#for like the next week and a half after the 10th

[alteredphoenix]

Trying to figure out what big drawing piece I can do this month to get out of this art rut, only to remember:

- Michelle’s bday on the 10th - Want to watch Saenai Heroine no Sodatekata for only Megumi, whose bday’s on the 23rd - WotLK Classic coming out the 23rd, too - New Assassin’s Creed game set in Baghdad getting announced - therefore dress them up as death knight and assassin respectively (maybe?) with Arthas and the new AC guy and a random ass wolf (because it’s one of my Luminaria headcanons for Michelle a’la closeted wolfaboo) crammed in there

It’s so fucking stupid I wanna do it

[nomaishuttle]

aughhhhh i wish i had books 2 read i wanna read books so bad rn 🤓 <- i look like this. 2 pictures of me 👇

[littledovesnow]

fem!flickerman!reader x coriolanus snow

summary: basically if you were one of the 24 mentors in the 10th hunger games as well as lucky flickerman's younger sister and if you were dating coriolanus snow

a/n: shoutout to me not having a good title for this!!!!! wahoo!!!!!

word count: 2.8k

warnings: canon violence, the usual y’know?

---

“Coryo,” you gasped, locking lips with your boyfriend. “I need to be at Lucky’s soon for dinner. We can’t go any farther.”

Breaking the kiss apart, Coriolanus pecked your lips once more before sitting back on your bed, both of your chests heaving.

You smiled wickedly at him, leaning on your knees to look in the mirror if there were any visible marks, humming when you didn’t find any. “At least he won’t lecture me on protection and safe sex this time.”

Coriolanus choked on a laugh, grabbing his shirt from where it was discarded not long after you two got home from class. “Do you know why he’s inviting you and your parents for dinner?”

Shaking your head, you slipped on the outfit your mother had asked you to wear, watching Coriolanus in the mirror, smiling at him when he looked you up and down.

“He said something about a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I’m sure it’s something absurd like when he invited us all over to show us his parrot.”

“Oh, that was definitely an occasion for dinner.” Coriolanus joked. “You look beautiful.”

Accepting the compliment with a soft “thank you,” you lead Coriolanus out to the front of your family’s home, promising him you’d meet him in the morning before heading to Heavensbee Hall for the Reaping.

“See you tomorrow, Coryo. When we all celebrate the Plinth Prize.” You smiled, teasing him as he departed to the Corso.

---

You rolled your eyes as you heard your older brother trying to get his parrot to imitate your father, each of them nursing glasses of whiskey.

“What silly men, hopefully you’re the brains of the next generation.” You whispered, smiling when baby Caesar babbled as he watched his parents and grandparents gather around the table.

Handing the baby to an Avox, you took your seat next to your mother, acaross from your brother and his wife.

“So, what’s this news that you’ve invited us all over for, Lucretius?” Your mother asked, carefully cutting the steak that was prepared.

“I got the most wonderful invitation from President Ravinstill and Dr. Gaul the other day, regarding this year’s Hunger Games.” Your brother started, wicked smile on his face. “They want to try something new, something to attract more of an audience.”

“Wonderful news, son!” Your father clapped him on the back. The two of them loved being in front of an audience, so this was a dream come true for the younger male.

“They asked you to host? What are you going to do, follow them in the arena? Celebrate their deaths?” You asked, picking your jaw up from the floor.

It was no secret to your family that you weren’t the biggest supporter of the Hunger Games, so this news wasn’t something you thought should be celebrated.

“No, no.” Lucky frowned, hurt that you weren’t in support of him. “Well, frankly, I don’t quite know what they’re going to want me to do. I have some meetings this week with the President and Dr. Gaul, maybe Casca Highbottom if he’s sober enough to make them.”

Snorting, you raised your posca class to the latter half of Lucky’s statement, agreeing that your professor and founder of the Hunger Games tended to rely on morphling a little too much.

“Either way, we’ll be watching in support of you, Lucky.” Your sister-in-law smiled at her husband, causing you to take a rather large sip of the drink in your hand.

---

Coriolanus smiled at you as he met up with you on the front steps of the Academy, lending you his arm. “Good morning, love. How was your evening?”

You wasted no time in telling Coriolanus about your brother’s new resume-builder, keeping your voice low to avoid your classmates’ listening ears. The Capitol was a hive of gossip, and you hated every aspect of it.

“I can’t believe they chose the weatherman for the host.” Coriolanus shook his head, looking down at you. “What did you say when he told you?”

Knowing you weren’t the biggest fan of your family watching the Hunger Games each year, you sighed and plucked a glass of posca off of an Avox’s tray. “I just asked if he was expected to join the tributes in the arena, narrate their deaths and celebrate the winner.”

Coriolanus chuckled, gently guiding you to your classmates with a hand on the small of your back. “Come on, let’s see what Arachne is complaining about now.”

---

“Hey, listen you guys, I know there’s talk about it, but there’s no Plinth Prize today, not anymore.” Sejanus whispered to you and Coriolanus, guilt written all over his face.

“What?” Coriolanus asked, freezing at the news.

Before he could say anything else, everyone was ushered to Heavensbee Hall, top two dozen students taking seats in the front of the room.

Your hand was threaded through your boyfriend’s, thumb rubbing softly across Coriolanus’ hand, grounding him.

Dr. Gaul waltzed to the podium, icy eyes staring at each and every one of the students before she began her speech. Your mind drifted elsewhere after her mention of today being an “auspicious day.”

If there was no Plinth Prize, Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to afford University, wouldn’t be able to afford rent, meals, life. You had offered to lend him money for rent dozens of times, but both he and Tigris were too kind to accept it.

A gentle squeeze of your hand drew your attention back to the present, glancing at your boyfriend.

He was chewing on his bottom lip, listening intently as Dr. Gaul introduced Dean Highbottom, letting him announce the changes to this year’s Hunger Games.

Expecting it to be the announcement of your brother hosting, you felt the air leave your lungs when he mentioned a mentorship between the top 24 students and the 24 tributes. “The Plinth Prize will be awarded to the best mentor of the Games.”

“Well, surely the best mentor will be the one who’s tribute wins the Games, no?” Festus Creed asked.

“Victory will not be the only measurement we analyze for the Plinth Prize, Mr. Creed. You are to make spectacles out of your opponents, not victors.”

“What if I end up with a runt girl from one of the poor districts, like 8 or 12? They’re just going to die in two minutes like they did last year and the year before.”

Rolling your eyes at Arachne’s whine, you did have to admit that she had a point. Those with stronger tributes had a much greater chance to creating a spectacle out of of their tribute, thus a much greater chance at winning the Plinth Prize.

As the trumpets played and the screens were brought to life, you spared one look at Sejanus as you looked past your boyfriend.

Sejanus mouthed an apology when he caught your gaze, moving his legs to let Highbottom take a seat on the step in front of them.

You watched on the large screens as tributes were called district by district, cheers coming from your classmates as the first districts were announced.

Dean Highbottom looked back at you when he rattled off your name, announcing the male tribute from District 10 as the one you would mentor.

Coriolanus nodded once he heard your name, though you could see the nervous beads of sweat on his forehead, his name had yet to be called.

“Oh, you’ll like this Ms. Crane,” Highbottom teased, looking back at the girl. “District 12, the runt girl, she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend, his gaze locked on the screen as he watched the girl who would be his tribute get selected.

Turning your attention to the screen, you were mesmerized when the girl veered off the path to the stage and dropped something down the back of another, squinting as the cameras just barely focused on the snake as it slithered out of the dress and off screen.

“What is that dress, is she some sort of clown?”

Arachne’s judgements and comments were background noise, as you and Coriolanus were both watching the girl as she commanded the stage, voice picking up as she began to sing.

“You can kiss my ass!”

Laugher broke the silence of Heavensbee Hall, and Coriolanus looked at you with a smirk on his face.

His tribute had succeeded at one thing, she was certainly going to be a spectacle for the Games. ---

That evening, you had stopped at your home only for a moment to change into something more casual, before meeting Coriolanus at the steps to his apartment, the two of you walking up the dozen flights of stairs to the penthouse.

“When I’m president, I’m going to get that ladder fixed. Perhaps glass walls to see the landscape.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s comment, thanking him as he let you enter the home before him.

“What are you thinking for your tribute?” You asked, smiling at Tigris and the Grandma’am as they welcomed you to their home.

Coriolanus shrugged, depositing his school bag near the door. “I need her to sing again. You saw her, she’s malnourished, underfed.”

You bit your tongue as you subtly looked your boyfriend up and down. He wasn’t one to talk on being underfed.

“Well,” Tigris said, pulling a chair out at the table and sitting next to you, both of you watching Coriolanus pluck petals off of the rose in his hands. “I wouldn’t sing for you if I was her.”

You stayed silent as the cousins argued, Tigris pulling out on top when Coriolanus gave up retorting to her comments, pulling you back into his room instead.

“What are you planning, Coriolanus Snow?” You asked, knowing the look on his face all too well.

“I’m going to meet her at the Captiol station when they arrive in town.”

Gawking, you sat with your legs crossed and watched Coriolanus change into his night attire, frowning at his visible ribs. “You’re going to meet her?”

“I am, you can meet your tribute if you come with.”

At the suggestion of meeting your tribute Tanner, you reminded yourself, you could get an edge in knowing him and figuring out to how “make a spectacle” of him.

“Well, it would be unwise for you to go alone, power in numbers and all that, right?” You asked, smile on your face.

Coriolanus laughed as he joined you on the bed, pulling the ratty, patched-up comforter over the two of you.

---

You stuck close to your boyfriend as you two approached the train station, Coriolanus moving to stand between you and the tracks.

“What time did the sign say the train would get here?” You asked, not wanting to stick around in this part of the Captiol any longer than necessary.

Coriolanus, who was fiddling with the long-stemmed rose in his hand, looked at the increasing number of Peacekeepers at the edge of the platform. “My guess is pretty soon.”

You two waited for only a moment before you heard the train approaching, both wincing as the breaks squeaked awfully loud.

The Peacekeepers paid the two of you no mind as they opened doors to cars, the tributes hopping out once they were able.

Coriolanus nodded over to your tribute, and you squeezed his hand before departing.

He watched you introduce yourself to Tanner, the boy looking nervous but thankful that at least one person in the Captiol was being kind to him.

Focusing on his own tribute, Coriolanus smiled as he walked up to Lucy Gray. “Welcome to the Capitol.”

He handed her the rose, which had been your idea at breakfast, and the girl plucked a petal off and stuck it in her mouth, mentioning it “tasted like bedtime.”

“You look like you shouldn’t be here.” She said, gaze moving to you as you joined the two of them, wrapping your arms around one of Coriolanus’.

“Well, we shouldn’t be.” You smiled, introducing yourself.

The three of you couldn’t get too far into a conversion before Peacekeepers were shoving the rest of the tributes into the back of a truck.

“Let’s go with them.” You suggested, and Coriolanus shocked you by not putting up an argument. Perhaps the Plinth Prize lowered his inhibitions.

The two of you watched as the Peacekeepers went after one of the tributes who made a break for it at the rear of the truck, taking the opportunity to hop in along with the tributes.

Once the door closed, the two dozen tributes looked at you two like hungry animals.

“What’s wrong, in the wrong cage?”

Coriolanus pushed you behind him, replying that the cage they were in was delightful.

In the blink of an eye one of the tributes was up against the two of you, threatening to kill you.

“He’ll do it, too. Reaper killed a Peacekeeper back in 11.”

Your heart was in your throat, grip on Coriolanus’ uniform jacket tight as a vice, until Lucy Gray spoke up.

“You got family back home? You touch either of them and the Capitol will kill your family. Then you. Besides, blonde one is my mentor.”

At her comment, the tributes started arguing why Lucy Gray and Tanner got mentors.

Coriolanus explained that everyone did but was cut off when a back-up alarm started blaring.

The rear of the truck you were all in started dipping, and Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you and gripped on the edge of the truck, though it didn’t work too well.

Everyone tumbled out of the truck, a yelp coming out of your mouth when your knee collided with a large rock in the enclosure.

“You okay?” Coriolanus asked, dusting himself off as he stood up, worried gaze on you.

Nodding, you stood up, favoring your left knee. “Ow, maybe not 100% fine.”

Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you, taking most of your weight, and Lucy Gray frowned when she walked over to you two.

“Are y’all okay?” She asked, though her gaze was looking elsewhere.

You followed her gaze, face dropping when you saw your brother’s back turned to you, speaking into the cameras. “-in the gem of Panem? That’s an Academy rouge, no?”

Coriolanus looked down at you, knowing what was going on in your mind. “Lucy Gray,” he turned to the brunette, “would you like to meet our neighbors?”

Lucky persisted to get your attention, though when he realized who was in the zoo’s enclosure, his on-air persona faltered. “Wh-what are you two doing in there?”

You grunted as Coriolanus helped you to the edge of the enclosure, both of you introducing Lucy Gray. “Tanner, my tribute, he’s back helping his district-mate.”

“Are you okay?” Lucky asked, not listening while Lucy Gray talked to a young girl about her dress.

“I’ll be fine, Lucky. Meet Lucy Gray.”

Lucky, ever the showman, interviewed Lucy Gray, though you could see him watching you out of the corner of his eye, seeing you still leaning on your boyfriend.

Coriolanus, when asked if you two were told to hop in the enclosure, mentioned that if Lucy Gray was brave enough, you two were, as well.

“For the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray quipped, smile on her face.

Lucky saw the Peacekeepers approaching, nodding towards them. “Well, for the record, I think you two are about to be escorted out.”

You looked back to see the armed men approaching, eyes widening.

“Be careful with her!” Coriolanus commanded as you two were separated, the Peacekeepers not noticing your injured knee.

---

Due to your injury, you were permitted to miss the rest of the day at the Academy, with strict instructions to keep off of your leg for a couple weeks.

Coriolanus had gracefully brought your schoolwork, sitting next to you on the couch to discuss strategies for the Hunger Games.

“What in the gem of Panem was that circus act earlier?” Lucky asked, storming into his former home.

You and Coriolanus shared a look, having the same thought.

“Lucky, dear brother, they told us to make spectacles of the tributes. What better spectacle than us joining them?” You asked. “Nothing bad happened.”

Lucky looked at your face, down at your knee, and then back up. “Nothing bad?”

“Pfft, this is nothing, Lucretius. I’ll be fine in a week or so.” You waved off his worries, knowing between Coriolanus and your parents, you would heal perfectly fine.

“Now sit, tell us all about your plans to make the Hunger Games’ first host memorable.”

Lucky dropped into the seat across from the two of you, weaving tales about his plans to bring Jubilee to the Games, even though Highbottom despised the bird.

---

a/n: yuh i loved this i like writing w the reader being lucky's sister maybe perhaps a part 2 in the future!!!

[starstruckodysseys]

the thing about fhjy ending is that like. the promo dropped september 26th. it was like my fourth week of high school and second week of college. i still vividly remember freaking out about it in my high school library at 8am but trying to be cool in the process.

the proper trailer came out december 13th. luckily i was at home this time, but i remember shrieking and flailing and giggling like the biggest loser imaginable, because i was so goddamn excited. thank god i was home alone.

the first episode came out january 10th. i watched it about half an hour after it dropped, because i was at bowling practice when it actually did, and between coming home and getting dinner, i was a little late. i watched with the biggest grin on my face and live blogged the entire thing.

and now it’s may 22nd, and i just finished watching the finale. i loved it, obviously. i went on a roller coaster of emotions that surprisingly didn’t end with me fully sobbing, though it got pretty damn close. i laughed and i teared up and i cheered and i kept that same goofy little smile on my face most of the time.

i graduate in two weeks. this show has been with me for basically my entire senior year - through my entire bowling season, the musical i state managed and the play i helped create, every college application and subsequent admission, my actual college selection, every single dumb little thing you have to do when you’re a high school senior. in a way, i can’t separate fantasy high junior year from my own real life senior year.

it sounds cheesy, i know, but this season has really meant a lot to me. it’s strange now that it’s ending. i don’t really know what to do, now. focus on whatever never stop blowing up is, i guess.

i still love the bad kids forever, by the way. even if we aren’t going to see them in action for the next god knows how many years. they’re very dear to my heart. that isn’t changing any time soon.

[stariikis]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 006

synopsis ; based on the Chinese Drama, 'When I Fly Towards You', in which you, a going-on-high-school English genius named Huang Yuting meets the Mathematics genius of the 10th grade, Nishimura Riki, underneath the rain.

Perhaps you should never have brought up the idea of studying with Riki, because now even your two respective teachers are in on the idea. Your Maths teacher nods earnestly, eyes shining at the idea of the top Maths student working with… the not so top Maths student. 

“And you could help him with English!” She claps as if she’s invented the cure to cancer. When Riki glances at her in half-confusion, looking slightly guilty afterwards, she explains, “She scored the top mark for the entrance examinations.” 

Once again, the look of shame that crosses Riki’s face for being incredibly bewildered by the fact that it’s you she’s talking about. It amuses you to no end. No way Riki is this surprised that you can be smart at something. 

You shuffle your papers together uncomfortably and nod. “Sure, maybe we could study together sometime.” Although you try your best to keep your voice nonchalant, and even though you don’t even really want to spend your afternoons with this sorta good-looking boy, you suppress a smile. 

There’s a drawn out silence in the staff room for a few moments, before you and Riki simultaneously bow and scurry out of there as fast as you can. 

“Wow, I thought 老师 would surely beat my ass,” you mutter jokingly, glancing over as you speed-walk next to Riki. “She only didn’t because you were there, I think.” 

“Lao shi?” Riki repeats in a funny Japanese accent, awkwardly enunciating the foreign words. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and purse your lips. “Sorry. Teacher. Sensei.” 

“Ah.” 

And what are you supposed to say to that? As soon as you see your classroom after rounding the sharp corner, you disappear into it without even saying goodbye to Riki. It’s not as if he cares though, as he peeks in through the windows and coolly nods to himself. 

The cool evening breeze that ruffles your school skirt is your only source of rejuvenation for the day. You exhale heavily, smoothing your skirt back to how it was. It’s been a long day of remedial after remedial, and it’s only your first year in this school. As someone who despises studying, your heart aches agonisingly just thinking about what your final year will be like. 

Your shoulders already cry out day by day the heavier your bag gets, and the pile of textbooks and worksheets you arm-carry home increases in height by the week. Too bad you already have a worsening case of scoliosis. 

“Excuse me.” 

To your astonishment, Riki’s sling bag brushes past you and he sits right beside you at the bus stop. Undoubtedly, a strong wave of deja vu hits you, and you can’t help but think of rain streaming down your cheeks, soaking your shoes and clothes through, and Riki offering you an umbrella. His infamous black umbrella. 

You have to hold yourself back from continuing to stare at him with your mouth agape. However, with both ears covered with a silver pair of Sony headphones, Riki doesn’t seem to realise it’s you beside him. His eyes are closed in deep concentration, head bopping to the beat of whatever he’s playing. 

However, it’s not this shameless, cheerful display that shocks you the most. As you watch in silence, he begins to mark the moves of a dance choreography. Since when could he dance? And since when was he unbelievably talented at it? He’s only doing slight markings, but from the incredible isolations and bodily control he has, you’re more impressed than when you found out it was possible to score full marks for a Maths exam. 

A soft smile graces his cheeks, as if dancing has been the only thing keeping him alive, as if dancing was his first love. Judging by how relaxed he seems, you conclude that that’s probably the truth. 

“Riki!” In your excitement, you foolishly decide to alert him of your presence, tapping his arm three times fast. “You didn’t tell me you could dance!” 

His eyes jolt open and he blinks rapidly at you, hands stopping in place. He tugs his headphones down to rest on his shoulders. Weirdly, his face falls back into an expressionless state. As if you being around him has dampened his whole spirit. 

“You didn’t ask,” he mutters. Cautiously, he pulls his backpack close to his chest. 

At this point, why do you even bother with him? 

You scowl. “You could at least look a little happy to see me here. Weirdo,” you add under your breath, not expecting that Riki would actually hear you and whip his head around to glare at you. 

The once comfortable atmosphere has turned into a prickly feeling on your skin. 

“I didn’t know you took this bus home..” you say tentatively, the words souring on your tongue. You’re not even sure why you feel the need to strike up a conversation with this incredibly anti-social boy. “What stop are you getting off at?” 

“How?” 

“Huh?” You cock your head. 

“How is that any of your business?” 

Of course. 

Just as you’re about to clap back with a sharp piece of your mind, Riki shakes his head and stands up abruptly. The bus has arrived, blinding headlights a visual representation of how you’re feeling right now. Riki’s presence dampening your mood like you’ve just been run over by that same bus. 

The boy doesn’t spare you a glance before boarding the bus home. Clutching your books close to your chest, you follow him stiffly up the bus. It’s just your luck that this bus is the last one home. Otherwise, you would stay and wait an eternity for the next bus if you have to. 

Riki has already adjusted his headphones back to their previous state, his eyes fixated peculiarly on the streetlamps coming to life with their usual soft glow. It’s almost amusing, all the effort he’s putting in, in refusal to make eye contact with you. 

You take a seat in the back, as far away as you possibly can from him. 

It’s been a long day, your muscles are sore from sitting for around eight hours straight, and you’ve been struggling to keep awake for the longest time. You’re so tired you contemplate whether you’re going to have the energy to shower later. But you haven’t even eaten dinner… 

With a sigh of resignation, you shove these thoughts out of your mind and lean your head against the window. A soothing darkness consumes you as you fall into a well-needed nap. 

The bus rumbles on towards your final destination, and you catch up on sleep to fix your terribly broken schedule. You’re not conscious to notice Riki sneaking admiration-filled gazes at you from in front. You’re not awake to witness him rising out of his seat and coming to sit next to you and keep you company until the very last bus stop. Because you don’t know all this is happening, you’re utterly confused when you jolt awake after someone taps your shoulder. 

You glance to your side, seeing nobody. 

Riki is nowhere to be found, either. 

You scramble to your feet upon noticing you’ve, coincidentally, woken up just as the bus is reaching your stop. It feels almost surreal, like you have your very own guardian angel guiding you home. The thought is so silly it makes you smile to yourself from the absurdity. 

Guardian angel or not, you’re so glad to finally be home, and that you won’t be bothered by him anymore. 

taglist (open)

@laylasmother @seunnimg @natalunae @roumajuli @tomomorin

previous | masterlist | next

[callme-littlesunshine]

Roses for you

I got inspired by the picture where Sodo hast he roses in his hands. So I thought, why not making something cute out of it.

Sodo x reader

 

The last time I saw him was when he was leaving fort he Tour. I missed him, I mean he called,

always when the time was there. Even when the time was different between us. We always found time to talk. I missed him dearly. He never showed it but I saw it in his eyes, or heard it in his voice. He also missed me.

We were together for a long time now, almost two years, the time I arrived at the Ministry. Sister

Imperotor was not fond o f it form e to join, i don’t know why but she didn’t allow it. It was fine the first few weeks but when time passed, it was harder form e to fall alseep. I slept in his room so I could predent he was here, it worked for

a few nights but after that it was harder than before.

I want him back here, here with me. I missed his warmth, his fell of wood and cinamon. Right

now I was talking to Alpha, he was always here form me, when I needed someone to talk when Sodo was not here  Alpha was a former Ghost Member, Alpha knew Sodo so it was easy to talkt o someone.

„You know, Sodo has changed aound you, you know that?“ I looked at him after hearing those

words. „He did? He is always this way when he is with me“ I smiled playing with my hair. „I never knew he could be gentle“ grinned the former lead guitarist. Everybody warned me about the little gremlin named Sodo but I wanted to see it myself. I never judged him, I wanted to get to know him. Well from get to know him, our

love for each other was born. I was glad that I was not listening tot he others.

„I really miss him Alpha I hope he returns soon“ I sighed while sitting back, my back leaning against the wall in front oft he Church. Since a few weeks, I was waiting in front, hoping Sodo will arrive sooner or later. I knew he would call me when they left their last concert but I wanted to wait in front when he forgot. I knew how stressful this can be. Alpha told me so much about it. Sometimes Alpha joined me, bringing Omega and Mist with him. I like them, even Terzo joined one time, he was flirting with me. But I knew he was kinda scared of Sodo, so he

would do it when he is not around. Sodo almost chopped of his head for flirting with me in front of him. It was kinda funny but I felt guilty for it. It wasn’t even my fault but well, he never did it in front of him. Sometimes he tried to

flirt with me but I never paid attention to it.

A few days later I was in front again, this time alone with my thoughts. Today was Friday,

Wednesday was the last time Sodo and I was talking. I missed his voice. Did something happen to him? Is he returning? I hope he is okay. I grabbed my phone, writing him fort he 10th time today, hoping he would answer me. I leaned

my head back, closing my eyes. The sun was hot on my skin but I didn’t care. I felt tired, I slept horrible I would sleep everywhere.

I wasn’t aware oft he fact that I was sleeping. Half an hour later, I heard I heard an engine,

opening my eyes only fort he sun to blend my vision. I raised my hand in front of my eyes to turn out the sun. Thats when I saw the tour bus. Tour bus..? Ghost… Sodo! He was coming back. I jumped up to stand only to almos fall but steading myself before crashing.

When the bus came to an stop, the door opened and everyone came out. Coming up to me, to greet me with hugs. I missed them. They left quickly but one person was missing. My

little fire ghoul. Where is he?... I felt my heart sink at the thought that he wasn’t with them. I was ready to leave my spot with a broken heart, but then I heard his voice. „My beloved where are you going?“ I turned around, only to see Sodo with rosed in his hands, smiling. My heart melted away at this sight. He is here. „You’re back“ While whispering this words I made my way to him hugging him tight. Letting my tears fall. I missed him so much and finally he is back by my side. Next time I will join him, I don’t care what Sister Imperator is telling us, I want tob e near him, I need him and he needs me. „I’ve something for you darling“ After he let go of me, he gave me the roses in his hands. „Sorry

for not calling or answering, I wanted to surprise you, I hope it worked.“ He smiled. Looking at the roses I nodded, eyes filled with love after looking up. „It definitely did“ it was. I never felt so much love like right now. He never brought me roses. This means more than everything else to me. It says so much.

„Thank you my fire ghoul“ with that I got on my tip toes, kissing his lips without a care in

the world. He is finally back now.

[levikra]

I have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukosis aka Blood Cancer

buckle up :D

This post should've been here for sometime now cuz I prefer keeping everyone updated across all the platforms that I use as an artist.

So - Hi! My name is Evein, on 1st of May 2023 I turned 21 and since then, from 5th of May my health decided to pull a quick one on me, propelling the events that currently make me reside at the hospital with an oncology.

It all started with a tonsillitis-like fever, accompanied by furunclosis in three places on my body, a high fever that lasted for 5 days in the first half of May itself and other unpleasant symptoms. It felt weird, I've never had such an intense streak of sicknesses kick my ass like that, but of course - I went to doctors to get checked, the classic blood testings and general examinations and stuff.

That's when on 10th of May my blood test was checked by a dermatologist regarding my furuncle problem and - after some brief moments of her talking with the main doctor at the clinic - I was rushed to the governmential hospital due to the fact that my blood results had... no white blood cells. Literally 1.83 at the accepted range being much higher than that.

Needless to say I was fucking shocked, I've never dealt with the severity of the situation and let alone while being completely on my own as a human person (working, living, providing for myself, you call it).

At the hospital, after several examinations and another blood test came the recommendation paper that doctors signed with urgency, first and foremost I needed to get to an appointment at the hematologist's. That I did on 14th of May and since that point of time, till 19th, I'd been monitored, given antibiotics for my tonsillitis-like symptoms, along with my furunclosis and after 19th we ruled out the condition to be leukosis, became my white blood cells started coming back to normal with the antibiotics aiding my immunity, but despite that - thr condition still seemed as something more reminiscent of mononucleosis (which, however, in another blood test was disproven).

After exactly a week of feeling better, albeit dealing with leftover anemia, I started developing the same symptoms back and even worse, to the point of losing consciousness and thrwoing up in an elevator on 29th of May after going out for the second pack of antibiotics my hematologist had then already approved of to use to help out.

That's when I was rushed to the hospital again and - the next day - my hematologist arranged an appointment at the big clinic that has an oncology ward specifically for my situation. On 1st of June I was officially admitted with Acute Leukosis (the diagnosis doc attached is in Russian).

Since 1st of June the treatment has been ongoing, I've received three rounds of chemo along with supporting hormonal abd antibiotic therapy. Me is balding too, ofc. :D

And thus, this story leads to a logical question - what's now?

It's day 24 of my treatment, out of 4-6 weeks of inital induction period of leukosis' treatment (the overall chemotherapy to destroy tumor cells down to <5% in my bone marrow). After the induction period, if it's proven to lead to remissions - I'm then admitted out to certain periods of time in between infusions + need to take supporting medicine by myself (hence buying it too).

As an independent freelance artist who's existence is tied to being able to do creative work out of, well, any circumstances, I was sadly forced into situation of asking for monetary support, simply because it's stupid to expect to break your own back trying to work harder when you're body is collapsing on itself.

I have a goal on Boosty open for donations and I deeply appreciate ANY and I mean ANY traction of this post. I made a similar thread on Twitter covering the situation and have recieved a lotnof incredible support that has helped me a LOT so far, but my treatment is ongoing, or to be precise - will last in its entirety for 2-3 years. With the momentary help I was able to secure my living situation and get my pet cat to live for the current time period at my friend's, but you understand how that is just a temporary measure and, of course, I don't plan on stall myself - I simply just can't afford that even while hospitalised.

BOOSTY is very sus when it comes to singular donations higher than 120$ but if you happen to donate below that or in several different ones to bypass their antifraud system (only if you wish to) - the link to a goal is here -

[voylitscope]

CA: TWS 10th Anniversary Ficlets (Day 8)

Daily ficlets for the CA: TWS 10th Anniversary Event @catws-anniversary. With Huge thanks to @sparkagrace and @cable-knit-sweater for running this wonderful event! 💞

Eight | April 2nd | Theme: Bucky Barnes | Prompt: Ghost story | Words: 1,000 | Canon Divergence | Gen | No Warnings | Steve/Bucky, Post-TWS, dancing, Bucky Barnes recovering

Steve thinks his new apartment is haunted. He hasn’t told anyone else anyone about it.

He guesses he maybe should.

But he’s got a whole list of reasons not to. The list starts with how he’s not completely sure he’s just imagining it all —that most of it hasn’t been dreams. It ends with the way he’s afraid that if he’s right —

If he’s right, well, then, he’s afraid talking about it might make it stop. And the last thing Steve wants to do is scare away the occasional presence in his apartment.

It’s too scarce as it is. It’d been barely perceptible at first. Objects in places that weren’t quite right. A shadow there and gone before Steve could blink. The feeling of being watched — so real it made Steve’s skin flush, but without a source he could find when he turned around.

A little more solid, sometimes, in more recent weeks. The sound of his own name in late hours, but with no response when Steve’d tried to answer. A bottle of water and some pills on his nightstand the morning after he’d returned from a mission that’d had left him bruised and exhausted.

(The pain and injuries were gone by the time Steve woke up, but he’d said a thank you out loud before taking a sip of water, anyway.)

Steve’s even gotten a couple full glimpses. A single second of a flash of movement from a figure that hadn’t stopped when Steve called to it. A half second of the most familiar eyes in the world locked on Steve’s but then disappearing before Steve could recover from the shock of it.

All of those moments could have been dreams — could have been entirely in Steve’s head.

He doesn’t know what do, even if they’re not.

(He doesn’t know how to figure out what his ghost wants.)

Until, on Steve’s birthday, his haunting turns into a full-fledged ghost story.

(Unless it’s a dream.)

It’s late, and he’s been home for a while. It’s late enough that it’s probably nearly the 5th now, and Steve’s been meaning to stop drawing, get out of the chair in his living room, and head to bed for at least an hour.

It’s soft musics that finally make him put down his pencil. The song is playing at a low enough volume that, for a second, Steve thinks the sound is coming from the street or a neighbor —

But then he recognizes it. Steve hasn’t heard this song in about 70 years..

Steve’s heart is pounding as tries to run his eyes over every inch of his apartment. .

“Bucky?” His voice comes out in a whisper.

He’s never gotten an answer. There’ve been no conversations during this haunting.

Until now.

“Made you a promise,” Bucky’s voice says. Steve still can’t see him. “Didn’t I?”

“A promise?” Steve echoes, standing up.

Bucky emerges from shadows in Steve’s hall that shouldn’t have been large or dark enough to hide him. He’s wearing a button down shirt and jeans. His hair his pulled back at his neck. He’s somehow looking right at Steve without really meeting his eyes. He looks calm. He looks terrified and skittish. He smiles at Steve and it’s unsure and hesitant and heartbreaking and beautiful.

And Steve feels like he can’t breath.

“Think I told you that if we both made it to your next birthday we’d have to dance. I figured this counted,” Bucky says. Then he frowns and pulls his eyes away. He looks like he might fold right back into the shadows. “Maybe I didn’t.”

“You did,” Steve says. He nods, and he waits for Bucky to look back at his face. Then Steve holds out his hand.

For a few seconds, Steve’s certain that Bucky’s about to disappear or that he’s about to wake up.

But Bucky nods, too, and he puts his flesh hand into Steve’s before taking a few steps toward him. It brings them close together — close enough to dance.

Steve moves slowly. He’s still so sure he’s about to ruin this somehow.

But Bucky stays when Steve wraps an arm around his waist. And Bucky’s arms end up around Steve’s neck. And they both take small, tentative steps that bring them even nearer to each other.

And they together dance to a song Steve hasn’t heard since 1945.

And he can hear Bucky breathing and the beating of Bucky’s heart.

Steve wants to pull Bucky in closer and beg him to stay. He wants to ask him if this real. He wants Bucky to assure him this isn’t a dream or a ghost story at all.

He wants to ask Bucky if he’s okay — where’s been, where he stays, where he goes, what else he remembers — Steve wants to ask him a thousand things.

He wants to kiss him.

Steve’s almost sure that doing any one of those things would ruin this moment — could maybe make Bucky stay away for a long, long time.

So he simply feels the heat of Bucky’s body, and Bucky’s hands on him, and Bucky in his arms, and he dances.

And when he music stops, he says,

“Buck —" and he’s not surprised when Bucky shakes his head.

But he is surprised when he gets one final response.

“Happy birthday, Steve.” Bucky says, hands gone from Steve before Steve can blink, back across the floor and halfway into those shadows before Steve’s taken a couple breathes.

“Thanks for the dance,” Steve calls. He doesn’t get a reply to that, but he hopes Bucky heard it.

He hopes next time, if there is a next time, will be soon. Steve hopes the haunting of his apartment keeps on increasing.

(He hopes he’s not asleep on that chair in his living room right now.)

He’s still not planning to tell anyone about this. Not yet, anyway. Steve wants to keep this one to himself for a while.

(They’d always planned on that birthday dance being a secret, anyway.)

🎆 Seven | April 1st | Theme: HYDRA | Prompt: Project Insight | Words: 300 | Canon compliant | Not rated | No warnings | Bucky POV, implied Steve/Bucky (in a similar way to, you know, the literal plot of CA: TWS.)

🎆Six | March 31st | Theme: Sam Wilson | Prompt: Partners/Missing Scenes | Words: 350 | Canon compliant | Not Rated | No Warnings | Gen, Sam and Steve friendship, a tiny teaspoon of Sam and Riley emotions that you can interpret however your heart desires.

🎆Five | March 30th | Theme: TWS Cast | Prompt: Stunts | Words: 350 | Mature | No Warnings | RPF, Chris Evan/Sebastian Stan, very light/implied sexual content (but throwing this one under a cut just in case), sexual thoughts/tension, intentionally unspecified POV

🎆Four | March 29th | Theme: Natasha Romanoff | Prompt: Trust Issues | Words: 350 | Canon compliant| Not Rated | No Warnings | Gen, Natasha and Steve friendship

🎆Three | March 28th | Theme: SHIELD | Prompt: Surprise Visitor | Words: 300 | Canon compliant | Not Rated | No Warnings | But: very brief Steve/OC (sort of), and, I guess, privacy invasion via audio recording? I don’t know how to tag that. It’s canon that Steve’s DC apartment was bugged. So?

🎆Two | March 27th | Theme: Steve Rogers | Prompt: Guilt | Words: 300 | Canon compliant | Not Rated | No Warnings

🎆 One | March 26th | Theme: On your left | Prompt: The Smithsonian | Words: 250 | Canon compliant | No warnings | Not Rated |

(Ficlets Tumblr-exclusive until all are complete.)

[butchbattlesister]

I want to start uploading battle reports for a crusade I’m playing at my local game store! Partially to keep my momentum up and to get more into the 40K community here!! …. I’m tired of reddit.

————————————————————————

Game 1 - 750 pts - Mission: Scattered Supplies

Adepta Sororitas vs Death Guard

20 - 30

Unfortunately starting out with a loss but it was an overall fun game! I pushed hard in the first half but my experienced partner was helping my new opponent to beat my ass. >:(

————————————————————————

Game 2 - 750 pts - Mission: Secure the Tunnels

Adepta Sororitas vs Tau

50 - 50

A very, very fun tie where both of us left happy and satisfied!! My opponent was very nice, he had a background in the tournament scene but was looking for some more casual play. This mission would have been a great one for sisters if I had a higher point count. We are playing two games at 750, four at 1000, four at 1500, and four at 2000. I know it’s not how the official crusade rules but I’ve been really liking the weekly matched games.

————————————————————————

Game 3 - 1000 pts - Mission: Deference Nexus

Adepta Sororitas vs Tyranids

30 - 45

Bruh I lost so BAD. I really learned a lot about hoard armies in this game and I over prepared for psychic push back. I still felt like it was worthwhile but I was not proud of how I played.

————————————————————————

Game 4 - 1000 pts - Mission: I don’t remember but it was a weird diagonal corner deployment

Adepta Sororitas vs ORKZ

80 - 15

First sisters win!! FOR THE EMPEROR! This was such a fun game not because I won, I promise it felt much closer than the score my reflect. My opponent was so nice, every orkz player is so kind and just there to have a good time and he was no exception! He told me he had some old metal sisters from 2nd edition he might finally go back to working on after learning how cool they are in 10th edition! I even bought a Kommandos kill team off of him!

————————————————————————

Game 5 - 1000 pts - Mission: Polarizing Energies

Adepta Sororitas vs Dark Angels

55 - 25

Little winning streak? This week we were doing in-fighting matches! There are sooo many Dark Angels in this crusade because of the new supplement but it’s not aiding them too much. Oh dude bros, they will never cease underestimating femme players and sisters as an army then be salty!!

————————————————————————

NEXT WEEK….. more nids!

[eirikrjs]

UPDATE 9/2/23

Wow, it's almost fall and I'm still kickin', so here's a proper update about what's been going on with me. I do feel great most days, and with Halloween in season around the US, it makes me very happy. As far as stroke recovery goes, my leg has a newly made brace and my walking in general has greatly improved the past few months. I really don't roll my left foot anymore, in other words, my foot can go flat instead of landing on the ankle and possibly causing injury.

My arm is still mostly nothing but a couple weeks back I was able to move my shoulder again so there's hope. I also got a home electrical stimulation device so I give my arm and hand a jolt for an hour everyday. With time, I feel confident i'll recover.

A great help with my recovery has been the amazing @dagdasgoddess , a fellow young stroke survivor who has been watching out for me and offering encouragement every day for a couple months now, exactly when I needed it. Mentally, stroke recovery is pretty damn tough but most days I feel positive about it, with great thanks to her.

And now on to some business. Shortly before my stroke I was planning on celebrating the 10th anniversary of my blog (which would have been in December of last year, but I was still in the hospital, obviously...) And one of the things I was going to do was photograph and review all the smt demon figures I have, using my special diorama table. I got around to starting the project a couple weeks before the stroke, naturally starting with the Leonard figure. Here's one of the pics:

I also made something of an anniversary banner, just because, I guess:

I also want to talk about some milestones reached, starting with some follower counts. By December last year I finally surpassed 2k followers, so thank you so very much. This is after Kanekos Crib Notes quickly dwarfed my own blog followers shortly after its establishment in like 2014. But now my own blog is even ahead of kcn, as undoubtedly its current annual schedule limits its growth and reach. (But hey, it's almost October, aka KCN MONTH)

The last milestone is above: my Stealing Knowledge blogger has reached half a million views! Unbelievable, thanks for reading and sharing over the years! Identity crisis part 3 remains the most viewed, with over 50k on its own.

Finally, I want to talk about the future. Another 10th anniversary plan was to try and monetize the blog somehow, probably via a Patreon for new articles and such and many other ideas, maybe even doing YouTube videos to answer asks instead of them being all text. I have lots of other ideas too, but they'll have to wait until my arm works again. So instead of monetizing the future, for now I'm just going to ask y'all kindly to chip in for the blog's past. I'm amazed at how much activity the blog still generates from--let's call it "legacy content".

To that end, I have set myself up a kofi account where you can show your appreciation for that "legacy", kuwabara, kuwabara, if you'd like. All money earned will go towards paying down bills accrued during my recovery, like my hyperbaric treatments. In perfect honesty, it's been around 3000 US dollars so far. Don't feel obligated to contribute and thank you all for still sticking around with me despite my relative inactivity. And if course, continue keeping @sorenblr busy if you wish.

I would also not expect my own recovery before next year, that's just stroke for you. Thank you all!!!!!

p.s. I was featured as a stroke survivor again on another therapy facebook post:

[bucoliqves]

How love saved The Master and Margarita

(aka Bulgakov and Nyurenberg's story)

Mikhail Bulgakov and Elena Shilovskaya (née Nyurenberg) met for the first time in 1929 when they were both married - to Lubov Belozerskaya and Yevgeny Shilovskiy respectively.

To quote Elena herself, "I was simply the wife of lieutenant-general Shilovsky, a wonderful, very noble man. It was what they call a happy family: a husband with a high position, two beautiful sons. In general everything was fine. But when I met Bulgakov I knew that this was my fate, in spite of everything, in spite of the incredibly difficult tragedy of separation. It was fast, unusually fast, at any rate for me, love to last my whole life."

She tried everything to avoid him; but then, when they met a year and a half later, the first thing he said to her was "I can't live without you." They began an affair.

In February 1931, Elena's husband found out about their relationship. He demanded they broke it off, and for the sake of their children she never spoke to Bulgakov again for almost a year.

When he met her again, in June 1932, their love was renewed. Elena ran away with him and her children. Bulgakov wrote to Shilovskiy begging him to let Elena go, and after much persistence he finally accepted.

Elena's older son went to live with his father, while her youngest stayed with her. Bulgakov took him under his wing and cared for him like his own child. He divorced Lubov Belozerskaya in October 1932 and married Elena on the next day.

During their honeymoon, while the couple was staying at a hotel in Leningrad, Bulgakov told Elena about a novel he had begun to write years before and that he had burned down in 1930. He had lost all hope for this book, until Elena entered his life. Then, his inspiration had returned. He picked up pen and paper, and started scribbling. When Elena asked him what he was doing, he replied that he was rewriting the book. It was all in his head. But this time, he wanted to add a new character to the story.

Despite being rich and beautiful, Margarita Nikolaevna is not happy at all. Her life is boring and meaningless, until she meets a troubled nameless writer, for whose sake she'll make a deal with the Devil himself. Elena had become the prototype for one of his main characters.

Bulgakov finished editing The Master and Margarita a few weeks before his death with Elena's help. He had been sick and bed ridden for a long time. After he passed, Elena wrote in her diary; "March 10th, 1940. Misha has died."

Elena - who had become Bulgakov's personal secretary and biggest supporter - fought to see her husband's latest, most brilliant work published. She knew it was an impossible task, considering the contents of the book, and their friends tried to discourage her, but she wasn't going to give up on Bulgakov.

First, she tried publishing it on a popular literary newspaper, the Moskva. But the abridged, censored version that got printed was so awful that she eventually stepped back.

Elena kept the manuscript under lock and key for years, and then, in 1967, she finally got it published in France. The first complete version of the novel was released in the Soviet Union in 1973, but illegal copies of it had already been going around for years.

The Master and Margarita was an immediate success. Everyone from all over the world was praising its genius and wit. Eugenio Montale, one of Italy's most important poets and translators of the time, called it "a true miracle".

Margarita - the real Margarita - had once again saved her Master, not letting his name fade away in the mist of time.

The manuscript hadn't burned.

[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.

~~~

TAGS: please let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@sunshinebingo

@hiimheresworld

[saturniandevil]

December 2023 Important Dates

AKA my notes on The Astrology Podcast's December forecast, hosted by Chris Brennan and Austin Coppock. As you can see from the calendar, this is quite the busy month. I've put the recap at the end again for those interested in mundane astrology. Generally, it's about the October 28th lunar eclipse in Taurus.

We're entering the month off a Mars-Saturn square on November 25th, and Mercury has already entered his pre-retrograde shadow (during the rx he will go back to about 22 degrees of Sagittarius). There's been a Mars-Saturn square making motion grind to a halt, and though it present frustrations and delayed gratification, Mars-Saturn can also indicate perseverance and relentlessness.

December 1st - Mercury enters Capricorn The next day he sextiles Saturn, further activating that Saturn-Mars square. He'll retrograde back into Sagittarius later. Mercury will trine Jupiter in Taurus around the 7th-8th, and sextile Venus when she enters Scorpio, bringing us some helpful communication in the first half of the month. The second half will be very different, though, as he retrogrades and conjoins Mars--think explosive arguments or disrupted communication like in late October-early November. Do your careful planning and mapping while Mercury is constructive in Capricorn, as his regress into Sagittarius will bring have us acting recklessly out of necessity.

December 2nd & 3rd - Auspicious Elections (not pictured)

The charts are both around 1:35AM local time and takes advantage of Mercury's application to a trine with Jupiter, before the chaos of retrograde & contacting Mars. It also takes advantage of the last bit of Venus in Libra.

On December 2nd, the chart has Libra rising with Venus in domicile in the first (whole sign) house. The Moon is in Leo, either applying to or just separating from a square with Jupiter, and trine the Sun in Sagittarius in the 11th house. This is a good Venus-related chart, for things that need to appeal aesthetically to others or unify people. As this is a night chart, Venus is also the sect benefic, and is especially equipped to help things build up and grow (plus she's in a position of strength in the first house). Venus elections are also good for design, getting back in touch with people & other social activities, and working together. Venus in Libra is especially good for bringing together two things that are at odds, whether it's disagreeing friends or disparate business endeavors. Although the degree of Venus isn't too important in timing this, Chris recommends trying to get the Midheaven around 5-6 degrees of Cancer, so that it sextiles Jupiter in the eighth house. The Moon rules the 10th house and is in the 11th house of friends, making this a good election for friends, groups, and social movements.

The 2nd is the primary election, but the 3rd has most of the same benefits. The Moon is later in Leo, now applying directly to a sextile with Venus, emphasizing her themes of unity and reconciliation as well as tying in the 11th house of groups & alliances even more strongly.

December 4th - Venus enters Scorpio Though in detriment here, Venus is opposite Jupiter in her sign (exact December 9th-10th, especially activated by a conjunction from the Moon), and this reception & contact bring forth more helpful qualities. She will also overtake slowing Mercury by sextile around December 10th-11th, bringing some reconciliation to our communications. However, the New Moon conjunct Mars will pose some challenges.

December 6th - Neptune stations direct

December 12th - New Moon in Sagittarius

A close square to (newly direct) Neptune adds some nebulousness to the picture, and a loose conjunction from Mars to the lights, with Mercury stationing soon after, mean things may not go as planned. Mercury's configurations to the benefics seem hopeful, but we should expect some misalignment and miscommunication over the following weeks. Additionally, Mars's proximity to the Sun means he'll be coloring the next few nations with martial qualities. This New Moon sort of resets things for the month.

December 13th - Mercury stations retrograde The Moon enters Capricorn and conjoins Mercury soon after his station, which will further trigger or activate general Mercury retrograde significations.

December 21st - Sun enters Capricorn

December 22nd - Retrograde Mercury conjoins Sun (Cazimi) This occurs in at zero degrees of Capricorn and marks the halfway/turning point in the retrograde. Normally we'd expect to start figuring out what's wrong and begin heading out of the woods, but once in Sagittarius Mercury approaches a conjunction with Mars, changing the layout of our path. Sometimes looking to the past for actions will bring up old conflicts, or further investigation into a problem reveals that we have to rethink our entire approach.

December 23rd - Retrograde Mercury enters Sagittarius Discussed above.

December 26th - Full Moon in Cancer

Mercury at 25 Sagittarius and Mars at 23 bring even more heightened emotions than usual to this Full Moon (think tense communications). Neptune squaring Mercury and Mars adds further muddies the waters; expect a mix of hostility and misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the Moon is in domicile and both lights form soft aspects to Jupiter, which Austin compares to a nice country breakfast. It's like getting an idyllic Christmas postcard along with some poisoned arrows. Being home for the holidays is comforting and familiar, but we may also fight with our relatives, perhaps over politics. A Neptune-Venus trine brings a dreamy, escapist quality to the lunation as well. This lunation will hit different people very differently. (Those with emphasis on the lights, Jupiter, or cardinal signs will do well, while those with strong mutable placements may feel strife, etc.)

December 27th - Retrograde Mercury conjoins Mars This is the second of three Mercury-Mars conjunctions, the first having been around the October eclipse in Scorpio, and the next one occurring in Capricorn during late January. Mercury will station direct at 22 degrees of Sagittarius on the first couple days of the New Year, and will be slowly chasing Mars for most of January.

December 29th - Venus enters Sagittarius This is a fairly big shift, as she immediately squares Saturn, dumping a bucket of ice water on our attempts to come together on New Year's Eve gatherings.

December 30th - Jupiter stations direct This station can be a positive turning point for anyone with important Taurus placements nearby. Austin points out that Jupiter's usually retrograde for about ⅓ of the year (he entered Taurus in May and stationed retrograde in September), giving us time to reevaluate things and see whether we've failed or succeeded. It's like a shock absorber as we traverse this bumpy road. We can try to stabilize things in the midst of a destructive world. The rapid growth and expansion we were feeling this summer may start to come back, visible in the part of your life corresponding to the house Taurus occupies in your chart. Strike while the Iron's hot, as we've got until May before Jupiter enters Gemini. Uranus is copresent in the sign and may remind us of previous Jupiter-Uranus conjunctions: unexpected growth, innovation, and benefits from out of the blue.

November Recap:

The last forecast was recorded days before a lunar eclipse in Taurus on October 28th, which heralded several world events not discussed in the November forecast. In Palestine this coincided with the beginning of ground invasion and telecom blackout (Mercury-Mars involvement=severing of communication). Last month our hosts predicted the Venus-Mercury sextile would indicate brief diplomacy in this situation, and we saw the beginning of "humanitarian pauses" as well as negotiations around prisoner exchange. Chris wants to emphasize that more civilians have died in these two months in Gaza than in the entire Ukraine war, and predicts that larger geopolitical tensions are likely to rise as world leaders split with each other and their constituents over these events. He sees upcoming eclipses in 2025 as well as Uranus in Gemini (USA return) heralding possibility of larger global conflicts. Austin reiterates from last month that the North Node near Mars (as was the cast 10/28) indicates, in combat, using force madly beyond what is necessary or proportionate.

In US politics, Joe Biden has the Moon in early Taurus and thus the last eclipse cycle has been getting closer and closer to his natal moon, with 10/28 being the closest. Because it's in the 6th house our hosts had speculated about his health, but in this case it seems to have affected his work more (another 6th house topic), as his prospects for reelection have been plummeting. In early October the US House fired the Speaker of the House right on the last stretch of the US Pluto return, and eventually Mike Johnson was elected speaker on the 25th--born on a lunar eclipse and appointed to this office 3 days before another. This fits with Chris's findings lately that a person born on an eclipse will have other life events occur on them as well. Chris's concerns around the breakdown of US democracy with its Pluto return events seem well-founded, as Johnson had a significant part in trying to overturn Biden's election and is now third in line for the presidency, as well as in a critical role for the 2024 election.

Other eclipse stories: Sam Bankman-Fried of FTX infamy was found guilty of one of the largest US fraud operations during a Taurus (signifying money) eclipse. Matthew Perry of Friends fame passed away, who was born under and published his autobiography near a lunar eclipse as well.

On November 17th-18th there was an exact Sun-Mars conjunction (cazimi) in Scorpio, and in tech news the board of OpenAI fired the CEO/founder, described among business and tech circles as "closest thing to a boardroom assassination" they'd ever seen. Chris predicts Pluto reentering Aquarius in two months will indicate major developments in the use of AI technology. Pluto was in Aquarius earlier this year for a couple months, giving us a preview of the next 20 years (aside from a brief 2-month dip back into Capricorn next fall before leaving for good).

[philhoffman]

This has been a really good PSH year :) We made it through February and I fulfilled a promise I made to myself a year before—in March, I ran the NYC marathon in Phil’s memory. He was with me every step, both figuratively and literally—his initials on my sneakers, looking down to see the name Willy (Loman?) carved into the pavement.

Over the summer, my aunt sent me a photo of myself at Disney World as a child and I realized I’d seen a photo of Phil at the same age, in the same exact spot. One of my favorite serendipities of the year—it’s nice to think we’ve always been connected in silly little ways.

In June, I visited Phil’s hometown of Rochester for the first time to see the new PSH statue and attend a screening of Owning Mahowny. One of the best experiences of my life. Tearing up just thinking about it because I can’t remember a time when I’ve been happier. I met Phil’s mom and sister and got to share what he’s meant to me, how he’s saved and changed my life. It was everything I could’ve hoped for and it only made me love him more, only made his loss harder to fathom.

Maybe it’s been noticeable and maybe it hasn’t, but the last few weeks I haven’t been as active here. I could give a few different answers, but I think the real reason is how scared I am of the upcoming 10th anniversary of his death. I may not be posting but I’m certainly thinking and feeling a lot. For some reason, being a decade away from Phil’s life—that specific milestone, a decade—is a very overwhelming and upsetting thought and excruciatingly painful. I’m having some trouble wrapping my mind around it, so I’ve been trying to avoid it instead. That only makes it more painful when I do come back around. It’s been a nasty cycle.

I don’t really have a neat tidy resolution to this. It’s the last day of 2023, 2024 is about to begin. I keep calling it 2014. That damn year has represented so much pain for so long and I’m frightened of going through it again. Many, many more people will be remembering Phil this anniversary, which is touching and wonderful to see, but also hurts in such an… ineffable way. The sudden intense emotional outburst, the way it vanishes the next day or week.

A few weeks ago on a run I had the realization that it’s always possible to make new memories. Phil’s death and absence are very real, but so is the way he’s still with everyone who still loves him. I look back at this year and he’s part of the happiest moments. I’ll never forget running through Times Square with his picture in my pocket or meeting Jess in person to watch Synecdoche or his family’s warmth and kindness in ROC or the feeling I got on Christmas morning, talking to him in the woods after my run, the sense of peace that washed over me, knowing we’ll always be tied together.

And next year, I’m running the NYC full marathon, once again in Phil’s memory. More memories to be had, even after a decade, even though the grief still feels like it’s ripping me in half as I type this.

I love you, Phil. More than either of us know. Happy new year, my beautiful friend ❤️

[duxbelisarius]

The Dance of the Dragons: A Military Analysis (Pt. 12)

At last, we’ve reached the end of this mess! I want to thank everyone who’s followed this series from the start for their support; I’ve had a lot of fun doing this series myself, even if I’ve wanted to pull my hair out more than a few times for what I’ve read. As always, the Master Post pinned to my front page has all the previous parts if this is your first time reading.

While the Battles of Tumbleton mark the end of Rhaenyra’s reign, unfortunately they do not mark the end of George’s questionable writing. Following our timeline from Part 10, Rhaenyra fled King’s Landing on May 9th and eventually found refuge at Duskendale with her son Aegon and her retinue. A journey from King’s Landing to Duskendale would normally take around a week, and we know she stayed the night with House Stokeworth, so she likely arrived in Duskendale on May 17th. We know her stay here was long enough for her to receive ravens from Winterfell and the Eyrie, in response to her requests for aid from Cregan Stark and Jeyne Arryn. When Rhaenyra is forced to leave Duskendale by Lady Darklyn, she sells her crown for passage to Dragonstone, whereupon she discovers that Aegon has taken the island in her absence. Rhaenyra is fed to Sunfyre on the night of her arrival, but the date of her death is given as the 22nd day of the 10th Moon of 130 AC, or October 22nd. It makes no sense for Rhaenyra to remain at Duskendale from May 17th to October 22nd, a period of almost five months, when the Darklyns allowed Rhaenyra to stay on the condition she “would not remain long.” Aegon remains on Dragonstone past December 9th, and doesn’t finally return to King’s Landing until the waning days of 130 AC. 

We know from Gyldan’s narrative that the capture of Dragonstone took place around the same time as the riots in King’s Landing, meaning that Aegon was in control of the island by the time Rhaenyra reached Duskendale. That Aegon and Rhaenyra both spent the next few months largely inactive was likely driven by a desire on George’s part to bring the Dance to a close soon, and it’s no surprise that this choice has numerous problems. The explanation given for Aegon’s inaction is that he injures himself in battle against Baela and Moondancer during the taking of Dragonstone; Sunfyre and Moondancer fall from the sky over the island, and Aegon lands on his feet after falling 20 feet. The obvious problem with this is that, while we are told that Aegon shatters both his legs, he could easily have been paralyzed or killed outright, making this a bizarre story choice in general. We also know that Aegon’s past injuries did not render him completely immobile, as despite severe burns to half his body and a broken leg sustained at Rook’s Rest, Larys Strong was still able to get Aegon out of the city in the midst of it’s fall to Rhaenyra. 

More importantly, Larys was able to stow Aegon away on a fishing vessel bound for Dragonstone, despite the fact that Velaryon ships were entering the harbour as Rhaenyra’s dragons descended on the city. As the only other excuse provided for Aegon remaining on Dragonstone is the risk that the Velaryons would capture him, Larys’ previous success further undermines George’s narrative. Even if smuggling him back to King’s Landing was too risky, there should still have been ships left from the Royal Fleet that could have been sent; there’s also the matter of Vaemond Velaryon’s sons and their cousins, the Silent Five. Under the Regents - The Hooded Hand tells us that three of the Silent Five died fighting for Aegon, while Vaemond’s sons Daemion and Daeron would no doubt have welcomed the chance to pay back Rhaenyra for the wrongful execution of their father. In the end, it is significant that George wastes the latter of half of 130 AC with Aegon on Dragonstone and Rhaenyra at Duskendale, as this effectively lets him skip ahead narratively. Had Aegon been able to return to King’s Landing much sooner, events in the following year would likely have taken a very different turn. 

Around the same time as Sunfyre dies is when George introduces one of his most egregious contrivances, being the sudden reappearance of House Baratheon in the narrative of the Dance. When Aemond departs for KIng’s Landing on the night of Lucerys’ death, we’re led to believe that he has secured a betrothal and the support of House Baratheon by extension; yet we’re only told that Borros Baratheon called his banners after the Battle by the Lakeshore, by which point Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing. Alicent Hightower and Unwin Peake both appeal to the idea of waiting for the Baratheon army, prior to Aemond’s attack on Harrenhal and during the halt at Tumbleton respectively. But while these imply some level of communication and an expectation of support, we’re told that Borros advanced on King’s Landing only in response to the news of Rhaenyra’s death. Rhaenyra Triumphant tells us that while Borros raised 6000 men at Storm’s End following the Lakeshore defeat, he led them south to deal with Dornish incursions, and it is implied he this was an excuse to avoid confrontation with Rhaenyra’s dragons. The Short, Sad Reign of Aegon II upgrades these incursions to the predations of a new Vulture King, and The Hooded Hand tells us that Steffon Connington distinguished himself during this campaign. 

The ‘upgrading’ of these Dornish incursions to a new Vulture King could explain why Borros Baratheon’s army shrinks from an initial strength of 6000 to 4600 by the time he marches on King’s Landing, assuming casualties and the need to pacify the Marches accounts for the missing 1400 men. If this threat was significant enough to divert the forces of the Stormlands, it’s significant that none of the Reach’s Marcher lords seem to have been bothered, particularly Unwin Peake and the Tarlys. Whatever the nature of the Dornish threat, the suggestion that the ‘dragons head’ dissuaded Borros from marching on King’s Landing is insufficient to explain his total absence from the war until the very end of 130 AC. The Reach and Stormlands share a border of significant length, and given that Ormund Hightower was supported by the most accomplished dragon rider in Daeron the Daring, it is inexcusable that the Baratheon army never tried to aid the Greens in the Reach by combining their forces. As was noted in Part 1, George set-up a perfect explanation for the Baratheon’s failure to intervene through Aegon II’s executions of Lord Buckler and Lady Fel, and Tarth’s alleged support of Rhaenyra’s claim. As these maps demonstrate, the Fels of Felwood and the Bucklers of Bronzegate have their lands just south of Massey’s Hook, which was home to many of Rhaenyra’s Crownland supporters, with Bronzegate sitting astride the Kingsroad north of Storm’s End. They could have offered serious resistance to Borros with the aid of the Black Crownlanders and potentially other Stormlanders, while the Velaryon Fleet could have utilized Tarth and even the Wendwater River to make incursions into the Stormlands. This would have been more than sufficient to explain the Baratheons delay in supporting the Greens, with or without Dornish incursions or a Vulture King, but George let these set-ups go without a payoff.

The final battle of the Dance took place 2 days march from King’s Landing; called the Battle of the Kingsroad or “The Muddy Mess,” the clash between ‘The Lads’ and Borros Baratheon is as poorly conceived and badly written as any of the other battles of the Dance. Tactical analysis suggests that the Stormlanders fought to lose the battle, or at least that Borros was written to do so; comparing the description of the Battle to historical analogues also demonstrates that George’s writing of the battle leaves much to be desired. 

We’re told that Borros Baratheon’s own army was comprised of 600 knights and 4000 foot; another 2000 men were raised from Flea Bottom, “hastily armed with spears and iron pot helms,” while Stokeworth, Rosby, Hayford, and Duskendale provided an unknown number of levies. Against them was a Riverlord army nearly 6000 strong led initially by Elmo Tully, whose father Grover Tully had passed away shortly after Second Tumbleton; when Elmo died of illness on the march, his sons Kermit and Oscar took command of the host. Alongside the Tully forces were Benjicot and Alysanne Blackwood, the latter commanding 300 bowmen; Lady Sabitha Frey; Lord Hugo Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest; Lord Jorah Mallister; Lord Roland Darry; and Lord Humfrey Bracken. In light of the casualties suffered by the Crownlands forces in the Rook’s Rest campaign and in Aemond’s Riverlands campaign, I believe that the most they could have done for Borros’ army was to compensate for his missing 1400 men, meaning that the forces at the Battle of the Kingsroad would have been c.8000 for the Greens against c.6000 for the Blacks. 

When the two armies met on the Kingsroad, the Riverlords were drawn up across the road between a wood and a low hill on their left (Baratheon’s right); based on his scouts reports that the Riverlords were led by boys and women, Borros ordered an attack just before dusk, leading his cavalry against the enemy’s center while his infantry came up behind. Between the firing of the Riverlords archers and the muddy state of the ground after recent rain, Gyldan tells us that less than half of Borros’ cavalry reached the enemy shieldwall. The Baratheon infantry faired better in their attack, but as the Riverlords shieldwall seemed to buckle, hundreds more men emerged from the wood to the left under Benjicot Blackwood’s command. Borros signaled for his reserve to join the battle, but the Flea Bottom levies fled while the Crownlanders either refused to advance, or in the case of the Duskendale knights, attacked the Baratheon rear. Borros Baratheon fell at the hands of Kermit Tully, though not before slaying Lords Mallister and Darry.

As stated before, there are numerous issues with this Battle from both a Watsonian perspective (ie how the Battle unfolds in the story) and a Doylistic one (ie how George wrote the battle and why). I will address the Doylist perspective first, as I believe there are too many similarities between ‘the Muddy Mess’ and the battles of Crecy and Agincourt of 100 Years War fame, to be coincidental. Understanding the differences between the historical battles and the ‘Mess’ illustrate the flaws inherent to the Battle, in addition to the flaws already inherent to George’s narrative. In both the ‘Muddy Mess’ and Crecy and Agincourt, the defeated side were the attackers (Greens, French), while victory went to those who adopted a defensive formation (Blacks, English). In both battles, muddy ground and archers featured prominently in the defeat of the attacking force; the locations are also similar, with the English at Agincourt holding a line between two forests, much like the Riverlords position between a wood and a hill while Crecy and the ‘Muddy Mess’ were both fought next to a road shortly before dusk. Even the death of Borros Baratheon bares resemblance to the famous last stand of ‘Blind John’ of Bohemia at Crecy, who waded into the battle as the French were retreating in order to find death in battle. 

The reason why this is important to understanding the ‘Muddy Mess,’ is because I believe that George simply copied the circumstances of Agincourt and Crecy for his final battle of the Dance, without considering the different circumstances of his own story. For starters, the French heavily outnumbered the English at both battles, with the forces at Agincourt being somewhere in the range of 5000 English against 15 to 25000 French, while the English at Crecy probably numbered 13000 men against 26000 Frenchmen. Compared to our estimates of 6000 Riverlords against c.8000 Stormlanders and Crownlanders at the ‘Mess,’ this makes the tactics used by Borros Baratheon extremely suspect. Although English tactics and the terrain resulted in the French attacks coming to grief in both clashes, French actions made sense given that they outnumbered the English by a wide margin in both battles. At Crecy, the French decision to attack at dusk and without their army fully assembled after marching, was driven by their numerical superiority and a conviction that they should attack the English now rather than give them more time to rest and prepare. The French also had little to no experience against the English Longbow prior to Crecy; by the time of Agincourt, the English bowmen were carrying sharpened stakes to fix in the ground before them, to ward off French cavalry attacks against the lightly armed and armoured bowmen. 

By comparison, the handling of the Battle by the Greens make no sense whatsoever. We’re told that the Crownlanders were held back as a reserve, meaning that Borros attacked a strong defensive position with only half his army, and was relying entirely upon his most unreliable troops to act as a reserve. As noted in Part 8, George uses the term archer to refer to both longbowmen and crossbowmen, so it’s safe to assume that the Stormlanders would be familiar with longbows from their own history of fighting against the Riverlords, the Reach and the Dornish. It thus makes no sense for Borros to send all of his cavalry against the center of the enemy line, across muddy ground and without any attempts to neutralize the opposing archers. Even the excuse given for Borros to attack at dusk, because the Riverlords were led by women and children, makes no sense. Borros is supposed to have been fighting a Vulture King in the Dornish Marches prior to this, so we could expect the Dornish to have fought with youths and women in their armies. It’s possible the scouts saw Sabitha Frey and Alysanne and Benjicot Blackwood, but this would require them to have evaded the Lads pickets and observed their camp, in which case they should have had better intel on the Riverlord army. Had they encountered the three while scouting, their claims about the Riverlord army would be based on encountering only a fraction of their strength. Combined with these other flaws, making Borros’ decision to attack the result of spur-of-the-moment ageism and sexism strains credulity.

Borros’ use of cavalry in this battle highlights a wider problem with George’s writing of the Dance, which is that he overestimates the capabilities of cavalry. Writing about the Late Roman Army, historian Simon MacDowall notes that “modern recreations have found it nearly impossible to get horses to charge a shieldwall, particularly if the infantrymen are noisily clashing spears on their shields and raising the barritus [a Roman and Germanic war cry]. When this was attempted the horses stopped between five and ten meters from the enemy. Some would just halt, some would rear up, while others would turn sideways or step backwards.” This tracks with the observations of writers such as Procopius and Vegetius from Antiquity, and Macchiavelli from the Renaissance; cavalry attacks against infantry formations fair best when attacking from the flank or rear, while frontal attacks require specific circumstances for success like missile fire to weaken the enemy front, or for their morale and cohesion to already be weakened. Borros’ decision to order his 600 cavalry to charge across a muddy field into the front ranks of a c.6000 strong Riverlord army on the defensive is completely ridiculous. On the other hand, we have the example of the Lakeshore in Part 8, where George would have us believe that c.2000 mounted Northerners launched five charges against the Westerlands army of just under 8000 men, and routed them despite grievous losses. For over two-thirds of the Winterwolves to have been killed attacking a dug-in army on the defensive, it is very doubtful that they would have succeeded. At both the Kingsroad and the Lakeshore, we see that the tactics used by the Greens are tailored to produce a desired outcome for George’s narrative, rather than to enable their forces to win the battle. 

This concludes part 12 of this analysis; the conclusion will hopefully be finished soon, in which I’ll tie up my analysis of the war and offer some generally thoughts on the problems with George’s narrative. Thank you!

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack ✨Character Info✨😌 (part 2)

⭐️❄️⭐️

If you haven’t caught up on my TBOSAS Crack!AU yet, read [this] first. AND for those who want part 1, you can read [this].

Felix “Class Pres” Ravinstill🎖️(AKA: Panem’s President If The Academy Was Running The Government)

He honestly won the position of ✨Class President✨ because of pure nepotism. And because nobody really wanted to run against him at that time. At least he’s very competent with his job, and everybody genuinely likes him.

His granduncle is the current ✨President of Panem✨. That’s why he uses the excuse of “My granduncle runs this country! I can do whatever I want” card if he gets in trouble.

Speech writing, dancing, throwing parties, and acting are his favorite hobbies.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly calls him “Philip Raven’s Bill” than “Felix” every class roll call. Luckily, he doesn’t really care.

He and Festus Creed are the ones in charge of choosing a ✨Class Team Building Game✨ every week.

His favorite banned song is ✨This is What Makes Us Girls✨💅.

He loves to collect rare and banned ✨Hello Kitty✨ merch for some reason.

He is the richest student next to Sejanus Plinth and Livia Cardew.

Half of his relatives are rich AF politicians, and the other half are a bunch of shady business tycoons.

He is aware that his family is corrupt AF. However, he was forced by his parents to ignore that issue if he wants to receive his weekly allowance from his Bichon Frisé puppy loving granduncle.

He has eight crazy uncles who are trying to assassinate/arrest one another.

Half of his uncles are a bunch of criminals, and the other half are in charge of the Capitol’s Peacekeepers.

His family reunions are known to be dangerously wild and deadly. Last year’s ✨Ravinstill Family Reunion✨ included two disastrous weddings, three failed murder attempts, and five funerals in less than a week.

He has a tendency to accidentally share his family’s secrets for free.

He was genuinely ashamed to introduce himself in front of the Tributes because of his family’s infamy and shady crimes against the Districts. He even pretended to be “Philip Raven’s Bill” when he first met Dill.

After being embarrassingly outed as a “Ravinstill” in front of the Tributes, he and the other Mentors decided to make an elaborate plan to delay and ultimately postpone the 10th Hunger Games (forever), just because he didn’t want Dill to hate him.

He always brings a red megaphone every class outing because half of his classmates (according to Livia Cardew) are a bunch of babies who can’t follow basic instructions.

He teasingly considers Lysistrata Vickers as his personal physician because her parents are currently working under his family.

He once ordered Androcles Anderson to steal one of his family’s prized Bichon Frisé puppies that were illegally bred by one of his criminal uncles.

Livia “Liv” Cardew 💅 (AKA: The Capitol’s Very Own Regina George)

Everyone is afraid of her family. Heck. Even D. Gaul is afraid of her powerful parents.

Her scary mother (Mama Cardew) literally runs and rules the largest and most politically powerful bank in the country.

Her proud father (Papa Cardew) is a glorified stay-at-home househusband.

Her mama once threatened President Ravinstill to legalize customizing one’s school and job uniforms. In truth, Mama Cardew just wanted her favorite employees to wear a dazzling gold and pink suit for the summer holidays.

Mama Cardew is the only living entity that Dr. Gaul doesn’t want to meet, intimidate, or argue with.

Livia will literally and economically ruin anyone’s life and reputation forever if they wear the same outfit as her.

Dean Highbottom is not allowed to give her a demerit because her mama will literally strangle him to death with his tax papers.

Livia is one of the richest students next to Felix Ravinstill and Sejanus Plinth. However, she openly brags that she is richer than those two idiots because their families are technically using her mama’s bank.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly calls her “Liver Cardew” than “Livia” every class roll call. She told her mama about this issue, but no deadly threats could stop the Dean from calling her “Liver” in front of everyone.

Her private car’s color is a blinding ✨Hot Pink✨ that sparkles under the sun. It is the only one of its kind because she promised to sue anyone who will try to replicate her idea.

Shoe shopping, gossiping, and collecting secrets for blackmail purposes are her favorite hobbies.

She has her own secret “burn book” that could destroy the reputations and careers of many high ranking government officials if they ever try to threaten her family with money.

Her favorite banned song is ✨7 Rings✨.

Livia once threatened a School Board Official that she will personally destroy Panem’s economy if they refuse to let her class have a ✨Pink & Pearls✨ theme party after their midterm exams.

She is the ✨mean girl✨ that her loser classmates fear, but ultimately need if they want their ✨TGIF Costume Parties✨ to happen.

Arachne Crane is the only classmate that Livia half-heartedly considers a true friend of hers.

Livia, Felix, Coryo, and Sejanus were the ones who petitioned to let the Mentors give their Tributes a private tour around the Capitol after the failed Arena Explosion Incident. And because she needed Facet to carry her diamond encrusted handbag when she goes shopping with him.

She genuinely bonded with her Tribute through gossiping and shopping.

She tried to hire Facet to be her official fashionista assistant because he claimed that he was an expert in jewelry and apparel designs.😌💅

She is the one who suggested to recreate/revamp the Hunger Games into a reality TV show called ✨Love Island✨😘. However, this only ultimately motivated everyone to create their own version of the Hunger Games with a “no killing” policy.

She and Arachne Crane also proposed to create another reality TV show called ✨The Real Housewives of Corso✨💅, which will feature the secret lives of the richest women of the most opulent neighborhood in The Capitol.

Palmyra “Palm” Monty ☠️ (AKA: The Academy’s Food Harbinger of Death)

Her family can hardcore survive almost any poisonous substances and are even frighteningly immune to cyanide poisoning.

Her mother, Mama Monty has been feeding her children expired foodstuffs since forever.

She likes to bring her mother’s accursed expired pies to school and feed them to her friends as a sign of ✨solidarity✨🥰.

In order to escape the inevitable death sentence of being unintentionally poisoned by Monty, her friends just pretended to be full all the time. Even the malnourish looking Coryo Snow and Festus Creed (the Foodie) have to lie in order to avoid eating “Monty’s Poison”🤢.

She was ultimately banned from feeding her classmates and teachers by the school after the infamous ✨End of The Year Class Party Incident✨that horrifyingly hospitalized half of the school because of her family’s deadly apple pies.

Cooking, baking, and feeding people are her favorite hobbies.

Her favorite banned song is ✨Cooking By The Book✨😂.

Her family only survived The 2 year Capitol Siege by the rebels because Mama Monty fed their enemies her notoriously deadly apple pies when they broke into Monty’s Mansion. However, the Monty children (plus Florus) all got war trauma after witnessing the rebels (censored) and die from food poisoning.

She is somewhat aware of her crazy “psycho” tendencies because of her childhood war traumas. However, nobody has the guts to arrest her or her unhinged mother. Even the powerful Ravinstills and wealthy Cardews refuse to mess with her “borderline insane” family.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly calls her “Palmolive Monthly” than “Palmyra” every class roll call. She was quite annoyed by it. So she took revenge by feeding the Dean expired crackers that hospitalized him for two weeks and a half.

She was the sole reason why both the Mentors and Tributes of the 10th Hunger Games survived and avoided the ✨Arena Explosion Incident✨.

After Felix and the rest of the Mentors notified The Academy of Palmyra’s shenanigans, she is now officially banned from entering the school kitchen or any public kitchen for that matter.

Unsurprisingly, it took 5 Mentors and 3 very confused Tributes to force her out of the school kitchen without getting poisoned or stabbed by her precious cooking knife.

Florus Friend is deathly afraid of her because of the infamous cheesy roll incident that almost killed him and his dignity.

Persephone Price is the only entity that Palmyra considers a “true danger to humanity’s existence” because of the ✨Maid Stew Incident✨.

She used to have a small crush on Festus Creed until Persephone Price heard the news and threatened to cook her.

Her District 1 Tribute, Velvereen was considered a real “walking miracle” by many people, just because she had the courage to eat “Monty’s Poison” without getting sick.

She was the one who proposed ✨The Hunger Games: Fear Factor✨ idea with a “no killing” policy. Unsurprisingly, Treech, Jessup, Brandy, and Coral were the only Tributes who supported her proposal.

Androcles “Andie” Anderson 🚨 (AKA: Panem’s Professional Kleptomaniac News Anchor Wannabe)

Most of his family are either on-site news reporters or news anchors. However, they all mutually dislike Lucky Flickerman and his annoying talking bird, Jubilee.

He is quite the successful kleptomaniac of his class. Fortunately, only Felix, Coryo, Iphigenia, Sejanus, and Lysistrata knew of his impulse control disorder because of the infamous ✨Cabbage & Pills Incident✨ that everybody refused to talk about.

He wants to become a famous investigative reporter like his mother in the future. However, Dean Highbottom and a few government officials would rather burn Panem to the ground before that happens.

Disguising, acting, reporting, and pickpocketing (stealing) the Dean’s morphling bottles to sell them later at the Capitol Black Market are his favorite hobbies.😈

His favorite banned song is ✨Stand Up by 1D✨😎.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly call him “Andrew Keys Under Sun” than “Androcles” every class roll call. He just laughs at the Dean’s expense.

His mother is always up to date with every saucy Capitol gossip. And as a reporter, she is a danger to anyone and everyone’s reputation.

His scheming family only got filthy rich because his scary mama blackmails a bunch of rich government officials every other week for a living.

Urban Canville has an ongoing grudge against Andie because the klepto once stole his lucky scientific calculator.

He also once stole Livia Cardew’s very expensive ✨red apocalypse colored lipstick✨ and melted it down in the school kitchen to make fake blood in order to skip “boring” classes.

Dr. Gaul hates Andie in a more personal level because he once stole her pet rabbit mutt’s genetically enhanced carrots and fed them to his starving Tribute (Sheaf).

Coryo and Sejanus are responsible for listing every item Andie stole from his fellow classmates. Unsurprisingly, they are now adding and extending the available pages.

Felix Ravinstill greatly considers Andie as his right hand man who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. That’s why he was given the task to secretly steal a prized Bichon Frisé puppy from the President of Panem himself.

Andie and Felix have a long-standing ✨Bromantic Bros For Life Relationship✨ and everybody knows it (except for the Ravinstills).

His greatest accomplishment as a “professional kleptomaniac” was when he successfully stole President Ravinstill’s ✨presidential house keys✨ without anyone noticing.

He supports Coryo’s talent show idea with a “no killing, no gore, no cannibalism” policy because his Tribute (Sheaf) is good at dancing and acrobatics.

He, along with Coryo, Festus, Apollo, and Diana, were shamelessly responsible for emptying the school’s food pantry to feed their Tributes without further depleting their already depleted class funds.

He and Festus Creed should’ve already been expelled from school a long time ago because of their non-stop shenanigans. However, the Dean was too afraid to meet Andie’s mommy and her camera crew.

He and Sheaf genuinely became good friends after he got her a custom made rabid raccoon plushie to play with Wovey.