#book 3 chapter 14

[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK THREE: WARMER - CHAPTER 14

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Book 3 Chapter 1 is here …

MPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN:  KESLA

Thorin … The Hellcat of Kumehn Valley.  I still can’t believe my luck, this whole detour has just been one continuous wild ride.

It’s true, my da brought me up on stories of the fortunes of the men and women who graduated from his training and then made good using it on the battlefield, and sometimes off it too.  Other stories about the men he served with in his own time too, but … no, ultimately it was the younger warriors who came before me that really fascinated me, the ones who benefitted from the teachings of Edhril Shoon after he retired, who became as great a legacy as the name he earned for himself using Hefdred.  Gods know there are some genuinely illustrious names among ‘em.

None who held more of an allure for me than the Hellcat, though.  Here was a woman to truly aspire to be like when I was growing up.  Fierce, deadly, courageous and dutiful, loyal to her friends and the flag she fought to defend, the very epitome of a Knight of Rundao.  Sure, it helped that this particular knight was a woman, she was someone I could admire despite the fact that I could never have that myself.  Not in the way she did, at least.  I was common born, and the laws of Rundao said that no common blood woman could serve in the military at all.  That was only the province of highborn ladies who could be knighted as well as their brothers.  The closest I could ever dream to get was to maybe serve in the militias when I was old enough, which meant that the only time I would ever see real combat was if Tabaphic itself were to be invaded.  Cruel as irony eventually proved to be in that regard …

The only other avenue open to me in that regard was, also ironically, much like the path I eventually did choose – to become a mercenary, a sellsword hiring my services out as a warrior for pay in the makeshift companies that became affectionately known as the Irregulars.  Sometimes they’d even see real battle bolstering the real Rundao army, but they were mostly reserved for scouting, skirmishes or stealth missions, only deploying on an actual battlefield as reinforcements if things got truly desperate.  It broke my heart every time my father told me that I would never be allowed to actually serve as a man-at-arms the way he did, but never more than when it finally sank in for real.  By the time I was twelve and I was routinely beating the all other boys in my class they all agreed with every officer who would stop by to observe, that the Rundao Regulars would miss out on a hell of an asset because of stupid tradition, and da felt the same.

I never gave up on the dream, though, that one day I might actually cross swords with an enemy of my country in some bloody campaign and find myself fighting alongside the Hellcat herself.  That she might actually see me in the fight, and admire my form.  And, in later years, I began to imagine maybe she might start thinking other things as well, that might lead to something else in the night after the battle was done …

Well I was fourteen when I started fantasising about that, I’d been well aware for a few years already that I had no sexual interest at all in any of the boys I trained with, no matter how pretty or cool or capable I might have considered them.  Never mind that I had no idea what Thura Vezrim actually looked like, mostly I just thought up my personal ideal based on what I found attractive in a girl at the time and just projected that onto her.  That would always get my fingers working between my legs in the night, and I’d sleep real soundly after I came.

Thura Vezrim … yeah, she really was the ideal, and not just in that way for me, either.  She was barely seventeen when she graduated, and within six months she was at the Northern Front and riding in hard cavalry charges against the Terrors’ lines.  Before she was twenty she was leading her own special squad of tough elite knights, with a whole hand-picked pack of Irregulars backing them up, and over the next five years earned herself quite the reputation.  The Tektehrans came to fear her name alone, because she had as shrewd a tactical mind as she had lethal skill with a blade.

Then came Kumehn Valley.  The Northern Campaign had been raging hot for years, the Terrors constantly trying to find any crack in our lines to try and push in for a viable invasion, and there they came bloody close to finally making it.  If their distracting feint ten miles to the east had been any more effective at drawing the majority of Rundao’s forces into open battle they might actually have made it through the deep, narrow hidden gorge in the Reaches and outflanked our main force.  The lion’s share of the Rundao army would’ve been crushed between two advancing waves and only the reserves and militias would’ve been left between the Terrors’ vanguard and the Lowlands.  It would’ve been a fucking bloodbath.

Except for Thura Vezrim and her Unbroken, as her bloody little band had become known.  For three days they held the pass, fifty against ten thousand, with only the narrow, twisting uneven ground they had at their advantage keeping the Terrors from just overwhelming ‘em.  That being said, if it had been any other fifty soldiers I doubt they’d have pulled it off – Thura and her Unbroken fought like demons, and for every one of ‘em that fell they left a hundred of the enemy bloody on the ground.  By the time the scout they’d sent to alert the reserves of the attempted infiltration made it back with substantial reinforcements the Unbroken were almost done, and Thura was holding the pass nearly on her own.  It was almost too late.

They essentially retired her after that.  They had to.  She was in a bad way, nothing that she couldn’t recover from and come back just as strong, but command decided that she had more than earned her rest from the battlefield after that, and in the end I guess it finally hit home for her that it was probably for the best.  Those three days took far more toll on her than just the physical wear and damage.  She’d lost almost all her heard-earned friends in that battle, only six others made it out with her while their reinforcements were busy pushing the Terrors back, and for six months after she woke up every night screaming from dark, bloody nightmares.  So they shipped her back to Tabaphic and once she was done healing they celebrated her as a true hero of Rundao for a whole month, then sent her home to Untermer for some well-earned rest.  While her legend grew all across Rundao and beyond.

The Hellcat of Kumehn Valley, who held back ten thousand Terrors for three days with just fifty fighters behind her.  You couldn’t make this shit up …

She’d already been married before that final deployment, but her husband was wounded less than six months before Kumehn Valley, and losing his right arm taking the breach at Livibar had really put paid to his own military career.  So when she came home he spent the first three weeks just putting her back together the rest of the way inside her head, and then they started making babies.  After that when she deployed again it was always well behind the lines, promoted to staff headquarters and never again allowed to raise her sword in battle, but by then it suited her well enough, even if she did find herself missing it every day.  So when she finally mustered out she went without complaint, and more than one sigh of relief.  She was a mother now, she’d left battle behind.

Terth Relusk, a middling, somewhat awkward scion of House Gadran who had finally found his purpose and confidence with a sword in his hand had become a knight of some small repute himself when they met.  He knew she was well out of his league, but he pursued her all the same, but in truth he really didn’t have to work as hard as he did to win her hand, Thura fell in love the moment she met him.  But while she was fierce and bold in battle, she was almost cripplingly shy when it came to love, so it took her a long time to actually make it clear to Terth that she was already his, and while he was also a keen tactician he was almost painfully dim in social matters.  So their courtship was clumsy, embarrassing and largely unnecessary, but at least once he got it into his thick head as well that he actually had her heart they became largely inseparable, at least outside of deployment.

They spent most of their collective time on leave in their rooms, making up for lost time, so once they were both home for good it didn’t take long for their family to start growing.  Then, a month before his second daughter was born, Terth fell ill with the Black Waste, a nasty little slow-developing souvenir from the Campaign, and they had to confine him to the loft rooms of the manor, quarantined from everyone he loved.  Mara never even got a chance to meet her father before he died, struggling for almost two years as he wasted way, with his skin taking on the colour and consistency of ancient rotten leather while his body withered to a grimy, rasping husk that could barely move in its bed.  They had to completely gut the rooms after he passed, and had to burn his body where it lay, so he never even got a real funeral.  If it hadn’t been for the children, Thura almost certainly would’ve passed on from a broken heart within weeks from the grief, and a part of her did die that day.

It was the children that saved her.  Keeping them from falling into a funk along with her was what kept her from disintegrating into her own grief, so she just carried on training Deriel, and then Pela too once she started to show her own aptitude through play.  She only started Thadeon’s lessons in the last year, but he’s proving as precocious as his siblings, so she fully expects Mara to follow in the great family tradition before long herself.

“The only reason I didn’t forbid any of it the day their father died is because I doubt any of my own children will ever see a real battlefield themselves.”  Thura sighs as she settles into her office chair behind the massive leather-topped oak desk in her expansive study, looking as weary from the telling of her story now as from the energetic bout she recently fought with me.  “Unless the Occupation ends while they’re still young I don’t see any chance of their generation being permitted to serve in any kind of military fashion under the current administration.  The Terrors are too cautious to risk employing soldiers they can’t be a hundred percent certain they can trust.”

“Sounds about right.”  I don’t take a seat in the room’s impressively soft, plush-upholstered furniture yet, instead starting to make a slow circuit of the room as my attention is drawn to the various trophies arrayed around it.  Some from her family’s past, I’m sure, but I don’t doubt more than a few of these are mementos of her own time in the service, and I’m already fascinated by the possibilities of what I could potentially find in here.  “Honestly, the only reason we can keep doing our work’s cuz they ain’t cracked down on mercs the same way they have on anything more organised.”

“That’s because the Terrors have no interest in being trouble-hunters for the populace as well as peacekeeping it, so they allow the people they’re oppressing to hire people like you to keep the wolves from their doors, both literally and in a more … supernatural sense.”  Thura takes a deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh as she just languishes for a moment, then pushes herself upright again so she can go to the cut crystal decanters set out in the wet bar in the corner.  “It’s not the smartest move on their part, if you ask me.”

“How come?”  Art asks as he settles into one of the armchair, dumping his wrapped swordbelt beside his feet.

“Cuz ‘least a third o’ the sellswords out there are remnants of Freedom Legion they didn’t get in the Purge.”  I turn right back to what I’m doing as I answer him, preferring to turn my attention to an impressive selection of weapons hung on the wall.  “If resistance ever stirred up again half the warriors that’d be fighting in it have had a whole lot of on-the-job practice this past decade to keep ‘em sharp.”

“How about your ladyship?”  Dumoli surprises me with that question, and I turn to take him in for a moment before looking at Thura, who’s watching him too with a crystal tumbler in one hand while she’s resting to other on a decanter she ain’t yet picked up.  Her expression is … interesting.  She ain’t offended in the slightest by the question, despite the fact that, given the conversation, its context is already abundantly clear.

After a moment she smiles, finally slipping the fat stopper out of the neck of the bottle and setting it aside on the bar.  Her eyes shift to me then, and that smile seems to grow a little, as if she can already see right through me to what I’m thinking now.  “Personally, I’d be all for it too.  If the Legion started up again tomorrow I’d sign up in a heartbeat.”

Thorin … I could kiss her right now.  It’s interesting, when I met her earlier, I have to admit that, despite being, rather unavoidably, initially starstruck that my own personal hero was right in front of me, once I got past all that, I started to grow a little sceptical.  Oh, I had no doubt she was the real deal, I’d already seen what she could do on a training floor … no, it’s just that she’s not at all what I pictured when I stroked myself to an orgasm in my bed at night.  I dunno … maybe I really did expect something more like Janna, just with more muscles.

Not that she ain’t attractive to me, mind.  She’s clearly looked after herself over the years, still lean and trim and very athletic, lithe and svelte where I was perhaps expecting more burly, robust strength, so in the end she’s more like Shay.  She’s got great bones, too, and while she has one hell of a scar marking her face it just adds to her air of danger, but then I’ve always been someone who appreciates the power of a good scar.  The corner of it manages to curve the left corner of her mouth up into a subtle permanent smirk, but it’s mostly just striking, and she still has both her eyes.  She keeps her hair cropped short, though, likely an affectation from her service she’s never been able to get rid of, but it suits her.  Clearly she has more important things to concern herself with.

To be honest, I do still find her attractive, but in a different way now.  It’s less that she’s sexy, which she definitely is, more that she’s just … well, she’s a lot like me.  This much has become abundantly clear in the time I’ve spent around her – she don’t have time for bullshit, she just says what she thinks, and I like that kind of unflinching honesty, I always thought it was the best way to approach things.  But she’s not stupid with it, I suspect she’s lived as long as she has as a prominent, well-known veteran in the Occupation because she knows well enough how important it is to lie her arse off when it’s to the benefit of her family’s continued security.  She’s made it abundantly clear that nothing matters more to her than her children’s survival and wellbeing.

That being said, in friendly company like this she don’t go to any pains at all to hide the fact that she has no love at all for the Terrors.  It’s no great surprise she holds no office in the current Provisional government, despite her high rank in Rundao nobility – I don’t think the Terrors could ever tolerate the Hellcat holding a position of authority in their Occupation.  So she simply tends her family fortune and interests, and the properties and legacy of her house, in the hopes that, when this storm eventually passes, her children, or their children at least, can inherit something better.  Or at least that’s what she likes to let them think.

We never knew who the highborn supporters we had in the nobility were when the Legion was still going, it was just safer that way.  But now that I’ve met her, I know there’s no way that Thura Vezrim wasn’t one of ‘em, probably her husband too.  Her words now are just confirmation.

“I … I have to … is this …”  Looking at the weapons mounted on her wall now, I just go ahead and ask.  “I’m sorry, but –”

“Yes, it is.”  Thura’s smile grows more indulgent now.  “And yes you may.”

“Oh … gods, you mean…”  Feeling like a small, excited child being treated to something truly special, I reach out with hesitant hands and very gently lift the sheathed longsword from its mounting on the wall.  It’s no larger or heavier than Hefdred, but … I don’t know, maybe it’s just the moment, but somehow it feels like more of a genuine weight to me.

Turning it over carefully in my hands, I curl my fingers around the somewhat worn, use-softened leather binding the hilt, then stop, looking back at her now.  Thura just nods, still smiling, and I take a very deliberate breath before slowly drawing the sword from its scabbard.  Much like I do every time I tend to my own blade, I hold it out at arm’s length and look down the edge, then turn it over and do the same, intensely deliberate now in my inspection.

It's a beautiful piece of work, of similar style to my father’s bastard sword, just a little more richly appointed, the guard and pommel fashioned in somewhat battered bronze rather than the simple heavy burnished steel of my own.  The blade is a little wider, the point coming to a more focused triangular tip than Hefdred’s more tapered stiletto-fine point, but it’s no less sharp, and I’d know this perfectly tempered dark metal anywhere.  “This is dwarven steel.”

“Yes, it is.”  She starts walking toward me now, along the wall at the edge of the room, holding two tumblers full of dark amber liquid.  “The best in the world.  Your father swore by his, so when I had need of my own after graduation I refused to accept anything less.  I went to the Warforges in Haalisbenh and commissioned one especially, made to measure.”  She holds one glass out to me.  “Gamirred.  I named it after an ancient warrior, from the legend of before the Sundering.  In all those years it never failed me.  Not even in the Valley.”

Breathing out very slowly, I sheathe the sword as carefully as I drew it and hold it out in my left hand while I take the glass from hers with my right.  She nods, once, in simple confirmation, and takes her old sword from me.

“It’s beautiful.”

When she smiles this time it’s a little more wistful.  “Perhaps.  But only as much as any instrument of death is capable of being.  I remember you father’s blade very well, it never left his side.  Except when he was in their apartments, at least.  Adda insisted.  There was no danger in their home, she would always insist, so it wasn’t needed there.  So he always hung it just inside the door.”  Taking a moment to heft it one-handed, she raises the sheathed weapon and lets it rest back in its place on the wall.

“I remember, he still did that after she was gone.  He was the same with me, he always insisted if I ever brought any weapons up to our quarters I had to leave them at the door.  If I wanted to clean or hone any blades at home I had to do it outside on the balcony.”

This makes Thura grin, and I can’t help doing to same, even if mine feels a little more fragile than I’d like.  Finally she raises the glass in her hand.  “To Edhril.”

“To da.”  I agree, raising my own glass and gently tapping it against hers.  I take a little sip and I’m surprised by how smooth it is, there’s very little burn going down.  Whisky, rich, but a little sweet, something almost honeyed in its flavour.  “Mm.”

As we’ve been talking and toasting, I finally notice, Lady Naru’s been filling more tumblers and passing ‘em out to the others.  The same stuff, looks like.  When he gets his, Art gives it a good close sniff, and I see the slightest flutter of his eyelids as he takes in the scent.  “Oof, what is this?”

“Ah, yes.”  Thura chuckles a little.  “I brought this back from Haalisbenh as well.  The finest dwarven honey whisky, aged for thirty years before they finally cask it.  I brought six casks back with me before I left for my first posting, as a present to my father.  For helping me get into the war academy.”  She catches my eye and cocks a brow.  “Of course, making the elite selection and having your father train me I did on my own.”

Raising the glass again, I acknowledge that she has every right to be proud of herself for how good she’s become.  Thorin knows she ran me ragged down there.  She definitely did da’s training proud.

That said, I didn’t roll over and just give in to her.  In reality, what it ultimately came to was something like a somewhat uneasy draw, she has me beat for speed but I’m definitely stronger, and in the end we decided to call it a day before we just wore each other into the floor.  But I enjoyed myself immensely, even more than I thought I would – it may have started out simply as a chance to cross swords with my hero, but it soon became more of an opportunity to test my mettle against one o’ my da’s finest achievements as a teacher.  To an extent it was almost like trying to fight a ghost, one who fought as hard and fast and agile as he did, even though he was getting old, and it was very interesting for me because I knew all those moves intimately well, because they’re my own, but I still couldn’t beat ‘em.  She’s too good for that.  In the end I just worked my hardest to keep up, and I feel damn proud enough that I managed that.

I saw the way her children were seeing their mother fighting trough new eyes, too.  This time she was clearly up against an equal, someone she didn’t have to hold back with, who could actually genuinely test her, and she fought to her utmost capacity this time.  By the end I saw that Deriel was staring dumbfounded at the pair of us, but his mother in particular, and Pela’s eyes were the widest I’d seen them since we met.

In truth, I found it easier fighting with the training sword her son loaned me than I ever would have with Hefdred.  At first, she insisted that I use my own blade, but I waved that off quickly enough, insisting it would be an unfair danger in a simple practice bout, I didn’t want to run the very real danger of hurting or, potentially, even killing her accidentally if we got too into it.  In the end the blunt practice steel was safer.

That being said, neither of us held back any, and it didn’t feel any different from the real thing.  Training steels are forged exactly the same way as real swords, they’re simply left unfinished so their edges blunt and tips are rounded off, so if you catch your opponent with a hard blow it’ll definitely hurt but there’s little danger of cutting ‘em, especially wearing the proper gear.  They’re designed to approximate the heft, reach and give of a real blade, but without creating any real danger for the person wielding it, or the one facing it.  Even so, I still managed to decapitate a lot of training dummies in the barracks with ‘em when I was growing up, enough that da started making me pay to replace each one I damaged unnecessarily myself, so I stopped doing it after a while.

Altogether, I have a much more mature, healthy respect for this woman than I think I did before, now I’m aware of just how capable she still is.  Mostly, though, I just like her, and she’s made it clear that she likes me too.

For a few moments we just stay as we are, Thura taking another sip of her own as she turns to look over her own collection.  Eventually I start wandering again myself, until I come to a rather battered suit of plate armour mounted on a standing dummy close to the bar.  She quickly sidles up to me again as I’m inspecting it, but doesn’t say anything for a stretch.

Much like her sword, it’s extremely well made but has clearly seen better days, although it’s definitely been looked after well despite the weathering.  That being said, there are a few obvious rends and punctures in the thick, tough steel plate that haven’t been repaired, despite the careful cleaning it’s been dealt, and while there’s nothing immediately fatal here, whoever wore it definitely went through it.

When I turn to her, the way she’s looking at the armour very much reminds me of the way she regarded her sword as she put it away again, and I make the connection.  “This was your armour.  You wore this in the Valley.”

“For three full days, yes.  It was a hard battle, and I’ll admit there are several parts I don’t really even remember.  The end is still mostly a blank to me, I was so completely exhausted and very torn up.  My shield was completely ruined, there wasn’t enough left of it to save.  I slept for two whole days after while they did their best to patch up the worst of it, but when they finally got me back to Tabaphic I was still a week in the hands of the clerics before they finally let me go, and it was another month before I could really walk again.  I was a mess.”

“You saved us all, though.  You fought those bastards back, long enough that the rest of the army could shove ‘em all the way back to the border again.  It was a fucking miracle, what you did.  You made my da proud with those three days.”

Thura’s smile is more than a little mournful as she reaches up with her free hand and touches my cheek, letting her fingers stay there for several moments before withdrawing again.  “Thank you.  I am glad he felt that way.  I did my damnedest to live up to what he wanted me to be … but I still felt …”  She lets a heavy sigh go now, then knocks back the rest of her drink in one big swallow, and it makes her cough a little.  “Oh … gods, Kesla.  I felt ashamed.”

I honestly don’t know how to respond to that.  I open my mouth, but the words just won’t come to me.

“My Unbroken … I led them into a slaughter.  They were the best men and women I’d ever met in my life, as good as your da, as fierce and as fine and as kind and as loyal as anyone I’ve ever known.  They knew that it was only going to end one way, that they were going to die making sure that those fucking Terrors never made it further south than we’d let them while the very last of us still drew breath, and I held the front for as long as I could through the fight.  I saw friends I’d bled with countless times before cut down on either side of me and I couldn’t do anything because if I stopped for a moment to try and help them, the line would have broken and that would have been it.  They had to pull me off the vanguard three times and practically force me to sleep for a few hours after a quick meal so I didn’t just drop from exhaustion, and each time I let them I knew my friends were dying up there without me.”

After a deep breath, she stalks back to the bar and refills her glass.  When she turns back to me now she just looks haunted.  “The Hellcat of Kumehn Valley … I didn’t deserve to be lauded for that.  I didn’t deserve all the commendations, the promotions, the celebrations in the capitol.  I don’t deserve to be remembered for those three days.  I wasn’t a hero.  The heroes were the poor bastards that are buried up there because I lived.”

For a long moment I just look at her, feeling shocked and shook and all kinds of guilty now about what I said, or tried to say and failed so badly.  Finally I knock back the rest of my own drink too and now I feel the burn as I swallow, but I forge ahead all the same, walking up to her as her eyes widen and she holds a faltering hand up to try and ward me off.  I set the glass down on the bar and fold her into a hug and she just melts in my arms.

She doesn’t cry, and I guess I’m kinda grateful for it, I think I might’ve started too myself.  “I get it.”  I finally mutter, keeping my voice as low as I can so it’s just for the two of us.  “Some battles are too ugly to feel good about afterwards.  Even the ones that need to be fought.”

She starts to laugh a little at that, and when she pushes me away I let her.  She looks up at me, and while her eyes are wet her smile is mostly just rueful.  “Your da taught you more than just combat, clearly.”

“He wanted me to be ready for anything that this kind o’ life would throw at me.  I guess that includes the shitty hands fate deals you sometimes.”

Nodding, Thura takes a step past me and grabs my empty glass, then steps back to retrieve the decanter again so she can refill my glass too.  Then someone knocks at the door and she straightens up.  “Ah.  Yes.  Finally.”  She passes me the tumbler and stalks back across the room again, making a beeline through the clutter for the door.

The others are watching her progress with curiosity, although I detect a note of disquiet in Dumoli now, as if he’s expecting an unpleasant surprise to be waiting on the other side when that door opens.  Lady Naru, on the other hand, is already on her feet, but she still looks perfectly calm, as if she’s been expecting this.  Maybe she has.

“Just in time, as it turns out.”  Thura muses after she opens the door, stepping back immediately as what I can only describe as a force of nature stalks into the room.

I’ve never actually met a fat dragonhalf before, but this one could put in a bid for the role.  He’s shorter than most I’ve come across, if you count his horns he’s barely as tall as I am, but he doesn’t seem small because he’s so broad, across the shoulders but also his waistline, although in his case I suspect that might be more due to muscle.  Certainly he’s clearly got an expansive personality to match his girth, the way his booming voice reverberates around the room as he announces himself.  “I always arrive precisely when intended as you know, my dear!  If I promise to attend an appointment I can be relied upon to make good on my commitments!”

This one’s not just an unusual member of his race in terms of his proportions, either.  I’ve met plenty of red dragonhalves, and greens, and even a few blues and blacks in my time, but this is the first with brass dragon-blood I’ve ever encountered.  His tan leathern scales have a coolly lustrous gleam which is extremely striking, and given his clear personality I suspect he buffs them up at every opportunity to appear even more impressive.  His snout is fairly short, but his face is broad like the rest of him, giving him an appearance of somewhat reptilian jolliness that’s definitely enhanced by an easy smile and deep crow’s feet around his glowing blue eyes.  His horns are gleaming ebony and there are six of ‘em, all substantial, twirling affairs that add to his general majesty, while his spiky tail seems to constantly wag in a lazy back-and-forth manner even after he comes to a stop in the middle of the room.

He's dressed in a very similar manner to most of the other nobles I’ve encountered in my time, but his long, flowing robes are some of the finest I’ve ever seen, rick silks and brocaded velvets with subtle trims of spider silk-fine lace picked out in shades of deep red and gold.  Before he stopped, I caught sight of his boots, which are rich, well-made chocolate brown leather buffed to an even higher sheen than his scales, and his clawed fingers are substantially adorned with thick rings heavily bedecked with gems.  I see Art sitting up already as he catches sight of those, and I try not to roll my eyes.

“Yes, yes, that’s all very well.”  Thura sighs, clearly nonplussed now.  “But I’m sure Lady Naru already made it clear that this was to be a secret meeting as well.  Please tell me you at least took the necessary precautions before you came.”

Frowning, which seems like a strangely alien expression on his face, actually, the dragonhalf gives her a look, flicking his fingers at her in something like a shooing gesture.  “Oh for the love of … I know, Thura, I’m not an idiot.  Your lovely contact already filled me in on the problem at hand, so I left the arrangements to her.”

“So where is the young Mistress then?”  Thura matches his look with her own, but this one’s a good deal more forceful.  “I know you think the world revolves around you, but I was hoping to get her advice as well in this matter.”

“Now children, please.”  Lady Naru places herself between them both now, still seeming perfectly calm and serene.  “This is hardly the time –”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  Another new arrival closes the door behind her as soon as she’s entered the room, looking very sheepish, and the moment she does her Tulen springs to her feet.  “I was coming, I promise, but there was a very inquisitive little girl in the hallway who insisted on asking me if I was a wizard as well.  I was somewhat thrown by the last part.”

This makes Thura giggle, covering her mouth too late to stifle it as she rolls her eyes.  “Oh Mara … my apologies, my daughter can be quite a handful.”

“Sessa,”  Tulen breathes barely a beat after, looking a little flustered now.  “It’s … um … hello, I’m … I’m sorry, I thought –”

“Tulen!”  The newcomer’s eyes go wide, and her expression is complicated, although there’s as much trepidation in it as surprise.  “You’re … but I thought Gael was …”  She turns and looks at Lady Naru now, as if searching for help.

“She’s busy, something else came up and she’s dealing with it.”  Lady Naru sighs, stepping her way now.  “My apologies, things have become quite fluid, I couldn’t relay all the relevant details at once.”

As this somewhat thin explanation sinks in, this new wizard starts to frown, taking a deep breath as, I imagine, she starts to piece things together for herself.  I’ll admit, it’s a strange expression on this particular face, but then I’ve never actually met a half-orc mage before.

She’s certainly very striking, tall and broad across her shoulders, particularly chubby for a half-orc but her natural strength still shows through, and she seems comfortable enough in her white and silver robes of office.  She’s already thrown back her hood, and she wears her long hair down, thick, silken black curls tumbling heavily over her shoulders and framing her round, cherubic face.  As she takes in the rest of us, she fumbles her staff somewhat as she passes it from one hand to the other, and has to scramble a little to keep from dropping it.  It’s a simple wooden affair, somewhat like Gael’s old one before it was broken, but made from a much paler wood, tall and thin and topped with a simple capped bowl with its crystal already mounted inside.

“Oh … oh, of course, that’s … yes.  I’m sorry, that makes perfect sense.”  She licks her soft, full lips, taking another deep breath, and turns to Tulen again, and this time she seems to be getting hold of herself again.  “You’re … I mean, you’re  here.  I thought … I mean, you don’t do field work.  Why … what are you … um …”

Tulen’s growing very dark across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, I notice, and while it’s becoming clear to me now that this newcomer is a rather anxious individual most of the time, our dragonhalf friend doesn’t seem to be handling this surprise meeting much better.  “Well … I mean, Gael needed help.  It’s their da …”

“I heard, yes.”  Letting her breath go in a long puff, the half-orc lowers her eyes and reaches up to brush her hair aside from her face in clear discomfort, and I can see a deep blush spreading across her face too.  “Um …  it’s … it is good to see you.”

“And you.”  Tulen manages a wan smile, having trouble with eye-contact herself now.  “I mean … yeah, I’ve missed you.”

The girl looks up at this, and when their eyes lock again it’s a genuinely electric moment, and suddenly all the awkwardness starts to make sense to me.  Then Tulen just steps forward and folds her into a hug and the newcomer’s only stiff for a moment longer before she just melts and returns it.

For a little while the room is silent, and there are a variety of expressions on display amongst the group at large, although Thura’s simply wearing that same mischievous smile I found so striking before.  Then the dragonhalf noble clears his throat somewhat louder than strictly necessary and they both spring apart as if they’ve just been caught out doing something far more inappropriate.

“Oh … I am … so sorry, my Lord.”  The half-orc almost squeaks the words as free hand flies up to cover her mouth.  “I didn’t mean –”

“No, no, I’m sure it’s fine.”  The grin that the noble offers up is a good deal sharper than previous, clearly intended to convey deeper meaning now.  “It’s not like our business is urgent or anything.”

“Forgive us, my Lord.”  Tulen huffs and puffs some as she tries to cover, but her blush has deepened so much her embarrassment’s still writ large across her.  “It’s just we haven’t seen each other for … since Winterheart.  Um …”

“It’s cool, Tu.”  I step up to her side now, resisting the urge to just wrap my arm round her shoulders and give her a companionable squeeze to comfort her, instead looking the other young wizard over.  In truth, I reckon I worked out who she is now, I’ve heard enough about the friends Gael made during their Academy years now to have a good idea.  “You’d be Sessa, right?”

The half-orc blinks, surprised, and slowly lowers her hand from her face again.  Her own blush is still deep too, but curiosity is taking over from her deep discomfort now.  “Um … I am ... oh, yes.  Yes, I am.  Sorry …”  She flaps her hand for a moment, unsure what to do with herself I think, then finally remembers and gives what I’ve come to recognise as the Order’s signature salute, before frowning and extending her right hand after all.  “Very sorry.  Um … yes, I am.  Sessa Ruthik, of the Silver Order.  Junior Advisor to the Provisional Government in Untermer.”

Taking her hand, I give it a friendly squeeze and firm pump.  “Kesla Shoon.  Of nothing in particular, aside from the Creeping Bam.”

Sessa looks me over again, a little more critically now, and starts to smile.  “Oh … oh yes, of course.  Yes, I do know who you are, yes.  Gael’s written about you, all of you.  She speaks particularly highly of you.”  When she finally lets go of my hand her smile’s grown very warm, and she’s straightened up to her full height, her shoulders losing any signs of a slouch now, and I can see how much more confident she can be when she’s not taken so completely by surprise.

“That’s lovely, of course, but –”  The dragonhalf noble’s still smiling, and he seems jolly enough now that the situation’s been defused, although I think he’s still trying to make a point all the same.

Certainly it occurs to Sessa.  “Oh!  Yes!  Sorry … um … yes, sorry.  Mistress Shoon, this is Lord Shembad Wralin of House Orlaprax.  Formerly of the Royal Council.”  She starts to squirm a little now, folding her hands behind her back as she lowers her eyes.  “Um … because … you know … of … reasons …”

“The bloody Terrors gave me the boot after they invaded.”  he growls as he shakes my hand, but there’s still a subtle smile on his face, albeit a rueful one.  “Couldn’t let a decorated general with a reputation for kicking their pale arses at every engagement serve in their precious Provisional sham.”  He turns to Sessa.  “No offence meant, my dear.”

“Oh, no.  None taken, my Lord.”  She bows formally.  “After all, it’s only an assignment.  And I can do actual good where I am, of course.  Much like Lady Naru.”  She shrugs, growing sheepish again.  “Um … well, I try at least …”

“You do good, my dear.”  Lady Naru wafts up to her side in almost perfect silence.  “Our own dealings between the Court and the Provisionals have always ended most amicably, both here and in Tabaphic.”

“Well, yes, but … I mean, I only advise.  None of them have to listen to me.  And often enough they don’t.”  She sighs.  “Mostly I just do what the Order asks me to do, anyway.”

“Which is the point.”  Lady Naru smiles at her now.  “That’s why you’re so good at your job.  You do what you’re told, and you don’t make any waves if you don’t have to.  So they accept you as one of their own.  Meanwhile you pay attention.  Which is invaluable for the real work.”

“Such as what we have here.”  Lord Wralin grins, and as expected it’s full of sharp teeth.  “Sticking it to the bastards who think they can get away with anything they like now.  Such as that unpleasant bloodless little monster Hontiresk.”

“Who?”  I don’t know that name.

“Refik Hontiresk.”  Lord Wralin sucks in his lips, clearly offended by the very thought of whoever it is he’s talking about.  It makes him look like he’s sucking on the sourest lemon in the world.  “One of the senior Administrators in the Authority here in Untermer.  There are a few particularly slippery bastards we’ve had our eye on for a while now, but he’s the top of the list.  He rose through the ranks with impressive speed when his father took a fatal tumble down a particularly tall staircase just after the Invasion, now he controls all his family’s interests and a good deal more.”

“Very few people who’ve actually met that loathsome little reptile actually believe his father’s death was an accident, either.  Never mind that it was far too conveniently timed.”  Thura returns to the group now carefully holding two more tumblers underhand so she can hold onto her own as well, offering both up to the new arrivals.  “Of course no-one’s ever come out and said as much.  He has a habit of making most people who disagree with him disappear.”

“Most people?”  I venture, already suspicious about the answer.

Taking both glasses, Wralin retains one while passing the other to Sessa, who just frowns down at the drink like she’s deeply unaccustomed.  “Myself, Lady Vezrim, Madame Daste and a few of his other detractors are a little too important to just … accident away.”

“You reckon this is who we’re up against?”  I turn to Thura now.  “The money behind Jammund and Vandryss?”

“Hontiresk is in charge of the docks.  Jammund’s one of his pets, and from what we’ve been able to surmise, a particularly favoured one.”  She folds her arms, letting her glass dangle from her hand as she considers.  “This … Vandryss person you’ve described to us isn’t at all familiar, but we’ve had some particular trouble keeping as close an eye on the docks lately as we’d like.  Half the people we’ve tried to send in over the past six months or so in particular haven’t come back out again.”

“But I thought you were both just private citizens now.”  Tulen ventures, looking a little confused now.  “Sessa said you’d retired, my Lord.  And you said as much yourself, my Lady.”

“Well, yes.”  Wralin regards her for a moment, slowly cocking a brow as he starts to smile again, and I get the feeling he’s getting a good measure of her now.  Then he steps forward and takes her hand, which makes her go very stiff, taking her very much by surprise, so when he starts to lead her back through the jumble of furniture to one of the empty spots on a couch she goes without objection.  “Of course, my dear.  On the surface that’s very much the case.  But that never sat well with me, any more than it did with our beloved Hellcat.  So we both did what we could when we could, and after that fell through we simply worked with whatever was left available to us.”

As Tulen settles where he’s placed her, Sessa quickly takes up the seat beside her, and the rest of us start to gravitate into the centre of the room too.   There’s an interesting moment when Lord Wralin turns and freezes on the spot, looking towards the corner of the room where Driver 8’s stayed since he came in.  Thankfully this office is on the ground floor so he didn’t have to navigate the stirs, but the corridor outside was barely wide enough for him to enter without turning, and Big Man found the doorway itself quite the task.  He offered to stay outside and just listen in as well as he could through the closed door, but Thura insisted he join us properly, so he squeezed through the best he could without wrecking the place and then planted himself on the spot once he was inside.  Very mindful indeed this place is clearly filled with beloved mementos from the Lady’s glorious past that he really doesn’t want to damage.

“Goodness me!”  Lord Wralin exclaims before taking a big swallow of his whisky.  “Hello there.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Wralin.”  the golem rumbles  “I am Driver 8, known to my friends as Big Man.”

Grinning wide, the dragonhalf tips a particularly deep formal bow.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, my good friend.  It has been a very long time since I’ve encountered an actual honest to gods functional golem.”

“I should very much like to hear about your previous experiences, my Lord.”  Big Man can’t smile, of course, but the way he straightens up a little bit tells me he’s beaming with pride all the same.

Chuckling warmly, Lord Wralin nods his assent.  “I’d like that as well, after our business is concluded.”  He takes another, more modest sip of his drink now as he turns back to the rest of us.  “He’s incredible!  I really am looking forward to that conversation.”

“Yeah, he’s really something.”  Nodding myself, I move to Art’s side as he looks over at Tulen, who I notice has already laced her own hand into Sessa’s as they lean into each other on the couch, sharing an amiable smile now.  Reaching down, I get hold of Art’s shoulder and drag him to his feet before he can start to protest.  “My Lord?”

“Hmm?”  For a moment Lord Wralin just looks at me curiously, then he catches my nod towards the now vacated chair and smiles again.  “Oh, yes.  Much obliged, my dear.”

Letting go of Art, I studiously ignore him as he starts glaring daggers at me and drop into the remaining armchair, while Lady Naru’s already taken up the empty space on the other couch beside Dumoli.  Seeing there’s nowhere left for him to sit, Art scowls at me and stalks over, finally perching on the arm of my chair instead of sitting on the floor.

“That was uncalled for.”  He growls, low so it’s just for me as he leans in.

“Really?  I thought it was very much called for.”  I give him an innocent smile that I’m sure don’t convince him at all.  “You gotta learn to defer to your betters.”

Giving me a last hot glare, Art lets out a heavy sigh and sits up again, finally taking a swallow of his drink as he starts to observe Tulen and Sessa again.  They both look very comfortable together, my previous evaluation of their relationship seeming to hold up now.

“Face it, Art.”  I whisper up at him  “You never had a chance there.”

“What?”  He snaps it a little louder than intended, I think, so after casting about for a moment he leans in again to whisper close in my ear.  “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I mean, it’s very clear to me now you’re just not her type.”  I nod over at the two young wizards as they start to whisper to each other, and a moment both dissolve into a fit of giggles.  Tulen gives Sessa’s hand a little squeeze and the half-orc just rests her head on her friend’s shoulder.

Following my gaze, Art’s frown deepens further, then he glares down at me again.  “That wasn’t what I –”

“So, you were with the Legion then, my Lord?”  I just run roughshod right over him as I raise my voice again, sitting forward as I turn to Lord Wralin.  I can feel the furious weight of Art’s stare but I’ve long since grown immune.

Pausing just after taking a sip, the dragonhalf regards me for a long moment with a somewhat curious look on his face, looking me over as close as I’m doing to him now.  Finally he cocks a brow as he swallows, and doesn’t need to so much as clear his throat , but then I’m not surprised.  “Not so directly involved as yourself, I suspect.”

I have to smile at that, although it’s a cautious one.  “Interesting you could tell.”

“Nonsense, I heard your name several times while the Resistance was still alive.  You were one of our best fighters, you did your father proud every day.  I’ll admit I’ve found this meeting a refreshing enough revelation simply learning you’re still alive after all.  After Tabaphic –”

“Not for lack o’ the bastards trying.  Hardly any of us made it out, and that was it.  I was stuck hiding in Hocknar for six months, so I had to just disappear.  I guess the others felt the same.”  I roll the tumbler between my fingers as I look down into the gently sloshing surface of the finger of whisky left in it.  “Honestly, there’s times I wish we’d just kept fighting after all.”

”It wouldn’t have helped, we would have simply lost what little resources we had left.  You’re all of you too valuable for that.”  Thura’s remained standing while the rest of us sat, slowly stalking round the room like she’s feeling restless, which might not be far from the truth.  “We’ve looked into the possibility over the years since, but …”

Looking at her for a long, loaded moment, Lord Wralin growls subtly under his breath.  “The truth is, we think we might have been compromised in the end.  In Tabaphic, it was …  ugly.  The Terrors, they fell on you all too quickly , and far too well coordinated.  As if they knew exactly who and where to hit all at once to cripple the Legion in one fell swoop.”

“You mean …”  I grip the tumbler a little tighter than I’d like for a moment before I remember myself, but thankfully the crystal’s well cut, it doesn’t crack under the pressure.  “You think it was someone on the inside?  A traitor?”

“Quite likely, yes.”  Wralin looks to Thura again, and his frown deepens.  “Something about how it went down, it felt a little too much like the fall, the start of the invasion itself.  The way those bastards were suddenly in our midst like that without us knowing, just a day after they started their push in the North … it was as if someone opened the doors for them to step right in.  And then again, in Tabaphic, when the Legion’s core leadership were slaughtered in a single night, and the rest of you were left to scatter like rats under torchlight …”  He grimaces, hissing angrily now, and for a moment there’s a subtle, sulphurous smell in the air, while a little wisp of something vaporous wafts from between his teeth, only for him to suck it back in almost immediately, as if he remembers himself.  His frown deepens to something close to thunderous now.  “”We don’t know who it was.  That’s the problem.”

“That’s why none of us have tried to start things up, even though Shem and a few of the others have shown themselves to be above reproach.”  Thura turns to regard Lady Naru for a long moment, and the sorcerer takes a thoughtful sip from her glass before looking my way.  Her own expression is complicated.

“You too?”  I ask her after moment.

“Never in any official capacity.  It can be very dangerous, if someone like me definitively chooses a side, but … well, it was an ugly business, the way they just … took over like they did.  It never sat well with me.  So I always tried to help out however I could.”

“Thank you.”  It feels so inadequate, just saying that, but … well, given how standoffish I’ve been with her so far, I just want to do more than that, but I can’t think how.

“There’s no need for it.  It was the right thing to do.”

That makes me blink.  There’s something about that which reminds me so much of Krakka, the way he was during the Resistance, when I first came to know him.  Studiously trying to keep out of the conflict itself, mostly because of the tenets of his faith and his devotion to his goddess, so in the end he just helped anyone who needed it, whether they were Legion or Terrors.  But even so, he still had his own preference about who needed the help more, because he was who he was, and he couldn’t just stand by.

I’m really starting to like her, I think.

“So … there are still more of you out there, then?”  Dumoli ventures after a few moments of thoughtful silence.  “Former Legion, or at least their patrons?”

“Did you serve, Master Bitterbrow?”  Thura wonders, regarding him a little more critically than she did when they were first introduced.  “I couldn’t place your name before …”

“Not in the Legion, no.  I was a Rundao regular, once upon a time, but I mustered out before the Occupation even started.  I was already in the merc game, so I suppose I had business on my mind instead.  Mostly we never bothered to involve ourselves.”  He shrugs.  “I mean, we know plenty of former members, but that‘s the way the game works these days.”

Nodding, Thura unfolds her arms before taking another big pull from her tumbler, effectively draining it now.  She frowns into it for a moment, then stalks back to the bar.

“There are others left, yes.”  Lord Wralin growls  “Some here, some elsewhere.  Nowhere near as many in Tabaphic as there once were, unfortunately.  The Second Purge was a little too thorough, even more so than the First.  Whoever the bastard was who turns on us, they did their job too well there in particular.”

“So it was one o’ them then.”  Art ventures, then blinks when I look up at him with particularly sharp interest.  “Right?  I mean … stands to reason, if it hit hardest there, then …”

“That’s the pervading theory, yes.”  Thura’s pouring herself another now.  “Unfortunately, since we can’t be certain … well, we’re stuck because of it.  We don’t know who to trust, so all we can do now is watch.”

“Which is what you say I’m doing.”  Sessa muses, looking a little perturbed while Tulen watches her sidelong with wary curiosity.  “You’re doing the same.”

“A few of us, yes.”  Lord Wralin’s still frowning as he regards her.  “We pass on what we can, if there’s reason, but … our hands are very much tied now, I’m afraid.”

“Which is why Madame Daste sent us to you.”  I have to smile, and it feels as bitter as it must look.  “For what it’s worth.”

“Well, your business is as complicated as ours, it would seem.”  Thura returns to the group now, her arms folded across her chest again with her glass clutched under her chin, and her expression is quizzical now.  “Right now, it seems our stars have aligned.  Though I’d have been mindful to help you anyway.”

“As am I.”  Lord Wralin chuckles.

Nodding, I look down into the glass for a moment longer, than take another big swallow to finish my drink.  I let it settle in my stomach before placing the glass on the floor by the leg of my chair.  “So, this Hontiresk fellow …”

“As we said, there’s no way to be sure.”  Thura sighs  “But he’s definitely a safe bet.  If nothing else he’d been smart to check off the list if he isn’t, just to be sure.”

Lord Wralin finishes his own drink now, swilling it for a moment before swallowing, and again it doesn’t seem to have any noticeable effect on him.  Dragonhalves, really.  “Personally, I’d be very surprised if he wasn’t your man.  This is very much his wheelhouse, and learning that there might be someone worse pulling his strings isn’t that much of a stretch.”  He holds the empty glass up now, turning it slowly as he looks into the crystal, rainbow colours subtly shifting in the candlelight.  “Besides, he has … unpleasant tastes, I’m led to understand.”

“Like trafficking in people?”  Tulen looks somewhat haunted when she asks that.

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”  The dragonhalf finally sets his glass down on the arm of his chair and laces his long, taloned fingers together as he settles back the rest of the way into the soft, creaking leather, growing thoughtful now.  “You mentioned … I’m not sure, Mistress Ruthik’s report was not so very detailed as I would have liked.  Something about a questionable mage.”

“Yeah, there’s one o’ them too.”  Art sighs before taking a big gulp of his own whisky.  “A warlock, is the consensus.  I dunno, ain’t really my expertise, but …”

The look that passes between Thura and Lord Wralin is very dark, the dragonhalf sitting up again so he can lean forward and regard me for a long moment.  “You think something eldritch might be going on here?”

“It’s starting to look that way, yeah.”  I shrug.  “That bitch Vandryss is … worrying.  She doesn’t look like anything I ever dealt with before, and our ranger … Yeslee’s hunted a whole lot of dark shit in her time, I been able to surmise, but she don’t recognise her kind any more’n I do.  And when we fought …”  I grimace, unable to keep myself from shuddering.

“What happened?”  Thura’s watching me close, and she almost looks nervous now.

“I ran Hefdred right through her.  Right up to the hilt.  Through her fucking heart.  And she just shrugged it off.”

“Bloody hell.”  Sessa’s eyes are real big now, while her voice was real small.

If I thought Thura looked nervous before she looks scared now, and it really don’t look right on her face.  Clearly fear ain’t something she shows much at all, but right now she can’t help it.  “I … I’ve never heard of anything like that either.  And I’ve fought some …”  She looks to Lord Wralin.  “Does that remind you of anything?”

“Was she …”  He frowns deep, but I can sense an undercurrent to his consternation now.  Something like fear, much as with Thura, but more well-disguised.  “Do you suppose she was undead?”

I shake my head.  “No.  I don’t reckon so.  I was face to face with her, an’ I seen plenty undead things in my life … she was definitely alive.  Nasty, and wrong, but alive.”

“That’s … worrying.”  Lord Wralin turns to regard Lady Naru now, and I notice Thura’s doing the same, but the sorcerer simply shakes her head.  I notice she’s become quite solemn now, but ain’t shook like the others now.  Then again we did go over this with her once already.

Everyone just ponders for a while, and I look down at my hands, steady, finding no tremors in them despite the turn of our conversation.  Eventually I look up to find Tulen’s got her head bowed again, eyes closed, and I’m already sat as far forward as I can get, so I just get to my feet instead.  I’ve taken a step forward almost before I realise it.

Art starts to ask what’s up, but then he must notice too, so he just falls silent.  Other eyes are turning her way now, and while we wait for her to come out of her induced trance again I feel further tension starting to rise in me.  My hands are tightening into fists and I didn’t even ask them to.  I want to ask her what’s up but I know it’d be useless until she breaks contact.

It goes on for another short stretch, and I know I ain’t the only one getting impatient.  Dumoli’s shuffled forward in his seat now, ready to jump off at the first opportunity, and Sessa’s leaning close to her friend now, looking a little fretful.  I suspect her own growing concern’s more due to her reading the reaction in the group, though, since she’s currently less well-informed of the specifics of what the other group is involved with.

I sense someone moving close to me now, and I have a moment where I start to tense up, I can’t help it, I’m just too wired at the moment, but then I see through the corner of my eye it’s just Thura, and I start to relax again, much as I can at least.  For a moment she just looks back at me, and when I turn her way she manages a smile, although it looks a little hesitant.  “Look at it this way, it might be good news.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I find it real hard to summon a smile o’ my own.  “The way our luck’s been going lately … I dunno.”

Tulen breathes out, long and low, and finally raises her chin again, slowly opening her eyes.  For a moment she just takes in all the expectant faces, her gaze lingering on me and Thura as we can’t help both stepping right up to look down at her, and she visibly swallows, seeming nervous now.  But then she takes a deep breath, sitting up as she extricates her hand from Sessa’s and takes a moment to smooth down her clothes as she clears her throat.  Not wanting to rush, clearly.  It must be big news.

“They’re all right.  It worked … the raid, I mean.  They found Tog, and the others are all right.  Darwyn had a close call, but Shay pulled her through fine.”  She ponders for a moment, then look right up at me.  “They found something else, though.  Some-one else.  And took him alive.”

That has me frowning, but I feel an electric kind of anticipation stirring in me now all the same.  Maybe it’s a break.  Gods know we need one.  “Who?”

“Gael says it’s Vik.”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 3 chapter 14 #fantasy fiction #original fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

[lizardthelizard]

TUMBLR SAID THERE WAS AN ISSUE SO IF THIS IS A REPEATED ASK I'M SORRY BUT JUST IN CASE 😜👻☀📚

(Do not worry, the ask sent across just fine <3 thank you so much)

Fanfic ask game

😜 Describe a current WIP without using character names. (Points if your followers guess who the fic is for.)

Obvious fic will be obvious to anyone reading along but for a general summary that will make zero sense to everyone else:

After finally getting away from one horrible little island, the group crash land at a second, equally horrible little island. Someone gets impaled. Several arguments break out between various characters. There’s a Twist. Willy Wonka is here, probably. I love pairings involving divorcees that have never been married, apparently. There are so many homeless, orphaned children. Everyone is still stuck on a boat. No one is getting laid, but they fucking wish they were.

👻 Have you written holiday-themed fics? If yes, which is your fave? If not, what’s one holiday you’d want to write for, and which character(s) would the fic be for?

you know damn well which fic AU I might bring up here

...... Christmas hallmark movie divorce AU...(my beloved)

For anyone that happens to be reading this that doesn’t know about the existence of this AU and would like to know more, here’s the basic premise:

Pinocchio & Lampwick (aka...........August & Romeo.) have been married and recently divorced, for reasons (relating partly to Geppetto’s/Marco’s death & also the Blue Fairy sticking her oar in, (amongst other things)). Lampwick’s sister dies and Lampwick is the one that ends up adopting her toddler, Renata. But...it’s not easy, and Pinocchio (who Renata is already familiar with and is very fond of) offers to babysit her once (1 time) and then that turns into 2 times and 3 times and eventually it becomes a regular thing.

Lampwick works as a bartender, alongside Lizard. Pinocchio is a freelance writer. Robin is also here with Roland and is SO tired of hearing Lampwick bitch (affectionately) about Pinocchio. Captain Nemo is a counselor. Also, it’s Christmas Time, I guess. 🎄

However, if I were to ever write a fic that had nothing to do with any of this (an AU that may or may not receive a single paragraph’s worth of actual writing) I’d definitely go for a halloween fic. Right now, I’m literally only physically capable of writing OUAT fanfic and Once is just the perfect show for a goofy little halloween fic.

☀️ Has anyone ever left you a comment that made your day? What did it say?

oh but!!!!!!!!!!!! there are so many!! This will sound super corny, I’m sure but.....literally every comment I’ve gotten has made my day. My fic is too niche to garner any large following but the readers that I do have are just... !!!!!! 💕 I’m so incredibly grateful. (jojo & bee, since you might both see this, thank you both so much 😭🥺💕💕💕)

The honest answer is @naivesilver your double comment on ‘mess is mine’ is still something I go back and re-read sometimes and it makes me go !!!!! 💗💗💗 every single time. I treasure it a lot.

📚 What grammar mistakes do you always make?

urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr all sorts, probably. I know that sometimes I miss out words and then my brain fills in the blank space and so THAT can be a mess sometimes. It doesn’t matter how many times I proof read my fic, there WILL be mistakes. But..............oh well.

Also, less in my final writing and more in my first drafts/general writing without auto-correct, I tend to misspell words with double letters in (case and point, I literally JUST NOW wrote ‘misspell’ as ‘mispell’.) My brain just goes “No, that’s too many letters” and then nothing looks right, even if it IS spelled correctly, and I have no idea what’s going on, help.

#I'd do a chapter summary for that first question but like..................it'd be really boring #idk they're flying around on a boat. that's all you're getting #also #for real though serena. I just....... your comments are always so sweet & really fucking funny too. I love reading them. #but like................you always GET it. you know EXACTLY what I was trying to say in any particular chapter. #and I'm just glad we can share a braincell when it comes to our fic #<3<3 <3 #also. hate that I saw that book emoji and my brain just went 'ah yes. eugene.' #asks #naivesilver #lads. is it normal to spell 'writing' like 'wrighting' at the age of 14. because I did do that. and for some fucking reason #it was my friend that had to correct me? not a teacher?? #LADS is it normal to spell 'tomorrow' like 'tommorrow' at the age of 23. because that was also something that happened. #genuinely think I might have mild undiagnosed dyslexia #but like.........OH WELL #my art teacher in college one asked if I was dyslexic and I was like '???? lol not that I know??' but maybe she was onto something ASIJDBASH

[houseof1000leaves]

Live-blogging War and Peace like it’s a Twitter fandom let’s go!!

#I’m at chapter 14 of book 3 vol 1 #this is where I’m at emotionally right now too #eating an almond croissant listening to men go to war #I sweet talked a chocolatier for this

[hellsitegenetics]

Blast the Book of Genesis, Chapter 1 from the Bible so we can finally know what was the first creature God created.

[1:1] In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth,

[1:2] the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.

[1:3] Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light.

[1:4] And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.

[1:5] God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

[1:6] And God said, "Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters."

[1:7] So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so.

[1:8] God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

[1:9] And God said, "Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear." And it was so.

[1:10] God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good.

[1:11] Then God said, "Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it." And it was so.

[1:12] The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good.

[1:13] And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

[1:14] And God said, "Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years,

[1:15] and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth." And it was so.

[1:16] God made the two great lights - the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night - and the stars.

[1:17] God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth,

[1:18] to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good.

[1:19] And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

[1:20] And God said, "Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky."

[1:21] So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

[1:22] God blessed them, saying, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth."

[1:23] And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

[1:24] And God said, "Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind." And it was so.

[1:25] God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

[1:26] Then God said, "Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth."

[1:27] So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

[1:28] God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth."

[1:29] God said, "See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food.

[1:30] And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food." And it was so.

[1:31] God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

String identified:

[1:1] t gg G cat t a a t at,

[1:2] t at a a a a c t ac t , a G t t ac t at.

[1:3] T G a, "t t gt"; a t a gt.

[1:4] A G a tat t gt a g; a G aat t gt t a.

[1:5] G ca t gt a, a t a ca gt. A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:6] A G a, "t t a t t t at, a t t aat t at t at."

[1:7] G a t a aat t at tat t t at tat a t . A t a .

[1:8] G ca t . A t a g a t a g, t c a.

[1:9] A G a, "t t at t gat tgt t ac, a t t a aa." A t a .

[1:10] G ca t a at, a t at tat gat tgt ca a. A G a tat t a g.

[1:11] T G a, "t t at t t gtat: at g , a t t at tat a t t t t." A t a .

[1:12] T at gt t gtat: at g , a t ag t t t t. A G a tat t a g.

[1:13] A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:14] A G a, "t t gt t t t aat t a t gt; a t t g a a a a a a,

[1:15] a t t gt t t t g gt t at." A t a .

[1:16] G a t t gat gt - t gat gt t t a a t gt t t gt - a t ta.

[1:17] G t t t t t g gt t at,

[1:18] t t a a t gt, a t aat t gt t a. A G a tat t a g.

[1:19] A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:20] A G a, "t t at g t a g cat, a t a t at ac t t ."

[1:21] G cat t gat a t a g cat tat , , t c t at a, a g . A G a tat t a g.

[1:22] G t, ag, " t a t a t at t a, a t t t at."

[1:23] A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:24] A G a, "t t at g t g cat : catt a cg tg a aa t at ." A t a .

[1:25] G a t aa t at , a t catt , a tg tat c t g . A G a tat t a g.

[1:26] T G a, "t a a ag, accg t ; a t t a t t a, a t t a, a t catt, a a t aa t at, a cg tg tat c t at."

[1:27] G cat a ag, t ag G cat t; a a a cat t.

[1:28] G t, a G a t t, " t a t, a t at a t; a a t t a a t t a a g tg tat t at."

[1:29] G a, ", a g at g tat t ac a t at, a t t t t; a a t .

[1:30] A t at t at, a t t a, a t tg tat c t at, tg tat a t at , a g g at ." A t a .

[1:31] G a tg tat a a, a , t a g. A t a g a t a g, t t a.

Closest match: Naumovozyma dairenensis CBS 421 chromosome 11, complete genome Common name: Budding yeast

(I could not find an image of this organism, so here is an image of Naumovozyma castellii instead.)

#tumblr genetics #genetics #asks #requests #sent to me #christianity #yeast #long post #such a massive post for absolutely no payoff LMAO

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive Masterlist

" Came like a Miracle, Look like a miracle, Just like Miracle, Those few words...."

Synopsis: When you started working at a pharmaceutical company, you didn’t realize where it was your life was heading. After getting a patient mix up, you meet seven men who would didn’t seem to want any other nurse that wasn’t you. When you start to know them, you notice things that made you question if they were really human. No matter what excuse they would give though, you would always go home with a heavy heart. The day the truth is revealed to you, things take a turn for the worst.

Pairings: BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Genre: Mystical Creatures AU, Fluff, Romance, Angst, Fantasy

Warnings: Smut in future chapters, toxic work environment, abuse

Taglist: I have decided to write smut chapters. However it’s just one per member. Maybe some things here and there. With that being said. I will not have a taglist on those chapters for fear of having minors tagged. My books are mostly for a general audience because smut isn’t my main writing. However with the very small number of chapters I will probably do, it’s best to not tag anyone. I understand some of you have ages but I don’t want to struggle with picking out each adult blog. Thank you for understanding.

A/N

(1) -- (2) -- (3) -- (4) -- (5)

(6) -- (7) -- (8) -- (9) -- (10)

(11) -- (12) -- (13) -- (14) -- (15)

(16) -- (17) -- (18) -- (19) -- (20)

(21) -- (22) -- (23) -- (24) -- (25)

(26) -- (27) -- (28) -- (29) -- (30)

(31) -- (32) -- (33) -- (34) -- (35)

(36) -- (37) -- (38) -- (39) -- (40)

(41) -- (42) -- (43) -- (44) -- (45)

(46) -- (47) -- (48) -- (49) -- (50)

" Those few words that saved me I'll be by your side after many nights..."

Taglist is officially closed!

#bts fanfic #bts army #bts #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #run bts #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #bts v #bts jin #yoongi #hoseok #jhope #hobi #jung hoseok #bts namjoon #bts jung hoseok #bts jungguk #kpop fanfic #jungkook #bts jhope #bts hobi #park jimin #jimin bts #bts taehyung #bts imagines #bts smut

[macfrog]

cowboy like me | masterlist

dbf!joel miller x f!reader | ao3 | playlist

back home in austin after five years away, you're looking for something to do with your summer. what you don't expect, is to find that something in the form of joel miller. quietly charming, ruggedly handsome, flannel-donned joel. you know. your dad's best friend.

please check out individual chapter content warnings before reading!!! this series features adult content.

series warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol + dr*g use, mentions of pregnancy & periods, physical violence, allusions to cheating, smut, angst, fluff, softdom!joel mostly (some jealous/protective/possessive!joel along the way).

main series

chapter 1: greetings from austin, tx

chapter 2: shameless

chapter 3: grilled

chapter 4: moneyball

chapter 5: welcome home

chapter 6: company

chapter 7: bloodstream

chapter 8: lend me some sugar

chapter 9: checkmate

chapter 10: ride it, cowgirl

chapter 11: illicit affairs

chapter 12: hits different

chapter 12.5: if i had a gun

chapter 13: heart, body, soul

chapter 14: secrets

chapter 15: the sweetest con

bonus

➵ if patrick bateman were a woman

drabbles

➵ dragging joel to the eras tour ➵ sex tape [prelude to chapter 11] ➵ books joel would be into ➵ slow dancing in the kitchen ➵ joel versus a nightmare

#hello apologies for sharing this again i'm fixing my masterlists lmao hope ur having a nice day #cowboy like me #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #dad's best friend #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 1

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

"Do you have anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" You hated this. First days were known to be horrible for a reason. Why on earth would you want to tell a room full of strangers some random fact about you? They don't care if you have a pet nor do they want to know why you're here. The room was dead silent waiting for you to hurry up and sit down. "Umm-"

"What's your cup size?" A boy asked making the other kids in the class snicker. The dark-haired boy next to him smiled shaking his head in disapproval. "Steven I'm not doing this with you today, out." Steven groaned already grabbing his books. "But miss-" With a stern point of the finger she spoke again. "Out!" The class once again fell silent and you couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable. You've done nothing wrong yet within 5 minutes you feel everyone staring at you with disdain.

Once the door closed behind Steven the teacher spoke again. "I'm terribly sorry Y/n. Just take Steven's spot for today and we'll figure the rest out tomorrow." A simple nod was all you could muster. All you had was a pencil in your hand and a bright yellow notebook sitting on top of your new desk. You closed your eyes trying to fast-forward time. This was the last class of the day and it could honestly not be worse. "Don't worry about him he's a dick." The note on your desk read. The boy to your left looked at you then the paper wanting you to send the note back.

With a quick scribble, you handed him the paper. A huffed laugh left his lips as he read "You are what you eat." The note was then crumpled and shoved into his pocket. That seemed to be the end of your conversation with the stranger but you pushed further. Leaning to the side you whisper, "What's your name?" Instead of saying anything he opened up his notebook. The black and white cover was scuffed showing obvious signs of use. He lifted the book showing you the inside. With a single word written in big letters. 'Billy.'

The class went on, no more pleasantries being exchanged. The bell rang signaling the tiring day was over. You were going to say something else to Billy but he was up and gone by the time you looked up. "So much for that." You mumbled as you got up. The movies always showed the new girl getting all the attention. Everyone tries to quickly mold her into their cult-like clique. Maybe it was the dress you were wearing or the way you wore your hair that made you look like a prude. Growing up with your grandparents sets you up for a life of social isolation.

The parking lot was crowded but not crowded enough to not see your bright red car. Just as visible was the short-haired boy sitting on the hood. "Get off my car." You scolded flatly. "Holy shit this is yours!? How'd you get it?" He asked bouncing with joy. "It's my dad's so I don't want you sitting on it. Thanks." You tossed your bags in the car as he continued talking. Just a second ago you were praying Billy would keep up some conversation. Now you're wanting nothing more than to get home. "Man look it's Christine!" He shouted as the girl next to him covered her ears. "Is he always this loud?" She laughed at the question shaking her head up and down. "Unfortunately. I'm Tatum, so you're the new girl everyone's talking about?"

A puzzled look fell over your features. "Who's talking about me?" Before she could answer Billy walks up to the car. "This is nice." His blabbering friend seems disappointed with that answer. "Nice? It's fucking awesome! Can we ride in it?" He turns to beg you. Billy looked over at you raising his eyebrows in silent confusion. "I don't even know you." What part of 'dads' car did he not understand? "I'm Stu, this is Billy."

"We've met." Billy says gesturing towards you. "it's nice to meet you Stu but I don't give rides to strangers." He walks over throwing his arm over your shoulder. Way too much physical contact from someone you don't know. "Well you know my friend Billy and now you know me. I'd say we're all friends here." Tatum rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "If you two are going to harass this poor woman I'm leaving. I've got to catch up with Sydney. See ya, babe." She blew a kiss at Stu which he caught.

"Pleaseeeee." He begged. Just as Billy was about to intervene you agreed. "Fine but no food, drink, cigarettes, or really anything that could mess up this car. Got it?" You laid out the rules as you climbed into the driver's seat. Stu bit his lip nodding his head. "Yes ma'am. Come on man." Stu said as he jumped in the car. Billy stood awkwardly looking down at his feet. His eyes nervously looked around almost like he was late for something. "Go without me I've got some errands to run." Stu stuck his head out of the window. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Come on man Christine is like your favorite movie." At this, Billy laughed.

"No, I think you're confusing things. A murderous car is definitely more your speed." At this point, you regretted saying yes to Stu. "Please come with us I don't trust him." Stu covered his heart in fake hurt. "If you should be worried about anybody you should worry about Billy." You seriously doubted that. Sure he was quiet and a little unnerving but he might just be shy. "Fuck it." His hands smack his thighs in defeat. Stu loudly rejoices at his friend's surrender. "Get in the back."

You figured Stu would put up a fight considering he was there first. Yet he opened the door with sad eyes and quietly got into the back. It was strange. You weren't sure how long these two had been friends but it was an odd dynamic. "Why do you get to sit next to her?" Stu whined from the back seat. "Because she doesn't trust you." A laugh forced its way from your throat. "Who said I trusted you? According to him, I should be careful around you." You pointed to the man in the back who gladly smiled. Billy propped his arm on the window shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry but dressed like that you need to be careful with everyone."

"Gotta agree with him on that. You look like Betty Crocker." Stu leaned his head on the seat between you and Billy. "Don't get me wrong it's kinda sexy but still very grandma." With a roll of your eyes, you started the car, hearing the engine purr to life. The boy next to you cracked such a small smile you'd have to catch it on camera for proof that it happened. "This is amazing! I fucking love you, Betty Crocker." Stu kissed you on the cheek making your nose crinkle. At that, Billy actually laughed. Nothing too dramatic though. "Ew can you not touch me at all? Jesus Christ." With one hand on the wheel, you took the other to wipe your cheek.

"Now you see what I put up with," Billy adds. "Oh, so you kiss him too huh?" You drove out of the parking lot heading to the main road. "Only on weekends." Stu shrugged. You giggled but Billy didn't seem to find anything funny. "So what brings you to this hell hole?" He asks still keeping his eyes out the window. "Me and my moved into my grandparent's house after they passed. He found a good job here too so ta-da here I am" Stu leaned forward to press buttons on the dash which you promptly swatted his hand away. "What is your deal with this car?"

Stu seemed shocked you had to even ask. "It's Christine baby! The man-eating car." You blinked a few times a little confused. "You know the John Carpenter film? Came out in 1983. Same guy that directed Halloween with Michael Myers." Billy seemed interested in this conversation more so than others. His whole body seem to turn towards you actively listening to anything you had to say. "Of course, I know Halloween I've just not seen Christine." It was Billy's turn to pick at you. "You're telling me you've never seen Christine but you've got the car?"

He must be brain-dead to think you got a car based on a movie. "This is a 58' Plymouth. It is way older than the Christine movie. I've got the original if you ask me." Stu looked like he was adding numbers to fact-check your math. Billy on the other hand had the same stoic expression on his face. His eyes dragged up and down you seemingly trying to figure out something. "Say where do you two live?" Stu gave out directions to his house without hesitation. "You can just drop me off at his place." You nod in Billy's direction as you focus on the road.

"Why do you dress like this?" Billy picks at the fabric of your dress. It seems no one in this town knows what personal boundaries are. But you guess it beats the awkwardness of a new friendship. With these two it's like you jumped ahead. "I like it." Plain and simple. Billy wasn't buying it either was Stu. "It's more than just that. You know people look at you differently do you get off on that sort of thing?" The question was rude. If you had a backbone of any sort you throw him out of the moving car. Being a people pleaser however made you give him an honest answer. "Maybe. Do I notice when people look at me hatefully? Duh. But at the end of the day, I'm happy they looked at me at all. I mean you both look like every other teenage boy out there. You don't want to stand out?"

Stu liked your answer it was honestly one he could relate to. "No, we like to blend in." That was all Billy said. It was a change from the chattiness before. "Well, what about you Stu?" Billy turned to look back at the boy. Meanwhile he was happy at being included. When it was just him with some girls he could say whatever he felt like. When Billy was around things were different. Just with his eyes he could tell Stu what and what not to say. He didn't mind of course he loved Billy more than he would ever know really. Plus he knew his personality could be a lot for new people. It was nice to have someone to let him know when enough was enough.

"Like he said we like to blend in. We're not big attention whores." He laughed. You don't think the comment was aimed at you but you couldn't help but feel a little hurt by it. "What's your name?" Stu asked while he lay down in the back seat. "Y/n." Billy once again needed more of an answer. "Y/n what?" He was looking for a last name. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Stu's eyes shot back and forth between you two. "I would. That's why I asked."

"Well, you ask too many questions. Unless you're looking to change my last name I don't know why you'd need to know." Billy wasn't mad. Aggravated sure but not mad. You were smart. Not smart enough to tell two psychos to fuck off but smart enough to not hand out personal information easily. He'd have to work for it which he loved to do. "Is your place down this road Stu?" The boy perked up. A little sad that the ride was over. "Yeah just go on down."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Billy asked seeing his window of opportunity was closing. "Nothing much why?" More boring and cryptic answers. "We should come over to your place this weekend seeing as nothing's going on." Billy looked at his friend for backup. "Absolutely! I could bring a copy of Christine and we could get mad wasted!" Billy closed his eyes regretting asking him for anything. "I don't drink. Never had a reason to."

"Well, Ms. Crocker I'm giving you one." Unfortunately for these two you had self-preservation skills. Getting drunk with two men you don't know at your house is not smart. They act like you haven't seen any scary movies. "I'm not getting drunk with you two. I'll think about hanging out this weekend but no drinking. My dad would kill me if he knew I had two dudes in the house let alone drunk dudes." Billy could work with that. Stu was practically jumping at the idea to hang with you. For once he didn't have ulterior motives. He couldn't say the same for his friend who had that gleam in his eye he's seen before.

You pulled into the driveway saying goodbye to your new friends. "See you at school tomorrow?" Billy asked knowing the seat you occupied today would be permanently vacant so you could stay next to him. "Unfortunately. Bye, losers." You waved at the guys ready to get the hell home. The boys watched as you pulled away, the bright red car was easy to follow down the road. "What do you think about her?" Billy asked his friend. "She's alright man. Needs better taste in movies but I can fix that." Billy agreed but something just wasn't sitting right with him. In one day you managed to weasel your way into their lives. He wasn't sure if he wanted to watch movies with you or make you the star of one.

Part 2

A/N: I've been writing for about 5 years now but I'm new to the Scream fandom. I just recently watched the first movie and I can't seem to get these two out of my head so feedback is greatly appreciated! See ya lovelies 💞

#scream #scream 1996 #ghostface #poly!ghostface #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #scream fanfic #scream fanfiction #scream x reader #ghostface x reader #housewife #x reader #slashers #slasher x reader #horror

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Link 1, Link 2 :)

Digital Good Omens 2 Sountrack is coming out in 4 days! 🥳 CD version in October! :) ❤ Coming soon on vinyl…

Out to Stream/Download from 25th August. Out on CD 13th October. Coming soon on vinyl…

David Arnold’s ‘end of the world’ complex and multi-genre soundtrack.

From the Award-winning composer of Sherlock and Casino Royale comes a follow up to the hugely successful, Emmy nominated Good Omens soundtrack.

Good Omens series 2 premiered on Prime Video on 28th July. The series follows the odd couple, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) in their quest to sabotage the end of the World. The six-episode sequel to the popular adaptation of the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, concerns the Archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm) arriving without his memories to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find out what happened to Gabriel, whilst hiding him from Heaven and Hell, both eager to find him.

The Soundtrack

David Arnold’s soundtrack to Good Omens was first released in 2019 to favourable reviews, with BBC Music Magazine calling it “a rollicking trip to hell and back”. Blueprint Magazine described it as “a great listen” and Sci Fi Bulletin commented on “plenty of memorable themes” to conclude that “This is another work of art from Arnold”. At times nostalgic and eerie but always varied, beautiful and full of excitement, the Good Omens 2 soundtrack showcases Arnold’s every skill from his composer arsenal. Featured here are orchestral arrangements with sprinkling of Sugar Plum Fairy pizzicato and percussion, jaunty strings and mighty choral sweeps from Crouch End Festival Chorus. Added to the mix are rock guitar riffs, and psychedelic 70s sounds and all together they create a haunting otherworldly feel, complementing the fantasy and the quirky humour of the show. The spirited Waltz of the opening theme is also present in the second series and it wonderfully sets the scene for fantastical mayhem. In series 2, this robust, evocative, and funny music entity, becomes yet again another character in the story. Award-winning composer David Arnold is well known for his blockbuster scores, including Stargate, The Chronicles of Narnia: the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Hot Fuzz, Paul, Independence Day, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Casino Royale as well as for his TV work such as Sherlock and Dracula. Also available: The original soundtrack to the first series of Good Omens >

Tracklist

– Disc 1 – Chapter 1: The Arrival 1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells Chapter 2: The Clue 10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel Chapter 3: I Know Where I’m Going 19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy – Disc 2 – Chapter 4: The Hitchhiker 33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room Chapter 5: The Ball 40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle Chapter 6: Every Day 48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

#good omens #gos2 #season 2 #GOS2Spoilers #good omens spoilers #music #s2 music #david g arnold #s2 soundtrack #wahoo! #shut up and take my money :D

[stromuprisahat]

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 15 (Leigh Bardugo)

The rest of the chapter is just Alina spiraling...

scare, not explain  🟥 💞

sprinkles of truth 🔴 ❤️

straight up lies and manipulations🟠 🧡

Alina trying to think for herself 🟢 💚

#Grishaverse #Grisha trilogy #Shadow and Bone (book) #S&B Chapter 15 #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #grishanalyticritical #Alina Starkov #Baghra Morozova #anti Baghra #V #S&S Chapter 3 #S&B Chapter 7 #S&B Chapter 14 #01×03: The Making at the Heart of the World #The Darkling #Siege and Storm #Shadow and Bone #General Kirigan #self centred and paranoid #and so in need of some confidence and self respect #I think I'll finish this Ch. tomorrow #and go through the rest of Baghra's bullshit from the next one too.

[coffeebeanwriting]

15 Writing Tips from Authors

1) “You take people, you put them on a journey, you give them peril, you find out who they really are.” - Joss Whedon

2) “First, find out what your hero wants, then just follow them.” - Ray Bradbury 

Coffee bean’s analysis: Letting your characters lead the story can result in an authentic, character-driven story, full of real conflicts and natural emotion.

3) “Turn up for work. Discipline allows creative freedom. No discipline equals no freedom.” - Jeanette Winterson

4) “Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.” - Isabel Allende 

Coffee bean’s analysis: In order to write or eventually share your story with the world, you have to sit down and do the work, even if your brain is empty. Once you show up, the creativity has a chance to spark.

5) “All bad writers are in love with the epic.” - Ernest Hemingway

6) "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." - Leonardo Da Vinci

Coffee bean’s analysis: Being able to turn a complex idea into simple words is harder than one might think— but can elevate your writing. Not everything needs to be epic or overly flowery.

7) “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.” - Anne Lamott

8) “I went for years not finishing anything. Because, of course, when you finish something you can be judged.” - Erica Jong

9) “Don’t write at first for anyone but yourself.” - T.S Eliot

Coffee bean’s analysis: Perfectionism will kill any chance you have at having fun and finishing your novel. Let go of that pressure of being perfect and do not worry about being judged. Write for you.

10) “Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.” -Henry Miller

Coffee bean’s analysis: Don’t overwhelm your schedule with trying to write a ton of projects at once. Focus your energy into one (or two) at a time.

11) "A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it." - Edgar Allen Poe

12) “Every sentence must do one of two things— reveal character or advance the action." - Kurt Vonnegut

Coffee bean’s analysis: Even if you’re writing a novel, this advice is brilliant. Whether it’s a sentence, paragraph or whole chapter... make sure they are meant to be in your story. Keep your scenes tidy and thematic, building towards something.

13) “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” - Anton Chekhov

Coffee bean’s analysis: When writing a novel, give your reader details so that they can picture the scene in their head. Don’t do too much telling (though it has it’s places).

14) “It is perfectly okay to write garbage— as long as you edit brilliantly.” - C.J Cherry

15) “If it sounds like writing … rewrite it.” - Elmore Leonard

Coffee bean’s analysis: Allow yourself to write messily and worry about editing later. Once in the editing phase, if your writing sounds stiff, rewrite it so that it sounds natural.

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting  

#writing tips and tricks #writing tips #writing advice #creative writing #writeblr #writing blog #how to write #writing help #writing fiction #writing prompts #fantasy writing #authortips #authoradvice #writingtips #writingmemes #writers blog #writingblog #authorsblog #howtowrite #writingtipsandtricks #writerscommunity #writers community #writinghelp #writingprompts #writertips #howtowriteascene #writingfiction #fictionwriting #fantasywriting #writing memes

[indieyuugure]

Rise of the Parallel!

1- A Cut Short Party: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 2- The Krang Be Back: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 3- Seeing Red: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 4- Corrupted Logic: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 5- Colliding Worlds: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 6- The Boiling Point: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 7- Eye of the Storm: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 8- Lurking in the Shadows: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 9- Bad News: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 10- Retribution: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

11- Hell on Earth: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 12- The Crystal Shards: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 13- The Promise: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 14- End Game: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 15- Owari: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Please enjoy! :]

你需要这个中文吗？在这里阅读故事！

Хотите эту историю на русском языке? Прочтите историю здесь!

Rise of the Parallel Specials:

Mikey and Ice Cream Kitty Short (Christmas)

Reeses off a Paraglider (April Fools Day)

Behind the Scenes Potty Mouth (Special Request)

Ad-Lib Bathroom Brake (Special Request)

The Typo Saboteur (Special Request)

Leo’s Villain Arc Edit (NOT MY WORK!!)

Get your hands on the first ever printed edition Rise of the Parallel by Indie Y. This two-volume set, with over 360 full color pages, includes all 15 chapters plus never-before-seen bonus content!

If you like what I’m doing, you can support me on Kofi!

#rise of the parallel #tmnt #2k12 #rottmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #fanfic #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #fan comic #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #fan fiction #graphic novel

[kararisa]

darling, starling ✧

pairing: scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: social media au, modern/celebrity au, friends to lovers, fake dating

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

side ships: venti x xiao; thoma x ayato

warnings: swearing, crack, slight angst (?), alcohol consumption, yn wears makeup sometimes, depictions of online hate; specific chapter warnings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter — will be updated as the series continues

status: ongoing

author's notes:

did some minor reworking so if you've seen this for the second time, you're not hallucinating dw

yes this is my second smau. yes I still don't know what I'm doing haha. timestamps don't matter unless I say they do

apologies in advance if i miss any grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language ^^

written chapters are marked with (★)

pre-concert party !!

0.1 - lost hearts • 0.2 - welcome back, shithead

profiles:

clown central™ ([name]'s friends)

the waffle house (scara's friends)

1st verse — for future reference || playlist

1 - is this real? • 2 - enjoying yourself: a guide

3 - bitchless since birth • 4 - attention

5 - unwritten rules (★) • 6 - we're doing couple things

7 - safe with my indifference • 8 - when's the wedding

9 - iridescence (★) • 10 - worst date ever

11 - then beg • 12 - a little bit scandalous (★)

13 - not too late • 14 - only here for you

15 - i can fight • 16 - wine-stained lips (★)

2nd verse — where words fail, music speaks || playlist

17 - it's so joever • 18 - famefucker

19 - i miss my parents • 20 - none of your business

21 - child of divorce • 22 - don't text and drive

23 - neon escape (★) • 24 - this can't be real

tba

3rd verse — hate to be lame || playlist

tba

encore !!

tba

— the taglist is currently open! if you’d like to be added feel free to reply or send in an ask! – if your blog isn’t highlighted it means i can’t tag you.

#genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin impact smau #scaramouche smau #genshin x reader #genshin x you #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff #genshin modern au #genshin celebrity au #genshin idol au #wanderer smau #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact scaramouche #darling starling smau #🏹 — navi

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 4 - the last train home

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: you are kidnapped by grindelwald and theseus is stranded alone, unaware, at a train station--he's left to believe that you do not love him and you are left in enemy custody with no one coming to save you. the world always had a way of finding out what you loved and taking it from you. but you always found a way to hold onto hope until your hands were bloody, and you always hoped you'd still make the last train home...

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: hurt-comfort. romance.

warnings: none

part one / part two / part three / part four

author's note: yeah i wrote another long chapter again sorryyyyy! also there are no sexy times in this one haha.. this is actually the last part of this fic! taking requests for other theseus fics after. hope you enjoy :)

November, King's Cross Station

"Don't come. Don't come," Theseus thinks. "Be safe and happy and do not come."

And then, with a selfish tug of panic, he relinquishes the hideous truth of his desire:

"Come. Please come."

Theseus is standing at Platform 9 3/4, craning his neck over the crowds of wizards in their mismatched regalia, some in whimsical velvet robes and long caps and others in London business suits. The existence of the magical world alongside this one always did seem to him an impractical, impossible thing. Clunky and disjointed parts clacking together.

Until, until...

You. Muggle girl, born and bred, but you were the best wizard he'd ever met. The whole world seemed to make sense, suddenly, with your introduction into his life, these two worlds, magical and unmagical, were contained within your very existence, perfectly.

For the first time in his life, the thought of you brings him pain.

"She'll come," he thinks again. Banish the pain. Banish all that isn't useful or good.

The train whistle blows, his wristwatch reads 7:14. There's hardly anyone on the platform anymore.

He knew, knew that you wanted him too. Loved him. He saw it in your beautiful, hopeful face every time he reached out and touched you, you were so willing to fall into his touch, to surrender yourself. Sweet angel in his bed, in his arms.

"Last call!" A train attendant leans out from the car up ahead to shout it. Misery snakes around his heart. It's an icy and menacing revelation, that you might not choose to be with him.

He has never asked much of you, was always afraid to as your boss and your friend. But in these last days he's realized he's underestimated you, critically. He was so afraid of scaring you off he hadn't recognized that you don't scare easy.

He glances at the train attendant's cinched expression and then around the platform again, with blind urgency, eyes darting to every face, hardly seeing the strangers at all.

"I didn't push her too far this time. She'll come. She'll come."

"Last call!" The train attendant calls again, irritably. She's doing him a favor by waiting at all.

When Theseus steps up into the train car he politely apologizes to her. He even smiles charitably. She returns it with a blush, but rolls her eyes, taking his ticket.

He settles down and pulls out his book to read. Orders a coffee. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

Theseus has always been a sensible man, a capable one. He'll tell Newt you didn't want him. He'll put his energy and efforts into the resistance against Grindelwald. He looks fine, and maybe one day he will be.

He knows, logically, that you will be too. But he cannot deny that part of him was left on that platform tonight, and he cannot deny that it might remain there for good.

----

January 

The woman lingers in the shop, her gaze flitting from shelf to shelf without much intention.

Theseus knows that he's ceased to be a novelty. Small as Hogsmeade was, he's been living there for a little over two months. The village's residents no longer looked to him or Newt, or Newt's "friends," with any curiosity or suspicion. If the woman is loitering around, it's because she wants to speak to him.

"Mrs. Beaumont," he inquires, trying to be as patient as he can, wiping his hands off on a rag before placing them flat on the counter. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh!" She seems relieved he's broached conversation, walking eagerly to the front counter that he's behind. "Mr. Scamander, I just wanted to say how very happy we are to have you and your brother here. Apart from the students, it always gives me hope, seeing young people and newcomers moving here."

He nods warmly, offers a closed-lip smile, but says nothing. He knows Mrs. Beaumont is one for long, chatty, pointless conversation. If he struck one up he'd never hear the end of it.

Theseus wants to close up for the evening. He wants to return to his living quarters at the inn. The potion shop was supposed to have closed ten minutes ago.

From Head Auror to humble assistant shopkeeper. If he thinks about that disparity too much he starts to go insane. Veritably insane. But he tries to rid himself of useless pride, something he'd been so occupied with before. Tries to remember what he's doing here, what's at stake. The position at the potion shop was just a cover. The evenings and long nights--that's when he, Dumbledore, and Newt did their real work.

Mrs. Beaumont shuffles out of the shop, made shy by her confession.

It's unseasonably warm for mid-January, the snow patchy, in wet-looking, thin sheets of ice spread over yellowing grass. Most days the sky is mercifully blue, bright and pale. But the sun still sets early, and it's a purple evening by the time Theseus locks up.

"Dammit," he curses softly. The key gets jammed in the lock sometimes. He's sure there's some way this could be made more efficient through magic.

The potion shop where he works is at the very edge of the village. The back window overlooks a white, roaring river that crumbles rockily down the hillside towards the Black Lake. Theseus starts his walk back towards the inn, back into town, unseeingly.

He knows the way so well by now that sometimes he just winds up in his room, with no memory of the walk at all.

Theseus looks forward to meeting up with his younger brother tonight.

Their relationship has improved, considerably, within the last two months. At nights when they have no other work to do and no Grindelwald-related assignments from Dumbledore, Theseus helps Newt on his book about magical beasts. Newt's notes were these soul-crushingly disorganized collections of writings and sketches, his findings all haphazardly piled together in a barely-bound journal. Theseus had been helping him turn his work into a more readable format, maybe something that could one day be published. Theseus had forgotten how much he enjoyed working with magical creatures in school, had forgotten that he was quite good at it too.

A loose paper currently adhering itself to his boot breaks him out of his reverie. It crunches when he tries to walk. He stops to kick it off, unsuccessfully. It looks quite old, half-torn and filthily brown, and a bit frozen as well. He leans down to pick it from his shoe with a grimace, lifting it up in curiosity.

WANTED.

The image of your face on the paper is enough to make him stop walking completely, stop breathing. At first he thinks he's hallucinating, he'd always known you'd come back to haunt him.

He's in an alleyway, one he doesn't take often, he doesn't know what compelled him to take this route today. He looks up in horror at the grey brick walls. They're plastered with the same, tattered poster of you, the one calling for your arrest, who knows how long they've been up.

WANTED: Have You Seen This Witch? Y/N Y/L/N.

Contact the Ministry of Magic immediately if you have any information concerning her whereabouts.

The posted reward money makes his stomach turn. But the sight of your face, that does something far worse to him.

The photo they used of you is from your first day at the Ministry. A cropped and zoomed-in image of you smiling, with eye-welling pride, in front of the huge wooden door to the Auror Office. In the image you move after smiling for the picture, you look around with an anxious, unsure sort of happiness. He draws his thumb over the dirty paper, the picture of your face.

This isn't possible. This can't be real.

He runs to the inn. His lungs are burning from the cold, dry air, but he doesn't stop. He pushes through the doors and Aberforth stands up from one of the tables by the bar, startled.

"What do you think you're-"

Theseus ignores him, breaking into the back room and falling to his knees before the fireplace. Wand shaking in his hand, he places a Floo Call to Thatcher Birchen. He's an Auror. More importantly, he was Theseus's friend from his Hufflepuff days. He wouldn't betray Theseus, not willingly.

When Thatcher's face materializes in the coals of the fireplace it looks unhappy to see him.

"Theseus, you shouldn't be calling me here. You didn't leave us on the best terms-"

"I know, I'm sorry. I wouldn't reach out if it wasn't an emergency."

"I'm not keen to talk to you regardless," Thatcher snaps. But he doesn't end the Floo Call.

Theseus realizes with a pang that Thatcher is scared. But Theseus doesn't understand why. He's diligently avoided all news press and talk about the Ministry these last two months, hoping to avoid you. No Ministry talk, no new editions of The Daily Prophet, just work with his hands. Moving a rag over the wooden counters at the potion shop, running the numbers and taking up accounting. Restocking boxes of ingredients.

This seems to him, now, to have been a great and careless mistake.

He thought you'd be running the Auror Office now, taking names, that Newt could reach out to you at a crucial, appropriate time.

"Did..." He has to ready himself to say your name aloud. "Thatcher, did something happen to Y/N? I saw a flyer today that said she's missing, that she is wanted under suspicion of espionage. Did something happen while she was working as an Auror?"

Theseus doesn't want to reveal too much. He's worried bringing you to the gala in Berlin and the Mausoleum in France that weekend in November might have already incriminated you.

"Theseus," Thatcher explains in a hushed tone. "Y/N Y/L/N never filled the post at all. I-I heard something about a potential offer the day you quit, but she disappeared that very night."

Theseus can hardly hear the rest of what Thatcher is saying, his whole body has gone numb.

"No one saw her in the weeks after her disappearance. It was assumed she'd taken up with Grindelwald. It had already been proven that she'd stolen some important documents from the Ministry Archives-"

"How?" Theseus's voice breaks on the word, miserably.

Thatcher sighs sympathetically.

"They found her wand and analyzed it. Found a spell that made copies of documents associated with the Ministry Archives. Hence the assumption, hence the wanted posters they put up a while ago..."

Theseus knows this could never be true. You and Grindelwald.

"What do you mean by 'found her wand''?" He asks with sudden, horrific clarity. You've been missing this whole time. Without a wand.

"That same night you resigned. They found it in front of Kings Cross Station."

The air is sapped from the room, Theseus unthinkingly flings some fresh coals onto the Floo Call with a limp palm, it collapses the shape of Thatcher's face and the call crumbles into nothing. He didn't say goodbye, he has to get some air.

He's so taken aback, reeling with nausea, that he has to brace himself against the wall with both hands. He keels over and dry heaves for a few seconds.

Two months you'd been missing.

And they'd found your wand at the station. You'd been coming, coming for him. This whole time he'd thought...

Newt bursts into the room, Aberforth is standing behind him looking uncertain, alert.

"Theseus! Aberforth told me--But... What's going on?!"

Theseus stands and closes the door so it's just the two of them. He's wearing the apathetic, half-conscious expression of a sleepwalker.

Newt takes a seat in the wooden chair.

"Newt... Grindelwald has her. He's had her this whole time. Since the day I quit the Ministry."

"I..." Newt's reaction doesn't satisfy Theseus. He looks troubled, but only vaguely.

"Newt," Theseus starts again with newfound frustration, passion. "While we were laying low, writing your book, restocking shelves, while we were brought up to the castle at Christmastime, Y/N has been in his custody! Tortured, starving, alone, I don't know. When I think about it, it kills me. I can't handle it-"

"We don't know if she's even alive, Theseus," Newt says this rationally, albeit unhappily. "Grindelwald doesn't keep prisoners unless they are valuable, important. She might be dead. When I heard she wasn't promoted to an Auror in November-"

"November?"

Cold rushes into Theseus's veins. There is no silence as deadly as the one that follows. He can feel his blood crystallize and crack, it’s too bodily a sensation to even call it shock. It’s betrayal. 

“You knew?” 

All those months collapse into nothing, they mean nothing to him.

For so long Newt kept his distance, felt misunderstood by Theseus and their mother for the path he chose in life. And yes, perhaps Theseus did misunderstand, did judge him for it, never took his career or his interest in magical beasts seriously. Maybe he was berating at times, suffocating with his good, brotherly intentions, and they’d drifted apart as adults. 

But these last eight weeks in Hogsmeade they’d mended that, delicately, bruisingly, as one mends small bones, with small intrusions and concessions. Quiet conversations, sessions where Theseus helped him turn his work into something resembling a book, living together for the first time since they were children. 

But that means nothing to Theseus now, nothing. 

Newt doesn’t meet his eyes, the shame too heavy to lift his head. He’s sitting, hunched over in his chair like it is mounted to the floor.

“No,” Newt breathes out. “No, Theseus. I knew she never became Head Auror. I knew it went to… to someone else, but I didn’t know she was missing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice is torn-sounding. More hurt than enraged. "You didn’t even suspect—you didn’t reach out once?! I don’t believe you.”

“I swear it to you—“

“You should’ve told me.”

“You told me she didn’t love you!” Newt looks up at last, eyes wild with the panic of a cornered animal. “That she didn’t choose you! I-I don’t know what we could’ve done for her even if we did know…” 

That there is a new wound, it blackens Theseus’s heart to hear it.

“I know Dumbledore knows where Grindelwald is. Christ, it was Y/N who stole those documents from the Ministry archives, those maps! We can go to her."

Newt just keeps shaking his head at the floor. It makes Theseus want to go up to him and shake him.

"If it were me, Newt, you would’ve come for me….”

“That’s different. We don’t do these sort of rescue missions, they’re too dangerous. Grindelwald, he—he’s untouchable.” 

“You make me ashamed. You have always, always been braver than me. I didn’t realize it before, when we were kids, but you have. You were never a coward, Newt. Don’t let this fight change you.”

“Theseus, if we try to rescue her we will lose everything. I cannot risk this, cannot risk them.”

No one else is in the room but Theseus knows who he means. Jacob. Tina. And the other ragtag insurgents who have found their way into Newt’s crew over the last two months, who have decided to set aside their lives to fight.

Newt is staring at him pleadingly. Theseus feels he doesn’t recognize him anymore, feels as if he is standing in the room all alone. The space between them stretches and stretches until Theseus speaks again.

“No,” Theseus’s throat is dry, his voice subdued. He shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t ask you to… I’ll go alone.”

“Theseus, please don’t—“

He turns and leaves, cutting the conversation short.

This has never been negotiable. He let you slip away from him once, asked you to, encouraged you to in his last letter.

He would not let you be lost again.

——— 

You almost miss being tortured. Well, no, that isn't true.

But anything seems preferable to this ever-expanding, engulfing nothingness. After that first week of torture and questioning in which you revealed nothing they wanted to hear (thankful that Newt had kept you in the dark), none of Grindelwald's followers entered your cell. They don't even feed you often enough to keep you alive, but it seems more like carelessness, derision for your muggleborn blood status, than like they are trying to kill you.

If it weren't for Queenie you would've starved to death.

The first time Queenie slipped into your cell to sneak you some bread you tried to kill her. Her reading your thoughts and reciting them aloud, frantically, as if they would save her or prove her allyship, actually did save her. She stunned you into a dumbfounded stupor. You'd never met someone with her abilities before.

She was a funny woman. A devoted follower of Grindelwald who revealed little and had an oversensitive disposition, but you soon grew to appreciate her clandestine visits. She was kind. Remarkably so. Not only for feeding you, but for sitting and talking to you at all. That was its own kindness.

You thought you knew loneliness before, but this...

You knew your mind was a hostile place, even before you were brought here. But being left alone with yourself was the worst torture Grindelwald could've thought up.

You distract yourself with your less injurious thoughts, and avoid thoughts of Theseus at all costs.

Those are so painful you dare not think his name. In your mind, a blotted, blacked-out figure remains in his stead, a hole you've torn out yourself. In those first days, you'd repeated his name out loud, like a mantra, and thought of him liberally and without pause, even while you were being tortured.

"Theseus. Theseus. Theseus. Come save me. Please, come find me."

What waste. No one was coming. All you had ahead of you was this nothingness.

Sometimes, lights move outside the slit in your wall--too pathetic of an opening to be called a window. You can’t even see out of it, it just lets in cold air. Those shadows and flashes of light are the only color in your world. Sometimes when you look down at yourself, even your hands look black and white, made sepia and sickly gray.  

The lights are sometimes orange, swooping lights, like arcs of fire being dropped overhead. Sometimes green, watery, glowing darkly like moonstone or bioluminescence. What you see aren't the spells themselves, but just the brilliance they cast into your room from the courtyard.

You don't know what Grindelwald is doing, what sort of spells are producing these bursting, sporadic hues.

You lie sideways on the floor and stare at them playing out against your wall, soft glowing spots sinking and rising.

They remind you of the magical lights, bobbing and hanging mid-air, that the Ministry decorated the Atrium ceiling with for the annual Christmas party. That was one year ago, though it feels like a past life, or a dream...

----

One Year Ago, December

You'd never heard the Atrium so full of people and life. It was usually bustling with conversation and noise, but this sort of noise, the happy noise of laughter and popping champagne bottles and high-spirited chatter, that was new.

You crossed your arms, glass in hand, watching contentedly from the sidelines. You never knew how to conduct yourself when Theseus was with Leta, you strangely felt as if you'd be caught doing something wrong. So you endeavored to avoid them both.

And besides, it had shocked you, the dull knife-turn of pain you felt watching him with her, talking to her in the corner at the beginning of the party.

You'd gone mute for the night, head swimming, gazing at the decorative lights floating overhead. All your thoughts felt buoyant, distant and hard to grasp, bobbing in and out. You knew you were spacing out, but you couldn't stop, maybe it was the mulled wine.

You had just turned down the promotion earlier that day.

"We're going to you directly to ask if you want it. We wanted to ask you first," the department head had said with great satisfaction, like he was delivering you a personal gift. "We know if it were up to Theseus he'd have you by his side 'till he retires!"

The last part was said with a half-joking laugh, but you'd tilted your head in confusion.

"Sorry, what?"

The man scoffed.

"He likes you very, very much, Y/N," the man said, like it was obvious. "He's made that explicitly clear to his colleagues who were hoping to share you as an assistant early on. It was his express wish that you work with him alone."

'He likes you very, very much.'

The idea of being liked, chosen by him... It was like a shooting star crashing over your head, light falling around you in bright shards, fatal, dazzling, undeserved.

You startled when you felt a hand on your forearm.

"Y/N," Theseus said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are."

He'd been looking for you. The thought made your heart soar, felt like being chosen all over again.

There was a wild merriment in his eyes. You couldn't tell if he was tipsy or just happy to see you.

"Here I am," you echoed in confirmation.

"Dance with me?" Before you could answer he cautiously pulled both of your hands, winding his fingers through yours and slowly guiding your arms in and out to the rhythm of the song.

You couldn't help but give into him, smile, laugh, you were never not going to say yes.

"Where's Leta?" You didn't want to ask, to ruin the moment, but it seemed right to.

Theseus shook his head and made a tutting, disappointed noise, twirling you around.

You dipped your head back and the lights whirled overhead, too radiant to be stars.

"She left. She doesn't like to dance. Doesn't like parties, actually."

As if afraid you were going to leave him, as if just to hear your laugh again, he spun you once more, more vigorously.

"Dance with me, Y/N," he bemoaned.

You laughed again and let yourself be spun and caught by his arms.

"Aren't I doing that now?"

"Good," he said resolutely, pleased. His smile was infectious. "Don't stop."

You felt like a girl again, weak in the limbs and susceptible to all sorts of hope, the dangerous kind. His hands in yours, the dazzled look in his eyes as they beheld you.. You regretted nothing.

"I won't leave until you tell me to, sir." You added in the honorific sarcastically, to keep the tone light, but the look on your face was terribly earnest. "I promise. You'll have to send me away."

----------

You don't remember falling asleep while looking at the lights on your wall. You didn't mean to think about the Christmas party, about him.

More often than not, more often than even the nightmares about rabid dogs and black water rising and the orphanage, you dream about the last train home. About the night your parents died.

Your family was poor. You did not hold this against them. You were too young to do anything but love your parents dearly, indiscriminately. You were barely seven years old, but you worked most days in the factories of East London and were happy to help, to not be burdensome like the hungry, needy children in story books.

That evening after work you'd been distracted, playing with a stray dog with some other children, and you missed the last train home. You resolved to sleep at the station, flat on the ground of the platform, and take the first train in the morning.

Your parents had gone out looking for you and were killed in a nondescript alleyway, found with their empty pockets turned-out. You dream about that night, that platform on the London Overground, you fear missing that train.

And, now, that is not the only missed train that haunts you.

Someone's here.

You wake, instantly. Your eyes open with a dispassionate immediacy.

There's no train. Fingers twitching, you instinctually reach for your wand for what must be the thousandth time, to protect yourself. Its absence feels full-circle almost.

You remember how you couldn't sleep your first year at Hogwarts, you'd stumble to class with tormented little dark circles under your eyes. You were too terrified to sleep, kept fearing you'd wake up and be back at the orphanage, that it would all be taken away from you if you didn't keep your eyes open.

Strangely, since you arrived in this cell, you haven't had any trouble sleeping at all. You sleep most of the day away curled up on the floor like a baby.

"Queenie," you mutter, sitting up falteringly. "Watching me sleep, are you?"

Queenie is standing with perfect posture in the corner of your cell, by the door, wringing her hands.

"I don't know how you sleep like that, on the floor..." She seems genuinely upset when you look up at her. “You must miss all your things. Your home. Your family… I’m so sorry this has happened to you.”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. I was born with nothing, nothing. This room it feels…” You glance around, as if seeing it through Queenie’s eyes, seeing it for the very first time.

Metal chair with a missing leg in the corner. Filthy blanket on the floor. It’s more barren than awful, anyone could’ve lived here. 

“It feels familiar to me," you admit.

Queenie says nothing, eyes wide. Since you met her here, she’s never seemed at ease, never seems to know what to say. For a moment the two of you just sit there in vacant silence, neither of you really present.

"You don't say his name anymore."

You don't even want to acknowledge the comment, you stare at the corner of the wall and hope what she's said will just go away if you don't.

"Theseus," she says explanatorily, as if you didn't understand her. The word is an affront from her mouth, worse than a slap, it makes your stomach twist. You feel exposed. "Do you...Do you feel betrayed by him? That he hasn't come..."

You close your eyes to gather your bearings.

"No," you say. "It would be very strange, almost a pleasure, if anyone in the world could betray me. Stab me in the back. I don't trust or know anyone well enough for that. I wish."

You're trying to sound self-deprecating, maybe even funny, but there's no energy behind it.

Queen looks at you sadly, sympathetically. Sometimes you forget about her ability to hear your thoughts. How futile it is to lie to her now. It embarrasses you, that you still care what she thinks. That you're still attempting to shirk off your pain for her sake.

“But Queenie,” you turn your head to her, defeat written all over your face. “Queenie, my God, what am I doing here?”

Your life is in tatters again and you don’t even know why. They tortured and questioned you when you first arrived, but you hadn't seen anyone but Queenie since.

“You’re a spy. You were working with the Scamanders,” she recites this as if reading off a rap sheet. It’s clear it’s what she’s been told, and is the flimsy, defensive logic she’s using to justify you being here.

“So why hasn’t he killed me already?” You can’t help how lifeless your voice sounds, almost bored.

Too much pain is a deadening, desensitizing thing. At some point, it ceases to be effective. Grindelwald’s followers have pushed you past that point. 

Queenie’s expression shutters closed.

She always seems so conflicted, whether she’s helping you or following Grindelwald’s orders, there’s some secret turmoil eating her up inside.

“Please,” you say.

“Grindelwald thinks you could play an important part in his plans, in the Spring. It’s… Do you know The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus?”

You know it from school. You think back to the Lestrange Mausoleum, to what Newt told you. 

“Prophecy 20? But Credence he can’t be-“

“No, Prophecy 21.” 

You stare at her, not following. 

When she speaks it’s as if her voice comes from behind her, not from her. The prophecy tumbles from her painted mouth and fills the desolate cell:

“Come bleeding springtime,

come new leaves, come bone:

A lone daughter destined,

Without bloodline or home,

To transform darkest skies,

With great power, unknown.” 

She looks at you meaningfully. 

You scoff.

“Kill me then. That I am living…. Your Grindelwald is a fool.”

Queenie bristles defensively. “No! H-He is a great man who-“

You wave her off, weakly.

“There are plenty of muggleborn witches without homes, Queenie. Just head to the orphanage Hogwarts plucked me from in North London and you’ll see. The prophecy is not about me. I’m nothing special. I’m nothing…” 

You know your fatigue isn’t natural. Despite Queenie’s best efforts, you are malnourished. Made simple-minded and irritable because of it. Frail.

You don’t hide your spell of faintness as well as you hoped to. Your eyelids are low, sedated.

Ever the mother hen, Queenie rushes to your side, kneeling.

“Let me sneak in more food, honey. Just give me a moment, I can-“

“Wand,” you say, your voice battered and forceless. It’s a strain to lift your eyes to meet Queenie’s then, to open them. But you make a point to.

Your voice is feeble, but your eyes are challenging, fierce.

“Queenie, if you really want to help me, get me a wand.” 

“Y-You’re too weak. Even if I could get one to you, it would be too difficult for you to escape, to fight them, there’s—“

Your laugh is so deranged sounding, so sharp and unhinged that it silences her, cuts through the empty room bright and blade-like.

“Queenie,” you sigh. “Why do all wizards talk like that? Magic is the easiest thing in the world. Besides, you haven’t seen me fight.” 

-----

No one expects it.

You've been so docile and half-alive after being tortured, the guard who brought your meal is so confused he doesn't fight back at all, merely tumbles backwards with astonished, wide eyes until you're able to knock him unconscious.

When Queenie brought you the wand earlier that day you'd tried in vain to convince her to come along with you. To escape and return to her sister, Tina.

She hadn't even said no, she just said, "I'm sorry."

Your legs wobble with every hurried, barefoot step. God, you don't know when the last time you walked was, nevertheless ran. It doesn't help that the castle is foreign to you. Queenie's succinct directions did little to capture the sheer, gargantuan size of the building.

Turn left. Down the staircase. Turn right. There's a locked door at the end of the hall. There might be guards on the other side.

You recite the instructions again and again, more to stay sane than to memorize them.

You round a corner too fast and are met with three men, dressed in dark tailored-suits. You unleash three spells, one for each, quick, tearing through them before they can even turn. You don't breathe, you don't miss.

You feel sorry for it, but you can't afford to be delicate or careful or merciful. Every second you're here is a moment Grindelwald could realize what's going on and come kill you in a heartbeat.

Hearing the ruckus, another man comes flying down the main hall, snarling.

"Avada Kedavr-"

You spot the exit and don't stick around, ducking your head and tumbling out into the courtyard, twisting your ankle but not missing a beat.

You keep running forward, stumbling, half-delirious, out towards the main iron gate.

You're shocked to find yourself at the summit of some snowy mountain. The world is blindingly white. The building you've come from is some stony fortress, more grand than you'd imagined from the bleak confines of your cell.

The air is arid, thin and dry with brutal cold. It burns to breathe in. Cuts like sandpaper in your throat.

You have to get past the gate to surpass Grindelwald's anti-apparition charm.

Almost there, I'm almost-

With a jolt you turn around. You can feel him looking at you, feel the strength of his gaze with the same recognition of a prey animal realizing they're being watched, hunted.

Grindelwald.

From the high tower window his face has gone serene with fury. Almost blank. The look in his eyes is beyond angry, it is rage in its purest, most distilled form, he hardly moves.

You tear your gaze away and lurch your body through the front gate.

You don't know where you are, you thought about apparating to London, but that's the first place they'd go to find you again.

Then you think of Hogsmeade, but it fell under the same anti-apparition wards that guarded Hogwarts.

"Nearby, then." You direct your magic, channel and funnel it all in the direction of the place before the image of it is even fully formed in your mind. "Feldcroft."

In a cutting, dizzying whoosh you are spelled away.

Feldcroft was an inconsequential village of wizardfolk, small, rural, not too far afield of Hogwarts. You'd spent one summer holiday there rather than go back to the orphanage, after your first year.

You'd helped a farmer work his land during the long summer days in return for meals and lodging. You were twelve and it was the hottest summer of your life, you hadn't known Scotland could be so hot, but anything was better than going back where you came from, terrified you'd never find your way back.

Before you've even landed you realize your folly. You were too weakened by the torture and starvation, and too far away.

You hit the ground bone-breakingly hard, but you hardly notice that dull, throbbing pain over the sharper, louder pain of being cut to slithers. Your skin twists and tears away from itself, from your muscles, in spirals and stripes. You couldn't fully stick the landing, it's an imperfect apparition, and this is the consequence.

You cry out, a crumpled heap on the frozen ground, limbs twisted and bloody.

With a rapidly blotting vision you strain your neck upwards.

"Did I make it? Am I safe?"

You don't even recognize Feldcroft. Winter had stripped all the fields and mountains of life. Summer, your childhood there, it's all long gone.

Some prophetic witch destined for greatness.

You see the blurred legs of a man approaching. When he leans down to look at your face, your limbs twitch in agonizing protest, but you're too injured to move.

"Y/N?" He says.

You inhale sharply, in pained horror.

"Y/N, I didn't recognize you."

You still can't see very well, but the liquid panic in your veins dissipates at the sound of his voice. You know him.

You hadn't recognized him at first, but it was the farmer, Mr. Howell, from what must've been a decade ago. The old man who had taken you in that summer when you were twelve. You remember him being old then, but he looks impossibly older now, ancient, really.

You don't know what to do with the recognition, with this information, but it doesn't matter because you are bleeding out and, within seconds, you feel a sweet and pain-sapping unconsciousness take you.

----

When you wake your consciousness is a flimsy, fragile thing, like trying to float a feather in air. Your vision is black and brown around the edges.

You're in a bed and Mr. Howell is putting a kettle on. You feel worse than you ever did in captivity of Grindelwald, closer to death.

"It still looks the same," you say, rasping. "I didn't recognize the village, but this house..."

A swell of weakness overtakes you again and your vision almost blacks out completely before returning in a soft vignette.

You can see the farmer, Mr. Howell, staring at you from across the room, at your starved body, your bloodless face.

"What happened to you?" It's so direct a question it's almost startling, almost rude. But it's said with such genuine remorse and concern that your heart softens.

"I..." He licks his lips before starting again. "When I told Minerva I'd agree to take you in that summer... Well, I thought your life was so sad. It was sad you had no one to go home to for the holiday. That your life had been so hard, she told me, about the abuse... But you were so young, such a skinny, hopeful thing. So talented. And good. I was sure it had to get better."

You smile at him, it pains you to do so. The old-you would've bristled, pride scorched, at anyone pitying you. But now you can only smile.

"I always thought the same too, sir."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he asks earnestly. "If you are, you're always welcome back at the farm. You know that."

Your heart seizes, your eyes well. You haven't spoken to him since that summer when you were twelve, that September when you thanked him hurriedly and spirited off with badly concealed eagerness to rejoin your friends at Hogwarts, without a glance behind.

"Thank you. It's more than I deserve, but thank you... And, yes. I'm afraid I am in trouble. I've just been a prisoner of Gellert Grindelwald. I'm sorry, I should be leaving, he could come after me."

The man looks taken aback, but ignores your words and asks instead: "Oh, Y/N, you look so unwell. Should I call for someone up at Hogwarts? The hospital wing is obviously reserved for students, but I'm sure-"

"I believe I am going to faint now, I apologize." The words come out of your mouth in an embarrassed rush. The dark edges close in and swallow you up, life itself extinguishes like a candle.

------

Theseus towers over the students at Hogwarts, he tries his best to push his way through the crowded halls without trampling them.

"Professor Dumbledore!" He calls out, giving up. Getting the man's attention must be easier than reaching him at this point.

Dumbledore looks up, startled, from across the sea of black-robed students. He's standing in the doorframe to his classroom.

Theseus imagines how he looks in Dumbledore's eyes--helpless, drowned. Maybe insane.

When Dumbledore waves him over he continues to gently push his way forward.

"I love her, I love her," he's thinking with a plummeting urgency, each internal admission of "I love her" bringing him closer to tears.

"She's not dead. If she was I'd know. I'd feel it. I'd feel her leaving me for good."

"Theseus," Dumbledore shoos the remaining students out and shuts the thick wooden door once Theseus enters. "What is this about?"

Theseus swallows hard and holds Dumbledore's gaze, trying to effuse authority.

"I need you to tell me where Gellert Grindelwald is. Right now."

Dumbledore opens his mouth in a stunted exhale, at a loss for words.

"Pardon?"

"Y/N has been taken prisoner."

"So, what, you're going to charge in there, alone, against Gellert Grindelwald and who knows how many of his supporters?"

Theseus tries not to waver, but the panic is beginning to set in. What if Dumbledore denies him?

"If I have to," he says, purposefully.

Dumbledore walks over to his desk and sits on it, stunned.

"Theseus," he says. "I've known you since you were a boy. I-I'm sorry, but I hardly recognize you. Have you no appeal to reason?"

"None at all, sir."

Dumbledore laughs, and the sound confuses Theseus, upsets him.

"You love her? God, you really do..."

Theseus is willing to destroy himself for it, for you.

"Help me. Tell me where to find her, or I'll find her on my own."

The heavy creaking sound of the door being pushed open causes Theseus to turn in agitation.

A woman in a nurse's uniform glides right past him and up to Dumbledore.

"Albus," she says in apparent distress. Theseus can't make out the rest.

After a moment of the woman's whispering, Dumbledore turns to Theseus, looking at him in sharp alarm.

"What is it?" Theseus says, unkindly. He doesn't care. He just wants to know where you are.

"Fate," answers Dumbledore. The line of his mouth is grave but his eyes are twinkling. "We've had a request from a farmer out in Feldcroft. He says a former student has apparated onto his land and is in dire need of medical care, and protection. That there could be followers of Grindelwald's coming after her shortly."

Theseus doesn't dare breathe. Doesn't let himself feel the acute bite of hope nipping at his heels, at his heart.

"He says her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

--------

"Wake up, Y/N."

There are hands on your shoulders. Someone is touching you. Someone is-

Your whole body jerks awake. Your limbs are lashing out, fighting, before your eyes are even open.

"Get off me! Don't fucking touch me! Don't-"

"Y/N! Y/N, it's Theseus," Dumbledore is shouting. "It's okay you're safe-"

"What's happened to her?!"

Even his name didn't stall you, but the sound of his voice, pure and surreal, reaches you through the din of panic roaring in your ears. You exhale.

Once you've stopped kicking and struggling, the room comes into vision.

There are four people surrounding your bed. You're in Mr. Howell's house, of course, of course you are...

There in front of you are Professor Dumbledore, an older woman in a Hogwarts nurse uniform, Mr. Howell, and, impossibly, Theseus Scamander.

Theseus is staring at you, wide-eyed, like he doesn't recognize you. A dot of blood marks his temple, you wonder if it was you who did that just now.

"What's happened to her?" He repeats, his voice cracks. "What--Who did this to her?"

"She's been tortured, Theseus. And starved, maybe worse," says Dumbledore in a clipped, hushed way. "Please, understand, and give her some time to-"

"You're real," your voice is so quiet, so full of wonder, but it captures his full attention.

Theseus is holding his breath in apprehension. You're still staring at him in horrific fascination.

"This isn't--This is real?"

Theseus comes forward and kneels beside the bed, reaches for your arm. You can hardly look at his face, it's so startlingly beautiful. Dark blue eyes. The curve of his lips. It's really him.

"Y/N." He retracts his hand when you flinch, involuntarily. "Y/N, I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, I'm not gonna hurt you..."

You remember that you secretly love when he talks to you like this, whispers like he would to an animal he's trying to soothe, or like he's trying not to wake you. He's speaking so delicately, but you can hear in his voice how his heart is crushed.

Everyone is staring down at you in the bed. You figure you've already been treated from the wet rag on your sweaty forehead and the way every second more and more sensation returns to your fingertips and toes. Your body itches and tingles with a crawling warmth that feels like fever where your flesh has begun to stitch itself back together--the nurse's work, no doubt.

With every breath you return more and more to yourself, the dulled sensations of the world come back in startling pinpricks of color and sound and vividness. The parts of your consciousness that make you you flood back into the frail animal of your body.

"Oh," you say, with a groan, pinching your eyes closed.

Theseus looks startled, turning from the nurse to you frantically.

"Y/N! Are you okay, what's-"

"Oh, Theseus!" You sigh at last, and he looks back to you, his brow still furrowed. You smile at him, not caring how wretched and sickly you look, you're just so happy to see him. "Theseus, you came! I love you, I love you, I love-"

He throws his arms around you, leaning over the bed.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop smiling.

He won't let go of you, so you don't realize he's crying until you feel his shoulders shaking, the gentle rocking of his frame.

"You're supposed to be the one who is good at being in control," you murmur fondly.

When he pulls away he's collected himself, sniffles once and then groans.

"Oh, God. For a second there I thought you didn't recognize me, that you were scared of me."

"Not of you," you shake your head. "Of...."

The reality of your situation settles like ash in your mouth.

"Albus," you say, turning to others. "We need to go now. I escaped as quickly as I could, but they could follow me here any second. Please."

Dumbledore nods, and then whispers something to the nurse.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. But I don't believe you'll be strong enough to stand. Not yet."

"I've got it," Theseus says cooly, before you can even respond.

"Too weak to stand," you want to snicker but can't summon the energy.

"I knew that was some bullshit prophecy," you mutter, lifting your arms to help Theseus, who is leaning by the bed to pick you up.

He stops. So does Dumbledore. They're both frowning.

"What?"

"Oh," you huff. "Grindelwald thinks Tycho Dodonus's twenty-first prophecy is about me. I'm supposed to be this great witch with the power to transform the world, didn't you know?"

There is a beat of shocked silence before Theseus begins to laugh, heartily so.

You scowl. "Why is that funny?!"

"It's not funny," He caresses your face affectionately with the back of his hand. "It's just that I knew it. I always knew you were destined for greatness. Of course there's a prophecy about you. Of course the world saw you coming..."

Your heart sputters dutifully, weakly. You're torn between leaning into the feeling of his hand on your face and turning away, protecting yourself from what you cannot have.

It still feels so ruined to you. You know he must be doing this out of pity. Out of guilt.

It had been more than two months since he asked you to come with him. Who knows what he's been doing, what he thought of you now...

Your eyes prick with tears at this realization.

You see him through the lens of the memory even as he stands before you. You remember shaking his hand on your first day at the Ministry, dancing with him under twirling lights at the Christmas party, his booming laugh, his gentle chuckle. The warm, growing feeling in your chest knowing you were the cause.

You remember laying naked with him in bed, his broad hands, the barely-there freckles at his temple, the light-colored hair trailing down from his navel, the way he held your legs up when he made love to you, when he was inside you, spreading them, always trying to get deeper, closer. It should be vulgar, the memory, but it doesn't feel that way to you. Every moment of it felt clean, bathed in light and goodness.

Your heart pounds heavily, pathetically. As he helps you up from the bed you have the sickening feeling that you are saying goodbye.

Your vision swoons, sways like an overhead light. Your legs tingle, half-numb.

"I-I can't stand," you whisper. In a swift motion Theseus scoops you into his arms, bridal style.

He has to hold you sideways and duck his head to get through the narrow doorframe, he's so tall. You're asleep again, this time safe in his arms, before you're out of the village, before you can even tell Mr. Howell thank you.

Goodbye! You think. Goodbye...

------

You’re on a train again and Theseus is holding you. You hardly feel the rumble of the train car on the tracks, hardly feel anything at all but his arms around you.

“Where are we going?” You don’t even care, it’s almost perfunctory that you ask. But some distant part of your brain tells you that it does matter where you are, where you’re going in the world. 

“London. You’re weak, we need to take you home.”

Home. You feel so little affection for your apartment that you’re barely able to make the connection.

“I don’t have a home.”

“We can go to mine. We can go anywhere you want.”

“I want to go…” You feel breathless, feeble. Delusional. “I want to pretend that we’re on a different train.”

“Hm?” Theseus strokes your shoulders, your back comfortingly. Since he met you, all he’s ever wanted to do was hug you, hold you. It’s as if he was meant to, how good it feels to be doing it now. 

It's a terrible thing, how badly he wants to kiss you. But he's willing to wait.

“Can we pretend that I made it on time?" you say. "That I made it to the platform, got on the train that day in November and we’re in it now… Pretend that you’re still asking me to love you and that I said yes.”

He turns to you then, you’re still slouched in his arms. You’re looking up at him so brokenly, there’s hardly any of you left. No sign of that headstrong girl who withheld herself from him so vigorously, who built up walls around herself so high no one could hurt her again. 

“Y/N…” The words have been stolen from him, his heart swiped from his chest at the sight of you, at the knowledge that any part of you believes that he might not want you anymore, might not feel the same.

“Y/N, will you love me?” His voice is a quiet, determined plea. “Will you say yes? I am asking you now. The offer still stands, it always will.”

It's Theseus, your handsome, wonderful Theseus, asking you this. He was the best man you knew, but, even if he wasn’t, you couldn't help but love him. It wasn't a choice for you anymore.

Your lip trembles, but you somehow manage to get the words out without whimpering, without collapsing into him outright.

“Yes,” you say. “Always.”

--

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

#fantastic beasts #fbawtft #theseus scamander x reader #theseus scamander #theseus x reader #theseus #hp fanfic #hp fic

[dianawinchester03]

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist by @dianawinchester03

In this rewrite of CW's hit TV Show 'Supernatural'.

Y/N L/N is a longtime friend of the notorious Winchester Brothers, coming from a long line of hunters herself. Growing up with them, their fathers had a goal of avenging their wives deaths. Currently on her own hunting, much to her own fathers demise, she gets a call from her childhood crush, Dean Winchester. Notifying her of his fathers disappearance, will she join the brothers on the hunt to find their father? And will she resolve her relationship with her own?

=====================================

Prologue - Enter Y/N L/N

Season 1, Episode 1 - Pilot

Season 1, Episode 2 - Wendigo

Season 1, Episode 3 - Dead in Water

Season 1, Episode 4 - Phantom Traveler

Season 1, Episode 5 - Bloody Mary

Season 1, Episode 6 - Skin

Season 1, Episode 7 - Hook Man

Season 1, Episode 8 - Bugs

Season 1, Episode 9 - Home

Season 1, Episode 10 - Asylum

Season 1, Episode 11 - Scarecrow

Season 1, Episode 12 - Faith

Season 1, Episode 13 - Route 666

Season 1, Episode 14 - Nightmare

Season 1, Episode 15 - The Benders

Season 1, Episode 16 - Shadow

Season 1, Episode 17 - Hell House

Season 1, Episode 18 - Something Wicked

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Also available on:

📖; ao3

📖; wattpad

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Authors Note: I finally learnt how to do a Masterlist! Hallelujah now life will be easier for you guys. Hope you check out my book and enjoy🫶I’ll update the list after each chapter release

Xoxo

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #supernatural #dean and sam #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #sam and dean #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fandom #supernatural tv show #supernatural fanfiction #masterlist #dean winchester masterlist #supernatural masterlist #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #dean winchester x female!reader #series rewrite #rewrite

[retellingthehobbit]

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 15: Unattached First chapter / Previous / Next Read full comic on: Webtoon/A03 

Other blogs : Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

Thank you for reading! The next chapter of this comic adaptation of The Hobbit will be titled (drumroll)....The Song of the Lonely Mountain!

Check under the cut for notes on the callbacks to previous chapters of this comic, and to Tolkien stories like the Unfinished Tales! —-

—-

One of my guiding ideas for this comic is that the story is being written/drawn by Bilbo Baggins, an  “unreliable narrator,” who has a biased way of recounting events. As the comic goes on, parts of the story get retold through new perspectives (or through the eyes of other characters), and you realize the initial version you read was incomplete. 

A lot of you probably noticed that this chapter features a ton of callbacks to the earliest chapters of this comic! We saw child Bilbo and Gandalf's friendship told from Bilbo's POV in Chapter 3.....but in this chapter we see it retold from Gandalf's POV. However, Belladonna Took is our biggest instance of that!   Not to overexplain my own writing, but Chapter 1 is an older Bilbo painting an idealized happily-ever-after fairytale picture of Belladonna, while Chapter 15 features a younger Bilbo telling a far less optimistic version of her life.  While there's truth to both of them, neither of them is the full truth.

In the Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo tells Frodo that ‘books need to have good endings,' like endings where everyone "lives happily ever after." If I were to continue this comic to the end of the novel, Bilbo’s habit of “rewriting things to be happier" would become a whole Thing. 

Second: Much of this chapter is taken directly from “The Unfinished Tales: The Quest For Erebor.” That story was Tolkien’s attempt to unite the tone of The Hobbit with LOTR, by having Gandalf explain what The Hobbit looked like from *his* perspective. The gay line about Bilbo feeling incapable of settling down into a Traditional Marriage with a Wife And Kids is taken almost directly from the Unfinished Tales. So are all the lines where Gandalf reflects on what Bilbo was like as a child, and the moment where Bilbo reflects that all of his desire for adventure has dwindled to a private dream.

Third: Obviously, the other big influence on this chapter (outside the original novel) was a similar scene in the PJ film. The little bit where Gandalf reveals the lore behind Bullroarer took monologue is the only dialogue I’ve directly lifted from that scene. ;3

Fourth: some of you may have caught that I used a quote describing Frodo’s wanderlust in the Fellowship of the Ring to describe Bilbo. The bit describing "the maps that only show white spaces beyond their borders" is also why I emphasized Bilbo’s canonical nerdiness around  maps in earlier chapters (chapter 5 especially, but also in Chapter 6, Chapter 7, and a blink-and-you-miss-it moment in chapter 14.) 

Fifth: one of my favorite things in the original book are all the scenes where Gandalf does fun Whimsical things with smoke/smoke rings. In the book he usually makes them change color or race around; in my comic he usually makes them turn into butterflies (he also does this in chapters 3 and 11.) you may have noticed that Butterfly Symbolism is a big thing in this comic.  But yeah, in another callback: Gandalf finally had time to blow smoke-rings with Bilbo, which he said he 'had no time for' in Chapter 2!

Thanks again for reading! I tentatively plan for the next chapter to arrive on November 13th.

#the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbit #chapter 15 #bilbo baggins #belladonna took #gandalf the grey #YEEEEEEEEEEEET #anyways #thanks again for reading!!! #long post

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW Masterlist

Synopsis: You thought you would be spending the rest of your life tending to the hotel your family ran. While you knew it was common to see bandits come and go in your town, you felt safe in your home. At least safe enough with a weapon at your disposal. However you were no match for eight men who were known to most as outlaws around the plains. What kind of adventures did they go on?

Pairing: ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Genre: Cowboy/Wild West AU, Fluff, Angst, Smut?, Humor, Romance

Warnings: So I have decided to write smut chapters. However it’s just one per member. So like eight in total. Maybe some things here and there. With that being said. I will not have a taglist on those chapters for fear of having minors tagged. My books are mostly for a general audience because smut isn’t my main writing. However with the very small number of chapters I will probably do, it’s best to not tag anyone. I understand some of you have ages but I don’t want to struggle with picking out each adult blog. Thank you for understanding.

A/N: I infused some of the ATEEZ lore into the story if you guys wanted to know! I’m excited to reach those parts and explain how they tie in to the story. Bouncy is also infused here too!

City of Cromer Arc

(1) -- (2) -- (3) -- (4) -- (5)

(6) -- (7) -- (8) -- (9) -- (10)

(11) -- (12) -- (13) -- (14) -- (15)

(16) -- (17) -- (18) -- (19) -- (20)

(21) -- (22) -- (23) -- (24) -- (25)

(26) -- (27) -- (28) -- (29) -- (30)

(31) -- (32) -- (33) -- (34) -- (35)

(36) -- (37) -- (38) -- (39) -- (40)

(41) -- (42) -- (43) -- (44) -- (45)

(46) -- (47) -- (48) -- (49)

The Cult of Z Arc

(50) -- (51) -- (52) -- (53) -- (54)

Taglist has close! It is currently full, thank you to everyone following along.

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez #yeosang #wooyoung #atiny #choi san #ateez fic #ateez hongjoong #mingi x reader #ateez mingi #seonghwa #hongjoong #jongho #song mingi #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #jung wooyoung #ateez san #ateez yeosang #kpop fanfic #yeosang x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #choi san x reader #jongho x reader #ateez smut