#anyway enjoy the novella

[yloiseconeillants]

24. How did they fall for eachother? (Quad of Cope >:))

so i cannot answer for the rest of the quad but like - good god this got long sorry -

Louhi enters the War of the Magi plot after losing Tursas, the Nymian Marine she was partnered with in most senses of the word, to the rising waters of the incoming flood. Rather than return to Nym, she makes it to the mainland - and to Mhach! where she runs into Balor, a black mage who is the embodiment of every piece of anti-Mhach propaganda she's heard in Nym (and actually full of demons) but like, he's in Trouble and healer instincts override wartime politics and she patches him up and they decide to travel together - away from Mhach, and toward Amdapor - where it is rumored that the White Mages may have a cure for the mysterious illness sweeping through Nym.

Balor has only really dealt with members of the cult he was raised in and he's has only ever really been friendly with voidsent, so there's a whole thing about the two of them learning how to act around each other - and the one thing that both of them understand is a vow (though levels of reciprocity remain nebulous). Balor promises to protect Louhi and Louhi promises to protect Balor. It's not something she really thinks he's going to commit to until he actually rips someone (heh) to shreds when they threaten her.

This like. rearranges her brain I think. I don't think she ever thought anyone would do something that violent for her again, in like, the way that Tursas had vowed to protect her as part of the holy bond of SCH/WAR, and she's still Very Much lost in her grief over that, and maaaaaybe starts conflating Balor and Tursas in her mind - which, I think, he recognizes and leans into because he thinks it will help her? A couple of Romance Tropes Later (like! idk! untangling underbrush from his horns? Maybe they cuddle for warmth in a cave!! maybe he ends up needing to take his shirt off so she can attend to a cut in his side and ends up blushing through the treatment when she's never done that previously idk!!) and they do end up being intimate, but Louhi is starting to recognize with growing horror that she's like. Ignoring her duty to Nym AND sort of washing her relationship with Balor with her feelings about Tursas, which isn't fair to Balor or Tursas' memory in her mind.

GOD BUT LISTEN the thing is that so much of that thinking is her just deliberately trying to distance herself from like, the Actual Feelings she's developing while traveling - not for the vow to protect each other or the ghosts of Tursas she sees in him, but for like. Balor. Being Balor. A joy.

ANYWAY - at some point, Balor shows back up to their camp with ANOTHER injured man in tow: Leanashe. Leanashe has some malady (he's a vampire, Leanashe is a void-aspected vampire) and Balor begs Louhi to treat him - of course she agrees and Leanashe reluctantly begins traveling with them as well (he knows of an Amdapori cult leader who may be able to help Louhi cure the Green Death). Both Louhi and Balor agree that the best thing for Leanashe is for them to volunteer their blood (Because These Are Our Barbies and We Say So) so that he doesn't have to attack any Unwilling Victims.

So like, between Balor and Leanashe and Louhi things are getting very bloody lmao. They are doing their utmost to Ignore Their Problems and the Upcoming Apocalypse and the fact that both Balor and Leanashe are living on borrowed time (ueueueue) - Leanashe is cynical and Balor is earnest and Louhi is indulgent - at least, that's. how they're dealing with their individual issues. How they are, uh, Coping.

Ah, but I am getting away from the question of how did Louhi fall for Leanashe - it takes a great deal more time and effort, I think. They're sleeping with each other long before feelings get involved. I think with Leanashe it's more that as time passes and the circumstances get more desperate, they realize (through the power of friendship!!!) that their methods of coping and ignoring the truth isn't helping anyone - least of all each other. There's a certain type of love that comes with being vulnerable with someone. They are both processing loss and being kind and honest to each other in ways that they couldn't have been without the uh. upcoming doom. Also, most importantly. They are having the worst fun.

And ANATU. Beloved Anatu. Anatu joins their party before they reach the Amdapori cult, and she's just. So passionate and full of life, trying to prove herself and her theories and like, I don't know how anyone wouldn't instantly fall in love with a field scientist explaining that she's trying to stabilize the aether in the forest while the world is falling apart. Louhi absolutely does - they collaborate on the aether healing, she eases Anatu into the quad, she would keep her safe through the apocalypse and whatever else comes their way. It is Kismet.

anyway they are all bonded in this life and every other and they give me hives

[see-arcane]

Blood of My Blood: The Law's Delay

Shout out to @ibrithir-was-here for putting up with my never-ending goal of overfilling the glorious Blood of My Blood AU with my ramblings and extra shout out to @everchangingfungusthoughts and @animate-mush for tripping me down the slope of Writing Another Text Brick. Specifically via this whole thing.

Summary: Jonathan Harker, now fifteen years deep into his life at Castle Dracula, finds himself the unwilling guest of yet another frightful host and his company. Talk and violence and time tick by.

The sun sinks low.

The dead travel fast.

And a vital Lesson is taught regarding the Law of the land.

Warnings for graphic violence, suicide, and murder.

Jonathan’s head ached.

Partly from the agonized spot at the back of his skull where the cudgel had struck. Mostly from the state of his current company.

They were nomads, he knew, but not Dracula’s men. This lot were too fresh for that. In fact, some wore tailoring that the locals weren’t accustomed to apart from tourists and the occasional city dweller passing through. He wouldn’t bet money on how many were ‘donated’ from past victims and how many were afforded through helping themselves to said victims’ purses and personal cheques. They were a dapper group, whichever the case.

From what he picked up while feigning unconsciousness, there was someone missing from their assembly. Someone’s…paramour? Wife? A young woman close to the presumed leader. Some grousing about superstitious idiots. Counter-grousing about precaution and history and how somebody’s cousin’s friend was slaughtered by the ‘superstitions.’ A third sect was grumbling about how thin Jonathan’s pockets were for a supposed noble, monster or not.

“A half-full purse and a few strips of dried pork don’t particularly line up with your theory, Jacob.”

“Props, idiot. Would some common huntsman be wearing what he wears? Would he have these?”

Jonathan heard the heavy jingle of his set of the castle’s keys. They had taken the ring of them from its chain among a handful of other lightweight treasures. All that and his wedding ring. That would cost them.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Because all the revenants who run a swatch of the Carpathians’ government are surely wandering around with frightful things like jerky and house keys.”

“Are you blind? Do these look like house keys? Half of them look older than the mountains!”

“Well, perhaps that is the ‘prop’ of his property, eh? A fancy set of keys made to look old. They certainly haven’t any rust. It wouldn’t be a terrible gimmick these days. Everyone is a fiend for the local bogeyman or a good haunting. I would do tours with my own castle, dribble a little red sauce on my lip, charge a fee for the thrill and the courtesy of not killing anyone on the way out.”

“You talk like it’s a joke. This, when I was raised in these godforsaken crags, and my own neighbor lost their newborn and its mother in the same night! The father blew his brains out when he found what was left of them in the forest. His forest.” The words were hissed in Jonathan’s direction. “God! If we had known how easy it was to take him by daylight!”

There was a snort. The leader’s voice. Sour.

“You say ‘we’ like you weren’t still in nappies, Jake. Like the castle in question isn’t a fortress on a cliff in the dead center of the mountains, all covered with wolves and your frightful bloodsuckers. What would Mama and Papa do if they knew better back then? March all the way up with the neighborhood and hope they made it in time before sunset? That’s assuming the advised tools of the trade actually mean anything against the bastard in question. If he’s as old as legends claim, throwing himself through a hundred wars’ meat grinders with his head and heart and all his other giblets getting minced, with him still standing after it, who’s to say an axe and stake are enough?”

A kick was delivered to the chair Jonathan sat bound to.

“Assuming this piece of work is said bastard.” Spoken with equal parts resignation and frustration. “I’ll grant he looked a bit off in broad daylight. Sure as hell would pass for a cadaver. But if this is the man who had your slovenly little villages soiling themselves after dark, I’m not impressed.”

Snickers from most of the room. A few grimmer sounds from the believers.

“If you don’t believe us, then—,”

“I believe in precaution, Jake. There are strange things in the world. If we want to believe that talking pile of dust, Vordenberg, who I’ll admit was a museum exhibit in his own right, we had us a near miss back in Gratz. So, fine. We finish this in the fashion of the locals. We can even set the pieces on fire if it makes you happy. Not the point. The point is—,”

A hand caught in Jonathan’s hair and wrenched his bowed head up, making the back of his skull throb anew.

“—we know Katrina was seen with you last, you ghoul.”

Jonathan opened his eyes. It had a noticeably sobering effect on much of the room. His host even eased his hold enough to stop trying to rip Jonathan’s hair out. A glance was spared for the assembled party. Easier now that he wasn’t doing it through his lashes. They really were a well-dressed bunch. One of them even wore the silver watch taken from Jonathan’s pocket quite well, though it clashed somewhat with the dagger he was fiddling with. He’d sprung for a handle with a gold hilt.

“Well?” He received a last yank before the man flung his head against the back of the chair. “Where is she?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name. Could you describe her?”

“Oh, I doubt if she would give her real one out to anyone. But we know you know her, Count.”

Jonathan felt the headache blossoming into a migraine.

“Count?”

“Dracula,” the one called Jacob grated out. He stood close to the table with his hand near the aforementioned tools of the trade. A wood axe. A sharpened garden stake and a sledgehammer. Matches. But he, like the rest of his friends, was content to leave his other hand resting on the pistol at his hip. “Don’t think you can throw your word games around here, you leech. You are not boyar here. You are not even a monster by daylight. Just a man—,”

“A man I am talking to, Jake,” from the leader. He turned back to Jonathan. “You see we have some bias in the retinue. Now, Jake and his cadre believe you are, in fact, the same awful old man who likely played out his Báthory fantasies by killing off a few local rustics for kicks once upon a time. Same white hair, same carcass complexion, and some properly unhealthy-looking windows of the soul. As an aside, you have the same body heat as a slab from the butcher. If you had a chance of living beyond today, I might have recommended you see a doctor about your circulation.

“Because I, like the bulk of the room, am of the belief that you are Count Dracula in the sense that the original Count and some Countess loved each other very much and managed to squat your malformed self out into the world before croaking. And, before departing, father dearest passed on the family tradition of idly killing off whoever was convenient as a little hobby. Am I near enough?”

Jonathan said nothing. Chiefly because he was fighting a wave of nausea, but also because it allowed him to keep his gaze steady. The westward window was visible over his host’s shoulder.

“I asked you a question.”

“I will answer if you tell me how you possibly concluded that a middle-aged man walking in the woods was a nobleman.”

To his surprise, the man revealed his evidence: the tarnished gold clasp of a dragon sitting against a garnet setting. This would also cost them.

“Hard to imagine the average hiker idling around in that corner of the wilds with this particular emblem on his coat.”

“That’s true,” Jonathan nodded. “I am not a hiker or a hunter any more than I’m a count. I am only the castle’s retainer.”

“Ah, well. That’s different. We are men of the people, sir, and we take pride in doing our fellow servile class the courtesy of a quick death. It’s only the aristos and nouveau riche who get the extra effort. Them and bleached out old bastards who go around taking what’s ours. What’s mine.” Jonathan watched the man slide a handsome pearl-handled blade from his pocket. It had a very fine edge. “Case in point, a certain young lady, of the flaxen and doe-eyed variety, being spotted in town with an older man of very unique description, not two days ago. Who she left with in his goddamn caleche.”

The blade came down in a gleaming arc. It sank cleanly into Jonathan’s left shoulder. Jonathan screamed at this and at the blade being flicked out. The steel was wiped clean on his sleeve.

“It should go without saying,” the leader said over Jonathan’s noise, steadily dwindling into hard breaths behind his teeth, “that the locals have a few choice theories about just who and what the man driving those horses is. Human? Dead? Dracula or one of his cohorts? Anyone who’d know for certain is either underground or a living antique themselves. Oh. But they did point out you seemed polite enough, according to most. Not someone anyone is eager to shake hands with, but fair. If you are the old devil of before, the younger generation are relieved you’ve gone mellow with the new century. Well done on the new leaf.”

“They were lying,” Jacob intoned, the picture of exasperation. “We all used to lie about him! He had eyes and ears everywhere! You didn’t mention him aloud unless you wanted to wake up to your child missing or you yourself being drunk dry or taken apart! I’m telling you, Katrina is already gone or worse!” His hand clutched eagerly at the whittled garden stake. “Let us be done with this, Anthony.” 

Anthony gave his blade another cleaning swipe. He opened his mouth—

“The stake is wrong.”

—and closed it. He and the others peered down at Jonathan as he righted himself against the chair. The migraine was marching in circles around his head now, lighting fireworks and banging pans. At least his shoulder was a small distraction.

“Say again?”

“The stake. You haven’t finished the end of it. If you don’t burn the point down, harden it, the wood will just splinter if you don’t get it in one blow. One of you took the flint lighter from my coat, yes? Use that and save yourself the matches.”

The room looked owlishly at him. Jacob and his small band especially. Awkwardly, one of the latter fished out the stolen lighter and began cooking the point with its steady flame.

“See that? He’s already feeling accommodating.” Anthony clapped his palm with heavy chumminess against the wounded shoulder. Jonathan winced appropriately, stealing another squinting glance at the window. “Care to keep in this giving mood, or would you like me to even things out?” The blade pointed airily at Jonathan’s right shoulder.

“No need. I said before, I do not know anyone named Katrina. But I did give a ride to a young woman two days ago. Not ‘flaxen,’ though. Her hair was red.”

Anthony abruptly straightened. The blade twisted and fidgeted in his fingers.

“Red,” under Anthony’s breath. His brow furrowed. “She took the wig too?” There was a low murmur from the less vampirically-invested portion of the group, of that specific tone that declares ‘I told you so’ by vowels alone. Anthony whirled on these members like a viper. Several mouths snapped shut. “Did you lot have something you wished to share? Hmm? I’m all ears.”

Interest increased in the state of each other’s shoes, the floor, the lovely view of the mountains, and the progress of the stake. It was now neatly blackened and free of loose slivers. Jacob stood by with it, toying with it as Anthony had his knife. He kept trying and failing to meet Jonathan’s gaze.

“Ah,” Anthony grinned mirthlessly, “that’s what I thought you said.” The blade flashed. “Now, Count, Retainer, Whoever or Whatever, while you are being forthcoming, is she alive or dead? I confess I might be just as happy with one or the other at this point, so no need to fret over a lie.”

“She was alive the last time I saw her. I dropped her off outside Bistritz,” Jonathan said, clearly recalling turning the horses toward Bukovina. He winced again as Anthony laid a hand on the bleeding shoulder, driving his thumb against the wound as he leaned.

“And? How did the bitch pay for her ride? Did you introduce her to necrophilia or did she just throw my money at you?”

“Neither. I am a married man and you can tell I had no bank vault in my pockets. In any case, I must assume whatever she took from you was fair recompense.” Jonathan felt a shift come through him. The old cold tilt that made him lean three-quarters of the way out of humanity and into something else. Whatever it was that lit his eyes and froze the air around him. That made the entire room shift an unconscious inch back. “Considering the state of her face.”

Anthony’s own countenance squirmed between aggravation, anger, and a surreal flash of embarrassment. As if leaving the girl’s face mottled with patches in shades of plum and charcoal was the equivalent of friends overhearing a marital spat in the next room. The man’s lip curled, making the well-trimmed whiskers twitch.

“Do forgive me if my decorum isn’t up to your standards, sir. I tend to get a touch irate when the thankless sow I’ve been bedding not only comes within inches of blowing our cover over some brat who went and poked his head out at the wrong time, but has the gall to try and resign after a few threadbare months. As if I didn’t scrape the little strumpet out of the gutter with my own hands.” A storm roiled in the man’s face. “Had a whole life of gold ahead of her, getting to play out her idiot actress dreams, and she thanks us by taking off with three hotels’ worth of work. Over a goddamn toddler. But that is the way with women, isn’t it? Always falling apart over a babe.”

“Men as well, in my experience,” Jonathan hummed. His line of sight drifted back to Jacob, whose attention was now firmly split between Jonathan and the view from the west window. Even halfway through spring, the sunsets did still tend to rush in the mountains. Shadows were already starting to stretch.

“Personal experience?” Anthony asked with an appraising glance that saw value in the negatives with Jonathan’s mien. “Is there a little Dracula pup crawling around nursing on the countryside?”

“Oh, no. He’s grown out of crawling. Apart from roaming along the castle walls, when he wants to surprise me. There’s no getting away with it with his mother.” Jonathan swallowed a bitter lump, knowing it had to be heard aloud, “Or his father.” Jacob was looking at him now. This time Jonathan held his eyes as they grew an increment wider. A slight dew of sweat had formed on the young man’s brow. “I only know where they are half the time. But they can always find me.”

Anthony barked an acidic note that tried to be a laugh.

“Is this the part where you tell us you’ll be missed? That there’s some cavalry who will come seeking vengeance? Please spare yourself the storytelling. If you were anything other than a relic living off a skeleton staff you wouldn’t be driving your own horses or puttering around by your lonesome. Really, what we’re doing here is a public good. What’s the loss of one more parasite riding into the twilight of peerage’s relevance?”

“Regrettably, he has thought ahead on that,” Jonathan admitted. “The gold he’s already sitting on is kept partly for emergency seed money, but mostly as a memento. He’s been on top of the capitalistic pulse since 1652 going by the oldest records. Given another decade, I believe he’ll be a magnate in a dozen industries from here to the United Kingdom.” A genuine moue puckered his face. “He calls it investing in the live-stock. No, I didn’t think it was funny either.”

This he addressed to Jacob.

Jacob, who had to set the stake down because his hand was shaking.

Jacob, who had been keeping watch of him and the window and seen how blandly Jonathan greeted the approaching dusk.

Jacob, who had finally taken a closer look at what Jonathan wore under his coat. His coat, worn because he was always cold—a chill that he truly felt. Covering an ensemble of boots, long sleeves, and a high collar. In mid-April. 

“…You still have time,” Jonathan told him gently. “If you had your childhood here, you know there’s time. You still wear your crucifix, yes?” Jacob flicked his gaze up to Jonathan’s. His whole face seemed to shine with perspiration. He did not know what was wrong yet, what piece was missing, but he scented something. “Do you? Any of you?”

Jacob nodded jerkily. The men behind him did likewise. Some fidgeted at their shirts.

“That’s good. It sickens them, did you know? Stings them away from the throat.” Jonathan smiled for him. A sad curl. “Hold it out before you if you like.” He tipped up his chin. Just above the shirt collar was a glimpse of sickish color against the maggot-white skin. Something worse than a bruise. “You can check. Or ask one of your friends. But it does help to know for certain. To have it confirmed.” The smile grew worse in its apology. “There have been no vampire attacks in Transylvania for the past fifteen years. The youngest around here take it all as local legends. Parents’ and grandparents’ fairy tales. Because they grew up without knowing what you do. Without realizing why people stopped disappearing after dark when Count Dracula still rules here. When there are still sharp mouths to feed up in his mountains.”

Jacob gawped openly now. He looked strangely like the boy he might have been fifteen years ago, hearing his neighbors whisper and moan about the latest loss in the night. Fifteen years ago, when a foolish young Englishman had come to Castle Dracula, and everyone had known. No one had seen him again…supposing one belonged to a family who had moved away at last, daring their monstrous master’s ire to save their son.

“Oh, for God’s sake, what is this? Are we playing theatre now?” Anthony and his handful of fellow eye-rollers looked between Jonathan and Jacob as if expecting to spot some invisible party holding up script cards for them. “Jake, if you want to play at slaying the vampire, you are welcome to it. Get your stick and your hammer and have at it. Erik, take the axe.” He waved his blade like an impatient conductor with his baton. “Well?”

Jacob moved forward without the stake. His crucifix was held out as far as the cord would allow.

Then he hooked Jonathan’s shirt collar and pulled it open.

Jonathan hadn’t been able to get a good look at the full state of himself in some while. Occasionally he might steal a glance in a mirror for sale or a clean shop window in town. There was rarely anything good to see as far as his development went. Age was not weathering him the way it would an ordinary man. What should have become the easy creasing of crow’s feet and smile lines had given way to something sunken and grey. More than a few children had come to nickname him ‘Herr Geist’ when he passed through. On one occasion, he’d been approached by an American claiming to be a talent scout for a circus who thought Jonathan could easily bill as, The Walking Corpse.

But that was all just the effect of his face. He hadn’t seen his throat or a clear view of his shoulders in years; the real estate with the greatest number of visits for fifteen years. It had to be at least twice as unpleasant a sight as his forearms, pocked by only one hungry mouth’s nursing. To judge by the shudder of revulsion that jolted the entire room back on its heels, his neck was apparently quite the visual.

To judge by Jacob’s expression, the discolored map of ruined skin and old punctures was his own obituary in all capitals. Nor was it a very peaceful end it spelled out. His eyes rolled up to Jonathan’s like wet marbles. Jonathan could no longer maintain his smile, however somber. There was only condolence in the look.

“I told you. I am Castle Dracula’s retainer. At least, in the sense of a retaining wall. I have played the role of its inhabitants’ personal bloodletting pantry for a quarter of a century. Which would be cause enough to worry. But I am also a married man and that is worse.”

Jacob wobbled on his feet like a sapling in a high breeze. He almost fell over with a cry when the first thunderclap boomed over the cabin’s roof. A horrified look shot to the westward window. Sunset was less than a jagged slit across the mountaintops, already erased in the smear of a rushing storm. Lightning drew livid eyes in the clouds.

“I am sorry. You might have had a chance if you hadn’t been cautious,” Jonathan went on. “There would have been a coin toss if you had simply shot me dead in the forest. I fear I am testing everyone’s patience in that household by keeping to my contract against turning until the twenty-year mark. Special occasion and all that. But if you had gone with a bullet or a slit throat, that would mean that I would be undead by sundown. You would still be slain for trespassing on private property,” he gestured to himself as best he could with his bound hands, “but it would have been tidier. They might even be grateful for ripping off the plaster and booting me over the threshold. A mere snapped neck apiece.  

“Unfortunately, I saw your tools of the trade. I heard your plans for ‘destroying the vampire,’ or the madman playing pretend as such. Heart staked, head removed, burn the body. All very thorough. But because I saw and heard these things, they saw and heard these things. Just as they know your faces now.”

Thunder snarled again. An explosive sound joined with a noon-bright flicker of lightning. Wolves sang a violent song. Close.

Jacob’s friends within the gang were talking in frantic tones to each other. The rationalists of Anthony’s side of the room seemed a touch less comfortable where they stood, grasping at their holsters. Anthony himself looked as if he was waiting to wake from a particularly confusing dream.

Jacob’s eyes were running. Pleading. A man only five short years past being a boy.

Jonathan still could not hold a smile for him, but he spoke in the tone he had for Quincey the time he’d came across a bat with a half-broken neck in the forest. Wings smashed, head cracked open, it had been alive in the worst way. Quincey had been thirteen then, considering himself practically a skip away from adulthood. He had still gone to his Papa, eyes dewy with blood trying not to spill, asking please…please…

Jonathan thought back to how his son had hidden in his coat sleeve while he ended the creature’s pain with a brisk twist.

It was quick, you see? It won’t hurt anymore now, shh, it’s alright, son.

“It’s alright,” he said in the present. “You still have time.” Not much. A few minutes at most. But still, “You’ll be safe from it. From all of it.”

Jacob nodded with a twitch. A puppet on a caught string. His hand trembled as it held up the crucifix again.

“…May I keep this? After?” Jonathan nodded. “Thank you.”

Jacob kissed the Cross and tucked it under his shirt.

“Jake, I swear to God, if you don’t drop this act, I will—,”

Bang.

The sound was almost lost in another thunderclap. Not so for the sound of Jacob’s corpse hitting the floor, the new tunnel in his head oozing a scarlet pond out from under his skull. There was a moment of quiet.

Then the wolves bayed again.

The men bayed too. Curses and questions of equal inanity whirled around the room.

Bang.

The sound of Anthony’s own pistol firing a hole through the ceiling.

“Shut. Up. Every one of you, bite your idiot tongues.” The barrel swung to point at Jonathan’s temple. “He says he has people on the way? He says they’re vampires or werewolves or the Four Horsemen a-riding? Then it would perhaps behoove us to think rather than squeal like women over this,” his shoe struck Jacob’s corpse, “fool’s choice of exit. Coward.” He snapped his fingers at the room. “Come on! Block the windows, set up arms! Move!”

And so they moved. Some men scrambled and shouldered into each other trying to cover the windows. Chairs were broken into pieces for stakes. Guns were unpacked and loaded. Erik held the axe as if his hands were welded to it. Anthony, meanwhile, took one of the unbroken chairs for himself and perched at Jonathan’s side. Something between supreme irritation and a baffled sort of wonder shaped his face.

“I do have to give you credit if this is all improvisation on your part. You should have been booked at the Grand Guignol instead of rotting up here.”

Jonathan watched Erik begin to pace, gripping the axe as though it doubled for a shield.

“That or one of those hypnotist acts. Jake was always a nervous one. An easy mark, ironically enough.”

Jonathan’s peripheral caught on Erik’s figure as he came to a stop by the door. There was no peephole to spy through, yet he inclined his head toward it. His ear was cocked as if listening for something under the thunder and wolves.

“But supposing this amounts to something more than an act, I admit I’m curious to see what these things are supposed to be like outside the pulp on the bookshelves or clogging up the stage. Everyone has their opinion on them these days.”

Erik first frowned, then nodded at the bolted door. The anxious creases of his face began to smooth. A smile tugged his lips up as the axe lowered.

“Are they the same kind of horror show as you?”

“Usually quite the opposite,” Jonathan allowed. “But that is by choice. They make some rather impressive exceptions when the occasion calls for it.”

Erik set the axe down. His freed hands moved the wooden bolt aside and reached for the key on its hook. This didn’t go unnoticed. The nearest man, one of Jacob’s friends, jolted toward him.

“Erik, what the hell are you doing?”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Erik spoke over him in a dreaming lilt. “The girl outside. Lovely voice.” He turned the key in the lock. “She and her brother got lost in the storm.” He turned the knob. “Wouldn’t be right to leave them out th—,”

Bang.

Erik dropped like a felled tree. Jacob’s friend whirled on the rest of the room, his gun and free hand up. He had his crucifix worn outside his shirt now.

“I had to! You know I had to! Jacob and old Vordenberg laid it out, didn’t they? You invite the things in and it’s all over!” He pointed at the door with the new stain on its timber. “One of them is out there right now, trying to worm into our heads, so we’ll let it over the threshold.”

As every eye nailed itself to the man and the door and the second corpse within five minutes, no one paid attention to the fireplace. They had not lit it, having opted solely for lamps. Chimney smoke would give away their location to anyone happening by the area.

Only Jonathan stared at the open stone mouth of the hearth. Watching what crawled out. Watching it watch him.

Anthony swatted Jonathan in his bad shoulder. He looked up and realized he’d been asked a question.

“Pardon?”

“Is he. Telling. The truth. Or did Erik lose his brains over nothing?”

“A vampire cannot cross the threshold of someone’s home without invitation. I think, at a stretch, you could call this temporary base of yours ‘home.’ Strict definition is tricky for travelers. But if you declare this place yours—,”

“We do,” insisted half the room in unison.

“We do,” Anthony echoed, somewhat dryly. “Our lovely domicile, this. And we are strictly against welcoming any visitors tonight.”

“Understandable. But there’s still the trouble of this afternoon. It’s hard to be more insistent about an invitation than resorting to abduction.”

“And? What of it?”

The fireplace continued to purge its contents out and out and out. Cooling the room like a thin and steady gust. Heads finally began to turn as gooseflesh spread and the sight became unignorable: A thick mist had been pouring into the room since Erik’s brains splattered on the door.

“You thought I was Count Dracula. Whether I was him or not, he was the man you wanted here.” Jonathan looked Anthony in the eye. He was not surprised at what he found there as it squirmed and sweated. “I’m afraid you invited him in two hours ago.”

The lamps guttered. One snuffed. Then its neighbor. A third, a fourth. Voices raised in tandem with the weapons.

“Light them!” came the universal cry. “Turn them back up, come on!”

But the room blackened and blackened until it came down to one canny fellow who’d dived for a lantern. The same man who’d pocketed the flint lighter. He lit the lantern and set it shakily on the table, its glow seemingly safer than the lamps’. The lighter was almost as bright in his hand, making a spotlight for himself in the ruddy gloom.

“What? What is it?”

Every head was turned to face him. Every eye wide enough to show its whites, like the stares of startled horses. The man opened his mouth to utter a third query—and stopped.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold. Far colder than the man he’d taken the lighter from. Its fingers ended in claws.

Above his head, the firelight caught on what might charitably be called a grin. It was, in fact, the default state of Count Dracula’s jaw in this shape. A medley of the wolf and the bat and the nightmares that are born when children’s imaginations first start to sketch the things that will eat them in the dark.

Jonathan wished he could have closed his eyes for all that followed. He did try. But there was an implicit order sunk into his mind that demanded he watch. Had this been a decade ago, this may have been for the sake of an object lesson.

This is what I can do. This is what I would have done to your little hunting party at the right hour, with your guard down for an instant. This is what I will do to any sheltering cattle you try to run away to with wife and child. Watch, my friend. Watch.

But that was practically a lifetime past. They were coming up on a mere five years until the wait was over and his free will and the final fig leaf of humanity was forfeit. Which suggested that he was a captive audience solely for the fact that an audience was desired. There was some artistry to it all, in a medieval sense. Some of the acts performed with the makeshift stakes and the barrels of guns and certain repurposed bones reminded Jonathan of old woodcuts left out for him to see once upon a time, back in that first summer alone with the castle’s Master.  

By the time one of the men died choking on his own severed arm, the rest of the lot stopped shooting and herded themselves to the door, desperate. To their relief, there was no vampire at the threshold. They fled.

A heartbeat passed before the screaming began anew. Gunfire mingled with it. The screaming dwindled down and down, the choir thinning to a single shriek that ended on a terrible sound. Wet and crunching. Wolves were heard soon after.

Anthony had not moved from his position behind Jonathan’s chair. He’d resumed his grip on his hair, this time holding his blade just below the Adam’s apple.

“If you don’t have a head,” Anthony panted at the Count, now busy picking gristle from the spades of his nails, “you can’t be undead. The plays make a lot of fuss about staking the heart, but this?” He tugged Jonathan’s head back another inch and pressed the blade’s edge until the skin broke. “I figure it’s a fair bit more vital. I am a practiced man at my profession and quick when I need to be. You want him in one piece instead of two, you leak yourself out the door, call off your pets, and I’ll send him on his way come sunrise.” Though he couldn’t see him, Jonathan was certain the man was trying to smile. “If you’re amenable, perhaps we can even get a silver lining out of this whole thing.”

Dracula sucked a piece of sinew out of his thumbnail.

“I am accustomed to getting my hands dirty. While I’ve been in the habit of leading assorted hapless dregs around, I can easily see myself following someone worth respect. Your friend here indicated he’s on the edge of retirement anyway, and I imagine you could do with someone to step into the role. Or add to the ranks.”

Dracula busied himself with scanning the floor. He plucked up the silver watch still chained to a torso that was twisted like a wrung washcloth. A scowl was spared upon retrieving the key ring from a puddle of a head. Then the pouch containing Jonathan’s allowance. He deposited each bit of treasure found on the table. The last thing he discovered was Jonathan’s wedding ring. He seemed to ponder flicking it aside, but saw Jonathan watching. The ring was dropped in the pile the way one might discard a clump of dirt.

“Well?” from Anthony. “Do you talk or not?”

“I do,” from the Count. “Though not usually to vermin. Especially ones who raid my pantry.”

“Honest mistake on our part. I hadn’t realized you were the one-in-a-thousand legend that isn’t just the fumes of an invented ghost story.”

“I see.” Dracula bent and retrieved the stake that had its point burned. It left the holster of a man’s sternum with a damp sound. “And this too was a mistake?”

“Just trying to placate the skittish sorts in the party. You saw how Jake was.”

“I did.” The Count tapped the stake’s point against his chin, pondering. “In fact, I think I recall a face like his. A sailor I met once. He took to the sea, having no bullet in reach.” He leveled the stake at Anthony’s head. “You called him a coward for this, yes?”

“Am I wrong?”

“There is a fine line between cowardice and wisdom,” Dracula shrugged. “It moves more than you would think. Little Jacob was wise tonight, if sadly mistaken in his target. He was not the first of his type. Likely not the last. The same goes for you, vermin. You, who squeak and chitter about preying upon the predator, and then try to sell yourself to the cat.” Though much of his face had reset to a human shape, the Count’s teeth remained a bristling forest of white needles when he grinned. “I have had this land in my jaws for half a millennium. I have not gone a single century without your like slinking underfoot, thinking to kiss my cape and offer a tithe of others’ throats to win my favor. My power.”

“Way of the world, isn’t it? Strong bows to stronger. What makes this cadaver,” another jerk on Jonathan’s hair, another throb in his skull, “so special? Better resumé? Seasoned arteries?”

“A number of things.” Another shrug, a twirl of the stake like a toy. “He does so hate to hear it anymore. It has been so long since any kind of praise heartened him and age has made him shy. But he cannot shush me, so I can say he does far more than bleed, be it himself or his victims of old. He certainly has a more impressive history than robbing and gutting tourists for a living, and so is far more attuned to the Law of this land than any other. Not the yapping dogs of mortal authorities. Not your jailor or judge or bureaucrat. Not even those of the sciences, such as they are.”

Thunder cracked and lightning danced. The Count’s eyes burned brighter than the lantern.

“He knows that I am Law in these mountains. That my will, my word, and my want order all that is here. He knows that there is no escaping consequence for trespassing upon what is mine. But.” The Count clapped the stake into his open palm with the joviality of a cruel teacher with his yardstick. “Beyond all this, he is something which guarantees his value over yours or any other’s. He warned you himself.” The jagged grin turned almost saccharine. “He is a married man. And you have kept him out far too late for his spouses’ liking.”  

Anthony shifted behind the chair. The grip on Jonathan’s hair shuddered a moment as if suddenly repulsed to be touching it.

“God. Even the monsters are in on that depravity up here?”

“Depravity is a pastime of mine. But I am not so low as to debase myself by touching filth like yours.” So saying, the Count raised both hands in mock surrender. “I shall not waste my time or teeth on you.”

“Fine. Fine, you say that and I can believe you. Once you’re out the door.”  

The door, still open.

The door, which Anthony had not dared to look at for fear of taking eyes off the Count.

The door, full of mist.

“Ah, but I cannot go yet. There is a show I have been so looking forward to. You mentioned the Grand Guignol. Such a promising establishment! I plan to see it in person some night. But for now, we must content ourselves with your meager scene.”

Anthony opened his mouth to ask something. Say something. Maybe he was just drawing breath. Whatever the reason, his mouth froze in a voiceless O of epiphany.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold.

It distracted him from the other, decorated with its simple gold band, locking around the man’s forearm; the one responsible for holding the blade.

Snap.

Anthony’s mouth dropped open wider, belting a screech that left Jonathan’s ears ringing. Then the man was torn away from the back of the chair and all the noise of him was pinned and shrilling on the floor. Laced over the ensuing sounds of his dismantling, both vocal and visceral, was a voice that threaded through the mind more than the ear:

He cut you. Twice he cut you.

“I’ll be fine, Mina.” Said because there was concern in the statement. There was. But, more pertinently, there was the accusation. The condemnation. The citing of the crime.

He cut you. He meant to kill you. He meant to unmake you out of reach forever.

Anthony made a new and piercing noise. The kind just an octave short of a dog whistle. Jonathan winced.

“And he failed to. It’s alright, Darling.”

“Hardly,” from the Count, now turning Anthony’s abandoned seat around to face the slaughter. “You are too soft as always, my friend. Even when it comes to a rightful culling. Or do you think they deserved to live after their crimes?”

“I think this was excessive.” Jonathan withheld a sigh as Dracula hooked the back of his chair, hoisting and turning it so that his back was no longer to Mina’s work. She seemed to have an innate understanding of what could be taken apart and to what degree, the better to leave Anthony still clinging miserably to a thread of life. “And I also think I’m ready to have these off.”

He flexed his hands and feet as far as they could go against the ropes.

“Have what off?” Dracula asked as he swiped a finger into the shoulder wound. A child stealing cake icing. He clicked his tongue. “This would happen just after a feeding. All this guilt-free cuisine and your knights-errant are too full to enjoy the banquet. A pity. Have you eaten?”

“If I had my hands free, I could get my—,” Jonathan pursed his lips as Dracula brandished a bouquet of the retrieved dried pork. Deciding against waiting for the mesmer to prod him into it, he opened his mouth a crack. Bit. Chewed.

“Do you suppose the Grand Guignol has concessions? Any actual blood used in place of the stage swill?”

Jonathan swallowed. A nauseous feat, considering the piece Mina removed from Anthony in the same moment. 

“I doubt any director is so dedicated, Sir.” Anthony was growing quieter now. There wasn’t enough air in him. Jonathan could tell by the glimpse of lung through his ribs. “Does Quincey know about this?”

No. It was blocked from him. He believes we are out on business.

Crunch. Twist. Rip.

Anthony went silent and still at last. Dracula afforded this a light round of applause.

“Not wholly a lie, you will grant. Though I suspect the boy thinks it was code for a more,” the Count made a face caught between glee and disdain, “intimate excursion. Which should be an easy enough ward against any prying you fear from him. You may have made a sickening romantic of the boy, but there is never a child alive or undead who wishes to know what his parents get up to out of his sight.” The Count craned his head, squinting at what was left of Anthony. “Did you come across it?”

That depends. Where’s mine?

Mina stood with the dragon clasp in one red hand and her other held out and open. Dracula idled a moment or three longer than was necessary before the stolen wedding band was produced. Clasp and ring were thrown rather than exchanged. Jonathan had each reattached to him. Though the Count spared a curse in three different languages at finding the coat not only mangled at the shoulder, but torn where the clasp had been ripped away.

“As if they could not understand the mechanics of a brooch? You should have pinned this in his eye.”

You should have fed him the stake. Look at this.

Mina touched the nick on Jonathan’s throat.

I know you count my wound as a blessing, but I would think you’d not risk losing his voice.

“I had to stall while you cleared up the leftovers outside. I may as well have left you with the boy.”

And lost your show and your diversion.

“You—,”

“I cannot feel my feet anymore,” Jonathan announced. “And I would like to stitch and plaster myself before we head out. Whatever Quincey may think we’re up to, it will be easier to lie without me looking like I just left,” he gestured as best he could at the room, “this.”

A minor miracle came and went as there was no suggestion made that they simply lay a new bite apiece over the wounds. The ropes were cut, what was filched was returned to its owner, give or take a little scavenging of their own. Jacob and the others were left with their tokens of the Son. Outside, the wolves went on enjoying the meal Mina had left for them. Up until a titanic thunderbolt struck the cabin and sent them scrambling. The building went up like a great bonfire.

“I know, my friend, you were clearly looking forward to digging more graves. But you must admit my method is quicker and far more thorough in erasing evidence.” The nettling cadence waned. “I suggest you avoid wandering away from the castle for some time. Considering your state.”

Not while dressed in this, at the very least. It’s clear this insignia draws as much ire as it deters.

“A fluke,” the Count huffed. “Such degenerates as those are rare. The chattel know better. Besides, the folly was in drawing attention by playing Good Samaritan to the wrong victim and her maudlin pleading. Something else to keep in mind.” Jonathan tried and failed to keep his head down as the hook landed in his mind and turned his eyes up. Dead blue against burning red. “At least for as long you insist on holding to your last few years as…this.”

Jonathan bit into his last strip of the dried pork. Loudly.

“Five years. That’s all.”

“Four and a half.”

“Four and a half I mean to savor. In-between being waylaid.” The careful placidity fractured as his free hand drifted up to the back of his skull. Still aching. “I think I shall finish off the Golden Mediasch tonight.” His hand was plucked away by Mina’s own, her chilled fingers seeking out the tender place under his hair. Her fingertips felt the scabbing patch.

I should have skinned him.

“You are welcome to stroll through the fire and do so,” the Count hummed. But his smile stopped short of his eyes and his own hand swept Mina’s away to thumb at the ache. “The Mediasch is barely more than fruit juice. You will want something stronger.”

Jonathan didn’t argue. Nor did he protest when the horses of his ex-hosts were commandeered for the return to the castle. Quincey thrilled at the sight of them almost as if they had arrived riding wolves. Was this the business they went on? Tunet and Pretekár were quite new—and solid obsidian as the horses before had been—but it was good to see them gain more company. And they’d picked piebald this time!

“They’re beautiful. Do they have names yet?”

“Thought we’d leave that to you,” Jonathan managed lightly enough. Or nearly so. Quincey frowned at him, nose pricking at the smell of dried blood.

“Papa, are you alright? You—,” his eyes landed on the coat, “—what happened?”

 “Just a quick lesson from our new friends about minding their moods. I was tossed and landed in a less than opportune pile of rocks.”

Quincey scowled at that and scrutinized the stallions.

“Which one? I’m not riding him. Or petting him, even.” He considered. “At least for a month.”

“Seems a cruelty too far. I suppose I just won’t reveal the guilty party.”

“And what if I get on the wrong horse and I get tossed and land on a rock somewhere? What then?”

“Then you will get back up and be perfectly alright. Or am I misremembering the night you fell asleep on the side of the north turret and fell through half a tree on your way down?”

“Yes, well. They were fairly soft branches.” Quincey fought and lost the attempt to keep his smile up. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“The horses weren’t the actual business, were they? You could have gotten them yourself.”

“That’s true. The horses were only picked up afterward. Quite a bargain, not counting the lumps.”

“Then what happened?”

Jonathan looked at his son. His Sweetheart, though the boy had finally started to bud into that stage that visits all adolescents, demanding a shedding of childhood names. There was a dusting of stubble barely fringing his jaw and his mother’s own whorls outgrowing the edges of his last haircut. But the eyes were still a child’s. Bright and molten as the sun at dusk.

“…There was some trouble two days ago. I aided a girl trying to leave behind some people who hurt others. Who hurt her. They had some less than scrupulous plans for the future and had already bypassed local authorities to get where they were by the time I crossed them. So I reached out for some assistance.” And, because he felt the air prickling with observation, “Your Father was very keen to educate them on the difference between the laws of other lands versus the Law of his land. And your Mum has always been of a rescuer’s bent as a rule. So.”

“So Mum and Father caught them? Together?” The sunset eyes gleamed at the prospect.  

“They did,” Jonathan nodded.

“Were they bandits?”

“Of a sort. But they won’t hurt anyone now.” Jonathan watched from the corner of his eye how the boy, so near to a young man, glowed over the notion of being a son to heroes.

He got to the tower before he felt his eyes begin to sting as sharply as his head.

[grimdarkfandango]

was the special kind of tired-distracted this morning (thinking about blorbos, 7:30am) that I put my coffee in the french press, poured in the water, popped on the lid, and then immediately plunged and poured it. didn't notice until I had already cleaned out the press and was standing in the kitchen going 'wait a minute'.

needless to say my thirty second brew was weak as shit, thankfully the only thing I had on this morning was watching surprisingly investing werewolf casefic cdrama with friends

morale of the story: make coffee before your coffee so you can make your coffee right (or maybe stop rotating blorbos for a hot second and remember what you're doing, but that's less likely)

[bipidin]

Desperately want my friends to read Murderbot, but also afraid they would not love Murderbot

[fingertipsmp3]

This book I’m reading is so good I’m genuinely mad that I put off reading it

[mieczyhale]

thank you @ alice oseman for including the "explanations for american readers" at the end of the nick & charlie novella. truly a god-send bc it covers a few things / phrases i've been lost on and haven't found a simple answer for anywhere else

like no, i didn't need to know these school terms to understand or enjoy heartstopper, but i wanted to know and understand them and now i do

little joys

[senselessalchemist]

writing my goddamn fic be like and it's still not done

(disclaimer this may not be long for some people but it is for me)

[terpia]

I check Katherine Addison's twitter every now and then to see if there are any news about the Witness of the Dead 3. No news yet, but I did find out that a new Kyle Booth novella (main character from The Bone Key novel she published as Sarah Monette) has just been published, which is pretty amazing news to start what I have reason to believe will be a pretty shitty day.

[libraryleopard]

Adult Regency M/F romance novella

When down-on-his luck architect Simon is hired by an old flame to attend a garden party and design a folly, he asks Maggie, the hostess of a gambling den, to pose as his mistress for the weekend to keep his former lover off his back–but real sparks begin to fly between Simon and Maggie, complicating things

Explores class and Jewish identity in Regency England

Sephardic Jewish main character; bi main character; gay side character

[mabith]

I was copying over book reviews from LibraryThing for previous years into a text document and I've slipped so far from where I was with global reading. In June of 2018, in the first half of that year I'd already read authors from 34 unique countries and June of 2019 it was 46 (my goal used to be 50 per year). This year it's 11. Must do better.

[lesbian-disaster-academic]

i have to translate a book by friday and i’ve barely started i’m going to CRY

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[megalony]

Danger Zone

This is a new Buddie imagine I had an idea for, I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Buddie Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: When Captain Gerrard takes charge of the 118, he targets each of the team. Specifically (Y/n), because she's pregnant. And his actions put her at risk.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tossing the clipboard down on the gurney, (Y/n) twisted on her heels and unlocked the medicine cabinet in the corner of the ambulance near the emergency door. Her fingertips grazed along each glass bottle, counting each one in every row and checking the labels to make sure they were in date.

Once they were all accounted for, she ticked them off on the check sheet and turned around.

That was the ambulance restocked and ready to go again. Not that it needed checking and restocking today after Evan had already done it yesterday, but (Y/n) needed to keep busy.

She had been told to 'make herself useful' and she knew what that meant. If Gerrard caught her doing nothing, even if she was just taking a break, he would have her for it. And (Y/n) couldn't be dealing with his fluctuating temper. She would rather appease him and keep him at bay than give him any reason to single her out.

"Diaz, you've shrunk."

A jolt ran through (Y/n)'s chest and her heart shuddered like a bird in a cage. She pinned the clipboard against her stomach and took a deep breath, glaring down at Hen who was leant up against the back door with her arms folded over her chest and a smirk playing on her lips.

"Pardon?" She raised a brow and looked down at Hen, waiting for the punchline of her joke.

For a dreaded moment when she heard her voice, (Y/n) thought it was Gerrard come to antagonise her for something.

"Your shirt says Diaz." Her shoulder slumped against the door a little more so she could cross one leg over the other while she pointed at the shirt (Y/n) was wearing. Not all of their uniforms had their names on the back, but some of them did. And right now, (Y/n) was wearing a shirt that said Diaz on the back, and that wasn't her name. Not yet, anyway.

"My stuff doesn't fit me anymore." (Y/n) tilted her head down, trying to hide the smile that was desperate to spread across her lips. She couldn't afford to be smiling and looking cheesy in case their Captain happened to pass by.

She set the clipboard down on the gurney and moved her hand to indicate her stomach. Not a lot of her clothing fit now she had a baby bump in the way.

The first few months had been fine, (Y/n) only had to disclose the pregnancy to Bobby- while he had been in charge of the station. No one else knew until she started to hang back on the larger calls and Bobby started giving her different orders like telling her to hang back at the truck or go and assist as a medic. Then when her stomach started to go round, it was an easy giveaway.

Being four and then five months pregnant was okay, (Y/n) had still managed to fit into her work clothes no problem. But now, being just over six months, (Y/n) couldn't stretch her shirts anymore without ripping them. They wouldn't go over her bump or tuck into her trousers anymore, and she'd had to go up a size or two in trousers so the buttons actually did up.

It was a change that both Eddie and Evan loved, but one that made (Y/n) self-conscious around their new Captain.

Gerrard liked to single (Y/n) out. He made jibes because she was pregnant, he tried to test her and see how far he could push her on the job.

All of them thought he would treat (Y/n) the way he treat Chimney when he first joined the station. They thought he would confine her to the station and change her job role to cleaner, she had been prepared to be stuck inside, mopping the floors, cleaning out the trucks and restocking the cupboards.

No one had expected him to keep (Y/n) on all of their callouts. He barely played things by the book, he got her on every call out and got her handling equipment and the truck or the ambulance. Gerrard kept things just on the line of the rules so he couldn't be reprimanded, he pushed (Y/n) as far as he could because he knew she wouldn't back down.

(Y/n) couldn't say no and have him call her weak or tell her she should be on maternity leave if she 'wasn't going to do any work around here'.

"No kidding," Hen muttered with a smile that made (Y/n) feel at ease.

She grabbed the door and carefully climbed down so she could follow Hen across the station floor, unsure where they were actually going. There hadn't been a callout in almost two hours, which left everyone pondering around, wondering what they were supposed to do with themselves.

(Y/n) had started to feel useless at the station while Bobby was in charge because he didn't let her assist on a lot of calls, for safety. But now with Gerrard here, (Y/n) felt like she was at her wits end, she was wearing herself thin and it was draining the patience both Evan and Eddie had.

Both men could see the toll the job was taking on (Y/n) and they were starting to worry about her.

"So, how's you and the little guy doing?" Hen aimed towards the stairs and when she pointed to the kitchen, (Y/n) nodded. It was almost lunchtime and there was nothing else for them to be doing. While they had the time, they may as well see if they could get something to eat with the team before the bell sounded and they were all off again.

(Y/n) moved her hand down to her stomach, rubbing circles over her shirt as she smiled softly. "We're good, I think he's asleep right now. We've got another scan next week."

"Hm, I think Buck may have mentioned that once or twice." Hen bit back a laugh when (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

Evan told everyone whenever they were going for a scan. He and Eddie both tried to be there for all of (Y/n)'s appointments if they could and of course, he told people when they were going for one. He was always telling Maddie first though because she loved to see and have a copy of the scan photos.

He took pleasure in telling his parents just to see the way his mother looked drastically ill at the thought of her first grandchild having three parents rather than the conventional mum and dad.

Eddie's parents were still taking time to adjust to Eddie's relationship, but they couldn't be as cold or uncaring as they first felt because they both had a soft spot for Evan and (Y/n). And they knew that Eddie and Chris were happier than they had ever been so it was hard to dispute.

(Y/n) aimed for the table and took her usual seat while Hen went to grab a drink from the fridge. Both of them clocked Evan in the kitchen, moving from one counter to the next, first with a dish in his hand, and then with a wooden spoon, and then with a tea towel tossed over his shoulder.

Without Bobby here, Evan had silently taken over with the cooking. It just seemed to make sense. He loved cooking, it was something he enjoyed and took his mind off of the crude, callous Captain they now found themselves with. And everyone loved his cooking. They all let him get on with it. The only person who was grumpy about Evan's food was Gerrard because he couldn't find anything wrong with it no matter how hard he tried.

"Hey mi amor,"

A grin spread across (Y/n)'s lips and she tilted her head back, slouching down in her seat when she felt a familiar pair of hands on her shoulders.

"Hi." She reached up to give Eddie's hand a squeeze and her chest fluttered when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Clearly Gerrard wasn't around if Eddie was dolling out the affection. The three of them had to be careful when they were on shift together. If he caught them so much as standing too close to one another he either made a snide joke or tried to reprimand them and pull them up on being professional while on shift.

But when he wasn't around, kisses were shared in quiet corners and touches were shared behind closed doors.

The only times Gerrard couldn't say anything was when they sat together at lunch or in the fire truck. He couldn't say anything about proximity when they were all sat next to one another, on their best behaviour about being professional. And they took full advantage. In the back of the truck while Gerrard sat up front, he couldn't see or say anything about Eddie's hand wandering up and down Evan's thigh or Evan's hand on (Y/n)'s stomach or his lips against her temple.

Eddie took a quick glance towards the stairs before moving his lips further south and capturing (Y/n) in a quick kiss. He savoured the touch and relished in the feeling of her hand slithering up to cup his neck.

But his lips crinkled and his nose twitched when he swiped his tongue across her lips and was met with a familiar tang. Blood.

Eddie's eyes snapped open and he pulled back just enough so his lips were hovering an inch above hers so their breaths mingled together. His brows knitted together and his chest tightened when he saw the dark rouge colour running down her nose and across her lip.

"Mi amor, head forward for me." He gently gripped (Y/n)'s chin and tugged her head down, causing her to sit up straight and lean over when she realised what was happening. "Buck, paper towel please." Eddie clicked his fingers in Evan's direction until their partner looked their way.

A quiet "Shit," passed Evan's lips and he spun around, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the side before he headed over to the pair of them.

(Y/n) pressed her hands down on the tabletop, feeling Eddie's chest pressing down against her shoulders and his chin hovered near her neck so he could look over her shoulder. His hand stayed cupping her chin and he gratefully took the paper towels from Evan and held them against (Y/n)'s nose.

Nosebleeds had been (Y/n)'s enemy since she got pregnant, she seemed to have them frequently now, but they didn't last long.

The worst one she had was last month during the night. Evan woke up with (Y/n)'s head on his chest and a river of blood running across his skin. He thought for a dreaded minute that he was having some kind of accident like he was waking up from anaesthetic in the middle of an operation.

A headache started to roll in behind (Y/n)'s eyes and she swallowed down a groan, closing her eyes as she concentrated on breathing through her mouth. She kept her head tilted forward like she was going to headbutt the table. At least this one didn't feel heavy, she wasn't coughing blood everywhere like she had last time.

"Let's have a look, sweetheart." Evan slumped down into the seat next to (Y/n) and took the wad of tissue from Eddie's hand, dumping the bloodied tissue on the table.

He gently held (Y/n)'s chin and lifted her head up, a smile fluttering across his lips when he saw that the bleeding seemed to have stopped now.

"You good?"

"Yeah, sorry." She grabbed another paper towel and swiped it across her lips, trying to make sure all traces of burnt orange were clean from her face. The last thing she needed was a certain someone making a comment or telling her to go clean herself up.

Eddie kissed her hair and rubbed his hands up and down her arms but when he heard those thunderous boots hitting the stairs, he audibly growled. Just what they needed, Gerrard coming to make a scene.

"Buck, is this done?" Hen motioned to the tray of piping hot lasagne in front of her, both because she was hungry and to get Evan back to his cooking station. They didn't need to have another argument break out, they all argued almost every shift with Gerrard and it was doing them no good.

With pursed lips, Evan tried to smile. He gave (Y/n)'s chin a light squeeze and tilted her head in his direction so he could have a kiss. His fingers brushed across her cheek and when he pushed up, he paused midway to let Eddie lean over and snatch a kiss as well. He darted back to the kitchen just as Gerrard stomped up the stairs, his usual unimpressed look painted over his face.

His eyes set on Eddie immediately and he rose a brow, clearly disgruntled to see Eddie standing so close to one of his partners.

Gerrard didn't like different. He didn't like anything that challenged or differed from the old ways, the generic and safe boundaries of society. He didn't like Chimney for racial reasons. He didn't like Hen for homophobic reasons. He had a grudge against Evan for being in a poly relationship and finding out he wasn't part of the 'white boy' gang Gerrard used to have when he first came to the station ten years ago.

He didn't like Eddie both for his poly relationship and because of his heritage. He wasn't a fan of him being with two people, one of them being a man also hit like a bullet.

For the same reason, he didn't like (Y/n) for her relationship, for being a woman, and he liked to think of her as weak now she was pregnant.

They all had targets on their backs, but the three of them had bigger markers for Gerrard. He liked to rile them up and see how far he could go, he had more reasons to go against the three of them and being in charge of them gave him a power trip.

For once, Eddie didn't make a move to sit down. They had all agreed to stand up to Gerrard by catching him out. Whenever he made comments, they noted it down and sent a report. When he treated them unfairly, they documented it and then sent a copy to the chief. If he tried to be out of line with them, everyone made sure to drag the conversation somewhere public. As long as they had at least one witness, Gerrard had to watch what he said.

But Eddie wasn't in the mood to play nice right now. His hand stayed on (Y/n)'s shoulder and he stayed standing behind her chair with one leg crossed over the other and his other hand on his hip.

"Diaz," Gerrard nodded at him but when he went to approach the kitchen, presumably to try and take a jibe at Evan, he paused. His head turned to the left and he locked eyes on (Y/n), taking note of the paper towel in her hand and the scrunched up, bloodied pile on the table. "Jesus, not another one, or has there been a disagreement I didn't know about?"

He took a quick look around as if expecting to find someone with bloodied knuckles, indicating a fight had taken place. The quirked smile on his lips made Eddie shiver and had him ready to start a disagreement right here and now.

Before anyone could comment, the alarm bell sounded and dispatch came through the tanoid speakers.

Right when they were going to sit down to eat.

A chorus of groans sounded throughout the kitchen as everyone put down whatever they were doing and listened to the announcement to see what kind of call they were going on.

"Okay, you all know what to do, don't you?" Gerrard pointed his thumb over his shoulder and took a step back to watch them filter towards the stairs. He paid particular attention to Evan who frowned and planted both hands down on the counter while he listened to the dispatch describing the call.

"Uh, that's a high code building fire."

"Yes Buckley, it is." The sarcasm dripped from Gerrard's voice and he moved his hand, motioning for Evan to leave the kitchen and aim for the stairs. His tone caused Evan to roll his eyes and hunch up his shoulders, trying to draw in a deep breath to control himself.

"So (Y/n) shouldn't be going on this call." They all knew the rules. (Y/n) was on light duties. She couldn't go into a fire, not even if she was suited up and with her team. She couldn't assist on fires, on multi-car pile ups or any calls where there was a dispute with weapons involved.

She was a spare set of hands only. She helped as a medic or to get equipment set up or to direct people on scene. (Y/n) was effectively a shadow on a lot of calls but it was to keep her safe. She would be on maternity leave next month because after seven months it would be too dangerous to go on any call outs.

They had everything agreed and in place with Bobby. Why did Gerrard have to turn up and tip the scales?

(Y/n) took a deep breath and snook a glance up at Eddie behind her when his hand tightened on her shoulder. She didn't want to be an issue or cause problems. If Gerrard wanted her on this call she was happy to go, she would only be sorting the equipment and the hose and looking after the casualties anyway, she wouldn't be suiting up for the fire.

She pushed up from her seat, scrunching up the used tissues to throw in the bin. The moment Eddie's touch left her body, (Y/n) felt bare and unprotected and it made her conceal a shiver.

Passing Gerrard made her feel worse. She could feel his eyes scoping her up and down with a raised brow. His nose crinkled and his upper lip curled in distaste as he looked at her like she was a nuisance he didn't want around.

"Are you in charge now, Buckley?" When Evan didn't answer, Gerrard looked at (Y/n). "You're part of this team, that means you pull your weight. You can handle doing your job, can't you?"

Something snappy and sarcastic was on the tip of (Y/n)'s tongue, but she pushed it away like a foul taste in her mouth and settled for nodding her head, muttering a quiet "Of course," under her breath.

"See."

"Isn't it your job to oversee everyone's safety? She's on light duties-"

"She can do the job as background support. I oversee the smooth running of this place and I make sure my team pull their weight. If she doesn't mess up, she won't be in danger, will she?"

(Y/n) shuddered when Eddie kicked the chair under the table so harshly all four table legs scraped against the floor. She felt his hands on her waist and she forced her feet to move, hoping Eddie would follow after her and not stop to start a fight. They all needed to go get ready before one of them said something that would get them disciplined or suspended.

They could hear Evan throwing the tea towel across the counter and huffing as he made quick work of following after them.

They didn't give a damn about Gerrard or his orders. If he wanted the team to work, they would all continue to look out for each other. If (Y/n) couldn't do something, the boys would do it for her. They would 'pull her weight' in the team as it were and shield her behind them. They would do the job for her so Gerrard had no means to pick on her.

***

"I can't go in there." (Y/n) could feel the palm of her hands beginning to sweat as she looked up at her Captain who she had a growing distain for.

She didn't like standing up to him. She preferred the boys or Hen to point out when Gerrard was wrong and tell him the codes of conduct to prove that his actions weren't justified. They usually left that to Evan, his ADHD gave him a good memory for facts and visuals and he had all but memorised the handbook. He could pull out any rule, section or code to call Gerrard up on.

And right now, (Y/n) couldn't remember the specific codes, but she knew Gerrard was trying to break them.

"I'm telling you to suit up and get your ass into gear, (Y/l/n) we need to get this fire under control-"

"I can't go in there and if you order me to you're making me a liability on the team. Please." Her head started to shake and her hands ran up and down her overalls.

She was going to be sick. Her head was pounding. She was going to have another nosebleed.

If (Y/n) went into that building she was putting herself and her unborn baby at risk and she would become a liability because if she fell or tripped or went dizzy she would waste precious time. The team might have to spend more resources and effort to find her and help her out and she would become one of their casualties rather than one of the team.

(Y/n) wasn't supposed to be here, she shouldn't be on site of this building fire, it was a risky call and Bobby would have made her hang back at the station if he were in charge. Hen would of made the same call too. Gerrard was taking his leadership too far and breaking the boundaries.

She could see the rage bubbling up inside his eyes and his hands clenched into fists and for a moment, (Y/n) wondered if he was going to step forward and hit her. But then his finger pointed between her and the truck and his curved nose crinkled and twitched like a rabbit.

"You being on this team is a liability in itself." His words made her shoulders quake and she coiled in on herself, holding back tears. "Now suit up. If you won't go in the building, then you can man the hose from the doorway and get this fucking thing under control, or I will reprimand you. Understood?"

Her legs started to shake as she spun on her heels and stormed towards the truck.

Everything was shaking. Her heart was hammering against her chest. The baby was twisting and threatening to make her sick. Her fingertips turned numb and she could barely feel her hands when she reached out for her helmet and shrugged on her jacket.

Putting on her gloves made her hands feel like blocks of ice, unable to bend or move the way she wanted them to.

(Y/n) swallowed a few times to try and calm herself down and make sure she didn't throw up. That was the last thing she needed right now. She looped the hose over her shoulder and trudged towards the building.

Chimney and Eddie had gone up on the ladder to evacuate the top floor and put out the separate fires up there. Hen and Evan were inside the building with most of the 138 team to get it under control. (Y/n) was supposed to be on standby, getting things off the truck and helping as a relief medic when the patients started to filter out.

She wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the building itself. This was dangerous, but as long as she wasn't going inside, (Y/n) would do what she could to help. She never worried about feeling useless on the job until Gerrard came in charge.

"Hose!"

She motioned the hose on her shoulder when she saw Hen hurrying out the doors, presumably for more resources like this.

A deep frown set into Hen's features when she saw how close (Y/n) was and (Y/n) realised it looked a lot like she was about to rush into the burning building as back up. That wasn't what she was doing. She wouldn't put herself and her baby at risk like that.

"What are you d-"

Whatever Hen tried to say drowned out when a blast shocked the foundations of the building. All the windows on the first floor burst. Gusts of air and billowing motions of smoke soured through the windows and out into the open air.

The surge and the backlash knocked everyone within a ten foot radius off their feet, including the girls.

(Y/n)'s eyes snapped closed and her hands tightened around the hose as if it would somehow work as a harness or a rope to hold her up and prevent a harsh fall. It didn't. The blast sent her backwards and took her feet from beneath her. She went down on the pavement with a thud and she was relieved she had her helmet on or the force would have knocked her out.

All the oxygen escaped her lungs and (Y/n) laid on her back, jaw hung down, lips murmuring as she tried to suck in a proper breath and get her chest working again.

"(Y/n)? (Y/n)… you with me?"

She felt Hen kneeling beside her and it made (Y/n) wonder how long she had been laid there, gasping for air. Her eyes opened with some force and she blinked through the smoke that made it look like midnight rather than midday.

Hen's worried expression came into view and (Y/n) managed to nod and wrap her hands around Hen's arm that was stretched out in front of her. She let her friend reel her up into a sitting position and she took a minute to shake her head and gather her senses.

Just a little fall. A relatively small blast considering the structure was still standing and the building foundations hadn't been wrecked. (Y/n) hadn't even broken a bone.

When Evan got hit by lightning, the force had been so great that (Y/n) fell backwards and toppled off the truck. She dislocated her shoulder and broke a rib from that impact. This was nothing compared to that.

"I- I'm good."

Hen looked doubtful. She rose a brow and quirked her head to the side as if to say she didn't believe (Y/n). She reached out for (Y/n) and did a quick assessment, trying to gage whether she had any cuts, bruises or dreaded broken bones.

When Hen's gaze dropped down to (Y/n)'s stomach, she tilted her own head down and followed her gaze.

She hadn't landed on her stomach or her side, she had fallen straight on her back which was relatively lucky if (Y/n) had to fall at all. Her stomach hadn't been jostled, she felt okay and she could feel the baby wriggling too which was a good sign.

"Let me take a look at you." It sounded more like a question than a statement and (Y/n) found herself nodding along.

She felt okay, she had had a lot worse over the years and she had done more damage with harsher falls. But she had never been pregnant before and (Y/n) knew it would put both their minds at ease if Hen just gave her a once over. Just to be safe.

"Both of you, walk it off and get back in there." Gerrard pointed over at them before he grabbed the radio on his shoulder and presumably sent a snarky order out to someone else or to dispatch.

"I need to examine her-"

"Do you see her screaming in pain, Wilson? She's fine, get up and get back to work before this whole place goes under. Now!"

Twisting her head, (Y/n) looked up at Hen and tried her best to smile and hold back a flinch. She was fine, as long as she could get up with no obvious pains she would be okay to carry on.

(Y/n) gratefully accepted Hen's arm, smiling weakly when Hen took her weight and easily helped her up to her feet. She could feel her head starting to swim and float when she was up on her feet and her knees trembled but after a few seconds, her body started to level itself back out again. Just like hitting a reset button on a computer.

(Y/n) dusted her gloves across her jacket and over her knees, getting rid of the sprinkles of glass that dropped down on them like the first fall of snow. She was okay. She didn't even feel sick or any pain anywhere and when she danced her hand over her abdomen, she smiled. The baby was wriggling and kicking. He was fine too.

"Are you sure you're good? If not tell me and I'll-"

"No, no fussing, come on we've had worse." If the baby was moving and (Y/n) didn't have any pain except for a few twinges and bruises, she was good to go. They were in the middle of an emergency and Hen had a job to do, (Y/n) wasn't going to get in the way and distract her and provoke Gerrard's wrath.

"What the Hell are you doing?!"

A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine and her eyes darted around, frantically trying to find where that voice came from. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened when she realised it was Evan calling out to her. If it was Gerrard again she would be in for a disciplinary talk, but knowing it was one of her partners only made (Y/n)'s worry spike.

Evan stormed over to them like a God walking amongst humans and the demanour glowing around him made him tower over the people he bypassed to get to them.

His clenched hands uncurled and reached out for (Y/n) the moment she was within reach. He gripped her upper arms, pulling her closer whilst simultaneously nudging her back so she was away from the building in case a secondary explosion rocked the street.

"Evan-"

"You shouldn't be anywhere near the fire-" Something dawned on him and flashed across his pupils before he was looking her over frantically. "Are you okay?"

"The blast knocked us off our feet-"

"But I'm okay." (Y/n) finished for Hen, looking between the pair of them before she gripped Evan's shoulders to try and get him to look back at her.

"Get back in the truck."

"Stop this mother's meeting and get your asses back to work I've already told you once. Top floors are evacuated and simmered down, we need that ground floor fire under control before the foundations are burned to cinders." Gerrard's voice barked like a rabid dog and his teeth flared and flashed in the glimmering sunlight trying to break through the smoke.

He pointed his hand towards the building before he clapped his hand and pointed someone nearby to turn on the hose on the truck. They needed this situation under control, standing chatting in the street wasn't going to help.

(Y/n) shivered when Evan's voice cut across the top of her ear, telling her again to get in the truck.

His hand found her lower back and he pointed her in the right direction. He didn't care if she sat in the truck or the ambulance. Hell, Evan didn't care if (Y/n) sat on the pavement or if she went and sat with some of the other medics and helped the casualties. He just needed her away from this building so her and their baby weren't in any danger.

He tried to get (Y/n) to walk over to the truck but he felt her shudder and back up into his chest when Gerrard looked directly at her. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The blazing fury in his eyes told them all if they didn't move right now, he was going to be spitting feathers and his next words wouldn't be pretty.

(Y/n) didn't know what to do. She didn't want to stand back and do nothing, but she couldn't go near the building until it was cleared and coded as safe. And she could feel Evan's hands on her arms, squeezing tightly before he nudged her to walk in the opposite direction.

Evan didn't want to, but he let go of (Y/n) once she took a few steps away. His body rattled in frustration, panic and an overload of adrenaline that was fueling his anger.

His fingers shook through his gloves as he reached down and grabbed the hose, tossing it over his right shoulder so he could get back to work.

"(Y/l/n) where the Hell are you going-"

"She's not going near that fire." Evan tilted his head back and kept his eyes straight ahead, trying not to spare one little glance towards the shorter man on his right who was grating on his last nerve.

"(Y/l/n) I gave you a direct order and you, Buckley, aren't in charge here. Get back to your original post."

The hose on Evan's shoulder slid down to the crook of his elbow and he turned sharply until he was face to face with Gerrard. His left hand reached out and gave him a rough shove in the shoulder while his nose crinkled and his jaw locked so tightly Evan thought his teeth were going to break.

"Your orders are bullshit."

"Think carefully about your next words."

"Your orders are bullshit and violate the handbook by putting a pregnant worker at risk. And by picking on her because she's pregnant, you're discriminating against her. She stays in the truck or I go and get a second opinion from Captain Truman, this is his callout, not yours."

Evan was begging for a fight. His shoulders tensed up and his head tilted back as he prayed, willed, hoped, for Gerrard to disagree with him. He wanted Gerrard to bite, to snap and shout and scream and show his true colours because then Evan had some leverage.

He could go over to the Captain of the 138 and ask for his orders and tell him there was a worker on this scene who was pregnant and in the line of duty. The 138 got to this callout first and it made their Captain the lead in this operation, he had the discretion and the control here.

Evan could see a vein throbbing in Gerrard's neck and he was quite sure that his new Captain was on the verge of combusting like a molecule. But he didn't. Gerrard didn't say anything. All he did was point towards the building, and Evan took that as his win.

He knew they would be having words when they got back to the station, but he was already formulating his defence and if that didn't work, Evan would be finding the number for Chief Simmons.

He wasn't going to stand for this any longer.

***

(Y/n) could feel her head beginning to swim as she leaned to the left until her burning temple was slumped against the window.

Her head was pounding. Her stomach was starting to ache and cramp and she was sure it was because they had skipped lunch and seeing Evan interact with Gerrard had put her on edge.

She felt Eddie's hand on her thigh and after a few seconds, she realised he was leaning down against her and his lips pressed into her temple.

Evan was sitting opposite them with a face like thunder. His jaw was grinding so much they could all hear the joint clicking back and forth. His hands were clenched into fists and pushing down onto his thighs, creating indents in his trousers. His knees were bent out to the sides and his back was straight against the seat while he stared out the window, not looking at any of them.

They all knew he and Gerrard were going to be having an argument when they rolled up at the station. Everyone was anticipating and dreading it. Hen was ready to call the Chief herself for back up. Chimney was ready to stop a fight from breaking out and debating whether or not to call Bobby to diffuse the situation.

And Eddie was waiting for anything. He was waiting for them to pull up at the station so he could tell Evan to go home. Go talk to Bobby. Talk to the Chief on his own, just avoid an argument at all costs. Arguing would only set Gerrard on the rest of them and if Evan spoke out of line, Gerrard would have his neck for it.

But Eddie couldn't help but worry about their girlfriend. She hadn't spoken since the fire had been put out and they were all cleared to head back to the station. She slumped in her seat in the truck and seemed to switch off completely and that wasn't like her.

Everyone jumped like they had been shocked when the truck started to reverse into the station.

They barely managed to fling their belts off before Gerrard was out the truck and his voice was compelling them forward.

"Everyone out. Now."

(Y/n) could see stars in front of her eyes when she tried to stand up. Her knees were shaking and her stomach felt like it was trying to drop down to her feet. And her back, oh her back right between her hips was aching with every throb of her heartbeat. She must have landed funny during the blast and taken a harsher landing than she thought.

She kept one hand on her stomach and used the other as leverage to slowly climb down from the truck.

"Alright, now everyone listen up."

Her limbs began to shake as she moved to stand in between her boys. Part of (Y/n)was desperate to run and hide. To hurry up to the kitchen or lock herself in the toilets to be away from Gerrard because this wasn't going to be good.

He was going to direct most of his anger towards her and Evan. He would give them all clean up duty, give them hard and pointless tasks, make them feel worthless. He was going to punish them for his own mistakes that he had made on purpose.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) looked down at her boots and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. She curled her right hand around the back of Eddie's bicep and leaned into him while her other hand rested on her stomach, something she hated to do in front of Gerrard, but right now she didn't care.

She felt sick. The baby was twisting and kicking and there was a dull ache she couldn't ignore.

She silently prayed for the baby to stay still so she could concentrate, but it didn't help. All (Y/n) could focus on was the pain in her back, the unusual ache in her stomach and her heartbeat that was thumping throughout every inch of her skin.

"Now that was a shit-show out there and every one of you ought to be ashamed." Gerrard's voice boomed around the station and echoed back to him, but (Y/n) barely heard him over her pulse rushing through her ears.

Panic and terror clawed their way into (Y/n)'s heart when a rather strong pain tore through her abdomen. She pressed her palm down harder on her stomach and twisted herself to the right so she could press her forehead into Eddie's bicep. She didn't care if Gerrard noticed and called her out on being so close to one of her partners.

She didn't feel well.

His words continued to rocket through the air and send them all reeling and most of them either looked up at the roof beams or stared down at their shoes to avoid his horrid gaze.

(Y/n) closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths through her nose but her shoulders tensed up when another pain ignited in her stomach and she realised it was similar to a cramp.

Her knees bent forward and she pushed down like she was trying to squat, although (Y/n) wasn't sure what she was doing or if she was trying to sit down or not. She was just trying to make the pain go away. Her teeth sank down into her lower lip but it didn't stop a small sound from escaping and she tugged on Eddie's hand while her other arm bound into her bump, pushing down to relieve the pain.

"Oow," Her face meshed into Eddie's arm causing her tears to trickle down onto his arm and she felt his free hand quickly gripping her left arm to stop her from going down to the floor.

"Hey, hey what's wrong? What's happening?" Eddie's nails scratched into (Y/n)'s elbow to try and keep her upright and his eyes flitted from her to Evan who was quick to hold onto her hips.

"Oh for God's sake what's the problem now?" Gerrard's hands found his hips and his foot began to tap against the polished floor. "If you're gonna start this (Y/l/n) then go home-"

"She needs a doctor." Hen snapped defensively before she turned her back on him and moved to stand beside Eddie, looking over at her friend.

They weren't going to let him belittle (Y/n) right now when she was clearly in agony and something was wrong. When she had her frequent nosebleeds he taunted her and made her feel like a child. He made everyone afraid to speak out if they felt ill or if they had a problem, but (Y/n) especially. She didn't dare complain or say anything because Gerrard wanted any excuse to tell her she was weak and if she was pregnant then she shouldn't be here. But this was different.

Evan was sure he heard Gerrard mutter "I don't fucking believe this," under his breath but when the Captain stormed off towards the bench, Evan felt a little better. He knew Gerrard was going to stay and watch, waiting for his moment to strike and tell them off or try and bark out an order, but everyone would ignore him for the time being.

"Okay, let's sit you down, hm?"

(Y/n) kept her face meshed into Eddie's arm, trying to stifle her tears but she managed to nod. She felt him move round so he and Evan both had one of her arms each and they slowly lowered down to their knees with (Y/n) between them.

Once she was down on her knees, she leaned over and tried to bury her face against Evan's thighs. The compressing weight on her stomach made her feel a bit better, but a groan mixed with a whine burned at the back of her throat when Eddie carefully reeled her back up. He couldn't examine her like that.

"What hurts, baby what's wrong?" Evan gently cupped (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head back so she was looking up at him through tears.

"I- there, hurts there." She shakily moved Evan's hand from her arm to the lower side of her abdomen and her words set his heart rocketing in his chest.

He had been praying she wouldn't say something like that. He hoped she would have some sort of back pain or stomach ache, but not something to do with the baby. They couldn't have an issue now with the baby when everything had gone smoothly up to now.

"Let me look." Eddie's voice was soft and he glanced between both partners before he shuffled round so he was in front of (Y/n) with Evan pressed up on his right side.

He managed a weak smile when Hen grabbed a medic bag from the truck and placed it down beside him.

His hands shook as he reached out for (Y/n)'s stomach and started to prod around. He pressed the heel of his hand into various parts of her abdomen, trying to feel how the baby was laid and if he could feel anything out of place.

Part of him was hoping to feel a hernia because at least that wouldn't be an issue with the baby.

"Okay, let's check your BP."

He slid the strap up (Y/n)'s right arm that he placed over his thighs and clipped an oxygen pulse monitor on her index finger. He waited a few moments until the monitor beeped and his brow arched when he saw the numbers.

"Pulse and BP are high, I just wanna take a quick listen." Eddie's words confused (Y/n) until she watched him find a stethoscope in the bag and he softly lifted her shirt to reveal her abdomen to his eyes. "Baby's heartbeat is a bit low."

His words made (Y/n)'s shoulders quake and she leaned into Evan, unable to smother a sob.

She curled her left hand around Evan's arm, feeling his other hand cupping the back of her neck while she pressed her face into his shoulder as if trying to hide away would make her feel any better. Her right hand moved down to her stomach, pushing down to try and take away the cramps and she pushed up on her knees to lean more into Evan.

"No, no-" Eddie hooked the stethoscope around his neck before he reached out for (Y/n), grabbing her arms with alarming force. "Hen get the ambulance fired up. Baby, we need to take you down to the emergency room."

"W-why? Eddie, what's wrong?" (Y/n) didn't dare ask but she could see the panic in his eyes and the way he kept cracking his jaw and biting his lower lip. He was trying to put on his calm face, his medic mode to stop her and Evan from panicking, but it wasn't working.

They both watched Eddie's eyes dart down (Y/n)'s body before he held her gaze again. "You're bleeding and the baby's heartbeat is low, you need a scan."

Evan's fingers punctured into the back of (Y/n)'s neck and his chin perched on her shoulder so he could look down her back. Sure enough, he could see the blood patching into the back of her trousers and inner thighs. Blood loss and a low heartbeat meant there was some sort of internal problem, something wrong with the baby. They needed to get a scan to see what was going on and sort this before any lasting damage occurred.

Leaning over, Eddie held (Y/n)'s upper arms and went to try and help her up, but he stopped and looked over his right shoulder when he saw who (Y/n) was staring at.

She had locked eyes with Hen who wasn't moving towards the ambulance. Eddie told her they needed to go, either she or Chimney needed to drive the ambulance. Why weren't they moving?

"The blast, from the building fire today… we- we got knocked down." Hen looked between (Y/n) and the boys, guilt, panic and fear swirling in her pupils that looked like black holes.

"You fell?"

"I- it was only a tumble, I didn't- I felt fine-" (Y/n) clutched Evan's arms tighter, meshing her cheek into his shoulder as tears drenched her face.

Was this her fault? Had something happened because of the fall? She had felt fine, it wasn't even a proper fall, she just got knocked down on her back. That was it. She got up and dusted down and felt normal save for a few bruises, she didn't land on her stomach or bash her side or anything that would suggest there might be damage to the baby.

A sob bubbled past her lips while Evan tilted his head down to kiss the top of her head, carding his fingers through her hair to try and calm her down. This wasn't her fault.

"He didn't let me assess her." Hen turned on her heels and jogged towards the ambulance before she said something she shouldn't.

She should have insisted. She should have checked (Y/n) over anyway even if Gerrard told them both not to. She should have sent (Y/n) over to the paramedics on site and made sure she got checked, they might have picked something up or in the very least told (Y/n) to go down to the emergency room to be safe.

Anger seeped through every inch of Eddie's body but he forced himself to look down at (Y/n). If he looked over at his Captain he was going to lose control and start a fight that would get him suspended.

"Buck, up. It might be a placental abruption, we need to go."

Nodding, Evan slid his hands down to (Y/n)'s waist and looped his arms tightly around her. He let her shuffle further into his chest with her arms around his neck and with Eddie's hands on her hips, they both slowly pulled her up to her feet, sandwiching her between them. They could feel how badly (Y/n) was shaking and it was clear she wasn't going to be able to walk very far in this state.

They made an odd shuffle towards the ambulance but Evan's head snapped up to lock eyes with Gerrard when the Captain spoke.

"Wilson drives, Diaz goes. I'm not having my whole team disappear on this field trip. Han, Buckley, fall back."

That was a punishment. That was because Evan had spoken out against him earlier and pulled the rule book on him. This was Gerrard trying to get payback and his way of insulting them because he didn't understand their relationship. If Bobby was here he wouldn't hesitate to find cover for the remaining shift and let all of them go down to the hospital.

"You fucking caused this! We're taking her to hospital-"

"If you go there will be a record of action on your file and I can suspend you for your disobedience today Buckley."

Again, that wasn't fair and that was a punishment Gerrard couldn't enforce. Evan knew the rules. It was a record of conversation first and he couldn't be suspended on the spot without talking to the Chief, especially if Gerrard didn't have any backing or reasoning beforehand.

"After what you've done? I'm calling the union rep and the Chief from the hospital. We'll see who's ass gets fired for this." Eddie locked eyes with Gerrard for the longest moment before he turned away to face his partners again. Gerrard had put (Y/n) and their baby at risk, he wasn't getting away with this.

They all heard Chimney holler "All in," while he opened the back doors to the ambulance and it was clear what he was saying. They were all taking (Y/n) to the hospital. He wasn't waiting here for news, he was riding shotgun and taking one of his family to see a doctor. Hen wouldn't be coming back on shift until she knew if (Y/n) was alright or not. And the boys were staying with their girl.

(Y/n) managed to lift her head from Evan's arm to look between him and Eddie. She could see the thunder on their faces and the way Eddie's lips were snarling while Evan's lips were pursed and tense. But they both softened when they looked down at her.

Evan's arms squeezed around her and Eddie kissed the back of her head was they carefully eased her up into the ambulance.

They were going to look after her. And they were going to make Gerrard pay for what he'd done to them all.

[echooefrost]

LANYON LORE TIME (YIPEEE)

I wanted to post some lanyon Lore for my Medieval Au because he's probably the most different to Canon-Lanyon. Jekyll/hyde stay pretty much the same, and they don't need much explanation, however lanyon does. so here it is.

EARLY LANYON

Growing up as a prince, meant that Lanyon was constricted to many duties and couldn't really live a normal life as a kid, this caused him to build up much resentment towards his father and in turn, made him a very reckless and rule-breaking, rebellious teenager. His name like Tgs (and novella) is also Hastie. Its very common for medieval royalty to pass down names [eg. Henry VIII] So robert would've been 'Hastie II' however little Babyon wanted to be nothing like his father and started going by 'Robert'. Lanyon never wanted to be King. Ever. He holds contemptment for his Royal duties and often dreams of running away from it all (but ever since a certain someone entered his life, he's found it awfully hard to leave...)

YOUNG-ADULT LANYON [PRE-HENRY]

Due to his rebellious nature, Young Lanyon would often end up sneaking out late at night go to the local pub, and let loose. He often wears a cloak so others don't recognise him. Lanyon likes to get very drunk and forget about all his responsibilities, (he's not one bit responsible) His Father disapproves and often reminds Lanyon that he is a 'disappointment to his family' (FUN!! SELF HATE?? ikr??) SO to address, Tgs Lanyon's playboi era, that doesn't really happen here, IN the Au as a part of finding his own freedom, he sleeps around alot, and has multiple one night stands but those involve both parties not expecting any strings attached. Lanyon still gets to be a slut but he also isn't a massive dick. He can also play the fiddle, he secretly enjoys this (but shh don't let his father know) and occasionally brings it to the pub. I headcanon that Lanyon has a really nice Singing voice, so in this Au Lanyon can sing, but he gets very embarrassed about it and never does it in public (unless incredibly drunk)

PRESENT LANYON

Present lanyon in the Au is in his early 20's (same with Jekyll) As part of His Duties as Prince, he must also be Knight and Fight in battles, this entail lots of training, Lanyon's been training since a young age, but ever sine Jekyll arrived, he always watches him practice so he can 'observe how to defend himself' and definitely NOT to see his cute crush/bff wear dashing armour, no.... Lanyon actually doesn't mind being a Knight that much but he doesn't Like Violence all that much and thinks there are better ways at solving disputes, however this does not mean he won't try to kill you if you threaten those dear to him (you can guess who)

In the AU, Robert is a bit more awkward around Henry, as they both are enamoured and always in Gay panic mode around each other, so there dynamic is a bit more 'cute' per-se compared to Tgs where Lanyon is Dom and Jekyll is Flustered mess. Lanyon gets to be a bit more a flustered mess in this Au too.

Yes, I know it's been a while, but no, the Au is not dead. I am going to do things with it I just haven't had a lot of time. Anyway thanks for reading, it means alot to me that people care about this, as always; if you have no idea what 'Au' I'm yapping about go to the Og post here (wow its kinda old... oooh old art) ...I think I'll do one of these with Frankenstein.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hiii. It's been while, but here I am to annoy you with the occasional prompt once more :P

How would the SDV + SVE spouses react to the farmer (who is their partner, spouses or just dating) introducing them to the racoon family? (Because I love torturing Magnus, maybe the parents end up trusting him with their children and make him their babysitter)

❗🦝Spoilers for SDV 1.6.🦝❗

_________________________________________

Heya, good to see you again! :3

When I wrote the headcanon about this, I'm surprised that no one in the game reacted to the new raccoon house. Like, nobody? Not even least Marnie or Leah? Oh, well... 😅Anyway, thanks for the ask and enjoy! 💕

SDV/SVE spouses react to the Farmer introducing them to the raccoon family:

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors/ettes:

The little gray lumps decided to playfully attack Sam right away, poking their wet noses at him and pawing through his bag looking for anything interesting. The young guitarist laughed resoundingly, and decided to use his hand as a "claw" to show the raccoons that he was accepting the game. The babies are having fun squeaking and jumping, Sam is outright glowing with happiness, the parent raccoons are taking a break from the noisy kids, and Farmer is taking pictures on their phone to capture this touching moment.

Sebastian was probably most at ease with the raccoons, sitting on the grass while the little cubs sniffed curiously at the stranger. Farmer crouched nearby, showing their forest friends that Sebby could be trusted. So in five minutes the little raccoons were already playing and jumping around the two of them without restraint. Funny little animals. He won't mind continuing to frolic with his friendly neighbors. Hm, maybe bring them a tasty treat?

Well... Those are definitely real raccoons. It's just that after Farmer's words "neighbors-raccoons", Elliott thought at first that his dear husband did not characterize people so kindly, and then the writer remembered that he had never heard of any new residents of the Valley. The raccoons were surprisingly calm, they seemed to know Farmer for a long time, and the cubs were not afraid of Elliott at all. "Meeting with the forest neighbors..." Hmm, not a bad title for his little novella...

When the Farmer told Harvey that they had purchased so many broccoli seeds from raccoons, the local doctor thought it was a bit of an odd joke that he had no way of understanding. But now he saw with his own eyes as the raccoon came out of their little house and gave Harvey's spouse a baggie of seeds, taking pine cones in exchange. A mixture of confusion and shock, and then complete acceptance of the fact, because, as far back as Harvey could remember, the Farmer had done stranger things.

Shane stood motionless, with a "I don't get paid enough for this shit" look on his face while little baby raccoons sat on his head, shoulders, and scratched his new shoes. He definitely thinks he looks silly. But they seem like cool animals, not aggressive, plus Farmer is smiling so wide and sincere at this picture. So Shane is willing to put up with the squeaky sounds of the fidgety cubs once a week. The only no is introducing his with Farmer children or Jas. Better save that sorry.

Raccoons? Not the same ones Alex's grandfather has been complaining about for the past week? The athlete is used to seeing them as pests, since Alex used to be the one who was always picking up trash from the overturned trash bin. So he shows a bit of distrust when he finds out that their "new cool neighbors" are raccoons. Although Alex has no beef with these raccoons specifically, they seem to be peaceful, plus their cubs are super adorable.

Oh, Leah had known for a long time for that tree stump mini-cabin near the farm. Excellent carpentry, by the way. It was very skillful. And the raccoons who had settled there were apparently enjoying their cozy new place of residence, which would shelter them from any weather. Nevertheless, Leah does not dare to disturb the local fauna and advises Farmer not to get close to the raccoons, believing that animals should be respected.

When Penny saw Farmer with raccoons in their arms, the girl wanted to scream in horror, but ended up just squeaking. These are certainly not dangerous animals like a bear or wolves, but even just a couple of aggressive raccoons can pose a serious threat to humans. And the fact that the Farmer was near their cubes... But these raccoons don't seem to mind human company... probably domesticated. Penny is certainly glad that everything went well, but maybe they both shouldn't bother the wild fauna any further?

So the Farmer has been buying carrot seeds from real raccoons all this time? That's awesome! Abigail isn't exactly thrilled about the carrots, though. She didn't seem too surprised by the situation itself. Even wanted to see what else the forest fauna were selling. Seeds, seeds, more seeds... Oh, magic rock candy? Now that's interesting! Especially while she's looking at all the possible items, the baby raccoons are playing with her. So Abby is very happy to have such neighbors.

Haley squeaked twice, the first out of delight at the raccoon family in their cute little house, and the second out of surprise and fear because the raccoons had come too close to her. They don't carry rabies, do they? She looks at her spouse, waiting for their answer. At Farmer's approval, she decided to gently pet the raccoon, who seems didn't mind at all. It was fun, but Haley had had enough contact with nature for the day. Btw, where is her camera? Because she'll definitely take a dozen cute photos before leaving.

On the one hand, Maru's inner voice urges her to counsel herself and her dear spouse against contact with wild animals. On the other hand, Farmer playing with baby raccoons is probably the cutest thing Maru has ever seen, and her heart instantly melts with an overabundance of cuteness. The young inventor would spend days asking the Farmer about the raccoons themselves and how come they made a house for them.

Forest friends! Emily is unbridled delighted that her spouse has introduced her to a family of raccoons. Small and bright animals that playfully run around the blue-haired girl while she herself smiles at the most adorable picture. The interaction alone filled Emily with a huge amount of positive emotions. Oh, and the raccoons look happy in their cozy little house! She should definitely sew a couple of warm plaids for them, so that the baby raccoons will definitely not freeze in winter.

SVE bachelors/ettes:

Considering that Magnus's partner had previously shown him their ability to talk to the forest fauna ("Deal with bear and maple syrup???"), the introduction to raccoons didn't surprise him too much. What did surprise him, however, was that the parents wanted to give him, a wizard they didn't know well, their raccoon children to look after. With all due respect, he was not a babysitter for forest animals! Magnus already had his own children and a pupil to look after.

*Chuckle* What a adorable forest family. Lance is rather pleased to hear that the Farmer and he have good neighbours. Although the gallant adventurer himself doesn't have a chance to talk to the raccoon parents (and to any wild animals), their behaviour towards Lance says that they are not aggressive and don't consider him a threat. He is more interested in the fact that Farmer is actively trading with the raccoons, exchanging coal for mahogany seeds...

Farmer, wait! Stay away from the raccoons, they can be dangerous! Why don't they listen to Victor? He knows what he's talking about. Moreover, the spaghetti lover has told them many times how he was attacked by a vicious raccoon in town a long time ago. He was terrified. So don't- Farmer? Where are you going? Please don't go near- Oh... Are these raccoons tame? Did they make them a house? To keep them warm in the winter? Oh, how nice of them- ???? Did- did they just buy carrot seeds from raccoons?...

Oh, a raccoon family? This is unusual. Well, Claire kind of realises that the forest is very close by, so it's no wonder there are wildlife running around. but she never noticed this little house with cute raccoon faces sticking out of it. The red-haired girl worries when Farmer gets too close to the animals, what if her parents think they're a threat to the little ones? But they seem to regard them as their own and allow them to be petted. Claire would rather watch from the sidelines if her spouse doesn't mind.

...Olivia was beginning to worry that these raccoons wouldn't hesitate to come to their farm and make a mess in the beds. Living in the city, she knew these animals as pests and disease-carriers that crawl through bins. So she honestly said she wasn't too comfortable around raccoons. Although these ones seem to behave differently, without aggression. And the house is pretty nice. But she will need time to get used to such "neighbours".

Oh, Yoba, the Farmer made this little house themselves?! And the raccoons have babies! Five, or even six! That's so cute! Sophia is even willing to forgive the raccoons for knocking over her trash can last week, because it's the cutest thing she's ever seen in her life. The pink-haired girl is still afraid to touch them since they are wild animals after all. But she'll definitely take 100+ photos of the forest family and be sure to show Scarlett, because it's super adorable!

[anim-ttrpgs]

Annoucning the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club!

The original idea was from @thydungeonguy, but he let us take care of it provided we do most of the heavy lifting to make it run smoothly.

Message either @anim-ttrpgs or @thydungeonguy and just ask to get an invite! It’s free, you just have to ask! Or, you can visit our website and find the discord link there.

Here’s the short version.

We’re running a club that treats (indie) TTRPG-playing like a book club. There’s a nomination period for RPGs, then a vote to decide which RPG we play, then scheduling discussion, then everyone who can make it(we may split up among multiple groups depending on the number of sign-ups) plays the same adventure with the same RPG(usually a 1-2 session adventure, 3 sessions if it has to go on longer), then we discuss it.

Then, repeat.

The purpose of the club is to play indie tabletop role-playing games that aren't D&D5e, bringing new games to people’s attention and getting to experience how those games work in practice. It’s an encouragement to step out of your comfort zone and try new games with enthusiastic people who love them, and even step out of your comfort zone and learn how to GM a game if you’ve never done it. The way we set up the structure of the club makes it very easy, forgiving, and supportive for GMs even when playing a game they’ve never played before—it’s really not as hard as it seems, especially since we use adventure modules, the greatest GM tool ever devised.

Join up by sending us or @thydungeonguy a message or ask, and maybe you’ll even get to play the full version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy for free! That is, if it gets nominated and wins the vote. Even though we’re running the club, our own games aren’t gonna get special treatment.

Despite, and perhaps especially since, our games aren’t getting special priority in the club, and because the A.N.I.M. team is doing everything to organize and support novice GMs and fellow indie TTRPG authors, organizing and running this club is a good amount of extra work for our very small team for no direct profit. We ask that if you enjoy this club, you kindly leave a tip for us on kofi or support us on patreon. It'll keep this server running smoothly and keep us creating TTRPGs, plus with a patreon subscription of at least $5, you get the prerelease rulebook as well as future updates, two horror adventure modules, and two short stories and a novella taking place in the Eureka world!

Join up by messaging either us or @thydungeonguy, or finding the discord invite link on our website!

Even if that’s not your thing, visit our website anyway to pick up a free copy of the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy demo, complete with a free starter adventure module and pregen character sheets!

This is gonna be a blast.