#rumbles in the distance don’t bother me. sheet lighting is fine

[danielnelsen]

mmmmm thunder bad

[love4buckybarnes]

PROMISES

Summary: Bucky and Y/N we’re married and love. But differences had set them apart. A promise, one of many they had made, was broken, threatening the love between them.

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Warnings: car accident, minor injuries, mention of pregnancy complications, and angst. Happy fluff ending.

A/N: Let me know what you think of this one. The title is a bit questionable so if you have one that you’d like to share, I’ll credit you :).

They were both madly in love. When they first saw each other, the world stood still. Cheesy, but it was true. At least that’s what they would tell everybody of how they met. Their romance story is one you would read from a book or see in a movie. Bucky knew Y/N was the one, so he got on one knee and asked her to marry him. The day he proposed and when they made their vows and promises, were the most memorable moments together. Ones they could never forget.

Time went by and what appeared like the perfect happy couple turned upside down. Around family and friends, they put on a fake persona. Behind closed doors, the endless fighting and tension caused a rift between them. It started when they were trying for a family. Sometimes things aren’t just handed out freely to everyone. Y/N experienced fertility issues. It was stressful for the both of them. Most fights were over something small which would blow up out of proportion. Some nights they made up, and some nights, one would end up on the couch. Sometimes they wondered if they should give up.

Tonight was supposed to be important. Y/N had all of it planned out for the special occasion. She made reservations at their favorite restaurant. Bucky promised he would be there. Despite everything, she still loved him all the same. She wondered if he still loved her .

She sat there alone. The stares and looks of the people around her was unsettling and made her embarrassed. Y/N had been all dressed up and makeup done. Eventually, she had enough of waiting and stormed out.

The door to their apartment swung open. Bucky has been sitting at the table with his face scrunched up in concentration. He couldn’t even bother to look up.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Y/N spat out each name, crossing her arms. She was furious.

Bucky glanced up. “Hi,” he said quickly, before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.

This made her tick even more. She marched over to where he sat and slammed the laptop shut.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” Bucky exclaimed, standing up. The chair fell backwards to the floor with a loud bang. “Why would you do that? I didn’t save what I was working on.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “Do you remember where you were supposed to be tonight?”

Bucky thought for a minute. After remembering and realized his mistake, he cursed. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

She stepped closer to his face. “You promised you were going to be there.”

“Sam needed me to work on this mission. It’s important. I got wrapped up in it.”

“So this was more important than what we had planned?”

“No, I did not say that. Now you’re just putting words in my mouth,” he fought back.

“Gosh, why can’t you just try to put in a little more effort?” She hadn’t noticed the tears rolling down her face.

“Me try? How about you?” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “You have everything to do with this chaos of whatever this is just as much as I do. In fact, it’s all you. It’s all because of you!”

Y/N felt like someone cut into her chest with a blade and ripped her heart out. She always thought it was her fault. And now he blamed her, too. This has been the last straw. “Oh wow, well, thanks for the clarification I needed to know.”

“Where are you going?” he asked in a frantic tone when she headed towards the door.

She paused in her tracks to answer him. “I need to go. I can’t be here. Especially knowing what you really think of me.”

Bucky winced at her words and flinched at the loud thud she made when she left. The palm of his hand brushed over his face. He regretted what he said. He never blamed her. Whether she knew it or not, his love for her has been the same since they have met.

Thunder rumbled, and lightning dashed across the dreary night sky. Y/N stepped out into the pouring rain. She reached the car parked across the street. Before she could get in, Bucky stepped in front of her, blocking her from going any further. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Please don’t go,” Bucky begged. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

Y/N avoided his eyes and yanked away from his grasp. She was so angry, she didn’t know what to believe anymore. “Yeah well, you have a funny way of showing it.” She got in, locking the door. He knocked on the window. Ignoring him, she drove off. Her mind swirled and her eyes hazy with tears. She wasn’t sure when she would come back, or if she would return at all.

Bucky saw it happen right in front of him. He watched her drive off. Turning around to go inside to get out of the rain, he heard the tires from afar screech against the concrete. He looked back just in time to see the vehicle swerving. The slippery road caused the car to skid across the road. It hit a curb, tumbled over and rolled a few feet away.

He could hear his heart pound wildly in his ears, stomach turned in knots. He felt as if his airway were being constricted. Bucky didn’t feel his legs carry him over there, not caring he was soaking wet. All he cared about was her.

Darkness spotted her vision. A blurry figure appeared in front of her. Even through fogged vision, she recognized who it was.

“Baby?” Bucky croaked out, his voice soft, trying to keep himself calm. Inside, he was all but calm. He had to keep the sheer panic under control so he could help her. “Stay with me, okay? I’m going to pull you out.”

“Bucky?” she hissed out in pain.

“I’m here, Doll,” he said reassuringly.

Her eyes fluttered. A loud snap in her ear stirred her back to consciousness.

“Don’t close your eyes, love,” he pleaded. “Just focus on me, okay? Keep them on me.” He watched her fight herself from passing out. His hand reached in to unbuckle the seatbelt that held her to the seat. With ease, he unhinged the door, that was already hanging off the rest of the way. He carefully maneuvered Y/N from the car and set her down on the ground. He trembled as he dialed 911.

When he looked back down, she was unconscious. Blood seeped from the gash on her forehead. He slapped gently on her cheeks to get her to wake up, but she was out cold. Bucky felt like his whole world was shutting down. He couldn’t contain the sobs escaping his throat. He rarely cried. He’s only ever shed tears a couple of times in front of her. Once when they first said I love you and when they said their vows.

Guilt devoured his entire being. The whole time they’ve been together since being married, had been spent with fighting instead of loving each other. All he ever truly wanted was for the both of them to be happy. But he let the blaze consume them.

Hearing sirens wailing in the distance, relief released from Bucky. Flashes of bright blue lights got closer, and soon the EMTs were there to help. They placed a brace to keep her head and neck supported in case there was an injury before putting her on the stretcher. For Bucky, it was all in slow motion. He blocked out the EMT asking him questions, jumping into the back of the ambulance.

At the hospital, he tried following her into the emergency room, but wasn’t allowed to. He paced around outside. His foot tapped on the tile uncontrollably, the nerves wracking his mind. He held his head between his knees to keep himself from having a panic attack.

Couple of hours later, the nurse stepped out to talk to him. “James?” she called out.

He jumped up hearing his name. His jaw clenched as he waited to hear what she had to say.

“Your wife is going to be fine. She has a concussion, a few stitches, and a fracture in her collarbone ,” she started to say. He let out the deep breath he has been holding in. “The baby is also fine.”

Bucky whipped his head up, confused. “The what?!”

“Oh, maybe you didn’t know, but she’s pregnant,” the nurse clarified. “Luckily, the baby doesn’t have a scratch.”

Now he understood. Why it was so important to be there at the restaurant, and why she was so upset about it. The guilt he felt engulfed him more. He needed to figure out how to make it up to her. Bucky swore to himself he would never disappoint her again and to keep all the promises he makes.

Annoying constant beep sounds lulled Y/N out of her sleep. Vivid white blinded her vision as she came to. She groaned at the pounding pain in her head. Her fingers twitched, gripping the sheets. Eyes opened to the ivory room. Her face scrunched up, trying to remember what happened and where she was.

A snore next to her got her attention. Bucky slept in a chair beside her hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up.

“Bucky,” she rasped out, her throat scratchy.

Bucky stirred. When he realized she was conscious, he sprung awake. He called for the nurse to check her over, making sure everything was fine. When she left, he sat back down, taking one of Y/N’s hands in one of his, pressing it to his lips.

“Oh, baby,” he said, ever so softly. He brushed the strands from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “Oh, thank god you’re awake.” Tears brimmed, and he didn’t care, letting them fall. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. He gently left kisses on her cheeks. Calloused thumb brushed the delicate skin.

“What happened?” Y/N asked.

“You got in an accident,” he explained. “Just a concussion, broken collarbone, and a few scratches. And you might be achy from the whiplash.”

Y/N shot up out of bed in dismay, only to be pinned back down.

“Hey, no, you need to stay in bed and rest,” Bucky ordered her, firmly keeping her from moving.

“But the bab-,” she began, but Bucky cut her off.

“I know,” he said sadly, interrupting her. “I know you’re pregnant. The baby is fine, love.”

Y/N felt relieved. “How did you find out?”

The small smile on his face dropped. “When they x-rayed you to check for injuries, they found out you were pregnant.” His lip trembled as he cried harder. “I’m so sorry. That’s what you wanted to tell me. That’s why you wanted me to be there. I should have kept my promise and showed up. If I had, you wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N knew he was being true to his word. She reached up to wipe the tears from under his eyes. He sighed, leaning in to her touch he missed. “I’m sorry too. I was so excited to tell you. Things haven’t been easy for either of us. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

He shook his head, beating himself. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. None of it is. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. From now on, no more fighting. I just want to be us again.”

“‘I agree, Bucky,” she agreed. “I’m tired of fighting too. You still love me right?”

“Yes of course I still love you,” he said, in disbelief. “I love you so much. I could never stop loving you. And when you left, I was so ashamed. Then I witnessed the wreck. I thought I was going to lose you for good. And now I’m going to be a father. You’re going to be a mother.”

Y/N started to cry too. He kissed away the tears leaking down her face. ���We’re going to be what we have always wanted. A family. You won’t lose me. I love you.” She grew weak with exhaustion.

“Sleep, darling,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Before he could step aside, she took his hand to stop him. “Lay with me?” she begged.

He smiled, with the usual twinkle in his eyes that she adored. “Of course.”

She scooted over, making room for him. Bucky laid down next to her. Not wanting to hurt her anymore, he cautiously enveloped her in his arms. For once in forever, they both felt harmony. All the worries and differences lost in the past. They knew the rift between them was no longer. What seemed like the perfect couple hidden under the fire, still was. And they both knew their love for each other was now stronger than ever.

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER SIX

“They agreed with each other violently and disagreed with each other pleasurably.” - A Suitable Boy, Seth

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.13k words

Warning: Swearing, guns, knives.

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< FIVE [ MASTERLIST ] SEVEN >>

"Who let you enter my private study?"

Harrison asked, stopping with one step inside his office, fixing the watch on his wrist. His eyes focused on the uninvited guest.

"My ability to walk." A smirk played over Sandhya's lips as she flipped a page in the file she was holding, twirling the ball pen between her fingers. The base of the pen rested below her lip as she lifted her eyelid to catch a glimpse of Harrison's irritable face. And damn he indeed was irritated.

"No one comes here without my permission." He hissed, striding into the centre of the room, staring at her furtively until his gaze landed on the other parts of his office. His office was a mess. Not anywhere near how he left it. His file cabinet was open and at least twenty files were lying on the sofa and a few over his desk. There were two on Sandhya's lap as she sat with her legs crossed over each other, leaning back leisurely in one of the chairs, skimming through the papers. An empty plate and a coffee mug were also sitting on his desk. The mug wasn't even placed over a coaster. He could even see some bread crumbs scattered on the wood.

He barely managed to not lash out at her, clenching his fists. Drawing in a shallow breath, he opened his mouth in an attempt to reason with her but she was the first one to speak.

"Can you log into the system? I need to look up something." She pointed the tip of the pen at the computer placed on his desk. Her voice was far from that of requesting even if she framed it as a question.

Harrison's brows pinched, "Are you serious?!" His voice sounded so pitchy, almost resembling a train wreck about to happen.

"Yes."

That's all? His stomach rumbled with anger. She didn't even look up at him. That bland yes twisted like a snake in his gut. He was past taking orders, especially from her. So, he walked up to her, swallowing his building rage and snatched the file she was holding.

"Hey!" She squealed, trying to take it back as he pushed it over his head and out of her reach.

She rose from the chair, about to grab it when he dropped the file on the floor behind his back, scattering the papers.

"Why would you--"

"Because it's my office and those are my files! And fucking," he seethed, trying to keep his voice casual, lifting the mug from the table, "We don't eat in the study, let alone dump the scraps on the desk. Also, you didn't even use a coaster!" He groaned upon noticing the ring the liquid left on the wood before he settled the mug again on the table, only this time there was a coaster beneath it.

Her eyebrows pulled together, disbelief roaring through her head, "You are worried about the coaster--"

"The white oak---"

"The uncle was murdered in this house and the nephew is more interested in coffee stains." She squinted her eyes, shaking her head.

Harrison bit back a groan. Her words had managed to flip his stomach. He sighed keeping his conduct civil.

"As much as I am curious about Clarke's mysterious death," he spoke as calmly as he could, meeting her eyes, "We aren't even sure if he was murdered in the first place."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"I am not kidding you!" He bit back, "And anyway, get out of here. I don't like outsiders touching my stuff," he shifted his gaze to the side, hands folded across his chest.

She scoffed, almost scornfully. "Says the one who had no problem sleeping together."

Harrison's neck snapped at the words, his temper reaching new heights. Gritting his teeth, he took a step forward, looking down at her face. "If I had known it was you, I would have never--"

"Exactly!" She snapped, "You didn't know who you were sleeping with, how do I ensure you know about the people working here?"

"That's bullshit."

Sandhya exhaled, failing to reason with him. It was harder than she had expected. So, she tried the gentler way, trying to make her words sound closer to a request, "I need you to give me access to your computer." For no avail--

"What made you think I would do that? You have already seen enough." His hands dropped from his chest and she fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

The last attempt at asking and being gentle, "Look Harrison," her voice was sweeter as if she had accepted her defeat, moving to the last resort, "You have already ruined my Plan A and now I need to know about certain things to come up with a Plan B."

"You really think you're some kind of mastermind in planning? Don't you?"

"Harrison, that was my job back then--"

"Oh. I thought your job was to seduce strangers and sleep with them." He didn't hesitate but when the words finally parted his lips, he noticed the light in her eyes dimming for a brief second, the little grin on her lips fading. His heart thumped in his throat. Perhaps, he went too far.

But what he said wasn't a lie. Perhaps, it was okay. He didn't care anyway, yet his eyes moved to her neck, somewhere-anywhere, away from her face.

Those scars on her throat fell into his line of sight. Fine red lines, shallow, peeking off from her pink hoodie. He hadn't paid much attention before but she looked cute in the outfit, a way he had never expected her to look. Her expression defied the notion though, driving his brain back to the thick air that engulfed them.

Her hand came to cover her throat, gently rubbing across the marks. He swallowed. His eyes flickered back to hers and she averted her gaze to the side. Probably, that was the closest he would ever get at marking her.

He was waiting for a reply, a sharp hit back. Instead, the air between them seemed to hum quietly. Harrison had hit the mark so blatantly, Sandhya didn't even bother refuting it. And that somehow bothered him.

She tore her gaze from him, turning on her heel. He felt the urgent need to cut the silence.

"I don't support the idea of a murderer walking among us." He spoke slowly.

He heard her sigh heavily.

"Well enough," she made up her mind, walking away from him and picking up the file, he had previously dropped, "You live in your protected shell, dreaming about sunshine and rainbows while someone stabs you in your sleep," her voice was still without heat or anger, "But you know what..."

She turned to face him again, eyes hardening, "I don't want to die or lose what I have earned so, I'm going to do something about it."

"Good luck." He muttered, eyes never leaving her figure as she stormed off the room.

***

The day was heavy on Sandhya. Checking up all the records of the people Clarke had ever worked with was more time consuming than she had thought, especially considering how her initial plan of dividing the work with Harrison went amiss.

She had navigated through whatever documents he had in his room, along with Clarke's and had taken the help of Holly to get access to their server. It would have been nicer to have her in person than on a phone but she was indeed helpful, although, Sandhya hadn't found anything game-changing. There was at least a compact list of people she had her suspicions on, though.

The library was bigger than what it appeared from afar. Probably they could shoot a Jurassic Park movie in here. Or Night at the Museum or library or whatever. She had laughed at the thought. She had also walked through all three tiers of the magnificent space, analyzing the delicately carved rosewood shelves carrying books older than time. They even had some of the original manuscripts of the classics. Unbelievable.

But now she was tired. It was over six hours, she was sitting there, skimming through all the information she could get her hands on. The mob business was full of mischief. Interacting with people you should definitely keep a six feet distance from was customary .

She sighed, shutting the library computer and keeping the files aside. Untying her hair and pressing her fingers against the pulsing side of her head, she tried to relax. A gasp left her lips. She bet she saw a shadow move outside.

Her heart stopped for a moment when the lights flickered. There was definitely someone who shouldn't be here.

Slowly, carefully, she rose from her seat, ducking down the table. Then she heard it. Footsteps. She scrambled forward, keeping low, hiding behind a pillar, drawing the knife from her clothes. She waited and waited, breathing through her nose. But no one came for her. And then it hit her.

They could be here for Harrison.

She risked a peek, looking outside the library. There was still no one in sight. The alleyway seemed dark, dead; enough to accelerate her pulse. She climbed down the stairs, one foot at a time, letting her eyes wander around the hall. Stopping and hiding behind an intersected wall, she saw it: A guy in all black, twisting the knob to Harrison's room, the haft helpless in the vice of his grip. He entered inside.

Sandhya swallowed. Her throat felt dry. She only had a knife on herself right now. Protecting Harrison at all costs was a requisite. Even when he was an insufferable jerk.

He was a team.

And she hated teamwork.

She also hated jerks.

Harrison turned in his sleep, lying over the left side of his body, hugging the silk sheets that covered him. His room was pitch black, with curtains all drawn shut. He preferred sleeping in the dark and maybe that was the reason why the silver light shining over his thin eyelids discomforted him. He wasn't a heavy sleeper and little sounds managed to bother him.

He had somehow grown accustomed to the noise his clock made. His mind erratically jumped between disconnected, unwanted thoughts whenever he sensed other sounds in his proximity. Sounds that didn't match the rhythm of his clock.

Noises of shallow breathing.

Noises of out of tune footfalls.

Out of tune...

His eyes flew open, wide, fixed on the dagger that stood three feet above his chest, reflecting the minimal amount of light his window shades failed to conceal.

He tried to kick off his sheets but the dagger lunged forward swiftly like a wild animal. He squirmed, unable to move, waiting for the impact. Only that he never felt the object pierce his body. The guy groaned, his steps faltering backwards.

Harrison unspooled himself from the sheets, quickly switching on the lamp. Leaping from the bed, hands first, he landed on his toes, squatting.

Sandhya's arms were crossed around the guy's neck from the back. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tried to push him back.

"Don't just stand there!" She cried, struggling to hold the big guy as she pulled him backwards, pressing her forearms against his throat.

Harrison shook his head, jumping forward. His heart pounded in his chest as he hit the man over his shoulder. The guy with his face blocked out with a black woollen mask, wailed, stumbling on his feet. He slammed Sandhya's back against the window, dropping both his weapon and the whimpering girl on the floor.

Harrison tried to catch him but he ran, pushing him back, storming off the door. His eyes roamed at the door and then at Sandhya. He sighed, giving out his hand. Grabbing it, she pulled herself on her feet.

"Don't say it." He mumbled, jutting his tongue out of his compressed lips.

"Told you so." She said anyway, voice so low that only he could hear, flashing him a small grin, more of a grimace, actually. His own mouth twisted but then his eye caught the sight of his window, the shades drawn away because of the rustling. His slight frown turned into a scowl.

"Watch out--" He grabbed Sandhya by her waist, pulling her down with him, capturing her body beneath his as a gunshot blasted the window of his room, crashing, shattering the glass over them.

A moment passed in silence as they tried catching up their breath.

"Are we even?" He mouthed, manoeuvring his eye line back up to her face. She was horrified, her chest rising and falling.

"We'll see..."

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[seventfics]

Lionhearted

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Talking in your Sleep Relationships: Cirilla/Morvran Voorhis (+ background Emhyr/Geralt) Rating: T  Content Warnings: None Summary: Before her future reign can begin, Cirilla has to commit to the trust exercise that is an arranged marriage. If only her sleep would be peaceful.

Read on AO3

* * *

“...Cirilla?”

Ciri stirs fully awake at a gentle touch over her shoulder. It is a miracle she does not lash out instinctively and break something. Her limbs feel tight, aching by how tense they’d become in sleep. The faint shadows of a nightmare still dance behind her eyes. She hears the clopping of hooves, the horses of the Wild Hunt approaching—the cold blast of winter hits her as if naked in the snow.

Pure imagination. The bedroom is warm-lit by a hearth. It is summer, and she is safe. She is more than safe.

The touch that rose her pulls her back from the lingering vision of doom. She turns to light eyes, pinched in worry.

“Sorry..." She draws the sheets closer, her wild hair a fan over her face. The room is warm, but a chill runs under her skin all the same. "Did I disturb you?”

Morvran studies her. He sits a comfortable distance away from her. The monstrously-large bed makes that easy. “Not really.”

Slowly, her muscles unwind from their tense curl. A minute passes, and she’s tired again. “Don’t let me keep you awake,” she says rolling on her side, and then, almost a whisper, “you know, you can call me Ciri.”

* * *

The final battle is over. It has been for a peaceful few years. And yet, her mind stays restless, ready for the next enemy to come tearing through her life. So far it’s only been arrogant old men with predictable ambitions, which is pitiful compared to the ageless Aen Elle that had chased her through time and space, and the world-ending White Frost waiting at the end of it all. Really, they should step up their game if they want to make her sweat.

Her dreams made of frost and blood do most of the work for them. It's inescapable. Exhausting.

Every time she wakes from snow clogging her lungs, she sees Morvran had stirred awake in the night, and she apologizes with genuine-felt guilt.

Her husband is always polite about it, which is hard for her to accept at first. Experience tells her to expect a confrontation, or a fight about affecting him with her sleeplessness. But Morvran—she discovers quickly into their spousal arrangement—is quiet company, even if sometimes he seems a little on edge himself. A soldier's nervousness lies behind his gaze. The General without a war to fight. At least she’s not the only one struggling with peacetime.

They say that marriage forges a bond between two souls. That is what her father—of all people—tells her on one of their joint-breakfast mornings.

“There is a responsibility there," Emhyr says with enviable composure. "He is the only one’s opinion you must consult and rely on with matters of state.”

Ciri nearly scoffs. “Not even yours then?”

“Not even mine. Do you not trust him?”

She thinks long after that, a little angry with his nonchalance. Of course she doesn't. Of course it's not that easy. Ask any other lady or princess what their marriage gave them and see if any one of them bring up the word trust. Her father is biased. His own marriage had been sown by destiny's hand.

And yet, after the whispers of dark dreams rouse her at night, she does trust Morvran to be near, to remind her with his presence that she is no longer a child running from great and powerful enemies anymore. She is the daughter of the Black Sun. Nothing can touch her now.

Would be nice to sleep well again on her own soon, though.

Emhyr accepts her silence and sips his tea while it is still warm. He doesn't say anything about the dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn't talk about why they're there.

Geralt visits not a day after, the first time after her marriage, and he sure won't let it go unaddressed.

“I'm fine, Geralt. Haven’t slept well is all.”

That is all she's willing to say, not wanting to bother him too much when he'd arrived so happy to greet her. But it’s Geralt. He knows her better than anyone. Better than she knows herself.

"Haven't slept? You know what that does to your clarity of mind. And are you doing anything about it? Is it the mattress? I tell you, they make them too soft in the south. You need a little firmness to stop you when you're tossing..."

His fussing calms her heart. The opposite would be just as true. If he panics, all her own worries neutralize as she remembers how to think straight for him. They are each other's pillars.

So he frets, and she waves him off, feeling a little better by the second.

Tea together in the garden is a relaxing surprise activity with him, although now that he's brought up the topic of modern furniture and poor craftsmanship, Geralt is grouching about how uncomfortable the chairs are.

“They’re meant to keep your spine straight," she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s crap. Doesn’t fit all of me.”

“That’s because you’re carrying fifty pounds of armor and steel. You might not want to rest all your weight on it actually.”

Geralt purposely leans back on his chair, the wood giving an alarming creak. “Are you calling me fat?”

She laughs at him so hard the Impera keeping guard from the garden's entrance twitch their heads to them. They act like a sign of joy from her is a terrifying dragon come to burn the palace down.

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters with a fake pout.

“What? My laughter?”

“Your…ease with it. I know being empress is nothing to scoff at." At the mention of her future court, Ciri touches her imperial diadem—both a symbol of her patrimony and a wedding band. Geralt tracks the gesture. The sigh he gives is heavy and long. "I mean, shit, this whole marriage thing attached to it isn’t what either of us planned for."

The metal warms under her rubbing thumb. "None of what's happened in our journey ever has been."

A witcher's path is unpredictable. One lives by the day and learns to adapt to what comes. And she's doing that still. Adapting like a witcheress. Soon, she'll have to start thinking more like an empress.

"The General," Geralt starts, and she refocuses on him and the serious set of his brow. "He’s a good man at least. A little…eccentric I think, but he is one of the better ones in Emhyr’s court.”

Now it's her turn to grumble, “I know. It’s annoying. I wish I could have a reason to hate him but he’s so…ugh, mannerly!”

This time Geralt laughs, and for a moment, Ciri is a witcher’s child in the wilds again, punting her father’s shoulder for a dumb joke he's pulled at her expense.

She stops suddenly when a familiar figure, all shoulders and dark colors to contrast his light hair, comes through the garden gates. 'Speak of the devil' might be a rude thought to have, yet it perfectly encapsulates how luck draws its cards on her this morning.

“Geralt of Rivia!” comes Morvran’s happy voice. “I thought I heard the rumble of bickering servants on the way here. Now I understand what displeased them so.”

“I’m not wearing their black-and-white cotton traps and you can’t make me.”

Ciri blinks between them. It surprises her how well Geralt gets along with him, and how openly joyous Morvran is being about his company—and yes, she would call him joyous even as his face is subtle in expressing it. Breaking courtly address would normally upset her recently-made husband no matter the suspect. And yet Geralt, who does not mean to do it intentionally, receives no such berating speeches on etiquette and formality. Actually, Morvran shakes his hand the northern way of greeting. Maybe he's good at adapting too.

“Of course not, sir witcher," Morvran says with his other hand raised in acquiescence. "There is no dire interrogation to fulfill at this hour.”

"Don't threaten me with a free clean shave again." To her, he offers a parting, “Alright. I've taken up enough of your time, I’m gonna head out.”

Her heart sinks at the cursory goodbye. This is her father in all but blood leaving her secure little bubble once more, to be a witcher without her. She is not a child anymore—he doesn't ruffle her ashen hair, though she dearly wants him to for old time's sake. It would mess up her diadem and the intricate plaiting of the braids behind her head.

She is not a child anymore, and yet she is already melancholy at the quick turn of his back.

"See you later, Geralt." Her words are a promise. We will see each other again.

As he steps into the flower path that winds back to the guards, Morvran calls out, “His imperial majesty is currently in a meeting.”

Geralt stops. He looks, for some reason, abashed. “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“I thought you would be privy to that information." Morvran shrugs in dismissal. "Va faill."  

It's almost funny how fast Geralt stomps out of the garden. As Ciri observes the exchange, all her previous heartache is swept under the rug. There is something she's not picking up. Fortunately it's not all she has to talk about to her present, lingering company.

“It’s weird that you two actually get along.” At her words, Morvran turns to her with open surprise.

“Geralt of Rivia is a genial man," he says, his hands meeting behind his back as is Nilfgaardian custom in public. "I believe anyone would be glad to refresh their acquaintance with him.”

Ciri, who was not raised with said customs and is instead being tutored in them with little success, snorts. Loudly.

“You just like that you can rope him into joining a riding competition on a promise of free food.”

Under all his Nilfgaardian powder, Morvran blushes. She can see it in his ears.

She laughs at him too.

* * *

It’s another night of bad dreams. Her memories have toyed with her enough that now she is witness to futures she cannot control. Geralt alone on the Path, the Empire at war with itself from her negligence, all of her old friends, her family, broken apart and dying as she lives on.

She wakes slowly, not in a startle or a choked breath. Her body aches worse than if she had.

Morvran is already awake beside her, a frown set upon his lips.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Between waking and the dissipating fear of her nightmare, Ciri is caught completely off guard. “I...didn’t, no.”

He doesn't explain any more, choosing to give her space as he's done for previous interrupted nights. Part of her wants to ask more. She wants to hear what she had said—what nightmare had she been speaking into existence. Did he recognize anything? Did he want to ask, but simply refrain out of properness?

Whatever it is she uttered in fever sleep, she lets it go. Talking about it now would be worse, somehow. Like making her nightmares a real, concrete thing.

Sleep still fights her long into the night. It does not come a second time. Which is good, as she opens her eyes to a timely assassination.

The weapon under her pillow slides into her hand not a breath later. She always keeps something sharp and deadly there. Good habit, both her fathers would say, for different reasons.

Before the assassin can strike, Ciri blinks in between time. They are dead where they stand, frozen mid-step, collapsing the very next instant time moves for her.

In the commotion that follows, everyone wakes. The emperor looks as regal and rested as always and Ciri envies that as her hair resembles a rat’s nest, mussed from the fear-sweat of her haunted sleep. At least Morvran is just as unkempt as her. They make quite the competition for most messy bedhead, side by side. And though the hours stretch on, from private meetings to argued suspicions, Morvran looks in his element. Her element.

Put an enemy in front of them and they will beat it down until it’s rid of.

Her mind is driven to this new task. Securing entry points, questioning any guards that had slack. Her edges feels frayed—sticking to Morvran like a shadow as they move from room to room, servant to official, order to action, way past sunrise. Her angry expression turns any worried servant away from asking for her imperial majesty to eat.

The assassin had tried to kill him. And no one seems to be that concerned since her own head is still attached to her shoulders. Not even Morvran.

Things calm down well past noon. They both return tired and dry-eyed to their arranged room.

She touches his sleeve and holds his weary gaze. “If you die I won’t forgive you.”

Morvran nods, like she makes sense. “I would never plan on it. It would upset your father.”

For a second, Ciri doesn’t know which one he means, and that makes her smile stupidly, at its pure truth.

She wipes her grin off before Morvran has a chance to politely appreciate it.

* * *

“You’re antsy.”

Ciri hums, taking a bite of her deviled eggs. “I'm not antsy.”

“You are bending the good fork.”

She stares down at her hand and finds that Emhyr is right and the fork is just a little twisted at the neck.

"I'm sure someone's job is to fix it. Just, call them."

Nothing in her posture or her expression could possibly tell Emhyr what sits heavy in her head, short of him being a mindreader. And yet, somehow, he pieces everything together correctly to ask, “Would it be so terrible for you to like him?”

Ciri sighs, looking up at the ornate chandelier, begging it to crash down on her and get her out of this conversation. Because she already does like Morvran, quite a lot, and it is terrible. She would hate to admit to her father that he is right. He’ll never live it down.

Of course, she doesn't need to say anything at all. Her godsdamned mind-reading father already knows. When did he learn to read her so effortlessly?

...Has he been consulting Geralt?

However it may be, Emhyr clears his throat and straightens his fork on his side of the breakfast table. “Some people," he says as she sulks internally, "are fortunate and marry the one they love. Others find a way to make it work.”

At his following pause, Ciri straightens in her seat to meet his gaze. His silences are always weighty and grave.

“I hope that he is worth the work,” he ends.

Then the moment passes, and he's eating again. Leaving her to contemplate alone what it means that her father, the emperor, might actually want her to be happy with the man who would share her rule once she is officially crowned. It's...it's trusting. It's too much to think about so early in the morning.

Being who she is, however, Ciri returns to the source of her sulk and the many questions it created.

“So, have you spoken with Geralt?”

Emhyr drinks his tea very slowly. “Of course not. Had he anything important to relay to me?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I'm sure you know he came to visit recently, but you don’t ask me what we talked about?”

“Whatever it is you two get up to does not concern me.”

She hums, sipping her own tea. “It’s funny I guess, I thought you asked of him through Morvran.”

Emhyr sets his cup down, narrowing his eyes in thought. As he studies her, she keeps on sipping her tea until it’s finished. “Just curious,” she adds before parting for the day. Give him something to puzzle over that isn't her.

* * *

'Did you know you talk in your sleep?'

Only two nights of the next seven does she stir awake. Not from bad dreams, exactly. Not from dark memories or anxious fears either. Ciri rubs her face now, frustrated, pulled from sleep again for no apparent reason.

Morvran is awake beside her, as he always is. His face is not pressed with a frown, though. She can't stop thinking on his words so casually spoken the night an assassin tried to take him from her, and settles back onto her enormous pillows.

“...What did I say this time?”

“Oh,” he blinks at her, and it’s sleepy and lazy, not at all very general-like. “Something about a swallow. That you miss it. Did you used to own a bird?”

She closes her eyes briefly, oddly at peace with her sleep talking. He had listened to her secret fears for all these nights, her haunted screams, and made them his own secrets.

If she could trust him to know that, then, it is not so difficult to trust him with the more simple things.

“No. Swallow was the name of my sword. I carried her with me everywhere.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“I gave her to Geralt before I came to be here. A witcher’s sword is not something I can wield from a throne.”

He touches his hand to her cheek, the first time he’s breached courtly etiquette with her. It is warm and callused.

“I am confident that sir Geralt keeps Swallow sharp and oiled so that the blade stays strong. I am...sorry,” he says with more awkwardness.

She covers his hand with her own, a little laugh escaping her when he blinks rapidly at her returned touch, like he had not expected it at all. “It's alright. I entrusted her to him.”

Marriage forges a bond between two people.

[messagefromtheveins]

2:49am

A/N: I actually planned to post something completely different, but instead I was suddenly hit by CEO feels. So... there’s that. 

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Sebastian/Reader

He heard you long before you appeared in his field of vision. The penthouse apartment was so quiet that he had heard the bedroom door crack open upstairs, followed by the quiet pitter patter of your bare feet descending the stairs. Casting a quick glance at the time, he took a deep breath and lifted a hand to rub it over his unshaven face. 2:49am. He knew you would give him hell for this.

He took his gaze off the computer screen as your footsteps approached the study right before you appeared in the doorway. His heart seemed to swell in an instant. Standing there in one of his old T-shirts from college that didn't fit him anymore, you were sleepily squinting against the bright light while you entered the room. "Sebastian," you whined, drawing his name out in a way that made him chuckle lowly.

He turned his fancy leather chair as you approached him, his hands reaching for you and grasping your waist as soon as you were close enough. "I'm sorry," he murmured before you could even start, but you did anyway.

"You said you'd come join me in a few when I told you that I was going to bed," you complained, yet followed his guiding hands and settling down on his strong thighs. His arms wrapped around you in a protective grip, cradling you to his chest. "That was almost three hours ago," you mumbled out through a yawn.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," he murmured, keeping his voice low and soothing in hopes of keeping you from getting angry at him- even though he knew that you had every right to. He had been flooded with work these past few weeks and your relationship had suffered quite a bit because of it. You had gone to bed alone more times than he liked to think about and his heart had ached every time he ended up crawling into bed in the early morning hours to find you hugging his pillow to your chest.

He gave you a soft smile as you cupped his face in your hands, your sleepy eyes silently studying his features. "You know I'm so proud of you for being so successful with your own company," you whispered, your thumbs caressing his cheeks.

"But I have to sleep more than four hours a night," he continued your sentence, mirroring the wide grin you gave him.

"So you actually are listening to me," you teased, receiving a soft chuckle from him.

"Always," he whispered and leaned in closer. One of his hands slid to rest on your bare thigh while he placed a lingering kiss on your forehead, his eyes briefly squeezing shut before he opened them again and pulled back to look at you. "I promise work is going to return back to normal soon. And then I'll make up for all the times I had to cancel date nights."

Sighing deeply, you shook your head. "You don't need to make up for it. I'm fine on my own, you know? I know that work is important and that I'm sometimes put on the back burner-"

"Honey, you're not put on the back burner. Don't say stuff like that," his voice was pleading, his heart heavy in his chest.

"You know what I mean," you gave him a warm smile that only made him feel slightly better. "What I'm trying to say is, I know that sometimes work ruins something we have planned or just keeps you from having a lazy night with me. And I'm okay with that, I really am. But I'm not okay with you getting not enough sleep and running on ten cups of coffee a day."

"That's highly exaggerated," he sighed with a grin.

"Is it, though?" you responded, but continued before he could answer. "How about you turn that computer off for tonight and come to bed with me? And in the morning we'll figure out if I can help you with this in any way. Even if it's just organizing your emails."

Just five more minutes. It lingered on his tongue, but he couldn't say it out loud. Not with your hopeful eyes silently pleading with him. Not when you grinned in victory when he gave in, looking like you had just achieved the greatest thing in life.

His computer was turned off with two clicks and with that the two of you were on your way upstairs.

He rushed through the process of brushing his teeth, the taste of minty toothpaste still lingering on his tongue as he stepped out of the bathroom and stopped in his movements. This was something he had missed a lot over the last couple of days- having you waiting up for him, buried under the covers. A fond smile played on your lips while you reached a hand out to him, silently begging him to join you.

The room was bathed in darkness as he flicked the bathroom light off, his feet carrying him towards the bed on autopilot. The sheets rustled and the bedsprings briefly creaked as he settled down beside you, bodies automatically curving and curling around the others. A soft giggle fell from your lips as he shifted down and nuzzled his face against your chest, one of your hands caressing the back of his head.

A sound that was close to a purr rumbled in his chest. "Everything okay?" you whispered, his head nodding.

"Mhm," he hummed and let his hands slip beneath your- his- T-shirt, one hand coming to rest on your lower back while the other settled on your butt. "Jus' missed this a lot," he mumbled, thumb brushing back and forth over the soft cotton of your panties. "Missed you," he added in a breathy voice, your lips curving into a soft smile.

Placing a tender and lingering kiss on his head, you nuzzled your nose against his soft hair. He noticed the way you relaxed against him and hoped that you were falling asleep. His fingers didn't stop tracing back and forth, knowing that little touches like that were usually enough to lull you to sleep.

His eyes were closed and he faintly felt your steady heartbeat, and yet his mind was going a thousand miles an hour. He was so deep in thought, trying to find a way to get all the work done while still trying to find some time for you, when your soft voice cut through the silence, almost startling him. "What's wrong?" you mumbled, your fingers carding through his hair before your nails gently scratched his scalp in a way that gave him goosebumps.

"I thought you were asleep," he sighed and wriggled further up until his head rested on the pillow right in front of yours, so close that your foreheads almost touched.

"Not when you're constantly fidgeting around," you whispered, moving a hand to lightly caress the side of his face. "You're thinking about work, aren't you?"

Taking a deep breath, he stayed silent and kept his eyes closed, not bothering to look as you shifted and put a bit more distance between your bodies. At this point he was just waiting for you to get really mad at him. A loud gasp fell from his lips as a pillow hit the side of his head, his eyes ripping open to find you grinning at him through the darkness. "Hey!" he exclaimed, though couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"I'll give you 10 minutes to finish whatever it was you were working on when I came downstairs, Mr. CEO. If you're not finished within that time I'm coming to drag your ass back to bed."

With that you turned your back to him, a position you always slept in when he was gone on business trips. He knew you hated to see the empty side of the bed. His first instinct was to climb out of bed and rush downstairs, but before he even moved an inch he stopped himself. His gaze was trained on you for several seconds, his heart heavy in his chest.

He heard the surprised sound that left your lips as he closed the gap between your bodies and pushed his chest up against your back, arms tightly wrapping around you. You didn't say a word though, simply reached for his hand on your chest and laced your fingers through his while he placed a soft kiss on the back of your neck. "I'll finish it in the morning," he murmured, leaving a few tender kisses along your shoulder, "right now you're the main priority."

Forever and Ever Taglist: @waitonmedarling​ @hugefangirl-22​ @evansweaters​ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3​ @ultradreamologistblog​ @justanotherfangurl272​ @my-elevenoutof10​ @disaster-rose​ @kellymat​ @anncutamarica​ @meg-holland​

S.Stan Taglist: @devilsexual​

[ichigo-daifuku]

Mammoney

Obey Me! Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Mammon/Female!MC

After a series of incredible material and financial opportunities going in her favor, she finds herself questioning the root of her luck and what she did to deserve them all.

In the most ludicrous way possible, she is reminded that where money is involved, the Avatar of Greed is.

Explicit | Light D/S & Femdom, Mild Exhibitionism, Edging

Hello! This is my first Obey Me fanfic. It's a friends to lovers story with a mix of fluff and eventual smut. Enjoy♪〜

Word Count: ~10.7k

It began with a Grimm; a single coin that had gone unnoticed on the corridor.

The eternal darkness that enveloped the Devildom was one of its characteristics that caught her off guard when she arrived in this realm. She grew up to sunny mornings which was an impossibility here, but though the light was absent, the place was alive in its unique way. Often, she stopped and stared at the otherworldly surroundings, but today, it was the furthest thing in her mind as her rapid footsteps echoed across the hallways of the academy, in a rush to make it in time for Devildom Law. It was a class she shared with Mammon. The two of them would usually arrive in class together, but right now, she ran alone. She had slept in, and after letting him copy her homework, yet again, Mammon didn’t even bother to wake her. Although her stomach rumbled due to skipping breakfast, she continued her ascent to the staircase without a pause, her legs threatening to give out, but her mind winning over her body as she kept going through sheer willpower. Humans were looked down enough in the world of demons. She wanted to prove to everyone that whatever the beings here were worthy of, humans were worthy of as well. With this mindset, she ran, and finally, she was on the floor where the class would be conducted.

Everything was going her way until she took a wrong step.

She felt it, a round object protruding on the plane of the floor, right under her sole. Her foot slipped back while her body lurched forward as she lost her balance. For a second, a comical scene of a character slipping on a banana peel in a cartoon flashed in her memory, and she fell face-first on the floor with a thud. The object she stepped on flew a distance away with resounding clinks. She groaned, shifting her body to a sitting position as she glanced around. No one was around to witness her clumsiness but the paintings on the walls, and she supposed that was one good thing she could be grateful for. She dusted her hands and was about to do the same to her uniform when the sound of her name being called made her head turn to the other direction.

A frantic Asmodeus rushed to her side. “Are you alright?”

“Hey, Asmo. I’m fine,” she reassured him and moved to stand.

Asmodeus bent down and outstretched his hand. “Here, let me help you up.” 

“Thanks.” She took him up on his offer and stood, letting go once she regained her balance. “Are you running late for class, too?”

“Something like that,” Asmodeus replied, a mysterious smile lighting up his face. It made her concerned about where his hand, which she had just touched, had been before this. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, that. I tripped over something.” She turned around and craned her head until the golden contrast against the monotone floors caught her attention. With her unsteady legs, she shuffled to its direction and bent down to pick it up. 

A Grimm.

How strange. She would have noticed—no, she should have. There was nothing on the floor, she swore, but there it was, the Grimm, solid and real in her hand. She wiped the coin on her skirt and examined it. Her eyes might have lied to her, but what was done was done, she had nothing to do but discard the thought and focus on more significant matters.

The chime of the clock signaled the beginning of class. She was late. Between her fingers, the skull embedded on the obverse stared back, smiling, as if it was mocking her for failing her goal of achieving a perfect record. She recited the text in the header of the Attendance Card in her head: The Royal Academy of Diavolo is glad to commend you for prompt attendance and good work in the Devildom. Prompt attendance. She contemplated whether it would be better to skip class altogether or have all heads turn her way and be reprimanded for coming late.

“A Grimm?” Asmodeus, who had come closer, asked.

“Apparently.” 

“It’s not every day someone finds money in a random place. It might be a good omen, who knows?” Asmodeus said and grimaced, remembering the state he found her in. “You sure you’re okay, though? You aren’t injured, are you? I’d hate it if a wound ends up scarring your beautiful skin because I wasn’t able to get here earlier. Oh, no...”

Asmodeus scanned her from head to toe with genuine concern, taking her wrist with a gentle touch and checking her hands for any scratches and injuries.

“I’m okay, really—”

“Hey! Whaddaya think you’re doin’, huh? Watch where those dirty hands are touchin’, Asmo... or better yet, keep your dirty hands to yourself!” Mammon exclaimed as he appeared by the stairs. His hair was a mess, his uniform was untucked as always but more disheveled than usual, and his tie was undone. He crouched down with his hands on his knees as he panted from the exhaustion of running over to the academy in record time.

That took her by surprise. All this time, she had thought Mammon had left without her, but it turned out he had slept in as well. In reality, she was the one who left him behind, and the pang of guilt turned her bad day worse. 

Asmodeus let her wrists go and spun around to shoot Mammon an icy glare. “Excuse me? Dirty?!”

“Yeah! Ya heard me!”

“How dare you, you scum. If anyone here is dirty, it’s you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya say.” Mammon rushed to her side and grabbed her hand. “We’re runnin’ late, let’s go.”

“What are you saying? We’re already late, Mammon.”

“And we’re gonna be even later if we don’t run faster. Come on or else Lucifer’s never gonna let us hear the end of it.”

Mammon was right. She hadn’t thought of that. A late attendance in class would entail a lecture from Lucifer, but a complete absence without a valid reason would warrant an even longer lecture and a possible punishment. The last time she and Mammon got into trouble, Lucifer talked their ears off all night and assigned them on kitchen duty for two weeks. She shuddered at the thought.

“Oh, no. I am not going to go through that again. See you later, Asmo!” She waved goodbye and let herself be dragged by Mammon to class, making a mental note to sneak a text in her D.D.D. later to thank him for his concern and apologize they had to leave in a rush.

For now, she made sure to wrap her fingers around the Grimm she picked up, not wanting to lose it, while her other hand grasped onto Mammon just as tightly, not wanting to be left behind.

“Hey,” she called once they were in front of the closed doors of the classroom. “Face this way, Mammon.”

“Hm?” He turned to her, confused, and backed away when she stepped closer to take his tie. “H-Hey! What’re ya doin’?!”

“Shh! They’re going to think we were... up to no good if you come in like that,” she stated. With Mammon paralyzed by self-consciousness, she took the opportunity to fix his tie, her fingers deft with the task from learning how to do her own every day. “Sorry about leaving you. I thought you already went to the academy... without me.”

“If I did that, Lucifer will hang me upside down again. You’re under my care, remember?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said and froze. They were standing at such proximity that she could hear his heavy breaths and feel their heat on her cheek. With adrenaline in her veins, she glanced at him and found his intense gaze boring on her face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His cheeks flushed, and he averted his eyes. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

Right, she thought as she adjusted the knot on his tie. There was nothing she could do about the rumpled state of his clothes, but it was an improvement. “There. Let’s go.”

All heads turned their way the moment they opened the door, and as she expected, the teacher reprimanded them for their late attendance as they took their seats. But with Mammon to show up with her and share half of the brunt of the unwanted attention, it wasn’t as bad as she expected it would be.

Saturday came. As an apology for leaving him behind the other day, she wanted to invite Mammon to go around town, do a bunch of random stuff, eat at Hell's Kitchen—anything at all; her treat. With Mammon, everything ended up being enjoyable, and she would bet anything he wouldn’t turn down a chance to hang out and not have to spend a single coin. However, his seat remained empty during breakfast. After learning her lesson that he might have slept in, she knocked on his room to check on him but received no answer. She tried a few more times before resorting to turning the knob, which, surprisingly, was unlocked.

“Mammon? Are you here?” she called as she peeked inside.

The room was a chaotic mess, much like its owner. Fancy boxes of designer clothing were littered all over the floor, the tissues used to cushion the products strewn around them. A flurry of envelopes, which she suspected were bills Mammon had to pay, laid on the sofa. The most recent issue of Devil Style published by Majolish in which Mammon graced the front cover was opened on the coffee table, a few empty instant noodle cups next to it. The first area she searched for was his bed, and she was right; he had indeed slept in and was there. But the scene that awaited her made her eyes widen and her hand fly over her mouth on reflex.

His sheets were pure white, a contrast to the sinful form right in the middle of it all. Mammon dozed off, his whole facial expression carefree, his mouth hanging open as he snored lightly. A fluffy pillow under his head, his hair was tousled and messy, a few shades darker than the fabric it splayed on. A blanket covered his bottom half, but the rest of his lean, muscular body was bare. Sans the wings, he looked like an angel from a classical painting, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he had once looked like before he had fallen; what kind of wings he had, if a halo once had a place over his head. It wasn’t the first time she had seen a considerable amount of his skin, but the reality of the situation made her heartbeat accelerate and sent blood rushing to her cheeks: Mammon laid in front of her in his sleeping glory, possibly wearing nothing under the sheets.

“You… idiot… human…” Mammon groaned and mumbled something that sounded a lot like her name.

With the subsequent panic brought by the thought that Mammon had woken up, she staggered backward, her eyes darting around his room in search of a place to hide. To her unbelievable luck, he merely shifted his position and rolled onto his back, still asleep. Typical Mammon; even in his dreams, he was calling her an ‘idiot’ and ‘human’, but the fact that she starred in his dreams flattered her, she had to admit. He continued to mumble incoherently, his blanket still hung dangerously low, a slight movement from him and...

For once, she had to agree that she was an idiotic human. It was dangerous to lurk around this place. The longer she stayed, the higher the chances of him actually waking up and catching her red-handed. She raced to the door, avoiding the clutter on the way and thankfully succeeding. The click of the lock let her breathe a sigh of relief, and she had to fan her face with a hand to calm herself. No one was around the corridor which was a blessing on her end. She wouldn’t know how to explain what happened. 

Like a second version of Leviathan, she fled the scene and shut herself inside her room for the rest of the day, ensuring she had as minimal contact as possible with the outside world. She entertained herself by watching an anime Leviathan recommended, her D.D.D. set aside and unattended. The image of Mammon earlier would sneak inside her mind from time to time, and it was enough to make her flustered all over again. It was pure insanity, she admonished herself for being so ruffled about it.

The whole day passed, no one disturbed her, and she didn’t see Mammon at all.

On Sunday morning, having convinced herself to brush the incident off, she sent Mammon a message and asked him what he was up to, intent on pursuing the original plan yesterday before the... unexpected occurred. He replied a few minutes later with another detailed scheme he was cooking up to pay off a portion of his debt to the witches. She was skeptical of it, but she sent him words of encouragement and hoped for the best. It would be nice if he wasn’t being chased by his debtors 24/7, but since she arrived at the Devildom, the name 'Mammon' and the word 'debt' had always been mutually inclusive. The house was quiet, and she had to admit, it felt lonely without him around. 

In her bedroom, the desk was filled with things she collected in this world as time passed by, like her RAD identification card which she hung on her corkboard and the photo booth souvenirs she got during Spirit Week alongside it. The lamp illuminated the text of A Synopsis of Primitive Magical Theory, a book Satan lent to her last week. The hardbound cover was unlike anything she had seen before, with symbols she has yet to learn about inscribed on them. It was an old book—ancient, even—that was a rare find even in the Devildom. She suspected Satan had spells cast on it to retain its pristine condition. 

As she read a few chapters and reached the end of a passage about curses, she flipped the page and was taken aback by what she saw: a Demon Voucher, shiny and crisp, lodged in the middle of the pages. The Grim Reaper, a contrast of black against the bright yellow, stared back at her as if she was being haunted and fetched for the afterlife—which was a silly thought to have; she was already living in the Devildom. The voucher looked new. She concluded it was Satan’s, and he must have misplaced them. With that, she set it aside and planned to mention it to him later when they would see each other during lunch or dinner.

She thought that was the end of it, but when she flipped the next page, another voucher awaited her. It was odd. She tapped her index finger at the bottom of the page, a ludicrous thought running inside her head. There was no way that what she was thinking was true, and she flipped the page in anticipation, only to be proven that her guess was correct: another voucher.

A hundred times she flipped the pages of the book, a hundred Grim Reapers stared back at her from each sheet of the Demon Vouchers.

Were those already there beforehand? Or did the Primitive Magical Theory this book was about had something to do with what was happening? Unable to ignore the confusion that plagued her mind, she shut the book and stacked the vouchers together, deciding to approach its owner about it.

On the way to Satan’s room, she came across Lucifer in the corridor of the House of Lamentation. As they approached each other from opposite directions, she smiled politely at him in greeting. No matter how much she crossed her fingers that Lucifer hadn't heard about her and Mammon’s late attendance the other day, the chances of it happening in real life were low. Still, he hasn’t had a chat with either of them about it...

“Not with Mammon today?” Lucifer asked once they were a few steps away from each other.

She laughed nervously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You two have been inseparable as of late, don’t you think so?” He spotted the book in her hand. “A Synopsis of Primitive Magical Theory? An excellent title.”

“It’s Satan’s.”

“Well then, carry on. I have a meeting with Diavolo and must be on my way as well.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice.

Minutes later, she stood in front of Satan’s door and knocked. “It’s me.”

There was shuffling inside, and the door swung open with a creak. Satan greeted, “Not with Mammon today?”

“Huh? Not you, too!”

“Just kidding. Come in.” He laughed and ushered her inside, gesturing to the book in her hand. “Have you finished reading it? What do you think?”

“Not yet, but I am halfway through,” she replied. “That’s not what I came here for, though. I’m here because I found these vouchers in the pages, I think you misplaced them as a bookmark… maybe? And you might want to use them, so here they are…”

He shook his head. “Those aren’t mine. I have a lot of bookmarks.”

“Well, there are a hundred of these here." She waved the stack of vouchers in her other hand to emphasize her point. "Please give me a spoiler: is this the ‘Primitive Magic’ the book is talking about?”

“I can assure you, it’s not. I’ve read the book a ton of times, and nothing like that has ever happened to me.”

“Whose are these, then? Maybe the one who borrowed it before me?’

“You’re the first one I lent it to.”

“But I…” She was rendered speechless by what she has learned. If these weren’t his or hers, then where did they come from?

“Say, are any strange things happening to you lately?” Satan asked, a cryptic smile making his gentle features unnerving.

She stared back at him with suspicion. “The Devildom is a whole new world to me, so something strange always happens, of course. At least, they are strange to me.”

“Ah, that is correct.” He nodded and folded his fingers together. “But if I may give you a piece of advice? Remember the things you were told on your first day here. They may lead you to a rather surprising conclusion.”

“I see… Remember the things I was told on my first day here…"

Satan's eyes glinted with mischief. He knew something she didn’t, she was sure. Before she could ponder over his word of advice, all traces of mystery vanished from his face as he suggested excitedly, “Why don’t you use those vouchers and treat yourself? Finders keepers!”

She spent the night tossing and turning with recollections of the recent events in her mind. When she picked up that Grimm in the corridor the other day, Asmodeus had said that it might have been a good omen. If that was true, she wondered if the forces surrounding her were the cause of the things happening to her or if there was something or someone else behind them. It was the last thing in her mind before she drifted to sleep and dreamed about gold coins raining down from the sky.

The next day, she went to a mall on the way home after class, intent on getting rid of the vouchers in the best way possible: by using them. 

Mammon would be proud, she thought. She wondered what he would do if a hundred vouchers appeared in front of him, and concluded he’d drool over them as Beelzebub would to a cheeseburger. The thought alone was hilarious. It wasn’t as if she was spending them all for herself; she was off to do so for the ones who she couldn’t imagine her stay in the Devildom without. Despite the odd way she acquired the vouchers, she decided to make the most out of them as Satan suggested and take the opportunity to show her appreciation to the seven brothers.

Luckily for her, the mall she went to had a selection of items from the human world, and she decided she would gift them things she was familiar with and had meaning to her. First, she looked for five titles of human books she enjoyed for Satan; all in the mystery genre. His thirst for knowledge made them the perfect choice for him, and as a thoughtful demon, he would appreciate her recommendations. Besides, the reason she had this kind of opportunity was because of the book he lent her; five books as a gift for him didn’t seem like enough. A stack of records caught her eye, and she knew it would suit Lucifer right away. She chose one which she considered was a hidden gem in her world. Asmodeus has always been curious about a particular perfume she sometimes wore, the one which had soft, sweet, and flowery notes in it, and so she included the largest bottle of that in her purchases. For Leviathan, a rare and newly released Ruri-chan figure with bunny ears that she hoped he didn’t have yet—if that was even possible. She picked up the ingredients for the special recipe of cheeseburger she planned to cook for Beelzebub, and a sushi pillow and a sleeping eye mask for Belphegor.

As for Mammon… Well, what would Mammon like?

The answer was easy: money… and instant noodles in hell-sauce flavor, he liked that, too.

She frowned, strolling along the aisles with a cart full of her selected gifts. Instant noodles were too simple of a present, but she also didn’t feel like giving him the vouchers and letting him spend those for himself. It would defeat the purpose of her gifting him something. She racked her brains for something else Mammon enjoyed and came up with an idea. Excited, she rummaged through her bag for her D.D.D. and gave him a call.

He answered on the first ring. “Yooooo! THE Mammon speakin’.”

“Wanna watch TSL tonight?”

“Wh...?! What's that all of a sudden? I-I mean I’m busy… but I guess I can spare some time if it means a marathon of TSL. It’s not because I wanna watch with you in your room! It’s not that, okay?!”

She laughed. “Okay, then. See you later.”

A box set of The Tale of the Seven Lords Full Series DVD for Mammon it was.

Despite Mammon telling her that he would be coming not because he wanted to watch with her, she knew he did. He was obvious in that way, and she would have to be blind for her not to notice how different he acted when it came to her. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he was always adamant in denying everything, and though she found herself charmed, they were only going in circles and nowhere at this rate.

With everyone checked off her list, she pushed her cart to the nearest check-out and stood in the queue. The cashier greeted her a good afternoon and scanned her items. After seeing the total amount, she grabbed her purse to prepare her payment until the cashier, as well as the other staff, clapped their hands and said in unison, “Congratulations!”

“Huh?!”

The cashier shook her hand. “Again, congratulations, miss! You are now getting all of these items and more for FREE!”

“H-Hold on, there must be a mistake. I know that I’m a human, but I have money, too! I even have a debit card… and a bunch of vouchers! See?”

“Of course, of course... However, it isn’t that at all.” the cashier replied. “You are officially our 666th customer of the 6th month of the year! As a prize, you are entitled to our best deal, which is getting everything in your cart for free, absolutely no charges.”

“What in hell’s name…”

“Oh, and here is your Lucky 666 Card! Enjoy a 99.9% discount on your birthday! Just sign your name over the dotted line… There we go… Thank you for your continued patronage!”

She stared blankly at the sleek black card with three letters, bold and holographic, in the middle: VIP.

She sat in her room in a comfortable position, her head leaning over the sofa’s backrest, a pillow on her lap. She hasn’t seen Mammon since they parted after Devildom Law this morning. He had to do something for his debt again, this time another shoot for a clothing brand’s spread in Devil Style, and she was glad she was able to contact him earlier despite his busy schedule. He promised he was going to be present tonight, but it was almost time for their TSL marathon. Mammon hasn’t arrived yet. Did he forget?

Her bedroom door swung open. Mammon stood there, a huge bowl of popcorn in his arm, and cried out, “You didn’t tell me these two were goin’ to be here, too!”

“Oh… Hey, Mammon…”

“Beel...?! Doncha have a kitchen to raid or somethin’?”

“Movie night means popcorn,” Beelzebub replied with the happiest smile, taking the popcorn Mammon brought and filling his mouth with it the next second.

Leviathan inserted the disc of TSL Volume 1 in the DVD player. “Mammon thought she wanted to ask him on a date. How embarrassing! ROFLMAOOO XDDD!”

She chuckled at that, guiltily. In truth, she did want to ask Mammon to have a TSL marathon with her—and only her—tonight. Even someone as dense as Mammon would get a hint that she was into him… or was she giving him too much credit? Nonetheless, Beelzebub and Leviathan came knocking on her door, somehow having heard about their plans. They were very enthusiastic about tonight’s TSL marathon, she couldn’t deny them. It was too late now.

“Shut up, Levi! What’re ya doin’ here, anyway?” Mammon asked.

“It’s TSL Night. Of course, the #1 TSL fan should be present.” Leviathan turned to her and nodded in approval. “I have to say, you have excellent taste. The Ruri-chan figure you gave me is now in its rightful shrine in my room, so thanks… Plus, a limited edition TSL box set as another choice of gift? Such a shame it would be wasted on stupid Mammon, though… What a normie...”

“Grr… Whatever. I’m sitting here.” Mammon plopped down on the spot beside her and took up the majority of the space by stretching his arms and legs, the fabric of his jacket brushing with her bare arm as he settled in. She could get a whiff of that expensive perfume he liked and spent so much on. It was a familiar and comforting scent she associated with him.

“There goes Mammon again, hogging her all to himself.” Leviathan shook his head but otherwise sat on an individual seat like Beelzebub and helped himself with popcorn. “Should we invite Belphie? Where is he, anyway?” 

Beelzebub replied, “He’s asleep.”

“Nevermind, then.”

Instead of keeping her eyes on the opening scene of the first episode, she found herself watching Mammon. His hair, which she was no stranger to touching since she would rub his head often, was messy as always but in a good way. It suited him. Every time he blinked, the light and long lashes that framed his eyes emphasized the movement. Her gaze moved down, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his lips moved as he yelled at Beelzebub not to forget to bring them drinks from the kitchen on the way—them being him and her and not Leviathan. Mammon spoke freely, most of the time tactlessly, and though there were instances when he would say what was the opposite of what was in his mind, everyone who truly knew him would always be able to read between the lines.

“Hm? What’re ya lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Nothing,” she lied and gave him a small smile. “Is that a new earring you’re wearing?”

“Oh, ya noticed? Pretty neat, huh? Got it for a great price, too!” he enthused, brushing aside the hair that covered his ears so she could have a good look.

He proceeded to tell her the amount he spent on his new jewelry, which was indeed a great price, but not necessarily a great deal. She shook her head with a laugh. Up to the simplest things, Mammon would always be Mammon.

“It’s The Lord of Fools and Geldie! Oh, no... I can’t do this again, not anymore…” Mammon sobbed as soon as it was time for the ‘most tragic scene of all time’, although he had already cried over it the last time they had a TSL marathon. His sniffling earned teasing remarks from the three of them. Leviathan cheered when the Lord of Shadow and Henry did their legendary high five. Meanwhile, Beelzebub finished twenty bowls of popcorn, his eyes glued to the screen as well.

As the ending credits for Volume 5 rolled, her eyelids, which had been feeling heavy since the previous episode, gave in and fluttered closed. Her tiredness from school and her subsequent shopping trip began to catch up to her, and she could do nothing to fight it any longer.

“I’m so hungry...” Beelzebub’s stomach growled like an angry monster. He grabbed the empty bowl of popcorn and left the room the next second, on the way to raid the refrigerator.

“Bye… Beel…”

“Ah, I’ll never get tired of that.” Leviathan stretched his arms and legs. His D.D.D. rang, a song she didn’t recognize as his ringtone. He read the message, shot up from his seat, and exclaimed, “Oooooh! An emergency raid notification in Mononoke Land! Volume 6 tomorrow. Same time, same place. Leviachan, over and out.”

“See you… tomorrow… Levi…”

“D'aaah! H-Hey! Whaddya think you’re doin’?!” Mammon protested when she ended up leaning on his shoulder.

She wanted to tell him she was sleepy, but before she could, she had already succumbed and drifted off.

A pillow cushioned her head, and her blanket covered her body fully and protected her from the chill. It was silent save for the ticking of the clock that indicated it was three in the morning, a time which she would have been spooked to wake in if she was still in the human world. The television has been turned off, and the events earlier replayed in her mind: they were having a TSL marathon, and in the middle of it, she fell asleep. She recalled Beelzebub and Leviathan leaving. Mammon must have been the one to tuck her in bed. The thought made her heart soar, and she decided she would thank him later. For now, she would have sweet dreams for sure. Intent on continuing her slumber, she shifted her position to the side when the subsequent rustle of papers made her freeze.

Wary, her hand left the comfort of the blanket, and she reached out and dipped her fingers onto the bedsheet, her touch light but enough for her to feel a rectangular sheet of paper. Certain incidents from the past few days struck an unbelievable possibility in her mind. With a trembling hand, she brought the paper closer to her face. It was a bill—not the kind of bill Mammon possessed and received frequently—this was money; a hundred percent cold hard cash. She sat up, the astounding sight making all traces of sleep leave her body. Around her, the bed was littered with bills in various denominations. They were placed as if someone had thrown them haphazardly but avoided her form, the corners having the most amount in the most literal sense.

She stepped out of the bed with her eyes shut, rubbing them with the back of her hand and convincing herself they were deceiving her. However, the familiar feeling of something beneath her feet was enough for her to know that the probability of her being wrong was low. When she opened her eyes, the bills remained. Piles of Grimm stacked side by side with giant yellow gemstones, jewelry, and gold bars rested at the foot of the bed and all over the carpet. This wasn’t a petty amount of cash one could produce in a snap, and she believed there was no way someone was doing this to play a prank on her. She picked up a gold bar with one hand and a gemstone in another, its sizable weight and sparkle leaving her to the conclusion that none of these items were counterfeit, certainly not something to be trifled with. Her fingers growing limp, the gold bar and gemstone fell to the carpet, neither dented nor broken.

At first, it was the Grimm on the corridor, and then the Demon Vouchers. She received expensive items for free and became a VIP in a mall, and now this, items only treasure chests were known for appearing beside her as she slept.

It terrified her.

At a loss, she distanced herself from the collection of treasures and called the first name that came inside her mind, “Mammon!”

She was aware it was futile. It was the middle of the night. He would be deep in his sleep and wouldn’t hear her. But to her absolute surprise and relief, the door swung open within a minute. Mammon was the one behind it, looking like he threw the first articles of clothing he could get his hands on, a rumpled plain black shirt and pinstripe pajama bottoms, barefoot.

“Hey… What’s the big idea callin’ me in the middle of the night—” he had begun to fire his tirade of complaints but paused upon seeing her distress. Worry etched on his face as he strode to her side. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know! What are all these? Why is this happening?”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “What’re ya talking about? Are ya in danger? Tell me!”

She assumed Mammon would see it—smell it, even—the moment he walked in, yet he failed to notice. She gestured behind him and said, “See for yourself.”

Mammon spun around and yelped. Every single one of the various treasures shined brighter under the scrutiny of their gazes. Speechless, he ambled over to the foot of her bed, picked up a coin, and rolled it across his knuckles, uncharacteristically quiet.

Minutes went by, and she was unable to take the silence any longer. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s been like this since I tripped on that Grimm. It’s like I’m being haunted by the ghost of the Grimm or something.”

Her words remained unheard as Mammon threw the coin with a snap, absentminded. It landed neither on its head or tails but on its side, toppling over the nearest stack of Grimm and creating a domino effect to the one next to it. He rubbed his chin and began to mumble unintelligibly to himself.

Mammon was acting strangely.

She crossed her arms and observed, suspicious. She expected him to rejoice at the huge amount of money in his reach, try to pocket them, or talk her into breaking the gemstones into fragments and profiting from them. The ultimate form of temptation for Mammon laid in front of him, yet there he was, lost in thought. “You know something.”

Mammon finally heard her words. He turned her way slowly, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Tell me,” she said.

“No way! I dunno anythin’.” He tried to play it cool, yet she saw right through him; from the way a thin sheen of sweat had covered his face to the way his throat bobbed as he gulped, his gaze landing anywhere but her—he was alarmed.

“Don’t lie.”

He stood and backed away, all the while laughing nervously. “Well… it might be because of me…”

It was true that Mammon was the last one who was with her in this room before this, as far as she knew, but it was also no secret that he constantly had an empty wallet and piggy bank—even his credit card was frozen once again by Lucifer. Always without a spare change to his name, he was indebted to beings both mortal and supernatural. Was he saying that he had a stash of funds in secret?

“Because of you? What do you mean?”

“You know… Haha...”

“I don’t, actually.” She crossed her arms and gave him a heated look. “Explain, Mammon.”

“D’aaah! Okay, okay!” He scratched the back of his neck, a blush coloring his cheeks, hesitant. “Uh… Satan already told ya what happens when… the Avatar of Greed… takes a liking to someone, didn’t he?”

So, it was something Satan said… When she thought it over, Satan’s advice from last time echoed inside her mind: something she was told on her first day in the Devildom.

It all clicked.

Her first day had been a whirlwind, but one fateful occurrence was her meeting with the brothers, one of them being Mammon. The words Satan said as he introduced him rang in absolute clarity in her mind:

“Mammon here is the Avatar of Greed. He governs and oversees all forms of it. Whenever he takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. But from what I hear, if he decides to break it off with someone, that wealth evaporates. They’re left without a Grimm to their name.”

Mammon has taken a liking to her.

Mammon, the student council member assigned to be her caretaker. He has done his task in the most Mammon way possible since day one. When troubles came, his self-preservation won most of the time, but she couldn’t blame him. For some reason, he would still be the one who ended up in trouble with Lucifer, and it all worked out at the end of the day, always.

Mammon, the demon who claimed he wasn’t terrified of horror movies and would watch them to prove his point and fail. It made her and his brothers laugh every single time. She would insist on switching into an action, drama, or romantic comedy film, knowing he was partial to those genres and would be overcome with emotions other than fear. He would end up enjoying movie nights he dreaded.

Mammon, the ‘best bud’ she could talk and laugh with about the craziest things, the partner in crime she never had in the world she was born in. Her self-proclaimed ‘first guy’ who tried his best to deny everything, but wore his heart on his sleeve for everyone to take notice. He was far from perfect, but he was unapologetically himself, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

Mammon, the one who was in front of her now, peering over her face from afar with worry, as if she mattered more than the mountain of material treasures behind him.

Mammon has taken a liking to her, and it wasn’t mere liking.

“Do you love me, Mammon?” She took a step closer to him, wanting nothing but the truth.

He tried to step further away, but the back of his legs met the bed. “Wh…What?!” 

“Answer me.”

 “Uh… I guess ya ain’t bad for a human..."

“No. Honestly.”

He didn’t freeze, but he did stop fidgeting. She couldn’t tell if it was the power of the pact or the honesty the moment warranted that worked over Mammon as his shoulders slumped in defeat and answered, “Yes.”

The ticking of the clock has never been this loud. He finally admitted it. After all the stolen glances and hidden affections they had harbored toward each other for the longest time, he managed to be honest not only with himself but also to her. This changed things, and she could cry because she has waited for this moment in what seemed like an eternity.

“Listen here, and listen good! I’m not a regular demon, y’know! I’m The Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, one of Devildom’s elite… It should be an honor! But you… you didn’t even give me a reply…” he said, his final sentence dripping with hurt and self-pity.

It was her turn to be honest; she couldn’t have him getting the wrong idea, especially when he had taken a risk to confess his true feelings. She rushed and threw her arms around him, making them fall to the bed and a few bills fly to the floor. “Stupid Mammon. I love you, too.”

“Wh…? Really? Did I hear that right? You’re not joking, are ya?” He cradled her face in his hands and sought her eyes for answers, his own wide in a mixture of disbelief and hope.

She leaned down until her lips brushed his. “Yes, you heard it right, and no, I’m not joking. I love you.” 

He broke into a smile, overjoyed, and in a second, closed the gap between them in a kiss, one she was ready for, and she welcomed and reciprocated. It was gentle in all the ways imaginable, tinged with uncertainty as the reality of it all has yet to sink in. Before she knew it, it was over too soon.

“You can’t take it back!” Mammon exclaimed once they parted. He has never looked happier, and she always wanted to see him like this.

“I have no plans to.” She brushed her fingertips along his cheek.

“Good. ‘Cause I love ya.”

There they were, the exact words she had been waiting for.

Mammon gazed at her with fondness, a special look that he only had for her. His palm slid to the back of her neck, testing the idea of another kiss which she was more than happy to grant him, the passion she had pent inside her waiting to be released. As her tongue readily slid past his parted lips and met his, he embraced her and moved them into a sitting position. She followed in perfect synchrony, straddling his lap comfortably as she carded her fingers through his hair and pulled lightly, the two of them reluctant to break the kiss. Their initial shyness gone, Mammon’s touch on her waist grew firmer as the kisses turned deeper. His hands wandered to the curve of her hips, and on instinct, she shifted her hips forward to press herself closer to him. She succeeded, the space between their bodies now close to none, but that single movement from her also made her aware of his raging arousal. The heat between her legs made her mind go hazy with the extent of her own need for him, and it filled her mind with possibilities of where this could go.

Hesitant fingers teased the hem of her blouse and brushed over the exposed skin on her lower back. Mammon leaned back, his lips swollen and alluring, and murmured, “H-Hey, hold up a sec, are ya sure about this?”

It made her happy that he asked. Rough around the edges as he was, he cared for her so much. She was so in love with him. “Of course. I mean, are you?”

He pressed open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder, nipping and sucking at the skin on her neck until his lips caressed the shell of her ear. The warmth of his breath emphasized the weight of the words he whispered, “You’re mine now.”

It sent a thrill down her spine. She liked the sound of that, even more, because it meant that he was hers in the same way. Back then, she chided herself for letting her mind wander, but being surrounded by Mammon, an embodiment of a sin himself and the one she struggled to conceal her feelings for, made it difficult to brush those thoughts aside. How he’d feel like, how he’d taste, how he’d hold her—she’d imagined it all. Sometimes, she wondered if he was the same. Did he see her face, imagine her bare body, when he touched himself?

A passing glance over the bed reminded her of the current situation they were in. She let out a teasing laugh. “Is this your fantasy, Mammon? You and me… on a bed full of money? Or is there something else?”

“Shut up…” he replied, not sounding in denial at the least. He buried his face on her neck, his breath tickling her skin as he inhaled her scent.

“Either way, it won’t take long. I’ll know soon enough.” She would, maybe not tonight, but they had all the time in the world. Once she figured them out, the two of them would take delight in each one of those fantasies.

Tentatively, she ground her hips against him and leaned for another fierce kiss. Despite the fabric of their pajamas serving as a barrier between their bodies, it was thin enough that even the slightest movement created enough friction in the right places. He let out grunts of approval against her lips and soon met every grind of her hips with his own. Underneath her, she felt the hardening outline of his length, every press leaving her dizzy with the scorching desire for more. She could reach her peak simply by doing this, yet her mind swirled with other ideas. She broke the kiss and shifted her legs so she could stand.

“Where are ya goin’?” Mammon protested, reaching out to take her back in his arms once her unsteady feet toppled over the stack of treasures and touched the carpet.

“Relax,” she assured, a seductive smile gracing her lips. “Undress me.”

“O-Okay…” He gulped and stuttered to say more but failed. 

Her heart raced as she took his hands in hers, placed them on her shoulders, and slid them down, pausing to give special attention to her breasts before guiding him to the spot where the first button of her blouse rested. Mammon was stunned, but in the blink of an eye, he regained whatever was left of his composure and took matters into his own hands. He undid the buttons one by one, taking all the time in the world, his lustful eyes trained on every inch of her skin that was revealed to him as he went further. When he reached the last one, she shrugged the fabric off her shoulders and discarded it on the floor. The cool temperature of the room nipped at her skin, but she paid it no mind. Gingerly, he tugged at the garter of her pajama pants before he drew the fabric down, and without a word, she stepped out of them and turned around. His nervous fingers traced the curve of her spine and fumbled to unhook her bra. After a couple of seconds, he succeeded, but she didn’t wait for him and slid her panties off herself, the sharp intake of breath behind her unmistakable the moment she bent down and gave him a full view of her damp entrance. She faced the shocked, blushing mess on her bed that was Mammon, and basked in the boost of confidence given to her by the reality that she was the cause of his arousal as he was the sole reason for hers.

“How about we make this more exciting?” She stepped closer to him and reached for the hem of his shirt. 

Mammon obliged at once, discarding it on the floor with her clothes. “Huh? Whaddya mean by that?”

She took a moment to appreciate his toned body before stripping his trousers and undergarments off. Their bodies both bared for the other to see, she returned to her rightful place on his lap while gesturing over to the mysterious collection of treasures around them, “Everything around us on the line if we finish this without you touching me.”

Though flustered and blushing, her statement distracted him and piqued his interest. “All of it? I mean, what’s this all about? Are ya bein’ serious right now?”

“Of course, I am. Think about it, all this money for you to spend, Mammon! Your wallet will never be lonely again… or at least, it won’t be for a while.”

“What’s in it for you, though?”

“Well… nothing, to be honest. Victory, maybe?”

“Lame. That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard from someone makin’ a bet.”

Despite the lack of intrigue his words implied, the look on his face told her that he was considering it. Money was involved, after all. His nature as the Avatar of Greed would make it difficult for him to resist. She wasn’t bluffing; should he be able to do it, she would fulfill her end of the bargain.

“But don’t you like that you’ll be in advantage here? Easy money, right?” She tipped his chin with her index finger. “Don’t tell me… you can’t handle it?”

“Grr… Deal.”

“That’s the answer I was hoping for.”

“Just don’t come cryin’ to me after I win.”

“We’ll see about that.” He was fooling no one. He wouldn’t want her crying to anyone but him if she did end up in tears. Still, she was positive there was no need for any of that. As insane as it sounded, both the prospect of her winning and losing heightened her anticipation. “Now… where were we?”

“We were gettin’ to the good part.”

“Hm, isn’t that right.”

Her fingers brushed along the seam of his lips, coaxing them to open and let her slip them inside. Mammon’s pupils were dilated as his warm tongue swirled around her index and middle fingers almost on reflex and made sure not to miss the space between them. Pleased, she pulled her digits away, the sound of the final suck he gave them sending a thrill to her core, and rewarded him with a peck on the lips. She braced herself with her other hand on his shoulder, shifting her knees in a position that allowed her to settle his legs between them. Coyly, she gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, gauging his reaction as she reached down and let her fingers work their way to the slick heat between her legs. 

Her salacious mind raced with thoughts of Mammon as she slipped her fingers inside her. He looked so handsome with desire etched on his face—from his frustrated eyebrows to his pouted lips—that she felt as if she was on fire under the intensity of his gaze. He was tense, torn on focusing on her face or on the carnal movements her fingers were doing to herself. A deal was a deal; he could do nothing but clench his jaw and ball his fists to restrain himself, unable to touch her though he was dying to…

It was all too much for her.

“Mammon…!” she whimpered his name right before his very eyes. Her head fell back at the sensation of her climax, her lips parted by the moans she didn’t bother stifling. She shut her eyes as the feeling ebbed, hyper-aware of the sweat that had begun to coat her skin, and limped against his body, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

“W-What about m-me?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t touch yourself,” she pointed out slyly, leaning back to face him again, “but since your self-control is commendable, I can do it for you… if you want me to?”

“Yes…” he responded shamelessly.

It made her smile. That was another honest moment for him, but she supposed desperate times called for desperate measures. Her fingers, coated in her wetness, slipped between their bodies and closed around his shaft lightly, making his eyes flutter shut at the sweet sensation. At the groan elicited by her first touch, she wasted no time in moving her fist up and down, acquainting herself with the feel of him and leaving him swallowing hard and gasping for breath. The grunts that came out of his mouth spurred her to continue her ministrations, but seeing him like this reminded her of something.

“You know, I went to your room one time. You were sleeping,” she confessed, her tone downplaying the effect the sight of him had on her, her hand never missing a second in pleasuring him.

His eyes flew open in alarm. Unable to think straight, he grit out, “Wh…huh? Don’t tell me you saw… everythin’ while I was… asleep…?”

She chuckled. He was unsettled over the fact that she found out he slept naked when he was all bared in front of her now, her hand still stroking him. It was endearingly Mammon to be that way. She leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “No, I didn’t see everything.”

“I only saw you from here...” with her other hand, she brushed her fingertips from his shoulder, the path accentuated by the edge of her nail, down to the lines on his abdomen, “until here.”

“R-Really?” 

“Yes. This is the first time I’m seeing you like this, all of you.”

He let out another moan in response, his shaft now completely rigid inside her fist.

She pushed him down on the bed by his shoulder. The mattress bounced at their weight and sent bills flying to the floor, reminding her of the bet she proposed but had almost forgotten. Breathless, she aligned her body over his but paused at the last second to meet his expectant gaze. “Remember, no touching.” 

“Yeah, I know. You don’t need to remind me—”

His retort was cut off when she began to descend and take him inch by inch, both of them groaning in unison the moment she buried him until the hilt. Still sensitive from her previous climax, she clenched around him and took time to adjust to his size, her hands splayed on his abdomen for support as she shivered and delighted in the relief of having her yearning filled.

Mammon squirmed underneath her and whined, “I-Is that it...? You’re just gonna do that… and I dunno... sit there…?”

“Shut up, Mammon.” She shot him a glare, or at least tried to, she was too addled with pleasure to know if she succeeded.

To Mammon’s credit, he hasn’t touched her.

She moved languidly, unsheathing him and pausing before sinking fully once again. Her hips moved forward and back in search of the perfect angle that further evoked frenzied reactions from him. The control she had over the pace and being able to call the shots—something about those sent a thrill inside her. Sweat began to drip down her skin, and it didn’t take long for her to set the rhythm and bounce up and down on his length, burying him inside her again and again. Mammon let out a string of expletives at the pleasure that took over his body, his toes curling and his tight fists clenching at the pink bedsheet. He couldn’t touch her, but he needed to hold onto something—anything—that could save him from falling off the brink of insanity. 

Soon, she felt it; he was close. Mammon let out unabashed moans and curses and chanted her name so loudly his voice filled every corner of the room. A glance to the door, which she was unsure if Mammon had locked earlier or not, awakened her mind of the possibilities of the two of them getting caught and barged on. She unsheathed him again, but this time, halted her movements. “Keep it down, or I won’t let you.”

His hips moved on instinct, meeting her halfway in desperation for more but to no avail. She had shifted back, out of reach as he was unable to touch her if he wanted to win the bet. Mammon’s breaths came out in huffs as he came down from his high, so close yet not enough, the frustration lacing his words as he rasped, “You’re evil…”

“Am I? That sounds like something I should be telling you, though. I’m just a human, after all,” she reminded him with a chuckle.

“My human.”

In silence, she concurred. She adjusted her position and took his entire length once more, starting relentlessly to drive him to the edge one more time, only to stop at the last second when his voice rose, making him lose his momentum.

Mammon shut his eyes and grit his teeth, pulling at the sheets. “I… I’m goin’ crazy…!”

“You are?”

“Can’t… Can’t ya see—”

She sank on him again and took him in one fluid motion, rolling her hips back and forth against him mercilessly.

“I can’t do this… I need to touch ya… ”

“How greedy of you, Mammon.” Even in terms of her attention, he has always been a greedy one; making sure he would be the one to do things for her when his brothers gave her the slightest bit of attention. She has a strong feeling that he would be the same when it came to her affection now, but it would pose no problem on her end because, for all she cared, he could have every last bit of it. “You’ll lose, though. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t care anymore, dammit.”

And so, Mammon lost the bet.

Impulsively, he reached behind her head and bent her down so he could kiss her again, his tongue tasting hers clumsily but very eagerly. All worries of them possibly getting caught flew out the window. She propped herself with her hands on the mattress with ease, the majority of her weight supported by his body. His lips moved down to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake, until he could give equal attention to her breasts, cupping them with his palms before settling on the curves of her hips, grunting as he thrust inside her in a swift motion.

This time, she was the one who had to bite back a moan. Mammon had been holding back. At the rapid succession of his thrusts, she was reminded of how physically strong he was beyond her human capability. Back arched, she tried her best to match his rhythm until both their movements turned erratic. The heat built up in her lower abdomen, and she reached her peak once again, aware the moment he trembled underneath her and followed. Amid the waves of pleasure, her eyes fluttered open, wanting nothing but to watch as he came undone and found him gazing at her in the same way through gritted teeth. Every pulsation inside her and the warmth of his release left her dizzy, but through dazed eyes, she didn’t dare look away from him and took everything he had to give. 

Mammon embraced her as he panted and leaned his forehead against the curve of her neck, gratified, still caught up in the haze of pleasure.

“You lost,” she reminded, her fingers threading along his soft locks as she hugged him back and dropped a gentle kiss on his cheek.

For some reason, Mammon’s chest rumbled with laughter. Despite not knowing what was so amusing about the situation they were in, his laughter, as always, was contagious. She couldn’t help it and ended up laughing as well.

She hummed to the tune of one of the songs in the TSL soundtrack as she brushed her hair after a late-night—or better yet, very early morning—bath. Already dressed in her uniform, she set the brush down and finished the rest of her routine. Classes were bound to begin in three hours; she couldn’t risk sleeping, not waking up on time, and coming in late again. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could sleep after the most eventful hours of her life. She spun around, her eyes landing on the cause of the incredible incidents that had happened to her, her favorite creature out of all the existing realms.

Like her, Mammon was also in his uniform, his yellow tie in a perfect knot as she was the one who had done it for him. He was hanging out in her room and stacking the money that had appeared because he was the Avatar of Greed on the table. As terrible as he was in mathematics, everything was a different matter when the skull of the Grimm was involved; he audited the money, the possible prices of the gemstones, jewelry, and gold bars in a notebook like a professional. His eyebrows were knit and his lips were in a thin line in concentration; a rare look on him. She watched from afar with a smile.

“So, about all this money,” he began and gestured to her direction with his pen. “Ya better do somethin’ about ‘em because they’re gonna keep comin’, I’m tellin’ ya.”

He wasn’t about to stop his affections for her anytime soon, that was what he meant, so it entailed material and financial opportunities would have the sky as its limit.

Truth to be told, she didn’t have the slightest clue on what she would do with them and had been pondering about the matter since she stepped in the bath. All of it wouldn’t have appeared if not because of Mammon, and as he said, there would be more coming her way soon. She voiced out her idea nonchalantly, “Hm… I think I’ll use these to pay your debt.” 

His pen, which has been gliding across the paper, halted. Mammon regarded her with utter surprise. “Huh? Y-You will?”

“You don’t like the idea?”

“Who said I didn’t like the idea? No one!” He left his computations aside and strode to her, taking her hands in his without a warning, hopeful. “You’ll really help me? Your first guy? The demon you love?

His words reminded her of their intimate moments earlier and the dull ache between her legs. Flustered at Mammon’s audacity, her cheeks turned red. They had only been together for hours, yet he was already this arrogant, but it wasn’t as if anything he had said was a lie either. She pulled her hands away and crossed her arms. “If you’re nice to me, I might.”

Unfazed, Mammon grinned and put an arm around her shoulders. “Why, of course, I am, and I will always be. Whaddya think, huh?”

“I’m not kidding, Mammon. I don’t want random witches chasing after my boyfriend,” she said and shifted her body to the side to meet his wide-eyed gaze with her serious one.

“B-B-Boyfriend?!”

“Why do you look so surprised? Isn’t that what you are to me?”

“I-I mean… Yeah, I guess you can count on THE Great Mammon to be your b-boyfriend, haha… I mean, I’m an awesome boyfriend, right? The best?”

“Hm, maybe...”

“Aw, maaan.”

It was no secret: Mammon was a sucker for compliments, even more so when they came from her. While it seemed silly, she knew how it felt; a compliment from Mammon would make her day no matter what the circumstances were. He looked downcast, frowning, and that was all it took for her to give in. She embraced him by the waist and murmured on his chest, “Of course, you are.”

In a span of a night, a lot of things had changed; the commitment she made with Mammon, the first demon she forged a pact with in the Devildom, was now in a whole new level, a connection unlike any she shared with the others, their bond worth an amount no money could buy. Still, it didn’t feel as if many things were different. Mammon was still Mammon while she was still herself; both of them an indispensable part of each other’s lives. 

“Hey, you think I can win the lottery tomorrow?” she lifted her head and asked but was reminded that though it was dark, it was already morning, and it was going to be time for breakfast soon. “I mean, later?”

His eyes shined brighter than all of the various treasures he had counted combined. “Wanna find out?”

It was surreal to think that everything began with a single Grimm, and yet with Mammon leaning down to kiss her again, there was no doubt of it; she ended up hitting the jackpot.

Ka-ching! 🤑💰

If you made it this far, thank you so much for giving this story a chance. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Your feedback would be greatly appreciated 〜 💛

Obey Me! Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[yuusa]

-ˋˏ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 ˎˊ-

          -ˋˏ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 ˎˊ-

                  ✧ 𝑮𝒐𝒅 𝑬𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟑 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

·  ·  ·  · ✦ 𝑺/𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝑯𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑷𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕'𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒋𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒚𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒖𝒎.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑯𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆.

“Hey, are you good there?” He asked, his black and white hair shining underneath the nearly broken lights of the room.

You slowly sat up from the messy, uncleaned blocks of metal that were lined up next to the others. Seems as if this Port would never bother about your conditions, it was unsurprising to wake up on some rusty old hunk of metal you were supposed to call a bed. Your eyes stared down at the red and black armlets clamped firmly around your wrists, restraining your movements as you rigidly moved yourself to sit on the edge of the bed. Even if you wanted to turn your wrists, it was extremely hard to do so when its inner edges were locked into each other.

You adjusted to the scenery, or the lack of one, considering how small and cramped the rooms were. There was a single terminal in the corner of the room and a mission computer on the side, the walls were rusted and smeared with small patches of blood. The smell alone wasn’t very pleasant, but you had already found yourself adapting to the horrid stench that you grew up in. You may even describe the stench of rotten meat or corroded metal.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You replied, trying to brush away parts of your hair that were covering parts of your vision. Some areas were covered in grease and small particles of ash, but you weren’t allowed to openly complain about it, especially not near one of the guards near the exit of the cell.

“You’ve been turning in your sleep for a bit, I’m sure it’s not from your armlet either.” Hugo commented, sitting down on the empty space that was previously unoccupied, “there's another mission that had been posted just a while ago, do you think you’re ready for it?”

You turned to him but replied with only silence, your head was beginning to throb with pain from the blood rush slowly flowing throughout your body but it didn’t seem as if that was the problem to your thoughts. Although the ideas of missions were something that was closest to your freedom, it felt as if you were walking on a tightrope. At any second you may encounter an Aragami that neither you and Hugo could handle, if you were to exhaust all your supplies you might still get eaten by one of them. The thought of never coming home frightened you on the inside.

You pressed your lips and turned away from Hugo to stare at the bright yellow screens from the computer, it’s edges rusted to a brown and red mixture that was coarse to the touch. The other children in the room coughed into their arms, many of them covered in soot and dirt as they sat on their own respective beds.

Hugo’s eyes only softened at your expression, the same idea was racing through his own head. The fact that with every mission, you are risking every fiber in your body for Pennywort Port without a single penny or recognition to your names. It was frustrating enough to be kept in a cage like rabid dogs, but it was even more frustrating serving people who have wronged you many times.

There was a pregnant pause between the two of you before you slowly parted your lips.

“. . . Do you think that we’ll have our own Port?” You asked, feeling Hugo turn towards your general direction in surprise, “one where all of us could live together. . . Everyone can live free. . . We don’t even need to fight anymore.”

“It feels like a far-fetched dream doesn’t it?” Your eyes peered up at the flickering lights, the jointed area swinging in the air as Hugo merely stared back at you. Even though it seems highly unlikely for the two of you to make it out of Pennywort’s contract, to free yourselves from the shackles that separated you from humanity, the idea of having a paradise-like home made you feel warm on the inside.

“Even if it is. . . It does motivate me to think that there might be hope for us if we were given a chance.” You finished, releasing a sigh underneath your breath, “let’s start our next mission then.”

Before you could stand up from the dirtied, rusty metallic sheets, you felt a familiar feeling of warmth pull your hand back.

You turned to face Hugo, seeing his dark eyes peering up at you with a firm sense of determination. You could feel your cheeks warm slightly but you pushed away from the thought as he opened his mouth to speak.

“It might be a faraway dream, you’re right about that, but I think it’s something we can accomplish.” He smiled, “you and me, together, we can both find a way.”

“We’ll build a port of our own, we can both lead it together.” You blinked several times in surprise, although the dream may seem hopeless considering your situation and point, hearing his voice made you believe that there was a possibility that you could power through those barriers.

“You think. . . We could do that?” You asked, seeing him nod in response.

“We wouldn’t have to fight for someone else’s port, we’ll be fighting for ourselves and the friends we have. To have our own port. . . It sounds like a great idea to honor those who we’ve lost.” The two of you looked towards the hung pictures on the dirtied walls, the edges of the pictures were worn and stained but it never took away the memories that were imprinted into the sheets.

“When I promised you that very day when we were kids. . . I truly meant it.” You felt his pinky gently guide itself towards your’s, the small act bringing a new sense of profound hope as Hugo continued to stare at you with those brightly lit eyes, “we aren’t going to die now, or even later in the future. I’m sure as hell going to lead us. . . everyone. . . To our new goal.”

“Let’s build a port together, Hugo.” You stood up suddenly, “I’ll be by your side as your support.”

You watched as he smiled before laughing, he straightened out his legs by standing up next to you, “it might just be the other way around friend. . . But. . . We’ll get there.”

You grinned as the two of you lifted your arms as best as you could, hitting each other’s bound wrists as the sound of metal clanged and echoed in the walls. It was a simple action that sparked a flame within both of your hearts, it was as if Engage was constantly flowing between the two of you unconsciously.

“You got that right.”

       ──────────────────────────────

The Hounds stared up at the intense ash storms that were plowing down the course in front of their Pennywort Port, the black and grey particles falling from the air like snow as they heard the transmission cut off. The air was becoming slightly difficult to breathe in but it didn’t compare to the fear that was crushing your throat when you stared at the ash storm. You silently gulped as your group turned around to see a large Aragami headed your way.

It’s giant figure slid against the ground, it’s massive drill grinding on the concrete grounds as it roared into the ashy abyss. It’s eyes glowed menacingly as you felt it’s unwavering stare pierce through your chest. You felt the hand of someone placed on your shoulder, seeing Hugo smile at you to provide reassurance as he gripped his Long Blade tightly.

“Let’s not die here,” he said, “we’ll coming back to save our friends.”

Your eyes widened for a moment before nodding, your hands gripped the handle of your God Arc.

This was the turning point of your life.

Hugo turned to you as you took deep breaths, readying your God Arc in a fighting stance as the large Aragami slowed closed the distance. You opened up your shield at the same moment it’s drill smashed into the ground, Hugo and your other cellmate Zeke rushing out from opposite sides to slice and crush at its joints. You firmly stood your ground against the Aragami, feeling your shoes slide on the dirt before it reeled it’s drill back.

You huffed, switching back to your regular melee form as you dashed towards the head, opening up a quick Devour to boost your own abilities. You winced at the sight of your grotesque appearance before flipping yourself several feet away from the Aragami. The feeling of your cells powering itself coursing through your veins, your body heating up in response as you dashed forward to deliver another fatal blow to the head. Golden crystals shattering in the air revealed to you a weak point that gave everyone the time to use another devour attack.

The large Aragami slammed its drill back onto the ground, except its body traveled in the same way. The three of you looked around the area as you saw the rumbling of concrete erupt near Hugo.

”Get out of the area Hugo!” He quickly turned his attention to you but it seemed as if he was a few seconds late. You watched as the Aragami dug itself out of the ground, hitting its drill against Hugo as he flew back before digging itself another hole into the ground.

You quickly dashed forward to his side as he groaned in pain, you were only a few feet away from him when the Aragami slammed you up into the air and threw you across the area, your body sliding across the floor as you dropped your God Arc. Zeke turned to you in shock as he powered up his Boost Hammer to crush the top of the beast’s head, the sounds of its cries echoing throughout the barren town area.

“Shit!” You growled in pain as you quickly stood up, picking up your God Arc and readying yourself once more.

You wiped away at the blood that was smeared against your cheek, the burning feeling of your skin ripping against the harsh ground serving as a grim reminder of your seemingly hopeless life. Hugo was already standing up to prepare for another Devour attack the same time you had dashed forward, the two of you thrusting your weapons ahead to rip at the Aragami’s body before jumping back to keep your distance. Zeke spun in the air to deliver another blow to it’s the weakest point on its head, the Aragami falling to the ground as everyone dashed forward to take advantage of it’s weakened state.

“I’m sure it’s about time it’ll drop dead!” Zeke announced, pouncing on the Aragami once more to send another quick Devour attack in the air.

“Let’s give it all we got!” Hugo turned to you as you nodded.

He ran forward to slash at the sides of its body while you quickly fired shots into its other weakened points, the recoil of your gun making your arms feel slightly weak as the Aragami roared. You transformed the weapon back into its melee form in order to slash at the other joints of the Aragami. Your heart pounded rapidly as your legs pumped with adrenaline, with every slash and piercing attack you deliver, you found yourself growing even stronger by the second.

“Do you feel that?” Hugo asked, the two of you slashing at its body multiple times. The Aragami roared and cried in agony as it sunk to the ground, dropping to its knees as Hugo smiled. The Aragami was beginning to weaken significantly as everyone showered it with a multitude of attacks.

You could feel your resonance vibrating from within you, trying to burst out of the confinements of your body as you and Hugo made eye contact. You nodded as you activated your Engage skill, your hearts synchronizing to beat as one, while you felt your abilities being shared between each other as a golden, slightly green-tinted ring-shaped aura surrounded you. You grinned before dashing forward at the same time the Aragami’s knees buckled once more from the barrage of attacks, you slammed the barrel of the gun into its mouth, pulling the trigger to hear the specialized bullet explode in its mouth. It roared in pain before it’s chin slammed into the ground, it’s breathing coming to a halt.

Everyone jumped back as they saw the large Aragami finally become silent, the pressure and weight that had been on their shoulders finally releasing as they took a deep breath. You slowly walked towards its decaying corpse and used another Devour attack, taking all of its materials for later uses. You huffed and groaned, slamming your weapon down to catch your breath.

You actually survived this attack, it was quite surprising for you considering how often you fantasized about your death. Everyone else from your port had lost their lives to such powerful creatures that even you, someone who possessed high resonance ability was worried about. As you straightened your back, Hugo came to your side and smiled.

“We actually cleared the path, good work out there.” He held up his wrist for you, your smile still present on your face as you bumped armlets together, “you holding out there fine? Do you need to heal?”

Zeke groaned and gagged at the same time, “mommy alert.” Even when the other kids in Pennywort said that there was some unseen connection between you and Hugo, he couldn’t believe that you out of all people would be so close to someone who came out from a book.

Hugo rolled his eyes, “shut it you.” He adjusted his God Arc on this shoulders as he stared up at the ash storm with a worried expression.

Although the situation was supposed to be considered dire, it never felt as if your friendship wavered on the battlefield. You giggled before shaking your head, you felt fine now as long as there wasn’t any more Aragami in the area. You may have not been severely injured but you were certainly worn out after that fight.

“Lets quickly find out who sent that transmission, they must have picked up the other kids by now,” Hugo said, brushing his messy locks of hair back, “something tells me that this is our new beginning, don’t you think?”

You smiled and nodded, the three of you quickly running towards the path that led to the Ash Crawler that was supposed to perform an evacuation. The three of you prayed that they made it out of the ash storms in time and intact, even in a dark and unforgiving world where you could lose everything from a single swipe, there was that feeling of hope that brought everyone together.

You turned to look at Hugo who stared out in the distance in determination, a gentle and warm smile still on your face as you all ran towards the Ash Crawler several miles ahead.

[blue-mood-blue]

Minerva was retired.

“Not retired,” Duck would always say. “Just… starting a new career. Or, uh. Diversifying? Seems weird to call it retired when you’re still working.”

Maybe not retired, then. But certainly not working in the same capacity - less emergencies meant less lives at risk, and the kind of world-saving she did now didn’t usually carry the risk of bodily harm or a body count. A change of department, at least, if not a change of career entirely.

Just a change of department. And a good chance at that, because sometimes the old position still needed her.

The weather had taken an abrupt turn that evening - storms that had been predicted to miss them entirely for the past week were now looming in rolling, angry clouds overhead and creeping closer. Eventually, Juno made the call; they had a handful of campers in their section of the forest who might not know how severe the weather was going to be, so they were going to round them up and take them somewhere safer. "Service can be spotty," she explained. "Can't guarantee they've heard the change in the report, and better to get them out now than have to fish them out of danger later. I think we can handle it." And she divvied out the camping locations.

The storm held for most of the day, but by the time late afternoon arrived the wind was already whipping the trees around in a frenzy. Reaching the campsites became more complicated as debris was left over the paths and roads, and Minerva thought that Juno Divine made a wise call when she heard another large branch breaking in the distance. There would be plenty for them to do after the storm just to make the park accessible without the added worry of rescues.

A call came in over her radio. "Hey Minnie, there's only one campsite left on the list and no one else has gotten back from the last round yet, so I'm just gonna take it."

She looked up at the sky, eyeing it skeptically, before lifting the radio. Such old technology by her own planet's standards, but it worked well enough. "Are you sure, Duck Newton? The weather does not look promising, and it might be a good idea to have someone with you. I will not be much longer if you wish to wait for me."

"Nah, nah." If she concentrated, she could just make out the sound of footsteps and a snapping twig - already on his way, then. "Sooner I get there, sooner I get back, and then we can head home and watch movies until the power goes out."

Minerva grinned. "We are going to watch the one with the robots tonight, yes? You did promise me I could pick."

He laughed, and the sound was just as pleasant even with the fuzz of static. "Yeah, I promised. Hard to go wrong with Wall-E anyway. We'll pick up pizza on the way home, if you want."

"Sounds like a date." She glanced up at the sky one more time as she reached the main building, concern alleviated a little by their plans for a nice evening in. "Be careful, Duck, and I will see you soon."

"I’ll be back before you know it."

It was the last she heard from him for almost an hour.

The tension building in the air finally broke as the sky opened up and rain pummeled the roof of the main office. The wind only increased, whistling and shaking branches, and lightning showed the scene outside in bursts. Minerva stood by the window, radio in hand, and made unanswered calls as Juno began to pace.

"He should be back by now." Only static on the radio. "I saw the campsite he was headed to, it's not that far away." Juno glanced at the window Minerva stood by as though she might see Duck walking up the road, cool as a cucumber. It was all just sheets of rain and flashes of light illuminating the ways the trees seemed to writhe. No Duck, and nothing to reassure them that he would even be able to get back on his own.

"I should go and look for him. Something might have happened to his radio." Minerva didn't say what they were both thinking - something might have happened to him, and how would anyone know until the storm died down if they kept waiting - but the tension in her shoulders made her worry clear. It would have been obvious to Duck, and maybe it was noticeable to Juno, too, since Minerva was doing nothing to hide it - the amount of control it took for her to remain inside as long as she had.

"You should not go and look for him. What if we lose track of you, too?" The look Juno gave Minerva was uncertain, though, as if she wasn't sure of her own argument. Duck always said that Minerva could do whatever the fuck she wanted, and Duck... knew more about everything surrounding Minerva than anyone else. Maybe she could just walk out into a raging storm and bring her husband back. A thunderous rumble shook the building. Juno's voice sounded less sure, too, when she spoke again. "I'm sure he's fine. Duck's been doing this job a long time, he knows how to take care of himself. We'll hear something from him soon."

They waited and watched while the storm seemed to grow worse. Minerva stared at the window with single-minded determination, and Juno fumbled with her own radio as if willing it into activity. Just static, again, until it started to sound like the rain hitting the roof.

When they heard something, it didn’t come from the radio. A figure made of light stood in the room next to them suddenly, and just as suddenly it was on the floor, lying on its stomach and reaching out. "Mouse," said Duck's voice. "I... think I'm stuck."

"Where are you?" She walked closer while Juno stared, and Minerva had to ignore the alarms ringing in her head with his choice of her nickname, with the way the projection flickered between standing and crawling. She stopped just short of him, pulling back the hand that reached for him out of instinct - she couldn't touch him, not in this form. The worry was put into a box in the back of her mind for later; the sooner she was with him, the sooner she could help.

It seemed to take him a moment to gather himself enough so that the projection was on its feet again and he could point to a spot on the map hanging on the wall.

"Are you hurt?"

He laughed, a hoarse sound - a fearful sound. “I think so, honey. Fuck.” And with that the figure flickered out of existence.

There was a beat of silence as they both watched the spot where Duck’s astral projection used to be, waiting for something more. Anything. But it seemed that Duck had said all he had come to say.

“I am going to find him,” Minerva said, walking to the door.

“I’m going with you,” Juno replied, reaching for a set of keys.

In a moment of sorely-needed luck, Duck was not hard to find. He knew his part of the forest, knew it well enough to take Minerva wandering even before the end of the world had passed, when they needed somewhere quiet to be without expectations. Never once had he gotten them lost, not even when he took her hand and led them away from the path because there was a tree he wanted to show her, or a meadow he knew of. He was still aware enough to pinpoint his location on a map, and Minerva tried to take reassurance in that fact when she spotted him in the light from the headlights, lying in the road in front of a fallen tree.

Minerva could see immediately what he meant by “stuck” - in the harsh illumination, she could make out long drags in the mud left from Duck trying to pull himself free of the tree. He hadn’t made any progress; either the tree was too heavy or the ground was too soft, and he was lying there soaked by the downpour and smiling up at them though the pain clear on his face.

She jumped down before Juno had a chance to stop; the relief of seeing him and seeing that smile was a heady feeling, and she tried not to get lost in it. "The next time I offer to accompany you when the situation seems dangerous, I trust you'll take me up on my offer?" Her voice wasn't stern at all, teasing if anything, and she could see the effect that her words - and her presence - had on her husband. His smile looked a little easier, his fear a little farther away.

Duck chuckled. “You're right - you’re always right about stuff like this and I'm the idiot who keeps arguing with you, I know. I would've been back before the storm, though, just had the worst fucking luck - campsite was already abandoned, that wind started up, and I almost missed the tree.” He pulled himself forward a little, which was a mistake; the smile was gone and he barely managed to bite back a scream. His leg didn’t give at all.

“Do not do that again.” There was a time when she would've had more control over her emotions. She would have been able to lock her concern away in iron until she had time to deal with it, as her training demanded. But she wasn't exactly that person anymore, and this wasn't war - this was Duck, hurt, while she tried to decide what to do.

Minerva leaned closer to the spot where leg met wood. The trunk was heavy, not rotted at all, so there must have been some damage already that made the wind able to push it. That meant that the full weight of a healthy tree was on him, sunken into the mud. The luck that had gotten her and Juno to the spot so quickly seemed to have decided they'd been granted enough favors.

“Yeah, good call.” Duck's voice sounded strange, thin, and his face looked pale. “Don’t suppose… don’t suppose you could get that off of me? I’m not gonna lie to you, Minnie, it, it doesn’t feel great.”

She could, Minerva was sure of it. She didn't bother with false modesty when it came to her physical prowess, didn't see the point - it wouldn’t be easy, but she could remove the trunk with time and a good enough grip. But it wasn't lost on her that if she couldn't see Duck's leg, she also couldn't see the extent of the damage. She might make things worse by moving it, or by trying to and losing her grip.

Before she could answer, Juno was next to her. “Holy fucking shit, Duck. How the hell did you get wedged under there?”

“Just that talented. I’m sure you’re super jealous. Please get it off.” Being out in the storm was starting to take its toll on him; Duck looked tired and unfocused.

“I’m going back for… chainsaws, I guess. And backup. I’d say don’t go anywhere, but. Yeah.” She tossed a tarp at Minerva as she climbed back into the vehicle. “Ten minutes, tops.” And then she was gone, the headlights retreating back the way they came.

Minerva unfolded the tarp, spreading it over both of them as she sat down next to Duck. They were still wet, and they were still sitting in mud, but she felt better here than she had at the building; at least here, the uncertainty was gone.

"So I guess that's a 'no' to just lifting the thing and chucking it somewhere else."

"I would prefer to try the chainsaws first, yes," she said after a moment. "It is very likely I would hurt you, and if I could avoid that... that would be better."

"Oh." He nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Probably safer, anyway.”

They were quiet for a while. The sound of the rain on the tarp was different than the sound of it on the roof of the office, closer and more immediate. The cold was biting, sneaking in through the places the tarp didn't cover. There was no forgetting where they were.

"So much for date night."

The thought was unexpected enough to coax a laugh from Minerva. "I am sure I can find some way for you to make it up to me. When you are no longer trapped under a tree, perhaps."

Duck laughed, too. "Makes it a little hard to cuddle, yeah." He reached out for her hand. “Thanks for coming. This is probably the dumbest way I’ve ever gotten hurt, and you know there’s a list, but… means a lot.”

“I love you, Duck Newton, and I would rescue you from many trees.” He chuckled, and she smiled at him. “As I know you would for me.”

“Hell yeah I would.” And if his voice was a little quieter, a little more tired, it was no less sincere. “Would absolutely punch a tree for you. Let me at ‘em.”

Minerva tried not to let the silence last too long - she kept him talking, about his day, about that part of the forest, about the last time he’d seen a storm this bad - anything at all, as long as it meant he was present and alert. Ten minutes slid into fifteen before she heard anything on her radio - a string of expletives, because there was “another fucking tree down on the fucking road, get yourselves to some shelter while I call for help.”

Minerva brushed the hair from Duck’s forehead. The last time she’d seen him at this angle, they’d been lying together in bed and she wished them back there, in some safe moment. His eyes were tired, verging into glazed, but he smiled just a little at her touch. “This is going to hurt, Wayne Newton. This is going to hurt so much.”

He sighed, but he didn’t sound surprised or worried. “Figured. Do what you gotta do, Mouse. I trust you.”

She kissed his forehead. Back in the storm, she stood over the trunk, found her grip, and pulled.

Minerva had never heard Duck scream that way. She never wanted to hear it again. Mercifully, it didn’t last long - soon he was silent, passed out from the pain, and she let the heavy tree in her arms fall down at an angle that would leave him free to move.

It was bad. The damage was… bad, and that was as far as she allowed herself to think. Minerva thanked the little bit of luck that meant Duck wouldn’t have to feel the next part, as she wrapped his leg in the tarp and lifted him. She knew exactly where to take him; she knew this place almost as well as him, now.

The little outpost was a good choice - it was well stocked, with a bed and first aid supplies, and had reliably weathered storms in the past. Small, but Minerva would take anything more effective than the flimsy tarp. When they were dry she did what she could for his leg, drawing off of the experience of half-remembered war wounds and first aid training, and forced herself to be satisfied with what she’d managed.

“I am going to tell Leo Tarkesian that you lost a fight with a tree,” she told Duck. “He is going to laugh at you, and I will join him.”

Duck didn’t answer. Minerva didn’t expect him to.

A couple of hours later, while she was watching a window that usually showed a beautiful view of the forest and now only showed the growing darkness of night and the storm, she noticed Duck start to shiver. His skin was too warm - a fever was setting in, and she piled blankets on him and sat back down to do nothing but hope the night passed quickly.

It didn’t, of course; the hours dragged on while she watched. His sleep was restless, and she had to keep him from moving his leg. She tried the radio but there wasn’t even static, and her cell phone was similarly useless; her consolation was that the outpost was a holding of the park service, and should show up on the maps. All she could do was wait. The storm howled outside.

“I worried about things like this,” she confessed around midnight to her sleeping husband. “When I asked you fulfill your destiny, I worried about the day I would see you weakened, or bloody. Or the day you wouldn’t answer at all, because you couldn’t, and because my choosing you had cost you everything. And I, fool that I am, thought that the days I might see you hurt were over.” Minerva sighed. “Not even the abominations managed to do this much. There is a joke there somewhere, too; you will have to tell me what it is, when you wake up.”

Sometime before dawn - but only just - her husband answered, from behind her. The glowing figure was looking blindly for something, shaking and reaching out, and she realized he was dreaming.

“You can’t just be gone. That’s not fair, Minerva, you can’t just be gone.”

A fever dream. Fear from a long time ago, dredged back to the surface by confusion and pain. Minerva stared at the figure for a long moment; even without an expression it looked sad, lost and afraid. She remembered the feeling, the long silence and emptiness that she was left with when she was cut off from earth. And while it was tempting to cross the room to the figure, the one looking for her was right next to her.

The first time it happened that she knew of, she’d been in Duck’s living room. He was sitting next to the couch, holding her hand and humming some blues tune when she woke up. That was before either of them knew what it meant, that they were still together - that they just kept staying together - but in hindsight… maybe she did know, in that moment.

“You were having a bad dream,” he told her. “Bad enough that you astral projected into my room. Couldn’t just let you be alone out here after that.”

“I am ruining your sleep, Wayne Newton.” The protest was weakened a little by the smile on her face.

“Nah, I’d rather be here anyway.” And maybe he knew, too.

It wasn’t the last time. It was likely that there would always be nights like that, when the dreams felt too real and the only way they could reach out was along that reliable tether that used to be their only connection.

She turned around and rested her forehead against his, holding his hand. “Shhh, Wayne Newton. I am here. I have not left you. Try to rest.”

Minerva didn’t look to see if the projection was still there, but she didn’t hear anything else.

~~~

Daylight brought help - Duck was rushed to the hospital and Minerva was left in the waiting room until someone had news to give her. She was torn between the conviction that Duck needed her with him and the understanding that the doctors needed room to work, but all she had to do was summon the memory of her makeshift aid to convince herself it was better she stay away for now. So instead, she sat with a cup of terrible coffee in one hand, and her phone in the other.

There were an alarming number of messages waiting for her, she noted as she took a sip of the coffee. Something must have happened, and Minerva had a moment to hope no one else had been hurt in the storm before her phone started to buzz and the name “Leo Tarkesian” appeared on the screen.

“Thank fuck,” he said as soon as she answered. “I’ve been calling half the night! I was about to start over to you and Duck’s place, I’d be there already if not for that damn storm -”

“Leo Tarkesian, I do not know what you are talking about.” She had to speak loudly to be heard over him, which drew some glances from other people in the room.

“Uh, I’m talking about Duck? Talking all kinds of nonsense about looking for you last night? He sounded real spooked, I thought for sure some shit had gone down.”

So the projection had been lost. If he thought she was still planets away, there was little wonder that Duck overshot his target. “Something, yes. There was an accident in the park, but I doubt that that whatever he said had anything to do with it.”

A pause. “So, when he said he was looking for you…?”

“He was asleep by then, with a fever. He was projecting from his dreams.”

A longer, more significant pause. “...We can do that?”

Minerva didn’t answer. “Did he appear to anyone else?”

“Not that I know of, but I called Sarah. And Sheriff Owens, to see if anyone had called anything in.” Duck wouldn’t be happy to hear that the news had gotten that far, but in fairness, it would have spread anyway. “That fucking… I’m not gonna lie to you, Minerva, I haven’t forgotten that fucking vision, you know the one. Where Duck dies.”

“Yes, I remember.” Even with every possible attempt to forget.

“Really thought… really thought something big was going on. But you said there was an accident, is everything okay?”

Minerva braced herself for the fallout, and told Leo everything.

“Fuck it all, I fucking knew it! I’m calling Sarah back, we’ll be over soon - yeah I know, no news yet but we’re gonna be there, dammit - okay I gotta hang up so I can call her but I’ll call you back, yeah? We’ll be there soon!”

And then connection was quiet, and Minerva was left in a mostly-empty waiting room with a phone full of messages and the dawning realization of why there were so many.

Mama called next, before Minerva could find her number in her contacts. “No, I didn’t see him,” she explained. “That was Barclay, barged into my room and stood over me like some kind of serial killer. Scared me half to death. The storm had calmed a little by then so he went out looking to see if he could find, I don’t know, Duck’s wrecked car, maybe. Didn’t really sound like he had a plan beyond ‘do something.’”

“You can tell him that Duck Newton is in capable hands, and I will share any news as soon as I have it.”

“I can’t tell him anything because the fool hasn’t gotten back yet. I swear to god he and Stern are searching the whole town like bats outta hell. Not like Jake didn’t overhear him and get the Hornets in on it too - you’d think they’d have given up by now.”

She gave Mama the hospital information, interrupted once by a frantic Barclay getting back, and then again while Mama answered an incoming message from Thacker.

Sylvain, Duck? Minerva thought while chaos erupted from her phone. You must have missed me.

“Aubrey, too,” Mama relayed. “Real late last night, he says, and she got the whole court worked up with her fretting. You can tell Duck he should be expecting some visitors real soon; gonna be hard to keep that room from filling to the brim.”

Of course it would; he would pretend to hate it, and no one would be fooled, and the nurse would have to throw the rambunctious crowd out when visiting hours were done. It was always the same with their family. A wonderful kind of chaos.

Then the doctor was there, and Minerva’s thoughts focused on one person only.

As she expected, the injury was severe. The recovery would be long and frustrating - walking was a conversation for another day. And under everything the doctor said was the hesitant warning of this will be hard, do you understand that?

Minerva did understand. And she knew besides how worth the work good things were. It was a lesson she thought she knew, until Duck repeated it while showing her how to care for a sapling and she felt the words fully for the first time.

It was the heroism her current line of work called for. The quiet kind.

Duck smiled at her when she walked in the room, big and bright and still a little loopy from pain medication. “There you are. Been looking for you.”

“I hear you’ve looked for me in many places, Wayne Newton.” She sat down by the bed, and the tension finally fully eased from her shoulders as she held his hand. “Why did it take you so long to look next to you?”

“Guess I thought… guess I thought that’d be too good, you know, keeping a star all to myself.”

Minerva laughed, and the sound boomed out of her. “Oh, you are going to regret saying that tomorrow, I assure you.”

“Nah. Nah, never, ‘cause it’s true. You’re my hero, like one of those… one of those people. In the sky.”

“You are mixing your metaphors. Am I one star or a constellation?”

“All of ‘em.” He looked like he believed it, too. “Decided you were all of ‘em way back when I didn’t know where exactly you were up there. I used to look up and wonder which one had you.”

“This one,” Minerva said, and kissed him.

[libermachinae]

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 4, Sensory

Also available on AO3! Notes: Day 4 of @prowlweek and I went a bit squish. Scav’s a good-ish boy.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

Scavenger apologized probably somewhere around a hundred times. Hook couldn’t keep track of them all, and even Prowl must have been satiated, because he gave up on his lecture halfway through and kept it to a crisp, “Do as you’re ordered.”

“Mixmaster and Scavenger, you’re coming through this time,” Prowl announced as he loaded up the terminal with their next set of coordinates. “Long Haul, you’re anchor.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because that’s your order,” Prowl said.

“Bonecrusher’s the one who caused problems the last time, shouldn’t he be the one stuck behind?” Long Haul’s shoulders were squared and his plating flaring. Though he resented the reaction, Hook could understand where it came from: after being put on guard duty twice in a row, their resentful transporter was probably starting to feel like his skills were being undervalued.

“I’m the leader of this mission,” Prowl said, turning to stare Long Haul down. “If you take issue with my command style, you’re welcome to leave.”

“I’m not gonna do that and you know it,” Long Haul snapped.

“Precisely.” Prowl turned back to the console, as though that constituted a satisfying end to the argument.

Hook tried to get a steadying hand on Long Haul’s shoulder but was pushed off, the larger mech stalking away. Not that there was far to go. The present had been confined to the space of the cave they stood in, their only indication that real time was passing the changing light that filtered in through the ceiling. Their chronometers had fallen out of sync with each journey, but it was pointless to reset them every time, when Prowl had them going back in just minutes after they returned.

He finished punching in the coordinates, the timestream shimmered to life, and the team lined up behind him. Only now, Prowl didn’t bother to specify the order they would travel in. He took the lead, Scavenger slipped in front of Hook, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster lagging behind, and a silent agreement was passed not to bring it up as an issue. If Prowl was relaxing his regulations a bit, that could only mean fewer opportunities for them to mess up.

Part of Hook wondered if they should take a break soon, give everyone a chance to fuel up and ease off, maybe even have a chance to get caught up on everything they had missed. That’s how they’d done it with Scrapper, but he stopped that line of thought before the pang in his spark got to be too strong. This wasn’t the right time to bring it up, anyway, so he put his focus to keeping his processor under control as he stepped into the timestream.

He did a better job of it this time, practice having made him more accustomed to the feeling of time rejecting their intrusion. He reached forward at once point and took Scavenger’s hand, keeping him from rushing ahead like he had the first time, and in response felt a squeeze that held until they nearly reached the exit. This time, Hook could see what they were approaching, but the only thing he was able to make out was that it was dark. Not like the cave, though. There was something familiar about it.

At Prowl’s signal, he let Scavenger slip free of his hand, then followed shortly after, emerging among the roots of another long-lost Cybertronian city.

“An abandoned sector?” Hook said as he peered around. Compared to their last stop, the streets here were barren, lights only distantly visible through the breaks between buildings. Someone turned on their headlights and illuminated the building across the way, its large doors slightly ajar.

“What would the time killer want with this place?” Scavenger asked as he crept closer.

“The what?”

Scav grinned at Prowl.

“The time killer,” he repeated. “We’ve got to call this guy something, don’t we?”

“He hasn’t killed anyone.”

“He’s Cybertronian?”

“Yes, but—”

“There you go! Killer.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Hook said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Prowl said. “Come up with something better. Bonecrusher, you’re on guard duty. Scavenger, Mixmaster, Hook, with me.”

The named mechs followed Prowl into the nearest building, staring up at tall ceilings that only served to offer more room to an incredible collection of junk. Scrapped sheet metal, rusted beams, and all manner of useless spare parts filled the space, a warehouse that had been made to a cheap and convenient dump for some unofficial industrial venture. The whole thing rung familiar to Hook, but it was the rumble of and engine in need of a tune-up that caused his processor to alight in recognition.

“Wh—seriously? Since when do you all show up early?”

Hook whirled around, his spark spinning with way too many emotions to process at once.

“Scrapper?” Mixmaster choked out.

“But no Long Haul. Great. I guess we can just start building the arena on top of the scrap piles, that’ll stand just fine.” Scrapper wasn’t paying any attention to the mechs he was addressing, too wrapped up in his planning and calculations to notice anything amiss. The casual ignorance of a mech who was so profoundly gifted in his ability to notice details struck an emotion in Hook that he did not have the words to describe, and he found himself stepping forward.

“Scrapper—”

“Scavenger, stop standing around,” he said, possibly ignoring Hook, though more likely failing to notice him. “I need you to start sorting through this mess and figure out what’s useful. Mixmaster, help him excavate however he needs; your skills aren’t going to be any use until we get this cleared and Bonecrusher gets here to set up the foundation. Hook, you review the blueprints last night?”

“Of course, sir,” Hook said, forcing himself out of his stupor and back into the role of the perfectionist second-in-command he had played for four million years. The changeover was so natural, he forgot he was lying.

“Start laying out the perimeter. Give us a sense of the space we’re working with,” Scrapper ordered. “Once you’ve got that, I’ll need your help with the fine details, make sure everything’s to Megatron’s specifications. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Scrapper turned and walked off, optics fixed to the datapad he’d walked in with. Hook stared at his frame as it retreated, taking in the way his legs bent and arms swung, the cant his helm adopted when he was deep in thought. The last time he’d seen Scrapper functioning had seemed like such a non-event, it hadn’t occurred to him to savor it like this. Now, every frame was saved to his memory, copied to multiple folders and heavily encrypted.

There were so many things he wished he could do to that frame. But, if they really were all the way back to setting up gladiator arenas, then the team wasn’t really a team yet. There were rumors about Scrapper and Long Haul, evidence of Mixmaster and Bonecrusher’s late night ‘science projects,’ and a few nights spent fantasizing ceaselessly, but nothing at all like what would come later. Hook, he reminded himself, wasn’t even the second yet. At this point in the timeline, he’d only recently been assigned to Scrapper’s crew and made up for it with a kiss-up habit he was still struggling to break.

He wished there was time; the things he wanted to do to that frame. Scrapper disappeared through the far door, and Hook made to follow him, reclaim lost days he’d never imagined would be significant enough to miss. A hand caught his arm, he turned to Mixmaster’s optics, and was reminded of their reality.

“Prowl says we should go,” Mixmaster said.

“Oh.” Hook didn’t remember setting his vocalizer that low. “Where is he?”

“I’ve got him,” Scavenger said. He’d been leaned over a pile, sensitive digger arm extended in from of him, now revealing that Prowl had been hiding beneath it. “It’s good we got Scrapper while he was still in planning mode. I don’t know if this will work again if he comes back.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Prowl said. “You’re all compromised and there is no sign of the target, so we’re going back.”

He led the way back out of the building. Mixmaster complied without much fuss, surprisingly eager to get back to the time portal, but Scavenger lagged, glancing over his shoulder to the place Scrapper had disappeared to.

Hook paused to wait for his teammate.

“Hey, c’mon, Scav,” he said, offering out a hand. It was all he could do to close the distance, because he knew if he went to Scavenger right then, he might not be able to stop his legs from carrying him all the way back.

Still, the mech hesitated.

“Is there a problem?” Prowl asked, back at his side.

“N-no, Prowl, uh, boss,” Hook said, trying to hide how the mech’s reappearance had startled him.

“It’s him,” Scavenger said, with a reverence that he usually saved for just one mech at a time. He glanced back at Prowl, optics bright with something. Realization? Hope? Primus, don’t let it be that. “Prowl, could we—”

In two strides, so quick and silent he might have teleported to Scavenger’s side, Prowl pushed himself into the mech’s space, silencing him with presence alone.

“No,” he said, his voice the blade that cut off Scavenger’s fragile buds of hoe. “No. Scavenger, on this day, four million years in your past, Scrapper had a normal day. He worked with you and the rest of the team, erected Megatron’s next arena, and forgot about it among every other day he spent doing the exact same thing. He did not get removed from his place in time, nor did he mention ever encountering a different version of you. This is how things happened, and we can’t change it, no matter how badly we—you want to.”

He was leaning far into Scavenger’s space, closer than Hook had known he was capable of. And although the display was apparently meant to be domineering, show that Prowl was the one in control, there was something else to it, captured in the way Prowl’s hand reached up and touched, so gently, the excavator’s wilting backhoe.

“That’s four million years ago. More recently than that, Spike Witwicky tracks him down, isolated in an Earth construction lot, and kills him. We can’t undo that, either. It’s not ours to change.”

Scavenger’s whole frame perked up under the surprise touch, subconsciously tilting his stick into Prowl’s hand. Hook watched Prowl’s gray fingers stroke with surprising care, a jealousy coiling in his spark that he was only able to tamp down with the knowledge that Scavenger would be delighted to share the memory when they next combined.

Prowl said something else, so soft Hook couldn’t hear it. When he leaned back, he and Scavenger’s optics were locked, the latter nodding in some private agreement.

“Now move it, both of you,” Prowl said, voice returned to its usual commanding timbre. He turned and proceeded out the way he’d been headed before, leaving Hook and Scavenger to follow. It wasn’t a problem this time, though they walked after him on legs that felt suddenly weak. It still took a great deal of will on Hook’s part not to cast a final glance backward as they left, but he managed it, keeping his optics ahead of him, on the doorwings that swayed with each step Prowl took.

[youre-in-the-jungle-baby]

Slaxl: Slash wondering if he should call and tell Axl when the doctors told him that he maybe only would have six weeks to live because of his heart problems. (Or extremely angst with a happy ending(?))

The first thing he does is try to write a note.

It doesn’t sound right, and it never will he thinks, because there’s just no way he can get the words to spin into gold for him like Axl can with his words and lyrics. So he leaves crumpled papers in the trash can and a pen laying on his desk that has sat unused for god knows how long in the corner of his room collecting knick-knacks, guitar picks, and dust. The whole house feels wrong and his chest feels wrong, and never in his life has he regretted being as sober as he is now. There’s nothing to cut into the knots that are pulling tighter inside him and he knows that it would probably make it all worse.

He goes to all of the appointments, sits in the sterile and alien waiting room and then in the cramped rooms that smell like sickness and too much cleaner and bleach. It doesn’t change what they say to him about his fucked up heart and what he thinks of his fucked up life. They look professionally sorry, and he nods along like he’s already gone numb and blinks hard when he thinks about what this really means. His hands shake and every time his breath catches he can feel the panic roar up in his ears and scream through his head that it might just be his last.

It’s a death sentence.

That night he calls Axl and his hands haven’t stopped shaking when he dials and digs his blunt nails into his palm because in some way he’s got to make sure he doesn’t let his feet leave the ground and float away. Axl answers the phone and opens with some remark about bothering him that’s only half joking, and Slash opens his mouth to laugh out of habit but it only cracks and spills out in little broken shards that sound wrong even to him. He wants to scream and cry and be able to blame someone for fucking him over like this, that he’s lived through all the shit he’s seen and it had to be something like this that’s going to be the thing that finally forces him to check out.

In one of those memories that you only catch a piece of no matter how hard you try, he can see his mother shaking her head and telling him that he’s going to give too much of his heart away, you can only have so many cracks before it turns it into too many pieces before it breaks for good.

Axl doesn’t make any more jokes and Slash isn’t sure what to say, so he doesn’t say anything and instead listens to Axl chatter about something that he’s not quite paying attention to. If he closes his eyes he can see Axl in front of him with red hair and an insufferable smirk pulling back his lips with a laugh that leaves him smiling even if he doesn’t know why.

When the call is slowing down and their words are dying down to embers that don’t have enough spark left, all he can think to say is ‘I miss you’ because ‘I love you’ sounds too much like something a dying person would say.

He closes his eyes again and Axl is standing in front of him, leaning in close and whispering the same thing back into his ear and not through a phone. He’s gone when he opens his eyes and he’s alone in his empty room with a line that’s already gone dead.

That night he starts another note and and gives up on it halfway through out of pure frustration before laying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling and wishing he could see the smoggy skies of LA’s streets again when the night was to hot for a leather jacket (that he wore anyway) and Axl was at his side with cigarette smoke drifting from his lips. Or maybe watching Axl on the steps to the tour bus door, glancing up past the glare of streetlights to catch a glimpse of the slice of the moon hanging heavy in a dark sky.

His heart hurts again and he wants to run away from it all because he’s stopped noticing if it twists as a warning or because he’s thinking about Axl again. There’s a split second when he’s reaching for his phone again, wondering if it’s too late to call him back and if he’s asleep or if he’s awake too. His hand drops back onto the sheets and he makes himself roll over and shut his eyes in an empty bed that might as well be an ocean he’s lost out on for all the good it does him.

The clock on the bedside taunts him like a countdown in a movie before the bomb goes off. It counts up to midnight, and it fucks with your head knowing that the time matters that much, that he probably isn’t going to see it count up to midnight that many more times in his life. He picks up the phone again and calls Axl for the second time because dying makes you do stupid things.

Everything is on the table because there’s nothing stopping him from saying what he wants to now, anything he’s been waiting to say since he’d seen Axl with a microphone in his hand upon a club stage with the lights too low and the adrenaline too high.

He talks too fast, spitting back what he’s been told in clinical rooms and what he might have already known the day he let himself tip over the edge. The tears come at some point and he’s apologizing and tripping over his words like this is the last time he’s ever going to be able to say it. When he’s done Axl doesn’t say anything and Slash hangs up the phone before he can mess this up more.

Axl is probably mad. He’s mad at people a lot when things are not in his control like he wants them to be and someone isn’t doing something right. It might as well be a spitting ‘I told you so’ for all the nights of drinking and shooting up that Axl had always hated him for. And maybe this is just it for him, he’s said his piece and he’s made his music and now it might be time for him to just step down and let it run its course.

The clock reads midnight now.

He finally lets himself lay back down and close his eyes and remember a night where he felt safe with the sound of cars on the road and everyone he needed to think about in his life all in one house and the worst thing that could happen was having to put up flyers for a gig on street corners and finding a way to afford a new amp.

Sleep comes easier that way.

The first thing he hears when he wakes up is frantic banging on the door downstairs that echos around his head like drums and crashing cymbals. It takes him a few minutes to get up and the knocking doesn’t stop the entire time when he walks to the door. It’s still early morning, the kind of early morning he’s never really liked nor been awake for most of his life except for when parties drug themselves out until the sun was crawling over the horizon. Still, he opens the door expecting anyone but Axl standing there.

It’s dead silent spare the sound of bugs bouncing around the porch light and the gentle rumble of the city and its cars in the distance. Axl looks older, they both do, in the lines that are starting to show up around his smile and his eyes and the scars that are fading away with softer edges now. He can see his car parked haphazardly in the drive at an odd angle with the engine off.

“You weren't answering your phone,” Axl says bluntly like it justifies showing up at someone's house at four AM.

“Sorry,” Slash offers, fingers curling and uncurling into the palm of his hand. The night air feels colder than the rest of the house, and he sort of wishes he could shut the door again.

“You weren't answering your phone,” Axl says again and Slash cocks his head to the side at the vacant look that he’s getting from Axl. There’s a shaking hand that reaches out to rest on the left side of his chest, warm fingers on worn cloth.

Axl isn’t looking at him anymore, he’s staring at his own hand that’s still on his chest like the world depends on the fact that he keeps it there. Slash’s own hand curls around Axl’s wrist, carefully pulling it down until it falls back down to hang between them still linked together.

“You told me and then you didn’t answer your phone, Slash, I thought-,” Axl stops and his eyes fall to his feet as he stops talking. There’s not a lot of ways he could have finished that sentence, Slash knows what he thought and it hurts just as much as it did telling him in the first place.

“I’m fine,” Slash says, and that’s a lie, it’s such a big lie that he wonders how he managed to make himself say that. Nothing is fine right now.

“No. No, you’re not,” Axl hisses and his eyes look bitter again when they look back up at him. “You’re pretty fucking far from fine.”

He’s not wrong, Slash thinks.

“Fuck,” Axl whispers, and his hand twitches away from Slash so it's free to return to its earlier position over his heart again.

“Fuck,” Slash echos leaning against the door frame slightly, his head resting against the wood.

Axl moves again, slow and sure like he's sure where he's going but how he's going to get there, until he's tucked into Slash, that missing piece sliding home and fitting snugly. His face is pressed into his neck and his hair, it smells like the same shampoo he's always managed to use no matter where they go in the world. Selfishly, Slash wishes he could keep them like that for the rest of however long he’s got. A handful of weeks to live out that little dream he could never get to go away since the first day Axl had leaned into him like that.

“You can’t do this to me,” Axl says after a pause that feels to final. Slash knows that tone too, the one that says that he’s already made up his mind that no matter what the odds or the facts, that he’s not backing down. But what really catches him off guard is the words there. You can’t do this to me. Not you can’t do this to the band or us.

Me.

[nobodiesheartlessshitblog45]

Simple Moments Scars.

RDR2 Fanfic

Emma road into near town to pick some few for Susan.

It had a been over month since she went out on her own, so it felt good to be independent again, and riding into did sound like a great idea.

She walks into a the store, pick up some Black thread, Needles. For reason Mr. Pearson asked herto pick a skillet.

Emma walked into the store, as she was looking around a few people were eyeing as she was she was  browsing the shelfs

An elderly gentleman was standing next to her giving her  disapproval look, eye the scars and eyepatch.

Emma: ... ... (looks at her) Hello? Can help you?

The man gives her discussed look and walks away. Emma stood there for a few moments, and found the black  thread and a skillet, and brought a the items up the Clerk.

Emma: Hello. (Smiles sweetly)

Clerk: Hello, Ma’ma. How are y— Oh, my! I mean, did you did what you were lookin’ for?

Emma: (forces the smile) Yes, sir.

She payed and walked out the General store in a hurry, feeling eyes on her she walked out.

Emma: ... (thinking) What the hell is everyone deal?! It’s like I have two head!

She looks at herself in the shop window, seeing her the right side of her face large scared covering her and eyepatch over stitched eye.

She sighs and begins walking down the sheet.

There people all around, walking by going about her day. A few people would stop and give her odd looks.

Emma just ignored them and walks down the sheet, taking her time looking around. Looking into the shops and market place.

She was walking on a stone bridge.

She stops and removes her eyepatch, and itches her sares. She looks out at the water, and some few men, fishing in a boat

She leans over the edge, and smiles peaceful. A moment of calm washing over her.

She watches as she saw a few ducks swinging by, when she heard a whispers from a 2 young woman standing near by.

They were well dressed and were looking at Emma with some form of discussed, some jewelry on, and their hair was nicely done.

Woman 1: Look at those scars on her face Isabella. Hideous. And... is she missing an eyes?!

Woman 2: My lord, how can anyone walk looking like that. Girl has no shame, Jessica, no shame at all. Lord help that girl.

Emma stood there, looking at the water, and truns to look at them.

Emma: I can hear you.

Jessica: Ahhhggg! Look at her face, Isabella! It’s so disgusting!

Isabella: (walks up to her) Who do think you are walking around like that in public place like this?

Emma: Um... Because it’s public, dumpass.

Isabella: This place is only public for upper class. Not ... Well, people like you.

Emma: Excuse me. (gets angry) The hell do you mean people like me?!

Isabella: Just look at you. Look at your face! (points to Emma’s right side) How can any woman walk around looking like you and be proud. You’re a distance. You’re ugly, you’re repulsive. You are absolutely disgusting! You should ashamed about yourself looking they you do! 

Emma said nothing only places a hand her right eye.

Then Jessica pops up from behind her sister.

Jessica: Stop talking to her. She could be the devil himself...!

Emma: ... ... Boo!

The two girls let out a horrifying shrieks, alerting one of the nearby officers.

Officer: What’s going on?!

Emma: (calming looks at the officer) I was minding my own business when these two-

Jessica: (butts in) T-This ... thing was trying to attack us!

Emma: ... ... Seriously.

Isabella: It’s true! She’s out of her mind, and tried to attack us honestly Christian women!

Emma crossing her arms, rolling her left eye.

The officer was trying to comfort you two woman door, and looks at Emma, and gives a disgusted look he notices her scars.

Officer: Ma’am, I’m gonna ask ya too leave.

Emma: Huh?! What...?! I didn’t do anything...!

Officer: Leave, of I’ll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace...

Emma stood there looking at the The officer, and the two girl, who gave her smug look.

Emma: ... ... F-Fine... I’m... I’m going.

She picks her bag, and begin walking away, down the bridge. As she was walking away, and trying to hold back tears.

She walks down by the river, and stood, drops the bag, picks up a rock and throws in the river.

Breathing angrly before sitting down the ground shaking.

Just then a family of ducks were walking, Emma saw them, and thought for a moment and reached into her and pulled out a bread ripped off a chunk and began feeding the duckings.

The duckings ran right over where to Rose drop the small bits of bread. The began eating

Emma then held out her, and the little ducklings were eating out her of it.

She smiles and watches the family of ducks and hen noticed a pare od of boots, lying on ground near bushes.

Emma raises brow and walks over or the boots, and looks into the bushes.

Arthur was lying there, on his back, not moving.

Emma smiles and laughs to herself, shaking her head in amusement.

Emma: ... Well, this isn’t a  surprise. Hey! Arthur!

Arthur says nothing, he rolls over on to side and grumbles softly.

Emma: C’mon, you big idiot, raise and shine~. (kneels down and shake him)

Arthur: (groan) ... Shhhhh... I’m dyin’, come back later...

Emma: Heheheh. We’re in public park. You’re gonna get in trouble if a lawmen finds you passed here. Get your drunken ass up, Morgan.

Arthur grumbles, but slowly sits up, his head was pounding, the sun Burning his eyes. He looks around confused.

Arthur: ... This ain’t my tent...

Emma: No shit. Now c’mon.

She helps Arthur to his feet, Arthur takes a few steps and falls over.

Emma: (starts laughing) Haha. I guess you boys must had fun last night.

Arthur: Ugghh, I don’t even remember what we did... Hahah. Ow... hehe. (places hand on his head) Aw shit, I lost my hat. And The rest of fellers.

Emma: I’m sure they’re around or in jail, and we can get you a new hat. (pats him on the back) I can help you look for them.

Arthur: Y-Yeah, later... Give me a moment to regret my Life decisions.

He sits down, and sees the little ducklings walking up to him.

Arthur: (smiles) Hello there, little ones. Where did you come from?

Emma: They my new gang.

Arthur: Heh. Is that so?

Emma: Yep. I decided to start my own outlaw gang.

Arthur crakes a smile and she sits down next to him, and hands a some bread. Arthur takes it and they start feeding the ducklings together.

Arthur holds out his hand letting the little duckling eat the the bits of bread.

Arthur looks over, and sees that Emma seemed to be sad and lost in lost.

Arthur: You okay, Em?

Emma: Hm? (looks at him) Yeah. Just... thinking.

Arthur: Okay. Ya wanna talks about?

Emma: ... Not really.

Arthur nods and two said nothing for a bit and sat down watching momma duck and thelittle ones go into the river and swim off.

Arthur: There gose your gang.

Emma: Yep. They were good members.

Arthur: Heh. Who are you here with?

Emma: It’s just me. I needed a to get away from the camp a bit.

Arthur nods understanding where’s coming from, slowly stands up, and stretche.

Arthur: I should, whoa, (stumbles) find the other’s.

Emma: Mind if I come with?

Arthur: Sure. Always enjoy your company, Em.

They two walked together, Arthur’s head was still pounding.

Arthur: Ughhh... You wouldn’t happen have an coffee with ya?

Emma: No, sorry, cowboy.

Arthur: I feel like was run over by a train... Twice.

Emma: Who were you with? And what did you guys do?

Arthur: Um, Hosea, Charles, Sean, Uncle, Karen, Lenny went back I believe... Some fellers were givin’ Karen a hard time and ... Well, needless to say we took care of’em, and that’s all remember.

Emma juat smiles, when they heard someone calling their names, Hosea, Javier and Charles coming over.

Javier had few hickeys this on his neck, a shit eating grin on his face.

Emma: Mornin’, boys.

Javier: And a mornin’ to you, Emma. You look absolutely ravishing today~.

Emma stairs at him, and looks at then for a few moments, forces a grin.

Charles noticed, and picked something was bothering her, but stay quiet as she and Javier talked.

Emma: Soooo, got lucky?

Javier: Hoho! You have no idea. I am a ladies man. I can understand the feelings of women.

Emma: Pfff, yeah! Sure! (walks pass him)

Javier: I do!

Emma: Whatever. Morning, Charles. (walks up to him, kissing him) Morning, Hosea.

Hosea: Mornin’, Emma.

Javier gives Emma a sour look, then two beautiful called out to him for a balcony.

Woman 1: Raul, do you really have to go?

Woman 2: Stay with us! We can work things out!

Javier stood there, gives a devilish smirk, walks up pulling his hat over face.

Arthur just rolls his eyes and walks away lighting a cigarette, Hosea and Emma give each side ways glances and Charles just stood there, kind of amused.

Javier: I’m sorry, rosas delicadas. But I must go. It was a magical night, and I will not forget you.

He takes his hat, bows his head, turns on his heels, walking away in a dramatic way, while the girl calling to him.

Arthur: Do you even remember their names?

Javier: I cannot remember. But (smirks) Ya see, my good friends, I’m lady’s man... I’m a gentleman of Grace the dignity.

Just then his starts rumble, his face gose green.

Javier: OH FUCK!!! (rans to the edge of the water, and starts dry heaving)

Hosea: ... A man of Grace and dignity indeed. (starts couching)

Emma looks at him worried, places her hand on his shoulder.

Hosea: I-I’m fine, dear. (gives her smile)

Emma: Are you sure? Y-You’ve been coughing a lately.

Hosea places a on her over the side of her face, smiling at her gently.

Hosea: My darlin’ Emma, I’m more than fine. Try not to worry about me.

Emma nods and his gives her kiss on the fourhead, then looks at Charles.

Hosea: Keep eye this one, Mr. Smith.

Charles: I will.

Emma: Well, I’m the only with one eye, so I can keep an eye myself easily.

Hosea: ... That’s not funny.

Arthur: It kinda is. (standing by smoking a cigarette)

Hosea give Arthur a look, who shrugs.

Emma: I’m gonna look around town a little more.

Charles: I’ll come with you.

Emma smiles and say their goodbye to Arthur and Hosea who going to looks for the other.

Arthur: Hey, Charles.

Charles looks at him, Arthur looks at Emma who was walking ahead of Charles.

Arthur: ... Make sure she’s okay for me.

Charles: I will.

And the two walked as poor Javier was standing by the river.

Javier: I-I’ll, ugh, be here... ... ... I hate my life... (starts to vomiting again)

Charles was walking with Emma, looking around. They didn’t say, Charles looks at Emma.

She facing the ground, a somewhat sad look in her, her shoulder were tense.

Charles: Somethin wrong.

Emma: ... No, I’m fine.

Charles: Emma.

Emma: I-I don’t wanna talk about it, Charles! Just leave it be.

Charles takes her hand gently. takes her hand.

She stop, and starts shaking, sniffing, she slowly turns to him, crying.

Charles reaches out and whipping away the tears, and takes to her to the near by wooden ear so they could get some privacy.

Making sure the far away enough. Charles looks at her.

Charles: Emma, you don’t have to hid anything for me. You can tell me.

Emma: It’s (whips her life eye) ... stupid.

Charles: ... (lifts up her chin) It ain’t stupid if botherin’ you.

Emma looks at him, then looks to side, feeling embarrassed, she takes a few moments.

Emma: O-Okay, if I tell you what’s bothering me, promise me you will not laugh.

Charles: I would never. You can trust me.

Emma: ... (takes a few deep breaths) Do... Do you think I’m ugly?

Charles was takes aback by this.

Charles: No. Never. W-What made you think that?

Emma: Ya know just... a random question. No big deal. (smiles)

Charles gives her sympathetic look, them Emma finally talked him about those dump rich girl said about her and scars.

Emma: ... I-I know. It’s really dump, and I don’t care what other’s think normaly but... Lately my ... I’ve noticed that people would give me weird looks when I walk down the sheet, and... and what those girls said... I (sniff) I can’t help feeling very uncomfortable about the way I look now. (starts to cry)

Charles looks at her, reaches out and removes her eyepatch, and kisses her scars.

Emma blinks, and Charles just smiles at her.

Charles: Beautiful. You, Emma Rogers, are just so damn beautiful. Scars and all.

Emma stood there, a tears falling down her face, the left side of her eye.

Charles pulls her into a kiss, and stood on her tippy toes, the a loud female moan could hread.

Charles: Oh~. Darlin’, I definitely made you feel better.

Emma: T-That ... wasn’t me

Karen: Huh?! Who’s there’s?!

She pokes her out from behind bushes and tree. Charles and Emma started at her.

Karen: Oh, it’s only two... Um, mind if ya ... ya know... git.

Sean: ... Karen, love~... Why-Why did ya stooooopp~.

Emma: ... ... We’re leaving.

Charles: Yeah.

The two walked out the woods and back into town. The both of them stood there, looked at each other, began laughing.

Charles smiles warmly has Emma had the beautiful smile on her as she was laughing so hard.

The hread their names being called and saw Javier walks over.

Javier: What’s so funny?

Emma: Haha. Nothing. Just... stay away from that area. Karen and Sean are having sex over there.

Javier: ... ... But the hotel is down that way. (jerks his thumb behind him)

Charles and Emma shrug and the they walks away, as they were walking Emma spots the Isabella and Jessica walking near by.

Emma: ... ...(smiles Evily) Javier, Charles, can I borrow come of clothes?

The men look at and each other.

The two rich women were making they’re down to the park, laughing and talked when they heard something for the bushes.

Jessica: What in the world was that?

Isabella: It could be a squirrel.

They kept walking, but when now and then they would hear loud footsteps from behind them.

Isabell: W-Who’s there! (turns around) You... You best back away. Our daddy is a rich lawyer!

Just then they was a loud evil which Like catliing sound, the and figures steps out of the woods behind them.

The woman scream, when has Emma had Charles hat and long jacket , Jacket’a and Poncho and hat, Arthur’s Black bandanna covering her.

Isabella: W-WHAT... WHO ARE YOU!!

Emma: Heheheh~! (in creepy old woman voice) I’m the Witch of The river... The trees of Speke about two of the most beautiful girls in the land... AaaaHehehehhehhe!!!

The two girl held each other, both of them white as ghost, while Arthur, Charles and Javier stood hidden behind trees, trying not laugh.

Isabella: A-A which?!

Jessica: Oh, lord, a-are the devil’s mistress?!

Emma: ... ... Um, Yes. I am! And I have for your—-

Jessica: AAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHH! SHE’S GONNA TAKE OUR SOULS!!

Isabella: PLEASE DON’T OWN SOULS!!!

Emma trying not laugh, keeps her Javier hand his hands over mouth, Arthur leaning against and the tree, grining at the show, Charles was still watching smiling watch Emma almost braking character.

Emma: NO, FOOLISH MORTAL, Pff... I’m come for your fresh! I wish become as beautiful as thee, unless...

Jessica: Unless...?! Unless what?!

Emma: Let me think...

Isabella: Tell us!

Emma: DON’T PISS OFF THE RIVER WITCH, YOU RICH BRATS!!

The girl screaming again, and began ripping off their jewelry and throw the purses at her.

Isabella: TAKE EVERYTHING!! WE’RE SORRY!!

Jessica: THIS IS GOOD!? PLEASE DON’T OUR BEAUTY!!!

Emma: (brakes character) Holy shit... Yeah, this is good. I’ll take it.

The the men began rawring with laughing. Isabella and Jessica were shaking.

Isabella: What’s... What’s the hell?!

Emma: Oh?! (Gose back to creepy old lady voice) THOSE AER MY HELL DEMONS!!! GO BEFORE THEY DRAG YOU YOU HELL!!! OR EAT YOU EEEEHAHAHAHHAHAH!!

The two girls yelled screaming and ran out the woods.

After making sure the were Emma bursts into laughter, Javier falls onto the ground, howling, Arthur whips his eyes, and Charles was holding onto the tree, trying to breath.

Javier: Oh Dios... oh, haha. An excellent performance, Emma. Well done. (claps)

Emma: Thank you, thanks very much. (bows) Haha. Yeah, now can you help me take all of this. I’m sweating like hell.

The men were laughing, and help Emma remove all the clothing.

Arthur: Oh, wow. Look this. (picks up one of necklaces) Dutch is gonna be a happy man when we bring this back home.

Emma: Ah, it feels good to working again, scaring the shit outta people and get pity revenge.

Charles chuckles and kisses her, and keeps watches, they gathered all the money and jewelry, and ran off before the lawmen showed up.

Needless to say today was very good day.

[huphilpuffs]

giving it my best shot

summary: Dan and Phil go on tour. flares verse. word count: 4076 rating: teen warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, needles a/n: written for @phandomficfests tour fest ii. thank you to @obsessivelymoody for beta’ing this even though I asked at the last possible moment. if you haven’t read flares, all you really need to know is that Dan has fibromylagia.

ao3 link

The tour is Dan’s idea.

His laptop’s resting on his thighs and his head’s on Phil’s shoulder when he says: “We should go on tour,” and then, after a moment, “For real this time.”

They almost did it before. They wrote a book and told some of their story and in the darkness of their bedroom thought maybe they could do it, maybe it would be fun. They’d written out ideas and laughed at the stupid ones and somewhere along the line, they set the whole thing aside because it all seemed so out of reach.

Dan’s body had been too broken for half the ideas they had.

Today, Phil’s fingers fall from his keyboard to land on Dan’s knee, his whole body a little tense.

“The old one?”

“No,” says Dan. “A better one, a more authentic one, you know? A lot’s happened since then.”

Phil chuckles, so quiet it’s barely a breath. “Yeah,” he says. “A lot has.”

And that’s it. They don’t talk about it more, not then, not until daylight is back and they can hunch over a sheet of paper with markers and ideas and a better understanding of who they want to show the world, of how they can go about doing that.

Dan makes sure his body can handle it.

Phil makes sure both their minds can.

And somewhere along the way it goes from concept to plan to investment.

To Interactive Introverts.

---

They announce the UK leg first.

It exists on its own, for now, despite all the ideas they’ve discussed, the grandeur of what they want to create. In the privacy of their bedroom, they’ve talked about American cities they want to visit, about how cool it would be to bring the tour to Australia, about filming it so it can exist even after they return home.

In public, they talk about Manchester and London and Brighton with unspoken hope for more.

The announcement goes live over Twitter, then a livestream, then YouTube.

Around them, their team gushes about the response and makes note of questions being asked and offers, not for the first time, reassurance and congratulations.

Phil rolls his chair over next to Dan’s, dusting a barely-there kiss against the shell of his ear.

He doesn’t say: I’m proud of you.

Dan does say: “I’m proud of us.”

---

The first show’s in Brighton.

They spend the long minutes before it starts sitting backstage, wedged side by side onto a sofa, listening to the buzz of a playlist they created echoing through the walls. Phil’s phone is in his hand, resting against his knee. Dan stares at the screen, a Twitter feed Phil hasn’t bothered to refresh for at least three minutes, because his gaze is locked on the side of Dan’s head.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Dan cracks a smile. “Does it matter?”

Phil huffs. His phone screen goes black, but only Dan notices.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Outside the room, the song changes.

Dan’s fingers fall to rest against his thigh. His nails drag against the grit of his jeans, over the dip in the fabric just past the round of his kneecap.

The elastic beneath cuts into his skin, squeezes tightly around his joints. Once he’s standing, it’ll help, but for now it hurts, a barely-visible, too visceral reminder of aches he can never forget anyway.

“Do you think they’ll notice?”

Phil’s free hand reaches out, drifts along the tense line of Dan’s shoulders. “They didn’t seem to at the meet and greet,” he says. “Besides, they help, right?”

Dan nods.

Outside, someone knocks on the door and yells a reminder that they need to be ready in two minutes.

---

His bones are heavy when he sinks into the hotel bed afterwards.

Phil sits down next to him, wordless, fingers skimming the hem of Dan’s shirt. It gets pulled over Dan’s head, past the burn in his upper arms and the tense ache in his jaw. He talked a lot tonight, perhaps too much. A dry cough shudders through Dan’s chest, grates at his throat, and Phil reaches out to rest a hand on the round of his shoulder.

“Meds?”

Dan nods.

He swallows the paracetamol without a drink. Phil glares and hands him a glass of water.

It takes long moments for Dan to tug his jeans down his legs, denim too tight against his skin. His breaths heave too painfully in his chest when he bends to take off his socks. There’s a stab in the center of his back, another between his ribs. Phil reaches out to touch his shoulder, to draw Dan back against the pillows he’s piled against the headboard.

He doesn’t ask if Dan’s okay.

Dan’s not even sure of the answer himself.

Phil gets ice packs from the mini fridge. He rests one against the inside of Dan’s left knee, the other against the right side of his jaw. His careful, practiced fingers rub anti-inflammatory cream along Dan’s sternum, over his ribs and collarbones and the back of his neck.

He settles onto his pillow afterwards. Dan stares at the ceiling from his.

“Thank you.”

In his peripheral, Phil’s head rolls against the pillow, brows pinching together. “You know–”

“Not for the cream,” says Dan. “Or the ice packs or pills.”

He doesn’t say for the tour, for being here, for everything we’ve done together.

Phil reaches out to take his hand, and Dan knows he doesn’t have to.

---

They drive the next day.

The car rattles Dan’s bones until his joints seem to grind and his muscles go weak. He slides a hand between the seat belt and his chest, where skin burns at the slightest touch. His head falls against the window, glass cold, supporting his neck as it bobs with every bump.

Phil’s toes nudge his in the space between them.

Dan hums against the ache that rumbles in his chest.

Phil talks about everything and nothing the whole time they’re in the car, and no one asks why Dan doesn’t say a word.

---

There’s two shows in Milton Keynes, then one in Nottingham, and then they’re back in London.

It’s just for a couple days. They drive in on the third and plan to leave on the fifth and between that have what feels like the most important show of their tour.

And a doctor’s appointment Dan doesn’t want to go to.

Phil comes with him, sitting next to him in the waiting room and telling him about silly articles in boring magazines until Dan’s name is called. He helps Dan to his feet and makes small talk with the nurse as she weighs Dan and asks repetitive questions and wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

Dan’s rubbing sensation back into his hand when the doctor comes in.

She smiles. Dan smiles back.

“How’s the tour going?” she asks, because Dan already cleared it with all of her. Already made sure all his prescriptions were set up for a couple months and had her approve joint supports and pain management tools and give her best advice for how to survive.

“Good,” he says. “Really good.”

He still leaves her office with a prescription for some medication to help him sleep and another to help when the pain is particularly bad.

But he leaves with a smile.

---

That night, he makes a joke about it.

A few hours later, curled up in his own bed, Dan can’t remember exactly what it was. Something about being on friendly terms with a pharmacist and fearing future international travel that blended perfectly into the show and made the theatre buzz with laughter.

His own words, the fragments he can remember, echo in his mind even as the haze of medication sets it.

“Phil?”

He hums.

“I’m glad I told them,” says Dan. “Glad I get to be honest.”

Phil hums again. Beneath them, the mattress dips, and Phil presses himself against the length of Dan’s back, arm draped carefully over the dip of his waist.

“Me too,” says Phil. “This okay?”

Dan nods. He can feel Phil’s sleepy smile against the back of his neck until he falls asleep.

---

They go from London to Glasgow, from Glasgow to Sheffield.

Dan stares at himself in the mirror of their dressing room after the meet and greet, at the slash of black jumper over his shoulders because he hasn’t managed to take it off yet, and the pale skin of his chest. His body’s gone narrow again, like when he was younger, from months of preparing for the tour. His ribs stick out under his skin.

He smoothes hand over one side of his chest, wincing against the burn that erupts beneath his touch.

In the mirror, his skin stays pale. Dan frowns at the sight.

The ache gets worse when he reaches back, tugs his jumper the rest of the way over his head and down his arms. It lands on the floor. He leaves it there. Someone will pick it up later.

When he turns around, Phil’s staring at him.

And Dan doesn’t need to ask if he knows. He’s as used to the worry that gleams in Phil’s eyes as Phil is to the way seat belts and hugs and the combination of the two can leave Dan’s body with invisible aches.

So he forces a grin and says: “It’s been seven years, mate. You think you’d be used to seeing me shirtless by now.”

Phil grins back.

---

They spend two days in Newcastle before heading to Edinburgh.

Dan stares at the scenery that blurs past his window as they drive in, at the beginnings of a city he’s just familiar enough with to know he loves it. The trees have pink flowers budding on the branches and the distance is cloudy with fading fog.

Phil reaches across the space between them, rests his hand over Dan’s.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Dan nods, turning to find Phil’s gaze staring past him, at the landscape beyond. “Don’t make yourself sick.”

“It’s worth it,” says Phil.

Dan huffs. “You won’t be saying that if we have to pull over.”

He watches Phil roll his eyes, continuing to stare out Dan’s window instead of his own, before turning to share the view. Today, his seat belt is wedged him, sparing his ribs some of the pain. His eyes burn from the bright lights of last night’s show, but tonight he’ll get to curl up in a hotel bed with Phil and no show tomorrow to worry about.

Outside his window, another flowering tree flashes by.

Dan smiles and wraps his hand tighter around Phil’s.

---

They’re tourists the first day in Edinburgh.

They get some work done the second day, in a public park where leaves rustle and people’s voices carry in the breeze. Phil has bags of his own merchandise and members of they’re crew there to take pictures and model. He hands Lauren a t-shirt and Dan a pair of socks before pulling a hoodie over his own head.

Dan sits on a bench for most of the afternoon, watching Phil wedge himself between bushes, watching his friends pose with Edinburgh as a backdrop.

He fidgets with the socks in his hands and stares. Phil shows off his designs and smiles at his ideas and bounces on his toes when he likes a shot.

And Dan’s chest still burns from too much driving and too many hugs but, beneath that, is a happy warmth. The kind that has him hobbling to his feet and reaching for Phil’s hand, hidden amongst the leaves, just to squeeze his fingers.

A few months ago, when it was Dan’s turn, Phil had held him in his arms and congratulated him.

Today, Dan says: “I’m proud of you.”

Phil’s smile goes soft. Lauren tiptoes out from between flowers.

“Ready for the socks?” says the photographer.

Phil bumps their shoulders together, his smile wide again, tongue sticking out from between his teeth. “You’re gonna model some, right?”

---

Their last free day in Edinburgh ends with baths.

There’s bath bombs and face masks and warm water that eases some of the aches rooted deep in Dan’s muscles. His curls go damp against his forehead and his head starts to spin because the water’s hot and his blood pressure can’t tolerate it, but he’s smiling when Phil helps him out of the tub.

He crawls onto the hotel bed, still dripping wet, wrapped in just a towel.

Phil settles next to him, wearing pyjama pants and nothing else.

“Feel better?” he asks.

Dan hums, voice muffled by the pillow. Phil’s hand lands against the middle of his back, where he knows Dan can tolerate touch, and rubs a gentle circle into his skin.

“Good enough for a massage?”

He hums again, smiling when Phil leans over a presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder blade.

---

After Edinburgh, things go by in a blur.

There’s two shows there, then two the next day in Liverpool. Dan barely sleeps between them, body restless and mind exhausted, and no amount of medication numbing the parts of him that wouldn’t rest. He sleeps a bit in the car between venues and wakes up to an ache in his chest so acute the driver needs to pull over so Phil can help him take medication.

Phil’s gaze follows his every move during both Liverpool meet and greets, during both shows that day.

And that night, Dan’s sure Phil’s watching him up until the moment the night’s dose of medication plunges his exhausted mind into darkness and forces his body numb.

---

Being back in Manchester is always strange.

The city always makes something in Dan’s chest go soft with memories of quiet days spent in a dark apartment, learning about himself and Phil and everything they wanted to become. Of Starbucks dates when he was well enough and the earliest steps into a career he managed to build and of trusting himself for the first time in years.

But with that comes memories of hospitals, of uni, of doubts swirling in his mind that maybe all the people who had hurt him were right.

Usually, when they’re here, they visit friends and go to familiar places where happy memories bubble beneath smiles.

Today, Dan tugs his comfiest hoodie over his head and only crawls out of bed when they need to go the venue. Phil posts a video from their dressing room, as Dan lays on an uncomfortable sofa, trying not to focus on where lumps in the cushion press against knots by his spine.

He drags himself to sit when the ache gets too bad, legs crossed, feet tingling with budding numbness. His head falls back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

The cushion next to him dips a moment later, when Phil sits down. He reaches over to run his fingers through Dan’s curls.

“If I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well, I’d say you look cute,” he says.

Dan manages half a smile. “If you didn’t think I looked cute when I was sick, we wouldn’t be here, mate.”

Phil’s responding chuckle is soft, laced with familiar reluctance. “Can I take a picture?” he asks. “You can use it as your insta story for the day if you want.”

He hands over his phone in response, lilting his head forward so his chin is dipped towards his chest. A curl drifts over his forehead and makes the nerves there tingle. His eyes drift closed again, but he thinks it’ll look better that way, with less evidence of the exhaustion weighing him down.

Phil hands him back his phone, screen lit up with a picture that looks far softer than Dan feels.

He looks … comfy, even though every part of his body hurts. At his ankles, there’s the slash of black elastic wrapped around his foot to hold the joint steady. Dark fabric covers his knees, visible past the rips in jeans he only pulled on because they were at the top of his suitcase.

On a normal day, Dan probably wouldn’t post it.

Today, he types out a caption and adds it to his story before he can second guess it.

---

At the second Manchester show, Dan answers the first question related to his illness.

“Emily asks: how do I get doctors to listen to me?” Phil reads out loud.

The theatre goes silent. Because Dan doesn’t talk about it often. He told them and kind of let it go, let it fade back into dark humor and vague references to symptoms hidden in the details of anecdotes.

This is different. He forces a smile against the racing of his heart and says: “Hoo boy, isn’t that difficult, huh?”

The rest of his response is hazy, a ramble about doctors not actually being the experts people think they are, about needing to be persistent because, eventually, someone will believe you. He makes a comment about the emergency room and another about a support system and when he falls silent, his shoulders are tense, his stomach in knots.

Phil’s smiling up at him from the edge of the stage. Dan knows there will be tweets about it later, but he smiles back.

Beyond the stage, people burst out cheering, perhaps more than they should for a nonsensical ramble about doctors being assholes.

Dan smiles at them, too.

---

“I’m proud of you.”

They’re curled up in bed together when Phil says it. The hotel room’s dark and smells like the anti-inflammatory cream drying on Dan’s skin. There’s an ice pack resting on one of his knees, another on his ankle, and Phil’s face is pressed against the crook of his shoulder.

Dan’s head is spinning with the effects of medication, thoughts just blurry enough to have him thinking of days long before a tour was even a possibility.

Before YouTube. Before his diagnosis. Before falling in love.

His neck hurts, but Dan manages to lean down, to press a quick kiss to the top of Phil’s head. His whole body hurts, but he still smiles when Phil lifts himself to kiss Dan goodnight.

“Love you.”

---

The next three shows are hazy.

Dan sleeps until just before the meet and greet, and curls up in the dressing room until the show’s set to begin. The pre-show playlist rumbles through the walls and inside his skull so an ache wells in his temples, bleeds down his neck. His hands are shaky and knees weak, and at some point Marianne suggests postponing a show until after the rest of the tour is done.

They don’t. Dan drags himself onto the stage in Basingstoke, then Plymouth, then Leeds.

He sleeps in the car and wakes up to Phil’s hand running through his hair, to tears tacky on his cheeks.

The meet and greet in Birmingham goes okay. Dan’s arms ache when he lifts them, and his shirt drags painfully over his ribs when he leans forward to hug people. A girl wearing an eclipse shirt tells him about her struggles with doctors, and though Dan’s heard the story a dozen times, that time he almost cries.

He sleeps in the dressing room again, until someone’s waking him up for the show.

---

That night, Marianne sends a medic to their hotel room.

Phil’s forced Dan to lay down since he stumbled off stage, but Dan’s not sure he could move anyway. The back of his head is heavy, the edges of his vision spinning. His fingertips feel numb and his feet are cold, and Dan knows the symptoms well enough to know what the doctor’s gonna say.

He ends up in a Birmingham hospital, just for a few hours, with an IV in his arm.

Phil sits by the end of his bed, playing some game on his phone. A nurse walks in and checks on them every now and then, and Dan smiles and tells her he’s used to the chill IV fluids send through his body, to the dull ache of the bruise that will bloom where the needle rests.

He checks his own phone, scrolls through a Twitter feed full of concern.

“Someone tweeted that I looked sick.”

Phil looks up from his phone. “You looked like you were gonna faint.”

“Felt like it too.”

The IV machine clicks to fill the silence.

“Can you take a picture of me?”

Phil does. One where people can see the tape holding the IV to Dan’s arm and the hospital bracelet wrapped around his wrist. He’s still wearing the tour merch and his jeans, his hood pulled up over his head. His eyes look tired and his smile a little strained but Dan hopes it’ll be enough.

He captions it with: I’m okay lads just a little dehydrated. ty for the well wishes, and hopes it’s enough.

---

Two days later they do a liveshow.

Dan does his hair and pulls on his favourite jumper and smiles at the camera and tells everyone he’s okay and the Cardiff show will go according to plan. Phil makes up a story about something that happened in the hospital just to make everyone laugh.

“I’m used to it,” Dan tells them. “Trust me, it happens way more often than it should.”

Phil’s hand rests over his knee under the table, rubs circles against the jut of bone there.

“It’s just a thing that happens,” says Dan. “You know how I mentioned I have blood pressure problems? Well, because of that I’m a little more prone to symptoms of dehydration.”

His chest is tight, words grating in his throat. Phil squeezes his knee and smiles at the audience and Dan forces himself to exhale around every worry he has when sharing this.

In the back of his mind, doctors tell him there’s nothing from with him.

On screen, comments flit by telling him to get well soon and that they have blood pressure problems too and joke about how it’s important to stay hydrated.

Then someone asks about the next gaming video, and Phil starts talking, and everything feels normal again.

---

Cardiff goes perfectly.

Dan’s smiling when he walks off stage. Phil’s pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth the moment they’re hidden away in the tour car again. When he checks Twitter later that night, instead of an influx of questions and worry, he finds fan reassuring each other that he looked okay.

“They’re proud of you,” says Phil.

Dan knows it’s because he’s said I’m proud of you too many times since the tour began.

---

The last show’s in Dublin.

Dan wraps his elastic joint supports around his ankles and tugs the others over his knees. He chugs a glass of water before going on stage and bounces on his toes to the pre-show music, listening to the audience since along to Welcome to the Black Parade.

They joke around and laugh and smile.

Dan makes a joke about his broken body, and even Phil manages to chuckle with him.

When the show’s done, and everyone erupts in cheers, the happiness wells so fully in his chest it aches to breathe and his smile hurts his cheeks and tears sting behind his eyes.

And everything about it is perfect.

---

“I’m proud of you.”

Dan says it in a bar that night, sipping from Phil’s beer when his own, non-alcoholic drink seems dull for the occasion. Marianne led a toast and the merch team is sharing stories about their funniest fan encounters and Martyn’s retelling some of his favourite memories from the last month.

Phil looks up at him, eyes a little hazy and upper lip a little wet from his drink.

“Me?”

Dan nods. He doesn’t elaborate. He hopes he doesn’t need to.

None of this, he thinks, would have happened without Phil.

Without both of them.

---

A few weeks later, they’re sitting on the sofa again.

The Switch is on, blaring the Mario Kart theme on repeat. Dan’s tumblr feed is lit up with jokes to make him laugh and others to make him think too much. Phil’s laptop is twisted to show Dan a video of a dog he just found on Twitter.

It’s normal, their normal. Dan’s body still aches and his mind lingers too long on his worries and Phil’s still brimming with kindness and ideas and all of it turned out okay.

Turned out great.

“Hey, Phil,” says Dan, and then, “We should bring the tour to Europe.”

[evalulu]

A story that was initially inspired by a sketch, but then prompted the completion of the sketch here also by @xmafiacatx :p (This does feature a kinda brutal death, but there is an alternate ending that will be posted in this too.)

IQ was well trained for various kinds of missions, and was by far the best for neutralizing electrical threats.  Blitz, Bandit, and Jäger were just as reliable teammates, and she always found relief in working alongside them.  The mission they had was simple enough; but all of GSG9 knew it didn’t mean it would be easy.  Jäger was often their pilot, able to secure and defend landing zones alone.  The ADS was almost irreplaceable on missions like these, where speed and efficiency with little manpower was vital.  

The moment the helicopter touched down, IQ wasted no time in moving to action with Blitz taking point and Bandit close behind them.  The house was heavily fortified, swarming with White Mask terrorists.  

“Do you think the welcoming committee will have cookies this time?”

Elias had a penchant for joking around, making light of stressful situations.

“Could we hurry up the breaking and entering?  I’d like to be home at a decent time.”

Dominic had a matching penchant to make everything sound like an illegal chore he wanted no part of.  Monika could only sigh, pulling her scanner and seeing several pings at the door.  She took position at the doorway, pistol at the ready.  

“On my mark.”  

Dominic and Elias nodded, rifle and shield raised respectively.  The pistol shots took out the prepared nitro cells, alerting the White Masks to their presence.  The flash shield blocked most of the incoming bullets, rifle shots finding their marks when flashbangs in the shield went off.  The rooms were cleared near silently, teamwork perfectly harmonized to each other.  They knew each other well, and knew how to operate best.  Marius’ silence would have been concerning if they didn’t know him as well as they did; the pilot simply preferred not talking unless he needed to mention something.  

Their mission was to retrieve a smaller container, but still just as deadly of a biohazard.  The container was the size of a luggage case, and could easily be mistaken for someone’s vacation packing.  It was left to Dominic to carry, with Elias and Monika keeping an eye out on their escape route.  

“I hope you three are moving, they do not seem to be very happy now.”

Despite the severity, Marius sounded incredibly calm.  It was more than likely he was watching from a distance, making sure reinforcements weren’t undetected as they snuck in.  Dominic hurried as much as he could, groaning.  

“I might as well be carrying a body in here.”

“Just move!”

Monika shouted, staying behind the shield as much as possible as she fired at the approaching terrorists.  The ADS’ littering the landing zone were promptly cleaned up and put into the co-pilot seat, Marius leaning against the helicopter nonchalantly.  

“You three took your time!”

He started to get the machine running while Dominic slid the suitcase into the cabin, getting in himself with Monika close behind him.  She fired at whatever target possible while Elias maneuvered his shield in first.  

“Move your ass, Kötz!  I don’t want to be here longer than I have to!”

“I’m not taking any longer than normal, stop whining!”

“I’ll stop when I’m dead!”  

They had to shout over the noise of the engine and the gunfire, Dominic dragging Elias into the cabin harshly.  Monika hurried to close the door quickly as they took off and avoid as many shots as possible, instinctively ducking her head when the loud bang resounded over everything else.  She barely heard the soft thud amidst the rumbling of the helicopter.  

“Dominic!”

All at once, a pit of dread sank in her stomach.  Elias never sounds so panicked, or says his full name like that.  The door slammed shut, giving her a chance to look over.  Elias was leaned over the limp form, blood already starting to pool.  No.  She couldn’t help throwing Elias back to see herself, a distinct hole in the side of Dominic’s helmet.  His eyes were wide and unfocused, and the overwhelming wave of horror washed over her.  

“The asshole finally get shit on?”  

Marius’ voice shouted out, entirely oblivious of the reality.  His focus was on flying, he couldn’t have known, but the statement still stung deep.  He only looked back when he didn’t get a response, the hail of bullets finally ceasing as they got too far.  The red stream he saw was enough of an indication, making him realize just how accurate he was.  

“...You’re joking, right?”

“No.  I…  will tell Six she’s down an operator.”

Marius leaned back in the seat, focusing himself on the flight.  He couldn’t let them crash, but the distinct feelings of emptiness and surreality weighed on him like the clouds around him.  Monika hated the silence.  She hated that there was nothing Elias could say to bring them up, nothing that could be done to make it any easier to bear.  She instead sat on the bench in the back of the cabin, already trying to form a coherent report of the situation to send to Six.  

Elias was the one to grab a sheet from the back and cover him, trying to keep blood from spilling everywhere.  ‘As much as it hurts, you’ll live’, he told himself, wishing he could find anything to say to brighten the mood, yet there were moments he knew it was better to keep quiet.  It didn’t feel right just yet, anyway.  

(Alternate Ending)

Bang!  

“Dominic!”  

The thud was barely audible to Monika above the roar of the helicopter engine and the distant gunfire.  She never liked the feeling of dread, and turning to see a limp Dominic on the ground did nothing to quell her fear.  The door of the cabin was closed at least, Marius wasting no time in getting away from the hostile zone.  They had their mission completed, and the only thing left was to head to base.  Elias was leaned beside Dominic, ignoring the blood that was trickling from under the helmet.  

“He’s not..?”

Elias stared at Dominic’s chest, waiting for the eventual movement that indicated breathing.  Waiting for that was taking too long in the span of crucial seconds, instead gently pressing two fingers against his neck.  He let out a deep breath, shaking his head.  

“Just rattled, I think.  Helmet did it’s job.”

Monika sighed, stepping closer to see for herself.  The helmet had taken the majority of a bullet, the force more than likely only causing blunt damage rather than piercing damage.  Any higher caliber bullet and the helmet wouldn’t have made a difference.  She shook the thought out of her head, grateful that they had lucked out this time.  

“Marius!  Radio Doc and tell him to get ready!”

“Our resident asshole isn’t thinking of dying on us, is he?”

“I don’t think he’s doing much thinking at all.”

Elias grinned, knowing not to remove the helmet until Doc told them to.  The last thing any of them wanted was to make matters worse for their friend, and trying to get the helmet off could cause more unwanted damage.  

“Just radio Doc, Marius!”

“No room for patience, is there?”

She shook her head, attention focusing back to Dominic.  His face was strained, eyes shut.  The rumbling was likely not helping whatever developing headache he was feeling.  

“Help me move him to the bench, Elias.  Carefully, we’re not going to hurt him more.”

He nodded, readying himself to lift him with Monika’s help.  The groan from Dominic as they moved him almost made her feel guilty.  Almost.  

“Now you know how it feels when you get on our nerves, ja?”

Elias grinned, meeting Dominic’s gaze despite how unfocused it was.  

“I will shoot you.”

“I think he’ll be just fine, Monika.”  Elias said through a laugh, sitting on the bench opposite of him.  She couldn’t help but grin, not needing to see Dominic’s full face to know he was scowling.  His normal sarcastic would only get worse with the sort of pain he was undoubtedly feeling, but there wasn’t much he could say that would genuinely get on their nerves.  They were far too used to it by now.  

Dominic hated the splitting pain on the side of his head, everything spinning and blurry.  He couldn’t think about walking, why did it seem like he entirely forgotten how it even worked?  It didn’t help his annoyance, clinging to the seat to not move around too much.  Everything felt so fuzzy, almost like he was dreaming.  He wasn’t, was he?  He groaned in irritation, closing his eyes.  Keeping them open was a struggle he wasn’t in the mood to deal with.  

He had just gotten used to the constant rumbling and slight rustling when it suddenly stopped.  Movement around him was obvious, but he couldn’t be bothered to try and get up himself.  Letting the others think he was napping was just fine with him, until he felt constant poking at his shoulder.  

“Rise and shine, ja?”

“Fuck off.”

Elias laughed, turning to wave Doc in.  

“Be careful, he’s grumpy enough where he just might bite.”

“Keep talking and I might have to, Kötz.”

“You see?  He’s okay, just upset over a nasty bump to the head.”

“I would thank you to let me be the judge.  Unless you’ve taken to medical studies when I wasn’t aware?”

Dominic could just imagine the sort of guilty grin on Elias’ face, the kind where the man was clearly wrong and his jokes weren’t going anywhere.  Doc simply appreciated them in a different way, he found.  

“I take it that’s my signal to get out of your way?”

“If you could, please.”

The kind of niceties Doc made efforts to stick to were the exact same kinds of niceties he didn’t care to bother with.  If people didn’t like him, that was their problem, not his own.  He finally tried opening his eyes to look around, instead met with a bright light.  His eyes instantly shut, near growling.  

“Are you trying to make me go blind?”

“How do you feel?”

Typical.

“Like scheiße.”

Doc nodded, carefully undoing the helmet.  The edges of the dent in the helmet had dug into the side of his head, leaving distinct bruising and small cuts.  His concern was on a potential concussion, which he was almost sure Dominic had received at least one.  

“Can you sit up?”

“No.”

Doc knew that Dominic wasn’t going to be extremely cooperative.  But, it was a sign that nothing was severely damaged.  

“Are you sure you want to rest on a bench in a helicopter instead of a bed?”

“...No.”

Doc grinned under the mask, gladly supporting the other man to the GSG9 quarters.  He nudged the door open, walking past Elias, Monika, and Marius.  He only turned to them when Dominic was at least sitting on the bed.  

“Make sure he rests, nothing strenuous.  The worst of it is a concussion.”

“So, zip-tie him to the bed?”

“You even think about trying that and I will ruin you, Kötz.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him, Gustave.  Thank you.”

Monika being the voice of reason wasn’t uncommon, and was sufficient enough for Doc to feel confident leaving.  

“So, how do you feel about bungee cords?”

“Don’t.”  

Monika shook her head, part of her wishing Doc had stayed instead.  

[artificialqueens]

How to Adore the Seasons 2/4 (Adore-centric) - Mac

AN: Hi there friends! This is the second part in a four part series I’m doing where I pair up Adore with someone else and a season to describe how that particular person loves Adore. Idk if that makes sense. Oh well.

Summary: It’s Adore’s birthday, and Alaska has planned some surprises.

Summer (Alaska/Adore):

“She turned to the sunlight

   And shook her yellow head,

And whispered to her neighbor:

   “Winter is dead.” ― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

Adore woke up to the sound of screaming.

Then she let herself slump back into the cool sheets when she figured out where, or more specifically, who the sound was coming from.

She groaned and pulled the blankets over her head, as Alaska poked at her with her nail-less fingers.

“Rise and shine bitch. Let’s go.”

“Mhhhhhmph.” Came from under the blankets.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Adore could feel the smile in Alaska’s voice, and it made her want to strangle the blonde even more than normal.

Adore removed the covers and pointedly looked, well tried to look, her eyes were practically glued shut, at Alaska. “I said fuck you.”

Alaska mocked offense, “Is that any way to treat your elders.”

“When they wake you up at 4 in the morning it is.”

“We gotta get going if we want to catch it.”

Adore wasn’t going to ask what they were supposed to catch. She wasn’t. She was going to go back to sleep. She wasn’t goin-“Catch what?” SHIT

“You’ll see.” Alaska said with a smirk that wasn’t altogether menacing, but definitely not reassuring. “But you have to GET UP first.”

They played tug-of-war with the blankets for a few minutes before Adore’s fatigued muscles gave out. “Fine. But fuck you still.”

Alaska gave a little victory dance that Adore attempted, and failed, not to laugh at. She then began traipsing about Adore’s room, throwing open curtains and humming some ridiculous song that Adore couldn’t be bothered to figure out. Adore took her sweet time getting up and dressed, pointedly ignoring Alaska’s huffs when she took too long. Just as the shirt went over her head, Adore’s world went dark.

“The FUCK?” Adore pulled at the blindfold.

Alaska batted her hands away. “It is a surprise! Keep it on.“

“If you make me fall, I swear.”

“I won’t. Just trust me.”

Adore bites her tongue on a smart reply and allows herself to be lead to a car and driven away. “If it were anyone else,” she mumbles to herself.

Adore hears Alaska fumble with something for a minute, then the unmistakable sound of a disk tray retracting, and suddenly the car is full of music.  And curse Alaska for knowing all of Adore’s favorite music. She was really trying to be angry at the older queen, but the unconscious smile on her lips gave her away.

Alaska saw it, but wouldn’t mention it. She would however, file it away in her mind to be brought out at a later date. And that feeling that accompanied Adore’s smile would also need to be analyzed later. But now, now wasn’t about her.

Alaska kept checking her watch nervously, and gave an audible sigh of relief when they finally arrived. She hopped out and pulled Adore with her. The two walked only a few steps before they stopped.

“Just one more minute now.” Alaska said, mainly to herself. They stood side by side for what felt like ages, before Adore felt Alaska’s hands beside her face.

Adore’s world went from pitch black to full of color in .2 seconds. The sunrise filled the entire horizon line and Adore’s lungs to the brim.

“Wow.” Adore breathed.

“Yeah.” Alaska smiled.

The orange sun was just barely peeking its head up around the curve of the earth, but the color had spread already. Pinks and light purples mixed with blues and yellows around the edges of the horizon. The whole thing blended together to paint the most beautiful art piece either queen had ever seen.

The two stood there for what felt like ages but also only seconds. The sun was no longer eye level when Alaska slipped the blindfold back on Adore’s face.

“HEY!” Adore shouted in indignation.

“We aren’t done yet.”

Adore smiled. A full-unbridled one this time. If this next surprise was anything like the first she knew waking up at the ass-crack of dawn would be worth it.

They drove for a much shorter distance this time. Adore noticed, because she had only just started to get comfortable when Alaska came to a stop. They both hopped out, and Adore smiled again. Her favorite breakfast place. She could tell by the smell alone. It was only open one day of the week, and at the most awful times. As a creature of the night, Adore never could find herself awake before 11:00am, and thus, she missed her opportunity for the most delicious omelet every week.

Adore was ecstatic, and then she was confused. It was a Tuesday. This place was only open on Thursdays. Alaska, sensing the question at the tip of her tongue, tried to move them along by pulling off the blindfold and shaking her hands as if to say ‘ta da.’ Adore let it go for now, the rumbling in her stomach taking priority.

They entered the empty restaurant, picked the best seat in the house, and had their food within minutes of sitting down. Adore didn’t hesitate before digging in. Alaska, ever the patient one, was content to wait a few moments between each bite and just smile at the younger girl.

When Adore finally came up for air, Alaska spoke softly, “Happy Birthday Danny.” Adore beamed at her, and the older queen immediately burst into giggles. Adore looked at her confusedly until Alaska motioned with her hand at her own face. “You’ve got something right…” Adore struggled for a few moments before Alaska took pity, and wiped the stray cheese residue from her cheek. Adore and Alaska sat in relative silence afterwards. There was no rush, there was only time.

Adore isn’t sure how long they sat, only that when they finally got up, the newborn sun now hung high up above them.

Alaska re-did the blindfold and proceeded to take Adore to every activity Adore enjoyed doing, and even some things she had never done before. They went to a trampoline park, and got so incredibly sweaty that Alaska would definitely need to get her car deep cleaned. They had a picnic in the arboretum. They went zip-lining and swimming and talked for hours about the complexities of life, drag, and the pursuit of marijuana. Adore couldn’t remember a time she felt more understood by another person.

Till the last stop.

Adore let herself once again be blindfolded and whisked away to an undisclosed location. This time, when they came to a halt, Adore couldn’t even begin to figure out where they were. She listened for any identifying sounds, but her brain kept coming up empty. All she could tell was that they were outside. Alaska led her by the hand up a few wooden stairs, and then allowed her to stand by herself a few moments.

“You can take it off now.”

Adore did as instructed, and the resulting chant of “Happy Birthday” rung out. Adore spun around wildly, trying to get a glimpse of everything and everyone. All around her were the people she loved most in her life, a beautifully decorated park, and mountains of food. Before she could take it all in, her mother enveloped her in a huge hug. Bianca and Courtney followed next and squeezed the life out of her, whispering how proud they were, and getting a few jabs in here and there.

The party was magnificent. There was a pool and a gazebo and a food truck. Anything Adore could have ever needed was right with her. The party had Alaska written all over it.

Adore searched high and low for any trace of the blonde, but kept missing her. Finally she spotted the lanky queen, and Adore grabbed her friend before she could dart away.

“Hey Lasky. Uh. I just wanted to say thanks for everything today. You did so much, and I really have no idea why, cause its just little old me, but…but thank you. Really. For everything. “Alaska looked down at her, and for the first time that day, Adore could see some trepidation in her eyes. “Whats wrong Lasky?”

“I just…I didn’t want to tell you here. This is your party and you should be being happy with everyone.” Alaska looked this way and that, rather guiltily.

“What’s going on? You can tell me. Anything. You know that.”

Alaska looked unsure, but pulled Adore closer to her so she could whisper, “I’mmovingnextweektonewyorkforajobandiwantedtotellyoubuticouldntandimgoingtomissyousofuckingmuch”

“Wait, hold on, slow down. You’re moving?”

“Yeah.” Alaska was quick to clarify, “I wanted to tell you. All this time I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, and I knew as soon as I did it would be real.” The older queen looked devastated. “I’m just going to miss you, and I was scared I would lose you. So I put it off, and I think all those feelings bubbled up and then…this.” Alaska gestured to the party around them.

Adore looked at her long and hard. She wasn’t sure if she was angry or sad or happy. So she resorted to doing the thing she always did when she felt overwhelmed, she hugged Alaska.

It was a fierce, strong hug that left the two feeling equal parts better, and like they bruised some ribs.

“Ok.” Adore finally said.

“Ok?”

“Yeah. Ok. That doesn’t change anything. You are still my best friend. I still would do anything for you. I still think you are the most amazing person in this world. Nothing will have to change, except I guess that whole time change thing. But other than that, nothing has to change. You don’t have to lose me.”

Alaska’s face broke out into the biggest grin Adore had seen on her in a while. Alaska launched herself at Adore, and the two stood holding each other for ages, until Bianca yelled across the park at them to get a room.

They finally broke away from the embrace, but kept their fingers interlocked as they made their way back over to the others and they stayed that way till they reached the security line at the airport. And while they may physically have untangled their fingers at the gate, they would forever be intertwined.

[artisticvicu]

Altruistic Endeavors | Inktober 2020 - Day 10: Hope

The questions could wait. They had to. Dlmor’s weight and warmth remained on his knees as the creature’s form blinked out. At first he didn’t understand. As much as Dlmor had taken away most of the pain, it was like there was a fog in his brain and it wasn’t till he caught movement on the stairs that he understood.

Beckett came to a stop at the top, hand remaining on the railing. “Food’s ready,” they informed him. “Cole said not to bother you if you crashed so you don’t have to come down.”

Dlmor’s weight left his knees but he felt the bed dip to his right and Dlmor pressed into his back hard enough to shove him forward. He went with it, getting himself to his feet at Dlmor’s insistence. “No, food sounds good.”

Dlmor brushed up against his leg and stayed against it. Curiosity had him reaching down as he started for the stairs and found his fingers burying in warm fur at Dlmor’s shoulders. Despite the dark, ink appearing form, the fur was soft and fluffy radiating warmth under his still cold fingers. A thought drifted through his mind of how Dlmor walking at his side was like the service dogs he had seen in passing. It was an amusing thought in his foggy brain and it drifted out without leaving a trace behind.

“Hey, you alright?”

He blinked, looking up. Cole had a concerned look on his face and it took Artemis far too long to register the fact that he was sitting at the dining table with everyone else and a plate barely touched in front of him. Dlmor nudged his hand and he absentmindedly rubbed at the creature's head under the table. Several memories - many memories - drifted at the edge of the fog of the numerous dogs they always had in the home growing up, the labs and other large dogs, and the small handful of cats.

White teeth flashed near his wrist and he brought his thoughts back to the present. “Yeah,” he finally responded, offering a tired smile. “Just tired.” He pulled his hand from Dlmor’s head in order to start eating. 

Cole’s hand rubbed at his shoulders. “Eat what you can and then go get some sleep. We’ll keep it quiet for ya.”

He shook his head, a laugh bubbling in his chest. “I think you guys could have an all out screaming war and I’m fairly certain I’d just sleep through it.”

Amusement flickered across Cole’s face. “If you’re sure.”

Dlmor nudged his elbow and he blinked, finding himself alone at the table. He could hear laughter coming from the bedroom Cole and Lora were staying in. Looking around revealed Dean, Sam, and Orlean were on the larger couch. Dean was using the armrest as a pillow, Sam sleeping on Dean with her head on his shoulder and her legs tangled with his on Orlean’s lap. Orlean had a book propped on the pair’s legs but he wasn’t reading it. Orlean had an arm propped on the back of the couch, chin resting on his palm as he talked quietly with Dean.

He pressed the heel of his hand into his left eye at the flare of pain behind his eyes. The view of his bed from the stairs filled his mind and he found words leaving his tongue. “Too far.”

Dlmor huffed and he felt the breath against his elbow before he caught Dlmor’s form shifted out of the corner of his eye as he dropped his hand from his face. Warm hands wrapped around his ribs and he found himself getting to his feet at Dlmor’s directing. He flinched from the brief flare of pain as Dlmor gave him a wordless apology. He could feel the guilt and regret under it. “You’re fine,” he countered quietly as he started for the stairs feeling weightless thanks to Dlmor taking most of his weight.

The bed taking his weight surprised him but the blanket that was pulled over him startled him. He turned sharply, a spike of fear shooting through him only to find Beckett standing over him. They offered him an apologetic, amused smile. “Came up for my laptop. Figured you could use a blanket if you were going to sleep on top of your covers.”

He sagged back into the mattress. “Thanks, Beckett. Hadn’t heard you come up.”

They grinned at him. “Yeah, that happens.” The expression fell a bit as concern replaced the amusement. “You sure you’re ok?”

He felt Dlmor crawl onto the bed behind him and lay down against his back. He watched as their gaze flickered to the space behind him but their expression didn’t stay. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just been a long day.”

They nodded. “That it has been. Lora’s working on getting Cole to crash for a nap too since he kept calling breakfast lunch. Not that any of us corrected him. Certainly been a busy enough morning that it felt like lunchtime.” They shook their head. “I’m going back down to keep her company. I think the only reason why Dean and Orlean are still up is because they’re still talking.”

He smiled at that. “I give them five more minutes before they’ve joined Sam in dreamland.”

Beckett chuckled at that. “Hopefully you’re in it before I make it to the bottom of the stairs.”

“Only one way to find out,” he teased.

Beckett grinned again. “Have a good nap.”

“Have fun going through your photos,” he genuinely responded as Beckett moved towards their things.

He closed his eyes but sleep didn’t take him immediately so he listened to Beckett going through their things trying to picture what they were doing based on the sounds. He knew their backpack had been on the side of the bed that faced his. The zipper on the large pocket ran smoothly as they pulled it open, rummaging through it. There was the sound of the zipper rubbing against the laptop case as they pulled it out. They tucked it into their lap and closed the zipper again. Beckett stood with a look towards his bed before starting towards the stairs. They glanced back with a confused frown on their face before they started down the stairs.

His eyes snapped open as the world shifted around him. He rolled over enough into Dlmor to look at the creature that had turned its head to look at him at his movement. It had settled so its chest was at his waist and its hindquarters were against his shoulders. He stared at it. "I saw through your eyes."

It lowered its head in a motion that spoke of guilt and regret.

"Why?"

Dlmor rested its chin on his hip, turning its head towards the stairs. There was a prick of pain as he found himself understanding that as long as they were touching - and something else he couldn’t quite understand with the fog in his head - it would just happen.

He stared at Dlmor. "Is it possible to do so from a distance?"

Dlmor raised its head, glaring at him. The prick of pain got worse but he got his answer anyways. It was but not in the state he was in nor without practicing. Dlmor's annoyance drifted in with the answer.

“Right,” he offered, apologizing. He reached out rubbing the top of Dlmor’s head. The creature pushed into the touch. “No talking till I’m better.”

Dlmor settled against him again, its head on his hip. He followed suit and settled back on his side, closing his eyes.

He knew he had dreamt something. Whatever it had been, he couldn’t remember, but when he was woken by Cole what was probably hours later, he felt like he hadn’t slept at all. In fact, it felt like he had been ridiculously busy and needed to sleep for three days straight. The loft space was dark despite the lights Cole must have turned on. “Hey. Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry.”

He didn’t feel hungry but he felt Dlmor get up behind him. Cole’s gaze flickered towards the creature but the lack of reaction told him Cole hadn’t seen anything. He saw Dlmor as the creature padded over to the stairs and sat down. The look sent his way was firm. “Ok, thanks.”

Cole stepped back to give him the room needed to get up but the other didn’t go much farther. “Artemis, are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah.” He stood, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back. “Why?”

“You’ve slept through the day. It’s going on 7.”

There was a pause as he did the mental math. He knew he had fallen asleep after breakfast but he couldn’t remember looking at a clock. A rough guess though put him at nine hours. He frowned, looking to Cole. “You guys let me sleep through lunch?”

“Lora said that when she woke you for lunch, you muttered something incoherent before rolling over and going back to sleep. She got you to wake up enough a second time to check your temperature but it was normal. You just really needed some sleep.”

He rubbed at his face. “Kind of feels like I still do.”

Cole gave his arm a squeeze. “Let’s get some food in you first, then you can sleep some more, ok?”

“Ok.”

He followed Cole towards the kitchen. The fog seemed to have receded but the headache was back as a low, steady roll of pain at the back of his head. As they approached Dlmor, the creature became visible on the edge of his vision for a second and he was surprised when he felt fur under his hand. He hadn’t realized he had reached out for it till Dlmor had walked under his hand, settling his hand in the fur at the back of its neck.

The world beyond the windows were dark but the light spilling out revealed a thick sheet of snow was blowing sideways. Almost all the lights in the cabin were on as if it would be enough to stave off the darkness. He felt the rumble of a growl under his fingers but a quick look around didn’t show him whatever it was Dlmor was growling at. The headache spiked as Dlmor pushed towards him indifference and patience, as if the creature was telling him to not worry about it. He carefully fisted a handful of fur as discretely as he could manage in an attempt to convey that the creature growling at anything made him uneasy.

Another spike in the headache came with a soft apology.

“Ey~. Welcome back to the waking world,” Dean called out from the table, drawing everyone’s attention to Cole and Artemis.

“Evening guys,” he offered in turn, letting the words pull a smile on his face. “Have a fun day without me?”

“Seeing as most of us slept, too,” Orlean informed him, “it’s been more of a lazy day than a fun day.”

He sat down in the chair that had become his somehow. He caught Dlmor slipping under the table at the edge of his vision to sit on his feet, leaning against his legs and resting its chin on his thigh. He placed a hand on its head. “Hey, lazy days aren’t a bad thing.”

“It’s what this week’s supposed to be,” Beckett added, grinning. “Even if we had originally planned a lot.”

Orlean raised the glass in his hand. “I’ll gladly take a lazy week at this point.”

“Same,” Dean and Sam chimed, Dean raising his own glass.

“What about you?” Lora asked him. She held his gaze when he looked. “Did you get some good rest? You’ve slept all day.”

He shrugged. “I feel like I could sleep for a good number of hours more.” He frowned, offering a bit of truth. “I’ve got a mild headache, too.”

Cole leaned forward in his seat. “Do you want anything for that? We’ve got drugs.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Eating something and drinking water will probably help. That and probably more sleep.”

There was a round of chuckles at his lame attempt at making a joke as Dlmor rubbed against his hand. Another spike of pain, another apology. He scratched at the top of its head with the hope that it understood he had no hard feelings over it. Shit happened and he could deal with a headache. The amount of sleep he apparently needed was alarming, though. Hopefully he would be fine come morning, that the damage would have healed by then.

He ignored the little idea that started at the back of his head; the damage wasn’t permanent. He would be fine.

[azvolrien]

The Hawk Steppes - Chapter Eight

You get a twofer today - this one (which is a bit longer than the rest; I couldn’t find a good spot to break it up) and a short epilogue. Let’s ring out 2017 in style.

~~~

           Sunset brought a change of guard. The new Charek warrior bumped knuckles with the previous guard and sat down on a stool by one of the roof supports with his spear across his knees, watching the prisoners closely.

           “This guy looks much more alert than the last guard,” said Calburn, almost under his breath. “We might’ve slipped away once she’d fallen asleep. I don’t think this one’s going to.”

           “I can fix that,” said Rhona. “But we should wait until it’s full dark. You still remember your unlocking spells, right?” Calburn just gave her an offended look. “What am I saying, of course you do.”

           “Stop that muttering,” said the guard, rattling the blade of his spear against the cage bars. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

           Calburn’s expression suggested he had thought of several smart replies, but he refrained from voicing any of them as the last glow faded from the sky and the campfires were lit. The guard got up to light the small glass lantern above his head, keeping one eye on his prisoners, and sat down again. Another man brought him a steaming bowl of something, chatted for a few minutes, and went back to his tent.

           Rhona palmed a loose stone from the cage floor and flicked it at Roxy, who glared at her. Rhona held eye contact for a few moments, then jerked her head towards the lantern as subtly as she could. Roxy’s only reply was a small shrug of confusion.

           Snuff it out, mouthed Rhona. Roxy’s eyes widened slightly and a small smile, barely visible in the flickering shadows, appeared on her face. She grasped the cage bars and closed her eyes, searching for the energy of the tiny flame.

           As she snatched away its heat, it went out as quickly as if she had walked over and blown it out. The guard frowned and stood up to look at it.

           “My turn,” whispered Rhona, and reached out with her own powers, trembling with concentration. The guard yawned widely and rubbed one hand across his eyes, then sat back down. Rhona gritted her teeth, furrowing her brow, and the man finally slumped down where he sat, sound asleep and barely noticeable without the lantern above him.

           Calburn rocked forwards onto his knees and planted one hand flat against the cage lock. It clicked open immediately.

           “That was a neat trick,” said Athi once both she and Roxy were out of their own cages and all four of them had fled to the shadows behind a tent some distance from the stockade. “So that’s what a sleep spell looks like?”

           “More or less,” said Rhona. “They’re difficult to do right. Exert too much pressure and you risk dealing serious damage to the target’s brain.”

           “And that would bother us right now because…?” said Roxy. Calburn gave her a hard look. “Fine, never mind.”

           “You’ve been here the longest,” said Rhona, turning to Athi after a moment’s hesitation. “Where would they have put our weapons?”

           “There’s an armoury tent out near the forges,” said Athi. “I saw it when they made me take Longstride around the perimeter.”

           “We can’t leave Longstride with them either,” said Calburn. “My guess is they plan to use her like a war elephant? Sort of a battering ram and archer platform mixed together.” Athi nodded. “So unimaginative. They’d be better off using her to haul supplies if they want to turn this little warband into a proper army. An iron ox is a hybrid construct,” he added to Rhona and Roxy, “but it terms of how it relates to its riders, it’s more like a built one than a grown one. They can’t be made to obey a single commander, like Vrand and Mossy only listen to me. Athi’s the only person here who knows how to control Longstride, but she’s not the only person who can. If one of this lot,” he waved a hand to indicate the entire Charek camp, “works out how it’s done, rescuing Athi won’t put much of a crimp in their plans.”

           “He’s right,” said Athi. “They only have the one, but one’s still enough to do some damage before the Legions come down on them. We either need to take Longstride with us or…” Her breath caught in her throat. “Destroy her.”

           “Yeah, I’ve seen the iron ox,” said Roxy. “I don’t think any of us has the oomph to destroy her.”

           “Or at least, not so badly that they can’t work out how to fix her,” said Calburn.

           “So we take Longstride,” said Rhona. “We grab our weapons if we can.”

           “And we high-tail it out of here,” finished Athi. “Don’t suppose either of you know any invisibility spells?”

           “I don’t think those really exist,” said Calburn. “C’mon, you’re going to have to guide the rest of us here.”

           Athi nodded. “Longstride first,” she said. “This way.”

           The path from the stockade to the canvas-covered iron ox was slow and winding. The main thoroughfares through the camp were reasonably well-lit by lanterns and torches fixed to supports at even intervals, with few points where a fugitive could safely hide. Instead Athi led them through the dark, narrow spaces between and behind the tents, pausing in the deepest shadows whenever a Charek patrol – or just a wandering drunk – came too close. A couple of times, Roxy had to repeat her trick with the lantern to provide the shadows.

           Finally, there was only one stretch of open space to cross to where Longstride waited.

           “There are too many people,” said Roxy as all four of them crouched behind a grubby tent. The camp’s command tent was busy; all four walls had been tied back, leaving a canvas roof to shelter Jaran and his lieutenants as they pored over a sand table, and other warriors came and went constantly.  Vrand’s pebble rested on the table beside Jaran.

           “Wait here,” continued Roxy. “I’ll make a diversion for us.” With that, she slipped back the way they had come. Minutes later, a tent near the earthworks behind them went up in flames. “There,” said Roxy, rejoining the others as Jaran and the rest of the Charek abandoned the command tent and ran towards the fire. “Diversion.”

           “Your control of fire’s improved,” said Rhona as they dashed out towards Longstride. “Have you been practising without us?”

           “I didn’t do that with magic,” said Roxy, jogging alongside her. “I just lobbed a torch at it.”

           “Oh.”

           Athi ducked under the canvas and climbed up to the cabin on Longstride’s back. “Everyone up!” she hissed without removing the canvas. “And clip on!” she added, handing everyone a safety line once they had all joined her. Calburn took a moment to grab Vrand’s stone and shove it into one of his many pockets. “We’ll stop at the armoury to try and get your weapons, but once she gets going, she’s going to go fast.” She knelt behind Longstride’s head and bent to attend to something, muttering under her breath.

           “Can’t we use Vrand?” asked Roxy. “Or will he still be damaged when he comes out of the pebble?”

           “No, he’ll have healed,” said Calburn, attaching the safety line to the flying harness he still wore. “But he takes too long to materialise, and I think the Charek might notice a giant glowing dragon-thing-shape suddenly appearing in their camp.”

           “All right,” said Athi, getting back onto her feet. “She’s active. Shift the sheet so we can see where we’re going.” As Calburn and Rhona lifted the canvas away from Longstride’s head, Athi cracked her knuckles and grasped two moulded steel handles jutting up from the cabin’s front handrail. Tiny witchlights began to flicker all along the rail, matched by similar lights appearing on the backs of Longstride’s horns, and the iron ox took one ponderous step forwards.

           “How does this work?” asked Roxy, fascinated, as Longstride steadily picked up speed.

           “I’ll explain it to you some time when we’re not running for our lives,” promised Calburn.

           “Armoury’s this way,” said Athi above the thunder of Longstride’s footfalls. The construct slowed to skid around a corner, her claws leaving deep ruts in the earth underfoot, and sped up again towards the smoke of the camp’s forges. A young man hurled himself out of her path and picked himself up to blow several quick blasts on a horn.

           “Here! Grab your stuff and get back up here!” Athi tightened her grip on the handles; Longstride came to a halt beside one tent so quickly that both Rhona and Roxy lost their balance; Calburn, holding on to the handrail, remained standing and unclipped his line to let him scramble down to the tent. Moments later, he emerged with his sword, Rhona’s polearm, and Roxy’s bow and quiver in his arms, passed them up one by one, and climbed back up.

           “Tie those down or something,” said Athi. “If they fall, we’re not going back for them.”

           Calburn nodded and tied his scabbard across his back; Rhona did the same with the haft of her polearm. Roxy clipped her quiver to her belt and strung her bow so she could tuck her shoulder through it. Athi nodded. Longstride began to move again. The palisade atop the earthworks ahead of them drew rapidly closer, but Longstride neither slowed nor stopped, instead lowering her horned metal skull and bulldozing right through the log wall in a shower of splinters.

           Their exit did not go unnoticed.

           “Athi, we’ve got company,” said Calburn, thumping her on the shoulder and pointing behind them, where the flames from Roxy’s diversion had been extinguished and several mounted figures appeared at the broken palisade.

           “Yep, not unexpected,” she replied, hunching low over the rail just as an arrow bounced off the cabin roof. “Horses can’t match an iron ox at full speed. Now you’ll see exactly what Longstride can do.”

           The iron ox’s gait shifted up from a swift walk until she was barrelling along at a full gallop, more like a rampaging karkadann than a horse. Hooves drummed against the earth behind them as the Charek gave chase, but they were soon drowned out by the blasting wind of Longstride’s passage. The camp’s lights faded into the distance and were soon several miles behind.

           “Don’t celebrate just yet!” warned Athi as Roxy gave a whoop of triumph. “We still need to-”

           A strange vibration rumbled through the air, something entirely different to Longstride’s footsteps, and metal screamed under stress as the construct listed wildly to one side and crashed to the ground. Her passengers cut the safety lines and hurled themselves free of the wreckage, just in time to see one of the construct’s clawed forelegs – neatly sliced through at the elbow – fall from the sky with a deafening clatter.

           “Oh, gods,” said Calburn as the air shook again, more strongly than before, and a portal ripped open behind them to release more angry Charek riders than they could easily count. “They do have a Portallist.”

           “Leave her!” said Rhona, grabbing Athi’s arm as she stared blankly at Longstride’s severed foreleg. “Cal, there’s no time to fix it – we’ll have to use Mossy and Tyren.”

           Calburn nodded and yanked Mostol’s summoning stone from around his neck. “Come on, come on… Right! Mount up! Let’s go!”

           Tyren, smaller and lighter by far, could only carry a single rider; Roxy and Athi had to cling to Mostol’s packsaddle as the two constructs began to gallop.

           “If we can keep ahead, we have a chance,” Rhona shouted. “These two aren’t much faster than a horse, but they can keep going for longer.” Athi nodded weakly, still staring back at the remains of Longstride, and wound her arms through the straps of the packsaddle. Roxy, instead, hooked her legs into the harness and readied an arrow.

           Calburn unhooked the marble pouch from his belt. “This’ll buy us some time!”

           “Marbles?!” yelled Rhona. “What, you’re going to try and trip them?”        

           Calburn didn’t answer; instead he loosened the drawstring with his teeth and flung the pouch over his shoulder, scattering two dozen solid granite marbles across the dark ground behind them, then stuck finger and thumb in his mouth and gave a long, rising whistle. Lights flashed amongst the long grass; within moments, two dozen wolf-like constructs solidified, leapt to their feet, and sprinted back towards the pursuing Charek. The squeals of terrified horses echoed through the night. When the wolf constructs caught up once more, their teeth were stained with blood.

           Rhona stared at them.

           Calburn noticed. “You seriously thought I carried those marbles around for sentimental reasons?” he asked without slowing Mostol. “I have to keep a few tricks up my sleeve!”

           “You are bonkers,” said Athi. Roxy nodded her agreement, but her broad grin suggested that she did not disapprove.

           The air shook as another portal opened, this time off to their right; half of the pursuing Charek rode through and circled around, trying to herd their prey back towards the others.

           “Roxy, try and spot their Portallist,” shouted Rhona, banishing all thoughts of Calburn’s sudden wolf pack. “We’ll never shake them if they can jump ahead like that!”

           Roxy nodded and knelt up on Mostol’s back, still steadying herself with the harness straps. Her eyes narrowed in thought; without a word, she nocked an arrow, drew back the string, and loosed.

           One man, riding pillion with another Charek, toppled from his horse. The portal vanished immediately.

           “We can talk about where they found a Portallist later,” shouted Rhona when Calburn thoughtfully opened his mouth. “Escape now, ponder later! Oh, no.”

           The flanking riders had overtaken them. Calburn hauled on Mostol’s reins so hard that the construct let out a roar, but he turned on his back legs nonetheless and galloped away between the two groups. The Charek rejoined behind them, much closer than before. One rider hurled a javelin, narrowly missing the end of Tyren’s tail. Others stood up in their stirrups, readying ropes and arrows.

           Roxy hung her bow across her chest and looked around frantically. A fierce golden light flared in her eyes as she swung one arm wildly out; fire roared into life behind Mostol, catching the dry grass in a long dividing line between the Charek and their targets. Horses whinnied in fear, shying away from the flames; Charek swore and shouted as they tried to control their mounts. Roxy swayed where she knelt, but Athi grabbed her tunic before she could lose her balance altogether. The gap widened once more.

           “Well done!” shouted Calburn. “How’d you do that?”

           “Not sure,” said Roxy. “Energy of the wind, I think.”

           “Nice one! Let’s just hope that doesn’t spread too far…”

           The Charek had similar thoughts: while most rode around to continue the chase, a few dismounted to try and beat the flames out. It did not diminish their numbers by much. Jaran rode at their head, his sabre unsheathed in one hand and most of his warriors close behind. The tiring horses struggled to catch up to the constructs and more and more fell back as Calburn’s wolf pack ran to harry them, but soon arrows began to fly. One thudded into Mostol’s rump, but he kept running without even seeming to notice. A second struck deep into Tyren’s ankle; she let out a shrieking roar and fell, sending Rhona flying from her back. Tyren vanished in a flash of light, leaving only the stone clutched in Rhona’s hand.

           Calburn dug his heels into Mostol’s flanks, turning the construct, grabbed Rhona’s wrist, and swung her up behind him. Laden with four people, even Mostol began to struggle. The gap gradually narrowed once again.

           “Come on, Mossy, keep at it,” urged Calburn. “We can do this, just keep going!”

           Slowly, the first dim light of dawn appeared in the east. Roxy cocked her head and turned to look, just as a sliver of sun rose above the horizon. As Mostol groaned under the weight, Roxy clenched her jaw, knelt up once again, and stretched her left hand out towards the rising sun. The right, she pointed palm-first towards the Charek.

           It began as a strange, faint glow on her left hand, shining within the veins, and swiftly travelled up her arm, growing more intense as it went. The glow reappeared in her eyes, brighter and more frightening than before.

           “Roxy, no!” Too late, Rhona grabbed at her shoulder. Light lanced down Roxy’s right arm and erupted from the palm of her hand in a blinding, searing torrent. Her mouth gaped in a soundless scream, revealing the same glow in the pit of her throat.

           When the light finally faded, a blackened furrow as wide as Mostol was long and half as deep had been carved through the heart of the Charek warband. Jaran had survived, still astride his big roan, but even he could only stare in shock as half of what had once been a horse and its rider – now charred into ash – toppled into the pit.

           Roxy’s eyes rolled back in her head, no longer glowing. Wisps of smoke curled up from her right hand, the palm reddened and blistering, and she collapsed where she sat. Rhona and Athi caught her before she fell.

           “Make for that outcrop,” said Athi, pointing towards a raised spur of rock jutting up from the Steppes a mile or two ahead. “I don’t think we can outrun them much longer, but gods willing those wolves of yours can help hold them off.”

           One side of the rock was a steep slope that even Mostol’s broad three-toed hooves were hard-pressed to climb, while the other three were sheer crags. It was barely twenty feet high at its tallest point, but compared to the open plains it was practically a fortress. The wolf constructs took up a guard position at the ‘gate’ as Mostol’s passengers dismounted at the top.

           Frowning, Rhona pressed two fingers to Roxy’s wrist.

           “Is she all right?” asked Calburn, unsheathing his sword.

           “Power exhaustion,” said Rhona. She adjusted her grip on Roxy’s arm and began to heal the burn on her hand. “She’ll be fine if she can sleep it off.” She looked up at the approaching Charek and added, “Assuming we aren’t all killed in the next five minutes. Can you bring Vrand out now?”

           “I don’t think I have time,” said Calburn sadly. “The wolves should keep them at bay down there.”

           “They have bows,” said Athi. “Can you two do shields at all?”

           “Not reliably,” said Rhona. “And not against arrows.”

           “Hunker down behind Mossy,” said Calburn. “He’s got thick skin – he can take a few arrows.”

           Roxy’s blast had scattered the warband in all directions, but a few yells and gestures from Jaran soon gathered the shaken survivors. Although the horses were reluctant to get any closer to the wolf constructs, before long the rock was completely surrounded.

           “How long do you think you can hold out up there?” asked Jaran, leaning on his saddle horn as the other Charek passed around a flask, each taking a small sip. “There’s four of you, and still more than a hundred of us even after your young witch’s little trick.”

           “What’s the wait, then?” asked Calburn, peering over Mostol’s back. “Scared to take us on without your birds to soften us up?”

           Jaran laughed. “We can catch more thuru. In time we can find another portal-maker. With planning it won’t be hard to get another iron ox. But I can’t really afford to let scouts bring word of us to the man calling himself the Great Khan.”

           “What’s this all about?” asked Athi.

           Jaran smiled and rested the blunt edge of his sabre against his shoulder. “What it’s always about,” he said with a little shrug. “Wealth and power. We draw out the Great Khan, and suddenly not just the Steppes, but the whole Empire is under Charek control.” He lifted the sabre to point at them. “Under my control. This new Khan is weak. We can take him easily.”

           “He’s completely delusional,” said Rhona.

           “Agreed, but that doesn’t help us much right now,” Athi told her.

           “So what’s the bloody holdup?” yelled Calburn.

           “Simple,” said Jaran as Charek warriors began to throw their heads back with unearthly screams, lashing the air with swords and spears. “Had to wait for the bearskin to take effect.”

           As one, shrieking as much as the thuru had, the drugged warriors threw themselves from their horses and charged. The wolf constructs closed in at the foot of the slope, snapping at ankles and wrists, here and there bearing a warrior to the ground to tear at their throats, but they could not stop them all. More and more slipped through the gaps in the wolves’ line to scramble up the slope or scale the sides of the little crag. Rhona jabbed down at clutching hands with her polearm, until one climbing berserker simply grabbed the weapon by its curving blade, ignoring the edge as it sliced into his fingers, and yanked it from her hands with a froth-at-the-mouth yowl. Heedless of the blood now oozing from his hands, the man – a full head taller than Rhona and broader than Calburn – heaved himself up onto the top of the crag and dragged a short sword from his belt.

           Calburn turned at Athi’s shout, lifting his own sword, but a coiling lasso wrapped twice around his hand and dragged backwards, slamming him roughly against the makeshift parapet of Mostol. The sword fell from his hands to clatter on the rock underfoot.

           The big man jabbed out with the short sword, aiming for Rhona’s heart; with a final, desperate cry, she lurched forwards, planted both hands flat against his boiled-leather breastplate, reached in with her powers, and pulled. The man stopped dead, motionless but for the occasional twitch. Each breath rasped and bubbled in his throat; blood spattered from his mouth and nose with each heave of his chest. His face paled, vessels standing out on each side of his neck, and the whites of his eyes turned red. Slowly, he toppled backwards off the crag, dragging screaming Charek with him as his nerveless body plummeted to the ground.

           Rhona slumped to her knees, staring at her hands. Calburn scrabbled at the taut ropes around his arm, trying to free himself. Athi swallowed hard and picked up the big Charek’s fallen sword, standing over Roxy’s motionless body.

           A flash of movement in the sky; a tiny shadow flickering over the churned-up grass. One of the Charek raised her spear and stabbed upwards at the little winged construct circling overhead, missing every time as the crystal bound to its harness glittered.  

           The air vibrated, drumming against their ears more loudly and for longer than before, and three wide portals tore open to the sound of hooves. Horses, dozens of them, poured through the gateways – riders of Yaigan, Mojor, Safrin and every other tribe of the Hawk Steppes lifted spears, swords and bows and screamed their war cries, cutting down Charek like scything wheat. Some, the less berserk, dropped their weapons and lifted their hands in surrender, but Jaran grabbed the nearest bearskin flask and lifted it to his mouth.

           The point of a sabre skewered the flask and dragged it from his hands. Ernak scowled at him, tossed the flask to the ground, and trampled it beneath his horse’s hooves.

           One last group walked through the central portal before it closed behind them. Zar folded his arms and surveyed the battlefield, his thuru cloak shed in favour of full Legion armour – more decorated than that of a normal soldier, part of the helmet mimicking the Imperial crown, but still entirely functional. The Paladins surrounded him, shields and javelins at the ready.

           Zar lifted one hand and pointed directly at Jaran. “Bring him to me.”

           A few normal legionaries with Lagara insignias took their place as the Paladins formed up and surged forwards. Jaran yelled for bows; Silver barked out one word – “Testudo!” – and the god-soldiers lifted their shields as one. Arrows bounced off the steel bosses or embedded harmlessly in the wood, and the war-pack began to march. No sword, arrow or spearhead broke through their shield-wall, until they broke the formation to drag Jaran from his horse and carry him bodily through the fray to where Zar waited.

           It was quickly over. Those Charek who had surrendered sat under guard, while other riders from Khan’s Kurgan began to pile the corpses in a heap. Ernak climbed up to the crag as Calburn dismissed Mostol and the wolf constructs.

           He made a choked sound at the sight of Roxy on the ground. “She’s not-”

           “She’ll be all right,” said Rhona quietly, still staring at her own hands. “It’s called power exhaustion. It happens sometimes when a mage overdoes it.”

           Ernak sighed in relief. “And the rest of you?”

           “Not badly injured,” said Calburn, rubbing the rope burns on his wrist.

           Athi backed him up with a nod. “How did you know where to find us?”

           Ernak pointed up at the little construct still flying in circles. “It knew where to find you,” he said, “and something about that crystal meant the Portallists could find you.”

           “Yeah, Portallists are big on crystals,” said Calburn. He got stiffly to his feet and lifted one hand. The little messenger fluttered down to land on his arm and vanished into its stone. “The Charek camp is up that way,” he added, pointing back along the trampled trail. “We’re not going back there.”

           Ernak nodded. “The rest of us should be able to find it easily enough now.”

           One by one they traipsed down from the rock, Rhona leaning heavily on Calburn and Ernak carrying Roxy in his arms, and made their way over to Zar.

           Jaran knelt before him, two javelins pressing against his back and two swords crossed against his throat. The rest of the Paladins waited with their own javelins readied.

           Zar reached up, removed his helmet, and passed it to one of the Lagara soldiers. “So,” he said, his voice perfectly steady and completely flat. “You are so-called War-Khan Jaran, the one responsible for stirring up the Charek.”

           Jaran spat on the ground and glared up at him.

           “You are also, therefore, responsible for the attack on Horse Rock, the destruction of the Ironstone Mine headframe, the theft of Iron Ox Longstride and the kidnapping of its drivers, releasing berserk thuru into Khan’s Kurgan, resulting in the deaths of fifty-seven civilians and twelve soldiers of the Sixth Legion and untold amounts of property damage, countless other thefts and murders, and conspiring to murder the Great Khan of the Hawk Steppes and consequently the Emperor of Kiraan.”

           Jaran nodded shortly.

           Zar tapped his fingers against his long sword. “My father would have had you dragged to the Imperial City in chains and publically disembowelled in the Grand Arena,” he said, his voice still without expression. “But I am not my father, and I have no stomach for such cruelty.”

           Jaran snorted. “Weak.”

           Zar’s eyes narrowed very slightly. “Let him stand.”

           The Paladins glanced at each other from behind their visors, but the four pinning Jaran drew back their weapons. Jaran got to his feet, reaching for a sabre he no longer carried.

           With one terrible motion, Zar drew his sword, closed both hands around the hilt, and swung. Three feet of heavy, razor-sharp steel flashed in the dawn light. Jaran’s head bounced once and rolled away as his body collapsed.

           Zar took a cloth from his belt to clean the blood from the blade and walked over to the other Charek prisoners. “Never forget,” he said, a controlled fury creeping into his voice, “that the crown of the Empire is forged of iron. Those who threaten my people will face consequences.” He sheathed the sword and folded his hands behind his back. “The rest of you, I leave to the justice and mercy of the Steppe Tribes. You may discuss their fates amongst yourselves,” he said to Ernak and the rest of the chieftains who had ridden through the portals. “Spare some for questioning.”

           The whole story didn’t take long to come out. Jaran, exiled from a Yaigan band three years before for murder, had risen to lead the outcasts through force of personality; his Portallist, an ex-Mojor with a prodigious self-taught talent, had joined up soon after when he was caught pilfering from the food stores at Jaran’s camp. A contact in the black market had supplied them with a barrel of bearskin elixir, originally smuggled from the Sea Loch Country for use by less scrupulous arena fighters. Gradually a plan to replace the Great Khan with one of their own had taken shape. Satisfied with the information, the allies from Khan’s Kurgan had ridden off to take care of the Charek encampment.

           A few of the Charek escaped before they got there. Most did not. The smoke from the mass pyre billowed high into the air, and did not fade for days on end.

           Calburn, Rhona, Roxy and Athi saw none of it, flying back to Khan’s Kurgan on the fully-healed Vrand. They settled back into Ernak’s encampment with Aysel, the band’s children, and anyone else too old, young or infirm to fight, and waited for the others to return. Aysel tucked Roxy into her sleeping bag and told one of the children to keep an eye on her. After a couple of days, Ernak and the rest of the warriors returned from mopping up, helped on the journey by the Sixth Legion’s portals. A very groggy Roxy emerged from the tent under her own power and wolfed down the plate of bread and cheese Aysel handed her.

           “Did we win?” she asked through a mouthful.  

           Calburn nodded and looked sideways at Rhona, who kept rubbing her hands with a faraway look in her eyes. “Yeah, we won,” he said, and sighed. “You channelled the sun out there, Roxy.”

           Roxy swallowed and grinned. “I did, didn’t I?”

           Calburn smiled. “You did a good job. But that kind of power is dangerous – very dangerous. You were lucky to get out with a bout of power exhaustion. You could’ve burnt yourself out.”

           “You did burn your hand,” said Rhona without looking at Roxy. “And it’s a wonder you didn’t do anything to yourself internally.”

           “Listen,” said Calburn as Roxy’s smile faded. “We – Rhona and me – will have to go back to the mine now that this Charek trouble is over. There’s still work we need to do there. More constructs, more healing. We plan to set off tomorrow morning. But if you aren’t going to become a real danger to yourself and everyone around you, you need someone who can instruct you properly, someone who has a better understanding of your abilities. That’s not us, not in the bone-deep way you need. Here.” He took a notebook and pencil from one of the many satchels on his belt and began to write. “This is the address of another wizard back in Stormhaven. There’ll probably be someone closer to hand that’ll be able to help, but if you’re up for the journey, he’s the best choice. His powers are a lot like yours, and he’s a good friend of ours, so we know he’s trustworthy.” He tore out the page and gave it to Roxy, who took it in one slightly trembling hand.

           “Stormhaven, eh?” said Ernak, draping an arm around Roxy’s shoulders. “I hear they’re a civilised sort of people up there. Don’t fret, Roxy, we’ll work something out for you. Any supplies you two need for heading off, you’re welcome to them.”

           On Vrand, the journey back to the Ironstone Mine would only be a matter of hours. Rhona quietly excused herself and sat at the edge of the camp while the band help Calburn pack up a few bits and pieces.

           Ernak noticed, and sat beside her while Aysel directed the others. “Your first battle?” he asked.

           Rhona nodded. “If you don’t count the thuru skirmish.”

           “I remember mine,” he said. “I was young, younger than Roxy. Our band was camped in the eastern reaches, in the shadow of the Border Highlands. Some reivers – hill tribes – swept down from the mountains one night. They were a wild lot. We only managed to drive them off because everyone – everyone – took up arms, or they would’ve killed all of us and taken our livestock, or so my father said. I was so scared, those reivers barely even looked human to me. They took their own dead and vanished back into the mountains, leaving us to deal with ours. Including my mother. I had nightmares for years afterwards.”

           “One of them took my weapon,” said Rhona, looking at her hands. “So I killed him with my powers. Just reached into his chest and tore at his insides. That sort of power… It’s meant for emergencies, if you have to make incisions without a proper scalpel to hand.” She lifted her glasses off and pinched her nose. “Healing magic shouldn’t be used to kill.”

           “Maybe not,” said Ernak. “But if your life’s in danger, there’s no shame in making use of what you have. A knife, a rock, a hammer… Just about anything can kill in the right – or wrong – hands. Magic’s no different to any other tool that way.”

           Rhona nodded, but said nothing. Up on Vrand’s back, Calburn finished strapping supplies to the harness and waved for Rhona to join him.

           “Do you think you’ll come back to the Steppes some day?” asked Ernak as Rhona stood up.

           “Maybe,” said Rhona after a long silence. “I’ll have a lot to take care of before then. Work at the mine. Work at home. And I’ll have to talk to the head of the School of Healing, for more reasons than one. But after that… Yes, maybe. I’ve enjoyed most of my time out here. It’d be good to explore for a while without worrying about Charek or thuru.”

           Ernak got to his feet and took a few steps forward. Rhona turned to look at him. “I was betrothed once,” he said. “She wouldn’t accept an elfin foster-daughter. That was the end of it. You, I think, wouldn’t have that problem.”

           “Ernak…”

           “May I kiss you?”

           Rhona held his gaze for a few seconds. “No,” she said, very softly. “But thank you for asking first.”

           Ernak nodded sadly. “Go well, then,” he said without rancour. “Thank you for all your help, with Roxy and with the Charek. Come back to Khan’s Kurgan one day.”

           Calburn climbed down from Vrand’s back to hug Aysel and Roxy goodbye, and looked up just as Rhona and Ernak reached them. “Everything’s packed away and tied down,” he said. “We can get airborne whenever you’re ready.”

           “Right.” Rhona made her farewells, politely refusing the offered hugs, and climbed up to attach her safety lines to Vrand’s harness. “Keep in mind what we said about finding a proper teacher, Roxy,” she called down. “Have you still got that address?” Roxy patted one of her pockets. “Good.”

           Calburn climbed up after her. “No sense putting it off much longer,” he said. “No telling what kind of weather we could run into aloft, so I want to make good time. Athi, did you work out how-”

           “They’re sending a salvage team out for Longstride,” she assured him, folding her arms. “Should be able to reforge her with the right tools.”

           “Great.” He donned his flying helmet, rescued from the Charek camp by Ernak. “Then this is goodbye,” he said. “Thanks for having us, and look us up if any of you are ever in Stormhaven!”

           Vrand reared up and spread his wings. Some of the band ran to secure their tents against the draught as he took flight, but most held firm and waved goodbye until they were out of sight.

           “Back to the mine, then,” said Calburn over the wind. “You can tell if your dust lung treatment’s been holding up.”

           “And your pit ponies, too,” said Rhona. “But after this, I don’t want to sign up for any more jobs abroad for at least a year.”

           “I’ll drink to that.”

           Vrand flew onwards, riding the wind high above the Hawk Steppes. After hours, the dark blot of the mine buildings appeared on the green-and-brown sheet of the grasslands, and a speck at the edge of the compound resolved into Overseer Kedran.

           “Is our Charek problem solved?” she asked as Vrand landed again.

           “I think so,” said Calburn. “For a while, at least – until somebody tries this again.”

           “Good.” She waved a hand towards the mine shaft, fenced off and covered in scaffolding. “We’ve been trying to reconstruct the headframe ever since you two left, but I think we need your big construct to make more progress until some proper cranes arrive. And a couple of the miners haven’t been responding properly to your dust lung potion,” she added to Rhona.

           Rhona sighed and slid down Vrand’s side to the dry ground. “Very well,” she said as Calburn began to pass supplies down to her. “Let’s get back to work.”

~~~

When Zar said he would have the heads of the ones responsible, he really wasn’t speaking figuratively. The sword he’s been carrying around is not a purely ceremonial one.

Fun fact: ‘Roxana’ is a feminine form of the Persian name ‘Roshan’, meaning (more or less) ‘light’. Make of that what you will...