#metal slat railing

[chronologynut]

Modern Basement San Francisco Large minimalist walk-out porcelain tile and beige floor basement photo with gray walls and no fireplace

[yuri-on-ice-ice-baby]

Large trendy backyard deck photo with no cover a sizable, modern backyard deck photo without a cover

[emiliaclarce]

Large trendy backyard deck photo with no cover a sizable, modern backyard deck photo without a cover

[sivangifs]

Covered - Deck

[hoytsheriff]

Exterior - Modern Exterior Ideas for a medium-sized, contemporary blue, three-story remodel with a flat roof

[controlsfortheheart]

Large - Contemporary Garage Ideas for remodeling a large contemporary attached two-car garage

[wanderers-of-sornieth]

Stucco Exterior Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary beige two-story stucco flat roof remodel

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crossed Wires 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: silverfox!Andy Barber, Cole Turner

Summary: you try to balance your work with your private life as your boss and a new client try to blur the lines. (short!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The gravel mulches loudly under the tires of the truck. You grip the ridged wheel as the seat belt strains against your shoulder. You make yourself sit back, the seat slid up as far as it will go. Still, the bumper shortens your perspective.

You figured you’d get a call to the old Orson place when you heard it sold. That was months ago though and the new owner finally set down roots there. You haven’t seen them, you’ve only heard the whispers that accompany any happening in Hammer Ford; from a new recipe to the juiciest of scandals. You pay much attention to any of it.

You keep your hands at ten and two as you follow the long gravelly drive to the farmhouse facade. There’s a single car parked outside the garage. It’s a sleek white SUV, luxury by the looks of the hood ornament. It’s not what you expect around here. That paint job will be dusty in now time, if not scratched by errant pebbles.

You pull in and shut off the engine. You undo your seat belt and check your watch. Right on schedule. You open the door and step on the rusted step below the door, letting yourself down with a hop. Your tan work boots kick up dirt as you round to the passengers side and swing the door open to retrieve your heavy work bag.

You sling the thick strap over your shoulder and snap the door as you head towards the house. You rest your hand on the side of the bag as you near the steps, searching for any sign of life. The stairs creak as you climb onto the low porch.

“Can I help you?” The deep voice startles you. 

You blink and turn to face the man sitting on the wooden boards, bolts and screws around him along with metal parts and wooden boards. You hadn’t seen him through the tight slats of the railing.

You keep your usual vague stare as you sniff, “got a call about the breaker.”

He squints at you, a squiggle forming between his brows. He’s older. His grey hair has a single bolt of its former dirty blond just above his forehead. Despite the heat and the dirt sprinkled over the boards, he wears a pair of dark slacks and a button-up rolled to his elbows.

“You’re the electrician,” he states as he sets aside the small screwdriver in his hand. He stands with a grunt, grasping his knee before he straightens.

“Sure am,” you reply flatly.

“I spoke with a man,” he intones, hands going to his hips as he looks down at you.

“That’s would be my boss. Cole.”

“That’s his name,” he steps forward, wiping his hand on his shirt, staining the light gray fabric, “Andy.”

He offers his hand and you shake it curtly. All the farmers pride themselves on keeping a firm grip and you never faltered with them. He squeezes before he lets you go. He doesn’t have the typical callouses, you even have a few.

“How’d you get into this work?” he wonders.

“It’s work. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t– I don’t mean anything,” he stammers.

“Didn’t think you did,” you sniff, “so, what am I looking at?”

“Well, I don’t really know,” he reaches back to rub his neck. The power keeps… flickering.”

“Ah, been a while, probably just need to wait for it to stabilize. City worker came out months ago for the meters,” you explain.

“Right, well, I heard sizzling.”

“Show me where you heard it.”

He nods and gestures you towards the door. Before you can reach it, he pulls the wooden screen door back and waits for you to enter ahead of him. He tells you it’s just down the hall and stop you near the basement door. You peer down the stairs and flick the light switch. There’s a low buzz.

“I don’t think you need to worry about it,” you look up, “but I can have a look.”

“Oh, okay,” he utters, “I also had another question. You might know something about it.”

You look at him. He seems put off by your expressionless stare.

“I wanted to install an automatic opener in the garage…”

“I can do the wiring, sure, long as you buy the parts,” you answer. “I can give you recommendations, odds are, you’ll need a whole new door as well.”

“Sure,” he agrees uneasily.

“Can schedule an appointment when you decide,” you turn your palm out, “I’ll just go grab my ladder and have a look then.”

You go to step past him but he’s not quick enough. You nearly collide and find yourself moving back and forth with him, trying to get by. You stop and stare. He stills himself and turns sideways, waving you by. You pass and let out a slow breath through your nose.

You stalk back down the hall and onto the porch. You hear him following you. You come down the steps as he continues his close pursuit. You don’t exactly know what he’s doing but you won’t ask. Cole says you need to work on customer service and not tell people to get out of your way.

You go around the bed of the truck and open the back. You reach for the ladder but another arm stretches further and faster. He pulls the ladder out before you can and you step back with a grunt.

“Hey, I can get it,” you insist.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind helping.”

“So why am I here?” You ask curtly, immediately knowing you asked a bad question.

“Sorry, I was just… being nice,” he says.

“Right,” you try to soften your tone, “it’s just… it’s my job. I can carry the ladder.”

“I know you can,” he looks down at you and you feel even smaller. You don’t like it when they try to play gentleman, it’s condescending. You might be short but you’re strong enough. 

“Thanks,” you grab the ladder and yank it from his grasp.

He lets go and you continue past him. He huffs and follows a few paces back from the end of the ladder. You angle it up the steps.

“At least let me get the door,” he inches past you, “okay?”

“Thanks,” you repeat in the same even keel.

You enter and take the ladder down the hall. He hovers just down the hallway, watching as he shifts his weight between his feet. He’s the worst kind of customer, the kind that have to supervise. 

You step up the ladder and look past it. “Mind holding it?”

“You sure?” He gives a trite arch of his brow.

You blink and keep your eyes from rolling, “I’d appreciate it, sir.”

He comes forward and braces the ladder staunchly. You climb up and suppress a snarl. City folk think you’re all backwards out here but they can’t wrap their damn head around a woman with a brain.

[cantstoptheimagines]

Escape the Night (Kaz Brekker | Shadow and Bone)

Summary — When you anger a few people in Ketterdam, Kaz isn’t very happy about it.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Mentions of thievery; Kaz is upset with the (embarrassed) Reader; brief mention of weaponry (in reference to Inej and her knives).

Notes ➳ ‘Can’t Stop the Love’ Event (1/14) ➳ Word Count is 639.  ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ “After that... you’re lucky I still love you.” 

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule 

Hiding behind the bar in the Crow Club, you listened to Kaz’s quiet, irritated voice as he tried to convince four very angry merchants to leave. You looked up, immediately spotting Inej and Jesper, both of them leaning over the upstairs railing and waiting for any sign that they needed to step in. 

Inej shook her head when she met your gaze, twirling a knife between her fingertips. Jesper, meanwhile, was trying to hide an amused grin as he winked. You glared, unhappy that he was taking so much joy in your misfortune.

The merchants’ shouts and complaints were suddenly silenced with several clinks! Kaz must have paid them off with a sizable amount of money for them to fall so quiet in only a few seconds. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you observed Jesper on the upper floor. His smile was slowly widening and it didn’t take you long to figure out why. Your eyes widened at the feeling of Kaz’s cane attaching itself to your shirt. With a sharp jerk, the crow’s head handle pulled you upwards.

You swallowed nervously when your eyes met those of the Dregs’ leader. Kaz pursed his lips, glaring at you as his cane returned to his side, “Upstairs. Now.”

You released a deep sigh. As you trailed behind Kaz, you glared at Jesper, who was now cackling at your embarrassed expression. Inej rolled her eyes at him before quickly disappearing into the gambling house’s main foyer, probably ready to return to the Slat. Slapping his knee, Jesper followed, still laughing at your personal misery.

“Inside,” muttered Kaz, opening the door to his private study.

When you didn’t listen, biting your lip and turning away with crossed arms, Kaz glared at you. He gently tapped the back of your knees with his cane. With a quiet groan, you finally followed his demands.

As you took a seat in front of his desk, Kaz locked the door behind him. He then busied himself with quietly pouring two drinks. Your eyes observed his movements, which were far too calm for your liking. Usually, the two of you would be in a full-blown argument by now.

At least with that you knew what to expect. Kaz’s deadly silence had always been much more terrifying than his thundering anger.

“—steal?”

“What?”

Kaz let out a deep sigh. He turned, passing you one of the drinks in his hand, before taking his seat behind his desk. He looked at you tiredly, and then repeated himself.

“What did you steal?”

“Does it matter?”

“With the amount of money I gave those merchants? Yes.” he drawled, eyes narrowing. “After that... you’re lucky I still love you.”

There it is. The guilt trip. Being your partner, Kaz knew exactly which words to use in order to make you fold.

With a quiet sigh of defeat, you set your glass on his desk. Kaz’s sharp gaze followed your hand as it shoved itself into your pocket. You stood and held out a small piece of metal. One of Kaz’s gloved hands slowly reached out, taking the object and rolling between his fingertips.

It was a brooch. Small, but delicately forged, and obviously very expensive. It was no wonder those merchants had been chasing you. Handcrafted into the shape of a crow, tainted black, and finely decorated with gold to accentuate the bird’s smaller details.

“Do you like it?” you asked. “It’s yours.”

Kaz furrowed his brow. Tilting his head, his eyes continued to examine the small piece of jewelry, as he asked, “Mine?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kaz.”

But as he looked up to reply, Kaz was met by nothing but an empty room as your footsteps faded away in the corridor. And for once, he allowed you to escape the night as he smirked at the tiny crow resting in his palm.

[teacasket]

cruel summer

genre: fluff, angst au: non-idol au warnings: none word count: 0.5k   pairing: gn!reader x lee minho song: cruel summer by taylor swift mini series: cruel summer // august // betty // cardigan // the 1 a/n: the reader in this is not the same reader as betty or cardigan. this reader is minho’s summer friend.

DEVILS ROLL THE DICE, ANGELS ROLL THEIR EYES.

The soda can lands against the door of the vending machine with a thunk. When you bend down to grab it, you ask Minho again, “You sure you don't want anything? I can pay for you, you know.”

As expected, he replies, “I’m good. Pier or beach?”

“Pier.”

You walk side-by-side with him and take special care to not look at him. You’re not supposed to look at him. Not even when the sunset is in your eyes, when there’s nowhere else to turn your head. You’re just friends. Friends don’t look at each other the way you look at him.

You keep your gaze steady on the wooden planks. You feel every bump and whorl under your sneakers. Through the slats, you watch the tides lap at the sand, desperate to make it farther than the dark border painted on by their predecessors. It would be so easy if friendship had an easily discernible line. At least you would know if you were toeing it. Instead, you have to rely on instincts and hope that you’re on the safe side. The right side. But the more time you spend with Minho, the more you want to leap over the blurry gray area and into definitive love.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you say too quickly. When he snorts, you admit, “You.”

“Me?”

It’s only one syllable, but you hear his amusement curling around it like smoke. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, but Minho has always been good at luring you to the flames. You’ll make a joke, he’ll laugh at it, you’ll take another step into forbidden territory.

“Yeah,” you reply. You lean against the metal railing and finally crack open your can of soda. “Why are you always chewing bubble gum?”

He chuckles and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans to search for his pack of gum. Another question you could have asked: “Why do you insist on wearing jeans in the summer?”

“I’m not chewing gum right now,” he says. “I don’t know. Gives my mouth something to do, I guess. Want one?”

While you shake your head, he takes one for himself. With the same amusement in his voice, he says, “I bet you’re just jealous ‘cause you can’t blow bubbles.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’ve never seen you do it before. Do it now.”

He doesn’t know about the smoke in his voice and its effects on you. You feel it tugging at your wrists and almost take a stick of gum. Instead, you catch yourself in time and lamely answer, “I should drink my soda before it goes flat.”

“Knew it. Watch this.”

Like he commands, you watch with tamed envy as the pink bubble between his lips gradually expands. It would be so easy to make the wrong choice right now, to kiss the other side bubble and pray that he doesn’t pull away when it pops.

So, so easy.

WHAT DOESN’T KILL ME MAKES ME WANT YOU MORE.

[theoriginalladya]

Sunday WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @cr-noble-writes - thank you, my friend!!! Loved the Jackson snippet, btw!!!

Here's a snippet of Rhys talking to Anderson in the next chapter for Everybody Loses It that I'm in the middle of editing. (sadly, Hell Week for work caught me in it's clingy tendrils before I could finish. sigh).

“How are you holding up, son?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice as he joins Rhys at the railing, resting his arms across the metal slats.  It’s a refreshing question, to be honest.  Anderson’s not the first one to ask him that, but the first once since arriving on the Citadel and after all of the stuff with Udina and the Council.  But it’s the endearment that hits home.  Son. How long has it been since I was last called that?  “I’m fine, sir.  A little out of sorts, maybe.”  His lips purse into a thin, wry smile.  “Wasn’t aware a civilian could be recruited by the Alliance.” Anderson chuckles and pats Rhys’ shoulder.  “Don’t worry, you aren’t being recruited.  Not really.  You’re just doing a favor for an old friend.” And old friend.  Just how much Anderson knows about Rhys and Kaidan’s relationship prior to today, Rhys has no clue.  For all he knows, the man could be a confidante to Kaidan as well.  Still, Anderson isn’t the type to judge, Rhys knows that from past experience. “Good to know.  I’m a bit…short on the training side of things.”  He flashes Anderson a wide smile.  “Sir.”  He side-glances the man warily.  “You aren’t…This isn’t getting back to my mother, is it?” “As far as I’m concerned, you are an adult of legal standing and more than capable of making your own decisions,” Anderson assures him.  “I can’t guarantee she isn’t going to hear about it some other way, but it won’t be from me.  Why?” “Just curious if she had her hand in it somehow.”  It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Kaidan – of everyone he’s come into contact with since Eden Prime and even after they parted on bad terms the last time they’d seen one another a decade ago, Rhys trusts him.  He always has.  “You know how she likes to meddle in my affairs, and it rarely ever turns out for the best.”

[kikiiswashere]

It Takes a Village

Summary: Katya gets word that Viktor is sick and needs to be picked up from the Academy. The news sends her into a fearful tailspin. Luckily, Silco and Enyd are there to remind her that she doesn't have to care for him by herself.

Pairing: Silco/Katya, established relationship

Rating: General, SFW

WC: 2.1K

Notes: This is a little diddy that has been sitting in my computer for a while. Inspired by a prompt by SacrificedSin87 over on AO3 :)

Please note, this one-shot exists on its own AU, and is not necessarily informed by events and major plot points in Children of Zaun.

-------

“Keep up, Silco!” Katya called over her shoulder as she scrambled up the side of one of the thousands of Undercity catwalks. Her boots clanged against the metal slats as she ran towards the Promenade.

“I’m trying!” he wheezed, hurling his lithe body over the bridge’s railing. “I didn’t know you were this fast.”

“You should stop smoking,” was all she said, launching herself up a flight of twisty stairs.

Silco grimaced, and as if to make a point, sprinted even faster behind her.

The pair bobbed and weaved through milling bodies, receiving angry looks, and angrier gestures and words from people they accidentally jostled or bumped into. Katya didn’t care, though. She cared about getting through the Promenade, across the Bridge, and to Piltover’s Academy as quickly as possible.

Earlier that day, just as she was preparing to leave the mines, she had received a tube that Viktor had fallen ill. While he could (and perhaps should) stay on campus, he had requested to go home to recuperate. And Katya couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

She had sprinted past Silco – who was on his way to collect her so they could walk out together – shouting the news at him over her shoulder, before throwing herself in the mine’s elevator and slapping the ascend button repeatedly.

She fought her way through the miners coming in for their shift like a salmon swimming upstream. Once she breached the mine’s perimeter, she heard Silco call behind her. He eventually caught up and they sailed through the Undercity together.

“Kat! Wait! Wait a second,” he gasped, reaching out and grabbing her arm.

Her body jerked under his hold and she grunted in frustration, turning to him.

“I need to get Viktor!”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Silco said between heavy breaths. “Just take a moment – “

“He’s sick! He needs me!”

“I know, I know” he said, taking hold of her shoulders. “Just . . . take a breath. I know it’s more precarious for him, but kids get sick. We’re going to take care of him, and get him healthy, and back to school.”

Katya stared up at him, breathing deeply through her nose. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“We?”

The corners of his lips lifted as they so often did when looking at her. He nodded.

“I grabbed Sevika before I followed you. Told her to let my mum know what was happening and prepare my bedroom for him.”

Katya’s brow crumpled, confused.

“Your bedroom?”

He nodded again.

“Yes. We’ll take him to my mum’s and my apartment. That way you won’t have to worry about him all the way down in the Sumps.”

Katya’s brows knit together, concerned that Silco had not thought this plan through.

“I can’t ask you or your mother to watch him,” she started.

“No, I know. That’s why you’ll stay, too.”

“Where – “

“On the couch,” he answered. “I know it isn’t ideal, but it’s better than you being away from him.”

“What about you? Where will you sleep?”

“I’ll crash at the Drop until he’s well.”

“Silco,” Katya sighed. “I cannot ask you to – “

He gripped her chin, placing his thumb over her parted lips. Once the fight left her eyes, he dipped down and replaced the digit with his mouth.

When they drew back from one another, Silco huffed a small laugh.

“Besides,” he said, “if my mother got wind that Viktor was sick, and you had taken him back to your place in the Sumps, she would’ve broken down your door and brought him to our place herself.”

Katya smiled, knowing that it was true. Enyd would be insistent – borderline pushy – about Viktor recuperating in a less smog-filled environment. Finally, she conceded with a nod before lifting on her toes and kissing him again.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his thin lips.

Silco took her hand in his, and they continued toward the Bridge.

As they neared the attendant hut, a jolt of nerves poked Katya’s stomach. She had a pass, but Silco did not. Her mouth went dry as they got closer, scared that the attendant would not let either of them through, suspecting Zaunite mischief. However, her worries eased when she spied Ivy Banforth just beyond the gate. Seeing Katya, the Academy aide strode forward, a kind and reassuring smile on her face.

As the medic assumed, the attendant looked at her and her partner with distrustful eyes as they approached the gate. Silco gripped her hand tighter, and she could feel the sneer on his face. Luckily, Ivy filled the space between the attendant and the two Fissure Folk, flashing an official looking notice at the guard.

“They are here on Academy business,” she said sweetly. “I’m here to escort them.”

The attendant eyed Heimerdinger’s seal at the bottom of the paper and reluctantly waved Katya and Silco through.

“How is he?” Katya asked hurriedly as the three headed for the campus.

“He’s alright,” the aide assured. “Just a fever and cough. A little nauseous, too, but with some rest he’ll recover quickly.”

Katya had to fight the urge to protest the Piltie’s patronizing diagnosis. Didn’t she realize that being sick was more dangerous for her brother than other children? How dare she assume that everything would be alright.

“I’ve already gathered his things and brought his bag to the medical office,” Ivy said. She shot an interested glance to Silco and added, “I’m glad you brought someone to help you.”

Katya gripped her partner’s hand possessively and quickened their pace.

The Academy’s medical offices were ones that Katya had not been to before. She had hoped to never need to visit them. Although she supposed that Silco was right: children got sick. It was only a matter of time until she would need to see her brother in such a place.

Despite having a very pragmatic purpose, the medical office was still ostentatiously designed and decorated in Piltover’s preferred gilded fashion. Ivy wove them through the echoey marble halls until they reached the small, dimly lit room Viktor was being housed in.

Katya broke out of Silco’s hold and rushed to her brother’s bedside. She gently carded her fingers through his sweaty hair, and her heart ached to see the sickly pallor of his skin: angry, rosy splotches on his cheeks against the green-gilled sallowness of the rest of his face. His breath was wheezy and snotty. It hitched when he opened his fever-fogged eyes and saw his sister.

“Kat,” he croaked.

“Shhh, shhh, shh,” she hushed. “I’m here. We’re here to take you home, okay?”

His eyes slid to Silco’s figure over her shoulder and he sniffed. The sniffle turned into a string of phlegmy hacks, and he turned his face into the pillow to shield his sister from it.

“I gave him some cough syrup and pain relievers,” the nurse said.

Katya jumped at her voice, not realizing that there was another body in the room.

“I put some more medicine in his satchel,” the nurse continued, gesturing to Viktor’s large rucksack at the foot of the bed, “along with some care instructions. Once he’s been fever free for twenty-four hours, he can return to school.”

Katya nodded, her hand still petting her brother’s head. Her eyes fell to the large bag, then to Silco.

“Carry him, please.”

Silco nodded and stooped down to gather the boy up as Katya went for the bag, hefting it onto her shoulders.

“No, I want Kat to carry me,” Viktor protested weakly against Silco’s chest. He was only able to vocalize his dissatisfaction, as his body limply slumped in the man’s hold.

“I know, Vik, I know,” Katya cooed, taking up the blanket and draping it over him. “But we will get home faster if you let Silco do it.”

Her brother grumbled, but nuzzled against Silco’s shoulder.

Katya thanked the nurse and Ivy escorted the group back across campus, and to the Bridge. She bid them good-bye – taking an extra moment with Viktor – and waved to them as they headed back toward the Undercity.

-------

The journey to Silco and Enyd’s apartment was made slower by Viktor’s sickly addition. Usually, Katya and Silco would roof-run, arriving at the door in mere minutes. Walking the gangways and taking the stairs and tunnels meant it took them almost an hour.

Silco had barely put the key in the lock before Enyd wrenched the door open. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her sleeves were rolled up.

“Oh, come here, my love,” she fussed, grabbing for Viktor.

The young boy seemed unperturbed by the fact that this was not his and his sister’s home, willingly sliding his arms around Enyd’s thin shoulders and resting his head against her neck.

“Come in, come in,” she called to her son and Katya as she carried the boy down the hall. “I ran him a warm bath. There’s vegetable soup on the stove.”

She disappeared into the washroom, and Katya finally let out a sigh of relief, allowing her heart to fully settle into the gratitude of Silco and Enyd’s gift. She stepped down the hall to Silco’s bedroom, a warmth blooming across her chest to see the fresh linens on the bed and a tall glass of water on the end table. Setting the rucksack down, Katya turned to Silco, who had followed her, and wrapped her arms around his narrow middle.

“Thank you.”

His limbs enveloped her and he kissed the top of her head.

“Anything for you.”

They stayed that way for a moment longer, before Katya knelt and fished Viktor’s pajamas and crutch out of the sack. She knocked on the bathroom door and poked her head into the steamy room. Viktor sat in the milky bath while Enyd used a cup to pour warm water over his head and back. The older woman looked over her shoulder and smiled as Katya set the clean clothes on the toilet lid, and leaned the crutch against the sink.

“We’ll have you right as rain in no time,” Enyd promised, scratching her fingers across Viktor’s scalp. Katya was sure the sentiment was as much for her as it was for him. And she appreciated it.

After a few more minutes, Katya helped her brother out of the tub and the older woman toweled him dry. Before his pajama’s were put on, Enyd slathered an herbaceous salve across the boy’s chest. Viktor looked uncertainly at his crutch as he adjusted his pajamas against his damp skin. He sheepishly looked up at his sister, and she smiled warmly.

“Come here,” she said, and scooped him up.

Enyd grabbed the crutch and they went to the kitchen. Silco had ladled out four bowls of soup and set them around the table. However, Viktor opted to stay in Katya’s lap, and was only able to take a few slurps of dinner before he started to fall asleep against her shoulder.

“We’ll try again when he wakes up,” Enyd whispered, gathering the bowls, and looking sweetly at the drowsy child.

Katya nodded and awkwardly made onto her feet, carrying her brother to Silco’s bedroom. She tucked him snuggly in the bed and fluffed the pillows under his shoulders. Half asleep, he grabbed for her to stay and she murmured lullabies to him until he fully landed into slumber. She kissed his warm forehead and silently shuffled out of the room.

She stepped into the living room to see Enyd placing a pillow and stack of blankets on the couch. She heard the running of the kitchen tap and the sound of dishes clinking together as Silco washed them.

“Thank you for this, Enyd,” Katya said in a hushed tone, not entirely able to look the other woman in the eye.

“It’s my pleasure, dear,” she said, before walking up to the young woman and cupping her jaw. “You’re alright?”

Katya swallowed and nodded. “This helps. Thank you.”

Enyd grinned back and patted her cheeks as Silco stepped out of the kitchen.

“I’m going to head to the Drop,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

Katya’s face pinched into an expression of reluctant appreciation and went to him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissed him, and then rested her face in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” she murmured again. “I love you.”

Silco held her back, her spine nearly cracking under the strength of his hug.

“I love you, too.”

Gently, they parted and Enyd bussed her son on the cheek before he quietly left the apartment.

“Tea and cards, Katya?” the older woman asked after a beat.

“I would love that.”

-------

Notes: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this little drabble, please comment and reblog! If you'd like to be added to my taglist, hit up my inbox!

Smooches for all of you!!!

Taglist: @dreamyonahill@pinkrose1422@altered-delta@beardedladyqueen

[unbreakabledarkheart]

Fresh New Bedroom Décor Ideas - Platform Beds

Not all beds are created equal. In fact, many are made to be different. In the large furnishing category of bedroom furniture there are a variety of beds available that offer something different and fresh to bedroom décor. They are referred to click here to learn more as platform beds and in this article we’ll take a look at the platform bed, how they are available and what they bring to your bedroom.

Your bedroom décor is ready for a change. It has enjoyed the mattress and box spring combo for many years now but you’re looking for something different, new and fresh. Aren’t all beds the same though? You’d be surprised to know that there are many branches of sub-categories of beds that exist today that came about because of people like you and me that needed something more specific for our space than just a simple metal frame on the floor. In this article we’ll take a look at just one of these sub-categories of beds referred to as the platform bed.

Platform bed designs have actually been around for some time. The platform bed is defined as a bed that has its own platform foundation built into it for use with only a mattress. These beds typically offer a lower profile than other beds and often have space beneath the bed that allows for the use of drawers or drawer systems or other unique features not available with conventional beds. Which now leads us into the foundation for platform beds.

The foundation of these beds can vary from manufacturer to manufacturer. The most common is called the slat roll or slat system. These are a series of wood slats that are strapped or banded together with a polypropylene material that allows for proper spacing. The rails of the platform bed will have a ledge or shelf built into them that the slats rest on. Another form of foundation would be solid panels. These also rest on a ledge but provide the advantage of a solid surface without gaps for mattress manufacturers who require their mattress be on a solid surface.

Platform beds are available in a wide variety of designs and styles. Many are available in solid wood construction. Domestic platform beds that are made in the United States will be made from common woods such as oak, maple, ash, cherry and hickory just to name a few. Typically most import beds you’ll find are made from rubber wood which is close in characteristics to maple in its tensile strength and durability. Rubber wood may sound like its rubbery but the sap that comes from this tree is used in many products such as rubber and latex.

You’ll also find these beds made from metal. Metal platform beds can be made in traditional, transitional and modern bed designs. With metal you can create anything from intricate ornate styled headboards to smoother designs. Metal can also be finished in a wider variety of finish styles and colors. These beds will usually use a steel cross bar system as the foundation and some styles may make use of masonite panels over the top of the cross bars to create a solid foundation.

Since there is no box spring unit used with these beds, the platform that the mattress rests on is made higher. This means that there is ample space beneath the bed to incorporate other design elements into the bed. These may be anything from integrated under bed storage systems to bed lift systems that reveal storage. Manufacturers can get pretty creative when given additional room to work with and platform bed frames offer an interesting canvas to create new ideas in bed design.

In this article we’ve examined a sub-category of beds referred to as platform beds. Platform bed frames are defined as being made to accommodate just a mattress and have their own foundation built in. They’re available in a variety of woods as well as metal with a wide selection of stains of finishes. Whether you need traditional or contemporary platform bed frames come in almost every flavor. So if your bedroom is ready for a fresh start, consider adding a platform bed into your room’s look for a new and different take on a good nights sleep.

[da-floof]

Cross wands-a generically titled comedy/somewhat creepy Hogwarts legacy romance.

AUTHOR NOTE:

First off I don’t own the Harry Potter series this is merely fan work and I don’t own Hogwarts legacy as a franchise OR AS A GAME. No I don’t own the game, no one makes money off of me writing anything so don’t @ me complaining.

“No…”

The pearlescent sheen of Amortentia shudders with your own shaking view, your hands gripping the desk become sweaty.

“No, it can’t be…” you desperately bargain against fate, despite knowing the cards are already well in place.

They’ve been so for many months.

However only now can you admit it.

Your shaking gets worse, you swallow loudly, glancing over at one of the large glass containers-only to see Sebastian standing right behind you in the reflection, silent but clearly unnerved by your flustered demeanour. After all, you can’t remember a time when you felt so powerless, a time when a single emotion had you pressed like a pin into a cork board.

“Hey…you ok?” Sebastian asks after he realises that your looking at him via the reflection.

You merely lower your head and let out a shuddering breath.

No, no I am not.

Sebastian starts to speak, no doubt some useless ‘I’ve got your back buddy, lets talk about it while I teach you illegal curses.’ Spiel.

Pathetic.

How can you even think about such frivolous time wasting when he needs you.

Luckily the moment Sebastian begins to talk, Professor Sharps voice cuts through the room announcing the end of class.

You make a large arcing wand movement, so utterly dramatic that it does the intended job and scares Sebastian back several feet as your potions equipment flings round you in a deterring makeshift shield before shrinking down as it dives back into your bag. With Sebastian stunned you take your chance and leave.

—————————————

“Hey-Hey wait!”

But you won’t.

Sebastian continues to call as you shove through the crowd without mercy.

Imelda squawks as she’s shouldered into the wall, Natty is shoved forward and crashes into Garreth who is almost backhanded out the way when he stops to turn and see what’s happened.

The path clear, you run.

He needs you.

——————————————

Sebastian had gotten through the crowd and was back on your tail.

You aren’t sure how but one thing is for certain, he will not stop you, he is merely the hopeful dog that must be lost as it attempts to follow a stranger for food.

Luckily your galavanting into cave systems and following the keepers trails has kept you very fit, fit enough that you turn sharply at a corridor and make a beeline up to the Astronomy tower.

——————————————————————

Your breaths are becoming ragged.

You knew the steps to the Astronomy tower, had done them several times.

But you’d never flat out run up them.

It doesn’t matter, you’re nearly there, the blue and gold theming coming into view as you round the top of the final staircase, almost dizzy from following the spiralling staircase for so long.

You dart past the classroom, a place you’d usually love to stop and marvel at but not today.

Proffesor Shah barely has time to look up from her desk before your passed her and continuing up the last set of rickety wooden stairs. The wooden slats are passing you by so fast, you feel like you’re ur about to faint-

No, I must get to him!

Finally you reach the Astronomy deck, almost tripping over yourself as the vertical stairs become flat wood. You stagger to the side, letting out a donkey like wheeze before dragging your exhausted body to the railing separating you from a perilous drop. Wincing at your screaming thighs you shakily get both feet on the top railing, strangely well balanced despite the the narrow metal ledge. For a minute you stop to catch your breath, appreciate the wind blowing against your non-standard uniform, tousling your hair.

The view, it’s fantastic, he would love it.

“For fucks sake man will you stop!” You startle, almost losing your balance before unsteadily turning round to face an exhausted Sebastian as he shakily climbs the last few stairs, one hand grasping at a stitch in his abdomen the other pulling himself up on the railing like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“Please!” He begs, pink faced, drool dripping from his mouth as he openly pants like an energised dog.

Gross.

Well, kind of hot but the only one you want to see drooling is still a fair distance away.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on up-oh my heavens!” Proffesor Shah shrieks as she almost trips back down the stairs she’s hurried up, seeing you standing on the ledge.

Before the Indian women can gather herself, you fling out your hands and fall back, letting gravity drag you down.

“Noooo!!” Sebastian wails in heartbreaking despair, his single word ending a sob while Professor Shah lets out her own agonised cry at seeing a student fling themself off the Astronomy tower.

You close your eyes as you drop, knowing that despite the pain they will undoubtedly recover.

Especially since you whip out you broom and mount it in one fluid motion, returning high enough for both others to see you as you speed towards your destination.

Realising what you’ve done, Sebastian let’s out a furious, horse bellow of ‘YOU LITTLE CUNT!!’ While Professor Shah sounds like she’s having a heart attack from your sudden re-emergence.

You swing off your broom as soon as you reach the front entrance to the clock tower and immediately regret stalling for so long as a practise round of crossed wands has started. It seems several students from potions had come straight here. Natty and Eric are duelling Hector and Charlotte.

With a furious cry you storm in, drawing all attention before sending a Depulso that sends Charlotte flying across the room, Levioso Hector straight up into the swinging pendulum with a reverberating clang. You sprint at Eric who’s face screws up in terror before morphing to pain as you drive your fist across his face then shoulder him into Natty sending the girl falling with a shriek.

There!-finally he’s right in front of you!

You can’t help but let out a low raspy gasp as you stagger towards him.

He’s frozen in either confusion or fear and oh god he smells like smoke, the resulting smoke of magic crashing into brick and stone mixed with leather from the quidditch gear he wears when flying.

And rubber from that damn rubber ball he bounces with such skill it-oh Merlin his confidence is so hot.

“…Can I help you.” He finally manages to squeak out, rubber ball rolling across the floor while he stares paralysed at you.

You’re rather paralysed yourself. The clean pale face, curly black hair, kind brown eyes-he’s so damn cute.

“I-I know your still setting up the next round of crossed wands but…I’d like to suggest a matchup?” You manage to say, stumbling over your words as you gaze into those deep eyes.

He nods dumbly, soft lips parted.

Cute.

Swallowing your fear you step towards him, you tower over him by nearly an entire foot but he isn’t scared, house of the brave and it suits him. Slowly you raise your hand and clasp his smaller one in it.

“I was thinking…me and you? Maybe at Hogsmeade sometime?” You say, desperately trying not to let your voice shake.

There’s a brief moment as he glances at your combined hands before he slowly closes his fingers around yours. Then he smiles at you.

“I’d like that.” He says softly.

Slowly, with small movements your heads come together until you’re inches away from a kiss-

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!?”

Unfortunately your tender moment with Lucan distracted you from hearing Sebastian catch up with you once more and you turn around straight into a stupefy.

You get a weeks detention. Sebastian ends up with a total of four weeks. A week for every time he attacks you in the hallways over the following week. However it isn’t the only thing that happens continually that week.

Natty ‘accidentally’ uses her Animagus form and slams her back hooves into you with enough force to send you into the black lake While your standing on the boardwalk. Imelda curses your broom. Charlotte jinx’s you in charms, Hector sends you dirty looks and Garreth tries to poison you but stops at the last minute before you drink your ‘pumpkin juice’ because you comment that you like his hair.

He says he thinks what you did was mean through his sobs but is willing to forgive you because he’s never received such validation.

Sad.

Regardless, as you stare into Lucans warm brown eyes while you share a smoothie in a little cafe in Hogsmeade, you think it was worth it.

Of course you can’t go much further then a snog because Professor Weasley kindly informed you that ‘He’s twelve and if it goes further then kissing I’ll rip your balls off and feed them to the Kneazles’ all while managing that gentle smile of hers.

But hey, you’ve promised him at some point you’ll cross wands.

[doom-dreaming]

Blue Team Beach House: Overview

So you're a supersoldier in the UNSC and you're being ordered to take mandatory R&R and for the first time in his life, your squad leader doesn't finagle some way to avoid this. But you're sick of being shipped off to places that aren't built for you (because there was that one time you broke a whole couch) but the UNSC hasn't gone out of its way to make a vacation resort for Spartans (because when do they ever go on vacation, right? Ha.) And you're sitting on a lifetime of hazard pay, more money than you know what to do with, but hey...actually, this time you do know what to do with it. You're gonna build a house on the prettiest white sand beach in the galaxy, specifically for you and your Spartan siblings because if the brass is forcing you to take some shore leave, then goddamn it, you're gonna take that literally.

Welcome to the (actual, official) series of Blue Team Beach House posts. If you made it through that whole opening paragraph and still don't know what I'm talking about: I want Blue Team to fucking relax, so I imagined a (beautiful, unrealistic) timeline in which they'd be able to custom-build a vacation home to use when they need a break (and to eventually retire to? Like I said, unrealistic).

The idea is that they'd do their best to tailor it to their own preferences and truly make a place designed by and for Spartans. And then I started thinking about this so hard I had to build the dang thing in Sims. So that's what this is. It's me showing off pics of a fun beach house build and bullshitting about why the architecture and design are (mostly) Spartan-Approved(tm) based on what we know about them from Halo canon. And if you're wondering, yeah, I do things like this for fun more frequently than you'd think.

CONSIDERATION 1: LOCATION

Spartans are always thinking strategy. They can't turn it off. So naturally, if they were making a place where they'd be relaxing - somewhere they'd have their guard down - they'd want it to be naturally, geographically safeguarded, in case there were an attack (hey, you never know). What's better than a narrow strip of land from the front and a reef in the back to discourage access from the water? They wanted to have an anti-aircraft missile system on the roof, but their design team said no. They settled for solar panels instead. (Note that the roof edging the third floor is also made of solar paneling. We know green energy is standard in the 26th century.)

CONSIDERATION 2: FUNCTIONAL ARCHITECTURE AND EFFICIENT USE OF SPACE

They might have the funds to make this a reality, but that doesn't mean they're going to build superfluous balconies when they can just use the roofs of the floors below for deck space. It keeps things compact without being cramped.

Also, see those pretty wood slat facade pieces on the corners of the first and second floor? Not only are they a nice design touch, but they're also makeshift ladders. Need to get to the roof very quickly from the outside? Climb the fucking walls. Let's be honest, they'd do this for fun.

CONSIDERATION 3: OUTDOOR SOCIAL AREAS

It's canon that John is a little claustrophobic. Yeah, he can fight it off, but he doesn't like spaces that are too small for him. I'd venture a guess that this is common for most Spartans, just by virtue of them being nearly seven feet tall. That said, given the options, I think they'd much rather be outside than inside, even if that inside was built to their standards of comfort. What's better than a nice big porch to hang out on and enjoy the gorgeous tropical weather?

Glass railings keep their view open and unobstructed - great for defense (again, you never know). The furniture is sturdy, either sculpted metal or durable wood (with the exception of some pieces that don't have to support a Spartan's-worth of weight). These themes will show up in other areas of the house, too.

Oh, and the vertical wall planter in the corner? Strawberries. What's better than a self-sustaining food source to cut down on trips into the city for groceries? This is only the tip of the iceberg on edible plants, by the way. Just wait.

Things stay well-lit at night, because even though they can see near-perfectly in the dark, it's easier to relax when you know what you're looking at. And while those palm trees are nice landscaping, they're also great for climbing (and coconuts).

[bloomspellwritings]

[Case Study of Vanitas] suit of swords

A sword is still in her hand, and a bitter call in her heart. For a moment, a blink of an eye, Dominique questions. Misha said everyone against them must be fought. She has to do it, or she'd be betraying yet another's expectations of her.

Who is the enemy?

What does she want to do?

For anyone coming to the manga later, chapter 54 originally published just the first fifteen pages or so, then there was about two months where no update came. This ficlet started within that space mostly as an excuse to get back into basic writing after years of blocks, but was also me really wanting Domi to finally fight with a sword. When the manga continued I simply let the project drop and forgot about it. But I've dusted off the draft in hopes of getting constructive criticism to my action scenes, and to also possibly end my own hiatus of sorts. The title comes from a minor arcana within tarot reading. I thought the associations with it fit Domi's character, so it gets the honour of helping me not have to think of a title of my own.

-=-=-=-=-=-

-=-=-=-=-=-

They are surrounded, above and below. Mikhail's crowd of afflicted vampires normally would not be enough to stop a royal guard and the Hellfire Witch, but Dominique still wavers where she stands, and Jeanne's gauntlet hangs dead upon her arm.

The clinking of chains rings through the air. Dominique's eyes shift to Mikhail, clutching his wrist as his automaton tugs at the hem of his clothes. She wonders briefly if he'd dropped his grimoire or if a metallic tail had struck it from him. Though the answer doesn't matter, as he lets the mechanical dog whisk him away, face twisted in pain.

Despite everything, at the sight of the boy's tears, she wants to reach for him, to tell him she understands – she's lonely, too.

Her eyes move to Noé, injured arm useless as the other holds Vanitas close, his legs trying to shift them away from circling attackers.

A sword is still in her hand, and a bitter call in her heart. In front of her, Jeanne swings the gauntlet with all her strength to disperse the crowd, even as the vampires lunge at her over and over.

For a moment, a blink of an eye, Dominique questions. Misha said everyone against them must be fought. She has to do it, or she'd be betraying yet another's expectations of her. The echoes of her family belittling her, of how she'd hurt Louis, never leave her. But now, like a struck match flaring, she remembers wanting to save Jeanne even in the face of Veronica's anger, she remembers how Noé wanted her to be more like herself as she'd grasped at her cut hair.

She looks at Jeanne, unbuckling straps as crimson eyes glance from Dominique to the crowd.

Who is the enemy?

What does she want to do?

She charges forward, Jeanne only has time to brace her feet and gasp as Dominique passes her. A sweep of the sword is enough to make the few vampires on the tracks flinch away. Quickly, she uses the edge of the blade and her arm as a shield, but it's not enough. A man bites her forearm, fangs piercing through cloth down to skin. A woman tries to push past her, clawed hands catching at her loose hair and epaulets. Dominique's arm trembles as she tries to hold steady. These are innocent people, she doesn't want the sword to cut through them.

Clattering and a shudder through the coaster's structure is the only warning she has of the gauntlet being off before Jeanne calls, “Get back!”

She overestimates her step and her heel slips between wooden slats. Reflexively her hand grabs the guard rail as she falls. The floodlights glint off a rapier thrust in the space between the attackers' heads.

It must have come from that giant pack she carries, Dominique thinks as she untangles her legs and pulls herself up.

Jeanne doesn't look back as she kicks a man away and says, “I can fight on my own! Go!”

Dominique wants to say something more, anything better than the hatred she'd spat earlier, but knows she doesn't have time. Thank you is lost to the noise. She runs further along the incline and grasps the rail with both hands. A chill runs through her arms to her clenched fingers.

She needs to jump.

Her breath quickens as she pleads with herself that this time is different. She can see Noé far on the ground, up and fighting off the mob surrounding him, but he doesn't stray far from Vanitas's body. He's in danger of being overwhelmed if someone doesn't help him.

Dominique grits her teeth, tenses her legs, and swings out over the rail. Rain stings her face – had that happened last time? She can't remember – before her heels crack into the ground from an impact that would have broken a human's ankles. She springs up and runs to the swarm in front of her, as the Book's page flutter audibly in a nonexistent wind.

Noé backs away from the crowd, his legs tremble and he crouches over Vanitas, cornered like an animal. Dominique can see his chest move like a bellows before she screams his name, a glimpse of white and crimson looks back at her before he ducks. She arcs her sword over him and his charge, spins on her feet to make the other vampires cower away again.

She fumbles on her heels and barely thinking kicks off her shoes. Rainwater chills her stockings but she can't risk any instability. Noé shouts her name, but she doesn't look back. The people pulled into this conflict don't know how to fight, but they are pulled by a child's strings to do so. She only has to keep them away from her.

She dances around the mass aggression as best she can. Her heart pounds at her throat and breath grows sharp, her gaze flicks between the crowd and Noé at the edge of her vision; he's up again, Vanitas held close in a crude sling of his arms. She aims at legs and spaces between torsos, anywhere that could sting but heal. Once she may have even struck someone in the head with the pommel of her sword, but she can't be sure.

An escalating whine like electricity building within machinery rises from the Book, still fluttering wildly. Suddenly, it sounds like the world itself shatters and the crowd collapses. Dominique freezes mid-parry, panting in the silence. She looks over the people, murmuring as if they're merely asleep now, and sees starlight glimmer on the ground. The bulbs of the park's streetlights had broken in that final snap of energy, she realizes, and glances back where Mikhail's book fell. The grimoire sits on the dirtied walkway like a lost brochure, still as raindrops blot its blank pages. It is silent and painfully normal.

A thud makes Dominique look back to see Noé half-collapsed on the ground, Vanitas held haphazardly in his lap. She scans briefly around the quiet of the park, then walks to him, falls to her knees and leans her side against his back. She should probably care about the mud seeping through her stockings, but it doesn't seem to matter now.

“Domi... Thank you,” Noé can barely speak through his own exhaustion, words come beneath exhalations. “Thank you, for being here, for saving me.”

Is that what she'd done? Now that the fight is over, it feels like she'd never known what to do, only stumbling from moment to moment on split-second whims. She closes her eyes and tries to catch her breath, cheek pressed between Noé's shoulder blades.

Dominique hears footsteps approaching, but stays resting where she is. It's only Jeanne, also tired but steadier than the rest of them.

Jeanne takes a deep breath. “Now then,” she sighs, “what happened here?”

Noé is quiet a moment, inhales sharply before he speaks. “That boy was Mikhail, he's also kin of the Blue Moon. He took Domi hostage to lure us both out here, and get me to drink Vanitas's blood. He wanted to take Vanitas away with him.” His voice stutters, grows faster. “I tried to, I almost did because Domi would have – I didn't know what to do! I lost control, I attacked first and Vanitas fought back! It's no one's fault!”

Jeanne waits, Dominique can see her expression above them, patiently neutral. When Noé says nothing more, she mutters to herself how that raised more questions than it answered. She drops to one knee and holds out her hands. “I can take him now.”

Dominique can feel the way Noé freezes. “Huh?” leaves his mouth so quietly she barely hears it, almost as if it were squeezed from his chest.

“I'll go to Count Orlock's and ask for directions to the nearest hospital that hopefully won't ask too many questions. I can travel faster than you or Lady Dominique right now. Vanitas needs better help than any of us can give.”

And beyond Noé's adrenaline-beating pulse, Dominique can hear it; even unconscious, Vanitas's body drags air into his lungs and his heart hammers erratically. He's along a precipice, and she can't guess which way he'll fall.

Noé jerks back, accidentally nudging Domi off him. She can even hear one of his shoes scrape the dirt as he tries to move further away.

“You can't!” He exclaims. “He doesn't want strangers prodding at him!”

Jeanne's eyes glance over Vanitas as if she's clicking puzzle pieces together, before she looks straight at Noé again. Her voice is quiet but blunt. “His discomfort isn't important right now. If you or I had a choice on how to die, it wouldn't be in this park.”

Even though Domi knows the words weren't meant for her, they still choke her and prick at her eyes, and she looks away in shame.

“Vanitas said he'd rather die than be examined by a stranger,” Noé says, hesistant and wavering. “I heard him say it only days ago.”

Jeanne replies gently, “He can hate me for the rest of his life after he wakes, then.”

Aside from rapid breathing, Noé is silent. His fingers tangle in black hair and his arm tightens around Vanitas's coat as Jeanne waits, the firm set of her jaw the only sign she won't be patient much longer. Dominique's eyes flick between the two and their stubborn stalemate. They talk as if they barely know each other she idly thinks before she breathes Noé's name.

His face snaps back to her. His wild eyes remind her so much of the night Louis died, the memory strikes through her heart like a pin. She doesn't care about Vanitas, she thinks he's selfish and awful, but she doesn't want him to die, either. She needs to get Noé out of whatever trap between logic and loyalty he's spiralling into.

All she can say is, “You can trust her.”

Noé blinks, nods, and finally, finally loosens his vice grip on the human in his arms. Jeanne's hands slips between the gaps of their bodies and takes Vanitas, cradling him close; the motion barely pulls a strained gasp from him. Similar moans around her draws Dominique's attention away to the crowd she'd almost forgotten. Under faint city lights, she can glimpse other vampires shifting into wakefulness, a scattered few twitch their hands and arms against the pattering rain. Amidst that she half-hears Noé giving information that Vanitas took two shots of the same drug the chasseurs use, though he isn't sure what that is, or where the empty syringes are to give to doctors who may know.

Dominique calls Jeanne's name and the woman faces her. For a fraction of a second, she wants to cower from someone so much stronger than her, who had shaken off harsh words as if they were nothing. Instead Dominique raises her head high. “I hope we can talk later,” she says, too many apologies within her and not enough time to sort any of them into words. But she promises herself she will try. Tonight won't become another moment she hides away as if that means it never happened.

Jeanne nods. “Of course, Lady Dominique.” Then with only a few long strides, she's gone with barely a draft to disturb the misty air.

“I'm sorry, Domi,” Noé says, over and over in the quiet.

“It's fine, it's alright,” she whispers after each apology, until they can almost believe it.

Dominique rests against Noé again. He's wrung out and slouched, but braces himself to support her weight. The other vampires push up onto elbows and knees, mumbling questions, but the pair don't move.

“I was awful,” suddenly rumbles through Domi's ears.

“No, you weren't.” she tells Noé, and can feel through his shoulders how immediately he shakes his head.

“I lost control of myself,” he admonishes.  “I became a monster.”

Domi presses closer to him. If he won't listen, hopefully her presence will show she won't leave him, no matter what he thinks of himself.

Noé's words come out wet and choked. “I let myself become that thing and didn't care.”

Dominique closes her eyes. Unbidden she remembers Noé's face halfway down her fall, and holding a little girl back from her own pain.

Her only response to Noé's self-hatred is to say she understands.

She thinks she should pick up her shoes from wherever they are in the mud, as the crowd around her wonders how they all got here, but her body is too heavy and tired to do so yet. It's fine if she rests a moment more.