Tea and Batteries

Sometimes I do a thing. Sometimes I put it here.

[whumpy-bi]

Character who immediately shows gentleness and care for the person they’re rescuing, even while covered in the blood of their captors.

The complete separation of the violence they committed to reach their companion and how they actually treat them.

The switch from total violence to soft touches and “You’re alright, I gotcha. It’s all okay, I’m here.”

[dilfdyke]

love love love when a particularly manipulative character is lying off their ass about something and then throws in one hauntingly genuine line

[orpheuslament]

boy i sure do love a character who is playing a Character. a character who you have to basically forcefully cut open to get a glimpse of who they actually are. bonus points if they themselves have no fucking clue because theyve been pretending for so long theyve forgotten who they are when theyre not

[apple-bottom-jeansx]

I am a WHORE for “the love is requited, they’re both just idiots”

[a-krogan-skald-and-bearsark]

“They are STUPIDLY competent at EVERYTHING except each other.”

[teaandbatteries]

@triquizzies Oh look, it's Mira and Claus, lol.

[incandescent-creativity]

Do you ever write a sentence and then realize “Nah, that’s too self aware for you” and backspace a bunch of times.

[incandescent-creativity]

[ocprompts]

Does your OC know sign language?

[teaandbatteries]

Word Finding Tag Game

Tagged by @heimdallwatchesyou <3 <3 <3

I went looking for content that I haven't posted on this blog before, so here, have a couple of random snippets of content from other WIPs or RPs or whatever.

SOFT Arabella (Dragon Age: Inquisition)

Arabella hadn't even started her work before Cole had arrived, drawn by her radiant pain. So powerful was it that even the other mages, not in touch with emotion as the spirit was, kept a wide berth as they joined her in the tower after their morning meal.

"You are hungry, and you are hurting." His voice was soft, coming from the window sill, as gentle but calloused fingers pressed an apple into her hand.

Even such a ginger gesture brought back all the heartbreak to the forefront, and she hated how readily her lip began to tremble with the threat of tears once more. There was a pause, broken only by the rustle of cloth as Cole came down off the sill to peer at her. "You saw him for the first time, but he didn't see you." She made a soft sound, choked and broken. A moment later, hesitant hands came to rest on her shoulders. "May I hug you?" Cole had learned recently that such gestures were found comforting between friends. Arabella was a friend. One who needed comfort, desperately.

She inhaled, trying to hide the catching of her breath, but it only sounded like a sniffle. There really was no sense in hiding it, then. She nodded. Arms, surprisingly strong for how gangly they were, closed around her shoulders. She leaned gratefully against him, hiding her face from the world as tears came fresh to her eyes once more. "I thought… I thought…." But whatever she thought would never be known, for she dissolved into sobs before she could finish. Perhaps it wasn't necessary. Cole always knew, anyway.

HEART Sabine/Elijah

“Is it often your habit, doctor, to escort your patients from their impromptu appointment in the street directly to their prescribed bed-rest?” Sabine wore a smile that said she had taken no offence at his audacity, despite her teasing.

A chastened smile pulled at the corners of Elijah's lips. “Ah. Forgive me. I am accustomed to treating soldiers, who must be pressed into accepting treatment for anything but the most grave wounds. They would rarely rest as ordered unless I tucked them into the sheets myself.”

Sabine's easy smile grew playful. “Oh? Shall I take this to mean that you intend to tuck me into bed yourself, as well?”

There was a pause as Elijah glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taking the measure of her mood. He'd seen that light in her eyes before, the one that dared him to try and match her wit. So he tipped his head to catch her gaze, his own hooded with amusement, and responded in a manner almost coy; “I intended to escort you to your door, but if you would prefer that I take you as far as your bed, then you need only ask.”

Sabine responded with a wicked smile that held Elijah's attention for much longer than it should have - long enough that he found himself grateful that it was dawn and that the streets were empty, because he was certain he would have walked into someone at a busier moment. “How could I refuse an offer of private care from so adept a physician?”

Tempting as it was, Elijah still felt how heavily she leaned on his arm in her exhaustion. He hooked his cane over his arm so he could lift his other hand to her face once more; he caught her chin with his fingers and met her gaze in a reflection of the same gesture he'd made only minutes before. This time, however, it was clearly simply an excuse for affection, his thumb gliding over the edge of her jaw. “If I stayed, would you sleep?”

Sabine's heartbeat fluttered at his touch, taking a moment to refocus as she considered his question. “If you stayed, would you let me?”

“I should,” Elijah answered, and paused as his gaze dropped to her lips. “But I'm not certain that I would.” With a heavy breath, he straightened, pulling away from the sudden desire to kiss her. He brushed his fingers over her cheek before dropping his hand away from her face to use his cane properly once again. “Perhaps it would be wiser to avoid such potent temptation.”

Sabine yawned again, and let her head come to rest against his shoulder as they continued their slow journey to her home. “Wiser, yes, but considerably less gratifying.”

EYES Mal/Dallas

Clinging, crawling, rolling over her skin. Mal felt filthy. She was filthy. They'd made her shower at the ward. A small, dank room, with cracked tiles that let the water through, so the walls smelled of mold. It had no curtain. No privacy. And she couldn't remember caring about the eyes on her at the time. Why? Why did it matter what they saw? They'd all see her naked on the slab after she was dead. But even if she'd showered yesterday - or was it the day before? Time felt so strange. But recent. Not that it mattered. Her near-death and the struggle against the drugs saw her entire body coated in a thin layer of grime.

There were no bathtubs at the ward. The one in Dallas' apartment was small, but it would serve. She couldn't stand the thought of showering. The eyes hadn't bothered her then. But they did now. She'd managed to strip down and step one foot into the shower before she'd panicked under the imagined feeling of a nurse standing at her back, watching. She sank into the tub - the water wasn't even turned on yet - and hid behind the wall of it, peering out at the empty bathroom as if she expected an orderly to pop out from behind the bathroom mirror and shout at her for playing instead of washing. She didn't feel like she was playing. The terror made it hard to breathe.

"Dallas?" Her tone, thready and weak, barely carried through the door. He had to have been nearby, or listening, because he responded. She wasn't entirely listening to what he said - it didn't matter. All she needed was to hear his voice. "Just checking," she explained softly, pushing herself to her feet. Wrapping herself in a towel, she turned on the water and let the tub fill, watching the steam fill the room while the water filled the porcelain. She liked the way the water thumped through the pipes. It sounded different here. And inescapable reminder of being free filling her ears. Big breaths, calming heartbeat. Everything was fine. She was home.

She turned the water off, and slipped into the bath. The silence was deafening, especially after the sound of the running water. She considered turning the water back on again, as panic began to close her throat. Huddled against the back of the tub, her wide eyes were trying to take in as much of the room as she could, to remind herself that she was here and not there but it wasn't working and the tears were beginning to swim and she couldn't see anymore and the white tiles looked the same when they were blurred...

"Dallas?" Her voice was thick with a barely contained sob. His response came even quicker, this time. Worried. He could hear her distress. But the sound of him was enough. She could breathe. She relaxed, sinking into the water. "It is okay. I was just checking."

------

I dunno who to tag, so I guess just respond if you wanna <3

Words are Power, Face and Touch.

[gauntlings]

haha it would be so funny if people told me about their wayhaven oc's..... haha it would be so HILARIOUS to learn about other people's detectives........ a shame really

[teaandbatteries]

Wayhaven Detective Mira Adler

Mira Adler is: not sure why she was promoted to detective much better at her job than she thinks completely irresponsible irresistible a

[teaandbatteries]

Call and Response

Welp. Despite not having watched a Marvel movie in years, have a random Marvel fanfic that just kind of spilled out of me for no reason over the last couple of days, lol.

It's also a very different vibe from my usual writing for some reason. I dunno, if I'm being honest I feel a bit weird about it, like it's way more purple than I usually write.

Anyway, it was inspired (in part) by a little little section of the poem "Hydrophobia" by Sam Sax.

--------

Alexander Pierce sat staring at the laptop sitting on his desk. Next to him, an analyst stood with a clipboard, watching nervously at the way his boss's jaw clenched over and over again in frustration. On the screen, a video feed showed a cell holding the Winter Soldier and yet another team of medics and agents who had been sent in to subdue him, bleeding out on the floor.

Pierce scoffed, knocking the laptop closed so hard that it nearly tipped backward off the desk. "How the hell did this happen?"

The analyst swallowed thickly, looking down at his clipboard. "Um. Well, sir, he was displaying hesitation before making his assigned kills, so the medical team has been using depressants to suppress his empathetic responses. Unfortunately, he developed a resistance to them very quickly, so they kept increasing the dosage until, uh... Well, the dosage was increased too much, and now it seems to have caused some sort of mental break, sir."

Pierce scowled, rubbing irritably at his temples. "So what, then? We just wait until his resistance to the medication wears off and reduce the dosage again?"

The analyst took a step back with a shuddering breath. "A-actually, given his enhanced physiology, the medical team isn't sure his resistance will ever wear off..."

Pierce leveled a murderous look at the analyst. "Then what do they plan to do about this?!"

"I, uh, I don't... I don't..."

A knock at the office door came just in time to save the poor analyst from having to finish that potentially fatal sentence, and a young woman wearing a lab coat stuck her head through the door. "Sir? I believe I may have found a potential option for handling our Winter Soldier problem."

Pierce waved her into the room. "Explain, miss...?"

"Doctor Patricia Hardy," she answered, smiling politely as she crossed the room and placed the file open on his desk. "The Winter Envoy program may finally have a use."

Looking over the file, Pierce frowned. "Wait, there are other Winter asset programs? Other enhanced agents? Why wasn't I informed of this?"

She shrugged. "Because they were largely failures, sir. The programs were all ended decades ago. The only one that actually produced any surviving assets was this one," she explained, gesturing to the file. "The Envoy program was originally trying to produce a functioning telepath. They never succeeded; the closest they ever came was producing a powerful empath." She reached over to point at a table of data on the next page of the file. "She can detect and mirror the emotional states of those around her. Experiments also suggest that she broadcasts her own emotions to anyone nearby, causing others to feel as she does. If we can ensure that she feels calm and compliant, and then we send her into the cell with the Winter Soldier..."

He nodded slowly, drawing out the first few words of the sentence as he considered all idea. "Yes, yes this could work. How long before we can have her ready?"

Hardy grinned. "I can have her out of cryo this afternoon, sir."

"And..." Pierce hummed to himself, looking over the file again. "You said they never found a good use for her? Really?"

She reached across the desk again, to point out a different table, dense with numbers. "Records show a few attempts to use her for interrogations. They forced her into a state of panic and then placed her in a room with the subject of the interrogation. It seems that part of the experiment worked, but the interrogators were just as affected as the subjects, and they were never able to figure out how to ensure that she only affected the intended subject."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Sounds like they just lacked creativity. Well, in any case, let's get her prepped to handle this problem with the Winter Soldier. We can talk more about other uses for her later." He turned suddenly to the analyst, who was still hovering silently next to him. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go help Dr Hardy."

--------

I was still disoriented from the slightly nauseating process of waking from cryosleep. They'd injected me with something right after pulling me from the chamber - something that made me feel like I was floating just slightly outside my own body, and yet somehow also managed to feel heavy, like a false serenity was pressing down on every one of my limbs, leaving me sluggish and unbalanced. 

The vertigo almost made me trip over my own feet as I was pushed down a dank hallway full of jail cells. I couldn't think, couldn't remember where I was. When the people wearing black masks pushed me through the door, all I could think about was how my fingers still felt numb from the cold of the cryochamber.

And then I was drowning in anger.

No, not anger. Not just anger, at least. The man in the corner of the cell was like a white-hot coal, radiating a vicious rage that can only be born of a deep, existential terror. He was an injured, cornered animal, with nothing left but a blind fury intended to take his murderers into the darkness with him.

Only, he wasn't injured. Not physically, at least. But I could feel the ragged edges of his psyche, shredded until it bled and scarred, and then shredded all over again, until there was almost nothing left. As the fog in my head finally began to clear, I began to understand who he was. What he was. He was like me - a captive plaything. 

To the people who held us here, we were both nothing more than toys, to be broken and remoulded into whatever shape most entertained them today. And then put away, back into the cold dark, until they wished to play with us again. The shape of my scars might be different than his, but they were left by the same careless hands.

As I stared across the cell at him, I understood why they were so afraid of him. His hands were still soaked with the blood of the last team who had tried to force him into submission. Every muscle in his body was tight with tension, ready to lash out at any who came too close.

I wasn't afraid of him. 

I should've been. A cornered animal was dangerous. But instead, all I felt was a kinship with him. I understood his rage, and  I understood the fear that fueled it.

His gaze swiveled slowly around the cage until it met mine. The anger that lapped against my skin like fire began to change - imperceptibly, at first, and then faster as the minutes ticked by in silence.

Mine was not anger. What lived inside me was a cold hate, a placid glass lake no less dangerous than the fire because it was so easy to mistake for serenity. It was not calm - it was cold and it was bitter, and it would drag anyone who got too close down into its infinite depths to be drowned without remorse.

I see you. I know you. We are the same.

We'd both been people, once. Real people. Whole people. And then we were brought here and hollowed out until there was nothing left that made us us. Denied memories, denied personality, denied pathos, they'd taken from us more than just freedom. They'd taken our identities.

I could feel what a real life felt like, sometimes, from the staff around the complex. I felt the mild annoyance from one of the doctors when one of his children was late for school. I felt the little ache of heartbreak from the admin assistant when his date last night hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. I felt the low, bubbling excitement of the gate guard at the prospect of her upcoming birthday party. All the little pieces of emotion that made up a whole life - a life I didn't get to have. 

I'd had a life like that, once. So had he. And there was still an echo of our lost lives inside each of us, buried deep, even if neither of us could remember them.

I wasn't sure where the words had come from. It was a poem, or maybe a song lyric. The rhythm of the phrase said that these words weren't mine - that I'd heard them somewhere before. I had no memory of where. How I'd recalled them at all was a mystery. 

there's a theory

that says you don't exist

unless someone calls

and you respond

But regardless of where they had come from, they were true words. Deeply true, in a way that resonated through the hollow in my chest, where my heart used to be.

Here, in this place, I did not exist. Neither of us did. Our bodies and our minds were assets that belonged to our captors. They were tools to be used. But I - I, the person, the human, the sentience that filled the mind and the body and the spaces in between - I did not exist here. I couldn't remember ever existing.

And then the silence of isolation was broken with a call and a response. I weren't sure whose was the call and whose the response. It didn't matter. It was the exchange. The recognition. I feel you. You exist.

This was Pierce's mistake. The act of sharing and mirroring emotion was not so simple or shallow as creating a general sense of calm. Oh, the Winter Soldier did calm - that much was true. The tension began to unwind from his muscles. His rate of his breaths slowed, and each inhale became deeper. He raised his head to meet my gaze, and his expression smoothed out of that twisted snarl into something more neutral. 

But the emotions shared between us were nothing subdued or submissive. If anything, his rage ran deeper now than it ever had before. This was not calm. This was control. This was patience. No longer a machine of blind instinct, he remembered how to be human again.

And in return, he gave me fire. There was an old coal of anger that still lived in my chest. It had long since gone cold; what was the point in fighting to defend a life like this? But his rage was something worth fighting for. A hot flame sparked under my breastbone, coming to life once more under the bright radiance of his fury.

The cell door opened behind me with the sound of nails against a chalkboard. A man in a lab coat stepped inside, followed by two men in black riot gear with stun guns. The doctor was holding a needle, shaking in his trembling hands. Terror rolled off of him in waves so powerful that it made me feel ill.

The Winter Soldier never once looked away from me as the doctor approached. His eyes remained fixed on my face, holding my gaze with such intensity that it was as if nothing else existed - or nothing else worthy of recognition, perhaps. He hadn't looked to the cell door when it opened. He didn't flinch when the doctor pressed the needle into his arm. He didn't move. He didn't resist. He just stared until the two guards took me by my arms and led me from the cell.

--------

"I thought this was supposed to make him less dangerous." The guard to my left jostled me carelessly as he turned his attention to the guard flanking my right. It was as if I wasn't even there. "I heard the doc they sent in after the last meeting ended up with both his legs broken. And he was lucky the team managed to taze the bastard before it got even worse."

The right guard just shrugged. "I dunno. I guess it'll take a couple of meetings before the effect lasts after she leaves. Let the eggheads figure that stuff out and just do your job, man."

When they pushed me through the cell door again, I expected to meet the injured animal again, to feel that white coal of rage. He looked just as he had when I walked in the last time. His hands were not so covered in blood, but he looked just as coiled with tension, just as eager for violence. 

Yet, despite what the guards were saying, I could feel clarity in him still. If anything, he seemed more controlled than he had at the end of our last encounter - no longer neutral, his control over his body language was absolute. The stiff, defensive posture were not instinct, this time. Was he doing it on purpose, then? And then, in response my confusion, I felt a faint, warbling thread of amusement from him. It was intentional. He was playing with them, misleading them. Convincing them to bring me back to him.

I want to see you. I want to know you. I feel real when you are near.

Yet again, I felt the spark of something within me that I hadn't felt in memory. And this time, it was something warm. Something good. Delight.

There was something delicious about the idea that the toy might have learned to play with his captors in return, even in such a small way. The warmth in my chest bloomed suddenly brighter. It wasn't anger - the heat was too gentle to be fire. And then I realized it wasn't mine: it was his pleasure at my approval.

Somewhere, buried deep under all the drugs, the obedience beaten into him, the feelings beaten out of him, the pain and the lost identity, I found the fragile shape of the man he used to be, once; the faint impression of a wicked wit and charm.

I felt the same mirrored in him - some vague sense of who I had been, once. It was small, hidden away under the layers of pain and loss, but undeniably there. Though him, I saw a piece of myself; a sense of justice that remained, even chipped and battered as it was, unbroken.

How long since I had known myself? It is difficult to understate the pleasure of knowing who you are, in even such a small way, after being nothing and no one for so very, very long.

--------

Pierce leaned back in his chair with a long groan, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "So she does stabilize him, but only while she's in the same room?"

Dr Hardy winced and nodded. "And when he's alone, his emotional instability is getting worse."

"We should end this experiment now, before he gets even worse."

The doctor shook her head. "Well, no, I don't think that's a wise choice. He's nearly useless as an asset on his own in this state already, so the risk we take by continuing to try to the Winter Envoy to stabilize him is very low. I have a promising new idea; if we leave them together for a more extended period of time, it may help recover his long-term stability because his emotions won't be swinging so often between states."

Pierce glowered at her. "We better not lose the Winter Soldier over this, doctor."

She nodded quickly. "I understand, sir. We'll begin the next stage of the program immediately."

---------

Maybe one day, I would have the chance to ask him for his name. But then again, maybe he wouldn't have an answer. Maybe he didn't know. I didn't know my own name, either. 

The guards and the doctors called him the Winter Soldier. But that was the name given by our captors. That was the name for the hollow tool they tried to make of him. It was not a name for him. And besides, it was too cold for a man whose emotions felt like fire against my skin.

We never spoke, not even when we were together for hours. It was too dangerous to risk one of the guards overhearing something that they didn't like. Besides, we didn't need to speak - the better part of communication was emotion, anyway. Words weren't necessary. Even if it meant I couldn't ask his name.

The cell door opened behind me. Tension crawled up my spine and settled easily against the rumbling, defensive anger that flowed out of him in response. He didn't know why I was afraid - only that I was, every time, in that moment just before one of the guards entered the cell to take me away.

I was afraid of one guard in particular. None of them were kind, but this one enjoyed being cruel to me. The others all knew, of course - how could they not, when they could all feel my fear of him? They didn't care. But despite their disregard, it was still always a relief to turn around and see a face that didn't belong to the sadist.

Except, today, that was the very face smirking down at me.

It all happened so fast. The little spark of panic flashed in my chest. Even had I wanted to hide it, there was nothing I could have done. The next instant, he - my fire and now my protector, too - was standing in front of me, blocking my view of the guard. There was barely any movement, hardly a sound. There was just the dull thump of the guard, suddenly limp, crumpling at his feet with a broken neck.

I felt his uncertainty in the silent moment that followed. He hadn't really considered what would come next, after he removed the threat. I expected that uncertainty to bloom into panic, especially when panic of my own began to claw its way up my throat, worse even, than when I'd seen the guard. What would they do to him for this? They would take him away from me. I would never see him again. Never exist again.

And yet, despite the way my terror hammered against him, he snapped suddenly into that particular sense of calm that come from the comfort of familiarity. The tactics of violence and survival were things he understood well. He was not afraid. My terror eased, just a little. I could breathe again. I didn't need my own certainty - I could feel his.

He bent down to take the gun from the guard's body. Then, after a moment's thought, he pulled the vest from the guard, too. Then he straightened, checked the chamber of the gun, and held the vest out for me to put on.

"We're leaving." His voice sounded like gravel, so rough from disuse that it was difficult to even make out the words. But I didn't need to hear them - he wanted me close, and so close I would remain.

The cell door hung open, and I had the sense from him that chaos would erupt the moment we stepped out without the guard. Escape. We needed a way outside.

Well. I could help with that. Down the hall, out of the prison wing, turn right, and find a door. Some of the support staff used it sometimes. I felt that heady combination of nerves and relief when they were approaching it, and I smelled the lingering cigarette smoke when they came back - a faster way out for a smoke break, but one they weren't supposed to use. It wasn't well-guarded, so it probably led to a roof or something equally inaccessible, but it was still better than trying to weave through the entire complex to use the guarded main entrance.

No one expected us to actually try to leave. The alarm didn't even go off until we were out of the prison wing entirely. 

Six people. He killed six people on the way out, and never even broke stride. Death wasn't supposed to be beautiful, but he was. It was the way he moved. Every time I'd seen him before, he was tense, stiff, almost lumbering. I had no idea he could move like this. Was this what dancing looked like? It should be. He was a masterpiece of precision, control, and absolute certainty in his actions.

No hesitation. No guilt. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing them. Each time a guard came down the hall, there was a simple choice to be made; he could kill the guard, or the guard would kill us. It was never a question, and there would never be a regret.

Beyond the door was not an exit - it was a window. It looked out into an alley. We were on the third floor. The window was open, the sill littered with cigarette butts. Not even the clinging stench of stale, cheap tobacco could ruin the miracle of breathing fresh air.

I felt it, the moment he judged that he could make the jump. Standing next to the window, he turned to reach for me, but there was a moment of hesitation just before his hands made contact with my skin. For just a beat, I wasn't sure why. Then I realized with a start that he was waiting for permission. I almost laughed - as if I would ever refuse him, as if I would ever choose to stay here, no matter what he asked me to do in the escape.

He did laugh, then, once he understood the nature of my surprise. It was a short, rough sound - almost a cough. But it was there, and the current of amusement underneath washed over me as he swept me off my feet. Then there was nothing but air, and I was glad for the way the wind tore the breath from my lungs, or else I might have screamed and alerted someone. He hit the ground hard and stumbled a few steps before he set me back on my feet.

Escape. Out of sight. Hurry, so close.

He didn't let go of my hand. Into the alley, around the corner. It didn't matter where we were going. Only that it was away from that place.

----------

He knew where to find an old dead drop of cash. I found a generous soul willing to lend us a change of clothes. A quick white lie to the clerk at the hotel front desk, and now, finally, there was warmth and quiet, and there was a locked door between us and the rest of the world. It wasn't safety, not really. I wasn't sure if we'd ever really be safe from people like them. But it was something close. It was good enough for tonight.

And we were free.

I expected to feel joy. Elation. Giddiness. But instead, as the last of the adrenaline drained away, there was nothing rose in its place. Just a void that had been filled with so much fear and pain for so long that, now that they were gone, all that was left was an aching emptiness. Could I even remember how to feel anything with enough power to fill that hollow? Anything other than fear?

And so it was fear that began to crawl back in to fill the vacuum. Fear that I had been irreparably broken. Fear that, after all I had suffered, freedom promised nothing more than this suffocating, blank nothing in my heart.

But it was only for a moment. He caught my wrist and I turned to him: sitting on the edge of the bed, staring up at me with the same cold dread on his face that was threatening to choke me. The ratcheting rate of my heart slowed just a little. I didn't have to face the void alone. 

Call and response. I see you. I know you. I feel you. I exist with you.

I felt the spark in my chest. That was source of the ember and the fire. It burned with rage when we were captives, in defiance against those who would snuff out our humanity. But now that the threat was gone, the fire was still there. It was no longer a furious defiance, but rather a desire for confirmation - I exist when I am seen, heard, felt, touched.

Touch me. I want to feel alive.

His grip on my wrist loosened. His fingers trailed slowly up my arm, leaving a ripple of goosebumps in their wake. It was only the barest of touches, but it didn't need to be anything more. 

Maybe this desire was already there, and it was only now that we noticed it. Or maybe it really had only crashed into us in this moment, to fill this void of fear with all the sudden force that I felt as it knocked the breath from my lungs. It filled the hollow in my chest and didn't stop - his desire fed mine fed his fed mine again, until, barely a breath later, every inch of my skin yearned so strongly to be touched that to feel the empty air was almost a physical ache.

The next moment, he had me by the waist and we fell together into the bed, eager to kiss, to caress, to be made real together. Every sensation was so potent that each alone seemed unbearable, but to endure them together was a bliss all its own. Even the hot sting of lust denied held a certain gratifying delight, so we lingered in stillness, breathing each other in and reveling in unsated hunger. 

It was pointless to ask whose passion first overcame patience - to do so would be to ask whose warmth was felt where skin met skin, or whose pleasure it was that brought us crashing over the edge, or whose sweat was left dotted and drying on my skin afterwards, as we lay tangled together and trying to catch our breaths.

It was ours. Always ours.

Even with my eyes closed, I knew he was looking at me. My cheek pillowed on his chest, I tipped my head up to meet his gaze; hooded, comfortable, soft. He was never meant to look at anyone this way again. This was a sort of victory all its own.

A smile tugged on his lips. "And I don't even know your name." There it was again - the shape of his wit. Less fragile, this time.

I turned to press my lips against his shoulder, muffling my laughter against his skin. "That's alright. Neither do I."

"Then what should I call you?"

I was in no hurry to answer. We were wrapped up, safe and lost, in the infinite hours before dawn. "I'm not sure," I answered softly. I trailed my fingers along the lines of his metal arm. I had not expected it to be so warm. "I've never had a name before. Not one I remember, at least." 

I meant to press a kiss to the edge of his jaw when I looked up at him again. He knew what I intended the moment he felt the surge of my affection. He turned to catch my lips, pleasure and affection and amusement mingling between us. His teeth grazed my lip, pulling a whimper unbidden from my chest - and then another as I felt the intensity of his reaction to even so small a sound. The intoxication of desiring and being desired in return swept over us again. On my back as the kiss was broken, I was pinned to the bed by his weight as we fought to catch our breaths. Was it normal, such intensity from nothing more than a kiss? Or was this a particular luxury of us feeling and feeding the passions of the other?

I was surprised to find a growing ache in my chest, but I understood suddenly why he wanted my name. There was a nameless thing that needed to be expressed, and the only way to express it would be to speak his name like a chant, a confession, a prayer. Because it is you who I feel here with me. You who reminded me that I am real. You whose emotions fit with mine like two halves of a whole. You. You. Only you.

I wanted to know his name, whatever it might be for now. "What should I call you, then?"

I could feel the shape of his words brushing against my lips as he answered; "The only thing I can remember being called is 'Soldier'."

My revulsion was fiercer than even I expected. "That is a name for the tool they tried to turn you into, not for the man you are."

His gaze was soft as he looked down at me, and I felt the sweetness wrap around his heart at the hearing the contrast given voice. "Not even if I'm your soldier?"

"You're not," I whispered. "You're free. You'll have no orders from me."

"Then not a soldier," he answered, his voice a low rumble that I felt against my chest as he kissed me once more. "Just yours."

[teaandbatteries]

Lucerna the Bright

Oculis Vedentis, Lady Claraspex, the Mirror-Eyed

Light LEAKS through the CRACKS. THE HIGHER I RISE THE MORE I SEE.

T̶̜̰͊̋͗͝ḧ̷͙̘̪̹̖̼͙͔̺̪̐̀͋̅͆͑́̍̊̄̋̈́ȩ̷͚̙̱̮͕̺̱̯̬͎͉̣͋̑̽͒̏͒̂̏̊̏͘͝ ̸̛̥̼͙͋͂̇̎̍͗͒͌̈́̽͊̕Ģ̴̛͎͓̭̭̩̟͉͎̜͚̓̐͒́͒͆̀̓͘͘͜l̴͖͈͈̻̥̳̬̻̭̊͒̀̅͑͜ó̷̢̯͚̲͖̩͑̾͋̌̀̆̀̌̈́̀͗͠͝r̷̢̥̻͚͙̰̟͉̺̙͖̒̈́̑̄͛͐͋̔̿̽̚̕͝y̸̧͓̳͍̭͖͙͍̞̟͕̥͖͈̙͛̊̿̆͂͆ ̷̗̠͖̜͈̄̈̋̔̋̈́͗̓̕p̷̧̢͙̯̠̞̟͋͆̅͒͂͐͒̔̕͜ȍ̶̩͂͗́́̄ǘ̸͚̻͐̋́̆͛̊̇͝͝r̵̼̪̅͂͌̽͛̀͜ŝ̷̖͈͙͓̜̟͈͔̳̯̩̣̔̈̌̈̚ͅ ̶̧̧̧̙̩͖̰̜̦̲̙̲̘̈̈́̽̑͒̌̉͑̀͐̄͘̕͝͝f̶̨͈̼̫͒̇̔ȏ̵̪̰́̏́̕͝r̷̡̧̛̼̼̞̞͇̼̗̮͍̊̈́͑̌͐͗̓̊̑̓̔ͅţ̴̘̯̩͚̭̘̣̥̄̓͒́͛͆̈͐͂̚͠͝h̶̟̠̟͕̮̟͙͖͈̪̰̠̔͐̔̓͗̋ͅ ̴̧̛̭̙̜̭͖͖̯̫͙̜̉͑̐̏̓̉̚̕͝t̵̡̧̧̛͈̦̝̯̞̯̻̳̓̅̋̊̍͝ḣ̷̡͍̖̗̬̝̤̞̐͗͛͋r̴̡̬̘͕̘͍̭̥̪̙̬̲͔̔͌͋̈́͒̓̀͘͜͠ͅơ̸̤̠̐̇͛̐̔̓̋̒̔̄͊̇̚͠u̵̯̫̐g̷̗͍̦͚̀̽͝h̴̞̳̮̦͚̺̙̱̝̑̎̒̆̂̀̊̀̽͜ͅͅ ̷̼͚͉̦̫̉̿̓̒͆͒̕t̵̤̙̪̜̥̣̠̽̏͐͗̀̈́̇̔͋̉̐̏̊͝͝ḥ̸̖͈̯͓̖̭͈̥̮͍̰̻̙̊̋́̈́̑̉̄̔̊̈́͊̔͘͠͠ȅ̸̛̛͚̄́̀͊̑̿̕͠͠ ̶͕̤͉̤̃͑̂̈͋͌̀͑̈͑͜͠ḑ̸̢̱̙̟͓̮͇̦̯̠̜̌̓͑o̵̡̦̼̾̾́̐̀̕o̷̧̭̲̱̦͔̠̗̣̞̼̤͖̞͑͋͋̀̏͊̕̕͠͠ȑ̵̭̗͙̬̝̗̺͙̓̋̂͑̿̍͗͝ŝ̶̡̼̯͉ ̴͕̤̬͔͉̫̒͑̃̑̀͊͜͝î̴̛̮̩̼͈̤̭̙͙̙̙̙̲̝̜́̊̌̈́̔͝n̵̤̮̖̣̂̑̐͘ ̷̡̣̯̬̦̺̲͕͈̺͉̩͎͚̪̀̈́̿̈́͛̀̇̈́̀̌̈́m̴̨̡͈̬̝̼̞̖̘͇͇͓̥̮͂̇̈̃͜y̶̟͉̻̠͔̪̪̲͈͎͈͍͓̺̝̅͂̒̔͠ ̸̭͎̝̙̙̗͈͚̦̟͇́͒͒̇̌͜ͅͅe̶̗̰̤͔̓͌̂̉̀y̸̡̾͛̒́͛͒̚ḛ̸̡̧̢̧͎͚̟͇̳̟̙͙̉̾s̴̨̗͈̦̰̮̼̱͉̰̥̳͍̍̓̔̀̏̒͛̽̈̎̈́̽́͘͜

Here, this is my Secret Histories character.

This post brought to you by the extremely cool Magnus Archives picrew by wxrringtxn: https://picrew.me/en/secret_image_maker/TUpt5gokcYbd7w1d

[teaandbatteries]

Willing Sacrifice - Mason x Evelynn

Her heartbeat. It was quiet, it was uneven, it was stuttering, but it was there. The sound of it was the last thread holding Mason's sanity in place.

He was standing in front of the closed door of the operating theater, deep in the heart of the medical wing of the Agency's Wayhaven facility. Forehead pressed against the harsh steel door, he closed his eyes and forced himself to take slow breaths; with each inhale, he counted the beats of the fluttering heart, muted but audible through the door.

There were other hearts beating within, of course - Elidor's steady thump, underlining the quicker, anxious beats the two nurses. But they were easy to ignore in favour of the unsteady, fluttering pulse he needed. It felt like his own heart was beating in time with hers - hanging still in terror with each pause, afraid that the previous beat would be the last he might hear, and then thudding hard against his ribs in relief the very instant head heard the next.

There were other sensations, too. He was vaguely aware that he was cold, his clothing soaked through with rain and blood. The smell of her blood mixed with acrid medicine clouded around him. And there were voices. Footsteps. Someone was shouting.

His eardrums felt like they were splitting. His sinuses ached. The chilled air felt like a thousand tiny needles on his skin. But it all felt unimportant - hardly more than a vague annoyance. Nothing mattered but listening for the next beat of Evelynn's heart.

Because if he didn't hear it... If she didn't survive.... And it was his fault...

Mason gave a shuddering grunt as his stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Someone was standing next to him. Close enough that he could feel their body heat, even though they weren't touching him. They were shouting. There was another voice, too, almost as loud, almost as close. He had to strain to hear Evelynn's next heartbeat over the noise. He couldn't care less about the noise itself, but he would end anything that threatened to drown out the only sound that actually mattered.

Mason whipped around to come face-to-face with Rebecca, a vicious snarl ripping out of him - a promise of such violence that Adam took several steps towards them, as if he feared he might have to intervene.

Rebecca didn't move. She didn't even pause in shouting at him. "--supposed to protect her!"

Nate tried to step in, his expression torn. "Agent Fair--"

Rebecca didn't seem to even hear him, continuing her tirade unbroken at Mason. "Explain to me how you let this happen!"

"And you're supposed to be her mother," Mason hissed.

The implication in his tone was finally enough to make Rebecca stop yelling. Her face went ashen with enough anger that it seemed she wasn't able to put her emotions to words.

Mason took a step forward, forcing her back. "So maybe you can explain to me why the fuck she thought it was a good idea to step between me and a fucking bullet!"

The change in Agent Fairwood was instant. The fury twisting her features slackened to horror. "She... what? Why?!"

"You fucking tell me!" Impotent frustration spilled out of Mason in a wordless roar, and he spun on his heel to punch the wall behind him, sending chunks of cinder-block flying.

Adam was next to him an instant later, a hand laid gently over Mason's throbbing fist. His eyes were filled with sympathy, but his tone brooked no argument, "I know. But if you do anything to endanger Evelynn's care, I will remove you."

Mason pulled his lips back, as if to snarl again. But underneath the aimless anger, there was another feeling, suffocating in its power, that demanded he listen because she mattered more than his rage. Mason forced himself to take a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded slowly.

In the meantime, Rebecca had collapsed into one of the waiting room benches, staring aimlessly at the door of the operating room. "Why would she...?"

Nate took a seat next to her. "The bullet was laced with DMB."

As Adam withdrew from Mason's side, Mason was left standing with his forehead pressed against the door once again. But it seemed now he remained at least partly aware of what was happening around him, because he ground out a response to Nate's comment; "What the fuck does that matter?"

"Enough to kill most vampires," Felix added softly.

Mason's hands curled into fists. "So? She fucking knows I can handle more DMB than most vampires. I would have been fine."

"Possibly," Adam answered, leaning heavily against the wall. "But evidently, that was not a risk she was willing to take on your life."

This time, another snarl did escape out of Mason as he turned to glare at Adam. "But it was a risk she was willing to take with hers?!"

The waiting room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The answer was obvious, but no one wanted to say it aloud. Mason knew very well that it was true. Nobody needed to say it, and it felt cruel to give unnecessary voice to his torment.

He gave a shuddering breath, one that sounded unpleasantly like a swallowed sob, and let himself slide down the wall to sit on the sterile linoleum, his head bowed and his hands curled tight in his hair.

Rebecca stared down at her hands, blinking rapidly. "I... I wanted it to be a failure. A mistake. A hole in procedure that could be filled. But we can't protect her if she would choose to..."

A sharp breath from Mason interrupted her, and she looked over to see him hunched even further forward, his shoulders pulled up to his ears, his fingers digging into his temples. She fell silent. He'd already borne the weight of her fear through her blame. He didn't need to be burdened further.

---

No one was entirely sure how much time had passed. No one had moved for however long it had been. The heartbeat was still there. Still fluttering. Perhaps just a little stronger.

The operating room door opened to Elidor. Everyone was on their feet in an instant. Most waited with baited breath for news, but Mason had no intention of waiting to hear what had happened to her. He needed to see her. Now.

Elidor didn't even have the chance to speak before Mason had ducked under his arm and disappeared into the operating theater.

"I-- She's not--!" A door slammed from inside, and Elidor pursed his lips in irritation, his gaze swinging back to those still waiting in front of him. "The rest of you can meet me at the observation room down the hall, where she is recovering from surgery." He stepped back and snapped the door shut again, grumbling to himself as he followed Mason.

There was a door inside the operating room which led directly into a series of hospital rooms, intended for those under medical observation after surgery. Evelynn had already been delivered to one when Elidor went to speak with Unit Bravo. Mason was already inside by the time Elidor caught up.

When he opened the door to the observation room, he found Mason seated on the floor next to Evelynn's bed. The position was nearly identical to the one he'd adopted while waiting for news - his head hanging between his knees, his fingers buried in his hair. But the tension threatening to tear him in half had eased; not gone, but lessened enough to make his exhaustion apparent.

Elidor came to a stop just in front of Mason, towering over the vampire with crossed arms. "Do you really think it's a good idea to be in here while you're covered in filth?"

Mason lifted his head slowly to peer down at his hands, smeared with the rusty-brown of dried blood. He didn't answer; he just pushed himself to his feet and trudged to the sink on the other side of the room, where he began to wash his hands. "Get me some scrubs."

Elidor watched, unmoving, with a deep frown. "You hate scrubs."

Mason paused, scowling at him. "Do you want me to change or not?"

Elidor hesitated, pursing his lips. He wanted Mason to go have a shower and get changed properly. And maybe get some sleep. There were rules for a reason, and he was not going to bend them for Mason! He was not!

Elidor scoffed under his breath about "heart-strings" and pulled open a drawer, pulling out a set of blue scrubs and tossing them down on the counter next to Mason. "You need a shower."

Mason huffed out a breath. "Yeah, I know, I just..." His gaze pulled towards the bed as if drawn against his will, making him twist awkwardly even while he was still washing up.

A knock sounded at the door, and Elidor went to answer it, grumbling to himself.

Rebecca and the rest of Unit Bravo waited on the other side, each wearing hope on their faces with varying openness.

"She'll be okay?" Rebecca asked, swallowing against a voice that wobbled slightly.

Elidor nodded. "She was lucky. The bullet ricocheted off one of her ribs and only clipped one of her lungs, and the path was pretty clean. The damage could have been considerably worse. She may lose some mobility in her left shoulder, but she should otherwise make a full recovery. A slow recovery, but a full one."

"Can we see her?" Felix asked.

"She won't wake now until at least morning," Elidor answered, rolling his eyes at Felix's pout. "You can go in and see her, but not all at once. And do not try to wake her up, or I will bar all of you from her room until she's fully recovered."

"We can wait until she wakes," Adam answered - though he was looking at Felix, despite responding to Elidor.

Felix scowled. "What? But--"

Nate offered a reassuring smile. "She's fine. We know she's fine. That should be enough. Besides, we could all use a little rest, after tonight. We'll see her first thing in the morning."

Felix peered into the room, his eyes lighting on Mason, who had returned to his silent vigil at the side of Evelynn's bed. "I... Yeah, alright. I guess."

The rest of Unit Bravo trailed slowly away, leaving only Rebecca to step inside the room. She stayed only a moment - long enough to leave a kiss on Evelynn's forehead - before retreating to prepare a report on this new weapon apparently in use by the Trappers.

She paused at the door, now that everyone else had gone, and looked at Mason. "Agent, I.... apologize for what I said earlier. It was said in fear and..." She sighed. "The truth is, it gives me comfort, knowing she has someone to watch over her when I can't."

And then she left Mason alone with the sound of Evelynn's heart beat.

---

It was difficult to say how much time had passed when another set of footsteps approached the door - ones that didn't belong to one of the medical staff who came in and out to check her status from time to time.

Nate stepped into the room and frowned when he saw Mason, still sitting on the hard floor. It seemed it hadn't moved at all.

"Mason, you need to get some rest." Nate settled down on the floor next to him, peering down at his friend, hoping to see any response at all.

Mason didn't move, but Nate did hear a faint growl rumbling in his chest at the suggestion.

Nate sighed. "Why not? She'll be safe if you go clean up and get some sleep."

There was a long silence, and Nate started to think that maybe Mason was just going to refuse any conversation at all, until grey eyes peered up at him from under a mess of dark hair. "I can't, I need to hear that... that she's alive."

Nate pursed his lips. Mason did need to get some rest, but his heart wouldn't allow him to insist. Not after that. Unless...

Thinking quickly, Nate pushed himself to his feet. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Maybe I can help." And then he disappeared back into the hall.

A half hour later, the footsteps of that telltale long stride could be heard in the hallway again. Nate stepped silently back into the room, and placed a set of clothes on the floor next to Mason, with a plain plastic keycard on top.

Mason peered up at Nate, confusion colouring his expression enough that it was clear even in the dark. "What's this?"

Nate smiled, pushing wet hair back out of his face. "It's a change of clothes, and the key to the bathroom down the hall. It's meant for medical staff but I was able to convince the duty nurse to let you use it, just this once." He took a seat once more on the floor, this time opposite Mason. "There are only two walls between this room and the bathroom." He paused, lowering his voice. "You'll be able to hear her heartbeat in the shower. I checked."

There was silence, and then a deep, shuddering breath from Mason. He winced as he stood, his muscles protesting against having been held still for so long, and gathered up the pile of clothing. "Thanks."

Nate smiled. "Of course. I'll stay with her while you're gone."

---

Nate left shortly after Mason returned, freshly showered and changed out of his bloody clothes. At some point while Mason was gone, someone thought to bring a chair into Evelynn's room. He pulled it as close to her bed as he could manage and settled into it, glad that at least he wasn't going to have to spend the night on the hard floor.

He might have gotten some sleep after that. It was hard to tell if he'd dropped off between beats of her heart. He must have, because even he wouldn't have been able to get through the night without at least some sleep. Not after all that had happened. It couldn't have been long, though; he was never asleep long enough to dream.

He had fallen into a half-aware doze around dawn when Evelynn murmured something in her sleep. He was on his feet the moment he realized he wasn't dreaming her voice, though not fast enough; she woke suddenly, pushing herself upright in bed with a cry of distress, followed immediately by cry of pain as her injuries were wrenched by the motion. Her throat was so dry that it felt almost cracked, and she curled forward, coughing violently.

"Woah, sweetheart, calm down." Mason knelt on the bed next to her, a glass of water already in hand. "You're alright." His arm wrapped low around her hips, pulling her towards him as he pressed the glass to her lips with his other hand. He told himself it was only to steady her as she drank, but there was no point in trying to keep up such an obvious lie. Not when it felt like a vice around his heart released the moment he touched her.

Evelynn emptied the glass, gingerly taking it from him to finish herself. But the moment she could think of anything beyond remembering how to breathe, she looked up at Mason with wide, worried eyes. "Mason." Her voice still sounded weak and shaky, but at least now she could speak without dissolving into a fit of coughs. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Mason scoffed, an echo of that fear-fueled anger surging in him again. "Me?! You're the one who got shot!"

Eve leaned gingerly against his side for support, already feeling like sitting up on her own was too much exertion. She knew she should probably lie back down, but the terror of the shooting was still too fresh - she wasn't willing to let him go. Not yet. She needed the reassurance that he was here, warm and breathing next to her. "I know, but if it had passed through, it still might have hit you."

Mason let out a growling breath that sounded quite a lot like a murmured curse of some kind. "Let me get this straight. You're worried about me, because you think I might have been hit if the bullet passed completely through your chest?"

Well, it sounded ridiculous when he framed it that way. Eve tucked her head down against his shoulder, as if that might hide her blush - as if he wouldn't be able to feel the heat of it anyway. "...Yeah, that's... pretty much exactly it."

Mason groaned, pressing his lips to her temple before he said something stupid in his frustration. After several slow breaths, he finally ground out, "Could you please just be selfish for five fucking minutes?"

Guilt prodded at Evelynn, and she closed her eyes, unsure of how to explain. "I am being selfish." She didn't even have to look at him to sense his disbelief. She could feel it in the way his lips moved against her skin, and in the way his breath washed over her hair. Despite the situation, despite the pain, it tugged the corners of her lips into a sad little smile. "I could pretend it was heroism or self-sacrifice. But the truth is, I had to pick between potentially losing you, and getting shot." She picked awkwardly at a loose thread in the sheets. "Getting shot just seemed like it would hurt less."

A growl rolled out of him at that. Did she seriously expect him to believe this bullshit? "Oh, yeah." The sarcasm in his tone even more cutting than usual. "How selfish of you to be willing to die for every fucking person who ever ends up in danger in this town."

Some distant part of Eve's mind said that he wasn't being fair. She didn't exactly run around trying to die for people. She was willing to put herself in danger for others, sure, but that was hardly the same as taking a bullet for them. Did he really not understand? "It... wouldn't be selfish if I did it for someone else."

She felt it, the moment Mason understood just what she was trying to say. There was a beat or two of confusion, and then his spine went rigidly straight and he sucked a breath in through his teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Evelynn squeezed her eyes shut, shuffling a little closer to him to tuck her head under his chin. "I told you." Her answer was so small that it was difficult even for him to hear - especially over the thundering of her heart. "I was being selfish. I picked the thing that would hurt me the least. Getting shot would hurt less than losing you. Just you." Her fingers crawled hesitantly over the sheets until she could hook one of her fingers over one of his; desperate for the affection, but afraid he was too angry or uncomfortable for the contact. "It... wouldn't be selfish if it was someone else."

The silence hung heavily over them as Mason as he tried to process what she was saying. Not the words themselves, but what she really meant - what she must feel, if this was true. It was so tempting to wrap his other arm around her and pull her closer against him. But he knew he couldn't, not without hurting her, so he caught her fidgeting hand in his instead, weaving their fingers together and holding tight.

They were avoiding the word for this feeling, both of them, as if it would make a difference. As if leaving it unsaid would protect them - would protect him, because he knew he was the coward who feared it, that she would have said it long ago if she thought he would have wanted to hear it. As if he wasn't living the very pain and fear right now that he was pretending he could avoid if he didn't give this feeling a name. As if voicing a single word would make any difference in how afraid he was to lose her.

When he finally responded, his voice was rasping and uncertain. "...Why?"

The question was so unexpected that Eve almost laughed. "You know why, Mason."

She was right. He did know. He thought it would scare him, but mostly he just felt stupid for thinking that denial would somehow protect him. The terror was still there, of course - it just was no longer the fear of giving into this feeling. It was too late for that.

Some small, puerile part of him wanted her to promise she'd never do anything like this again. But a larger, more solid part of him - a part coloured, perhaps, by that feeling he still lacked the courage to name - told him that he couldn't; if she asked the same of him, if she tried to make him promise not to sacrifice himself for her, he'd refuse. If he was the one choosing between his life and hers, he'd choose hers, every time.

And maybe... maybe there was something warm in the thought that it was unfair to ask that of her, because it meant that she felt this with the same terrifying depth that he did.

So instead, he heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Yeah, well... I guess I'm selfish that way, too."

Eve turned her head to press a kiss to his collar. He could feel the smile on her lips. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For... understanding, I suppose."

A low groan dragged its way out of Mason, and he gave in, just a little, to his desire to pull her closer. "I wish I didn't."

She answered with a quick, breathless chuckle, looking up at him half-closed eyes. "I know."

Mason huffed out sigh halfway between annoyed and affectionate. "Figures. You know everything else." Untangling their hands, he brushed his fingers gently across her cheekbone.

Eve seemed to relax into him at the gesture, her eyes fluttering closed. When she opened them again, she found Mason dipping down to press a quick, chaste kiss to her lips.

"You need to sleep, sweetheart."

She caught the hem of his shirt again, pulling gently. "Will you stay?"

He chuckled, low and indulgent, in a way that said he was surprised she felt the need to ask. Settling back against the pillows, he opened his arms for her to join him and she shuffled eagerly but gingerly into place, trying to find a balance between staying a close as possible without further aggravating her injuries.

As she settled, he answered in a mumble, so quiet that she wasn't sure if she was meant to hear at all. "Not even the end of the world could make me leave."

[teaandbatteries]

I’m obsessed with Gilded Shadows so I wrote a small thing. Too big to be microfiction, so I guess it’s millifiction. And I don’t want to title it.

Anyway Caissa, you only have yourself to blame for this.

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

The man walked away, but not before giving me a leering last look that made me want a shower. “Gross, boring, asshole.” The words hissed out between my teeth as I offered the man one last smile before he looked away. Sometimes it was necessary to go to such lengths to maintain the appearance of civility around these people. 

I hate these parties. I avoided them as much as possible. But schmoozing was occasionally necessary, so here we were. At least I’d gotten better at it since the engagement party. Barely.

I felt Caissa’s presence behind me before his hand on my back and his voice low in my ear. “Not very creative. I much preferred ‘insipid troglodyte’.” I could hear the mirth in his voice as his arm slid around my waist, pulling me back against him. “I hope you’re not losing the edge off your sharp tongue.”

Oh, so my dear husband thought it was a good idea to tease me while my patience was down to a thread, did he? So be it.

I turned in his arms, wearing a smile that was just wicked enough that I caught the arch of his brows before I tugged him closer to whisper into his ear. “If my tongue isn’t sharp enough to entertain you, then maybe it’s soft enough to please you in other ways.”

I could feel the shudder roll through his body, and then the tension that followed as he tried to suppress any visible reaction to the feeling of my tongue darting out to catch that spot just below his ear, the one I knew was particularly sensitive. He froze. I’m pretty sure he stopped breathing entirely, in fact. It was the perfect opportunity to avoid retaliation; I pressed a kiss to his cheek, stepped out of his arms, and chirped, “Enjoy the rest of the party, darling!” before escaping across the room to the refreshments table.

I had this funny feeling that we were going to excuse ourselves and retire for the night some time soon. Call it theakinesis, I guess. 

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

The trick to leaving amazing comments on fanfic (if you’re nervous to comment/have nothing to say)

Sometimes, I see people who want to comment on fics, but are shy, nervous, or just don’t think they have anything to say. So, here’s the trick to low-effort but amazing comments:

- copy-paste your favourite line from the fic into your comment.

- add an emoji showing how it made you feel, or write what it made you think.

- That’s it. That’s the entire comment.

“But that’s so low-effort, won’t that disappoint the author?” Firstly: no, authors in general love any positive feedback. English teachers aren’t grading your comments. Authors will love that you bothered to say anything no matter what you say, so long as it isn’t mean. There’s no situation where this is a concern.

Secondly: authors love this kind of comment. It’s my favourite. It demonstrates that you engaged with the text, which s always super flattering, and additionally provides extremely useful data. We want to know what lines stood out to you the most, to be worth commenting on! We want to know what they made you feel or think! Again, this isn’t an English essay; pasting your favourite joke and attaching a laughing emoji is enough! This kind of data helps us improve as writers and demonstrates that our work made somebody think or feel something. It’s great.

So there’s the tip. If you want to comment, but have nothing to say, copy-paste your favourite line and add a reaction. Works every time.

[teaandbatteries]

This this this this, every this, so much this, yes yes yes.

There are a few comments on my fics over the years that have been memorable enough that I can recall them even years later, or which I actually re-read from time to time. Literally every single one is this kind of comment - a quote from the fic, and a quick reaction to it (often in the form of emojis, gifs, or just keyboard-smash nonsense).

If you're worried about this kind of comment being "low-effort" then... well, you're always welcome to make a comment out of multiple quotes and reactions. That counts as higher-effort, right? lol.

[teaandbatteries]

Mira x Adam: Arguments

When Adam first met the detective, he'd been convinced that her teasing was simply a means of undermining his authority. Slowly, as he came to know her, he began to think that this was her way of expressing interest, like a school-yard crush. Then, with dawning guilt, he slowly understood that it was more a defense mechanism; a way for her to show her feelings without opening herself to the rejection they both knew he'd provide in return.

But while each of these assumptions was true, in their own way, none of them were complete in their understanding of why she liked to needle and annoy him so. He came to this realization only once his last shred of willpower had been spent, once he finally gave into his feelings.

He thought she'd stop, or lessen the habit, now that he'd offered his heart to her in place of the expected rejection, now that their feelings were beyond that of a crush, now that they'd grown comfortable enough with each other that petty squabbling over authority was unnecessary. But while it was less defensive, less petty, less defiant, it was not less often. If anything, she did it more. Baffling.

Except that, as his own dry wit began to peek out from under the layers upon layers of stoic divisions he'd erected between himself and others, it struck him suddenly one day that he was doing it too. Even now, with his humour still struggling to reveal itself, the rare times it did appear, it was often in service of gentle needling her. There was nothing baffling about it - it was simply fun.

And why not? Few conversations were as entertaining as a quick one held between two of equal wit, exchanging barbs. Especially when the barbs were softened to suit the target - that which made it teasing rather than outright cruelty. And this was yet another reason why it should be enjoyable, for being able to soften one's comments to just the right forgiveness and aimed at just the right target could spark the pleasure of knowing how deeply one understands their sparring partner.

---------

Mason walked into the warehouse kitchen on time to see a handful of soap suds splat against Adam's face, drawing a deep, annoyed sigh from the team leader as he swiped it easily away with his hand. "Is this what we've been reduced to, Detective? I would have hoped by now that you might have developed sufficient maturity to admit gracefully when you are wrong."

He and Mira were standing together over the kitchen sink. Adam was still dutifully drying the few plates left on the pile in front of him, but Mira had clearly forgotten all about washing the rest of the dirty pile next to her, instead choosing to scoop another wad of soapy bubbles to throw at him. "I can totally admit when I'm wrong. I'm just not wrong!"

This time, Adam blocked the foamy missile with his hand and shook the bubbles harmlessly back into the sink.

Felix took the opportunity to grin up at Mason from where he sat at the kitchen table, reading a comic book. "Adam and Mira are fighting again." He thought that was weird, given that they'd finally stopped dancing around each other. But now, at least, these arguments didn't generally end with one or both of them hurt and upset. Mostly they just petered out on their own. Sometimes they ended up in the bedroom. Both far better outcomes, in his opinion.

Mason just shrugged and sat down at the table, pulling an unlit cigarette out of his jacket to chew while he watched the squabble play out.

"I cannot be expected to take seriously a battle sequence involving such clearly faulty tactics," Adam said finally, rolling one of his shoulders in a shrug as his attention returned to the dishes in front of him, now that he was sure another bubbly assault wasn't on its way.

"So I guess you think a detailed documentary of the more realistic months-long siege would have been better?" she asked with a scoff.

"It wouldn't have needed to be months-long, the wizard was returning with a larger force in only a few days."

Mira groaned, rolling her eyes so hard that her head followed the motion. "That is so not the point! A siege is boring!"

Now it was Adam's turn to scoff. "I'm quite certain the battle would have been even more interesting if the orcs had carried automatic weapons instead of swords, too. Would you suggest that change would have improved things?"

Mira whirled on him, ignoring the dishes completely so she could stand facing him, her mouth agape that he would even suggest such a thing. "What?! That's not the same thing at all!"

Adam responded in kind, turning to face her with crossed arms. "Is it not? Explain the difference."

A smirk rolled over Mason's face. He leaned over to nudge Felix and muttered, "They're not fighting."

Felix blinked at Mason in confusion, and then returned his attention to Mira and Adam, squinting as if that might make the situation look different to him, somehow. Sure, Mira was smirking, but she always looked like that. Even in the face of deadly danger, she looked like she expected someone to pop out and shout that it was just a prank. This was how she'd always looked when she argued with Adam, right from the moment they met.

Adam's expression too, looked like Felix might expect during an argument - furrowed brows, the corners of his lips turned down, and... wait. His dimples. Every time Adam's lips twitched, they appeared for just a moment. He wasn't hiding annoyance - he was hiding a smile!

His mouth popped open in surprise and his chair - which he had tipped back onto the two back legs - fell forward, smacking against the kitchen floor with a loud thwap that drew the startled attention of the bickering couple. "I get it," he said, grinning. "You're flirting."

[teaandbatteries]

Wayhaven Detective Mira Adler

Mira Adler is:

not sure why she was promoted to detective

much better at her job than she thinks

completely irresponsible irresistible

a disaster, but at peace with that

Mira on:

Adam (Love Interest) - "I only flirt with him because it's fun to annoy him. I'd prolly stop if he stopped reacting." A/N: Oh sweetie, no you wouldn't.

Nate (Good Teammates) - "I'd love him for his library even if he wasn't so loveable himself."

Felix (Totally mates) - "Pretty much my platonic soulmate <3"

Mason (Close Teammates) - "Insults count as a love language, right?"

Rebecca (Tense-ish) - "Apparently she thinks I'm still twelve, so exactly how much professionalism does she expect from her middle-schooler?"

Police Captain (Bad) - "Better than the mayor, which isn't saying much."

Mayor Friedman (Very Bad) - "lol gross."

Bobby (Ex) - "lol super gross."

I almost feel bad that Adam has to endure her. Almost. But we all know he loves it (and her).

[teaandbatteries]

Mira x Claus - Making Up For Lost Time

"Terrible idea." It was the third time he'd said it - sixth, if one counted synonyms. But it was true. He didn't like this idea. The tension in his body was visible in the way his shoulders were pulled up around his ears, and in the way he squinted irritably down the hall, paranoid that someone would come wandering in this direction and ruin everything.

"Oh, stop whining," Mira chirped, grey eyes flashing in his direction for just a moment before she returned her attention to the lock she was currently picking. "You didn't get what you came for last time, and it was obviously worth getting shot over. We should get it."

Claus checked the hall again, and spared a glance down at the thief crouched in front of the door. He wished she would hurry up. Not just because of the possibility that someone might see them huddled by the door, obviously up to no good, but because the red party dress she was wearing had a slit up the side, and the way it was draped over her leg - or more accurately not, since it left the long expanse of her thigh perfectly visible - was distracting enough that he wasn't keeping watch down the hallway quite as much as he would like.

"More likely we will simply both end up shot, this time," he grumbled, tearing his gaze from her skin to look down the hall once more. At least part of his ill mood was annoyance at himself and his apparent lack of self-control.

"We will not," she answered, her remark sounding more like a school-yard retort than reassurance.

Claus arched an eyebrow. "You cannot know that."

"Sure I can. I know because I..." She paused dramatically so he could hear the sound of the lock clicking open, and flashed him a grin, "... am a much better thief than you are." With that, she straightened, smoothing her dress, and quietly pushed open the door.

The pair slipped silently into the darkened office, and Claus shut the door behind them. Alone in here, he was able to relax a little. This was still dangerous in the extreme, but at least in here they weren't at risk of having someone round the corner and spot them. He began to rifle through the shelves by the door, unwilling to move far from the room's only point of escape. "Don't like this."

Mira sighed loudly, her heels clicking on the stone floor as she crossed the room towards the enormous oak desk that dominated that side of the room, only to pause in front of a shelf displaying a number of valuable oddities - presumably favoured prizes obtained across the Gossamer Worlds. "Yes, yes, I know. You're worried someone will recognize us. I still don't know who you think could possibly have gotten a good enough look for that to be a risk."

"We had the entire security team after us!" Claus' gaze lifted to her, his expression disapproving, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the softly glowing orb she'd plucked from the shelf. There was a quick motion of her wrist, and the orb was suddenly gone.

"They only saw our backs," Mira answered. "Mostly. But I mean, even if someone did catch a fleeting glimpse of our faces, your face was inflated like a puffer fish from the beating you'd taken, and I was wearing a hood, no makeup and had a different hair colour." She turned to face him, then, and pulled idly on her brunette locks, curled and bouncing around her shoulders. "Come on, Mauschen, you know what they say about the fallibility of witness testimony."

Claus just grunted. He knew she was right, technically - it wasn't very likely that someone would recognize either of them. Especially given that the Lord of this castle had responded to the break-in by firing half of the security team. But it still felt like such an unnecessary risk. And he knew very well that Mira was the kind of person who was willing to take risks he wouldn't find at all acceptable, so hearing from her that the risk was low meant almost nothing at all. And so, instead of providing any more of a response, he simply went back to picking through the book shelves, hoping to find the files he wanted.

Mira, meanwhile, had finished her path to the desk and was picking open the lock of a drawer. Sure, there were other drawers, but the locked ones always had the best stuff. She wasn't entirely sure why Claus was looking for a file full of sales contracts in a bookshelf, but he was so wound up at the simple idea of being here that she didn't question it. She suspected that he simply wanted to stay close to the door, so he could react if someone approached. It wasn't the worst idea, anyway.

"Aha!" The drawer popped open to reveal a sheaf of papers that looked rather contract-esque. Mira plucked them out of the drawer and cleared a space on the desk to read them, knocking several leaves of loose paper onto the floor in the process. "Oh, naughty naughty Lord Alistaire. Trying to scam one of the Fae? That sounds like it'd be bad for your long-term health."

Claus crossed the room in a few long strides and bent to peer at the papers. "Yes." These were the contracts he'd been looking for, what had drawn him here in the first place that fateful night. And it only just occurred to him that he still didn't know why Mira had been here - it wasn't to find him, that had been as much of a shock to her as it had for himself. Strange, he thought, that she didn't seem interested in collecting whatever it was that had brought her here in the first place...

Mira, unaware of his musings, gathered up the papers into a folder and held them up with a smirk. She gave a flourish of her hand, and the entire folder up and disappeared.

For the moment, Claus was distracted. Where in the world was she putting those things? Her dress was sleeveless, form-fitting... his gaze wandered up her body and he decided that, no, there was definitely nowhere for her to be hiding her prizes. Magic, then? Surely.

Mira preened under his scrutiny, jutting her hip out to one side and flipping her hair over her shoulder with a knowing wink. She opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly lewd, but was interrupted by the most distressing sound - the rattle of a doorknob.

Though the panic they felt was much the same, each reacted to it quite differently. Claus reached inside his suit jacket, closing his hand around the grip of his gun. Mira sat down on the edge of the desk and grab Claus' tie, yanking him towards her.

"Trust me," she whispered, and Claus went still. She grabbed his free hand and pressed his palm against her thigh. Her other leg hooked around his hip, tugging him closer still. Her other hand raked through his hair, mussing it beyond recognition. And then, as the door hinges began to creak, she kissed him with an intensity that surprised even her.

She tasted like tea. Like that sweet, fragrant tea of hers that she prized so. Claus had never really understood the appeal, but was suddenly finding a powerful new appreciation for the taste.

His palm moved against her leg. At first, Mira thought he was trying to withdraw the touch, only to gasp when his fingers found their way to the slit in her skirt and she realized that he was seeking her skin, his fingers digging harder into her thigh to hold her closer still. She'd been worried that he'd be stiff, lacking in passion; in a word, unconvincing. Apparently there was no reason for her to be concerned in the slightest.

There was a wordless, offended sort of sound from the doorway. It went utterly ignored. It wasn't until the high-pitched, indignant, "Excuse me!" that the couple parted, breathless and flushed.

Mira peeked over Claus shoulder at the woman in the doorway, thanking all the gods that it wasn't the Gossamer Lord himself. Lying to him might have been a feat. But she just seemed to be a cleaning lady. She giggled, giving the sound enough of a bounce to make it seem like she was drunk. "What?"

The lady gaped, not immediately certain how to answer that. "You - You're - You're not supposed to be in here!"

Mira pushed Claus back a step so she could get to her feet off the desk, though she continued clinging to him in a way that implied both that she was loathe to let him go and that she needed his support to stand up straight. "Aww! But where else are we supposed to find, some, um.... privacy?" She giggled again.

Now the lady just looked annoyed. "I don't know, how about home? You can't be in here, much less doing that!"

"Fiiiiine." Mira waved a dismissive hand at the lady, and gave Claus a tug. "Come on, babe. One more dance, and then you can take me home to finish what we started..." Another giggle, this one considerably more lewd, and she let Claus lead her out of the office, stumbling a few times on the way, just for good measure. Slowly but surely, they began to wander back in the direction of the main party - the dance floor on the upper floor of the castle, just as before.

Once they were out of sight of the door, Mira straightened, no longer feeling the need to fake her drunken stupor, and Claus let her go so she could straighten her dress. "Well. That was certainly interesting."

Claus sounded grave when he spoke. "I apologize."

Mira looped her arm around his - it still suited them to look like a couple wandering the party, after all - and only paused a beat later, looking up at him with a frown. "What? What for?"

He opened his mouth, only to realize that he wasn't entirely sure what to say. Why was he apologizing? He supposed that he'd just assumed that she hadn't wanted him to get quite so... zealous in playing his part. But apparently she hadn't been bothered, and now he didn't know how to answer.

He was saved from having to provide much of a response, however, as they left the narrow hallway and stepped out onto the balcony that hung over the ballroom and dance floor. Lights flashed through smokey air, a low beat pulsing so powerfully through the air that the very stones shook.

Before either of them could adjust to the change in volume to continue their conversation, Mira gave a frantic hissed, "Fuck!" and yanked on Claus' arm again, this time pulling them both into a small alcove between two marble pillars. She pressed her back against one of the pillars and grabbed his lapels, dragging him close and huddling slightly, as if to hide.

"What... are you doing?" Claus asked, struggling awkwardly to look normal and not at all like he was big held against his will with his face nearly pressed to a column.

"Fuck!" she hissed again, loosening her grip on him. "Sorry, I just... there's a guard. He knows my face."

Instantly, his demeanour shifted. He grew still, looking around the room. There were three guards in sight, none of them looking in this direction and none of them particularly alert. At least it seemed they hadn't been spotted yet. But getting downstairs to the Door was considerably more complicated, now. "You said no one had seen your face."

She scowled, looking stressed. "There was one. Before I found you. I was flirting with him to get information."

His gaze snapped back to her face, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Why didn't you tell me this?!"

"Because I stole his earpiece, his phone, and locked him inside the bathroom! I assumed he was one of the people on the security team who had been fired - if anyone had done anything that was worthy of being fired, it was him!"

This was why Claus had considered this outing a foolish risk. She was right - it was reasonable to assume that he would be one of the many who were fired from the security team here. But make enough reasonable assumptions, and it no longer matters how reasonable each one is in isolation - one of them will still turn out to be wrong. But they had some protection; the room was dark, Mira had changed much of her appearance, she could hide behind his frame, and there was always the fact that others tend to avoid looking too closely at displays of affection...

He leaned closer to her again, this time leaning down towards her. His expression relaxed, lips curling into a smirk, and Mira was struck suddenly with the though that Claus might have been capable of great feats of seduction if he ever managed to get that stick out of his ass.

"Which one?" he asked, looking for all the world like he was asking her to go home with him.

She swallowed thickly, not entirely used to having him look at her like that. "Uh. He was blonde? I think?"

Claus shifted his position just a little - not enough to make it look any less like his attention was on her, but sufficient to let him check the guards again. One blonde. Well, that certainly made things easier. Though more concerning was the fact that he was walking almost directly towards them. He hadn't put much focus on the couple in the shadows yet, but it would be only a matter of moments... Well. If nothing else, she'd shown him tonight one particularly effective method of distraction.

Mira wasn't even given any warning this time. One moment she was huddled against the wall, trying to look like she was flirting back with the man towering over her and totally not hiding behind his height, and the next, he was kissing her again and the shock of it made it difficult to breathe.

Claus was having trouble deciding whether the adrenaline rush was more the result of the danger or her. Or, hell, what was the difference? This was her fault, anyway. Only now he couldn't tell if that fire in his chest was anger at her foolishness or something else entirely. Though, given the way it burned brighter the longer he kissed her, he thought maybe he knew that answer to that question, too, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Her fingertips ran lightly up the nape of his neck and into his hair. As badly she didn't want to stop, she needed to breathe, and so she pulled, making them part so she could catch her breath. She couldn't hear the sound he made, not over the music, but she felt the rumble in his chest, still pressed hard against hers.

There was a pregnant pause. The guard had gone - his attention turned to another part of the room, and they could both see him wandering away in another direction. This was the moment they should part, the moment they should escape the alcove and find their way back to the door. Then they would begin the slow, awkward process of carefully replacing the defenses that they were going to pretend had never fallen in the first place. Because this had only been a distraction - an attempt to escape attention. Neither of them had actually wanted to kiss the other. Of course not.

Mira thought that sounded exhausting. It was so much work, faking it all the time, pretending she didn't care. She was tired of rebuilding her walls every time he blundered into one and knocked it down. What was the point? Apparently they were about as effective as wet tissue paper against this spindly asshole, anyway. And it wasn't like she hid her interest - she certainly flirted with him often enough. Okay, yes, she'd always acted like it was just aimless flirting and she didn't really care, but she'd saved his life, risked her own in the process, and then suffered through the natural healing process of several broken ribs for him. He had to have realized that her flightiness was at least partly a defense mechanism by now, right? If he hadn't, he was an idiot.

Funny how much easier it was for her to just shut up at kiss him when she could convince herself that it was his fault if it turned out badly.

Her hand was still in his hair, and she knew she'd caught him by surprise when she tugged him back towards her instead of letting go. The surprise didn't seem to last long, though; she felt one of his arms slide between her back and the pillar, pulling her away from the stone and tighter towards him.

But, quickly as he'd returned her kiss, he ended it, straightening out of her reach, and looking out over the crowd. "We should leave."

Mira gaped at him. Seriously? Was that all he had to say? Though honestly, she didn't know what else she could have expected, trying to kiss such a humourless asshole. Though she supposed she had to give him credit where it was due. He was a better actor than she'd expected - he'd certainly fooled her.

She held a sullen silence while they escaped through the Door without incident, and continued as they began the slow trek back to the Savoir. God, if she thought it would have been awkward before...

"You're upset." Claus broke the silence tentatively, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Did he seriously have the gall to sound confused?

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Why?" He'd stopped, turning to look directly at her.

Mira stopped next to him, more out of surprise than anything else. The balls on this man! "Oh come on, not even you're that dense, Claus. I'm sure you can figure out why 'we should leave' isn't exactly the response a girl hopes for after kissing someone. Asshole."

Understanding finally dawned in his eyes, and his lips twitched. Was... was he laughing at her? Seriously?! "It was unwise to continue kissing in the realm of an enemy Lord."

It took her a moment to catch his choice of words - once she did the anger burning in her chest was put on hold for just a moment, and she eyed him suspiciously. "Continue...?"

Claus dipped his head. "Continue."

Mira liked to think that it was a sign that she knew him well; she recognize that he wasn't nodding - not exactly. It was meant to be understood as such, yes, but she saw the uncertainty in his gaze before he lowered his eyes. He was hiding it from her. He was afraid she might reject him. Even after all that had happened, even after all she'd said.

Well. It made her feel better, knowing she wasn't the only idiot lost in this, at least.

"Oh. Well." Her tone had shifted immediately and dramatically. When Claus looked up again, he found her with her hand pressed against her heart, swooning dramatically. "Then you need to make up for all the pain and the heartbreak I've just suffered, thinking that I was being rejected! Me! Irresistible me!"

Oh. Relief flooded through him. She was asking him to kiss her again. She was being unnecessarily irritating about it, but he knew very well what he was getting himself into, here. It was to be expected. He pressed his lips together in a failed attempt to hide his smirk. "Heartbreak only suffered as a result of unfair assumptions made at my expense."

She smirked right back, making no attempt at all to hide it. "Were they really unfair, though?"

His expression flattened in that comical way he only managed when he was trying very hard to pretend that he wasn't teasing her. "They were untrue."

"Yesss, but that doesn't make them unfair," she answered easily, taking a step closer to him. "I could only make assumptions based on what information I had at the time. Namely that you're a stoic puritan who hates fun."

She was interrupted this time by a short sputter that he quickly covered with a cough. "Puritan?"

Her eyes gleamed. "Are you not puritanical? You kinda come across that way."

It took more effort than usual for him to wrestle his expression back into its usual neutrality. "No. No, I am not."

"Well," Mira purred. "You'll have to prove that to me."

This time, Claus allowed himself to smile more openly, the expression full of promise that made her breath catch in her throat. "Perhaps I will."

She swallowed thickly, averting her gaze for just a moment. Good god, was this a sign that he was going to keep using that look on her regularly, now? That could be very bad. Or very good. She hadn't decided yet. She needed a change of subject before she imploded. So she flounced towards him and poked him in the chest. "Hey! Don't think you'll be able to escape me that easily. I told you that you need to make up for all my heartbreak, and you haven't yet!"

Claus sighed with a touch too much put-upon drama for it to have been a fully genuine reaction. "You aren't going to let this go." It wasn't a question.

Mira just grinned and shook her head brightly.

"Fine." He dipped toward her and Mira obediently turned her face up to meet his, only to make a small sound of confusion when he bent more quickly than she expected, lowering his head in front of her instead. He grasped her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

And he was rewarded for this unexpected gesture by the sight of Mira blushing and wearing a rare genuine smile that was utterly untouched by any sort of mischief or sarcasm. She even looked a little shy.

Claus gave himself a moment to feel smugly pleased that he'd managed to make her look like that - he knew very well how uncommon an occurrence it was. "Sufficient?"

And then the moment was broken, because an impish light appeared in her eyes at that. She folded her hands behind her back, beaming up at him. "If I say no, does that mean you'll try again?"

[teaandbatteries]

Claus has a bad time.

The hallways deep within the castle were silent. The occasional even set of footsteps passed, rhythmic and regular, but otherwise all was quiet. There was a gala being held in the ballroom, several floors above, but with several layers of heavy granite between, not even the slightest vibration or music or rumble of voices reached this dark silence.

At least, not until a cute, drunken blonde woman in a red party dress came stumbling down the hall, giggling to herself. The sound of her heels on the floor clicked with a wobbling irregularity that suggested she was ready to fall over at any moment, even before she came into view, clinging to the cold stone wall for balance.

“H-Hello?” she called out, only to dissolve into another fit of giggles at the way her voice echoed through the halls. “HellooOOOooooOOOOOO!” 

A young man dressed in a utilitarian uniform rounded a corner and looked her critically up and down. “You’re not supposed to be down here.”

She waved at him, ignoring the warning in his tone. “Oh my god, finally. I have to pee. I’ve been looking for the bathroom forever. You guys need to put up more signs in this place!”

The man crossed his arms. “We have signs. Signs that say ‘No Admittance’ on the door you must have used to find the stairs down here.”

The woman scoffed. “Okay, but I’d opened all the doors that didn’t have a sign like that and none of them were a bathroom! Wha--” She cut herself off with a hiccup, and then proceeded to wag her finger at him. “What else did you expect me to do, huh?! You need to have bathrooms! You haaaave to. I’m, um, pretty sure this is illegal.”

The man bit back an irritated sigh. He had no idea how this idiot had gotten all the way down here by accident, but he knew better than to underestimate the capacity of a drunken party girl like this to find trouble. “I’ll take you back upstairs...”

The woman gasped melodramatically and almost toppled over backwards. “Nooo. There are no bathrooms up there!!!”

It took all of the man’s willpower not to press his palm to his forehead. He didn’t want to get into trouble for being rude to a guest. Even one who was technically trespassing, and probably wouldn’t remember it in five minutes anyway. “Fine. There’s a bathroom back this way you can use.”

The woman flounced forward and latched onto his arm immediately. “Thank you!” He considered telling her not to touch him, but it became quickly apparent that she needed his help staying upright, and the last thing he wanted was to spend more time babysitting her while she tried to walk on her own. If this was the price he paid to get her out of his hair sooner, so be it.

The room he had in mind was a sort of changing room for the security staff at the castle. He led her through and to a non-descript door on the far wall, pushing it open for her. “When you’re finished, I’ll take you back upstairs. Then, next time you’re looking for something, ask the service staff at the party instead of wandering through doors.”

The woman peeked up at him with just enough sense to look appropriately admonished. Or, well, enough sense to pretend that she was appropriately admonished. Light of laughter behind her grey eyes made it hard to believe that she really felt that bad. That and the way she fluttered her eyelashes at him made it seem like she rather liked the way this particular misadventure had turned out. 

Well. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. She was pretty cute, even if she was completely smashed. Maybe he’d leave her his number and...

He wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. His focus slipped, and he’d gotten used to the feeling of her hanging on his arm for balance, so he didn’t immediately recognize the change in the way she pulled on him. He didn’t have any time to react before she yanked him forward. He stumbled only a step, but she shoved him forward again before he was able to recover his balance, tripping him over her foot and sending him sprawling on the bathroom floor. The door slammed closed behind him and he scrambled to his feet. He tried to pull open the door - locked. He turned the lock and it wouldn’t turn. He could hear the faint sound of giggling on the other side of the door while he yanked on the lock again. She’d done something to it. Sabotaged it. She must have. 

Shit. Shit. He was going to be mocked mercilessly for this. Stupid, stupid. But at least she wasn’t going to get very far - there was a veritable army of security around, and the moment he contacted any of them...

But his radio was gone. His earpiece was gone. Even his goddamn phone was gone. Oh, god, he was definitely going to be fired. Maybe worse. 

Outside the bathroom door, the drunken party girl was looking much less drunk. She leaned easily against the door, her now-pink hair twisted up onto the back of her head as she replaced the green jade pin she used to hold it in place. The heels had become soft, silent slippers, and her loud red dress had shifted mottled grey cotton, hanging loose enough to permit freedom of movement but close enough to keep from getting in the way. She tugged a hood up over her hair while she fitted the man’s earpiece into her own ear and tucked the radio onto her pocked. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure someone will find you eventually. Thanks for the stuff.”

Given the muffled cursing she could hear through the door, she was pretty sure he understood what she’d said, even if she didn’t get the pleasure of a full response. But alas, there were other things to be doing. Like finding this vault.

The Gossamer Lord of this world was a bit of a petty tyrant, if rumours were to be believed. He liked to collect interesting things - magical things - from across the worlds and used them here to play god. Now, she wasn’t exactly one to claim moral high ground - it’s not like she was stealing from the rich to give to the poor. She mostly just stole from the rich to keep the shinies to herself. But hey, if the world wanted to hand her an excuse to feel extra guilt-free about this particular theft, she wasn’t about to complain. And anyway, petty tyrants always had the best toys.

The only thing was, he apparently kept all his best toys in a vault, and she didn’t actually know exactly where this vault was. Which is why she’d needed the guard - it’s not likely that he carried around a map or anything so obvious, but she was willing to bet that he had information on patrol rotations on him, and that was the next best thing.

Reading the meaning behind patrol rotations wasn’t exactly a science, but she really wasn’t half bad at it. If more patrols were active simultaneously on a particular floor, that was a pretty good sign that there was something juicy to be found there. If multiple routes all passed through the same room, especially if that room wasn’t otherwise a main route of access, then that was a pretty good sign that there was something worth guarding there. Even better if there were static guard stations clustered around specific locations. Scrolling through the schedule on his phone, it took no time at all for her to pick out a couple of likely spots for valuables. 

And she was right, too - well, on her second guess, at least. The first guess had nearly seen her walk straight into the security head’s office, but let’s not talk about that. Deep in the heart of the castle, there stood the kind of big, strong vault door - the kind that hid only the very best sort of prizes.

Of course, that was only true if it was closed. Which it was not. Which meant Mira no longer expected to find prizes behind that door. Mostly she expected to find trouble. Standing in the dark, eyeing the door with suspicion, she honestly considered just leaving. Toys were nice, but mid-job surprise competitors were not usually her favourite things.

In the end, though, she decided to stay. Not because she thought this was wise, or safe, or intelligent. She stayed because any competent thief wouldn’t have left the vault door hanging open like that for so long, just advertising that a theft was either on-going or had already occurred. So either someone incompetent had made it down here already - in which case she mostly just wanted to see what kind of lucky sonovabitch could pull something like that off by chance - or there was something else going on and she had no idea what. And this? This is why they say that curiosity is what kills the cat, and not greed.

Mira used her thumb to twist an old, plain gold band on one of her fingers, and she vanished as she passed over the vault’s threshold. Maybe this was a trap. It was probably stupid to just walk into it. But she had to know, so on she went.

At first, it didn’t even seem like anything was amiss. The vault was enormous - larger even than her own. And much more densely packed. The space was filled with enormous racks, each with their own object of art or esoterica slotted within. It felt more like walking through the storage area of a museum than it did like any sort of viewing area. A tragic waste, honestly - why have all these pretty things if you’re not even going to display them?! Maybe no one would even notice if she rifled through a couple of these racks and took a few things...

Voices. Low, rather masculine. From further inside the vault. Distracted from temptation, she darted a little closer.

“...alert?”

“... don’t want to attract attention.”

Were these the thieves? Someone should tell them that leaving the vault door open for this long attracted attention, then. Leaving it open only made sense if you were quick. 30 seconds or less. Standing around chatting was a bad idea.

But no. As she crept around a rack containing some kind large statue covered in a white sheet, she spotted the men. They were wearing the same utilitarian uniform as the man she’d locked in the bathroom. These were castle security. So... what then. The incompetent thief had gotten caught? Not a surprise, but it did make her life a little harder. Jerk.

“We don’t know if he was working alone. His accomplices could be escaping now.”

The guard on the left, taller than the other and wearing a stripe on the arm of his uniform that probably marked him as a higher rank, shrugged. “If they are, it’s empty-handed, and they’ve abandoned this one here. Let the cowards go, then. We can question this one when he comes to again, and maybe find out where to find his friends later, if he has any.”

“The boss is gonna wanna know why we haven’t set an alert.”

“Yeah. You go upstairs and let him know what happened. I’ll toss this one into a cell for the night and leave him to stew until morning. Assuming he doesn’t just bleed out.” He seemed to be unconcerned by the idea that his prisoner might die, which Mira found to be a little chilling. He nudged a man lying prone on the floor in front of him - the thief, presumably. She couldn’t see much of him, not with the two guards standing between her and him, but she could see he was badly bloodied. She couldn’t see much blood on his clothes, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there - it was too dark for her to tell either way. She suspected there was, given how blood-soaked his hands were and, more gravely, she could see a dark pool spreading across the floor from under him.

The shorter guard nodded and started towards the vault door, clearing the line of sight between Mira and the thief’s face.

Claus. 

Her heart dropped out of her chest in shock and panic. Her body coiled as if to leap out of her hiding spot toward him, despite the presence of the guard still standing right there. Her instincts demanded it, but she grit her teeth against the driving need to get him out right now right now right now and held herself still. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if she got herself shot right next to him. Pay attention, Mira. He was alive - she could see his eyelids fluttering, his chest rising and falling. It was hard to tell exactly where he’d been shot, but it seemed like it was somewhere on his upper torso. Not likely to be right through the heart, then, if he was still breathing at all. Right? And not his legs, which hopefully meant he could walk. So all she needed to do was get the guard away, and then she could get to him and she could get him out of here. 

Good. Yes. A plan. Sort of. All she needed to do was get the guard to leave. She reached out one of her arms, took aim at a light fixture in a far corner of the vault and murmured a word under her breath. The light flickered and then went out.

Both of the guards looked over, their suspicions roused. The one heading for the door had only gone a few dozen feet, and he stopped to look with his hand on his weapon. 

“I told you he wasn’t here alone.”

The taller one, still standing over Claus, jerked his head. “Go. Tell the boss. I’ll kill this one and find whoever is hiding in here.”

SHIT.

The short one nodded. “What about questioning him?”

The tall one scoffed. “Not if it means risking his escape. Go.”

As the shorter one turned on his heel to run from the vault, the taller of the two guards drew his gun, checking the chamber, and aimed it down at Claus’ chest.

Mira panicked. The distraction was meant to draw them away from Claus, not to convince them to kill him! She needed to do something. Now. Right the hell now, before Claus was killed in front of her but oh god what could she do she never dealt with people head-on like this not people who meant to kill her not people with guns--

She was already moving when her will shifted from the ring on her finger to the dragon’s pearl tucked under her shirt. Her invisibility stuttered; maybe it was uncertainty, maybe it was a moment’s panic when she realized exactly what she was about to do. More likely it was just stress. Regardless, the flicker of blurry motion drew the guard’s attention away from Claus for just a split second. He shifted his stance, turning slightly - the barrel of his gun now pointed at a space partway between Claus and the flickering figure that hadn’t fully formed into a human body yet. By the time it did, by the time Mira’s figure was visible enough for him to understand that he was, in fact, looking at a person, it was too late; a gout of white fire sprayed forward, engulfing him completely in an instant.

The man screamed. It lasted only a merciful moment, the flames hot enough to sear flesh from bone in a matter of seconds. Mira froze, watching as the charred bits of what was once a man collapsed to the ground before her. She jumped backwards as if shocked when chunk of blackened bone skittered across the ground toward her.

There had been a man there. Just a moment ago. And now.... now there was not. Mira stared down at her hands, struck by the very odd sensation that they weren’t hers. These were hands that had just made a whole person just... not be there anymore. She was distantly aware of her mind telling her that she was feeling nauseous, but she didn’t exactly feel it. She didn’t really feel much of anything. Just... empty shock. 

He’d been about to kill Claus. It was one or the other. She had to.

That didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t make her feel anything.

Footsteps. Someone was coming. The guard, the one who had just left. He’d heard the scream. That short, last scream before the man who made it was just... gone.

Focus, Mira.

He was going to come into the vault and see them, and then her actions would be for naught because this guard would probably kill both her and Claus. Don’t let them kill us. Okay. Yes. That was a thought she could latch onto. Now... how?

She couldn’t move him. He didn’t seem entirely conscious at the moment, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to carry him anywhere fast. Dragging him might work, but then they’d just leave a trail of blood leading right to wherever they managed to hide so... Wait. Her ring.

The footsteps were growing closer. Mira dropped to her knees next to Claus, wincing. “Uh. Sorry in advance. This is probably gonna hurt.” She wasn’t even sure he could hear her, but it calmed her rattling nerves just a little. She lay down on top of him, covering as much of his body with her own as she could - why did he have to be so goddamn gangly?! - and felt her clothing thinning just a little as it began to weave itself through Claus’ clothes. Then, the cool, gentle tingling sensation of invisibility crawled across her skin.

Honestly, she had no idea if this was going to work. There was a good chance that the guard would come back and just see Claus lying here as he had before, and he’d probably try to shoot him. The ring wasn’t really meant to work on multiple people, but if she could wrap them both up in her clothing, it might - she hoped - work to hide them both. It had worked that time she’d used it with a kitten tucked into her jacket, and she figured this was kind of the same concept. Right? Just, you know. Bigger.

This was a stupid idea. Too late now.

The guard rounded the corner. Mira held her breath. And then, belatedly, pressed a hand down over Claus’ mouth, just for good measure.

“What the...” He came to a stop next to the pile of charred debris that had been his colleague. It was hard to tell if he even recognized that the remains were human. 

Well. The good news was that he seemed to find that more interesting than the sight of Mira lying top on of his caught thief, which she hoped meant that at least he couldn’t see her.

The guard’s gaze swung around to Claus... and continued, sweeping back and forth over the space while he hissed out a set of curses. He took several steps past the scene, looking around the nearest corner. “Hey! Hey! Lieutenant!” Another glance around, and he cursed under his breath again about reporting this, and headed off back towards the vault door at a full sprint.

So. The whole castle was about to know that there were intruders around. But, on the plus side, nobody seemed to know where they were right now so... take some pleasure in the small victories, right?

Mira rolled off of Claus, giving a shaking breath of relief.

Claus had been spinning about in a vague half-consciousness, hearing voices but not words, seeing shapes but not faces. It was an escape from the pain; a sort of psychological numbness. But it seemed that a sufficient strain was enough to pull him back out again, because the lancing agony of having a woman lying on top of his gunshot wound seemed to be enough to pull him viciously back into full awareness. He wheezed, caught between the pain of inhaling and the pain of needing to breathe, and closed his eyes in the hopes that, when he opened them next, the world will have stopped spinning and he will have stopped hallucinating. Though why in the Nine Hells he’d been hallucinating her, he had no idea.

His eyes snapped open again when he felt a pair of hands pressing down over the oozing hole in his torso, pulling a low groan of discomfort from him. Well. The world wasn’t spinning so violently anymore, but he was still hallucinating pink-haired gremlins for some reason. Or, oh, maybe he was dead. Maybe he was dead and this was hell. It would explain the unrelenting pain, at least.

“You need...” Mira’s voice was low, uncertain. Oh god, she didn’t know at damned thing about medicine. Stitches? A transfusion? Surgery? All of the above? “... a doctor. Like, right now.” Sure, she didn’t know very much about medicine, but she’d seen enough medical procedurals to know that the amount of blood on the floor was a Very Bad Sign.

Claus blinked again. His vision was getting clearer, but he was still seeing her crouched over him, frowning. “Mira...?” Huh. Maybe she really was here after all. He winced, and gingerly tried to push himself up to sit. “Not as bad as it looks,” he croaked. It wasn’t entirely a lie. “Not all the blood is mine.”

Mira rocked back on her heels to let him up. She was pale, though it was hard to tell if that was more from having just killed a man, or more out of concern for his life. Probably both. And it didn’t look much like she believed him. “I don’t care how much of it’s yours, you’re still shot in the chest.” 

“More shoulder,” Claus answered, his voice still gravely with pain. 

She looked tempted to slap him upside the head. “Not the point,” she hissed, glaring at him. She took a deep breath and pretended not to notice that there was an audible shake on the exhale. "Can you stand? If we can get back to the Stair, we can deal with your wound at the Savoir."

Claus was sitting up, trying to remember how to breathe and remain upright at the same time. Gods, it hadn't hurt quite this bad, the last time he'd been shot, he was sure of it. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? Hard to say. "Door is four floors up, middle of a crowded dance floor." The implications were obvious - we won't make it out.

Mira reached for him, offering to help him to his feet with a smile that was trying to be mischievous, but only managed to look brittle. "Good thing I have a plan, then, isn't it?"

Claus took her hands. "Tell me."

She paused, her mouth partway open to speak, and hauled him to his feet with a scoff. Maybe, if she was lucky, the pain would distract him from her admission; "Well. I will have a plan by the time we get upstairs."

She was not as lucky as she had hoped. "Going to get caught."

"Hey! I'm a better thief than you give me credit for!"

Claus managed to look sardonic, even despite the pale, sickly pallour of a man currently bleeding to death. "We're too slow."

She frowned. "Whatever. It's not that big of a problem." Bullshit. They both knew it.

"Leave me."

Her frown shifted into an overdramatic scowl. Perhaps it was an odd time to joke, but she if she didn't make light of the situation, she feared she might lose it completely. "Why, so you can get all judgy about how I left a man behind or whatever? No way! I can be all honourable and shit, too!"

He might have sighed if such a deep breath wasn't liable to hurt enough to risk making him pass out. "Most rational. Better if you escape alone, given alternative of you getting shot too."

Her answer was another sarcastic scoff. "Gawd, you really do think the worst of me!"

How was he to communicate that he wasn't kidding?! "Mira..." He paused in surprise when she slapped her hand over his mouth and fixed him with an abruptly serious stare.

"I said no. Now shut up. I need to think if I'm gonna come up with the best escape plan ever."

---------

The thing about successfully doing something risky once is that it provides a false sense of security later. It makes one think that it’s safer than it is to push the envelope just that much further.

It was already a risk to try to use Mira’s ring to hide them both in the vault. And then, they’d been much closer together and they hadn’t been moving. Here, they were only arm-in-arm, with the connection of her clothing much more tenuous and thin. And not only were they moving, but they were moving through a crowd - even if the ring’s effect had remained, there was still a good chance that someone would simply walk into them and discover their presence anyway. 

Mira was trembling by the time they stepped onto the crowded dance floor. She told herself it was from the strain of helping Claus say upright. Fear was only real if she admitted to feeling it, right? Besides, it’s not like they had any other options. They had to get out. Claus was still losing blood. They had to take the risk, or face the certainty that he was going to die here, in her arms. Mira had never killed before tonight. She’d done it to save him. This? This was nothing, by comparison.

But that didn’t really do much to prevent the spear of panic that made her fingers curl when a dancer bumped into them, turned, and instead of glowering at whoever was on the other side of them, looked straight at Claus and screamed. Several others turned at the sound and began to scream when they spotted the bloodied pair that had materialized suddenly in the middle of the party. The crowd surged around them in a sudden panic. The guards who had paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain of where their quarry had gone, rushed forward, trying to push through the panicked people to close the distance between them.

That was it. They were made. The only thing left to do was run.

The Door wasn’t far. Only a few more yards. But between Claus leaning heavily on her and the crowd herding them this way and that, it felt like it took them minutes to make that short distance. Mira knew from experience it wasn’t - this is always how it feels when there’s a panicked scramble for the goal, so close she can taste it but still just barely out of reach. Knowing it didn’t make it any less unnerving, being hyper-aware of every tiny thing that interfered with their smooth escape.

The relief she felt when she slammed through the Door and onto the Grand Stair was like coming up from underwater after a near-drowning. Deliverance. Succor.

Or... not. She turned to slam the Door shut behind them, to lock their pursuers out short of the Gossamer Lord himself chasing them down - which, granted, he might do, but he wasn’t the one hot on their heels at the moment - only to find that it just... didn’t. She pushed, and it swung halfway closed, only to pull itself back open again. She gave a garbled curse of frustration and kicked the Door again, only to have the same thing happen. “This fucker!” No doubt the Lord had done something to prevent this exact mode of escape.

Well, fine. Just because the security staff were able to follow them onto the Stair didn’t mean that they were going to find them here. This was Mira’s home. She was a Navigator of the Grand Stair. All she needed was to make sure they got far enough to ensure that the guards couldn’t follow them directly... Which, given that neither she nor Claus could run properly, was going to be a problem.

It seemed Claus was thinking something similar. “Leave me,” he breathed, clutching at the wall to take his balance from Mira.

This shit again?! “Don’t be stupid!” Mira hissed, yanking them both so hard away from the wall that they nearly ended up sprawled on the floor. Instead, they stumbled back, desperate to catch themselves, knowing that a fall would be all that the guards needed to catch up to them. 

They ended up stumbling across the landing of a spiral staircase, hitting the curling banister. Beyond, the Stair stretched out in all impossible directions, most of which wound down into the snaking depths of the Labyrinth. Which was, technically speaking, pretty damned far from the guards...

Oh. This was a stupid idea. But, as a gunshot rang out and a bullet whizzed by Mira’s head, she knew it was likely their only chance of escape.

She threw her arms tight around him, drawing a strangled groan of pain. “Hold on.” She didn’t wait to see if he’d heard, if he intended to obey, or if he understood what was about to happen. Holding tight as she could manage, she lurched sideways and tipped the both of them over the banister, sending them plummeting through the empty space below.

It feels strange, falling through multiple directions of gravity. At first, they simply fell down as one might expect. But after a moment, there was a jarring and slightly nauseating shift as they tumbled close enough to a set of stairs going in a different direction that the alternate direction of gravity affecting those stairs started to pull on them. Except that this didn’t eliminate the gathered speed from their original fall direction, so they simply began to tumble wildly between the two for a moment, before passing through yet another well of gravity pulling them in a different direction altogether.

It was a deeply disorienting experience, which made an already difficult task even more difficult for Mira. The only way they were going to survive such a fall was to make use of the magical flight woven into her clothing. It was already going to prove a challenge for her to slow them enough given that there was twice the weight that she normally handled. But, the way they were spinning madly through the air and the abrupt shifts in gravity as they fell, made her task almost impossible. She slowed them as best she could, but the speed at which they dropped towards the grand marble staircase that apparently would serve as their destination was much too high to be safe. All she could do, in those last moments, was make sure that she was the one who hit the ground first.

Maybe later she said the decision was obvious; he was injured, she was not. Therefore, she was more likely to be able to survive the trauma of colliding with stone stairs. But the reality was that she didn’t have the time or inclination during the fall itself to think through it so logically. She did it because... she just did.

Hitting the stairs, flat on her back, felt bright, like a flash fire that consumed every nerve in her body for a split second. Shock. The impact forced the air from her chest, and then she went rigid, unmoving, eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, unable to even inhale no matter how much her lungs burned for breath. 

It was Claus who recovered from the impact first. An analytical gaze swept over her face - she wasn’t moving. He levered himself up off of her - or tried to, before his injured shoulder gave out and he collapsed with a grunt and rolled instead, his lips pressed into a line as he studiously ignored the pain and the fact that he was bleeding enough again to stain the white stone red the moment his shoulder made contact with it.

His fingers pressed against her neck - a pulse, troublingly uneven, but strong. His hand drifted over her mouth and nose and felt... nothing. A pulse but no breath? No chest compressions, just assisted respiration.

He was about to move when he heard the unmistakable sound of bullets hitting stone. The marble chipped under the impact of the shots, several steps above them. His gaze snapped up to where, far above, three guards leaned over the railing, firing at them. Their aim looked true, but he could only imagine the havoc played on the bullets by the strange gravity between here and there.

Except the guards seemed to be learning their lessons. If aiming straight at them meant their bullets hit too high up the stairs, then they would aim further down the stairs. The next round hit much closer. Dangerously so.

Claus leaned heavily against the railing, using it to support himself as he got to his feet. He didn’t need much. He only needed to get Mira to safety, then his body could give out if it wanted. Just a minute more... 

Mira hardly even felt his hand on her shoulder, pulling her up into a seated position. The movement sent another flash of bright burning pain through her body, centered mostly, this time, on her back. She might have given a cry of pain had she any breath in her lungs to give it voice. As it was, all she managed was a wretched-sounding gag. But it was enough to let her breathe, again, and she inhaled greedily, curling herself forward and clutching at her stomach. Her eyes were swimming, watering from the pain, but she still managed to stagger up, hissing with each motion and each breath.

Oh good, Claus thought. She was breathing. He supposed that meant his body was allowed to fail now, right? Wait. That wasn’t right, was it? Surely not? But his body seemed to be insisting, and he could feel the darkness eating away at the edges of his vision.

When they stumbled through the doorway at the bottom of the staircase, it really was the safety and succor that she’d been seeking. It didn’t feel like it, now. She collapsed forward onto her hands and knees, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. She managed to focus her eyes on time to see Claus collapse against the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind.

She didn’t stand - she just crawled over to him to listen to each wheezing breath as she checked his wound once more. He’d lost so much blood...

“Fuck you Claus,” she rasped, scowling. “We’re almost there. If you die now, after going through all this to get you out, I’m gonna... I’m gonna...” She tossed her hands up in frustration, not sure how to finish her threat. Normally she’d say she was gonna kill him, but that seemed a bit trite. Or maybe just tautological. Honestly it probably wasn’t either of those things, but she was hurting so bad she couldn’t even breathe properly. An imperfect vocabulary was to be expected.

She looked over at the hall that stretched off into the Labyrinth, and nearly cried. Good god, why was the Grand Stair so big? Getting across this room felt nearly impossible, and now she was faced with carrying around an unconscious man for some unknown amount of time in the hopes of eventually finding a path she recognized back to the Savoir?

Fuck.

The Stair groaned. It was easy, in that moment, to imagine that it was sympathizing with her plight. Or hell, maybe it was. The Stair had a will, after all. Everyone said so.

“... Miss Adler?”

Mira craned her neck to stare in absolute disbelief at the sight of Aloysius standing in the Doorway of the Savoir, hardly more than a hundred feet down the hall. That wasn’t... possible. Was it? But as she blinked, she began to recognize the hallway. It was. It was. Had it always been? Or had the Stair actually listened?

Or really, who the hell cared? He was here now, and she was almost there.

She shoved herself to her feet, balancing on nothing but her own sheer stubbornness, and hauled Claus’ arm up over her shoulders, dragging him with stumbling steps down the last length of the Grand Stair before she could practically fall into Aloysius where he waited in the Doorway. 

The moment he could, Aloysius tossed Claus’ other arm over his shoulders and lifted much of his weight from Mira. It was easier, then, for her to walk on her own, and even to use Aloysius’ secure grip on Claus to help her own balance. In silence, the two of them carried him up the stairs, through the library, and into Mira’s bedroom. She tugged clumsily on a book on one of her shelves, leaving behind a bloody thumbprint - though she wasn’t sure at this point who the blood belonged to - and causing the shelf to slide back and to the left, revealing a small room with a large vault door.

Within her vault, Mira kept only her most precious, dangerous things. Things that could be used against her if someone were to break into the Savoir. Things that she knew would be targets for other thieves.

Even Claus, after all this time, had never been inside before. It was a matter of practicality - the fewer people who knew where it was and what was inside, the safer it would be. And it was a matter of practicality now - the extra safety was nothing if she could use her prize to save him.

Aloysius took Claus’ full weight and sat him on the concrete floor of the vault, leaning him back against a display case so he could put pressure on the wound, for whatever that might do to help now.

Mira, meanwhile, rushed to the back of the room where a large, pure white gem stood displayed atop some sort of alchemical work table. She moved like clockwork, like this was a process she’d followed countless times before. Locked inside a drawer, a wicked-looking pick-like weapon so dark that it seemed like a shadow of itself, with edges that felt ill-defined. One strike and the gem shattered. The largest piece was returned to the case that had held the gem originally. The rest were swept into glass and mixed with a milky liquid from one of the vials on the shelf above. Stir stir stir and... that was it.

Honestly, most alchemists would probably be low-key disappointed at how easy it really was to make the Elixir of Life. Or maybe they'd be relieved, given how insanely difficult it was to get the stone in the first place.

“Claus?” She dropped to her knees next to him, opposite Aloysius. “Can you hear me?”

He twitched and opened one eye a crack, looking at her like he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

It didn’t matter. Whatever he was feeling, however close he was to the edge of death now, he’d be fine once he drank the Elixir. She took one of his hands and pressed the cup into it. His grip was weak, so she didn’t let go, holding his hand closed around the glass. “Drink. Drink this.” She lifted it to his lips.

He seemed cogent enough at least to follow the instinctual muscle memory of drinking from a glass, even if he hadn’t the strength to hold it up himself. He drained the whole thing, and promptly passed out.

Mira let herself slump, groaning in pain. 

There was no motion for several seconds, until Aloysius removed his hands from Claus’ wound, already knitting itself closed, and looked to Mira with an expression of faint confusion. “Will you not make your own Elixir now?”

The sound Mira made might have been a laugh. Or a sob. But mostly it sounded like a croak. “There’s none left. Just the shard.”

Aloysius regarded her in faint surprise. “You didn’t leave any for yourself?”

She shrugged, wincing at the motion. “I’m not the one who was dying.”

“Are you sure of that?”

Mira peeked up at him, her expression uncertain. “Will you check?”

Aloysius sighed and straightened, stepping over the now-sleeping Claus to gently check over Mira’s injuries while she remained crouched on the floor, offering only a whining curse whenever he touched a particularly tender spot.

“You’ll survive. Your ribs are broken. I will set them in a moment. The rest of your injuries are superficial.”

“They don’t feel superfic-MOTHERFUCKER!” Halfway through her complaint, Aloysius had pushed hard against her back, forcing two of her ribs back into place.

He ignored her cursing and glaring, his fingers drifting over to the last broken rib. “One more. Exhale in three, two...” He pushed on the next beat, and Mira’s exhale came out as a whine of pain. But she had to admit that, while breathing certainly still hurt, it wasn’t the same bright stabbing agony that it had been.

“Thank you.”

Aloysius straightened. “Herr von Clauswitz will be hungry when he wakes. I will ensure there is food prepared. And you, Miss Adler, should clean up and get plenty of rest. You will need it to heal properly.”

Mira remained where she was, her eyes fixed on Claus’ face. “... yeah. I know. But I’m gonna stay here. Just... just until he wakes up.”

She missed the soft look on Aloysius’ face when he nodded. “As you wish. But please get some rest once he does.”

Mira nodded absently, wincing as she took another deep breath. “I’m just gonna... lie down. Right here.” It took a bit of doing, getting herself down onto the floor without hurting herself too much. But once she did, she was able to relax. Not entirely, but it was better than standing had been. The floor was cold against her back, soothing the pain. And the position opened up her chest so she could inhale more deeply. It was perfect, actually.

The only problem was, she had no idea how she was going to get up again. But that? That was a problem for future-Mira.