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fizzyapplecandy · 2 months ago

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Ateez as Supernatural Tropes

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The one with the white feather

Angel Hongjoong x detective reader

Genres and warnings: angel Hongjoong, detective reader, crime scenes, blood, guns mentioned, minors dni, angst, mentions of death, somewhat happy ending, strangers to maybe lovers, mature language (if i missed something, feel free to correct me)

Word count: 3.2k

A single white feather changes the course of your life.

"Good morning detective."

"Morning Yeosang, how's it going?"

"As you can see." The forensic inspector gestured around him. "It's been a messy day."

You scanned the area around Yeosang, noting how bloody it was. The person who died in the early morning hours was doomed from the second that the sharp knife touched her throat.

"I see... Do we have any details?"

"I've already spoken to the other detectives, we found her ID in her wallet. There doesn't appear to be anything stolen."

You hummed, nodding along to his story when you noticed something not far away from the woman's body.

A feather. One single white feather was next to her. Immaculate, despite the blood surrounding it.

"And what is that?"

Yeosang followed where you were pointing, shrugging his shoulders.

"It was there when we got here. It doesn't appear to have anything to do with the case. I mean, it's just a feather, I'm not sure what bird it's from, but it was just... There."

"You don't plan on picking it up?" You questioned, and Yeosang almost seemed offended.

"Hey, I thought we were past you doubting my skills. The feather isn't relevant, Y/N, but I'll pick it up. Don't worry."

Maybe he was right. You were known as the strict one in your department, but there was no need to doubt him. He's proven himself many times before, and you'd be devastated if your friendship took a blow because of work.

Just as you were about to respond, a flash of white somewhere behind him made you stop. It was fleeting, almost non-existent, but you saw it. Yeosang noticed your silence, trying to get your attention. You shook your head, gathering yourself again.

"Sorry, what? I don't know what's going on, this is just not my morning."

"Hey, I get it. Come, the others want to give you the details. I've got to finish up here."

"I swear to God, if this case beats my ass I'm quitting."

"We both know you won't do that."

Namjoon, the head detective of your department commented off handedly, sipping on his lukewarm coffee.

"Yeah, I know I won't, but I'm just saying."

"You've said it many times before, and here we are. We both know you love this job more than anything."

You sighed, finishing the last sentence on your report.

The murder case from two days ago was in full investigation, but you didn't have a single clue about what happened. The crime scene was basically spotless, if you count out the amount of blood.

One thing that kept you awake at night was the singular feather found next to the body. It was unusual, and you pestered Yeosang to test it.

No dna was found, it was from an unfamiliar species, and there was nothing tying it to the woman.

Your fellow detectives, as well as Namjoon, told you it was pointless to dwell on it, but you couldn't stop.

The other thing on your mind was the figure that appeared fleetingly in front of you. Yeosang told you it was your lack of sleep that jumbled your mind, but you knew what you saw.

Well, you didn't exactly, but there was something.

"Okay, I'm done. I need to get out of this office before I fall asleep on my desk. Again."

The head detective chuckled, shooing you away.

"Off you go. I need my best employee to be well rested. Lots of bad guys to catch."

"You're funny, you know? Bye now."

Waving to the other officers still in the office, you made your way outside to your car.

With a heavy sigh, you turned on the engine and made your way home. You lived in a small house in the outskirts of town, and you loved it.

There was no noise, no neighbours, no distractions. It was pure heaven for you, but the road towards your house was a little creepy. You had to get past a wooded area, and sometimes the paranoia from your job got to you.

Tonight was one of those nights, where everything seemed suspicious to you. Fortunately, there was no traffic, and you were almost out of the woods when you noticed him.

There, in the middle of the road, stood a man dressed in white. He wasn't moving, no. He was staring straight at your car.

"Come on now, move along." You whispered, tightening your grip on the steering wheel.

The man gave no sign of moving, staying rooted in his spot.

"Oh for the love of... Hey! Move it!" You yelled out of your window, but to no avail. Your car came to a stop, almost too close to the person.

Now you got a better look at him, and he was surprisingly handsome. His hair was blonde, almost white, and his clothes were pristine.

"Are you deaf? You have to get off the street."

The man's expression changed from stoic to amazed in a second. He opened his mouth, and his voice was as angelic as his face.

"You... You can see me? You can really see me?"

"Of course? You're standing in the middle of the road! Everybody can see you!"

He shook his head, quickly approaching your side. You instinctively reached for the gun in your holster, but he only gripped the glass of the window, his smile never faltering.

"I knew you noticed me back then! Oh wow... You really are special."

"What the hell? Okay, either you move or I get out of the car and make you."

At this point you were bluffing a bit, hoping the stranger would just go his way. The situation was getting too weird, even for a crime investigator like you.

As if he realised he was doing something wrong, the man panicked, mouth going slack.

"Oh no. No, no, no."

Sensing his distress, you tried going at him with a softer approach.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"No, no. I gotta go. It was so lovely meeting you finally, and I'm sorry you won't remember me."

Your confused expression made him even more sad.

"What?"

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Wait, how do you know my-"

In a flash, the man was gone, and you were in a daze. After shaking your head, it was like everything went back to normal.

Funny, you could have sworn you just talked to somebody.

Oh well, maybe the stress was finally getting to you.

"I need a drink. Or maybe six."

There was this creepy feeling following you the whole next day. As if you were meant to remember something, but you just couldn't. The case you were working on wasn't making it any easier.

"This is starting to become ridiculous." You muttered, sifting through the papers.

"No leads?" San, a fellow detective, asked while passing you a cup of hot coffee.

"None. It's like someone put her there and just vanished."

San sighed, looking over your shoulder at the documents. There was Yeosang's forensic report, which gave you the cause of death, but other than that, nothing.

"The motherfucker is skilled. Maybe he's done this before?" He asked, making you wonder as well.

Suddenly, as if you were possessed, you reached for a pen and found a piece of paper at the bottom of the pile.

There, you circled one word.

"Brother?" San questioned, his eyebrows scrunching up.

"Yeah?" You replied, almost in a daze.

Then, it came to you.

"Her brother! Of course! Their grandfather died recently, and the family business was inherited by her."

"But wasn't he at a hotel or something? We have the receptionist's statement."

You let out a forced laugh, glancing up at San.

"The man is known for bribing people, you don't think he could have done it to that poor man working minimum wage as well?"

"Good thinking. Want to pay him a visit?"

Standing up and gathering your things, you smiled at San.

"Hell yes."

"Let me go get my things."

Before he walked out, he stopped at the doorway.

"Hey, Y/N? How did you know?"

"What?" You asked, confused.

"Well, you just... Went for it? Was it a feeling?"

You stood there, now realizing what happened in the last few minutes.

"I don't... I don't know, to be honest."

San nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh well... You have killer intuition."

"I knew you'd get it."

"Did you now?" You chuckled, clinking your glass against Yeosang's.

"Of course! You're the best detective I've ever met! And I'm not biased because you're my friend, I'm just stating the facts."

There were moments in life where you were thankful to have Yeosang as your friend, and this was one of them.

You successfully closed the case after confronting the victim's brother. The receptionist was easy to crack, and everything went smoothly afterwards. There was just one thing bugging you.

"It's a shame we don't know anything about the feather."

"What feather?"

Your hand stopped midway while lifting your drink, and you looked at Yeosang wide-eyed. His expression was the epitome of confusion.

"What do you mean 'what feather'? The one we found, completely unrelated to the case?"

"Y/N, I'm sorry, but there was nothing except for blood. You were there, you know that."

Silence fell over you, and your brain couldn't accept what he was saying. Was he messing with you?

Sensing your unease, he reached over to place your glass back on the table.

"Maybe you've had too much whiskey."

"This is my second glass."

"Yeah, well, maybe you're just too tired. Why don't I take you home now?"

You nodded, seemingly in a daze again. Yeosang led you out the bar and into his car, helping you buckle up. The ride home was quiet, with him trying to take your mind off the last conversation.

"And here we are. Get some sleep, okay? We'll talk tomorrow."

"Yeah... Yeah, I'll do that. Thank you, Sangie."

Without a second thought, you reached over to place a kiss on his cheek, exiting the car afterwards.

The image of the feather flashed in your mind again, and you couldn't stop thinking about it. You didn't even notice yourself unlocking your door and taking off your shoes.

Maybe you'd have been in a daze until you reached your bedroom, if it weren't for the fact that a man was standing in your living room.

"You're home!"

"What the hell?!"

Reaching for your waist, you pulled out your little handgun and pointed it at the stranger. His eyes widened, hands immediately going in the air.

"Hey now, why would you do that? I know you don't remember me, but there's no need to get so violent."

Your hands started shaking. Where have you seen him before? He was so eerily familiar.

That's when you noticed the white feathers scattered around the floor.

The same as the one heavy on your mind.

"Who are you? How did you get inside?" You asked, taking a few steps forward. The man still hasn't moved, but he now put his hands down.

"I'm Hongjoong. You don't know me as well as I know you, but I've been around for some time."

"Okay, Hongjoong. How exactly do you know me?"

He smiled. "Easy, I'm your guardian angel. I mean, I'm an angel, period, but I've come to like you a bit too much."

You gasped. "Are you on drugs? You definitely are, there's no way a sane person would say these things!"

"You don't believe me? Fine, I expected it."

Without another word, Hongjoong turned his back to you and spread out his arms.

That's when a pair of snow white wings sprang from his shoulders, knocking over a lamp on your coffee table.

"See? Don't they look cool?"

There wasn't one single credible explanation for what you were seeing, so you just... Sat down on the floor. Your gun was still clutched tightly in your hands, not yet ready to let your guard down. Hongjoong's eyes widened, a panicked expression taking over.

"Oh heavens! Are you okay? I can help you if you let me."

"N-No, no. Just... Stay where you are."

He surprisingly listened to you, staying rooted in his spot. His wings were still present, the white feathers shining in the dim light of your living room lamp.

"So... Angel?" You asked, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

"Yep. I'm not really your guardian, but I took it upon myself to watch over you."

"Why is that?"

He sighed, sitting down on the floor a few feet from you.

"Well... I was once present to guide an unfortunate person to heaven. I saw you then, and I don't know... We can sense when people are in trouble, and you seem like a magnet for it. Part of the job, I suppose."

"Tell me about it." You huffed.

"After bumping into you again a second time, I decided to linger around. Why do you think you feel so safe when going home? I calm you down."

Your eyebrows scrunched up, wondering what we meant. It came to you then. Sometimes when you drive home, you feel like someone wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. It's fleeting, but it calms your nerves.

"That's you? I thought I was imagining it."

"All me." Hongjoong smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"But why are you here? Last time... Wait."

You realized then. "I saw you! On the road! It was you!"

"Yes, it was. I had to erase it from your memory, it's forbidden for angels to show themselves around humans."

"What about now? You're still here, I'm looking at you."

He smiled, albeit a bit sad.

"I know that as well. I thought it wouldn't come to this, but... Once you see my feather, your fate has been sealed."

It's when you realize what he meant that it really hit you.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Hongjoong only nodded. Silence overcame you again.

There was an angel in your house, telling you your death was close. This wasn't the evening you wanted to have, not in the slightest.

"So, how's that going to go? Are you here to, I don't know, help me?" You asked finally, looking straight into his eyes.

"I can't tell you that, but I promise I'll be there. I'm not planning on leaving you hanging. Besides, it will be nice to have a friend to teach you the ropes once you get here. Sorry, that might have been a bit insensitive."

"You think? Holy hell, I can't believe this."

You placed the gun back into your holster, standing up and walking into your kitchen. Hongjoong trailed after you, eager to have your attention.

"It's nice where I'm from, you know? I have a lot of friends, you'll get along just fine. And we've already decided what your job will be. Let me tell you, they don't let just anybody rank this high from the start."

"Will you please stop talking about my death like it's nothing?! I'm trying so hard not to have a breakdown right now, but you're not helping!" You yelled finally, your emotions taking over.

Hongjoong nodded, looking sad again. It kind of made you feel bad. He was clearly here to help you, and yeah it sucked to hear those things from him, but at least you won't be alone.

You knew your job came with a lot of risk, and that you'd end up hurt in action. It never occurred to you that you might... Die.

"I'm sorry, Hongjoong. I know you mean well, but it's a lot to take. I'm basically going to live the rest of however long my life is in fear. You really can't tell me when it will happen?"

He shook his head, taking a seat on a stool by the kitchen island.

"No, I'm not allowed. The only thing I can say... And I'm doing this because I really like you, is that you will die doing what you love, all the while protecting important people in your life. It's just who you are."

Well, that kind of made you a bit more relaxed. At least you know it is work related. That kind of made sense.

"And you'll be there?"

"Of course. I won't let you do this alone. You may not know me that well, yet, but I do know you."

You snorted a laugh, busying yourself with making some tea for the both of you. Do angels even drink tea?

"Oh really? What's my favourite colour?"

"Easy, red. You mostly wear black, but the few pieces you wear out are always red. Your nails are red, when you take the time to paint them."

You huffed. "Okay, that wasn't a tough question. Hmm... What's my least favourite movie and why?"

He stayed silent for a moment, and you thought you won, but he surprised you again.

"Twilight. The second one especially. You watch it when you want to laugh, because you always make fun of the acting. And you find it really cringe. However, you watch it when you feel down. It gives you a reason to laugh."

"Hongjoong..."

You handed him a cup, and when he reached over to take it, your fingers brushed. The touch was brief, but it sent a shock through your whole body. It was like a sting, but a pleasant one. He smiled afterwards, nodding like it confirmed something he thought about.

"What was that?" You whispered, too stunned to speak.

"Something... Magical. I know you felt it, you wouldn't be looking like that if you didn't. But that's not something you have to worry about now. Do you have any more questions? I'll try to answer them if I can."

It dawned on you suddenly.

"Oh God! Yeosang! I don't talk to my parents, I didn't even think about them, but him! He'll be devastated."

"He'll be fine. Believe me. He'll be sad, but somebody will be his shoulder to cry on. Maybe you even know it yourself." A knowing smile formed on his face, and you nodded enthusiastically.

"San? Oh my... Does it take me dying for them to finally confess to each other? A bunch of whimps."

Hongjoong chuckled, and you couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"At least something good will come from it."

He stopped, standing up to approach you.

"Y/N... I'm really sorry for barging in on you like this. It wasn't my intention. I just... You were always so close, but so far away at the same time. Don't hold it against me."

You looked at him, noting how sincere he sounded. It was like it pained him to be away from you, but it didn't make it easier that you had to die soon.

"I... I can't really think right now, I'm still in shock, but... It will be nice to have someone next to me. You know, once I pass. Maybe you're just the thing I needed."

His hand was on the island, and you couldn't help but reach for it again. Your fingers touched, the sparks going up your arm. Neither of you moved, and you just let the feeling sink in.

"It's... Strange. How I don't feel as scared as I thought I would."

"I'm here. I'm here to make it all easier. I will be next to you, as long as you let me."

Your eyes met again, and this time you smiled, the unease gone.

"I think I'll keep you for a while."

#ateez #ateez imagines #fluff #imagine #ateez fanfic #ateez hongjoong #mature language #ateez x reader #angel Hongjoong #ateez supernatural #angst #minors dni #crime scene #police investigation #blood ment tw #mentions of death #mentions of violence #happy ending #strangers to lovers

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cirtusmistress · 1 year ago

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Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

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“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

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

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

#brahms heelshire x reader #horror x reader #slasher x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #sfw fanfic #comfort #minor injuries #canon typical violence #tw violence #one shot

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harmonyrae · 8 months ago

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Power Couple

CHAPTER 14 - Right Here

I’d like to apologize for this chapter, it’s gonna hurt. Like angst doesn't even begin to describe this. Also, this is completely my own head cannon & is ABSOLUTELY NOT lore accurate (as far as we know).

Photo: From Pinterest, all credit to original poster NSFW: Mentions/Depictions of violence, PTSD, torture, death

Your armchair is not as comfortable as you remember. You sit with your knees curled up to your chest. Your hoodie pulled down over your knees, your arms hugging your legs. You rest your chin on your knee, trying to organize your thoughts. You try to imagine you are so small that no one will know you’re even there.

The lights are dimmed, you can barely see Sylus sprawled out on the floor of the cage. You remember the night you first brought Sylus here. You were so confident, how did you end up here again?

You replay that night in your head. His voice echoing in your ear. You stare blankly at his unconscious form, digging your fingernails into your palms willing yourself not to cry.

"I’d hate to disappoint you Miss Hunter."

But he did.

"But her mind… that’s what is most fascinating. It’s brilliant, calculated, and somewhat haunting."

And now it’s haunted by him. His voice. His touch. His empty promises.

"Seems like everything about you is special, kitten."

You were a means to an end. A tool to be used and tossed aside. Nothing special.

A soft groan brings you back to the present. You see Sylus roll away from you and onto his side. His back muscles tensing as he tries to ground himself. He reaches a hand up to the side of his neck. He lets out a soft grunt as his fingers trace the sensitive flesh where the needle deposited the heavy drug. He sits up and scans the room, his eyes straining against the darkness.

You hold your breath. You know he can crush the doors of the cage and simply walk out. But this is the only place you could think of bringing him. You could at least lock him in the lower levels of your tower long enough to evacuate everyone else if it came to that. You take a deep breath before using your phone to turn up the lights. Sylus’ eyes snap to yours in an instant. He was usually hard to read, his emotions hidden behind a wall. But when you look at him, you can see he is raw and broken.

You pull your hoodie up to release your legs, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin. You stand and slowly make your way closer to the cage. The room is eerily quiet, the soft pitter patter of your bare feet on the linoleum echoing through the room. As you approach the cage, Sylus shifts to face you. He makes no attempt to stand up. He draws one leg up and props his arm on his knee.

“There’s a shirt on the chair.” Your voice is void of emotion. You barely recognize it.

Sylus glances over to the chair to see the sweater you brought for him to put on. He returns his gaze to you. His eyes have glazed over, if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing you’d think he was perfectly calm. He tilts his head as he looks you over. From your head to your toes, it doesn’t feel sensual this time, he’s sizing you up. Trying to determine your motives.

“Why?”

One word. That’s all he says. The base in his voice is amplified, the simple question rings in your ear. You straighten up, your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. You’re the motherfucking leader of Himitsu, time to act like it.

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it Oni?”

At the mention of his code name, his eyes close. He drops his head. He sighs deeply before looking up to you once more.

“Did the kid tell you before you killed him or did you dig that up on your own?” His words cut through you like a razor.

“Have you heard of a hacker who goes by the name of Macintosh?” Sylus nods. “He’s on my payroll. Took him less than 24 hours to narrow it down once he had the burner.”

His jaw clenches. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes finally dropping to the floor.

“Bit of advice. Tossing a burner off the pier is not the most effective disposal method.” Sylus chuckles.

“And what would you suggest then, kitten?”

That’s when you lose it.

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your goddamn kitten. But I am, apparently, your plaything, right? Distract me, fool me, fuck me. Was that your plan? So you could stroll into my territory and do as you please? Attack my clients? Destroy Himitsu?”

Sylus jumps to his feet and stalks over towards. He tries to grab you through the bars, but you’ve moved far enough back. He uses his evol to pull you forward. Before you reach the bars your gun is in your hand. Your body slams against the bars, you look up to see the barrel of your gun resting at the center of Sylus’ forehead. He doesn’t back away or try to pry the gun out of your hand. He rests his head against the barrel and holds your upper arms tightly against the bars.

“Do you really think I fucked you as a distraction?”

You can’t stop your bottom lip from quivering. The tears you’ve held back threaten to fall once more. You take a deep breath and try to force a smile.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. You’ve lied about everything else.”

“I’ve never lied about how I feel about you. I can’t.”

“But you did lie.” Sylus finally reaches a hand up to your face, holding your chin steady. His thumb slowly brushes against your jaw.

“I’m sorry.”

You break away from him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. You drop your gun on the table next to your armchair. Your fingers rake through your hair as you try to calm down. When you turn back to Sylus, he has an arm propped above his head leaning against the bars of the cage. His other hand extended through the bars to you.

“Please let me tell you why. Why Ridgeway and why I couldn’t tell you.”

You stare at him. His bare chest and strong arms make you ache for him. Your body craves him and it hurts to resist. Your heart hammers in your chest. Should you give him the chance? Your mind drifts to earlier that morning. Sitting in the tub, your body pressed against his, his voice in your ear, that heartbreaking tone as he tells you about your shared Aether fragments.

"You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free."

Your heart wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. To hold him close. You see his arm drop and retreat back into the cage, his head pressing against the bar. You take a cautious step forward. His eyes flutter up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around yourself.

“Why?”

“Ridgeway has a brother. Goes by Sinclair. He’s a member of the board for a medical tech company. I needed information on Sinclair and I was hoping Ridgeway had records that could lead me to whatever hole he has crawled into.”

“Why are you hunting Sinclair? And how does burning down Ridgeway Liquors help you with that? And why couldn’t you have just talked to me about this?”

“I needed to send a message to Sinclair. His family will suffer if he crosses a line. I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t…” He struggles to form the words, he starts to tap his head on the bars. Slowly building the intensity until his forehead is red.

You close the distance and grab onto his hand that has reached up to hold onto a bar. He stops and looks down at you. His eyes are hazy, a tear finally falls.

“I couldn’t risk them finding you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process what he could mean.

“Sinclair was one of the doctors that worked on us. He’s looking for you.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I made a promise to you. I promised I’d find a way for you to be free. And I found a way. As long as I knew you were safe, I could deal with what they did to me. But when I heard he was leaving to look for you, I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve kept your identity hidden, it’s bought you time. But if he finds out, he’ll come for you. You being unaware kept you safe, at least that's what I convinced myself.”

“What do they want with me?”

“You’re an energy source. The most pure and regenerative source ever discovered.”

“Is it the Aether core? What about you?”

“The Aether core amplifies your evol, changes it. Possibly adding to it if you’re unlucky. They used me for… honestly, I don’t know how long. But my energy isn’t enough it seems.”

“Is Sinclair working alone or…”

“The group he runs, their slogan is A New Kind of Energy for a Brighter Tomorrow - safe to say he most likely has a small army hunting us.”

“I thought I knew every major corporation in the Zone.”

“It’s not in the Zone. It’s in Linkon. But they have their people everywhere.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ever.”

Your heart skips a beat. The name feels burned into your memory. But something Sylus said before is the only thing you can think of. You are afraid to ask, but it’s tearing you up inside.

“You said you could deal with what they did to you… What did they do?”

Sylus drops his gaze to your hand, still wrapped around his hand on the bar. You see his eyes dim, as if he has retreated into his mind. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

“After I helped you escape, they punished me. More experiments, more surgeries. As I became more powerful they put more security measures in place. I can’t access all of my power. They called it a 'bio-metric inhibitor'. All I remember is I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Eventually they installed a patch over my eye so I couldn’t control anyone. My cell was the energy conduit they used to…”

He looked up at you now, the pain in his eyes so great you could hardly breathe. You hadn’t noticed you had started crying. He brings his arm down to reach through the bars and brush the tears away. You lean into his touch.

“I’ll stop.”

“No. Sylus. Please tell me.” He takes a deep breath before looking down to stare at his feet.

“The regenerative part… when they drain the energy… it… it kills you.” A sob escapes your throat. Sylus doesn’t look up.

“When they first tested their theory… they chose you. No matter how much I begged and fought, they took you away. And when you came back, you had no idea who I was. After that, I spent every day, every hour, every minute working on a plan for you to escape. A month later, I succeeded. You were free. I don’t know how long it was before they needed another energy transference but when they strapped me down I found myself hoping to forget. To forget losing you. But then I woke up. And I remembered everything. My first surgery when they cut into my eye, the first time I saw you, the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, every time there was pain in your eyes, the fear in them when I put you on the shuttle…”

His grip on the bars was weakening, his body shaking as he spoke. You were frozen, listening to what he went through, for you. Your heart ached. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“And I remembered how it felt to die. Pain so intense I wanted to tear myself in half. Blinding heat then complete stillness then everything was cold. So fucking cold. And dark. It was completely dark, no light anywhere, I searched for days but it was just dark. I found myself wishing for pain and then I’d feel it, like a knife in my chest, my heart started again. I opened my eyes and I was back. I don’t remember how many times I died. I stopped counting. But every time I woke up I would look for you. Wishing that my previous life was a dream and you were still there with me. And every time I would see your empty room and… and I…”

His voice finally broke. His grip on the bars faltered and he sank to the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest, for the first time he looked small. You ran to the door of the cage and pressed your thumb to the lock. The door swung open and you rushed inside, crashing down next to Sylus, your arms wrapping around him. You pull his head to your chest and run your fingers through his silver hair. His body was shaking and he didn’t dare touch you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Desperate to bring him back to you, you start placing gentle kisses to his shoulders and up to his neck. You see his eyes close and you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his torso. Your arms pull him back towards you. You caress his chest and place kisses on his back.

You sit like that for what feels like hours until one of his hands reaches up to take yours. He strokes your palm slowly.

“Y/N…?”

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer

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ryucreates · 7 months ago

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idk. healing power of stabs you.

#my art #ryucreates #minor violence #my ocs #blood ig #tw violence #??? ig #is it a stabbing if its your horn #or is that a goring.#many questions.

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aressapereaude · 8 months ago

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Happy birthday to Vere~!

MINORS DNI

AGELESS/FACELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

Source: Touchstarved

Pairing: Vere x Reader

Contains: Explicit language, alcohol, strong violence, it's Vere what are we expecting, gore, sex??, monsterfucking???, murder, dead dove do not eat, cannibalism, decapitation, nobody is coming, Leander needs a mop.

It is the fourteenth of November.

The air is cold, the ground is not yet frozen over but you find your steps slipping more than they usually do. It tends to happen around this time of year. Everything slows down, and the days are all over so quickly that you're not really sure if they ever happened at all.

He's hungry, you knew that. He has always been hungry.

The hunger has been eating at him for a long time.

You met him through a friend. Well, they weren't a friend at the time... A brief but uneasy encounter outside the Wet Wick, in which you had fallen for a sly pickpocketing trick, and he had dangled it in front of you like an anglerfish, slowly luring you into the light. You did get your key back, in the end. With some interference of course.

Over time, you realised you had a lot in common. He hated the Senobium with a burning passion, and so did you; They had been lauded far and wide as the best of the best, and once upon a time you had hoped they could cure you, but not anymore. Those gates were too strongly locked and far too secretive to let the likes of you inside. After a while you had simply stopped trying, and you found that the more you grew to dislike them, the more you found yourself spending time around the fox with the hungry eyes.

And at first it was nothing, really, just hanging out with mutual acquaintances and bumping into each other around the Wet Wick, but gradually you began to take notice of the way his pupils thinned to pin pricks when he looked at you, the way his fur bristled ever so slightly when you almost came too close. You noticed how his ears tracked you with a strange alertness despite the cool composure he maintained, and how whenever he gave you that sly smirk, the corners of his lips would sort of... flicker.

The closer you got, the more these instances occurred, and it began to dawn on you, the feelings that you had for him. Every now and then, he'd slip you an extra drink and make a smooth remark about taking you home.

When he did, his tail would twitch ever so slightly, and his knee would grow restless, bouncing under the counter. His jaw would clench, and though he did his best to hide it, his breathing would pick up and heave subtly at his chest. But every time, you declined, wanting to wait for a "special moment" and in an instant it was as though it had never happened. He'd go back to the small talk, the teasing, the joking or arguing and there'd be no traces left of that hungry fox who looked at you with a desperate, secret, hidden need.

His eyes look particularly dilated tonight.

It is the fourteenth of November, and you have bought yourself an extra drink tonight. You've bought Vere one, too. He tries not to look hopeful, but you see in your peripheral the way he eyes you up and down when you're facing away from him. He's being less secretive about it tonight, even taking the time to wait until Leander has left the two of you alone.

(Alone, apart from the horned demon sitting at the end of the bar, keeping keen red eyes on you both, and the Senobium cleric outside the bar. You assume she's waiting for him to leave and take up whatever business he has with the nearest brothel. You have a feeling he won't, not tonight.)

"Happy Birthday, Vere. Let's get out of this place for a while," You murmur, leaning in. His keen ears pick up every word, but you don't want the cleric to catch wind of what you're up to.

A thin smile slits across his face, and he offers you his hand, assisting you to your feet. His expression is dark with want, and the dancing candlelight only paints him in a more monstrous light. You don't seem to mind, though, as your footsteps begin to stumble towards the door.

His sharp claws pull you back, knocking you into him, your back flat against his chest. "I was thinking we could use your room tonight."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"Leander has the key. He won't be back until-"

"Until I'm done," Vere finishes, flashing the keys in front of you the same way he did back then. And you smile.

Ais red eyes linger on your backs until the very last moment you leave his view. As the two of you sneak off together, you shoot a quick look back to make sure you're alone.

He doesn't move from his seat.

Vere locks the door behind you and tosses the key before he pounces, a mess of hair and claws. There's a calm desperation in the way he rips your clothes off you, and the way you fiddle with the straps around him. The low growl caught in his throat spills forward as he pushes you backwards, teeth clacking against yours and splitting your lip, and the pleasure and relief shudders through him when he plunges into you.

Blood splatters across the hardwood floor.

For a moment you stand there, stunned at the explosion of colour, and then it hits you all at once. The pinprick eyes. The attentive ears. The charm, and the twitches, and the ever so slight flash of fangs each time he asked you to come with him. There is blood on the floor, and it dawns on you with a sickening crunch that this is your blood, your viscera that is now congealing between the floorboards, and it is so dark in this room.

He's panting, moving with a disturbing nonchalance for someone with such a feral look on their face. The arm that had split your belly open twists with another sick crunching noise and you feel it now, the agony as he takes a handful of intestines and squeezes.

You start to throw up, but nothing comes out.

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. This isn't how you wanted him inside you- but then, he is inside you, isn't he? Making a mess of your organs and lapping up the fluid that leaks from your clenching abdomen, burying his face in your soft thighs...

Only to take an enormous chunk of muscle between his teeth and rip it clean off the bone. The look in his eyes is euphoric, instinctive. How could you be so stupid? Any other time you'd have loved to see him make a face like this. But now, as he shivers with satisfaction, you wish you could have died when his lips touched your lips.

You don't know when your head hits the floor but it does, and you don't feel it. Vere stands above you, violating every inch of your body in his bloodied arms, bits of your meat and sinew plastered across his cheeks and hair, dribbling down his neck and you can't tell if he's fucking you or eating you and you don't think there's a difference anymore because you're being devoured either way.

Your final thought, to your confusion, is Leander. This is his spare room, after all. What's he going to say when he gets back? Will he be angry at you for making such a mess of the floor and walls?

Clinging to life, you fade away to the sound of Vere's sharp teeth snapping through your bones.

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animationnut · 23 days ago

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Stealth, Cunning, and Cupcakes

Day 9: Any Other OWCA Agent

All right the prompts are beyond late at this point but luckily it's always Phineas and Ferb Spirit Week in my heart.

Ao3 link here!

...

For Peter, a successful mission requires a solid plan. When Pinky needs rescuing from a mission gone wrong, Peter does some recon. Two things become very obvious.

The goons like Fireside Girl cupcakes. He needs a distraction. And he just happens to know a Fireside Girl.

...

Peter the Panda reclined against the pink cushions of his computer chair. Unlike most evil scientists, his nemesis didn’t have a scheme every day, which meant he often had office shifts. He didn’t mind working alongside Admiral Acronym’s desk agents, but the task he’d been assigned that afternoon was horribly boring.

He was on monitoring duty, which meant combing through the transactions made by his division’s evil scientists. Whenever he came across anything suspicious, he flagged it, and Carla would compile all flagged items and the evil scientist who purchased them into a report for Acronym. The problem was that there was a fine line between suspicious and weird, and every single evil scientist in their database was weird with a capital W.

He was in the midst of debating whether or not an order for two hundred bottles of ghost pepper hot sauce was evil or weird when the interior of the computer lab was drenched in bright red light and the monitors vibrated with the force of the blaring S.O.S. alarm.

One of their own was in serious trouble.

Peter raised his wrist and tapped on the emergency alert flashing on the screen. Pinky’s agency headshot blinked on the display, followed by his last known coordinates. He accepted the rescue mission and the lights went back to normal, and silence fell.

Agent F, sitting three computers away, frowned in concern. “Do you want backup?” he croaked.

It was very rare for the S.O.S. alert to be triggered in Danville’s O.W.C.A. headquarters. Peter understood Frederick’s concern, and while worry twirled in his gut, he was very good at remaining calm and collected. He took a breath, easing back the knot of anxiety, and stood.

“I’ll call for backup if I need it. Can you please look up satellite images of the coordinates and sent them to me? As detailed as possible.”

Agent F nodded. “You got it.”

Peter hurried to his lair and powered up his black and white hovercar. It made less noise than the jetpack, and he always believed stealth was key to mission success. The roof parted open, letting in streaks of sunlight, and he flew into the warm afternoon air.

He typed the coordinates into his GPS and followed the twisting red trail that was produced. After several minutes, the suburbs and cityscape of Danville disappeared, replaced with rolling green fields and dark clusters of trees. Nestled amongst the greenery were cabins, acres apart, and Peter frowned.

Agents were only aware of their own respective missions. Peter knew Pinky’s nemesis was Professor Poofenplotz. But a lair deep in the wilderness, without indoor plumbing, was not at all her M.O.

Peter landed his hovercar amongst the trees, hiding it within the foliage. Agent F had sent him the requested satellite images and he leaned against the trunk of a pine tree, studying the pictures carefully. He was about two football fields away from Pinky’s last coordinates, which appeared to be one of the cabins tucked in an alcove of trees.

The cabin was made of dark wood, two stories high, with arched windows. It seemed the cabin was built into a hillside, and there was a long wooden staircase leading to the front door. The cabin seemed to be quite a distance from the dirt road. There was only one access point by vehicle, but Peter mapped out a route through the thicket. He sprinted over emerald leaves, jumped over gnarled roots, ducked under low-hanging branches, and side-stepped pointy rocks.

He reached the edge of the road a few miles from the slope that led to the cabin. He looked right and left, but the road was silent. He darted across, quickly taking cover within the forest once more, and made tracks in the direction of the cabin.

When the tip-top of the cabin’s roof was within view, he scaled the tallest tree he could find. When he was high enough to have a perfect view of the sprawling compound, he activated his goggles, which slid out from the seam of his fedora.

The green lenses pinpointed every heat signature on the property. He immediately focussed on the Chihuahua-shaped red blob and switched over to X-ray vision.

Pinky was chained to a wall, but he had regained consciousness, and Peter sighed with relief. Pinky’s head was lolling, his eyes half-lidded and full of hatred. From the way his body hung in the restraints, he was weak, and was going to need assistance to escape.

Peter turned his attention to the tall, skinny man with wiry brown hair and Coke-bottle glasses. He was tinkering with some sort of helmet, which had several sharp tentacles coming out of the sides. Frowning, Peter tried searching the database, but there was no picture recognition. Whoever this guy was, he was new.

Talk about making a debut.

As physically-inept evil scientists tended to do, there were several dozen muscled goons crawling around the compound like ants on steroids. All of the windows were barred and the front door, the only door, was blocked by a bald man sharpening a large steak knife.

Peter’s eyes strayed to the fifty or so cupcake wrappers thrown carelessly on the property. They were stuck on branches, crushed into the grass, and floating in the river that cut behind the cabin. He used his goggles to analyze the ingredients and determine what exactly these hired henchmen were gorging on.

Fireside Girl cupcakes.

Peter had two thoughts at the same time. The first was that he knew exactly who he needed to cause a distraction so he could get inside and rescue Pinky. The second thought was that after Pinky was rescued and had recovered his strength, he was absolutely going to murder him. But Peter was fairly confident he could take on Pinky in a fight.

Looks like I’m picking up a recruit from Maple Drive.

…

Squeals of excitement erupted from the Flynn-Fletcher backyard, and judging by the towering purple and yellow spiral structure casting a shadow over the yellow house, Peter figured he knew where Isabella was currently located.

He peeked over the wooden fence, spotting Isabella sitting on a pink lounge chair, toweling off her long black hair. Buford and Baljeet were rocketing down the slip-n-slide, casting a spray of water over Peter as they passed overhead. Peter picked up an acorn, aimed it at the back of Isabella’s head, and chucked it.

“Ow!” Isabella exclaimed. She rubbed the pulsing spot and looked over her shoulder. “What the—?”

She paused as her eyes landed on Peter, who waved her over. She shot a quick glance to make sure Buford and Baljeet were still occupied before darting over to the fence. She hopped it expertly, landing in a crouch next to the panda.

“Hey, Peter, what’s up?” the fourteen-year-old asked.

Peter held out his notebook, where he had prewritten his plan.

Pinky has been captured by an evil scientist. He’s okay! For now. We need to rescue him quickly, and I need you to be a distraction so I can get to him. I can’t promise it’ll go smoothly, but I’ll make sure you’re protected. Will you help me?

The alarm in Isabella’s dark eyes as she started reading turned into a cold fire when she reached the end. “Absolutely,” she said, straightening. “Let me get Phineas and Ferb. They’re inside. Perry got home early—”

Peter shook his head rapidly. Isabella furrowed her brow. “No Perry?” she said in surprise. “Isn’t he, like, the best agent ever?”

He absolutely was. Peter wouldn’t ever dispute that. But Perry was dramatic, sometimes. He used too much force. Peter liked missions to be executed with minimal fighting, as quickly as possible. Rants and monologues? Prolonged fight sequences? Not his thing.

He removed his pen from behind his ear and Isabella peered over his shoulder as he wrote.

This mission is going to require stealth, cunning, and cupcakes.

“Fireside Girl cupcakes?” Isabella clarified. When Peter nodded, her eyes narrowed with determination. “How many do you need?”

How many boxes can you carry at once?

“Oh, honey, more than you could ever imagine,” said Isabella with a smirk. “Let me get changed into my uniform.” Her expression faltering slightly, she whispered, “You promise Pinky is okay right now?”

Yes, but we have to hurry.

“I’ll meet you at the Bonfire Lodge. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

…

Six minutes later, they were flying back to the remote compound in the woods. Isabella’s wet hair was twisted up into a ponytail, which whipped around as they sliced through the summer air. She was in her Bonfire Girls uniform, given to Fireside Girls who aged up to the next branch. The colour scheme was similar, the only difference being the red skirt and red hat. Her sash was draped crosswise over her torso, and sandwiched between her feet and the dashboard of Peter’s hovercar was a monstrous cooler bag.

Isabella could just barely see over it. It contained a whopping hundred boxes of cupcakes, and she had been right. That was more than Peter had imagined any person could carry at one time.

He landed the hovercar a tad closer to the dirt road, knowing time was of the essence. Isabella was out of the vehicle first, slinging her cooler pack over her shoulders. She tucked the taser Peter had given her into the waistband of her skirt and let her shirt fall over it, concealing it from view. The night vision goggles he had also given her were hidden under her hat, and the smoke bombs were tucked into the side pocket of her cooler pack.

Her brow was wrinkled and her fingers clenched the straps of her cooler pack. Peter tapped her leg and, when she looked down at him, he mimed taking a deep breath. She obeyed, closing her eyes and inhaling. She held it briefly and let her breath out in one long rush.

“Okay,” she said steadily. “Let’s do this. But let me make something very clear. If we show up and Pinky isn’t…isn’t all right, I will kill the asshole who hurt him. Do you understand me?”

Her eyes flashed with steel, her voice hard and unforgiving, and Peter felt a shiver run down his spine. For such an adorable teenager, she was terrifying. He nodded and her expression eased slightly.

“Lead the way.”

They cut through the foliage, their footsteps quick and quiet, and Peter admired the ease with which Isabella navigated the terrain. He had heard endless stories from Pinky about Isabella’s talent, especially when it came to nature survival skills. He wasn’t a panda who was impressed by much, but Isabella was earning it in spades. She hadn’t freaked out when he told her about Pinky, she had gone with him into dangerous enemy territory without a second thought, and it seemed like the forest was bending to her will, from the way branches and roots stayed oddly out of her path.

They reached the dirt road and Peter pointed to the right, where the driveway to the cabin was located. Isabella nodded. “Got it. I’ll head out when you give the signal.”

Peter gave a thumbs-up and sprinted across the road. He darted through the forest, tips of branches scratching against his fur as he hastily weaved around them. He breached the property, where the trees became sparse, and the lower-level of the cabin came into view. He hid behind a trunk, made sure he had a clear view of the driveway, and used his watch to project the sound of a sparrow.

It echoed amongst the trees and the goons didn’t pay it any mind. Peter got himself into a fighting position, just in case he needed to launch into action ahead of schedule, and gazed at the driveway.

It took two minutes for Isabella to appear, her smile bright and cheerful, and the goon manning the gate quickly approached her. Peter studied the man’s posture, looking for the tick that would indicate any agitation of aggression.

But his instinct had been spot-on. Isabella’s Bonfire Girls uniform automatically put the goons at ease, and when she unveiled her boxes of cupcakes, the goons hurried towards her, digging dollar bills out of their pockets.

He had a straight path for the cabin, and the door was unguarded.

He moved like lightning, zipping across the grass and up the wooden steps. He opened the door and slipped inside, closing it silently behind him. He took a moment to listen intently, but all he could hear was his own breathing.

He hurried for the basement steps and took them two at a time. He entered the concrete space to see Pinky thrashing feebly in his chains, and his eyes went wide with relief at the sight of his colleague. “Dios Mio, am I glad to see you! This guy is insane!”

“They usually are,” replied Peter, A tiny buzzsaw emerged from his watch and he used it to cut Pinky’s chains. “What happened to you?”

Pinky dropped to the floor, his knees buckling upon impact. Peter grabbed his arm and helped him to balance, putting his arm around Pinky’s skinny shoulders. “Esmerelda is sick today, so Admiral Acronym sent me to investigate a string of thefts of alarm clock batteries. Turns out it was a ruse. Dr. Zenrich—” When Peter looked at him in confusion, Pinky shrugged. “No idea, compadre. I just know his surname and that he’s proper evil. He said that he knows about O.W.C.A., and how we look into the most ridiculous of crimes and acquisitions. When I caught the bozos stealing the batteries, I got hit with some kind of sleep gas. I woke up here, without my watch, and he started telling me about THAT monstrosity.”

He pointed to the metal helmet with half a dozen drills bolted to the exterior. “It’s an information extractor,” said Pinky darkly. “He was going to drill into my brain to get info about our colleagues and their host families.”

Peter, who did not have a host family, but empathized with the amount of pain this revelation would cause, cracked his knuckles. “This is the fun part.”

He grabbed a hammer from the worktable shoved into the corner of the basement. He went up to the helmet and slammed the head against the helmet with all his strength.

ZAP!

An electric current charged through his body and he went sailing back to Pinky. He hastily shook himself off, his teeth chattering and his fur standing on end. Pinky frowned. “He booby-trapped it.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, rushed and panicked, and Pinky quickly removed his gas mask from his fedora. Peter followed suit and positioned himself at the end of the stairs. Green-coloured gas flooded the basement, the sleep gas that no doubt rendered Pinky unconscious earlier in the day.

A shadowy figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Peter launched into a flying kick. He hit Dr. Zenrich in the jaw, a satisfying crunch echoing off the concrete. Zenrich cried out in pain, stumbling backwards. Peter went for a punch, his paw colliding directly with his nose, and the back of Zenrich’s head struck the concrete wall.

Zzzzt! Zzzt! Zzzt! Zzzt!

Peter experienced a rush of déjà vu as the interior of the basement turned crimson. The alarm blared across the compound and Zenrich grinned maniacally. “There’s a button implanted in my skull, and you just activated it, Panda. You’ll never escape my henchmen!”

Peter jumped onto Zenrich’s head. He gripped the edges of the man’s gas mask and ripped it off. He leapt over to where Pinky was standing, watching warily as Zenrich, with blood pouring from his nose, tried to crawl towards him.

“Give that back, you foul creature! Give—give it…”

He collapsed to the floor, facedown, and Peter reluctantly turned his chin so he would not drown in his own blood. “We have to get out of here.”

“The gas will keep them away,” spoke Pinky. “It’ll dissipate, but until then we can figure out a plan.”

Peter walked several steps away before turning back to Pinky. “Isabella is here. I asked her to be my distraction. She’s outside.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Pinky had stopped computing. His face was frozen, his jaw hanging open, his eyes blown wide. Peter counted to five, and when he finished Pinky exploded with rage.

“YOU BROUGHT MY GIRL HERE?! Peter, I’m going to kill you! She’s—oh mierda. Isabella!”

Peter thought he might try a host family one day. The speed with which Pinky went from being incapacitated to being fueled with adrenaline was fascinating. Barking Isabella’s name, Pinky charged up the stairs, viciously pummeling any goons who appeared in his path.

Peter was on his tail, neck chopping any goon who tried to get back up. They burst out into the summer sun, where Peter stopped in his tracks.

The driveway was filled with thick black smoke. He summoned his night vision goggles, which allowed him to see through the haze. There was Isabella, wearing her own night vision goggles, moving like a dancer and twirling her sash like a ribbon. She used it as a whip, lashing out at the goons who charged blindly through the smoke. The material sliced across their faces, breaking open skin, and as they howled with pain Isabella lunged forwards like a fencer, striking them in the side with her taser.

“WHERE’S MY DOG?” she screamed.

“Isa!” shouted Pinky.

He sprinted into the smoke and Peter followed after him. Together, the three of them made quick work of the remaining goons. When the smoke thinned, Peter retracted his night vision goggles and removed his gas mask.

He gave the property a sweeping glance. All of the goons were on the ground, either unconscious or paralyzed with pain. Pinky was in Isabella’s arms, the fourteen-year-old holding him close to her chest, nuzzling his cheek as he licked her face frantically.

“I’m okay,” said Isabella, her voice choked with emotion. “Are you okay?”

Peter politely looked away, using his watch to summon the O.W.C.A. clean-up crew. The last thing to take care of was that atrocious helmet in the basement. He filled his fedora with water from the river and carried it inside the cabin. Zenrich was still out cold, the blood now drying to the concrete. Peter crossed the basement and poured water onto the helmet.

It immediately began to spark and hiss. It shook violently for a few seconds before exploding, sending bits of metal and wires scattering across the room. Peter dusted off his paws with satisfaction.

Another mission well executed.

He returned to the outside, shaking his head at the sight of Isabella rubbing Pinky’s stomach. Maybe he wouldn’t try for a host family, after all. He just couldn’t imagine being treated in what he considered to be an undignified manner.

“We’re all clear here,” he called, and when Isabella glanced at him, he tipped his hat. “Thank you very much for your assistance.”

“No problem,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll do anything for Pinky. This was actually kinda fun!”

With the intense bliss of knowing his girl was safe and sound from Zenrich and his henchmen having faded, Pinky’s eyes narrowed into slits. He hopped out of Isabella’s arms and motioned in the direction of the road. He took out his O.W.C.A. I.D. card, tapped the logo, and mimed driving.

“The O.W.C.A. forces are on their way and you want me to wave them down?” Isabella asked. When Pinky nodded, she smiled. “You got it, Pinky!”

Peter knew what was coming once she vanished down the driveway. With an expression like a thundercloud, Pinky turned slowly to face the panda, cracking his knuckles. It intimidating, sure, but Peter thought he could take some notes from Isabella’s book on how to be truly threatening.

“You brought my girl into this cesspool, and that pisses me off,” growled Pinky. “But Isa told me your plan, how you equipped her with what she needed to successfully defend herself, and how she was the one who attacked the goons when the alarm triggered, not the other way around. If it were any other agent, I’d never work with them again, and certainly never forgive them. But we have history, and I’m willing to let this go. But listen to me well—you EVER bring my Isa into a mission without my permission again, we’re done.”

“I hear you loud and clear,” said Peter, crossing a paw over his heart. “But if you forgive me, why do you look like you’re about to beat me?”

“Because I am. You’re not getting away from this that easily.”

The mission had gone off pretty much how Peter expected. But he had been very wrong about one thing—he absolutely could not take Pinky in a fight.

#phineas and ferb #pnf #pnfspiritweek #peter the panda #isabella garcia shapiro #pinky the chihuahua #pnf fanfiction #phineas and ferb fanfiction #tw blood #minor violence

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angelyuji · 5 months ago

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no love like caleb's love

helloo my silliesss a lot of discourse going down on ladstwt and honestly... idgaf what people like to think abt the characters. unless its a huge mischaracterization then im like "HE WOULD NEVER DO THATT" but then again, fanfiction is called fan-fiction for a reason lolol also i know some people get the ick from caleb calling mc pipsqueak but i like it. i also like when sylus calls mc kitten. idc i love it

18+!!!!!!!!!! MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!!!

caleb (love and deep space) x gn!reader

cw // fauxcest, COLLEGE MC AND CALEB, dubcon, gaslighting, mild violence, general yandere-ness (lmk if im missing any tags plss)

your chest hurts as you sob, sitting on the floor of your room. a knock sounds at the door, “hey pipsqueak, guess who?” you rush to open the door, throwing yourself into caleb’s arms. he laughs, “yeah, i missed you-“ he steps back, seeing your tears, “what happened?”

“he cheated on me, caleb." you sob into caleb's shoulder, he was the only one you could rely on in the end. he lets you cry, rubbing your back.

"listen, (y/n)," caleb squeezes your cheeks as you look up at him, "he was a waste of space in your life anyway. a good for nothing asshole." you snort and caleb smiles, he presses a kiss to your forehead. "stop crying about him... let me make you feel better." his lips go to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, but you push him away.

"caleb!" your face heats up, "w-we can't! i-i can't." you swallow, letting the fire in your stomach quell. caleb frowns, but relents, stepping back out of your room.

he gives you a leisurely smile, "feel better, pipsqueak."

"he told me to break up with you." "he made it all up, (y/n)." "look at the texts he'd been sending me." "he's sick."

you didn't know who had texted you the rumors of him cheating, but the proof the asshole had showed you was enough for you to doubt caleb's intentions. you sit in the dining room when a knock at the front door pulls you from your thoughts. "come in, the door's unlocked." you call out. caleb peeks his head in, his cheeky smile resting on his face. for a second you hesitate to ask, but seeing the conflicted emotions on your face, caleb frowns. he sits down across from you, eyes scanning your face. you take a sip of your water, nervous.

"you know, you should keep your door locked. it could've been some maniac at the door, not me." he shakes his head with a smile, "did grandma and i not teach you better?" he pretends to sigh disappointedly. you roll your eyes.

"caleb... i need to ask you something..." you wring your hands. he doesn't respond, waiting for you to continue. you take a breath, "that jerk... he told me that you threatened him... that you made up the rumors... is that-" you look at caleb, anger dripping from your voice, "is that true?" caleb doesn't say anything, watching your face.

he looks down with a sigh, "yeah... it's true." you stand up, abruptly, sending your chair shrieking. caleb jolts, watching you stomp around the table to him. you grab his collar in your fists.

"why. what were you thinking, caleb." you shake him and he lets you. his hands grab yours, tightening to force you to let go.

"(y/n), it was for your own good-" you let him go, letting him slump in the chair.

"for my own good? FOR MY OWN GOOD?" you could barely contain your anger. you fight the urge to slap your best friend, choosing to grab your glass and dump your water on his head. he blinks, straightening in shock.

his eyes narrow, "you feel better now?"

"no." you slam your glass on the table, turning to storm back to your room. caleb grabs your hand and pulls you back into his lap. you try to fight it, but he keeps his grip tight. you look away, rage turning to tears. "how could you do this to me, caleb?" he rubs your back and you melt into his hold.

a few minutes of silence passes as caleb comforts you, "he wasn't good for you, (y/n). i know who's good for you, and.... it wasn't him."

you look up at him, "then who's gonna be good enough for you, caleb? or will i have to spend the rest of my life alone." you sniffle, trying to get off him. caleb tightens his hold on you. he swallows, eyes falling to your lips.

"you won't be alone... i'll be there, pipsqueak." he presses his lips to yours and you squeak in surprise. you try to push him off, but his hands squeeze your waist. you yelp in pain and he mumbles against your lips, "just let me take care of you." he continues, his hand moving up to your chest. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction. "all i want to do is take care of you, (y/n). you... you're the only person i care about. the only person i love..." you hold back a whimper as his thumb caresses your nipple. you give him a small nod and you melt into his touch.

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strawberryshortcake1495 · 5 months ago

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Sock Opera Alternative Ending…?

“I am giving you away, you are a woman now!” I said in my best Grunkle Stan impression. “Waddles, the rings!” This was fine. I could do this all night until I get my body back. My eyes trailed upwards and as the words left my mouth, my voice still held that stupid high-pitched tone.

“Oh no.”

Mabel and the demon possessing my body come flying down on the wooden cake hung up by a thin rope. Only now that rope wasn’t holding onto anything and they both land hard on the stage with a loud crash. The noise is too loud and I find myself scrambling to get farther away, even though I know nothing can hurt me.

“Get out of my brother’s body, you evil triangle!” Mabel cries out. Bill holds her back with my arm as they tussle for the journal. “Children fighting? I can sell this!” Grunkle Stan says, pulling out a video camera. His voice sounds too far away and I’m sprawled out at the edge of the stage. I can’t move. Why can’t I move?

With one swift move, Mabel snatches the journal and slams it on Bill’s- well, it’s technically MY face. By the impact and the loud “PLAP” sound that can be heard, I know it’s gonna hurt like hell once I get my body back. She probably broke my nose or something, but I’ll manage.

“You can’t stop me, I’m a being of pure energy with NO weakness!” Bill screeches. I’m in a somewhat dazed state as I watch them fight like two hungry cats. I can’t feel my body. Wait, I’m not even in my body. What the hell am I thinking???

I try to focus my eyes on the two of them, and that’s when he locks his fingers around her neck.

That wasn’t all either. Once he was sure he got an iron grip on her, he twists his waist and fucking slams her onto the remains of the wooden background and puppets. When I hear her cry of pain, I’m brought back to myself. Without thinking, I zoom over to them.

“NO, STOP! LEAVE HER ALONE!” A guttural cry rips out my throat, but no one hears me. The audience has become seemingly aware that this isn’t part of the play and I watch as Soos and Wendy run upstage to pull him- ME off her.

“Dipper, get off her!” Wendy yells. “What are you doing, dude?!” Soos asks nervously. Their pleas fall on deaf ears as Bill tightens his grip. “Get off me!” He says aggressively. Too aggressively. He then proceeds to slam Mabel again onto the broken floorboards, the chipped wood slicing away at fabric and skin.

I begin hyperventilating when I see her face turning blue as she stares at him. Her eyes literally bulge out of their sockets and her mouth is wide open, trying futilely to breathe but his hands are pressing down on her windpipe, effectively cutting off her air. Despite this, the journal is tucked neatly in her arms and she holds onto it like a lifeline, refusing to let go.

“OH GOD, NO NO NO! LEAVE HER ALONE! STOP! STOP! LEAVE HER ALOOONE!!!” I cry desperately, my voice seemingly having raised in pitch or so. Of course, he doesn’t stop. Mabel begins to lose consciousness. Her eyes slowly flutter shut and her grip on the journal goes slack.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god. Is she dead? Did he kill her? Oh my fucking god. He killed her. He killed my sister. Everyone thinks I killed her. That- that-

Bill watches as the journal slides out of her arms and reaches out to grab it, but then Grunkle Stan slams his video camera right into the back of my head. The action sends my body crumbling down, and Bill goes flying out like a frisbee. “Woah woah woah, hey!” He screams. Then he’s gone.

Subconsciously, I fly right back into my body. I know everything will hurt like hell, but if I let that demon hurt my sister, then is it really that bad?

The first thing I feel is my heart pounding in my chest, a steady beat that sends waves of bile to my throat. Then the real pain floods through me. I feel my arms aching with the stab marks from the forks, my eyes stinging from the Pitt Cola, and the pool of blood forming around my head.

The pain immediately sends me into shock and the only thing I can focus on is the rapid rise and fall of Mabel’s chest as air rushes into her lungs, half of her hair spread out on the stage with the rest covering her face.

Slowly, my breathing matches hers and I just lay there as stars dance in my vision. I can’t breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe? The last thing I see before blacking out is Stan’s wrinkled face shifting from surprised fury to regretful horror as he realizes what he’s done.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #gravity falls au #stan pines #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez #bipper #sock opera #bill cipher #what if scenario #what if #my writing #drabble #tw: violence #tw: blood #minor blood

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leiawritesstories · 5 months ago

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PART ELEVEN: NOVEMBER

Word count: 10.1k

Warnings: Oof, this one's a doozy. Swearing, prison, police presence, shitloads of scheming, graphic violence, minor character d3@th, and angst

enjoy ;)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

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

Endovier Prison, as it turned out, really wasn’t all that awful of a place to live.

To be fair, the food quality was subpar and the communal bathrooms reminded Aelin of being in the college dorms again, but all told, it wasn’t a terrible place, except for the silence. She had been placed in solitary confinement based on her “history of conspiring with others to evade containment,” but she was allowed to take her meals in the common dining room and have her recreation time along with the other inmates. She was always monitored by at least one guard, and for the most part, her guards were stolid, silent presences in her periphery.

And then there was Remelle.

Technically an officer of the Orynth Police Department, Remelle was assigned to Aelin’s prison guard rotation three days per week as an additional security measure. Orynth PD had requested to assign a police officer to her guard rotation to ensure that she wasn’t trying anything suspicious, and the guards at Endovier had agreed after some deliberation. Apparently, Remelle had volunteered to be the PD guard so fast the job wasn’t even available to anyone else.

She had first shown up in the guard rotation about five days into Aelin’s sentence, and jealousy practically oozed from her pores. It had taken Aelin only half an hour to figure out that Remelle had a completely unrequited crush on Rowan, and it took her only a little bit longer to casually mention his name within Remelle’s hearing. The sneer on the cop’s face and the steam that could have poured out of her ears confirmed what Aelin already hypothesized—Remelle was viciously jealous of Aelin and Rowan’s relationship, no matter that it was over.

Which made her the perfect linchpin to Aelin’s escape plan.

Two weeks into November, her first month at Endovier, Aelin had demonstrated nothing but good behavior, and she was allowed to have supervised computer time each day. Part of that was necessary, since she was still working with Elide to finalize the transition of power in her company, and Aelin had shown no resistance to having one of her guards watching her while she worked for her allotted hour of computer time. She was so cooperative, in fact, that her guards had become complacent after a week of supervising her and begun to just sit outside the door to the computer room, glancing in every few minutes to make sure she was still there.

As soon as the guards were out of the room, Aelin began adding an extra task to the handful of things she was wrapping up as her company transitioned into Elide’s capable hands. During her computer time, she casually started to peruse the computer’s data logs and trace its network paths, and she eventually discovered that all the prison’s computers ran on a central network, even the secured ones that only the guards and other staff used.

Including the security staff.

A few clever digs into the system’s backbrain got her into the logs for the security system itself, cameras and all, and she had slowly begun to map out where the relevant cameras were located and what mechanisms she could possibly trigger to get them on a temporary loop.

She couldn’t risk working too quickly, though, so she only did a little bit more each day, slowly working her way into familiarity with the prison’s computer network. Interestingly, she had also found the log that tracked all the visits to the prison, and she noticed that she had two visitors waiting to see her. The yellow flag by her name was a warning—she was not yet cleared for visitors—but given her good behavior, she was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before she could have visitors.

Endovier Prison wasn’t going to know what hit it when they allowed Aelin Galathynius to have visitors.

In the weeks she had been there, Aelin had managed to make some acquaintances with other inmates during communal mealtimes or rec time. The most interesting one was a woman about ten years older than she was who had been in Endovier for six years, a timeline that she tracked by marking the days on her cell wall with charcoal. Her name was Petrah, and she had been a licensed cosmetologist with no intent or interest in the criminal life until she discovered that her ex-husband was involved with a major drug smuggling operation. When she confronted him, he denied it and threatened to forcibly silence her if she told anyone else about it.

So she murdered him.

Petrah had been found guilty of manslaughter but had successfully managed to prove that it was in self-defense, and her sentence was only ten years. She was up for parole the next year, and she was constantly asking Aelin questions about Orynth to prepare herself for a potential return to the city. Aelin was happy to answer her questions; she had even said she would provide a reference if Petrah ever wanted to look for work at Galathynius, Inc. Elide would be renaming the company, but the leadership team had yet to decide on a new name. Grateful, Petrah had thanked Aelin but said she didn’t think she would pursue that kind of employment.

The two of them had a casual friendship, little more than the shared bond of fellow inmates in a high-security prison, but Aelin trusted Petrah enough to ask her a favor. In the middle of November, Aelin was moved from solitary confinement to a cell block in a different sector, and while she was still alone in her cell, she had neighbors along the hallway. One of them was Petrah.

“Morning, Sardothien. How does the slop look today?” Petrah’s raspy voice greeted Aelin as she set down her tray on the long metal cafeteria table.

With a scoff, Aelin pushed her spoon around the grayish mass that was supposedly oatmeal. “No better than yesterday,” she drawled. “Seems like the supplies are getting a little thin.”

Petrah chuckled. “It happens every few weeks. What it usually means is that the delivery comes at the end of the week, and they’ve got to get rid of as much stuff as possible.”

“Fair enough.” Aelin managed to force down about half her portion, chasing it with multiple cups of bitter drip coffee. “Hey, do you still have any of your stuff from the salon?”

“Yeah, I brought a box when they sent me here.” Petrah raised a brow. “Why?”

Aelin shrugged, aware that the guards were probably watching and listening to her. “I feel like a little bit of a change. Got any bleach?”

“Hmm.” Petrah tipped her head sideways, thinking. “I might.”

When rec time rolled around that day, Aelin went over to the small, sparsely stocked library, and she was slowly browsing through the handful of books that looked interesting when Petrah tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ve got bleach.”

“Perfect.” Aelin left the books alone and went down to the bathrooms with the stylist. “I was thinking I wanted to go platinum, or as close to that as you could get.”

The older woman nodded, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Ever bleached your hair before?”

“I’ve had highlights, but not for years.”

“Okay.” Petrah lined up a few bottles on the shelf under the small mirror in front of one of the sinks. “Damn, this brings back college.”

“Tell me about it,” Aelin chuckled. “Looks just like the dorm bathrooms.”

“Yeah.” Petrah tugged Aelin’s hair out of the braid she usually kept it in and glanced quickly towards the door. The bathrooms were about the only part of Endovier that didn’t have security cameras, and Aelin was half convinced there were hidden microphones somewhere. “We’re safe here,” Petrah said softly, keeping her tone low. “So tell me, Shadow Assassin. Is there any other reason you had this desire for a change?”

Aelin met the stylist’s eyes in the mirror.

And smirked.

It had been twenty-five minutes since her visit began, and Elide was still sneaking astonished glances at Aelin’s hair. Aelin smothered her laughter and kept her face neutral as she chatted aimlessly with her dear friend. She’d finally been cleared for visitors two days ago, and Elide was the first one to arrive, bringing a stack of paperwork with her. Despite the no-touching and no-exchanges rule, she’d strolled right into the visitors’ room and plopped the stack of paper right down in front of Aelin.

“No passing, ma’am,” the guard on duty interrupted, his eyes darting awkwardly between the current CEO of Galathynius, Inc. and the Shadow Assassin.

Elide’s polite smile could have cut glass. “Would you like to sort through this paperwork yourself, Officer…” She glanced at his name tag. “Officer Owen?”

The man gulped nervously, stepped forward, and picked up the stack of papers. He flipped through it and set it back down. “A-all clear.”

“Good.” Elide sat across from Aelin and handed a pen to the guard, who managed to give it to Aelin without dropping it. “These need your signatures, Aelin. It’s backlog from before the transfer.”

“Couldn’t be bothered to use digital paperwork, I guess.” Aelin picked up the pen and started working through the paperwork, scratching her signature onto the blank lines. Elide updated her on the company business as she worked, and it was only a few minutes before the guard’s eyes began to glaze over and he retreated to the opposite corner of the room. Aelin stifled a chuckle.

Nox Owen put on the second-best performance she’d seen in an undercover agent. Only Ren Allsbrook had been better.

As Elide stole another glance at Aelin’s new, icy-toned hair, she caught the blonde’s gaze and sighed, shaking her head. “Didn’t take long for the boredom to kick in, did it?”

Aelin shrugged. “When I got moved out of solitary, I found out that one of the nearby inmates is a cosmetologist. She’s nice. I felt like having a little fun.”

Elide laughed softly. “I suppose you have to find those moments when you can, given that you’re never seeing the outside of this place.”

“I see a few yards of the walls once a day,” Aelin joked. “Don’t worry about me, Ells. I’m okay.”

“Really?”

A shrug. “It’s not my apartment by any means, but it’s not awful.”

“Hmm.” Elide pulled the finished stack of paperwork back over to her side of the table. “Officer?”

At the sound of his title, Nox jerked and came to stand a few feet away from Elide. “Yes?”

Elide turned a warm, charming smile onto the man. “Officer, is it possible for inmates here to receive care packages from outside?”

“Well, I, um…” Nox cleared his throat, perfectly acting as a nervous wreck of a new prison guard. “All incoming mail must be thoroughly inspected by prison security.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes, ma’am. You can put the inmate’s name and the prison’s address, and as long as the package passes inspection, the inmate will receive it.”

“Wonderful!” Elide beamed. “I’d just like to make sure Aelin gets some real food, since she’s said that the food quality here isn’t all that great.”

“If you could include extra for my cell-block neighbors, that would be great,” Aelin added.

Elide nodded crisply. “Of course.” She made eye contact with Aelin, and the pair exchanged the slightest nod. “Is there anything specific you’d want besides food?”

“Hmm…probably toothpaste and maybe some tampons. The ones in the communal bathrooms fall apart too fast. Oh!” Aelin grinned. “And if you happen to throw a few pieces of hazelnut dark chocolate in there, I’d be a happy woman.”

“You and your chocolate,” Elide laughed. “Okay.”

“Um, visit time is up, ma’am,” Nox interrupted, voice quavering.

“I know.” Elide tucked the paperwork into her folder. “Would you be so kind as to show me the way out, Officer Owen?” She gave Aelin one last glance before she walked out the door, following Nox Owen in his prison guard’s disguise back out of Endovier.

Another guard came into the visitors’ room. “Computer time, Galathynius,” he said curtly. Aelin followed him out and down the hallways to the computer room, mentally memorizing her steps. Although she could probably just follow another guard when she eventually made her break, it would go better if she didn’t. Besides, the cover she planned to use knew her way around Endovier.

Or at least she should, after several weeks of being Aelin’s personal police guard.

“You have thirty minutes.” The guard opened the door, checked the room, and sat down in the chair right outside the computer room. Not very talkative, this one.

Aelin sat down at the computer and went to her email, where she answered some of the queries that still came to her and redirected others back to Elide. The camera in this room faced the chair, not the screen, and she kept her face and posture casual and neutral as she opened up another window and navigated herself easily into the prison’s computer system. Since everything was centralized, it had been laughably easy to clear her file’s hold, making it appear that the superintendent had cleared Prisoner Galathynius for visitors. The central system also made it much easier to track and locate the camera system, and in just over four weeks, Aelin had managed to map out the locations of every security camera in Endovier.

The next step was figuring out how to run a certain sector of the cameras on a loop. She’d started with the one directly opposite her cell a week ago. A few typed commands, and that camera had blinked and gone dark for a few seconds, then rebooted. Aelin tried a few different methods, and eventually, she discovered how to make that camera replay a previously recorded segment of footage. She then moved on and started trying to sync up more cameras, a task that had proved more challenging.

But after two weeks of work, she finally had it down.

A handful of commands and a couple of passwords swiped from a database—really, this whole centralized system was just such a peach—and all twenty cameras in the sector Aelin had targeted were running a section of footage from a week ago.

Beautiful.

Aelin set the cameras back on their normal track, cleared all evidence of her meddling, and was closing out of her email when the guard opened the door again.

“Time’s up.” He walked over and watched as she calmly exited the computer.

She followed him back to her cell, and once his footsteps had receded, she sat down on her bed and picked up a journal from the shelf built into the wall. She knew the guards probably searched her books every once in a while, so she was careful to keep every piece of her plans in a code that only she knew. The words were ostensibly normal, set up as an ordinary journal entry, and the cute little drawings in the margins and on some of the pages were also apparently mindless scribbles.

In Aelin’s eyes, the words and the sketches turned into her plan to get out of Endovier and finish Maeve Bitchface once and for all.

And if she died in the process, then so fucking be it.

Nox Owens was having the time of his fucking life.

When Elide had contacted him in the middle of Aelin’s trial, he’d been expecting another ordinary request for a tech job, which was his usual role. But she had surprised him—of course she had. If he knew anything about the Boss, it was that she always had another plan up that infinite sleeve of hers. Instead of a tech job, she wanted him to get into Endovier. As a guard.

That was always Ren’s job.

Nox had plenty of spy training and experience, but his primary strength was his tech savvy, and once Ren had joined the Boss’s team, he’d been content to take the tech jobs and leave the infiltrations to the most wanted spy in the world. But Ren was dead, and the Boss wanted Nox to work as her inside man. And it had been a hell of a long time since he’d had the chance to practice this skill set.

It had been almost laughably easy to slip into Endovier’s database and add himself to the prison guard register, which rotated frequently enough that another new name didn’t catch any second glances. He barely even bothered to change his name, and his prison guard nameplate read “Nick Owen,” a bland, forgettable name to go with his bland, forgettable face. Just for fun, he swiped Ren’s fingerprints from the Boss’s archive and imprinted them onto the SecondSkin he applied to his hands—if he was ever printed, the staff would have such a fun time scratching their heads at the fact that this guard’s prints apparently matched those of a former inmate, one who was supposed to be dead.

About a week after she visited, Elide Lochan sent a plain cardboard box by courier to Endovier Prison. As he passed by the shipping room on his rotation, Nox heard the gruff bark of the mail supervisor.

“Owen! C’mere!”

He strolled over, stopped a few paces away, and fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yes?”

“Quit twitching,” grumbled the crotchety old man who’d been the mail supervisor at Endovier for twenty years and counting. “Damn newbies.”

“S-sorry, sir,” Nox mumbled, masking his snicker with a wobbly voice.

“Just stop shaking, newbie.” The man pulled a box across the table and tugged the small, flat white envelope off the top of the box. He tore it open, and Nox swore he saw an avaricious smile flicker across the supervisor’s face at the sight of the cash inside the envelope. “Here. This one’s for Sardothien.”

Nox cleared his throat. “Aren’t we supposed to inspect every package that comes for an inmate?”

The supervisor chuckled dryly. “I see someone memorized the handbook.” Carelessly, he took a box knife out of his pocket, slit through the tape, and gave a cursory sweep of his hand through the contents of the box, then slapped a stamp on top of the cardboard. “How’s that for inspection, Owen?”

“I…uh…” Nox pretended to be lost for words.

“Good lad.” The supervisor tucked a stack of cash into the inside pocket of his vest and passed Nox fifty dollars. “This is called an inspection fee.”

“Really?”

“Of course not!” A rattling cackle scraped out of the mail supervisor’s throat. “It’s called good business for me and some goddamn tampons for Prisoner Sardothien. Now quit shaking and take that box to Sardothien’s cell.”

“Yes, sir!” Nox picked up the box, slapped a bit of tape on top to hold it together, and left the mailroom as fast as possible. He wove through the corridors, flashing his badge when necessary, and came to Aelin’s cell. The snide blonde policewoman was leaning on the wall beside the cell door, a sneer on her face like usual. She glanced sideways at Nox as he approached.

“What do you want?”

“Delivery for the inmate,” he said coolly, showing the cop the box. The red stamp indicating that it had passed inspection glared against the beige cardboard.

The cop sniffed haughtily. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t contain any contraband.”

“Whatever.” Nox set the box on the floor and folded his arms. He’d learned very quickly that the easiest way to deal with the snippy blonde cop was to go along with whatever her snide, bitchy voice said.

“You could at least hold it,” she huffed.

He shrugged. “It’s stable, and you can make sure anything you flag doesn’t get passed to the inmate.”

She curled her lip, but knelt down, tore the tape off, and started sifting through the contents of the box. A plastic bag full of tampons was pushed aside, and she sorted a whole pile of electrolyte drink packets into stacks and shook the empty plastic water bottle. She went through the handful of food items too, exhaling in disgust when she didn’t find anything suspicious enough to confiscate. “Fine. The inmate can have the box.”

“About time,” Aelin drawled from inside her cell, where she was sitting on her bed, watching the cop tear through the box. “Thank you for your excellent supervision, Remy.”

“Don’t call me that,” the cop snapped, her icy-blue eyes narrowed into little slits. Once again, Nox was struck by how similar she looked to Aelin—with the exception of the eyes and the sneer. She unlocked the cell door, and Nox slid the box into the room.

“So kind of you, Remy darling.” Aelin’s snicker floated over the sound of the cop slamming the cell door shut in frustration. She flicked through the box aimlessly, then took out an energy bar and tossed it through the bars of her cell. “Here, Rems, have a little something sweet to counteract all that bitterness.”

Nox turned and strode away down the corridor before he could erupt into laughter at the shade of enraged purple that Remy the Cop’s face turned.

He knew goddamn well what was in that box, and it wasn’t just the food and period products that seemed to be in there. While there was ordinary food and ordinary tampons, there was also some quantity of Aelin’s SecondSkin, the very same substance that was currently covering Nox’s hands. He didn’t know exactly how much Elide and Nehemia had folded up and tucked into the decoy drink packets, but if Aelin was going to use it to get herself out of Endovier, he could only imagine that it was a lot.

And he could only imagine the look on her face when she strolled out in plain sight.

Four weeks, two days, and seven hours after she became an inmate of Endovier Prison, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius received the package that would get her out.

Elide and Nehemia had done everything exactly as they had all planned. Carefully measured and prepped sections of SecondSkin were tucked into a number of the electrolyte drink packets, and a set of ice-blue contact lenses hid in another packet. Elide had even tucked a tiny scrap of a note into one of the packets, and Aelin chuckled at her familiar, comfortingly blunt writing. She confirmed that everything was in place for whenever Aelin decided to make her move.

Which meant that Maeve Bitchface had taken the bait.

Aelin smothered a smirk. She’d never really doubted that Maeve would fall for her trap, not when that woman’s ego was so laughably easy to predict. Aelin knew Maeve was gloating over her arrest and imprisonment, and that meant she’d grown too comfortable in her power. A short note from Connall had been tucked into an earlier letter from Elide, and in code, he confirmed that he’d run the course of poisoning the Bitch Queen of the Night, and she was visibly weakened and frantically throwing money at anyone she thought could help her condition.

The second she got through Endovier’s gates, Aelin would be heading straight for Maeve Bitchface’s cute little compound. Well, not straight—she knew the most convoluted path to get there, and she’d take it to keep any potential pursuit off her trail. She and that bitch had a score to settle.

Shaking those thoughts away, Aelin carefully sorted the normal drink packets from the SecondSkin ones. All the orange-flavored ones were SecondSkin, both because it was the most common flavor and because Aelin loathed artificial orange flavoring almost as much as she loathed Maeve. She tucked the orange ones into the plastic basket where she kept her shower things, hiding them beneath her bar of soap and her washcloths.

A couple of days later, in the shower, Aelin turned the water on extra hot, creating a cloud of steam in the shower room. Behind the plastic curtains, she tore into the packets, unfolded the SecondSkin, and began the tedious process of laying the film atop her skin. Somewhere around half an hour in, a guard rapped on the door and grunted something about not taking too much time.

Aelin ignored him, of course.

It took a good forty-five minutes to get every piece of SecondSkin laid onto her skin, and she wrapped a towel around her hair and put on a clean set of inmate scrubs. Only a few more days in this rancid orange, she promised herself. Only a few more days.

“About damn time,” the guard grumbled when she emerged from the shower room.

She shrugged. “I’m a woman. We take long showers every once in a while.”

“Whatever.” He led her back to her cell, and she lounged on her bed, content for a while. She picked up her journal and wrote aimlessly on one of the last pages, her pencil moving almost without any conscious effort. Her shower had been a night one, and it wasn’t long before the corridor lights dimmed and she tucked her journal back onto its shelf. She fell asleep dreaming of the smell of fresh pine air in her lungs and the sweet taste of freedom.

And she dreamed snippets of strong, tattooed muscles flexing and shifting above her skin, fragments of tortured moans breaking the thick, hot air. Shattered emerald eyes stole a glance at her, and in an instant, the dream crumbled, giving way to cold concrete and steel.

Fuck.

Aelin pushed the scraps of her dreams away as she went about her day, letting nothing show. When the usual guard came to escort her to the computer room, she walked in calmly, sat herself down, and let her fingers fly over the keyboard. She was into the system and navigating to the cameras almost before her brain caught up with her actions, and she forced herself to stop and breathe deeply before she went on, lest she make a wrong move and trigger some kind of alert.

Now or never, Galathynius. She entered the sequence of keystrokes that gave her command over her sector’s cameras, and in a matter of minutes, that entire section was playing a loop from two days ago.

That loop was the last time Remelle was on Aelin’s guard rotation.

Like clockwork, the platinum-blonde cop joined the guard as Aelin was returning from computer time, a sneer on her face. “No snide comments today, inmate?”

“It’s too early for that,” Aelin returned sweetly. As they rounded the corner into her corridor, she nodded a fraction at the guard. Obediently, Nox started to walk faster, and as if on cue, Remelle stopped and scowled.

“There’s no need to rush, guard.”

Nox shrugged. “I’m not rushing.”

“You are.”

“Didn’t seem like I was.”

She huffed in irritation. “Just go back to your rotation. I can handle the inmate from here.”

“Fine.” Nox peeled away and headed back down the corridor, off to his usual path.

Remelle curled her acrylic-tipped fingers around Aelin’s arm. “Just you and me now, inmate.”

Aelin fixed a dry, blank stare on the cop. “Is that supposed to be threatening, Remy? Because you should know that you sound childish at best.”

“Shut it,” she snapped. “Get moving.”

“Hard to do that with such a…significant weight clinging onto me.” Aelin knew it was a low blow to comment on another woman’s size, but Remelle fucking had it coming.

The cop gasped, then her face burned scarlet. “You little bitch,” she hissed. She threw Aelin’s cell door open with a rattling clang, following her into the small room.

Perfect.

As Remelle wound up to slap her across the face, Aelin slipped a tiny syringe out of her pocket, ducked the cop’s wild swing, and grabbed her ponytail, holding her head still as she stuck the needle into the nape of her neck. Her hairline would conceal any puncture marks. Remelle’s eyes went wide, and she flailed without success—the sedative worked rapidly, and Aelin had asked Nehemia for enough to knock the woman out for a good twenty-four hours.

When Remelle sank to the floor, unconscious, Aelin swiftly stripped her of her clothes, then removed her own prison scrubs and did a quick clothing swap. Before she put the undershirt onto Remelle, she very carefully applied the SecondSkin patches to her fingertips. The synthetic nearly disappeared into her skin, and Aelin chuckled as she put the pinch-faced cop into her prison clothes.

“Enjoy your stay,” she crooned, tidily switching the cuff from her wrist to Remelle’s. She stepped in front of the mirror, applied the pale blue contacts to her eyes, and then slipped the turquoise ones into Remelle’s eyes. “And thank you,” she added as she settled Remelle into the bed, tucked the blankets up around her, grabbed her journal, and left the cell.

She’d memorized Remelle’s schedule, so it was natural for her to adopt the cop’s sneer and customarily pinched expression as she sauntered down the corridors. A brief stop at the staff computer room allowed her to transition the cameras from their loop back to their normal settings, and she went back to her corridor and stood the rest of her Celaena Duty before the next guard came to relieve her.

“Any changes?” the guard asked.

Aelin curled her lip. “Why would there be?” she snipped in a flawless imitation of Remelle’s nasal whine. She’d had weeks to perfect that inflection.

He held up his hands. “Standard question, as usual.”

“Well, if it’s so standard, just stop asking.” Aelin turned on her heel and walked snootily down the corridors. She passed rows of cells, ascended a couple of floors, and went down more hallways, carefully following Remelle’s usual path, which Nox (and her studies of the security camera footage) had graciously provided.

In the guards’ break room, she picked up Remelle’s uniform jacket and backpack, into which Nox had tucked a plastic bag containing a change of clothes. She swiped her badge at the door and went out to the checkpoint, where all she had to do was sneer at the fidgety young man on duty as he double-checked her badge before he let her through. Jingling the keys on her belt, she walked over to the parked police sedan, unlocked it, dumped her bag on the passenger seat, and got in.

And she drove out of Endovier’s gates in an Orynth PD vehicle.

Fuck, she liked irony.

Aelin drove to a gas station on the western outskirts of Orynth, parked just out of range of the single camera by the gas pumps, and got out of the car. She quickly stripped for the second time in a few hours, changed into the formfitting dark clothes that Nox had left for her, tidily folded Remelle’s uniform and left it and everything else in a neat stack on the passenger seat of the sedan, clicked the manual lock switch, and tossed the keys into the car before she closed the door.

Let Orynth PD figure that one out.

She knew the gas station was rarely open—hell, she often had a couple of her guys use this place for distributions—so she ducked around the side of the building, swiftly crossed the street, and disappeared into the tightly clustered tangle of buildings that lined this side of Orynth. As the afternoon faded into evening, Aelin let her muscle memory take over, winding a circuitous, rambling path through half of Orynth, doubling and tripling back to tangle up her trail. She worked her way around the outer districts, a grin curling the corners of her lips as the familiar steel and brick walls of the industrial district rose up around her.

About half a mile away from her favorite riverside warehouse, an old apartment building had been taped off and designated for destruction. Aelin had the Boss’s men plant those signs months ago, planning to use the building as a contingency. She slipped in through a ground-floor window, shook the dust off of her shoes, and latched the window shut before she went down the hallway into the darkened building.

To her pleasant surprise, the reinforced walls around the kitchen were even sturdier than before, and she flipped on the soft light as she walked in. With a long, muffled groan, she sat down at one of the high stools, relieved to get off her feet after so much walking.

“Good to see you again, Boss.” The voice nearly made Aelin jump out of her skin.

“Fuck!” She pressed a hand against her thundering heart as she turned around to meet Elide’s sly grin. “Scared the hell out of me, Ells.”

Elide snickered. “The bold Officer Remelle would never be so terrified.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “The bold Officer Remelle wasted most of her boldness trying to get into my—into some man’s pants.”

“I’m almost surprised,” Elide continued, tactfully ignoring Aelin’s slip of speech. “If you were still in the uniform, I’d probably think you were actually Remy.”

“Don’t call me that!” Aelin sniped in her Remelle voice. Elide bent over, howling, and Aelin’s laughter joined in. “Hey, when you give a girl enough time with nothing else to do…”

“Nice work.” Elide discreetly wiped the corners of her eyes. “Right. Here’s your phone.” She passed Aelin a nondescript burner phone. “Con’s number is already there.”

“Perfect.” Aelin tucked the phone into a side pocket of her pants. “Where’s the best place for me at the moment?”

“Right now?” Elide bubbled her lips. “Probably here, honestly. Stay the night—the place is secure and should have everything you need. I’ll update you tomorrow—actually, it’ll probably be Con. He’s better at going around unnoticed than I am.”

“Side effects of being a high-profile CEO,” Aelin joked. “Speaking of—have you and the team figured out a new name yet?” One of the clauses in the transfer of ownership was renaming the company, since there was a high chance that people wouldn’t want to be associated with a company named after an infamous criminal.

“We have some options, but nothing is set.” Elide tapped her phone, pulling up a page on her notes app. “Staghorn Development is currently the top choice, though.”

“I like that.” Aelin mulled over the name. “If my opinion has any weight—which it probably doesn’t—I’m a fan of Staghorn.”

Elide’s lips quirked upwards. “Good to know.” She slipped her phone back into her jacket. “I have to get home, but Ae?”

“Yeah?”

The petite woman grinned. “It’s so good to see you safe.”

Impulsively, Aelin hugged Elide. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”

“Least I could do.” Elide squeezed Aelin’s hands. “I’ll see you soon.” She left, and Aelin waited for the muffled click of the doors locking before she headed further down the hallway, towards the bedroom and bathroom.

After a long, hot shower that made her feel both clean and more human, Aelin changed into fresh undergarments and the same clothes she’d been wearing. The nondescript, cheap cotton-blend clothes could have come from anywhere, which made them perfect for sneaking around in. She’d taken out the pale blue contacts and tossed them in the trash before her shower, but she kept the protective film of SecondSkin on her hands.

Better to mask her fingerprints than to get caught too early.

She flipped on the bedside lamp in the plainly furnished bedroom and gratefully crawled into bed, near tears at the feeling of a proper mattress beneath her body for the first time in over a month. Unable to fall asleep without some kind of light—she’d grown accustomed to the hallway lights in Endovier—she left the lamp on and drifted off, letting her body shut down as the adrenaline high finally wore off.

When she woke up, watery grey sunlight had broken through the clouds of the late-November sky, and she rolled over and just stared out of the window, soaking in the morning light for the first time in weeks. Eventually, she rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, redid her braid, and made herself a coffee in the kitchen. She sipped it carelessly as she fiddled with her phone, waiting for Con to text.

And when he did, she couldn’t control the smirk that spread across her face.

For about the trillionth time in the last year, Rowan was royally fucking pissed, and Aelin was the reason for it.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he snarled, hands clenched into fists atop his desk. The cold wood was still unfamiliar under his fingers, so different from the steel tables of the police building.

“Watch it, Lieutenant,” Gavriel warned from the doorway.

Rowan pulled in a deep breath and shoved it out in a harsh exhale. “Where is she?”

“Downstairs, in a temporary holding cell until we can verify that it’s actually her.”

“I’m going to talk to her.” He was halfway out the door when Gav’s iron hand clamped around his upper arm. “What?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Whitethorn,” Gav said, coolly.

Scarlet anger crept up the edges of Rowan’s vision. “Why not, sir?”

“You have a personal history with this woman—technically, with both of these women, since you worked with PD for almost a year. I’d hate for that to compromise anything.”

“I understand, sir, but—”

“But nothing,” Gav interrupted, cutting him off. “No.”

Rather than tearing free from his commander’s grasp, Rowan deflated, his posture going slack. “I only want a few minutes, sir. I…” He cleared his throat, not expecting this tangle of emotion. “I need to know.”

After a long, tense moment, Gav sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes. When the timer goes off, you get the hell out of there or I swear to all that’s holy I’ll slap you right back into basic training.”

“Yes, sir.” Rowan snapped off a salute at his commander and strode down the hallways, his pace increasing with every step he took. He took an elevator down several floors, flashed his badge at the pair of TSF guards stationed outside the double doors that blocked off the temporary holding quarters that took up half the floor of the TSF building’s basement, and pulled the doors open. Inside, he took a deep breath, dredging up every scrap of resolve he could summon, and walked down another few yards.

He stopped in front of the first holding cell, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned an impassive gaze onto the platinum-blonde woman seated on the bench inside the cell. The instant she saw him, she shot up to her feet, folded her arms across her chest, reared her head back, and sneered at him, her pale lips curling back, rage filling her icy blue eyes.

“Hello, Remelle,” Rowan said quietly.

“Fuck you,” Remelle snapped.

Rowan raised a brow. “If this is some kind of plot to escape Endovier, I’m afraid you’ve failed.”

She practically growled at him. “I’ve told every stupid asshole in this place and I’ll tell you too: I am not Aelin!”

“That’s not what your fingerprints say,” he replied.

She laughed caustically and, to his surprise, pinched her skin between the tips of her acrylic nails and yanked, and the skin at the tip of her finger peeled away. “Because that bitch put her fingerprints on me, asshole.”

“Prove it.” Rowan leaned against the wall opposite the holding cell and waited for Remelle to yank the synthetic off of her fingertips. She shoved the synthetic through the slot in the door, and he tucked it into a plastic bag to give to the forensics team.

“Get me out of here,” she snapped again.

Rowan had only vaguely wondered whether Remelle was actually Aelin in disguise, and he was unsurprised to find that it wasn’t. “That’s not for me to do,” he tossed over his shoulder as his timer rang. The guard from outside the holding area poked his head in and gestured, and Rowan turned on his heel and left, letting Remelle’s enraged whining fade away.

“I’m taking this to forensics,” he told Gav, who was waiting outside the holding area.

Gav nodded. “Did you get your answers?”

“I’ve seen enough,” was all that Rowan said. “Should be fine to let her go, if only to get rid of the goddamn whining.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Sir,” he added, tacking on Gav’s title at the last second.

Gav raised a brow but otherwise didn’t react to Rowan’s near instance of insubordination. “I’ll let her get back to PD, then. Wait for me in my office, Whitethorn.”

Not trusting himself to reply verbally, Rowan dipped his head tersely, saluted, and headed upstairs, where he dropped off the bag at the forensics lab and walked back to Gav’s office. He only waited for around ten minutes before the commander came into the office, sighed heavily, and sat back down at his desk.

“That woman is a piece of fucking work,” Gav grumbled, mostly to himself.

Rowan didn’t suppress his snort. “Couldn’t agree more, sir.”

“If she’s always like that…” He scoffed quietly. “I can’t say I blame my niece for choosing that woman as a decoy.”

“I don’t think that was the whole reason, sir,” Rowan said. He’d been thinking over the situation as he waited, and while his thoughts were still clouded with rage—and a hefty dose of lust, if he was being honest, because clever, scheming Aelin had a way of working him up—he’d formed a somewhat solid hypothesis. “Besides her, uh, cattier tendencies, Remelle also looks remarkably physically similar to Sardothien, a fact that I’m sure she knew.”

“You know that’s not Aelin’s real name, Whitethorn.” Gav made a statement, not a question.

It was real enough to convict her. “I…it’s easier this way, sir.” Rowan swallowed the lump in his throat and kept talking. “I suspect she began planning this as soon as she found out that Remelle was the police officer on duty. However, I’m perplexed at the footage, since it shows no apparent signs of tampering and everything looks perfectly normal.” A crease dug between his furrowed brows. “I’m having Luca at PD look at the footage, since he was the one to figure out Sardothien’s loop when she broke into PD headquarters in the summer.”

Gav chuckled. “Back up, Whitethorn. She broke into Orynth PD?”

“Yes, sir.” Rowan stifled his irritation. “Somehow, she managed to put the entire security camera system on a closed loop—except for my personal camera. We still have no knowledge what exactly she did while there, but since nothing was visibly disturbed, it was probably just recon.”

“Interesting.” Gav tapped his chin, thinking. “Do you have any idea where she is now?”

“I…no, sir.” Rowan reluctantly answered. “She could be anywhere.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the screen. And a fresh wave of scarlet washed across his vision. “Goddammit!” Composing himself, he showed Gav the messages from Luca. “Apologies for the outburst, sir. Luca just confirmed that there was in fact a rather sophisticated loop run on Endovier’s security cameras for several hours.”

“All of the cameras?”

“No, sir. Only the sector of cameras by Sardothien’s cell.”

“What does the footage show when the loop ends?”

Rowan sent Luca a text, and it was only a few minutes before the younger cop replied. “That’s the confusing part, sir. When the loop ends, the cameras show Sardothien asleep in her cell—which is to be expected for around ten p.m.—and Remelle changing duty as normal. We checked the rest of the cameras as well, tracking Remelle’s path, and it’s completely ordinary. And then, the next day, Sardothien wakes up and starts screaming at the guards to get her out.”

“And she turns out to be Remelle,” Gav finished.

“Correct, sir.”

Gav pressed his lips into a flat line. “Is there anywhere else that we could look for intel?”

Rowan sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet, sir. We might be able to ask PD to search the area around Endovier for any signs, but—” Before he could finish his thought, both his and Gav’s phones pinged at once. His eyes rapidly scanned the alert.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Gav stood up and pocketed his phone. “Looks like I’ll be heading down to PD headquarters after all.”

“Sir, I—”

“No.”

Rowan blinked. “Sir?”

“No,” Gav repeated, the command clear as day.

“Sir, with all due respect, I have the most information on Celaena Sardothien, and as the TSF agent from the case, I believe I should know about this new development.”

“You already have your answer, Lieutenant Whitethorn.” Gav drilled a steely stare into Rowan’s forehead. “It’s in the best interest of both you and this case that you leave the case behind. Any further attempts to participate will be considered violation of a direct order, and you will be punished accordingly, Whitethorn. Clear?”

Rowan locked his jaw. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” As Gav left his office, he tucked a folded piece of scrap paper into Rowan’s clenched fist, sparing him a hint of a nod as he strode down the hallway. Reining in his fury, Rowan stormed back down to his much smaller office, threw the door shut, and unfolded the note.

Unless I tell you otherwise—Stay. Fucking. Put.

He’d be fucking damned if he did.

There’s a cop in my backseat.

Nox navigated the meandering turns of the industrial district with ease, focusing more of his attention on the serpentine tangle of streets rather than on the trussed-up, unconscious cop occupying the back seat of his nondescript car. Officer Remelle had been almost laughably easy to kidnap, since she was so overcome with rage at her recent run-in first with Aelin and then with the Terrasen Special Forces. Nox had lingered outside a chain coffee shop a couple of miles away from TSF headquarters, waiting, and the moment Remelle had stopped for her usual beverage, he struck. He knew the TSF and the police were probably scurrying around the coffee shop like a bunch of idiots by now, and he couldn’t help but snicker at the thought.

Mostly hidden by the cold, foggy darkness and the smoggy smear that hung over the industrial district, Nox parked his car about half a mile away from the overgrown path that led down to the Boss’s riverside warehouse, climbed out, and hoisted the still-unconscious Remelle over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He backtracked down the side alleys, doubling and tripling back on his steps to confuse anyone that might try to track him, and eventually pushed through the curtain of brittle branches and headed down to the warehouse.

“Nice work, Owens.” The soft, crackly voice sounded abruptly in his ear, and he almost dropped Remelle onto the half-frozen ground.

“Fuck’s sake, Boss!”

The Boss snickered. From her perch somewhere outside the warehouse, she was watching her set of concealed cameras as the final pieces of her grand plan fell into place. “Upper mezzanine. And be quick—Her Royal Bitchiness should be here in an hour or so.”

“Sure thing.” Nox crossed the final stretch of pavement and entered the warehouse’s dim gloom.

“Oh, and Owens?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a chance that PD might be on scene by the end of the night.”

“Good to know, Boss.” He glanced over his shoulder, a little unsettled by the fact that she could see him but he couldn’t see her. “You know where the car is.”

“Indeed.” A sinister note crept into her voice.

Nox went up to the mezzanine, where he set Remelle down, untied her, and set her up so she was faced out over the warehouse, head turned away from the south door. To stabilize her, he cuffed her hands to the metal railings and hooked a short grappling cable from the wall to the crossed straps of her weapons harness. As he slipped down the stairs, he heard the distinct rattle of another door being opened, and his hand flew to the knife tucked into his waistband.

The west door creaked open, and a man dressed in nondescript gray fatigues and some kind of military vest ducked inside, his dark hair and clothing blending him into the shadows almost seamlessly. But Nox was friends with the shadows too, and he slipped up behind the man and had a knife to his throat in seconds.

“Who the fuck are you?” he hissed.

Faster than he thought possible, the man slipped his hold, whirling and grabbing his knife hand and immobilizing it above his head. “Who the fuck are you?” he retorted.

Nox jabbed the man in the ribs and slithered free. “Call me Nox.”

“The other man paused. “You’re the Boss’s spy.”

Caught off guard, Nox lowered his knife halfway. “And…?”

“I’m Con,” the dark-haired man said.

“Con,” Nox repeated. A smirk crawled across his face. “Is that short for Convict?”

Con snorted. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because of my pretty face and winning personality?”

“I’ve seen better.” Con’s onyx gaze traveled slowly down Nox’s face, half-obscured in the warehouse’s gloom.

“Oh, I hardly believe that.” Nox winked, slowly, watching a faint blush creep over Con’s cheekbones. Hell. He was a pretty one.

“Boys,” Celaena’s drawl crackled through each of their earpieces. “I hate to interrupt your little meet-cute, but I’m tracking a royal bitch onto the property.”

“Heard.” Nox and Con spoke at the same time.

Con was the first to break their stare. “I’m in place,” he answered Celaena.

“Leaving,” Nox said hurriedly, and he ducked out the west door with a last glance at the pretty man in the warehouse. “Boss, who the hell is he?”

She chuckled. “A former Navy SEAL and my inside operative at Maeve’s compound.”

“Damn.” Nox whistled. “Man of many talents.” The line went silent, and he swiftly scaled the ladder rungs built into the steel wall of the warehouse and crouched on the rooftop. Some of the roof’s panels were pushed open, allowing room for a crane to reach inside and hoist pallets in or out for distribution. It also gave him a clear sight line into the warehouse.

Which was perfect, because he’d eventually need to throw the little glass vial in his pocket into the pallet sitting in the middle of the warehouse floor.

Shifting himself into as comfortable a crouch as possible, Nox fixed his eyes onto the warehouse floor. And waited.

Clad in an old, faded set of black fatigues, with knives tucked into his sleeves and boots, a pair of handguns on his hips, and Kevlar strapped to his chest, back, and upper thighs, Rowan trailed Maeve Ond through the industrial district of Orynth. He kept about half a block between himself and the woman known as the Queen of the Night, but she was so singularly focused that he doubted she would even notice she was being tracked. He’d picked up her trail thanks to an anonymous, untraceable number that had somehow contacted him with nothing more than a location pin.

Whoever had sent it had placed a tracking device on Maeve.

He’d barely taken a few seconds to marvel at the skill and sheer audacity of that feat before he was on the move, a lethal shadow prowling through the cold late-November night. She stalked down the maze of streets and alleys with deadly precision, despite the occasional tremors that rattled through her body. He observed those shakes with analytical curiosity, noting that the supposed Queen of the Night wasn’t invincible after all. Those were the tremors of someone whose body had been exposed to long-term poison.

Maeve shoved through a brittle curtain of overgrown vegetation, and Rowan followed at a short distance. Past that patch of cover stood a solitary, steel-sided warehouse on the edge of the river. The skeleton of a crane loomed beside it, barely visible through the foggy night. She stormed up to the building, rounded the corner, and fired a single bullet through the keypad beside the south door. The latch released, and she yanked the door open with a snarl.

“You can’t hide forever,” she called in a hoarse voice. It probably would have been more sinister if her throat hadn’t been ravaged by coughing.

Who the fuck is she talking to? Rowan wondered as he crept up to the edge of the building.

As if she could read his damn mind, she answered in the form of another snarled question.

“Show your worthless self, Moonbeam!”

Rowan froze in his tracks, ice shooting through his veins. Moonbeam? At the distinct sound of more than one gun cocking, he whipped his attention back to Maeve. Although her body visibly shook with tremors, she gripped her gun fiercely.

“Still disobeying me, Connall? I’m disappointed.” Connall. The name clanged through Rowan with the force of a train. Connall Moonbeam was alive.

This…could change everything.

As if she were on the set of a crime drama, Maeve continued monologuing. “I should have known you’d turn and sell your secrets to the highest bidder, Connall. I’m only irritated that after everything I gave you, you’d let Celaena Sardothien’s dirty money control your loyalty.”

Once again, Rowan felt like he’d been hit by a train. Connall Moonbeam was not only alive, but he was working undercover for Sardothien. Which meant he’d probably been feeding Fenrys information for gods only knew how long.

Which meant Fenrys had known his brother was alive.

That explained the contact labeled Con in Fen’s phone.

“I’m tired of your tricks, Connall.” Maeve’s frigid voice coiled through the warehouse as she tugged on a nearby cord, pouring a pool of yellow light over the area where she stood. Rowan immediately flattened himself against the wall behind a heap of boxes, melting himself into the cover of the shadows but keeping a clear view of Maeve as she paced across the floor.

A blur of movement peeled away from the west wall, and Maeve whipped around to find a distinctly male figure ducking behind another stack of crates. She curled her lip and glanced that way.

And did a visible double take.

Her sneer melted into a twisted expression of blinding fury as she fixed her hollow violet gaze onto the black-clad female figure who stood poised on the mezzanine. “I suppose you made yourself useful one last time, Connall,” she crooned, raising her gun and cocking it. “Say goodbye, Celaena Sardothien.”

Sardothien?

The ice in Rowan’s veins solidified into iron, weighing his body down as he lifted his gaze up to the mezzanine and traced the undeniably familiar figure who stood there, her head turned away, scanning the wrong side of the warehouse as the Queen of the Night curled her finger around the trigger.

And fired.

No!

White-hot horror blazed through Rowan’s body, and he forgot who and where and what he was as he pulled his gun and aimed and emptied an entire chamber into the back of Maeve’s skull and watched as her body arched backwards, blood bursting out of her throat and forehead and chest, and collapsed to the cold hard cement in a blur of gore and gunfire. The roar of gunshots abruptly cut off into thundering silence, and Rowan forced his eyes to move from the crumpled corpse of the Queen of the Night upwards, climbing the steel wall to the mezzanine.

The woman lay slumped over the railing, crimson soaking steadily into her platinum hair.

Rowan’s gun clattered to the floor, its dull thud echoing in his ears with the force of an anvil crashing into stone. Numbness swept over him, and he barely recognized that he was moving as his TSF survival instincts took over, directing his limbs to lift Maeve’s prone form and haul her outside to get her back to the investigative team for analysis and confirmation of death. He turned to go back, but a strong set of hands clamped down on his shoulders.

“Don’t.” Lower and rougher than Fenrys’s voice, Connall Moonbeam’s baritone jolted an old, familiar strand of Rowan’s memory.

He made a weak push against Con’s hardened grip. “She…Celaena…”

“You can’t go back in there,” Con repeated. “It’s not safe.”

“Fuck that!” In a burst of adrenaline, Rowan managed to break halfway free. Before he could sprint back into the warehouse, Connall spun him around and slapped the knife out of his hand.��

“You can’t, Whitethorn!” For the first time in a decade, Rowan came face to face with the second of the Moonbeam twins, whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh since he went off to Navy SEAL training.

“Why the fuck not?” Rowan growled, feeling his burst of energy give way to hollowness again.

Too many emotions to count rippled across Con’s eyes. “All I can tell you is not to trust what you think you saw.” Before Rowan could formulate a response, Con pinched the nerve at the joint of Rowan’s neck and shoulder, and he felt himself go weak. In a rapid blur, Con slung him over his shoulder, sprinted to the cover of dense but winter-bare vegetation surrounding the far side of the lot, and hurled him into the frigid dirt, covering Rowan’s immobile body with his own.

And both of them watched as the warehouse exploded in a searingly white burst of flame.

“N…no,” Rowan croaked, feeling sensation begin to return to his fingers. “No!” From deep in his chest, a single name tore brokenly out of his throat. “FIREHEART!”

Gaze flicking between Rowan’s tears and the blazing ruin of a warehouse, Con put the pieces together as he stood up. “She wasn’t actually there, Whitethorn,” he said softly.

Rowan’s shattered gaze locked onto him. “What?”

“That wasn’t Aelin,” he repeated.

But before Rowan could say anything else—before Con could reveal anything else—a birdcall sounded in Con's earpiece, and he turned sharply on his heel and jogged into the dense overgrowth, leaving Rowan prostrate on the ground behind him. He broke through the brush and jogged up the alley, sparing a single glance over his shoulder at the blaze he left behind. At the top of the alley, an electrical van idled, with Nox Owens at the wheel.

“Hop in, pretty boy,” Nox said with a sly little grin. Con shook his head with a dry huff and swung himself up into the van, and Nox drove off.

A panel behind the seats swung open, and Aelin Ashryver Galathynius stuck her very much alive head into the cab. “Where is he?”

“North end of the lot, halfway into the tree cover.”

“Good. Nox, slow down.” Aelin withdrew, and a moment later, Con heard the back door unlatch and thud closed shortly after. He glanced into the rearview mirror as the van sped back up, watching Aelin tuck and roll and jog back in the direction of the warehouse, her figure rapidly disappearing into the night.

Through a fog of devastation and confusion and a thousand other roiling emotions, Rowan finished loading Maeve’s body into the back of an Orynth PD van. He’d pinged Luca as soon as he arrived at the warehouse, alerting the cops of his location, and the police squad—with Gavriel in tow—had arrived on scene as the oddly controlled blaze faded into smoking embers.

Gav’s face was stone, but his eyes flicked from Rowan to the ruins of the warehouse and back and rapidly made the right connections. His posture softened. “Get in the vehicle, Whitethorn.”

“I…” Rowan couldn’t form words. “He said it wasn’t her.”

“Who said what now?”

Rowan gulped. “It…Connall. I saw Con.”

Shock flared Gav’s eyes wide, but he shut that expression down. “And he said…”

“He said it wasn’t Aelin,” Rowan croaked.

Gav loosed a long, tight exhale. “I think we should go for tonight, Rowan.”

“Please,” Rowan breathed. “I only want a moment.”

“Alright.” To Rowan’s surprise, Gav ran a hand through his hair and walked away. “Get yourself home safe, Rowan.” He climbed into the leading PD vehicle and waved them forwards.

As the taillights of the PD van faded away, Rowan turned his stare back onto the smoking heap of rubble where Aelin’s river warehouse had stood. His heart fought his eyes at the sight, torn between wanting to cling to Con’s words and wanting to believe what he saw. An icy breeze curled up from the river and bit through his clothes, and he finally took a step towards his waiting truck. Dry leaves crackled behind him, and he drew in a sharp breath and started to turn around.

Only to be met with the kiss of steel at his throat and his groin.

“This feels somewhat familiar, Lieutenant. Have we met?”

Shell-shocked and hardly trusting his own state of consciousness, Rowan tried to maneuver, but a simple twitch of the blades stopped him cold.

“Oh no you don’t, Lieutenant. It’s best for both of us if you don’t get a visual.” With that, the blade at his throat dropped and was rapidly replaced with the sharp pinprick of a needle. Heaviness spread through his limbs, and the last thing Rowan saw as his vision went black was a half-dazed glimpse of the turquoise eyes that haunted his dreams.

His Fireheart…was alive?

~~~

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#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #throne of glass #queen of shadows #kindgom of ash #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfic #tw: violence #tw: minor character d3ath #tw: c0ps

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