare at the offered appendage.

Many a night has she dreamt of that moment; to feel Chris’s arms around her once again; to feel his hand gripping her own and his lips whispering comforting words into her ear.

Every single morning she wakes up in dampness made by her own tears and an overwhelming feeling of regret that she had woken up at all.

Her eyes find Chris’s gaze once again and keeps it. Without word she reaches over to place her hand atop his; basking in the familiar warmth of the calloused hands grasping onto hers like he never wants to let go again.

They don’t speak a single word when Chris leads her away from her friends and out onto the barren dance floor.

Out of the corner of her eye Eva can see the crowd parting without word – the hall is still and silent, only their eyes move following her and Chris interestedly as they make their way to the dance floor, Northerners and Southerners alike.

In the back of her mind Eva can hear as the scattered whispers rise up again, but it’s nothing new; nothing she hadn’t experienced from the moment she stepped in through the door. But somewhere, a single voice stands out, booming inside the hall above the other chatter. Eva doesn’t know who’s speaking but he must be one of the palace heralds. Eva doesn’t really understand what he’s saying when he announces to the masses:

“My lords and ladies, honoured guests of the crown; please make way for the first dance of the Crown Prince of the Southern Nation and his most beautiful Lady.”

Eva hears the words the man is saying but it doesn’t really register inside her brain. But she can hear the way the chattering grows in intensity and volume once the man finishes.

The only thing she can focus on, the only thing that matters in that moment is the man walking beside her, guiding her away from her friends.

Eva is aware of every single eye in that ballroom, townsfolk, nobles and royalty alike, being on her and Chris and at any other time, in any other situation, the realization would have petrified her. But Chris is there with her, holding her hand and keeping her close and Eva can’t seem to recall what it feels like to be afraid. For a moment, she can’t remember what it feels like to be alone because no matter how hurt she’d been by Chris’s absence, no matter how much pain it had caused her – he kept his promise. He came back and Eva doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

They don’t speak. Their eyes say everything that needs to be said.

Eva stops walking when Chris stops and he turns to face her, hand still grasping onto hers like a lifeline. He lifts up her hand he’s holding, plants a gentle kiss on the back of her knuckles before placing it gently on his shoulder before placing his now free hand on her hip.

The familiarity of the motion casts Eva back into her memories. She remembers dancing with her father when she was little, standing on his feet laughing as he twirled her about the room. She remembers dancing with her mother when it was just the two of them in the bedroom. She remembers the dancing teacher complimenting how fast she picked up the skill.

She never thought she’d ever get the chance to use what she’d been thought – the skill no one but Noora even knew she possessed.

Her left hand comes up to cover the hand Chris has extended to her and for a split second, the both of them just stand there unmoving, latching onto one another.

Then the orchestra begins playing a new set and Eva feels her body moving without her brain having to do much at all.

She’s gliding across the floor in Chris’s arms, feeling as of her feet aren’t even touching the ground at all.

Their bodies move together, floating past the rows of people crowding around to watch their dance. Once in a while Eva’s eyes catch a glimpse of the people they glide past, even the stoic, emotionless Southern women look enthralled by their dancing.

The melody rises and falls. Eva feels herself spinning in Chris’s arms, the hem of her skirt billowing around her like it’s been lifted up by faeries; the glitter on her dress sparkling under the light like shining of stars.

Eva closes her eyes and just feels the melody run through hers and Chris’s body. She doesn’t look at the crowd, she doesn’t look at the king up on the balcony looking down at the spectacle. She doesn’t look around for her friends. She doesn’t even look at Chris, only feeling the heat of his body rubbing up against hers and the thumping of his heart she can feel against her chest.

The crescendo of the orchestra hits fever pitch; Eva can feel it in the middle of her chest, twisting and winding and driving the breath from her lungs.

Higher and higher and higher it goes.

She grasps onto Chris’s hand as they spin and spin and spin around to the melody. It feels like they’re flying. Her dress floats around her like a beautiful mist, glittering in the air. The eyes of the Wolfhead on Chris’s shoulder sparkles menacingly at anyone who stares to long.

They spin and spin. The tempo builds and builds and builds until it reaches peak before there’s a beat and the percussions snap Eva out of her trance.

Her tears flow freely, like shiny droplets in the air before she throws her arms around Chris’s shoulders and latches on tight, burying her face in the curve of his neck. She forgets about the dance, she forgets about the palace and the king and all the people watching. She forgets about everything else because in Eva’s world right then there is only Chris.

The orchestra settles down into a more relaxed cadence leaving the focus completely on the two still figures embracing unmoving in the middle of the dance floor.

There’s a small commotion near the far left side of the room before a section of the gathered crowd is pushed aside by a lithe figure dressed in light blue, dragging her less than eager escort out onto the barren dance floor.

Noora knows it’s time for action, instead of just standing around stupidly watching one of the most precious people to her experience her moment of vulnerability in the public eye like that. So she grabs William around the wrist and without waiting or giving him a chance to refuse drags him past the cluster of people in front of her out onto the floor. There’s no room for arguments and hesitation and although William seems surprised at first by the sudden motion, he quickly catches on to her intention. By the time they’re out on the floor, taking some of the attention off of Eva and Chris still embracing each other tightly, William has his arm around her waist and the other guiding her hand.

Her eyes lock on to Vilde who has quickly followed suit, pulling a slightly more hesitant Magnus behind her.

The orchestra continues playing with no interruption so Noora and William begin to dance.

Slowly, people’s attention start focusing away from Eva and Chris as the dance floor gains more and more occupants. Immediately Noora notices with great pride that it’s the people of her town that begin to shuffle into the limelight. She spots the vendors and the shop owners and everyone who knows and cares about Eva. She spots Christina stepping onto the dance floor with a little too much enthusiasm, dragging one of shocked Penetrators behind her. Noora thinks she even recognizes him from the attack on the town all those months ago.

After a while she spots Sana standing to the side – surprisingly, she isn’t alone. One of the men dressed in the Penetrators uniform is speaking to her and though she looks completely disinterested in what he’s saying Noora can spot the smile tugging at the corner of her lips even from that distance.

Slowly the dance floor begins filling up; she can barely spot Eva and Chris until she stares harder into the dancing masses, but they’re there, right in the middle still lost in their own little world. Eva still has her face buried in Chris’s shoulder, her arms latching onto his neck tight and Chris has his arms locked around her, holding her close, his eyes closed and his cheek resting against the side of her head.

Noora almost cries. Almost, but she doesn’t. She made a promise to herself and to Eva that she wasn’t going to and she intends on keeping that promise.

Instead she smiles; wide and toothy and she looks up to find William’s eyes already on her.

“What?” she asks when he continues staring without saying word.

He doesn’t answer, his eyes continue their intense gazing until he eventually lets out a smile. “You’re beautiful,” he says, “And an amazing friend.”

Noora almost blushes. “Eva is an amazing person,” she says.

“That she is,” William says, “And she deserves an amazing friend, and she has it. I’m happy for her.”

Noora smiles at that (and a tear or two may or may not have appeared at the comment). “I am too. She deserves this. They both deserve this happiness.”

Williams nods at that.

Noora tears her eyes away for a moment to look towards Eva and Chris but finds the spot they were standing in just a moment ago empty. She looks around for them but can’t spot them among the gathered crowd anymore, but she isn’t worried. She knows that there’s no safer place for Eva to be than with Chris.

“Although, did I or did I not hear correctly when the herald said ‘crown prince’?” William says bemused.

Noora laughs at that. She’d heard the same and for that split second she was almost taken aback by surprise. But looking at Eva and Chris out there on the dance floor; seeing how beautiful they were together. Seeing that, although neither of them were smiling, Noora could sense the joy and the happiness rolling off them like a mist. Being there having the honour of witnessing all that with her own two eyes, Noora thinks that she can and will accept anything as long as it means that Eva finally gets the happily ever after she deserves.

And what better way to have a happily ever after than with an actual prince?

Though it doesn’t mean that Noora isn’t going to interrogate him for details at some point; it’s her duty as Eva’s best friend to watch out for her wellbeing after all.

Tbc.