#started Fen's page

[meat-loving-meat]

Does anyone know a website for making fake MySpace or Something Awful screenshots? I can do it in GIMP if I have to but it’s so much easier on those sketchy fake screenshot websites

[callsign-rogueone]

together

platonic! Xaden x gn!reader x Garrick words: 1.3k 🏷: prequel flashback that contains mild fourth wing and iron flame spoilers, 17-18 y/o Xaden and Garrick and gender neutral reader who was their childhood friend (this could be angel, but I purposely left it vague) hurt/comfort, reader dressing Xaden's wounds and brief mentions of blood, tears, fluffy ending (who doesn’t love a good old fashioned friendship cuddle/nap pile?)

The knock on the door of the room you’ve been assigned pulls your focus away from the book in your hands that you haven’t really been reading, just looking at the pages absentmindedly; you can’t bring yourself to enjoy it, not with everything else going on around you.

You know it’s Xaden from the rhythm -- he’s using the secret knock you and Garrick had come up with as children; the same basic pattern, ending with one tap for him, two for Garrick, three for you, and four for Bodhi; your age order.

“Come in,” you call.

You aren’t expecting him to look so dejected, his shoulders slumped and head hung, looking utterly defeated, shirt off, held limply in his hand. “Talk to me,” you say gently, immediately concerned.

“I’d do it myself, but I can’t see them,” he says quietly, turning to show you the bloody cuts covering his back.

Your jaw drops. There has to be…

“One hundred and seven,” he answers before you can ask. One for each of you. They’d turned a respected tradition for marriage and parenthood into a punishment, carving into his skin over and over, deep enough to make sure it would scar.

“Oh, Xay…” you breathe, stunned.

“I cut a deal. We’re safe,” he responds. “All of us. But we’ll be forced into lives of service to the crown as dragon riders.”

You don’t fully process the terms, too busy digging around for a first aid kit. There’s one in nearly every room of this house, a military protocol that his father had taken quite seriously.

He sits on the edge of the bed and hunches forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his head as you work in silence, cleaning and disinfecting all of the cuts as delicately as you can, but he still flinches away from the sting of the alcohol against his raw skin.

“I’m almost done,” you promise.

He doesn’t respond. You don’t expect him to; he’s never been particularly chatty, but you know there’s a storm brewing behind those dark eyes right now, but you’ll be there for him when it starts.

You coax him to sit up a bit so you can wrap the gauze, wrapping him in it from shoulder to waist to cover all of the cuts, and helping him put his shirt back on.

The pain of getting his arms through the sleeves is the last straw -- he finally starts to cry.

You know hugging him would just cause him more pain, and you can’t stroke his back, not wanting to put any pressure on the torn skin, so you settle for petting his hair, smoothing your fingers through the dark strands and gently rubbing the back of his neck to relax him.

“C’mere,” you coax, leaning back against the headboard and setting a pillow in your lap.

With a soft sound of discomfort, he shifts his weight down, resting his head on your lap and wrapping his arms around your waist, clinging to you tightly. His body shakes with sobs as his fingers dig into your skin, and you feel like your heart has been ripped in two.

You‘ve only seen Xaden cry once before, when you were ten, and his mother’s marriage contract expired, giving her the right to leave Tyrrendor and leave Xaden’s life forever, disappearing without a trace. You’d held him like this then, too, let him sob into the collar of your shirt and spent the rest of that day sitting with him and Garrick in near-silence, trying not to cry over the loss yourselves, needing to be strong for your friend.

His mother had always been kind to the three of you. She’d loved Xaden dearly, and appeared to tolerate Fen, with no obvious signs that she wanted to leave, but nonetheless, she’d taken the chance and ran with it, literally. It remained unclear if Xaden had gotten to say goodbye — he likely hadn’t, given the extent of his distress, probably hearing the news from his father before he ran to find the pair of you.

You realize now that it might not have been her decision, that Fen might have asked her to leave. But you’ll never know for sure — he, along with your parents, is lost to you forever.

You don’t tell him it’s okay, because it isn’t, but you need to say something, to acknowledge his pain and the sacrifice he’d just made for you and all of your friends, for people neither of you have even met.

“I know it hurts, X,” you soothe, stroking a hand through his dark locks as he continues to sniffle quietly. “I’m so sorry they made you do that. I’m sorry for everything. You didn't deserve any of it. None of this was your fault."

The door opens with a soft creak, Garrick stepping inside. His eyes widen at the sight of Xaden still trembling, clinging to you and crying, which is disturbing enough in itself, without the open first aid kit on the nightstand next to you and the pile of bloody cotton balls that you’d used to clean his wounds.

“Uallach,” you whisper. Responsibility.

Garrick puts it together quickly enough — Xaden was forced to take the traditional cuts for all of you. He sits beside you both on the arm of the couch, quiet. “I’m so sorry, Xay,” he says softly, brushing a hand over the other boy’s shoulder, careful not to nudge the bandages. 

Xaden adjusts his hold on you, reaching out with one arm — the one bearing the same relic you’re all stuck with now, that smoky black pattern that covers the skin — wincing at the way the motion tugs the cuts on his back. He takes Garrick’s hand in his, holding it silently, a gesture with multiple meanings; a bid for comfort, wanting to have his best friends close, but also a reminder that the three of you are in this together, and an apology; in his deal with the general to save your lives, he’d been forced to agree to all one hundred and seven of you enrolling in Basgiath war college as dragon riders — a death sentence of its own.

“We’ll all be okay,” Garrick promises softly. “We’ll heal, and we’ll adapt, and get through it all, together.”

Xaden’s tears have dried, leaving him with a headache and that hollow feeling you get after a thorough cry. He feels heavier against you, a sign that he’s drifting toward sleep. Good. Rest will help him heal, and give him a break from this exhaustion.

Garrick takes a pillow from the other side of the bed, motioning for you to sit up a little. You move incredibly carefully, not wanting to disturb Xaden in his delicate state, but thankfully he doesn’t seem bothered by it, too worn out to notice or care as Garrick places the pillow behind your back to make you more comfortable.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly. 

“Tired,” you answer. 

“We could all use some sleep,” he concedes, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket, cuddling up against the both of you.

You hum in agreement, fighting a yawn. You haven’t been able to rest much this week, constantly working to take care of the younger children, and the sleep you did get has been plagued by nightmares of the days prior — you’re exhausted. 

You hope Xaden’s dreams will be kind to him — he looks peaceful, still breathing steadily. 

“Get some rest,” Garrick says softly. “Tomorrow will be a new day, and we can start figuring all of this out then.”

You let your eyes drift shut, leaning your head against his muscled shoulder. You’re all going to be sore when you wake up from sleeping like this, bar Xaden, who looks perfectly comfortable where he’s curled up between you like an overgrown puppy.

Garrick is right. The three of you will get through this, together.

[itstheheebiejeebies]

A really great article about what the crew of the Just-a-Snappin' went through on the Bremen raid on October 8, 1943.

Transcript below Read More

Article found through this page on the 100th Bomb Group site

Article named: Uncommon valor

Subheading: Everett Blakely personified grace under pressure

By Dan Krieger Telegram-Tribune

Photos of the Just-a-Snappin' crashed into a tree, and one of Blakely smiling in uniform. The latter with the message "Everett 'Gopher' Blakely, right, lost his plne, 'Just-a-Snappin.' but saved his crew when he crash landed the B-17 bomber.

Pull quote in the article: 'For 3,000 feet Captain Blakely and Major Kidd fought to get that plane under control. It was only because of the superior construction of our bomber... plus the combination of two skilled pilots, that we ever even recovered from that dive. -Lt. Harry Crosby

Main article: Lt. Harry Crosby wrote to his wife, "Jean there are just two reasons why I am here today. One of them is because of Blake's superb piloting and the other is because of the skill of our gunners."

We often think of heroes as flamboyant people. More often than not, real heroes are quiet people who are doing what they believe is required of them.

Today Everett Blakely, a pilot trained in Santa Maria, says that he was "just doing what had to be done" in the war against Hitler. He was a quiet hero.

Allan G. Hancock College in Santa Maria has a long and colorful history. Long before it became a community college, the campus was known as the Hancock College of Aeronautics.

It was a private school, named after its energetic, versatile and creative founder and benefactor, Capt. Allan Hancock.

Well prior to American entry into the Second World War, Captain Hancock offered his school to the United States Army Air Corps as a flight instruction school. Between May 1939 and V-J Day, some 8,500 pilots and 1,500 aircraft mechanics were trained at Hancock College.

The commercial warehouse district just west of today's Hancock College campus includes the one-time hangers for the flight instruction aircraft. The Stearman PT-13 biplanes are gone, but the College of Aeronautics administration buildings still survive on campus.

Everett "Gopher" Blakely came to Santa Maria just out of the University of Washington at Seattle. He was convinced that America was going to get involved in the European war.

The Blitzkrieg over Poland in 1939, over Belgium and France in 1940, and the Battle of Britain had convinced Blakely that this was going to be a war where air power was essential. The United States was going to need pilots. "Gopher" Blakely had discovered his mission.

Blakely soon started flying the essentially First World War era Stearmans over the tranquil valleys of the Central Coast. He and his buddies from rainy Puget Sound loved the warm sunny climate. They thought Santa Maria was a friendly town and enjoyed a precious few weekend hours socializing at the Santa Maria Inn.

Within months, Blakely and his friends were on the damp fen lands of Norfolkshire in England's East Anglia. They had graduated from the tiny Stearmans to the "Queen of the Bombers," the four-engine, hundred-foot-winged Boeing B-17 "Flying Fortress."

On July 4, 1943, the first American pilots participated with Britain's Royal Air Force in bombing raids over Germany. But as late as January 1943, Winston Churchill, en route to meet with President Roosevelt at Casablanca, wrote a secret memo to his Secretary of State for Air.

In that memo, Churchill complained that "the Americans have not yet succeeded in dropping a single bomb on Germany." What Churchill meant was that no American bombers were able to penetrate German anti-aircraft fire a sufficient distance. This was because the Americans were trained for daylight missions only. The British had bomber Berlin early in the war by flying mainly night missions,

Churchill wanted the Americans to start flying night missions also. But Gen. Henry H. "Hap" Arnold was convinced that it would take too long to retrain air crews for night flying. That loss of time would allow the Germans to rebuild their military strength.

At Casablanca, the Americans won Churchill over to a doctrine of round-the-clock bombing which would "give Hitler no rest." The Americans would send increasingly larger waves of B-17s by day. The RAF would continue doing what it did best through nighttime assaults.

The decision at Casablanca was costly in terms of the lives of American aircrews. Daytime raids were decidedly more risky. Few of us realize that the losses to the Eight Air Force alone approach American losses in the Vietnam War.

Capt. "Gopher" Blakely became the pilot of "Just-a-Snappin," a B-17 in the 100th Bomb Group flying out of Thorpe Abbots in Norfolkshire. Blakelly and his crew were piloting their B-17s over the upper reaches of the Danube in the famous raids on Schweinfurt and Rogensburg.

On Oct. 8, 1943, the 10th Bomb Group participated in a raid on the shipbuilding and industrial center of Bremen and the nearby U-Boat building yards and pens at Vegesack.

Both of "Just-a-Snappin's" right wing engines were shot out in a running battle with German fighters over the Zuider Zee. Five of the crew were injured - Waist Giner Sgt. Lester Saunders fatally.

Lt. Harry Crosby, "Just-a-Snappin's" navigator, filed an astonishing report on the B-17's struggle to return to England:

"For 3,000 feet Captain Blakely and Major Kidd fought to get that plane under control. It was only because of the superior construction of our bomber, and its perfect maintenance, plus the combination of two skilled pilots, that we even recovered from that dive.

"If I were an expert on stress and strain analysis, or a mechanic, or even a pilot, I would dwell at length on the manner in which the plane was restored to normal flying attitude. As it is, the procedure defies my description. But I am certain it was a very great accomplishment."

Everett Blakely's description recalls, "You can lose altitude awfully fast when one engine goes sour and your controls are chewed to ribbons. We dropped for 3,000 feet before Major Kidd and I could regain control... Most of the crew were not strapped to their seats were thrown to the floor, shaken severely - but at last the ground was once more back where it ought to be, instead of standing up on one ear. Once more we were in level flight and, at least temporarily, safe."

Crosby's report states that:

"At 10,000 feet we were able to look out the windows (and) were temporarily assured to not that the ground was now in the right place. A hurried consultation was held over inter-phone to determine a plan for fighting our way back to England.

"The following facts had to be considered: We had lost all communication back of the top turret, so it was impossible to determine the extent of injury and damage. Our control wires were fraying as far back as the top turret operator could see. At least two of the crew had reported being hit immediately after we left the target.

"One engine was in such bad condition that bits and finally all of the cowling were blasted off. We were losing altitude so rapidly probably because of the condition of the elevator that any but the shortest way back was beyond contemplation. So we headed across the face of Germany for home."

Later, Harry Crosby wrote of Blakely and his co-pilot:

"The normal reaction on the part of our pilots should have been to think of their own personal safety, or in cases of extreme nobility of character perhaps they would have been thinking about the other members of the crew. But they did not, even in this crisis, forget for one minute they were the leaders of a great formation. Their first thought was of the crews behind them. In unison, as we fell into our dive, the words came over the interphone to our tail gunner, 'Signal the deputy leader to take over.'

"I can't help but to think as they fought for their lives they might have been excused for being too busy to think of their command, but such was not the case.

"By this signaling, the remainder of the formation was notified immediately that we had been hit and were aborting. This act would have prevented any planes being pulled even a few feet out of position into danger from the enemy aircraft buzzing about."

Despite the loss of the airplane's compass, Blakely and his amazing navigator, Lt. Harry Crosby, made it to landfall. They crash-landed at Ludham, Norfolk. The completely unmaneuverable aircraft, without any brakes, skidded into an ancient British oak tree.

Blakely remembers: "The tree crashed between Np. 2 engine and the pilot's compartment. That was lucky because another three inches to the right and it would have crushed the pilot and co-pilot. We had slowed to maybe 50 mph by then..."

Blakely's co-pilot for that mission, Major John B. Kidd, recalled that "someone counted over 800 separate holes in that aircraft."

"Just-a-Snappin" would never fly again.

The Bremen mission was typical of dozens of missions which penetrated deeper and deeper into German territory. Even before the Bremen raid, Blakely and his crew were piloting their B-17's over teh upper reaches of the Danube in the famous raids on Schweinfurt and Regensburg.

Today, Blakely is retired and lives with his wife, Marge, in San Luis Obispo. They are the parents of Supervisor David Blakely, who speaks with great pride of his father's contribution to the fight against Hitler.

-three stars end the article and separate a note about the author

Dan Krieger is a Cal Poly history professor and member of the County Historical Society.

-Along the bottom of the page the article is attributed to the San Luis Obispo (Calif.) Telegram-Tribune in the Saturday, February 16, 1991 edition on page 23.

[romanarose]

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 2

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader/OC x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Javi and Santi talk about where to start with Lorea; Santi thinks on his night with Candy

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it.

Additional warnings: Catholic guilt and religous trauma and religion talk. However, this is not an anti catholic page. We can discuss the problems of the church at large and the guilt that abstence-only and shame based discussions on sex can affect people, but my family is catholic and I have a lot of respect for the individual people, especially Latino-catholics.

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and had hair. I've decided Candy is just latina coded bc she's a sex worker in colombia so this is what I'm doing.

3.1k words. Proof red by my beloved Fen

Perspective changed per section. When perspective is Santi or Javi, reader is referred to in the 3rd person or by Candy.

************************

You have Santi sat up on the bed, facing you. Well, Diego. That’s what he said his name was, but if he thought you didn’t know who the new DEA agent in town was, he was mistaken. After your 3rd arrest for prostitution, you got a lot more careful, and always tried to keep up with the police in the area. You wondered if he knew Javi.

“Alright Diego, tell me, what exactly is it you’re looking for?” You ask, but he looks confused, so you give a soft, warm sigh. He was one of those ones. “Are you just looking for a quick fuck? Getting to know each other and forming a connection, exploring things?”

Santi considered his options. “Well, maybe I’d like to learn a little bit… only had s-” He swallowed. “sex a few times… you know, lights off, missionary, couple pumps and done…” A nervous chuckle emitted from him, so you tried to ease him with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry, baby boy, we can do that. Let’s start with getting to know a woman’s body, how about that?”

*

“Garcia, wake the fuck up.” Javi’s voice broke Santi out of his daydreaming, making him snap towards Javi.

“Huh? Sorry.”

“Whatsamatter, pretty boy, got dicked down too hard last night?”

Santi’s eyes went wide at that. “Dicked-?!?! DICKED DOWN? JAVI!” He leaned in to whisper harshly, as if it was important enough to keep quiet but not so bad Santi couldn’t miss an opportunity to clutch his pearls. “Javi, you fucking know I could get arrested for that!”

“I’m joking, pendejo.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that!”

Apparently, Santi looked concerned enough that Javi backed down, raising his hands in defeat. “Tranquilo, tranquilo amigo, lo siento. Yo parare.”

A little shaken, Santi glanced down as he calmed himself. “Gracias, Pena”. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head before clearing his throat. “So. Lorea. What do we got?”

*

Santiago Garcia had never seen a pussy up close before. There’d been porno magazines, sure… and he’d… touched a bit. He wasn’t an animal, Will had explained he can’t just shove his dick into a woman, that could hurt her. No, you gotta warm her up first, seduce her, open her up. Santi heard more than he ever wanted to of the sordid detail of Will eating pussy. However, when it came to actual sex, Santi barely got through it without a panic attack. There was no way he was going to attempt to go down on a girl under those conditions. Still, he didn’t want to hurt her, so he made sure to finger the 3 girls he’d somehow bumbled his way into bed with.

He needed to do better. Candy was allowing him the chance to explore, get over his nerves.

“But I want you to cum…” He had insisted.

“Well aren’t you a sweet boy… I’ll make sure I cum, how about that? Let me worry about that.”

“But…” he had looked across at her. “But I wanna learn how too.”

She nodded with reassurance. “You will, trust me, I’ll teach you. Just for today, focus on getting comfortable. I’ll let you know what feels good and what doesn’t but what works for me may not work for someone else, so remember that. Most important thing is communicating and listening to her body, so let’s start there.”

That’s how he got here, flat on his chest with Candy’s legs spread out before him. Her pussy was glistening for him.

“Where do I… how do I start?”

Candy sat up just a bit on her elbows. “Start by just getting familiar, explore.”

So he did. Santi started with touching. His index and middle finger swept along her folds, moving and opening her up for his view. She was beautiful. He started with the top, the area just below her pantyline tan skin under a bush of hair followed by her folds coming to a head.

“That’s the clit, that’s very important.” She took his fingers and pulled back the hood. “Touch there” When Santi complied, Candy sank back down on her bed with a hum.

Santi felt a swell of pride at giving her pleasure. “Is that good?”

“Very good, pretty boy. Lot of nerves right there.”

He continued touching below, feeling the way her skin moved to his touch and how his fingers slid across the slick, soft skin below… She looked delicious.

“Can I taste you?”

*

“Where do we even start with something like this?” Santi groaned, flopping his head back.

Javi couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. “Don’t be such a child, Garcia. You take this shit one step at a time, just like anything else. Let’s start with what we know.”

The handsome younger man sighed. “Fine.” He pulled out the casefiles and Javi noticed how much calmer he’d seemed, less high strung… still high strung but that was just Santiago, Javi came to realize. “Gabriel Martin Lorea, coke dealer, devout catholic and family man… none of which stops him from hiring hookers.”

Javi chuckles. “Few things do.”

“Well, marriage should, especially when you have children.” Santi glared at him. 

His naivete, something Javi had been dreading with a younger partner, ended up endearing Santi to him. “Right, right of course.” He smiled and shook his head before lighting up a cigarette.

“Do you really have to do that indoors?”

“So sue me. I’m the one smoking, it’s not like it can hurt you.”

“I don’t know, I heard of a study that secondhand smoke can-”

Javi blew a puff of smoke in Santi’s face. “That’s just anti-smoking propaganda pushed by doctors to sell more nicotine patches.”

*

Santi had dived right in. Once he had permission to taste, he very tentatively licked a strip up her folds and to the clit… and was suddenly a starved man, insatiable, desperate to devour her and drown in her juices.. She liked when he touched her clit so he was sure to latch his mouth over the hood. As he sucked, Candy instructed him to finger her and he was happy to oblige. This, he could handle at least.

“Good boy…” Candy cooed at him. “Such a good boy for me, so obedient.”

“Wanna be good.” He mumbled into your core as he lapped at her, hips rutting against the bed. “Wanna do good.”

When her fingers found his hair, tangling up in his curls and tugging just a bit, he couldn’t help but whine into her, toes curling in his socks.

“You’re doing so good, baby boy, so good, but I’m gonna need you to stop.”

Stop? He didn’t wanna stop. Santi wanted to die here with her… Was it time? How much time did he pay for- ait, he hadn’t even paid her yet. What was her going rate? He didn’t fucking care right now, right now he’d pay her his life savings, his military pension, his first born, whatever she wanted if he could cum. 

“Whyyyyy?!” He simply went back to eating her out, taking every moment he had.

“Because,” Candy pulled at his curls, forcing him to look up and crawl back up her golden body. “Because you are about to cum, and I still wanna ride you.”

He could feel his eyes go wide at that. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what that meant… but for someone who had only ever done missionary, the whole concept seemed so… dirty. Santi chuckled nervously, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. “I’ll be honest, Candy, I’m not sure how much longer I’m gonna last as it is.”

He felt her chuckle. “Let’s slow down for a moment, then. I want you to undress.”

His breath hitched, but he made the move to undo his pants until she stopped him.

“Uh-uh, Diego. Stand up. Let me watch you undress.”

Undress like… standing? By himself? All out there and naked? “Um… can’t I do it here?”

“You can.” She confirmed with a kind smile. “But I’d really like to watch you strip for me.”

How could he resist that? Tentative, slow and careful, Santi stood up and Candy sat on the edge of the bed, bottoms off but still clothed top. “Are you gonna take that off?” It was half a joke, half a genuine question.

Candy nodded. “I will, just trust me.”

And he did, with everything in him.

So he took off his shirt.

*

“Okay. Catholic. Do we know what church he goes to?”

Javi raised an eyebrow? “You think a drug lord is going to daily mass?”

“No, but if he’s devout I assume he’s got a family that goes. Wife and children maybe, but definitely a mother. I don’t know one woman over 50 who doesn’t belong to a perish, especially a hispaña woman.”

“You find a lot of company con mujeres mayor, amigo?”

“Shut up. I say we start there. If we can find out about his family's church, we can probably find out a little more.”

Apprehensive as always, Javi crossed his legs, doubtful. “I don’t know, what can we possibly find out?”

Santi shrugged. “Not sure, but churches have a lot of records when it comes to members and if he has a family that is active we might find out something useful.”

“Is this really the best use of our time?”

Javi raised a good point, this might be a dead end, and they would have wasted all that time. “Just give me a picture of all known families and I’ll keep an eye out.”

Now that caught Javi’s attention, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You go to church, Garcia?”

A faint blush crept up Santi’s neck. His mother was very religious, that religion instilled into him and his sister. His sister couldn’t care less anymore, but then again she had never cared much about their mother’s harsh opinions and strict standards… Santi did. And so, even now with her passing, Santi attended mass often. Not a part of a regular perish, he just attended where he could and when his schedule allowed. The old women there did love him, but Santi knew Javi would never let that go. “Tengo muchas tías y primos en la zona. Si no muestro mi cara en la iglesia a veces, se lo dirán a mi madre y nunca escucharé el final.”

Javi didn’t need to know his mom was dead.

*

Santi nervously slides down his trousers and underwear, revealing the last bit of himself to Candy. Except for his tube socks. He wasn't sure what to do about those.

“Can I… move now?” He asked, a tremble in his soft voice.

She cocked her head to the side. “Does it make you nervous? To be seen like this.”

“To be seen like what?”

Candy stood up. “Naked, vulnerable, in full lighting…” She walked over towards him and placed her hands on her chest. “To let someone be able to see every part, every dip…” She felt over the ripples of his stomach muscles. “Every.” Lower. “Single.” Lower. “Inch.” Grabbing onto his hardened cock and began stroking it.

Santi let out a shuttered gasp at the touch of her hand. With her other one she lifted it to his mouth. “Lick, pretty boy.”

He was happy to oblige, not needing to know why. He didn’t need to ask questions with her, he could simply shut off his mind and let Candy guide him… mother knows best. Santi lapped at her palm, keening into it as the wetness smeared on his face.

“Such a good puppy”

The whine that emitted from him was out of him control; he liked the praise, he liked the nickname. He liked it a lot. He had been taught his whole life that sex was for procreation, a dirty thing to be done in shame and in quiet but here she was, proudly jerking him off with the now-wet hand… His mom would have said she was consumed by lust, that the devil had taken her, but Santo saw nothing but kindness in her eyes. Yes, he was paying her, he was well aware of that fact but she did genuinely seem to want to help him, to let him explore, to allow him to care for this basic human instinct… Was this dirty? Was this wrong? He wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“Doing so good baby boy, are you close?”

He was seconds away from coming. “S-so close.” He had his head thrown back, letting her take the lead on his pleasure.

With that, she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, stifling his impending orgasm.

“Mierde!” Santiago grunted, body jolting a bit in the physical frustration.

“Relaje, guapo. Trust me, okay? Can you do that?”

He groaned, but complied. Santi trusted her with everything. Right now, he’d follow her into the dark.

*

“Alright, so Pope Santiago will case the churches in his free time. Where does that leave us during the time we actually get paid for?” Javi thought the nickname was fitting for the apparently religious boy.

“I think we need to learn more about his free time.” Javi put out his cigarette. “How about we talk to some girls, see if they know anything?”

Santi narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Girls?”

“Hookers, Pope, hookers.”

“Oh.” 

Javi noticed how he suddenly became so nervous. The boy needed to get laid. The new information of Santi being at least semi-religious was a whole new insight on his psyche. He already seemed to be a bit of a mama’s boy, a goody-two-shoes with a shiny military career and a good heart, but this was a little different. Javier’s family was catholic, as most families were. He had been baptized, first communion, confirmed, the whole jazz but as soon as he’d got annoying enough, his mom stopped bushing the issue. Santi, however, was still practicing.

“I’ll handle that part, Garcia. Don’t worry, I won't drag the Pope into a whore house.”

Javi had no doubt Santi could hold his own in most scenarios. Hell, he’d seen it. In line of fire, interviews, everything Santi could handle. But take him into a room full of prostitutes? Well, they’d eat him alive.

*

“Are you ready for me, pretty boy?” You had him right where you wanted him, right where you liked pretty boys like him that you got to corrupt in moments like this… Santiago was special though, you could tell. He was innocent, but he was far from the most innocent. You’d taken plenty of virginities before, so many you’d lost track of it all, but the way Santiago looked at you right now as he was sat up against the padded headboard of your bed slowly stroking him as your legs straddled his. Santiago looked at you with reverence, adoration, like he was fully submitted below you… as if you had the power, even though it was in his hands as the customer. Yeah, he was a special one. 

 A good, young DEA agent, straightline former military, special Ops and he came to you to show him how to pleasure a woman; not just to have sex, not just to get off, but to learn how to heighten the pleasure of all parties… A church going boy too. 

“Do I need to beg? Because I’ll fucking beg.” His hands were gripped at the sheets, lightning at the knuckles.

“Oh sweet boy, I won’t make you beg, I’m just checking in.” You sit up, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds. Pulling down the foreskin, you begin to sink down on him, watching his eyes widen as your warmth enveloped him. He filled you right up. Every. Single. Inch.

“Breath baby, breath.” You urge him as you see his lips pressed tight together. 

He did as he was told, releasing a breath. 

“Good job. Now keep breathing, I’m going to finish undressing.” His cock was stuffed into you, and your bottom remained still as your top moved, stipping off your shirt and bra in one. 

It was merely a whisper. “Beautiful…” His eyes were nearly glazed over in lust when you began your work.

Up, down, up, down… you moved on him with your hands on his chest for balance… he seemed almost in shock as he looked in your eyes, only staying momentarily to look at your breasts before quickly looking back at your face as if it was impolite.

“It’s okay to look, Diego. You won’t offend me. You can find me sexy, do you think I’m sexy, Diego?”

“So pretty…” It was gasped out and you could tell he was almost there again.

You began to bounce on him with more vigor and the “You can touch me too”

“I’m… I’m a little scared too…”

Running your fingers through his curls, you ruffle it, enjoying the look of the pristine young man coming undone for you. You take the initiative for him. Hand in hand, you guide him to your breasts, encouraging Santiago to grope and squeeze as he liked and you reveal in the feeling of feeling of his excited pawing. He was enraptured in you, you and him were the only thing that matter right now, and you knew it. You stretched around him,  and you knew it had to be one hell of sight.

“Watch” Pulling him by his curls you guide him to look down where you and him connected, letting him watch the watch your cunt moved to accommodate him, making room to be filled over and over again. “See how my body let’s you in? I was made for you, pretty boy. I was made to take you inside me.”

The thick stretch was bringing you closer, and you knew he was only holding on by a thread himself, so you began to touch yourself. “Focus on that feeling, Diego. The feeling of us together. Can you feel it? I sure can.”

“I- I can, yes.” He was panting now, his bare tanned chest heaving with every bounce of you tits in his hands. 

“Yes what?” But he looked up at you in confusion, a desperation on his face to be good, do good, do this all right. “Yes ma’am”

“Yes ma- ma’ammmm” With that, Santiago’s hits thrust upward into you, his eyes drilled shut and mouth tightly closed in his attempt to muffle his own release.

You did no such thing. As he filled you up, you spilled over yourself and felt the gushing release of your cunt soaking his cock, you yelled out for him, letting him know how good he made you feel. Relaxing onto his chest, Santiago wraps his arms around you like an affection-starved child, and you get a little hint into what you think this was all about.

He needed praise. He needed fondness. He needed skin to skin contact like nothing else right now. He needed to be a good person and do it all right and know he was doing it right. 

Santiago needed to be loved.

*****************

IM BACK

Sorry i know it was a wait lmfao. I posted like 3 chapters of the wrong way sequel before this one lolololol OOPS

But i promise I got a fun plan for this fic! I hope you all enjoy.

Remember, reblogs are the only real way to spread work! Please consider relogging to support this writing.

Comments mean the world to me!

Asks are always open to discuss this fic or my others, but also for non fandom too! Talk to me about anything you're excited about! I wanna get to know you all.

Also, as a note im trying my best for historic acuracy but I know narcos goes from like 70's onward but this stays in the 70's. Pretend Pablo Escabar isn't an issue anymore lmfao.

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @itspdameronthings @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolbool @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @laiisleitte @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12

[skyfallscotland]

I know I’m repeating myself, but the new chapter in too deep was once again sooo good! I love the insinuation with Amber Mavis, like yessss Violet is small but there is a reason why her nickname is Violence 😏

And just the interaction with Violet and Xaden, them spending the day together and him caring for her ahaaaa I’m so so excited for the next chapters!

Thank you Amy for sharing your writing with us! ❤️

Thank you so much! I can't believe the response this silly little olympics fic has gotten, it's been great 💗

She's finally learning that he's not all bad and realising she wants to spend time with him, bless her lol. It's going to get emotional very soon once we start delving into everyone's trauma, but hopefully it will remain fun at the same time lol. I'm not used to writing things that aren't epic-length now. I keep sprinkling in things and people keep asking about them and I'm like oh...um...no you're probably never getting the backstory sorry, lol.

Like Fen was in the military and that's how he died and up until his death and bonding with the Mairi's, Xaden thought he was going to do that too. Like that's my headcanon but it will probably never make it to page 😅

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Fen!!!! Hope you are doing weeeell 😇

The Aurryn thread had me in stitches omg. You created a problem... now take responsibility 👀

Also just completely ignoring the whole reaction you have to the luca questions..... hmmm... 🧐🤔

But back to my ask. It is my most favorite ask i alwaaaayyyyys ask and i neeed to ask. If no one else has. But i fucking love a jealous RO especially when they try to not be jealous or it's completely outrageous for them to be.

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo: MC is at some ball thing and another noble is very much just trying to rizz the hell out of them. Like flirting their pants off (to hopefully flirt the MCs pants off too) and MC isn't uncomfortable but just enduring it because it's probably not something new. What do the ROs do/think about that 👀 📝

Also, I'm so glad the page is so lively, lol 💜

Hi again!! I’m doing well thank you! Hope you are good too. I see no problem with the aurynn situation 😏--in fact I have discovered I have the power to turn straight people gay with nothing more than a drawing so NONE of you are safe. 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🔫🐛pew pew

Dunno what you are talking about with the Luca questions....there is nothing suspicious going on. :3

As for the jealousy question:

Kieran: pre-feelings, they won't really be very jealous and would probably only intervene bc they feel that someone flirting with their betrothed is going to be a bad look for them, you, and the noble. Post-feelings, they would start getting jealous but would have a hard time recognizing it as jealousy bc it is not a feeling they are familiar with. They'd probs spend a while just watching you from across the room with a troubled look and then find some excuse--if only to convince themselves they are doing this for a good reason--to cut in and dance with MC instead. They'd be in denial over feeling jealous.

Aurynn: pre-feelings, not going to care much so long as MC doesn't look uncomfortable. If MC does look uncomfortable or like they are so incredibly bored out of their skull, he'd step in but otherwise he is fine with letting MC handle it or if mc is flirting with others if they want to. He's a slut. He gets it. And he knows if MC really wants out of it they can just signal him with a look and he’ll come to the rescue but not without badgering the hell out of the noble first, if only just for the fun of it. Post-feelings, he's going to be struggling with why the hell he cares so much about seeing someone else rizzing mc up and might start getting petty about it. He wouldn't even care about rudely cutting in if it means he gets to monopolize your time and would probs overcompensate by being overly casual and talking too much so you can’t get a word in edgewise or question him bc he doesn’t quite know why he did that either.

Samira: Pre-feelings, so long as MC doesn't look uncomfortable, she would feel it would be rude to intrude even if she thinks it is a bad look for someone to be flirting with an engaged person so openly bc she is not nobility and feels a bit out of place cutting in between nobles but she would offer sympathetic looks if she can tell mc is just enduring it. Post-feelings, she might start to choose to interpret the noble's actions as overly brazen and mc as uncomfortable just to give herself an excuse to cut in. Would be staring daggers at the other noble even after they left despite herself.

Nihm: pre-feelings, would feel it would be bad for someone to be flirting with an engaged mc so openly and might leave it for Kieran to handle out of respect but if Kieran doesn’t notice then they might try to politely cut in so as not to cause a scene. post-feelings, they are going to have some internal suffering and maybe staring at mc longingly from across the ballroom as they try to figure out what they should do. Might cut in to avoid a bad situation and then feel really awkward afterwards bc they've cut in for selfish reasons and now don't know what to do about it. Might just leave out of embarrassment.

Lilith/Lucien: Petty about it either way. They might debate about stepping in at first and then very quickly lose that self-debate—if one even occurred at all—and scare away the noble, which wouldn't be hard considering L's reputation in Celestyl. They’d be pretty smug about having your undivided attention. They tend to pout if you choose someone else over them, depending on the situation.

[shyvioletcat]

ROWAELIN MONTH: DAY 19

~ Telling their kids about their tattoos ~

Another bonus addition to canon week. I had a random idea and it became this. @rowaelinscourt

~~~~~

The palace guards let them through to the private wing, Aelin nodding her thanks as they passed. Already she could feel herself calming. Only family and the inner most members of the court were allowed in this part of the palace. Here, they were just Aelin and Rowan, no expectations and no critical eyes on them. 

Approaching their rooms Aelin kept an ear out for what her children might be up to. It was mostly quiet, and then as they approached their door Aelin heard hurried footsteps. The footfalls were heavy and didn’t belong to a child. Meaning they must belong to the royal children’s current minder. Rowan reached out to open the door but it swung open before he got close. Fenrys stood in the doorway, a hesitant smile on his face. 

“What did you do?” Rowan asked, immediately sensing something was afoot.

Fenrys glanced at Aelin, looking for some assistance against Rowan’s potential wrath. “Before you come in I want you to remember creativity is good for children.”

Now Aelin was starting to feel some apprehension. “What did you allow them to do?”

Fenrys moved aside. “It’s quite sweet, really.”

Rowan finally let go of her so that they could fit through the doorway and Aelin eagerly followed behind, wondering what kind of disaster they were walking into. Her children had a penchant for chaos, especially when left with Fenrys. Someone wiser might insist the boisterous male not watch her children, but he adored them so profoundly as they did in return. It was worth everything just to see the smiles they created by being together. 

“Oh no,” Rowan breathed.

With a hand on her very round stomach Aelin stepped aside from behind Rowan’s imposing form so that she could see as well. She had no words, she could only take in the sights before her. 

They had been painting, pages upon pages were scattered over the low table in the middle of their sitting area. And the children had progressed past the paper. Aelin looked at her daughter, Elspeth had dark swirls and lines all the way up her left arm, a very obvious simple imitation of Rowan’s tattoos. That was not the worst of it, that title would belong to what was no doubt the Princess' doing. The young Prince was not longer wearing a shirt and on his back was where Aelin’s tattoos were depicted.

“How?” Aelin asked, turning to Fenrys. 

“I stepped out for a moment to visit the bathing room and Elsie had already started on Finnian’s, and I thought it was best to let her finish,” Fenrys explained. “And then she was complaining that she didn’t have any tattoos so what was I supposed to do?”

“Not let her paint herself or her brother,” Rowan shot back.

Fenrys shrugged. “I’m not one to crush the artistic ambitions of the Princess.”

Rowan gave a long suffering sigh and it was that all too familiar sound when Fenrys was around, and that finally seemed to catch the attention of the two children. Elspeth’s head snapped up from where she was adding finer details to her hand. 

“Da! Mama!” She squealed. The five year old was on her feet in an instant, dropping the paintbrush on the ground and running over. “See what I did?”

Rowan knelt, not a care for any paint that might end up on him as Elspeth got in close with her arm held out. “I see, my little love.”

“It’s just like yours,” she put their matching arms together. “And I did Finnian to be like Mama.”

“It looks wonderful, Elsie,” Aelin said. “Now say goodbye to Uncle Fen, it’s time for him to go before your father maims him.”

“What maim, Mama?” Finnian said, wiping his paint covered hand over his chest, dirtying himself further. 

She gave her son a wink. “I’ll tell you later.”

Both children said goodbye to Fenrys, and he shot an apologetic look at Aelin as he left. “I’ll come and clean this up once he’s cooled down.” They all knew who the he was. 

“You better be, boyo,” Rowan said over his shoulder. 

Fenrys fled after that, making Aelin laugh. The room was in chaos with paper, paint and brushes haphazardly scattered about. There were pictures of simplistic figures of people and trees, and poorly drawn animals that were not made by her children. All in all, the damage wasn’t too bad. None of the furniture would need to be replaced. Rowan was glaring around like he was going to ask her to set fire to it all. 

Aelin put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Come on, it will all be fine. They just need a bath.”

“I’ll do that, you have a lie down,” Rowan said, shooting her a look before she could protest otherwise. “Don’t even try and convince me otherwise, I know you’re tired.”

Aelin hated to admit it but she was. Right now, nothing sounded better than sending off her mate with her children and tucking herself into bed for a while. 

“Come on you, two.” Rowan hefted a child up in each arm. “Time for a bath.”

Rowan didn’t bother to take the children back to their own rooms and just carried them through to the bathing chamber attached to his and Aelin’s bedroom. Aelin followed after, watching as her babies talked to their father and he responded with pure adoration in every response. The way he was with them made her proud to call him her mate. 

When the rest of her family out of sight Aelin prepared herself for bed. She unlaced the front of her dress and pulled it off. Left in her underdress, she considered going to the wardrobe and finding a nightgown of one of Rowan’s shirts to put on. In the end Aelin decided that what she wore was enough, it certainly covered more than her preferred night wear. It was warm enough that she just lay on the top of the bedding, rubbing a hand over her stomach. It wasn’t long before her eyes were falling closed and she drifted off to sleep.

Excited giggles and a low rumbling laugh is what woke her up some time later. Looking towards the door Aelin saw Rowan carrying Finnian in one arm while Elspeth hung onto the other. They always kept spare clothes for the children in their quarters and today their planning had paid off. Her two freshly clean children both climbed onto the bed and hugged their mother, Elspeth going as far as to press a kiss to Aelin’s stomach. Finnian was still determined to pretend the growing sibling did not exist. In about a month he wouldn’t have any other choice. 

“They have some questions for us,” Rowan said, sitting on the end of the bed.

Aelin sunk back into the pillows, trying to get as comfortable as she could with her three children encroaching on her personal space. “Is that so?” 

What had she woken up to? She gave Rowan a look that told him if they were about to ask where babies came from again, he could deal with it. 

“Mama, what do your tattoos mean? Why did you get them?” Elspeth asked. 

Oh, that is a question, Aelin said in a look towards her mate.

Indeed it is, Rowan sent back.

“Well, I think we should hear from Da first. His story will lead into mine,” Aelin said aloud.

Out of the corner of her eye Aelin saw two small heads turn to look at their father. He wore an expression she had not seen in a long time. The grief and shame still lingered for him, it might always, but it was a reminder to them all of how far he had come and how they would not be where they are today without his sacrifices.

“Long before I met your mother, I was mated before,” Rowan began but was interrupted by a shocked gasp.

“Before Mama?” Elspeth sounded betrayed. 

“It was a long, long time ago,” Rowan went on, a small smile appearing at Elspeth’s loyalty. 

“Yes, because remember children your father is very old,” Aelin added. 

Rowan sent a reproachful but playful look. “I believed that this female I had met far away in Doranelle was my mate.”

He went silent for a moment and Aelin knew he was searching for the right words to say. She sent a surge of comfort down the bond.

“Her name was Lyria, and through evil devising and my own arrogance she was lost to me. I felt so much sadness over losing her that I had the story of our time together tattooed on my skin to honour and remember her,” Rowan explained. 

Elspeth left where she was next to Aelin and crawled across the bed to be next to Rowan. Her small fingers traced the patterns on his skin. It was something she had done since she’d developed control of her hands. Aelin loved the gesture, it was sweet and seemed to have a soothing result on both father and daughter. 

“Did you love her?” Elspeth asked in an open, honest way only a child could possess. 

Rowan nodded. “I did.”

“It’s nice that you want to remember her, Da,” Eslpeth said. 

It was such a simple and yet profound statement that Aelin felt a tightness in her throat and when she looked at Rowan she could see that his eyes were misting. These were difficult topics to discuss with a child, but they had such a simple understanding that it made it a little easier.

“It is what Lyria deserves,” Rowan said, dropping a kiss onto Elspeth’s golden hair. 

“When I understood the significance of Da’s tattoos I wanted my own,” Aelin told her children. “I wanted to do as he did. The first tattoos he gave me I lost, but he did them again.”

“Did they hurt?” Finnian asked.

Aelin nodded, “They did for a time, but your father was as gentle as he could be. As he always is when it comes to those he loves.”

For a moment Aelin was taken back to Mistward, to those long hours she had spent grieving and reviving the lost parts of her soul. Rowan had been with her every moment, steady and grounding, the first of her bloodsworn and ready to follow her to whatever end. And then the second time, in those desperate hours in that tent as he tattooed his last efforts to bind them together into her skin. He had succeeded, and now they had this life. 

Aelin couldn’t help the tears that welled, and wiped her cheek as one rolled down her cheek. “My tattoos honour those I have lost and that we’ve told you about before. Your grandparents and great uncle, my friends who helped me, there are lines that affirm my dedication to our land and my people. But there is also the story of your father and I, the story of how we found our way to each other and always will.”

“Lucky for us, huh Mama?” Elspeth said. 

Rowan chuckled, and hugged her. “Very lucky, Elsie.”

“Well,” Aelin said with a sigh, and shrugging off the weight of the conversation. “The baby is hungry and I think it’s time for afternoon tea.”

“Can we invite Uncle Fen?” FInnian asked. 

Aelin laughed at the scowl Rowan wore. “I don’t see why not. Hopefully he’s cleaned up the mess he made by now.”

“That was us, Mama,” Elspeth reminded her. 

“Yes, but he’s responsible for it,” Rowan explained as he helped Elspeth and then Finnian off the bed. “Go and find him. We’ll be along.”

The children ran from the room and it turned out that Fenrys was already there, seeing to the paint and supplies as he had promised.

“You’re going to have to help me up,” Aelin said, shuffling herself to the edge of the bed. “Your child is getting heavy.”

Rowan stood with his hands outstretched, smiling with so much adoration for her that Aelin might just end up crying again. When she was on her feet Rowan wasted no time before kissing her, long and sweet. 

“I’ll get you your robe,” Rowan offered. 

The one he chose was one of Aelin’s prettier ones, it was more like a dress than a robe. It was comfortable, and right now that’s all that truly mattered to her. Rowan held it up and Aelin turned. She was surprised by the caress over her back as Rowan traced the lines of the words he had inked into her skin.

“Do you think they understood?” He asked, sliding the robe onto one arm and then the other. 

Aelin turned to face him and tied the robe closed at the top of her bump. “As much as they could. I’m sure when they’re older they’ll have more questions.”

“And we’ll be there again, to answer them together,” Rowan said. 

“Like we always are,” Aelin said, kissing her mate. “To whatever end.”

~~~~~

This fic might be completely self indulgent by why not? Tags are still being awful

[waywardwizzard]

Serenity was quietest at night.

Simon sat reading on the common room couch, his sore leg stretched out in front of him. The only sound in the room was the silent turning of the pages and Serenity's gentle hum. The book dipped, Simon's eyes fluttering shut, when a sudden thump from the cargo bay made him start awake and drop the book, the movement jostling his sore leg.

"Wo de ma he ta de fen kuang de wai sheng dou-"

"Easy there, doc," Mal said, appearing in the doorway, the portable Cortex held in his hands. "Just me."

"I don't know if that's better or worse." Simon muttered, grimacing when a spasm shot through his leg.

The captain smiled and put the Cortex down on the coffee table next to Simon's leg, taking a seat on the chair next to the couch. "Leg botherin' ya?"

"Not at all," Simon deadpanned. "I've had mosquito bites worse than this."

Mal laughed, a small smile making its way onto the doctor's face.

The Cortex pinged and Mal's smile fell.

"Is something wrong, Captain?" Simon asked. He tried to push himself up but hissed when his leg shifted. Mal passed him the screen and sighed.

"They, uh, they updated yer wanted bulletins."

He didn't need to see the screen to know why the boy froze. Hell, he would have done the same.

Both of the Tam's bounty had been increased with a 1000 credits and the words Dead or Alive flashed next to Simon's name.

It was quiet, Serenity's engine a steady hum.

"It's a few days old-"

Simon's voice was soft and Mal almost missed it, but missing what he said was as hard as missing a brick wall.

"We'll leave."

Mal stopped, stunned.

"Huh?"

Simon's eyes were downcast, his jaw set and his body tensed.

"I said, Captain, we'll leave. River and I are a threat in more ways than one and-"

"Doc."

His voice was harsh but Mal wanted, needed, the kid to hear this.

"Doc, listen to me. You and yer sister are crew and that's not nothing. Ya ain't leavin' this ship just because yer bounty'd been increased. Yer safer here than anywhere else."

He tried to catch the doctor's eyes.

"If ya want to leave, then so be it. But it should be yer own decision, not out o' some misplaced sense of protection. We can look after our own, and, well," Mal smiled, "having a doc on board to patch us up after ain't too bad."

Simon laughed quietly and looked up at the Captain with suspiciously bright eyes.

"Why?"

"How many times do I have to say this, son? Yer on my crew."

Mal gently clapped Simon on the shoulder, careful not to jostle him.

He stood up, picking up the fallen book and handing it to Simon before he left. Just as he reached the doorway, he turned back. Simon looked up at him, frowning.

"Oh, and doc?"

"Yes Captain?"

"Try not to get shot again, dong ma?"

[jpitha]

Yet Another Writing Advice Post

I'm about to type about some stuff about writing. It's pretty Meta and feel free to skip this one if you're waiting for more about Gord and Fen, that's coming soon. It's not for anyone specifically, it's for me mostly, but you might get something out of it too.

As a writer - especially as an amateur writer who eventually wants to get paid for writing - one of the things I struggle with is what am I writing for? Is it just for me? Is it for my readers? Is it for sale?

Lots of writing advice for newbies boils down to "write the things you want to read, do it your way, fuck the haters."

This is good.

I mean it. It's going to sounds like I don't agree with it, so I'm saying right here off the jump, if you're just starting out, this is an unalloyed good. Write what you want how you want.

But.

If you want to write things that other people will read - not even writing things that people will pay you for - you also need to expand your skills. You should get better at writing. So as to not waste your readers time, but also so that you're better able to translate what's in your head into words on a screen/page so that others can see the cool as fuck things you thought up.

The only way to get good at something is to be bad at it for a long time.

It's hard for me to remember this. Every expert that you see, every skilled creation you come across was made by a person who did piles and piles and piles of terrible art first. I hate this! I don't want to suck, I never want that.

That does not make it untrue however.

I am a mediocre writer.

I am not saying this to fish for compliments, or to get positive reinforcement. It's the truth. I am trying every day to get better - and I am getting better! It's one of the reasons I like rewriting my old stuff. But, me assuming I am A Good Writer Now is pure hubris.

In an attempt to get better, I joined an online writing group. (I don't think anyone from there reads this Tumblr, but if they do, Hi!) Everyone in that group is skilled, probably more skilled than me. That's normal and to be expected. Everyone is good about offering crits and nobody is mean, but also it's not a hugbox. We're all there to get better and write.

Last week I put more effort into an entry than I think I have ever done. I spent real time on it, worked methodically, had a plan, even sought out folks to beta read. Like, I put in the work.

I still didn't win.

The winning entry was one that was almost utterly opaque to me. It wasn't "well that's not for me, but I can see how they'd win," it was pure "I don't like this and I don't understand why they'd win, and yet, here we are"

Why do I mention this?

Well, for one, I'm disappointed that I didn't win. The judges did give me crits on my entry, which was nice, but it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. This is also fine, change takes time. But additionally the things they didn't like were things that I added on purpose. It's important to remember when receiving crits that you don't have to change what you do. It's just like, their opinion man. Brush off crits at your own peril however. They show what others who read your work expected to find and didn't.

It's normal to be sad that you worked hard on something only to find out it wasn't what the judges wanted to read. It's normal to be bummed to realize you aren't as good as you thought you were, and/or that you still have a long way to go.

But then what?

Do you change what your style? Try and write something that you think will appeal? Do you stick to your guns and say "I know what I like, and I will continue to write what I like?"

In the end, you have to decide why you are writing (or drawing or painting or weaving or whatever.) You have to decide who your audience is.

If it's just you? Keep on keeping on, go nuts! Make art however the hell you want. You are an artist, it's still art, you are legitimate.

If it's someone else? Then yeah, maybe work to drift towards something that the like. There's nothing wrong with a little pandering - to a point.

Is it to sell? Now, we're getting into the meat of things. If you want to make a go at doing this full time and making it a jobbity job, you have to start looking at your craft with a much sharper eye. You have to watch trends, follow bandwagons, do the things that bring eyeballs and wallets. Is it distasteful? It can be. Is it necessary? If you want to make money, yeah, unfortunately it is. Do you have to? Nah, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but do it with clear eyes about your prospects vis a vis the publishing world.

As for me?

I once thought that I could get some books published and make a tidy side income. Now? I'm not so sure. I still have it as a 2024 goal to be published anywhere, but I'm pretty sure that if I do get a book out, it'll be self published. I have friends who have agents and who have traditionally published books and the whole process is hard and depressing and not fun.

[scoobydoodean]

you upset the samgirls so bad that I just saw a post about how fandom is not about college essay analysis and that it's okay to have emotionally irrational interpretations of the text (no one ever said otherwise) due to everyone bringing their own history and personal context to watching the show, and like yeah sure that's fine, but why is there a problem when someone challenges those interpretations with facts and logic? why must deangirls allow our fave to be slandered and mischaracterized based on events that never actually occurred?

every single fandom has those people who turn their make blorbo into a wet sopping female coded omega (dean fen included) but it's only samgirls and casgirls that insist those readings are canon and that dean is some mean evil abusive patriarch then proceed to get mad when deangirls argue against that 😭

EDIT for Anon: In the comments, a Tumblr user who believes you may be referring to a post they made makes it clear that they were not talking about me at all. This is also why I typically prefer not to receive mail that starts with "I saw a post about you". I've already said I will not respond to mail containing the usernames of other people whose takes people want me to talk about, but I think from now on I'm just not going to answer mail that starts with, "I saw a post" tbh.

Original response below

I mean I don't know if whatever post you're referring to was prompted by me, Anon, because I only posted a few minutes before I got this. Just one single thing. I've just been making rewatch posts for like three weeks (and enjoying myself a lot while doing so). If whatever post you saw was prompted by me, maybe people who don't like me should stop stalking my blog that ig upsets them so much that they sit around refreshing my tumblr page waiting for me to say anything they can possibly misconstrue to be a vague about them.

I have been enjoying diving deeply into the show lately. The idea that someone out there is mad and thinks I am doing fandom wrong and somehow invalidating their emotions by blogging on my own blog and analyzing the show in the way I prefer instead of the way they prefer is pretty weird. (While at the same time saying I am trying to control how they analyze it, I'm gathering? Not hypocritical at all.)

But yeah god forbid I do the same thing deancrits do all of the time i.e., talk about takes I don't agree with on my blog. That's so mean of me. Bullying behavior really.

[willtheweaver]

Echoing voice tag

Thanks for the tag @agirlandherquill this looks like a fun one

Rules: count the number of main characters in your WIP, then use a random number generator to find a page, pick a number, and rewrite it from the voice of one of your other characters-repeat this for the number of characters you have.

Let’s see… I have 7 named characters that I would consider the ‘main cast’ of A Feather in the Forest. So be it.

Randomly generated page: 60

Line: The youngsters were sitting close to the fireplace. Fen stepped close and tapped Ivy on the shoulder.

“Hey, I need to tell you all something.”

Rewrite: The fire felt good. The last few nights were each progressively colder. Ivy sat closest to the hearth. She suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw Fen, looking all serious.

“Hey, I need to tell you all something.” His voice sounded serious.

Randomly generated page: 1

Line: The two made a thorough sweep, searching for any sign of what happened… Volt was poking at still smoldering piles of debris with his bow. He had finished searching the eastern side when Sorrel called out from the opposite end.

Rewrite: The two decided to split up and search opposite ends of the camp. Volt rushed to the eastern end. Sorrel the west. Most of what she could find were ash and unrecognizable heaps of rubble. But one lean-to was mostly intact, even though it had collapsed. Sorrel lifted a beam, and found something underneath. Something out of the ordinary. She needed to get Volt’s attention.

Randomly generated page: 36

Line- Fen excused himself and went away from the camp…He was so deep in thought that he almost didn’t hear Ivy’s footsteps.

“Ah! Wait a moment—I don’t have anything on!”

Rewrite- Fen had gone off to get some fresh air. It had been a while since he left, so Ivy decided to go looking for him. She tread lightly, but apparently she made enough noise to be heard for Fen’s voice came suddenly from one of the bushes.

Randomly generated page: 10

Line- “Now that’s a low blow!” Playa objected. She was sensitive on the matter, but she had known Fen long enough to know that he was only trading and would go no further.

Rewrite- Coming from anyone else, those words would have really stung. But she [Playa] knew Fen for almost all her life. It was only a playful tease. And so she replied simply with “Now that’s a low blow!”

Randomly generated page: 43

Line- The two were so deep in conversation that it took them a moment to realize that there was someone else beside the oxbow.

Rewrite- Reed laughed. He was enjoying the conversation with Dirge. They were so engrossed in it that when they arrived at the oxbow that it took them a moment to realize that an unfamiliar bird was standing next to it.

Randomly generated page: 60

Line- As they marched along the road, Leif let out a blast from his horn. The foxes on the wall heard it and replied. As soon as they saw the returning party, they opened the southern gate.

Rewrite- The sound of a horn caught the guards by surprise. A patrol was not scheduled to return to the village. And yet it was as clear as day.

“Hunting party returning!” Came the cry from one of the towers. The guard on the gate then reached for his horn and blew a reply. He and his companion then went and raised the gate.

Randomly generated page: 23

Line: All the while, his [Fen] thoughts turned to Playa back at the village. Fen couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing at the moment.

Probably still sleeping, he thought. It’s still early.

Rewrite: Playa was up unusually early. Her thoughts right now were the same one she had all evening: Fen.

He’s more than likely awake right about now, she thought. Leif always insists on the new hunters getting an early start. Don’t know how well that is working out for Fen. Hope he hasn’t become too sleep deprived.

Tagging @katenewmanwrites @winglesswriter @bookish-karina @eccaiia @fortunatetragedy

@the-letterbox-archives @revenantlore @mysticstarlightduck @literarynecromancy @sentfromwolves

@aintgonnatakethis @bloodmoonloveletter and open tag

[leiawritesstories]

PART SIX: JUNE

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: swearing, violence, breaking and entering, fuzzy science, scheming, flirting and more flirting, innuendo, a villain, more violence, blood, minor character death

shout out to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading this hot mess and to @backtobl4ck for encouraging frederick

I don't know if I should say this, but...enjoy!! 😁😈

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

“Moon Moon!” Aelin clapped her hands twice as she strolled past Fenrys, who lounged against the Boss’s office door like it was the most natural place for him to be. “Thanks for showing up.” 

The blonde man shrugged, a half-smirk curling his lips. “Like I had a choice.” 

“You always do.” She threw him Celaena’s sweet little grin that usually made people either piss themselves, cry, or start babbling. “You can choose to show up, or you can choose to die.” 

“Not much of a choice, Boss,” he drawled. He flopped into the chair across from her desk. “So tell me, who’s the mark?” 

Aelin tapped on her computer for a few minutes before she slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. “Have a good long look, Moon Moon, because this is the only time you’ll see all of this info in one place.” As the Boss, she was many things, and stupid was decidedly not one of them. 

Fen picked up the paper, his dark eyes scanning each line of text and small, grainy photo. He cocked one blonde brow. “Rourke Farran, eh?” Not looking up from the paper, he huffed out a breath. “The man’s whole fuckin’ house is a booby trap, Boss.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So what’s this bastard done to…god damn.” Before he could even ask the full question, it was answered. “He’s got a front for a front.” 

“I have never tolerated, nor will I ever tolerate, the treatment of human beings like commodities,” Aelin said softly, lethally. Celaena Sardothien’s notorious steel undercut her tone. “Farran thinks he can get away with it because I haven’t come for him. Yet.” 

Fenrys whistled lowly and set down the paper. “What’s your timeline, Boss?” 

Aelin liked this man more and more with each interaction. “I need Farran at the river warehouse by the 10th. You can use whatever means necessary, beat him up a little, get him nice and ready for his session with me, but don’t even fucking think about killing him.” 

“Don’t worry, Boss.” A lazy, hungry grin unfurled across Fen’s handsome face, the dim lamplight reflecting off the scars on his cheeks. “Softening up bad boys is my specialty.” 

“That’s why I hired you.” Aelin took back the paper and tossed it into the shredder next to her desk, which ate through the single sheet with a brief mechanical grinding of teeth. She burned the shreds at the end of each day, never one to take any chances with documents that could potentially be stitched back together. Fenrys stood up to leave, and she waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “One more thing, Moon Moon.” 

“Yeah?” He paused, alert, his stance striking an oddly familiar chord in her mind. 

“Farran isn’t dumb enough to put all of his guard dogs in one place.” 

He nodded slowly, working over that little tidbit of information. “Noted. I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you.” With a wink that was far too flirtatious for anyone’s good, Fen left her office. 

Aelin rolled her eyes as she returned to her computer. Her encoded list of targets was shrinking by the week; really, there was only one name left after Rourke Farran received his one-way ticket to her riverside warehouse, and it called to her every day. Some days, it took all of her willpower to stick to her typical Boss hours and Galathynius hours when she knew that if she spent just one more hour as Boss, she could solidify the plans that she’d been simmering for so fucking long. Just before she slit his throat, she’d once murmured to a criminal that she was cleansing the world of villains. In the months since then, that cleansing had nearly been completed. 

She slid her gaze down to the end of the page, following the trail of crimson lines that struck out each name up through Farran’s, and stopped, musing on the last name left. Five letters. One name—the villainous criminal was possibly more elusive than Celaena Sardothien herself. 

Maeve.

On the one hand, it made complete sense that Arobynn’s lover—ex-lover—would have taken over his business, diminished as it was when all of his cronies started fighting over their pieces of the trade after Arobynn died. On the other hand, Aelin had wondered just why the hell Maeve would have wanted to take over Arobynn’s drug- and gun-running business; surely the money couldn’t be the only reason. The more she dug into the grimy, seedy backchannels of truth, though, the more she came to understand why Maeve had done it. 

The woman had been madly in love with Arobynn Hamel, and now she was madly out for blood. 

~

In the prep room of the Gal Inc. labs, Aelin snapped on a fresh pair of sterile blue latex gloves, checked her badge where it was clipped to her lab coat, and nodded at her reflection. It had been seven weeks since Ren had come into the labs to have his SecondSkin changed—she and Nehemia had decided to extend the wearing period to seven weeks, as Ren’s use of SecondSkin was an experiment—and she was curious to see if anything was different. 

“About time,” Nehemia said dryly as Aelin walked into the small, sterile lab, the one that Nehemia typically reserved for experiments that needed to be kept quiet. “I was just about to assume you were in a meeting and start the removal process without you.” 

“Hello to you too, Dr. Ytger,” Aelin returned, just as dryly. “I just had to primp a little longer, you know how much effort it takes to look this good.” 

Nehemia snorted. “Galathynius, if you spent that much time primping, I’d never let you in my lab.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Aelin sat down on the second rolling stool and scooted over to Ren’s side. “Okay, Nemi. It’s your experiment.” 

Quickly but clearly, Nehemia ran through her usual list of removal instructions, then dismissed Ren to go take his shower. He emerged about half an hour later, wearing his robe, his hair damp and his face…

“Aelin, come here.” Nehemia motioned for Ren to sit down and scooted her stool up close so she could examine his ruddy face. “This doesn’t look like a typical hot-shower flush.” 

Aelin scanned the redness on Ren’s face and nodded in agreement. “Allsbrook, does it itch?” 

“Not on my face, no,” he answered. 

“Are you itchy anywhere else?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Chest, elbows, upper arms, torso, knees, feet, most of my back, some other areas. It’s not bad, it’s more annoying, like when you have a mosquito bite that you want to scratch.” 

“Would you please remove your robe so we can see if there’s anything visibly wrong with your skin?” Nehemia asked. 

“One sec.” Ren hopped off the chair, went into the shower room, and came back out a moment later. “Just wanted to put my boxers on.” He took off his robe, hung it on the hook in the wall, and sat back down.

“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled. 

Nehemia ran her analytical gaze over Ren’s body, charting the red rash spread over the areas that he had said were itchy. It looked like an ordinary chafing rash, the skin irritated and slightly split in some places, and some of the redness faded, indicating that it was probably sensitive to the heat of the shower he had taken to remove the SecondSkin. 

“Are you allergic to latex or any of its components?” Nehemia inquired. 

“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Ren said. 

Nehemia hummed. “Ae, I have thoughts. What do you think?” 

“Prolonged exposure?” Aelin asked. “It almost seems like what happens when you wear the same tightly fitting garment—like a leotard—for an extended period of time and it chafes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. It could also potentially be compounded by bacteria and dirt buildup under the material. It lays atop the skin, and as much as we want to claim that there’s no gap, we know there has to be a microscopic distance between the material and the wearer’s skin that could allow that to happen.” Nehemia gently touched two gloved fingers to the rash on Ren’s chest. “Does this hurt?” 

“No.” 

She pressed down. “Does it hurt when I do this?” 

He shook his head. “No. Itches, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

“That’s a good sign, at least.” Nehemia sighed. “Okay, Galathynius, we need to talk before we can decide how to move forward.” She beckoned Aelin towards the back of the room. “Should we go ahead with another application?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper. 

Aelin pressed her lips together. “Well, we can’t exactly have him disappear while we try and work out the rash.” 

“I don’t want it to spread or get any worse because it wasn’t treated, though,” Nehemia said. “I think we need to at least treat the rash.” 

“Yes, I agree, but how will that work with another application?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “And how should we treat the rash if we’re not fully certain of what it is and how it works?” 

“We haven’t yet agreed to do another full application,” Nehemia reminded her, “and my instinct is saying to treat it like it’s a normal chafing rash—hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, that kind of thing.” 

Aelin nodded. “Okay, that sounds fine. How do you think we should apply the SecondSkin?” 

“Hmm.” Nehemia tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “We could selectively apply it and avoid the rash areas. Theoretically, he’s not going to be stripping down in front of anyone for any reason, so he really only needs to have the right fingerprints and face, maybe footprints too. I vote we just apply the SecondSkin to his hands, face and neck, and feet.” 

“I think we should apply it from hands up to elbows, just to be safe, but that sounds like a solid plan. Do we have hydrocortisone cream here?” 

“Should be in the first aid bin.” Nehemia returned to Ren’s chair. “Okay, Allsbrook, here’s how we’re going to proceed. We’ll treat your rash and reapply the synthetic to your hands and lower arms, face and neck, and feet, which should hopefully give the rash time and breathing room to heal. You should apply this cream every day, as often as necessary, to the parts that are most itchy or inflamed.” She took the tube of hydrocortisone cream that Aelin handed her and applied it to Ren’s rash. 

“Is this something I can find at the pharmacy?” he asked. 

“Yes, it’s a common treatment,” Aelin replied. She walked over to the safe built into the far wall, keyed in the combination, opened the compartment, and retrieved a sleek steel canister from inside. She closed the compartment back up and brought the canister over to the prep table next to where Ren sat. 

Nehemia took off her used gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. “Ready?” 

“Ready,” Ren confirmed. 

Working in tandem, Aelin and Nehemia carefully laid the almost-invisible film of SecondSkin over Ren’s hands, forearms, face, and feet, carefully molding it to his skin. The pieces had all been prepped beforehand, since it took a significant amount of time to press fingerprints and other distinctive blemishes and markings into the synthetic material, and the SecondSkin molded to Ren’s skin flawlessly, leaving almost no evidence that it was there. 

“Come back in two weeks,” Aelin instructed him as she disposed of her gloves. “We’ll want to see if your rash has improved, which will help us decide how to move forward.” 

“Got it.” Ren went back into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back out as Chaol Westfall, contact lenses placed and bland grin on his face. “See you in two weeks, Dr. Ytger, Galathynius.” He left the lab. 

“We should have seen this coming,” Nehemia groaned when Ren was gone, chucking her gloves into the trash bin. “Honestly, Ae, I feel like such an idiot.” 

“Nemi, you are a genius,” Aelin reassured her. “You’ve been so busy with development and research, and we didn’t even know this could happen until we saw it today.” 

“Yeah.” The chief engineer sighed. “I need to go chart all of this, and you probably have meetings or whatever shit you do in your big fancy office.” She smirked at Aelin.

Aelin rolled her eyes, nudging her friend in the shoulder. “I’d say something smartass, but I do have a meeting pretty soon. Let me know if anything comes up with Allsbrook, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Nehemia waved and turned down a side hallway towards her office. Aelin headed back to the prep room, put her lab coat in the laundry basket, and collected her things before heading to her office and the inevitable day of meetings. 

Two weeks later, Ren came back to the labs, his rash significantly improved. Nehemia removed and reapplied the SecondSkin in the same few areas and instructed him to keep treating the rash, as she didn’t want to move forward with full SecondSkin application until it had completely healed. 

“It’s a good sign that the rash is healing,” she told Aelin over the phone later that day. “In theory, that means the SecondSkin could cause a rash from chafing, irritation, or prolonged use, but the rash can be treated like normal.” 

“Definitely a good sign.” Aelin jotted down that note. “Hopefully, that means SecondSkin can be used for the wide audience we’ve been intending all along.”

“How much longer do you think this is going to be in development and testing?” Nehemia asked. “It’s been over two years, Ae. Shouldn’t this be about the time where we start to consider trial groups?” 

“I’d say yes, but we’ve only just learned about the rash, and we’re not yet sure if the current formula won’t cause that rash.” Aelin was partially thinking out loud. “My gut says to wait until the Ren trial isn’t getting a rash, and then move into trial groups.” Which will give me more time to get rid of Maeve before she can make a move for the SecondSkin tech like Arobynn did, she added silently. 

She was the only person who knew why Arobynn Hamel had died when he did—the former crime lord had taken one step too close to her highly guarded technology, and she’d had no choice but to retaliate. It was…not unexpected that Maeve would try to do the same. 

~

Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane. 

People had told him that frequently, ever since he was a reckless kid jumping off the playground structures at school, but he’d never had the thought himself until he was strolling into the Night Owl—a popular nightclub that was rumored to be the primary front of Maeve’s organization—in tight leather pants, a silver sequined jacket, and no shirt. Because rumor also had it that Maeve, the so-called Queen of the Night, had a…taste for handsome men, and he had it on good information that Rourke Farran was a frequent guest at the Night Owl. 

He sauntered up to the bouncer with a lazy, easy grin sprawled across his face. “Hey.” 

The bouncer, who could accurately be depicted as a concrete brick, stared flatly at him. “Invitation only, fancy boy.” 

“I’m with Cadre,” Fen returned, sliding his hand into his jacket to retrieve a beautiful ivory card with purple script embossed across its fine surface. He waved the card at the bouncer. “And they’re expecting me in ten minutes, so it would be great if you’d let me get my pretty ass through the door.” 

“Fuckin’ performers,” the bouncer muttered as he swung open the door. 

“Thank you,” Fen crooned, blowing a kiss at the stone-faced man. The door slammed behind him, and he tucked the invitation—expertly forged by Celaena’s man Nox—back into his jacket and slipped into the crowd of dancing bodies. He winked and smirked his way through the crowd, letting the thumping beat of the music ease his rhythm, until he reached the bar. 

Sure enough, Rourke Farran lounged on a barstool near the far end, one hand around a bottle of beer and the other around the waist of a blonde woman whose lipstick was littered all over his neck. 

Fenrys muffled the snort he wanted to let out and waved over the bartender. “I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” he purred, giving the guy, who was probably in his early twenties, a wink. 

The bartender’s blush was faintly visible in the flashing strobe lights. “Want that extra strong?” His gaze flicked ever so quickly to Fen’s bare chest. 

“Give it to me as-is, and then we’ll see.” Fen lowered his eyes to half-mast and watched the bartender make his drink. The other man threw the drink together effortlessly, sliding it across the bartop to Fenrys with a little smile of his own. 

“I get off shift in an hour,” he said softly, dark blue eyes alight with hope and a little hesitancy. 

“Good to know.” Fen took a long sip of his cocktail and nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.” In his periphery, he noticed Farran push the blonde out of his lap and stand up, swaying a little, and turn towards the dancefloor. 

He brushed past Fen on his way over. “Get a fuckin’ room,” he slurred, his glassy-eyed gaze flicking once over Fen’s glittering jacket and tight pants. “Goddamn fancy boy.” 

“I’ll be back.” Fen drained the rest of his drink, tossed a twenty on the bar, and rose, following Farran into the sea of dancing bodies. He kept a discreet distance from the man, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to watch the man’s moves. 

As he had suspected, Farran oozed sleaziness. What he was doing on the dancefloor barely passed for dancing; his gyrating hips and roaming hands were just barely short of outright having sex in public. He moved from girl to girl, changing partners as often as the music changed, leaving a good number of people giving him dirty looks for being too handsy. Fen snorted, knowing that the man probably deserved their scorn. Farran began to move towards the doors, and Fen slipped onto the dancefloor himself, moving fluidly through the crowd, keeping a constant eye on Farran’s steady, subtle escape route. 

Time to move, Moonbeam. 

Feeling a twinge of guilt for not staying to meet the cute bartender, Fenrys watched Farran leave the club and waited exactly a minute and a half before he headed out as well, putting enough unsteadiness in his step to indicate intoxication. Once he was out of the club, he glanced down the street in both directions and then went left. Even if he couldn’t track Farran, he knew where the bastard lived. 

After a quick pit stop in an alley to swap out his flashy jacket for a closely fitted black knit turtleneck, Fenrys headed into the tidy grid of streets that made up western Orynth, taking a meandering route towards the tidy, wealthy neighborhood where Rourke Farran lived. The neighborhood was decked out with security cameras, as Celaena had warned him, so he looped around through the expansive back yards, slinking easily through the landscaped trees and plants until he came to the fence that marked the edge of Farran’s property. There weren’t cameras along the back fence, primarily because of the rotating patrol of guard dogs and security guards, so Fen swiftly scaled the fence and hopped into a tree. 

He waited for the first round of patrols to pass before he carefully reached into the thigh pocket of his pants, withdrew a slim, vacuum-sealed package of meat, quietly cut open the plastic, and tossed the meat in a gentle arc directly onto the grass beside the paved walkway that wove around Farran’s house. A pair of guard dogs came barreling around the corner within sixty seconds, barking and growling and quickly discovering the meat. The second and third patrols weren’t far behind, and it was only a few minutes before all eight guard dogs were tearing apart the meat. 

“The fuck is happening?” A security guard rounded the corner, breathless from sprinting. He saw the dogs calming down and settling back into their patrols after having finished the meat. “God. Which idiot dropped snacks everywhere?” 

Another guard sprinted around the corner. “Everything okay?” 

“One of you jackasses dropped the dogs’ snacks,” the first guard snapped. 

The second one raised his hands in innocence. “I’m not the snack keeper tonight, dude.” 

“Whatever. Just get your ass back to rounds.” The guards nudged the dogs back onto the path and headed away. 

Mentally, Fenrys started counting minutes. He got to four, then five, then slowly and carefully slid down from the tree and darted across the lawn and onto the shadowed back porch. A moment later, he’d scaled the drainpipe leading up the side of the house and was perched on the balcony directly outside the master bedroom. 

Wherein Rourke Farran was fully naked in front of his mirror, with his—

“Fucking hell,” Fen groaned to himself, shaking his head. “Disgusting.” But also enough of a distraction for him to slip down onto the balcony, pull a slender silver tube from his sleeve, raise it to his lips, and blow a tiny needle dart straight into the back of Farran’s neck. 

Farran crumpled to the floor. 

Good work, Moonbeam, Fenrys complimented himself. Now you just have to get the asshole out of his booby-trap house and over to the river warehouse.

Easy. 

Right?

~

“He’s all yours, Boss,” Fenrys drawled as Aelin strolled past on the way out of the storage warehouse. 

She glanced at her smart watch. “It’s only the eleventh, Moon Moon. That was quick.” 

He shrugged, irreverent as always. “What can I say? I like to work fast.” 

“Hopefully not all the time.” She smirked wickedly. “Your bartender boyfriend might be disappointed.”

Fenrys flushed a delightful shade of pink. “How the fuck—”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Moon Moon.” She winked wickedly at him. “How’s our special guest doing? Is he adjusted to his new home?” 

“It took him some time to get used to the room,” Fen returned, casually pulling a set of brass knuckles from a pocket of his cargo pants and spinning them over his fist. 

Aelin chuckled, soft and lethal. “Not surprising. Thanks, Fen.” She paused just in front of the side door, her gloved knuckles resting on the doorknob. “Oh, Moon Moon?” 

“Yeah?” He froze, his posture still as a…soldier’s. 

“I’ll need you for cleanup on the twenty-seventh.” 

He nodded. “Got it, Boss.” 

Aelin keyed in the door code and left the warehouse, satisfied that she had set the wheels of her plan in motion. While she trusted Con’s assessment of his brother, she wasn’t fully convinced that she could completely trust anyone on her payroll, and Fen’s easy charm masked a cold, heartless willingness to carry out whatever depraved task she demanded of him. Furthermore, that stance of his—the utter stillness of his posture when someone ordered him to stop—had been pricking at her memory for days, and she’d only just realized why. 

Fenrys stood like a soldier. More than that—he stood like one of her uncle’s men, one of the Terrasen Special Forces. 

And Aelin knew the day one of Gav’s men got into Celaena Sardothien’s business would be the day her double identity began to crumble. Even if she wanted to trust Fenrys, she had to confirm for herself that she could, and that meant giving him a fake kill date in case he needed to report back to someone in the military. 

If he did, if he turned out to be a spy, then the TSF would come sniffing around for Rourke Farran when it was already weeks too late. 

~

Aelin laced her fingers with Rowan’s as they strolled through the fancy restaurant’s glass front doors, something settling deep in her chest at the simple, casual intimacy of holding his hand. Her mind had been running in overdrive for the last two weeks, and even now, with ten days left in the month, she hadn’t been able to slow the constant dizzying whirl of her thoughts. 

Rowan was one of the only people who’d brought her a glimpse of peace recently, in the few scattered dates they’d been able to snatch between both of their busy schedules. He flicked her a tiny, secret smile, one that only she ever saw, before approaching the hostess stand with the same confidence that cloaked him when he was in his investigator clothes and badge. And dear god, the things that confidence did to her already throbbing pussy—she was half tempted to slip off her panties and sneak them to him under the table. 

But she was a mature woman, so she wouldn’t. 

“Whitethorn, party of two, seven-thirty reservation,” Rowan said to the hostess. 

The young woman—probably a college student, if Aelin’s guess was correct—tapped a few things into her tablet. ��Your table is ready, Mr. Whitethorn. Please, this way.” She led Rowan and Aelin through the low-lit restaurant towards the far wall of windows. Through the glass was a breathtaking view of Orynth, the city cast in shades of bronze as the sun began to drift downwards. 

“Gorgeous,” Aelin murmured, captivated by the view. 

Rowan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. “Not half as much as you.” 

She blushed. “You’re quite the flirt, you—oh!” Unexpectedly, a man’s shoulder brushed hers as they wove through the restaurant floor. She looked up to find none other than Police Captain Chaol Westfall, wearing a nice suit and a mildly shocked expression. 

“M–Miss Galathynius,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “And, ah, Lieutenant Whitethorn. I…I apologize for running into you.” 

“Westfall, what are you doing here?” Rowan inquired, polite on the surface but with narrowed, suspicious eyes. 

“Considering we aren’t at work, it’s none of your business, White-horn, but I was at dinner with a friend of mine,” Chaol shot back. There was definite animosity underlying his words. 

Rowan raised a brow. “You…have friends?” 

“Ah, lighten up, darling,” Aelin interjected before either man could resort to fists. “We don’t all live at our workplace, as we seem to have discovered. And Ro, darling, we’ve left that poor hostess floundering.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards their table. 

He shot Chaol one last suspicious look. Chaol returned the look, but broke the stare-off to nod respectfully at Aelin as she passed. “Ms. Galathynius.” 

When they reached their table, Rowan pulled out Aelin’s chair before seating himself across from her. Questions brewed in the shifting of his eyes. “Question, Ae—do you know Westfall? How?” 

“That was two questions,” she teased. “Yes, I’ve met Captain Westfall before. It’s all part of the business; I’ve met just about every notable figure in Orynth at some function or another. I probably met the police captain at some kind of gala.” 

Rowan nodded slowly, digesting the information. “That makes sense. All those faces probably run together after long enough, yeah?” 

“I try to keep them separate, but yeah.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “There’s only so many names and faces you can memorize before they all start to appear the same.” 

“Why, Miss Galathynius,” Rowan drawled, his face alight with mischief, “are you implying that there are too many men in suits in this fine city?” 

She shrugged, meeting the gleam of his humor with her own dry wit. “I’m simply observing that if a few less of them were to bother me at every function I attend, my mind would be clearer.” 

“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap, love.” Raising a brow, he sipped his water. 

“It sometimes takes a moment to pull out a name from the file cabinet,” she returned. “And—oh look, here comes our server.” Their server, a sandy-blonde-haired man in his late twenties wearing the restaurant staff’s uniform of white shirt, black trousers, and maroon tie, wore a pleasant (if tired) smile as he pulled his notepad from his apron pocket. 

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear about our specials this evening?” 

Aelin glanced at Rowan, whose eyes had visibly narrowed as he scanned the server. The look was so blatantly male, she almost rolled her eyes, but her possessive buzzard relaxed when he saw the silver wedding band adorning the server’s left ring finger. “I actually think we’re ready to order, if that’s alright?” 

James the server just about melted to the floor in relief. “Are you serious?” he asked, lowering his voice to an incredulous whisper. “I—I haven’t had a single easy table tonight, and it’s the last two hours of a double and—I’m so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me.” 

Aelin chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, was it? Customer service is a rough job.” 

“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled. 

Rowan shot Aelin a confused look. “Ae, love, I haven’t even looked at the menu.” 

“Do you trust me, love?” she asked. 

He pursed his lips, not quite used to letting someone else order his food. “All right.” 

“Perfect.” She blew him a subtle kiss. “Okay, James, is it alright if I give you our order a few steps away?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, keeping it still loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I want to surprise my boyfriend; I’ve been here more than once but he hasn’t ever been.” 

“Of course.” James smiled, a genuine one this time. “I brought my wife here once when we were dating—took half my paycheck, but it was worth it.” He stepped aside a few paces and Aelin followed, quietly giving her and Rowan’s order. The server’s pen flew over his page. 

“And say hi to Chef Emrys for me, would you?” she concluded. 

“You…you know the head chef?” 

“Bit of a long story, but yes. Tell him Aelin Galathynius says hi, please. Thanks!” She came back to the table and slipped into her seat, leaving the very nice but very shocked server to collect his wits after realizing just who he was talking to and go to place the order. 

“Poor guy looks like he just got hit by a truck,” Rowan observed, smothering a laugh.

Aelin smirked. “I may or may not have given him my full name.” 

“Ah, the name drop.” He nodded sagely. “Just what every famous CEO has to do to the poor server who got their table.” 

“You’ve got quite a mouth for a soldier, you know,” Aelin mused, her words slowing to a near- seductive pace. “A respectable man would never insinuate that his date uses her job title for perks.” 

“I never said I was respectable.” Lazily, his gaze roamed down her upper body, admiring the way her little black dress scooped beneath her collarbones, accentuating the gleam of the single small teardrop diamond pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat. 

James came by with two glasses of white wine and an appetizer platter with two sharing plates, breaking the dangerous haze of the moment, and Aelin thanked the server as he headed off, no doubt to take care of his other tables. 

Rowan’s jaw slacked just a bit at the sight of the cured meat and prawns arranged on the plate. “Please tell me you didn’t order the most expensive things on the menu, Ae.” 

“Of course not.” She reached across the table and linked her hands with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. “I got us an appetizer to share, a first course, a meat course, and a dessert, and I’m not the kind of person who orders expensive items just to flash her money around.” 

He breathed out a deep, controlled exhale. “I know, love. It’s just…” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “I’m not used to any of this—the fancy restaurants, the fancy food, the way people don’t bat an eye at spending thirty dollars for some toast.” 

She cracked a grin at that. “Let me introduce you to the fine, fine work of Chef Emrys, then. I actually used to work for him, way back when I was eighteen and my parents decided I needed to experience real-people jobs.” 

“Way back when,” he drawled, teasing her. 

“Hush, old man,” she teased right back, plating up a sampling of the appetizer plate and sliding it over to him. “I know I’m only twenty-seven, but my stint as a hostess feels like forever ago.” 

“Kind of like how basic training feels like forever ago for me.” Rowan agreed. He bit into one of the cured prawns and nearly moaned, his eyes closing in joy. “God, this is incredible.” 

She beamed. “Wait until you taste Chef Emrys’s filet mignon, Ro.” 

The conversation flowed freely between them after that, only interrupted by the arrival of new food and wine. A mushroom and herb risotto accompanied by an aged Riesling. The promised filet mignon, which almost made Rowan cry with joy, and a spectacular six-year Merlot. And finally, individual blackberry cobblers, the berries ripe and fresh and perfectly sweet-tart, paired with the restaurant’s signature Cabernet. 

“I don’t think I can move,” Rowan sighed as he set down his last empty wineglass. “But it was absolutely worth every bite.” 

“I think I’m going to dream of this cobbler,” Aelin added, regretfully nudging her empty dish towards the end of the table. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave, yes?” 

“Gonna need three to five business days,” he mumbled. 

Her laughter rippled across their low-lit table. “I love when you let that humor of yours loose.” 

A different kind of hunger flickered in his forest eyes. “And I love when I have you all to myself.” 

“Possessive much?” 

He just shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, love, but we both know you only come for me.” 

Flames flickered through her blood at the deep, sinful timbre of his voice. “That’s only because I haven’t introduced you to my drawer full of battery-powered boyfriends.” 

The banked embers simmering in his expression flared into a bonfire, and he sat upright and beckoned their server over. “Suddenly, I’m ready to go home.” 

James was at their table within two minutes. “How was everything for you tonight? Can I get you anything else?” 

“It was absolutely mind-blowing, as always,” Aelin said. “And no, I think we’ll just take the check.” Covertly, she slipped James her credit card, and he gave her a small nod as he went over to the server computer to process the payment. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” Rowan murmured, the velvet caress of his voice stroking down her spine. “Mind-blowing, Ae?” 

“Would you happen to know anything about that?” she asked, innocently. 

In response, he trailed a brazen stare down her figure. “Seems like you need a refresher.” He stood up far too smoothly for someone who had just finished his fourth glass of wine, gave her his hand for stability as she rose, and then rested that hand against the small of her back, his touch burning through her dress. 

Their server returned with a check folder in his hand and passed it over to Aelin, who glanced over the receipts, signed her name, and tucked her credit card and her copy of the receipt back into her small handbag. “Thanks, James.” 

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn. You might have been the best table I’ve had all day.” He tucked the folder into his apron pocket with a wry grin. “Have a good one!” 

“If it’s good, it won’t be just one,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear. 

A shiver danced down her neck. “Is that a promise, Lieutenant?” 

He held the door open for her as they left the restaurant. “Ask me again when you’re begging for my cock, love.” 

~

Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, was expecting Whitethorn’s visit, but the man’s presence in his office still gave him an oddly unsettled feeling. 

He pasted a bland, blasé expression onto his face. “Yes, Whitethorn?” 

Rowan dropped into the chair opposite Ren’s, regarding him with a piercing look that almost seemed to pierce beneath the layer of SecondSkin cloaking his true identity. “How the hell do you know Aelin, Westfall?” 

Ren shrugged. “We met at some city leader event a while back. Some big thing the mayor hosted so the big names of Orynth could pretend to be civil to each other.” 

“Yeah? How long ago was that?” 

Fucking think, Allsbrook. Chaol Westfall had been the police captain for about three years, Ren had taken over as Chaol six months ago in January, and the mayor’s Leaders Gala was always held in…the fall…“Last October, I believe. You’ll have to give me a little grace on the estimate, since I was damn busy with actual work.” 

“Cute of you to think you can get away with sneering at me from your soapbox, Westfall,” Whitethorn said dryly. “Well, I checked the dates, and the mayor always holds his little party in October, so I’ll buy your story.” 

“My story, huh? When did you get so desperate for leads that you started accusing coworkers, Whitethorn?” 

“Shut up,” Rowan grunted. “I’m just making sure you haven’t been doing anything shady with my girlfriend, jackass.” 

“Ooooooh, we’re using official terms now?” Ren couldn’t resist the urge to press Whitethorn’s buttons. “I thought you were allergic to that kind of commitment.” 

“I wouldn’t get smart-mouthed with me, Westfailure,” Rowan grumbled. “I’ve seen you going to the Galathynius labs. What the hell are you doing there?” 

Ren muffled a rather creative string of curses. “Whitethorn, I know you’re terse, but what the hell was that subject change? Give me some goddamn context, for shit’s sake.” 

“Fine.” Rowan pulled up some security camera footage on his tablet. “This is a record of the feed from the Galathynius, Inc. lab complex’s security cameras, and before you open your mouth, I have clearance. Two and a half weeks ago, on June 4th, you went to the labs. You went again yesterday.” He tapped on the video, and the footage played, clearly showing Chaol walk into the labs and walk back out after a period of fast-forwarding through nothing. 

“Well.” Think, you fucking idiot! “Since we are currently quietly investigating a connection between Galathynius, Incorporated, and the, uh, Shadow Killer—”

“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected. 

“Whatever. That person. You think there’s a connection, and I’m pursuing it. I happen to know a scientist who works in the Galathynius labs, and I set up a couple of meetings to speak with her.” Ren folded his arms across his chest. Buy the story, Whitethorn. 

Whitethorn frowned. “Why didn’t I hear about these meetings?” 

“Because I was being discreet, duh.” Ren poured a heavy dose of sarcasm into the last word.

Rowan grumbled something that sounded like a string of cussing. “I didn’t get sent to this investigation for the laugh track, Westfall.” He stood up and left the office, carelessly banging the door shut behind him. 

“Jackass,” Ren grumbled. He turned back to the endless slog of paperwork and files he had to get through, because the job of police captain came with a lifetime supply of that shit. Against all beliefs, he’d actually come to enjoy this job, this role, and he was just as invested in the case as Whitethorn was. 

He just happened to be on a different side. 

~

This is fucking insane, this is fucking insane, this is fucking insane. Those were the words running through Fenrys’s head as he and his twin strolled down the secret back stars of the Night Owl. He was barely able to focus on the opulence of the hallway—plush velvet lining the walls, fine mahogany banisters, and black wall torches and overhead lights giving the whole space a deep purple glow—when his mind was so focused on what lay at the end of the walk. 

“Relax,” Con muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed before we’ve found out what she wants.”

“I’m trying,” Fen grumbled. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, the same sequined one he’d worn to the Night Owl three weeks ago. “But—”

“But nothing.” Con cut him off. “Remember why we’re here.” 

“Right.” Because Celaena had trusted the two of them with infiltrating Maeve’s lair. Because they were the key to taking down the last obstacle in Boss Sardothien’s path, whatever the hell it was. 

The masked guard in front of the twins stopped at a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said, expressionless. He went into the room, closed the door behind him, and came out a few minutes later just as expressionless. “Maeve will see you now.” And he opened the door. 

Fenrys took a quick, deep breath and strolled into the dark-paneled office, Con at his side, both of their gazes immediately locking onto the woman who sat behind the imposing black marble desk at the far end of the room. Her face was pale, nearly opalescent in the darkness, her lips were stained scarlet, and her unnervingly violet gaze was fixed on the twins. 

“Thank you for being willing to meet on such short notice, boys,” Maeve said, her calm, cold voice slicing through the room like a blade. 

“Our honor,” Fen replied. Maeve gestured at the pair of leather chairs opposite her desk, and the twins sat down. 

She steepled her fingers under her chin. “I have a job for you.” 

Con shared a loaded look with Fen. “Both of us, or just one?” 

“Both of you. I need one of you for each side of the job.” 

Slowly, Fen nodded. “Alright. What can we do for you?” 

One corner of Maeve’s scarlet lips curled upwards. She retrieved a thin manila file from her desk and slid it across the desktop. “Fenrys, kill this man.” The order was as clearly and casually enunciated as if she was asking for a glass of water. “Connall, you will stay here to monitor Fenrys’s task.” 

Beside Fenrys, Con’s posture stiffened. “How?” 

“We have an advanced tech space that will provide all the equipment you need, as well as the chance to experiment with some of the devices we’re working on.” A gleam flickered briefly through the Queen of the Night’s unflinching stare. “And I require company.” 

“Alright.” Con dipped his head in acquiescence, flatly refusing to meet the sharp, concerned gaze Fen shot towards him. 

“Excellent.” Maeve smiled, and it sent a shiver down Fenrys’s spine. “You may go, Fenrys. I expect it won’t take you too long to get the job done.” 

“I pride myself on efficiency,” he smirked, masking the oily chill in his blood with a lazy, half-wild grin. He rose, nodded at Maeve, and strolled out of the room and then out of the club, his steps sure and unfaltering until he was around the corner and out of sight. 

Then, he ducked into a side alley and slumped against the wall, his veneer of easy confidence dropping to reveal his hidden terror. Fuck! He’d left his brother in that spider’s lair; gods only knew what could happen if either of them failed to do what Maeve commanded. Hands shaking, Fenrys reached into the hidden inner pockets of his jacket, his fingers closing around the comfortingly cold steel of his favorite twin flat knives and the envelope containing the thick piece of cardstock that had been in the file. The least he could do—for himself, for Connall, and for the man he had to kill—was carry out his task quickly, before the Queen of the Night could hurt his brother.

And so, heart heavy, Fenrys Moonbeam adjusted his jacket and the weapons contained within it and began his prowl towards Orynth Police headquarters.

~

Rowan arrived at Orynth PD unusually early on the morning of June 30. After a restless night—he’d tossed and turned far into the wee hours of the morning, snatched probably three solid hours of sleep, and had a muddled collection of dream snippets—he’d just decided to bite the bullet and drag his ass out of bed at five in the morning. Shortly before six, he keyed in his code at the door of the police station, let himself into the quiet, chilly building, and dragged himself to the locker room to dump his bag and splash some icy water on his face. With his vest strapped on and his badge around his arm, he grabbed his laptop bag and trudged up the stairs to the offices, ducking into his office to drop off his things and try to form a to-do list. 

Fuck, he needed caffeine. He needed it badly enough that he’d even drink the bitter shit from the common-room carafe. So he pushed his chair in, left his office, and went down to the bullpen, following the faint scent of the first batch of coffee. Operating on autopilot, he was halfway to the break room before he smelled it. 

Blood. 

That coppery tang was unmistakable. 

Fuck. 

Coffee forgotten, Rowan whirled around and strode back to the bullpen, following his nose like some kind of hound. A bloodhound, whispered the traitorous part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Aelin’s witty laugh. In any other context, he might have laughed along. But not this time. Head down, he tracked the metallic stench of blood across the bullpen, its tang growing heavier with each successive step he took. The blood, wherever it was, was still fresh enough to be that strong, but old enough to have spread its scent through a significant part of the floor. Both of those things worried him. A lot. 

Hand straying to his holster, Rowan rounded the corner towards the cluster of desks where the detectives and Westfall worked whenever Westfall was in the bullpen. He inhaled, catching a lungful of blood-scent, so strong it nearly knocked him back. That part of the floor was still shadowed in the early-morning dimness, so he flicked on the nearest light for a better visual. 

The flashlight in his hand clattered to the floor. His other hand clenched around the cold, smooth handle of his gun. 

He’d found the source of the blood stench. 

He blinked. Shook his head. He snapped his jaw shut, swore at himself a few times, imagined Gav yelling at him for losing his mind like a goddamn fucking green idiot, and took one step forwards. 

He froze. 

Sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, the back of his skull concave as if bashed in with a heavy, blunt object, with a bullet hole ripped through his temple and knives pinning his now-limp hands to the desk, was Chaol Westfall. 

Rowan locked up the side of himself that immediately started screaming questions and approached Chaol’s…corpse…carefully, forcing the investigative side of himself to take the lead. He cautiously nudged Westfall with his baton, noting the lack of response. With that amount of blood loss, he’d be more shocked if the man was alive, but he still had to go through the steps. As much as he could, Rowan circled the body, clocking each new wound he found on the man’s body. It was…more brutal than he had initially noticed, slashes and cuts scattered over the body, as well as the knives stabbed through the hands and the obvious point-blank range of the bullet, marked by its entry and exit wounds. 

As he came to the other side, Rowan stopped once again, because there was a goddamned note tacked to Westfall’s forehead. No—nailed to his forehead. 

Fuck.

He pulled on the pair of latex gloves he kept tucked into his belt and gingerly reached for the note, lifting it up enough to read it. He didn’t remove it; he was too experienced to fuck with a crime scene like that. He did, however, lift up the paper, which was surprisingly thick and high-quality for a fucking assassin signoff. Three words were printed onto the note in dark ink. He tilted the paper slightly, and the black ink shimmered with a dark purple sheen, indicative both of its quality and probably of the signature colors of whoever the hell had written the message. 

Tread carefully, Lieutenant. 

There was no signature. There was, however, a symbol stamped beneath the short, threatening message. Rowan peered at the stamp, sharp gaze scanning it until the shape came into focus. It was an almost photographic image of an owl, the bird posed in eerie stillness, its inked eyes large and unblinking. And atop the owl’s head sat a crown, a perfect arc of five jeweled spikes. 

It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.

~~~

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[rpgtoons]

page complete, character bios after the break 🏳️‍⚧️👇

He ran away from home to join the Soggy Bottom Boyz of Dryfoot Hill, who took him in no questions asked.

He now goes by "Rumblestabskin" 🗡✊

Clay sold their gender to an Archfey and they've never been happier 🌟 (the magic is a bonus)

After years of dedication and training, Hugo Mungus has achieved his dream: to be the manliest man that ever manned 💪🪵🪓

The Warband was unsure at first when "Varrick" started wearing feminine braids and asked everyone to call her "Astrid", but that faded quickly when they saw her grow more confident and fierce each passing day 🌼

The Order of the Howling Frog is dedicated to protecting trans rights, and offer safety and education to those that need it 🐸

Changing shape is a fundamental part of being a druid, and Grell has been feminine and masculine at different time throughout their long life.

Grell no longer feels much need to be perceived as one gender or another. Now, Grell just "is" 😌🌿

Most humans identify women by their female mammalian traits (like breasts or wide hips). Dragonborn don't have these traits, and are thus often perceived as men.

To be seen as a woman in a human society, 'Tensia has to put a lot of effort in her feminine fashion and make-up 💅👜

Fenagrel (or "Fen" to friends) is able to alter their sex through magical meditation, and does so often -- adapting to whichever gender they feel in touch with that day 🌟

Angela was created by her god to be a "he", and she served him as such for millennia.

When her god died and she was no longer beholden to him, she was finally able to become herself -- she's now mortal, living as a woman and teaching theology & arcana 🪄

trans rights are human rights ✊🏳️‍⚧️

[romanarose]

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 5

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Javier, Candy, and Santi kiss and make up. Except Javi and Santi don't kiss. Yet.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Nothing crazy he just needs Javi to like him so so bad. Food and eating. SMUT! Fingering, reach around hand job, multiple orgasms, edging, praising, talking you through it, talking HIM through it, more hints at homoerotic subtext.

Thank you as always to my beloved Fen <3 I couldn't do this without your encouragement.

2.5 words

A/N Since I am apparently an incomprehensible writer, please know that the lst smut scene here is not a threesome, it's Javi fingering Candy and Candy flashing back to her giving Santi a reach around handjob. I wanted to compare and contrast the way the two pairs care for and pleasure each other. but it came across as a threesome :(

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

******************************

Santi and Javier had been working in total silence for 4 hours.

As soon as Javi had walked in, Santiago looked up from his paperwork with his large eyes attempting to catch Javier’s but to no avail. Javi ignored him, and continued to ignore him most of the day. He felt bad, he really did, and he missed his friend. It was hard sitting across two desks pushed together, and seeing Santiago right there looking so sad was difficult. Santi was fidgety, unfocused, obviously not paying attention to his work. He’d stare at a page for ages, knee bouncing almost in time to his tapping finger. The boy was going to drive him insane.

Noon hit, and Javi went to lunch, walking down the street to a cart to grab a empañanda. Fuck it, some churros too. His doctor said he needed to start watching his sweets, but it’d been a week. He’d burn off some calories with someone tonight. Not wanting to go back to the office during his lunch hour, Javier walked a few blocks to a small park and parked himself under a tree for some shade as he stuffed his face.

Javier tried to pinpoint exactly what had made him so angry at his young coworker. Maybe part of it is the betrayal. Santi went through his things, his contact information and found one of his girls. His. Candy was his. Javier Peña took pride in protecting his girls, whether or not they were his informants. Helena’s attack had scarred him, the image of her beaten and naked body was something that kept him awake at night. He couldn’t let that happen to Candy. Javi had tried to check in on Helena, knowing the DEA had gotten her a visa to the US, but she wanted no contact with him. Maybe it was the fact: if Santi found his contact information for his girls, and that meant that anyone could. What if it had been a drug lord? Lorea knew the DEA was after him next, what if they had found Candy and brutally raped her like Helena, or killed her?

Javier flicked an ant off his arm.

Maybe it was the fact it felt like he didn’t really know Santi. He called him Pope as a nickname, a call to his church going, the way he was nearly a blushing virgin, he always avoided his eye with topics of sex. The young, naive kid he knew was soliciting prostitutes? It was hard to justify the two pictures in his head. 

Maybe it was the fact it was Candy. Candy of all people. Candy was special to him, a favorite and someone he enjoyed seeing even outside of sex. 

Or maybe it was that fact it was Santi. His partner, his friend, someone he trusted with his very life and liked working with.

He knew both of them, he knew they would connect. He knew they would enjoy each other's company, he knew they’d treat each other well… How could Candy not want someone like Pope? Some as good as Santiago, as kind, as attractive…

Shaking the thoughts away, Peña gathered up his trash, shoved the rest of his churro in his mouth and returned to the pulpit to sit in silence for another 4 hours. Then he saw Santi.

For the first time that day, Javier got a good look at him when he stepped under the arch of the open doorway and watched the boy as he acted, thinking he wasn’t watched.

Santiago was a fucking mess. He had bags under his eyes, his normally well dressed and ironed shirt was wrinkled and it was evident Santi had not shaved since the start of the weekend a few days ago. Santi’s face was always well groomed, a trim, neat mustache surrounded by freshly shaven cheeks and neck showing off his youthful skin; now he looked older. Tired. Worn out. He hadn’t even worn a tie. Nervous ticks were all over him, but what got Javier was that Santi hadn’t moved. 

He hadn’t eaten yet.

All his anger at Santiago melted away, and Javier felt sorry for him.

*

“Haven't you had enough calories today, Peña?” The lady at the food cart said. 

Javier rolled his eyes as he paid the money. “It’s not for me.”

She glanced at his stomach; it was not as flat as it used to be, that’s for sure. “Sure.”

As Javier approached the open door of their shared office again, he made sure to squeak his shoes so Santi knew he was coming before he rounded the corner. 

Without looking up, Santi muttered his first words of the day. “You’re late. Your lunch is only an hour, you know that right?”

“I took part of yours, since you didn’t go.”

Santi muttered something about actually doing his work, but Javi knew today had been Santi’s least productive day since starting. He tossed the brown paper on Santi's desk, and at first Santi begins to complain about the grease on his paperwork, but then he opens the bag.

“What’s this?”

“Your lunch.”

Santi looked up to him, his endearing youth still evident despite the disheveled appearance. “You brought me lunch?”

Javi tried to wave him off as he sat down. “Don’t worry about it.”

The younger man stared up at him, mouth hesitating as if he wanted to say something, but then stopping, then starting, then stopping, then- “I’m sorry!” The words begin spilling out of him. “I’m sorry I went through your things, I really really am! I just didn’t want someone random and-

He raised a hand to stop him. “Garcia, stop. Listen…” He shook his hand and leaned against his desk. Santi looked up at him, desperate and wide-eyed, mouth parted. “She was right. I can’t control her… or you. It’s none of my business who you see…” Javi clears his throat. “And you are still seeing her?”

Santiago stood up, frantic still. Javier wasn’t into weed, but he thought Santi needed to have a smoke. “I’ll stop! Just say the word and I’ll stop!”

“No, Garcia, I get it. I know how it is with her, she’s special. Candy’s important.”

“Not as important as you!”

Santiago’s sudden admission shocked Javier. What did he mean by that? Did he mean… no, Santi wasn't like that, right? “What are you talking about?”

“I mean…” His excited edge gave way to anxiety. “I just mean, we’re friends, right? Partners. We have a good thing going right now and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Oh. “I see.” He couldn’t help feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, we do have a good thing going. Let’s just drop it, alright? I doubt Candy will schedule us on the same day again. We can just pretend it didn’t happen.”

Javier was already moving to sit at his desk as Santi eagerly agreed. “Yes! I- uh, I mean, yeah, perfect.”

Javi snickered a bit. They sat in silence for a moment before Javier decided to bring it up just one more time… “Just… be careful, alright? And treat her good?”

“I do.” Santi was quick to assure. “And I’ll be careful.”

*

The knock on your door made you immediately nervous. No one just showed up, except Señora Perez bringing leftovers for you… when you peaked through the peephole and saw a nervous looking Javi, you sigh. Dumbass. Annoying dumbass. Annoying dumb who fucked really well and was actually super sweet and you enjoyed his company most days… 

“I know you’re home, Candy.” Of course he did. 

You open the door, immediately crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame. “What do you want? Santi isn’t here.”

“I know.” He assured you, then held out a rolled up, large poster. “I wanted to…” Apologize? Javi didn’t say he was sorry. Wasn’t the type. “I brought you this.” He held out the rolled up paper.

Tentatively, Javier held out his gift, which you took suspiciously. It was the Audrey Heffburn poster he promised you. “Javi… I thought you’d throw it away after how I yelled at you…” You were touched at how he thought of you, bringing you posters of artists he knew you loved to liven up your apartment.

“Never, querida.” He promised. “And I’m sorry for making a scene in your home, in front of your neighbors.”

You smile softly, relaxing a bit. He was so kind, so handsome… “I forgive you, just mind your business next time, comprende?”

“Comprendo, Candy.”

Your body language eased. “You and Santi kiss and make up?”

Javier couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “Si, minus the kissing.”

“You’ll get there.” You wink, and make enough room in the doorway. “You wanna come in?”

Of course he did. He always did. And you always wanted him to. 

*

Javi spread you open. After he sat you on his lap, you wrapped your legs around him and as he spread his legs, yours went with it. It was tender, the way he touched you, calloused fingers running the length of your body and taking you apart on his fingers. Whiskers tickled your neck as he nudged, fingers entering you. Filling you. Taking you. You were his.

And Santi was yours.

You played with Santi’s body, controlled it the way Javi controlled you. From behind. He liked it between your legs, that much was obvious. His hands, his cock, his face. He belongs there. Earlier today he had sat there, his ass between your naked legs with your back to your bed frame, Santi’s back to yours. He felt so good like this, his body firm and young and supple in your grasp and god, you loved having him. It’s no wonder Javi loved taking you like this, on his lap.

Javi liked you on his lap, liked you open for him. Your whole body. He loved to feel you clench around him, himself fully dressed and while you were completely naked.

It was different with Santi. Both of you lay bare as you jerked him off. It was vulnerable this way, both of you naked and open to each other. Santi was so vulnerable… you wanted to protect his sweet little heart, to take care of him, hear him whimper and whine just as he did now as you tease him.

You wanted Javier to devour you, to take you fully and leave nothing left, you needed to be consumed by him… and consume you he did. Javi’s mouth left nowhere untraced, your shoulders, your back, your neck, it was all sopping wet with his sloppy kisses, long fingers pumping into you.

Your fingers wrapped around Santi’s cock, swiping over the slit dripping with pre-cum in his excitement for you… That excitement excited you in turn, his enthusiasm to be explored and used… and you were grateful for him. You let him know it.

“Pretty boy, being so fucking good for me.”

“Pretty girl, being so fucking good for me.” Javier praised when you don’t cry out at the little nibble he took at your throat as he applied pressure to your clit. He knew just how to tease you, to build you up so high that your crash would be blinding. “Not yet, baby,” He coaxes you.

“Not yet baby,” You coo at Santi, tightening the base of his cock to stop his orgasm. “Can you wait just a little longer please? I want you to cum so hard, Santiago, want you to fucking explode on my hand.”

“Y-yes,” he agrees, breathy and desperate but so, so good. He was your good boy. “I can do it, Candy, I can.”

You felt up his chest, his pecs, his tight and perfect body as you jerk him. “I know you can, Santi.”

“I know you can, Candy.” Javi growls in your ear, stubble scratching at your face. “Give me one more.”

You whine, over sensitive from two orgasms on his mouth, but no less hungry for another, no less desperate for the sweet release on Javier’s fingers.

“S’too much!” Santi’s hips thrust into yours, his body beginning to writhe just as you had in Javi’s. 

“It’s okay, baby, you can do it.” You coo at Santi just as Javi coos at you. Then, you both give your command. “Come for me.”

Your orgasm was blinding, clenching down on Javi so hard you weren’t sure how he could move his fingers, cum dripping out of you and onto your shitty plywood floor.

“Oh, good girl,” Javi praises. “Just feeling that pussy cum, I know it must feel so good, doesn’t it?”

“Feel’s so good, doesn’t it?” After half an hour of edging, Santi cums so hard he choked a sob out and you have to keep one arm wrapped around his slim body to keep him steady. Rops of warm cum spill out of him, covering your hand.

Javier licked his fingers clean of your um. Without so much as a care to his own erection in his jeans, he picks you up and carries you to your bed. You’re sleepy… Why were you so sleepy? Javi didn’t need to ask, finding a night dress and pulling in over you on the bed.

“Javi, let me take care of you.” You ask, tiredly. He simply gets a warm cloth to clean you up.

Sliding out from behind Santi, you make sure to place plenty of pillows under him as he relaxes back. You wash off his cock, then get in the blankets with him. 

“What about you?” He asks, soft and sweet and so, so sleepy, his fingers going to the band of your pants, but you stop him.

“Sleep, precious boy.”

“Sleep, baby.” Javi kissed your forehead.

“But you didn’t even get off! C’mon, I’ll just hang my head off the bed-” You’re mostly teasing, smiling up at Javier and giggling, but he stops you.

“Rest.” It’s firmer now. “Consider this an apology.”

“Well can my apology also include you cuddling me.”

Javier smiled at that. “If you insist.”

You laid with Santi as he took a short siesta, finishing his time napping in your bed with you around him, your fingers trailing his perfect body, taking inventory  of every scar. He sure had a lot of burns on his arms for a career military boy. Maybe he was a cook in high school. Good boy like him would get a part time job… so responsible. You hoped you were able to help him let go of that responsibility, if only for a little. He deserved to be wild sometimes, even if he had a lot to learn.

Javi held you until you fell asleep, remaining fully clothed and fully closed off to you. When you woke, he was gone and to your relief, he didn’t try to pay you, outside of the poster he hung up for you. 

It was the first time you two had done anything that wasn’t transactional.

**************************

Thank you all for your patience, I was, WOW I WAS GOING THROUGH IT LMFAO IT WAS BAD. So I appreciate your patience as I get this out. You probably will not see anything from my as far as fics for like 2 weeks until finals are over since I am writing a fuck ton of essays. HMU in two weeks if you wanna learn about Aimee Semple McPherson or the satanic panic bc i gotta write a min 12 pages on EACH.

Anyway, until then, happy holidays! I hope you all have a wonderful and safe season celebrating any of the variety out there, or just enjoying time off, seeing family, or winter activities!

If you are in any of the horrifically dangerous areas in the world right now, know I am praying for you, and I hope you are safe.

Thank you to Fen, to Mona, to Clem, and all the people in the Oscars House Of Whores discord and the Pedro Pals discord for encouraging my insanity with these three!!! I really love the dynamics before Santi Javi and Candy and love writing this story, even if it takes me forever.

Since I like doing polls....

@runa-falls@lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolbo @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleitte @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @nanfafnan @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie

[archiesoniconline]

Sonic Universe Online #53 Behind the Scenes!

Hello again, people! Since last time we covered the behind-the-scenes for StHO #52, today we'll be covering the next and final issue of the Bunnie arc, StHO #53! Admittedly, I might not have as much to say about this issue compared to the last one since I had no involvement in it's production, but I'll still do what I can!

As usual, let's start with the cover. There isn't much to say here since Crim penciled it fairly early into the arc, even before the cover for 52 was made. The biggest change that was made was adding to the bulk of her robotic arm, and moving the sleeves on her coat as a result.

This issue was fully penciled by @dariidrawsindreams, but @katonuchiha4525 provided the thumbnails to use as a reference. Although there had been some issues with artists coming and going, we managed to stick to a remarkably consistent style in this issue thanks to them.

Meifeng was designed by our former artist Pooj, who was meant to be a junior/daughter figure to Conquering Storm, though not her Kommissar. She's obviously more polite and less battle-hardened than her Grandmaster, and although she doesn't personally get involved in the action this issue, she's definitely not to be underestimated. Whether or not she's as easily impressionable as portrayed in the off-panel is yet to be seen.

When Khan has his flashback to issue 92, @alusniper had to correct the colors on the Overlanders' uniforms. But since the flashback was later given a sepia filter, it ultimately didn't make much of a difference.

On page 16, the positions of Bunnie's legionnaire partners ended up being swapped, due to not matching up with the order of the word bubbles in the panel.

One thing that keen-eyed readers may have noticed is that Bunnie is missing her jet pack throughout the issue, even in scenes where she's clearly flying. That was really nothing more than an honest mistake, and by the time it was noticed it was too late to add it back in.

Back in 52, we made sure to add a line about the coil generators carrying the oil shipment throughout the arc, so their role in defeating Jun Kun would be properly foreshadowed. We also made a reference to Espio providing the Fan of Fen Xing to Khan in issue 211, which is how Jun Kun was defeated in that issue.

@riggo-draws had actually drawn the final page at one point, but after he left the team we ultimately stuck to the version that Darii made.

Finally, there's the preview picture that we teased the day before the issue was released. @leroyalmess had made several drafts of Genesis-style pictures to use, but we ended up opting for a parody of the Sonic & Knuckles logo, but with Bunnie and Khan instead.

That's it for this one! Maybe a bit short compared to the others, but no less work involved in making it a reality! We'll have to say goodbye to Bunnie for now, but until she returns, keep your eyes peeled for the upcoming Blaze arc, and beyond!

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Fae & Fen

This week’s recommendations revolve around faeries, either as benign outsiders that are misunderstood, or as malevolent or strange entities that can be horrific threats.

Strays, by kumada1.

Strays is a 246 page tabletop rpg about changelings---the children of two fae courts---caught in between the pull of the mortal and fae worlds.

Choose between eight Courts, take special powers, befriend buildings, wander between worlds, and try to get by in a setting where everyone wants you to grow up and pick a side.

There are rules for physical, social, and magical combat. Detailed writeups of the eight Realms of faerie. An overhaul of the regular PbtA rules. GMing advice. A sample scenario. Rules for burning yourself out and becoming an NPC. A shared hangout spot for the party. And more.

This game combines the magic of faerie with the paranoia of a setting where everyone is keeping secrets - even your parents. Your characters have only recently discovered their fae origins, and now that they have magic, all of the Fae Courts - and a mundane Taskforce - want them. This game is PbtA so much of the fiction will follow from what the characters are interested in - what’s on the line if they start pursuing their magic? Will their mortal families pay a price for being unsuspecting hosts? Play to find out.

The Gloaming Diaries, by Timor Jack Press.

The Gloaming Diaries is a tabletop roleplaying game of modern fairy tales in small towns. As a player, you take on the role of the gloamspun, half-human, half-fae beings created when a fairy fleeing eternal war encounters a human seeking change within the Wood. Needing one another, they weave their souls together, becoming one.  Among your fellow gloamspun what unfolds next is a new story. For you have two pasts, but only one future.

Play as one of 10 Paths, each of which describes the human you were and the path that led you to that fateful twilight meeting, and one of 10 Tales, each of which describes the fae you were and the story your magical life told. Were you an Elder entering the woods to die who instead found a new life with a Tale of Mischief? Were you a Lover who slipped into the woods for a tryst and found yourself drawn to join souls with a Tale of Sorrow?

What stories will you tell in your small town at the edge of the woods? For although everyone's a little strange in remote parts, few are as strange as you.

The Gloaming Diaries uses either a d20 or a pack of tarot cards to move the story forward. This game has a Third Party License that outlines the rules for creating your own content for The Gloaming Diaries, and the creator has a number of their own supplements for the game, encompassing everything from violence, death, and dreams.

Changelings: The Magic & The Fury, by Kolek Niewiary.

This is a roleplaying game about changelings i.e. fae creatures (the elves, the faerie, the fair folk) inhabiting human bodies. While in the mortal realm they must control their conflicting nature while fighting for the cause that called them onto Earth.

The players take the role of the changelings. The fair folk, the fae left this world as the civilization developed and banality ruled. Now, recalled by human dreams of a better world, they return as changelings. Infuriated with the world that once rejected them, with the people who killed the magic and replaced it with Excel spreadsheets. The Faerie, wearing a human body, finds a cause to fight for. They come to help the weak and the excluded.

Veterans of Honey Heist or Lasers & Feelings may resonate a little bit with the rules of Changelings, but it draws most of its mechanical inspiration from Wights, by Steffie de Vaan. Your characters, as changelings called forth by mortals to meet injustices with righteous anger, will teeter between the banality of the human world and the Dreams of Faerie. These two stats are called Approaches, and they can increase and decrease depending on character actions. If you’re enthusiastic about justice and faerie magics, this might be the game for you!

Adiotopia, by Minakie.

Adiotopia is a micro TTRPG (for 3+ players) about collaboratively telling the stories of a group of young Protectors in training, who travel between their world (Sanubari) and Fäerie with their mentor in order to help both Saubi and Fae deal with their everyday problems, enforcing the law, mitigating conflicts, protecting people, studying the indigenous fauna and flora and potentially solving mysteries, while always being on the lookout for the dangerous darklings and the unpredictable undead. If you're lucky, you might befriend the dragons or the elves, or even learn a magic trick or two along the way.

The premise of the game is that the world is full of creatures and mysteries worth investigating and that, while some of them might have a simple and rather ordinary explanation, others might not be what they seem at first, and be somehow connected with the multitude of mystical creatures that inhabit the land. 

 Adiotopia is a great pick-up game that borrows some ideas of magical settings for teenagers and combines it the the allure of Faerie. Faerie is a dangerous and evocative place, with endless possibilities in regards to what the party will find there. Sanubari is home, and comfortable, a place you can retreat to when Faerie becomes too weird or wild. If you like coming-of-age fiction about young people stepping into a magical world and having adventures, this is a great option worth checking out.

Faewater, by A Smouldering Lighthouse.

In the darkest woods, you may find the fae. Old and strange, their power and pleasure can be intoxicating.In the darkest waters, you may find the same.

A group of mortals have gathered to seek the deep fae. Tonight is your final act after months of secret meetings. You must not fail now.

Faewater is a one-page dark fantasy game about underwater fairies and the mortals they prey on. This tabletop role-playing game is designed to be played in a single two to three hour session. 

This is a one-page game that explores the horrific side of Faerie - the power and terror of dealing with the unknown. You are mortals diving underwater to find a mystery that proves to be more deadly than you expected, and throughout the game, your character will find themselves replaced by fae creatures. Don’t hold on too carefully to your PC - you’re going to lose them at some point, either to home or to the deep. 

Hedge, by A Couple of Drakes.

The Fey were here before we were. They have not forgotten. 

Their forms are multitude. Their powers are incalculable. Their mastery of the world, the Wyld, that they fashioned for themselves when nature rebelled against them, is absolute. They press against the edges of our world, watching. Waiting. They pick at the seams and wait for the barrier between us and them to unravel. They are coming. All that stands between them and us is the Hedge. The barrier of Nature's magic which keeps them at bay is weakening. In her agony, the Hedge calls forth her champions.

"My savior, my darling, my cure. Stop at nothing."

Once, you were merely human. Once, the Fey would have looked at you only as a thing to be bent or broken. Or eaten. Now the Hedge has chosen you to stand, to fight, and to shine. Harness the powers of nature, upgradeable weapons, and stolen Fey magic, to fight against hordes of scary faeries.

Hold tight to your humanity as you take the fight into the depths of the Wyld, facing down the Court of Air and Darkness in the heart of their power with six iconic Wardens, 102 awe-inspiring powers, 65 beefy pages of rules and vague-but-evocative lore, and the robust, power-fantasy fueling core mechanics of LUMEN. Hold the line against terrifying foes, collect powerful Fey Grafts, and save what's left of the world from a dark fairytale apocalypse.

LUMEN games excel at providing you with moldable character sheets and satisfying combat, and Hedge is no exception. The Fae are decidedly antagonistic here, and your characters are using every weapon in their arsenal to hold back the horde of fae creatures threatening your existence. There are a number of supplements, such as Horde and Hearth, for players who want to see the full extent of what this game can offer. If you want heroism, combat, and power-fantasy, this is the game for you.