#cellablaise

[asphodellic]

(some lightheartedness for @punky-thera to help get through the day.)

“God, men are fucking useless,” is the first thing Cella says as she comes through the front door and drops her gym bag on the couch before flopping down onto it herself. 

Blaise looks up from his laptop to give her a curious expression and a sardonic eyebrow, which makes her grin at him. 

“Present company excluded, obviously,” she adds. Cella knows she’s lucky. She’s sore and tired from a full day of work, but the living room looks spotless, and she can smell dinner cooking in the oven, so she doesn’t even have to think about it. Just like always. 

Her husband is the best husband. 

‘What did some dumb guy do now?’ Blaise signs to her.

Cella groans. “So remember Jenna, who I used to train? She had a baby a couple months ago, and she came back in today to pick up her training because her husband thinks she’s put on too much weight. Literally just brought another human into the world, but she’s not dropping those baby pounds fast enough for Shitty McDouchenozzle, apparently. So I tell her that she looks fine, but I do my job, right? And then she starts telling me about how he isn’t doing any housework or anything because since she’s on maternity leave, she’s around more and should do it. Not like she’s recovering from child birth or taking care of their newborn or anything.” 

‘Ugh. What an asshole.’

“Right? And you could tell she was pissed about it, but she just kept brushing it off like ‘but all husbands are like that, right?’.” 

Blaise grins at that. ‘And what did you tell her?’

“That she needs to aim fucking higher, basically. I mean I didn’t want to brag too much about how good I have it because obviously I got the best boy, but still.” 

‘I don’t get why some people are the way they are.’

“Neither do I. I hear so many ladies gossiping about their fuckboy husbands at the gym, and I just don’t get it. I want to strip naked and scream ‘LEAVE HIM, JANET!’ while I run through the elliptical room.” 

‘Can I come watch? For moral support, of course.’

“Of course,” Cella replies with a smirk. “Anyway, thanks for not being useless and complaining about my weight.” 

‘And thank you for not cheating on me with some guy named Chad because I’m ‘too nice’ and ‘can’t talk’.’ It’s amazing how Cella can hear the air quotes which Blaise, in fact, can’t talk. Or do the air quotes when his fingers are busy. 

Fuck she loves this man. 

“My pleasure, darling. Dinner soon?” 

‘Fifteen minutes, probably.’

“Baller. I’m gonna shower. I smell like sweat and heterosexual disappointment.”

‘I still love you. Come kiss me.’

Cella grins and gets up, making a pit stop at Blaise’s chair to do just that. 

[asphodellic]

The bright lights and the thunderous roar of the crowd lift Cella up in a way she never would have expected. There’s just such a rush from pouring her heart out on stage night after night and feeling the waves of love from the audience as they sing and scream and clap along. 

She’s up there with here best friends, and her one true love, and it just feels like she’s flying. 

They wrap up one song, and in the wake of the screams of the crowd, Ed, Zane, and Arkiem head off the stage for a bit. The lights go down and a single spotlight illuminates Blaise at the drums. 

Cella sits at the edge of the stage and pushes hair out of her face. 

There’s few better sights than her husband in his element. 

For someone so quiet, the boy can wail on the drums.

The audience screams their hearts out while Blaise shows off, and Cella just grins, as caught up in it as they are, even though she’s seen this a hundred times. 

He gets a standing ovation when he’s done, because he’s amazing, and the lights come back up. Cella stands and claps along with everyone else. “I just love to look at him,” she says into her mic, and when Blaise blows her a kiss, the crowd erupts into a chorus of ‘awwww’s.

She’s never been ashamed to declare how much she cares about her husband, and Cella had Blaise before she had any of this other stuff, so she doesn’t see any reason to pretend like she’s not madly in love with him now.

Arkiem, Zane, and Ed file back on stage, and Cella pops over to give Blaise a quick kiss before the next song. She ruffles Arkiem’s hair and winks at Ed and Zane because none of this means anything without her family.

[asphodellic]

“all that matters is how you look at him.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Cella says, making a face and downing the rest of her drink. “I’m not you with the soppy eyes.” 

“Uh huh,” Arkiem replies. “Sure. Right. You never gaze at him like he’s your whole fucking world or anything.” 

“Fuck off.” 

But she can’t really argue. Blaise is across the mess hall, having a conversation with Nic that looks one sided, though it’s clear to see that they’re both amused by whatever they’re talking about. Cella’s eyes keep sliding to Blaise, and she fucking knows she keeps smiling like an idiot, just to see her boyfriend enjoying himself. 

When did she turn into such a sap?

“There’s nothing wrong with it, yknow. You deserve to be happy.” 

And shit, Cella thought that when they bought this ship and took their futures into their own hands, she was as happy as she would ever be, but being with Blaise is even better, and it’s weird and kinda great at the same time. 

She smiles and pours another drink, toasting Arkiem. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” And then, just because she’s rude to the ones she cares about, she smirks. “So when are you going to tell Nic why you look at him like that?” 

Arkiem chokes on his drink, and she feels vindicated. 

[asphodellic]

Blaise falls. 

Blaise falls, and for a moment, Cella just stares. His body, limp and lifeless, upright one minute and then falling to the ground the next. No blood, no scar even, just the light fading from his eyes and Zethrian pulling his hand back, still smoking from his attack. 

It was meant for her. She’d seen the way he was looking at her, the way he walked forward, eyes intent, murder on his mind. She alone had stood in front of him, the power of the true Gods simmering in her blood. They saw out of her eyes and they guided her hands, and he knew that by striking a blow against her, he would land a blow against them. 

And then--Blaise. 

Good, kind Blaise, who didn’t deserve any of this. Who deserved better than her, some vessel with an attitude problem and no future. Who had put himself solidly between her and the false god and had taken the blow that was meant to end this battle once and for all. 

For a moment, Cella just stares. 

And then she screams. 

She screams her fury and her sadness and her loss, and her eyes blaze with her own power. The Gods are still in there, of course, they won’t leave until they’re satisfied, but Cella isn’t theirs in this moment. 

In this moment, she’s Blaise’s, and she can’t stand to see him lying there like that. 

Zethrian laughs. “Foolish boy. This is not a war for mortals. This is between Gods and the puppets of Gods, so it would seem.” 

“You are not a god,” Cella says. “You’re a dead man.” 

“You think you can best me?” Zethrian scoffs. “With what?” 

She doesn’t think. She picks up her sword from the ground, curling her fingers around the hilt, so tight they go bloodless. And then she’s moving, body following training it had before this started. She runs, she ducks, she lunges, and buries her blade right in Zethrian’s chest. 

For a moment, nothing happens, and then fire. Godly white and searing hot, running from her fingertips to the hilt of the sword and down, turning the blade into a beacon where its buried. 

Zethrian screams this time, pain and disbelief. “No!” he roars. “No! You can’t do this! NO!” 

He reaches to wrench the blade from his chest, but his hands turn to ash when he touches it. He begins to burn, flames licking around the edges of him until he’s nothing. Just dust carried away on the wind. 

The blade clatters to the stone of the temple, and Cella stares at it, unseeing. 

She’s killed him, but Blaise is still dead. 

Inside her head--voices. 

“I did not think it would be that easy.” 

“He was greatly weakened, and we have rarely been stronger.” 

“Is he gone for good, Yvelle?” 

“Yes. The record says it is so.” 

“Our vessel.” The voice is cool and soothing, but Cella is numb to it. “You have done so well. We will return you to your home. We will let you rest.” 

“No.” The word tears itself out of her throat, ragged and sharp. “I don’t want to rest. I want Blaise back.” 

Silence. “The mortal is dead. No one could have survived a blast from--” 

“You’re Gods!” Cella snaps. “Don’t tell me he’s gone. You can do anything. I’ve seen you do it. You’ve done it through me! Do not tell me he’s gone.” 

“There is nothing--” 

“I have been your hands. I have been your eyes. I have worked your fucking wonders in this world and put you back in your fucking temples. I did what you asked me to, and no one helped me but him. When I would have given up and told you all to go fuck yourselves, he told me to keep going. He is the brightest thing in this fucking world, and you will bring him back to me, or I’ll...” Cella trails off, not even sure what she’ll do. She’s crying, tears sliding hot and fast down her face. To be at the end of this journey and not have Blaise is unbearable, unthinkable. 

“Wait.” 

“Linnea.” 

“She has done us a great service. Without her, we would be nothing. We can do this for her. I can do this for her. Cella. Go to him. I will call him home to you.” 

Linnea, the Goddess of Death and Darkness, her voice like a cool spring, her power flowing through Cella’s veins like ice. Cella goes to Blaise’s body, and she sits hard, pulling him into her lap. Her tears splash onto that face that she knows so well. His eyes stare, sightless, and she closes them with shaking hands, letting out a harsh breath. “What do I do?” 

“Place your hand over his heart,” Linnea says in her mind. “And call him home with your own. I will do the rest.” 

Cella obeys, eyes shut tight, calling to the only person she’s ever loved with as much power as she can muster. She’s so tired. She’s sore and worn out, and she wants her body to be her own again, but she’d sacrifice whatever she had to to get Blaise back. 

Please, Blaise. Please, please, please. Come back to me. I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to. Please come back. Please. 

Her hands glow with a grey tinged light, and a loud, droning hum fills her head until she thinks it will burst with the sound. And then--faintly, under her palm, a heartbeat. Slow and stuttering at first, but then steady and strong. Alive. 

Cella’s eyes fly open, and she gasps when she looks down to see Blaise looking up at her. He lifts a shaky hand and touches her face. You’re alive, flashes across her mind in his familiar voice, and she sobs. 

It’s a while before she has control over herself, and sometime during her breakdown, the Gods leave her. When she wipes her eyes and kisses Blaise, it’s just the two of them, for the first time since they met, and it’s an experience Cella will never forget. 

[asphodellic]

OC Kiss Week: Day 2

@punky-thera

Cella hums along to the cascading piano music as she wipes down the bar at the end of her shift. The lounge is closed for the night, and she and Blaise are the last ones left, like always. She’s not sure anymore which of them is lingering to keep the other company, but honestly it doesn’t matter. His music is a great addition to her closing routine, and she likes the perks of having him walk her home at the end of the night. 

She tosses the rag into the wash pile and then makes her way over to the piano, smiling slowly. “That’s pretty,” she says. “Working on something new?” 

The music stops as Blaise lifts his hands to answer her. ‘You’re pretty,’ he signs with a grin. ‘Just messing around, really.’

Cella leans against the piano, admiring Blaise’s elegant hands. On impulse, she catches one of them and presses her mouth to his palm, smirking when he blushes lightly. 

Of course, Blaise is an expert in giving as good as he gets, and he uses her hold on his hand to tug her into his lap. ‘All done?’ he asks. 

She nods, leaning her forehead to his for a moment. “All done. Walk me home?” 

‘Of course.’ 

They hold hands as they walk the few blocks to Cella and Arkiem’s apartment together, and once they’re at the door, Cella hauls Blaise in for a proper goodnight kiss. His hands slide down her back to her ass, and she hums, pleased, as she deepens the kiss. 

They both know that ‘walk me home’ is about to turn into ‘stay the night’, and Cella doesn’t even have to ask as she opens the door as he follows her inside.

[asphodellic]

“Blaise, we’re going to be late,” Cella calls, striding from the bathroom into their sitting room. She grabs her clutch and downs a shot of firewhiskey, something to make sure she gets through the night of pomp and annoyance that this banquet is sure to be. The Ministry of Magic loves a chance to throw a party, already holding a Christmas banquet even though it’s still early December, and as two of the top Aurors in the DMLE, Cella and Blaise have been basically ordered to attend.

“We’re not,” Blaise replies in her head. “And would you complain if we were?” 

She grins and turns to see him emerge from their bedroom. He cleans up so fucking nice, wearing a smart, charcoal grey Muggle suit that shows off the lean lines of his body. His hair is tied back in a neat ponytail, and she knows from experience that his wand will be holstered against his wrist. 

While she eyes him, he’s staring at her with that look of awe he gets sometimes. Cella would assume it’s just the dress, a low cut, slinky, dark green number that shows off a good amount of cleavage and most of one leg being flashed from the split up the side of the dress, but he looks at her that way even when she’s just sitting around in her pajamas. 

He steps towards her and takes her hand in his, bowing before kissing the back of it. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “Always, of course, but that dress...” 

Cella laughs and pulls him closer so she can kiss him firmly. “You don’t look so bad yourself, husband.” She grins, reaching down with both hands to cup his ass through his trousers. “We could just skip this thing, you know. See how much better the dress looks on the floor.” 

“Tempting,” Blaise says, laughing his silent laugh. “But we might get fired if we don’t show up.” 

“They wouldn’t fire us. We’re too good at our jobs.” Cella drags him a bit closer, one eyebrow arched. 

“True, but we still have to go.” 

“Alright, alright.” The sigh she heaves is purposefully dramatic. 

Blaise kisses her once more on the mouth and then on the forehead. “Don’t worry, darling. That dress will be on the floor before the end of the night.” 

“Promise?” Cella grins. 

The hand that skims up her thigh answers the question well enough. 

[asphodellic]

❛ is that a threat or are you flirting with me. ❜

“Oh, shit,” Ed mutters, leaning closer to Zane. “He’s dead.” 

Zane nods. “Dead. He’s deader than dead. He’s so fucked it’s not even funny.” 

Cella is standing in front of their latest foe, some cocky asshole in too much spandex with an obvious ego problem, and, admittedly, good taste in women judging from how he’s looking at Cella. 

For her part, Cella looks like she’s going to commit a murder, anger flashing in her eyes. Unbeknownst to Ed and Zane, a voice drifts across Cella’s mind: ‘I don’t think you should kill him’.

Her eyes glow purple with her power, and Cella cracks her knuckles. “I’m not going to kill him. He can survive without his dick, can’t he?” 

The guy pales, Zane chokes on a laugh, and Cella considers the question answered.

[asphodellic]

The Tower's too big to decorate but the Titans decorate the living room at least. The core five had been called away by an alert, leaving Blaise to finish hanging garland and the like. By the time they get back, tired but victorious, he's finished putting everything away. His smile is soft when he sees them come in. it's Zane that spots the mistletoe he's under. He pushes Cella toward him with a grin, ignoring her protests before running off. Blaise just smiles & tips her head up for a kiss.

Traditions are silly is what she always tells herself. Getting used to anything is a terrible idea because holding onto things is impossible. Except maybe it isn’t. She’s had her team for years now, and now she has...this.

Cella rolls her eyes at Zane’s shoving and quirks a smirk at Blaise before kissing him back, fingers sliding momentarily into his hair. 

Ed wolfwhistles from somewhere near the door, and Cella flicks her fingers to send a pillow flying towards his face.