#some of them are grainy but eh
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co-workers || tangerine
tangerine x female reader (assassin)
summary: "if it took you getting shot for you two to finally, maybe, realize you like each other i would've used you as target practice a long time ago."
warnings: language, violence, fighting, injuries, blood, weapons
word count: 3.4k ; angst, fluff
tangerine masterlist
rocking back and forth on your heels you patiently wait for the bullet train to zip into the shinagawa station. the platform was moderately busy, people dressed for various occasions. some in sophisticated work uniforms, kids bopping along with their school bags, and some dressed for a night out. you, however, were not.
sporting a black jacket, long sleeve turtleneck, leggings, sneakers, and a black bag you could've faded into the growing dark sky but here you are illuminated by the neon lights of the platform begrudgingly watching the bullet train's head lights fly past as it rolled into the station.
you were ordered to be here by your employer at the request of the white death. something about his son and a briefcase of money that needed some extra eyes watching over. apparently, the white death had some gut intuition about the two unnamed men he had hired for the job and wanted your skills onboard. your employer gave you very little detail about what to expect, no description of the briefcase, a grainy photo sent via email of the white death's son who had horrid face tattoos in your personal opinion, and when asked about the men already tasked to the mission your employer replied, 'eh two guys both kind of weird' and left it at that.
you boarded the train and stood near the doors, tight lipped smiling at those who walked by, waiting for the entryway to be clear. kneeling you pulled a small revolver out of a false bottom in the bag and slipped it into an inside pocket of your jacket, next pulling extra rounds and stuffing them into the other available pocket. you fumbled with a small piece of crumbled paper telling you to go to car three and a seat number that the son should be at.
quietly making your way to car three you re-patted your now stuffed pockets, adjusting your jacket and hair to relieve any sort of budding nerves. that is until you noticed the two kind of weird guys your employer told you about.
"well, can spot that fitted suit from a fuckin' city away" the two men stood in front of you who were deep in conversation snapped their necks towards you.
"well darling, and i'd spot that shit box dyed hair from the other side of the fuckin' earth" you couldn't help your arm raising to touch your long, and well dyed hair, at tangerine's rebuttal.
you tried to hide the laugh that threatened to break through as the three of you stood quiet for a few seconds following his comment. lemon broke first pushing past his brother to embrace you in a hug, "haven't see you in a minute, was beginning to get worried."
the three of you knew each other quite well, hell, the three of you lived together for a while. you had been under tangerine and lemon's employer for a long time but shit happens and it was best you found a new employer. lemon was more talkative and affectionate of the two, constantly talking your ear off and giving you hugs whenever he saw you, strictly friends though. tangerine, well, not affectionate and not talkative. it took a while for tangerine to mutter more than five words to you for the longest time. being outright friendly just isn't his nature and you can't fault him for that. the twins cared about you deeply, you knew lemon did within a week. tangerine took more time. it wasn't at the flip of a switch, it was gradual, perhaps may be even more natural.
it was a culmination of things that made you realize the rough man cared and appreciated you. like how after a job the three of you would go eat, you would jokingly (but also quite seriously) say how you were still starving. tangerine would slip you some of his food, 'not that hungry' he'd shrug. or how on missions he unconsciously used himself as a shield for your protection. or when he would come back from being out, holding a plastic bag in hand. 'saw these figured you might need 'em' plopping the bag in front of your seated position at the kitchen table and continued walking before you could comment on the new clothes that replaced the ones recently destroyed on a job.
or how days before you left the previous employer, you, tangerine, lemon, and an additional guy were assigned to a job that did not go so smoothly. it really was no one's fault, no one could've predicted how many men were hiding in the warehouse. each of you sported numerous injuries and lost many weapons but still completed the job. you and the other assassin were alone sitting on the floor when he suddenly started berating you. saying how shit you were as an assassin, spewing hatred and profanities amongst other vile things. you had no energy to fight back, 'maybe you're right' is all you could muster before getting up and searching for a secluded place to sleep for the night. you had awoken from your sleep hours later to the sound of a gunshot, wandering until you found someone.
'tangerine, what was that? i heard a gunshot' you asked the man who was promptly walking away from scaffolding towers.
he looked at you quizzically wiping his hands on his trousers, 'i think you might have been dreaming darlin'' all you could do was rub your head in confusion, 'let's get you back to bed, love.' the next morning only three of you returned from the mission.
"i've missed you, lemon," you smiled pulling away, holding his shoulders to look at him.
you and tangerine exchanged small nods, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips. you turned towards the figure seated beside the men stepping to stand in front of who you assume to be the white death's son. to say something seemed off was an understatement. you gently grabbed the ends of his open jacket bobbing his head back.
"what the fuck?!" you jerked back dropping your grip as his body slumped forward. an older woman a few seats up shushed you.
"what the fuck?!" you whispered harshly at the twins, bug-eyed gesturing rapidly at the dead body in front of you.
"ask fuckin' percy over here," tangerine pointed to lemon.
"i'm not percy?! okay yeah i lost the case but i didn't kill the kid."
"well lemon, if you didn't have the brilliant fucking idea to stash the case, we would've been sat our squeaky fuckin' asses down in the seat not havin' to get up. young. sweet. not all there." tangerine hissed back, poking at lemon's forehead to emphasize.
mildly entertained by the twins infamous banter you sat down watching the two go back and forth before tangerine swiveled towards you both hands flat, palms up, pointing at you, "and no disrespect love, but why the hell are you here?"
"to babysit essentially. i'm here to make sure you two do your job and by the looks of it you done fucked that up. what an honor it will be to be ripped limb by limb by the white death with you idiots."
the three of you sat deliberating what the hell to do next and tried figuring out who else is on this train taking interest in the briefcase and the son. tangerine cleaned up the boy's face with his handkerchief and adorned his face with momonga glasses to hide the fact that he's well...dead.
the twins decided it would be effective splitting up and checking the train cars for the briefcase.
"ill stay here," you spoke as the two men grabbed their things to investigate the train.
"what?" tangerine asked eyebrows knotting together.
"i'll stay here. i'll see if anyone comes back for him," gesturing towards the limp body, "besides, my mission is a bit different. i'm not supposed to be seeking danger. if it comes my way then i can step in."
tangerine smooth out his moustache inhaling deeply seeming to oppose you being here by yourself.
"okay well, right then." lemon nodded stalking off down the train.
tangerine hesitated looking down at you in the seat.
"i'll be okay."
that is until ten minutes later a man sat across from you, "hi. there's a gun under this table."
"shhh," you hissed, "this is the quiet car babes."
the man in the hat and glasses took a moment to look over your shoulder at the sign, you took this opportunity to grab his hand, that held no gun, underneath the table yanking his body forward, table smashing into his shoulder.
"who the hell are you." you questioned, still holding onto his hand.
"ladybug. johannesburg, remember? your buddy shot me after you baited me to the parking garage?"
"so you're after the twins?" you asked ignoring what he said.
"the twins have a briefcase i need. i'm really not looking for trouble here miss, i just want to get the hell off this train and go meditate." he sighed taking his free hand through his longer hair.
"so you took the damn briefcase." you released his hand and brought your foot up to kick him in the groin. while he was hunched over in pain you stood up launching towards him to put him in a headlock, "where's the case."
"look lady," he sputtered, "i really don't want to hurt you."
ladybug punched your forearms to loosen your grip and when you didn't budge, he turned his head to bite your wrist.
"what the fuck!" you yelped springing back. he took this moment to sweep your legs out from underneath you. you hit the floor with a loud thud, the ache in your shoulder radiating down your arm. he leaned over your body giving you a weak smile and in return you kicked him in the face, blood instantly pouring out of his nose.
"shit balls!" he exclaimed. you clamored to your feet and started running throughout the bullet train. ladybug's steps got closer and closer and that's when you felt a burning hot sensation on the back of your shoulder. your movement immediately stopped, groaning as you reached for the knife in your back pulling it out.
"prick." you hissed turning around to face the man. your arm swiped in front of his face, the blade making a whooshing noise in the air. you managed to clip the side of his cheek.
thankfully the car the two of you were now fighting in was not occupied. he gripped your arm throwing you against the wall and stalked towards you. you stashed the blade in your pocket, shrugging your jacket to the ground, opting to fight him with your fists. you dodged the first hit and returned him a hit in the jaw. he staggered and taking advantage of his lower stance punched you in the stomach.
"i don't like hurting women." ladybug exasperated as the two of you continued fighting, punches being thrown, skin being split, bodies flying across the car.
"seems like you're in the wrong line of work, dumbass," you gripped the back of his head slamming his face into the top of one of the seats. the crack you heard made you wince. ladybug's forehead was split, blood running down his face into his eye.
it was obvious his physical state was weakening. he swallowed deeply, eyes flickering to a spot beyond you. before you realized what was happening, ladybug was running towards your jacket where the knife was. he managed to grab it and came barreling towards you. once again the battle was back on. the knife dancing between you two as its ownership changed frequently. you and ladybug were a panting mess with new cuts decorating your bodies. this old piece of shit wouldn't let up. you were becoming exhausted and you needed this to end somehow. the two of you were both on the floor, the blade in your hand. you knew you didn't have enough stamina for another round of fighting, the cuts scattering your body were aching, the large stab wound to your shoulder was now numb. instead, you sliced the closest things to you that would cause the most damage.
his achilles.
ladybug screamed out in pain, shaking hands wrapping themselves around his ankles in some attempt to soothe the sheering pain. you stood, looking over the man, the blood from the knife dripping onto your shoe. you stepped around his cradled body, making your way up the train. tangerine hasn't come past yet meaning he is still ahead. the door swished open but you'd only make it one step in before crumbling to the ground.
immediately you started hyperventilating from the intense pain that seemed to hit every nerve in your body. blinking rapidly as you scooted yourself against the wall. then you felt it. a warm sensation running down your skin, your clothes feeling wet. blood. your body was shaking, open lips huffed out puffs of breath. slowly and carefully, you looked back at ladybug.
your gun in his hands.
he must have grabbed it when he retrieved the knife in your abandoned jacket. fucking stupid.
ahead in the train tangerine heard a faint noise, but nonetheless he knew it was a gunshot. he slicked back his hair and removed his gun from his waistband. he carefully entered each train car, observing anything out of the ordinary. the door in front of him opened and his step faltered when he saw a black sneaker, and then a leg, and then the body as his eyes raked up the slumped figure.
he dropped to his knees, gun now on the floor, "hey tan," you croaked.
"bloody hell," he sighed, his eyes darting across your entire body.
"stop checking me out i don't look my best," you tried joking. tangerine didn't seem amused as he noticed your torn clothes, bloody face, your hair matted with blood.
"that old bag of bones can really fight. but he took a cheap shot when my back was to him," you finally answered. you lifted the hem of your shirt to show tangerine the bullet hole in your lower stomach above your hip.
"jesus," he muttered swallowing thickly. he seemed stunned to see you in this condition. he also seemed lost on what to do. his eyes wouldn't stop looking you over, his hands unconsciously went to your face brushing your hair out of your eyes.
"tangerine stop fucking staring at her we need to help her," lemon had found the two of you. his voice booming causing tangerine to snap out of his daze.
lemon pushed him to the side, immediately coming to your aid. he worked with what he could find. your shallow cuts weren't important. the wound to your shoulder would need stitches later on. the entrance and exit wound of the bullet was causing the biggest issue as you had lost a decent amount of blood from it. lemon continued to do his best as you sat there eyelids half open.
tangerine was silent, more silent than ever before, as if he were stuck in a trance. you slowly moved your fingers towards his hand that was resting on the floor. two of your fingers wrapped around his pinky jerking him out of his trance. this somehow sparked something in him as he shot up from the floor, grabbing his gun making sure it was loaded and set off on a mission you could only assume to be to find ladybug.
your lips pulled down in a frown as he left. you wanted him here. his presence, his touch, his whatever. any semblance of that cocky man you wanted next to you for comfort. you knew you were going to be okay, you were weak right now but the thought of him beside you somehow made you believe you would feel stronger.
lemon let out a soft chuckle as he finished securing cloth to your wound, "if it took you getting shot for you two to finally, maybe, realize you like each other i would've used you as target practice a long time ago."
you slapped his arm, "fuck off."
lemon and you agreed you need to rest, he helped you to sit in an empty seat, propping you against the window.
"alright, now, if anything serious happens i will text you alright. in the meantime, sit here and wait till we come get you, you hear me?" lemon demanded.
sometime had passed and you noticed less and less people on the platforms boarding the train. it was too quiet. your stomach was telling you something was off. you winced in pain as you gripped the armrest to stand up. a bit wobbly but you managed to put one foot in front of the other. as you continued you heard voices close by. the doors to one of the cars was open by bags tripping the sensors. you saw a young girl in pink standing looking scared and him. the greasy haired prick who shot you. he still had your gun in his hand pointed at someone.
tangerine.
"fuck." thankfully you held onto the knife and before he could notice you moving towards their train car you brought your arm over your head, swinging forward, releasing the knife. it lodged itself below ladybug's collarbone. he yelped out in pain stumbling a bit and that's when his finger hit the trigger.
"you bastard," tangerine hissed as the bullet hit his leg.
you took this opportunity while the men were distracted and ran towards ladybug. you propelled yourself onto him, spinning and wrapping your legs around his neck, you removed the blade from his chest and stuck it in the base of his neck.
"you don't touch him," you spit at the man as he crumbled to the ground.
the girl was long gone. now facing tangerine you noticed all the bruises and blood on him, drenched in sweat. his curly hair now laying across his forehead. his jacket long gone leaving him in a white button down that was criminally low on his chest and a vest. you couldn't help but check him out.
he started to say your name but you cut him off, hugging him tightly around his neck, knocking the wind out of him. he hesitated a moment before firming wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking his head into your hair. after a few minutes he pulled back, sliding his hands to your waist to look at you. you held onto tangerine's elbows as his eyes wandered your face.
"darlin'," he started, "i'm- i'm sorry i didn't do anything when i found ya."
you chuckled through your nose, "tan. i'm fine."
"you're injured n' i didn't do anything except fuckin' look at you." he shook his head in disgust.
"tangerine," you said firmly placing your hands on his chest, "stop. i am fine. i am okay. we all react differently to seeing our friends hurt."
"friends, " he half laughed, "you realize i don't see you as a friend."
you paused, hands loosening their grip on his arms. god, you were dumb to think you were even friends. you're coworkers, hell at this point maybe even acquaintances, its been five months since you lived with them. all you could mutter was a shaky 'oh.'
tangerine laughed, "you know love, you can really be dense sometimes."
your mouth formed an 'o' trying to figure out what to say next, "dense?"
"love, i've wanted you the moment you almost sniped my head off in vienna." tangerine chuckled, moving hair out of your face. you couldn't look at him instead you toyed with his open shirt, fingers brushing against his hot skin.
"i guess i am kinda dumb right? should've put the pieces together when you killed anyone who was mean to me." you smiled.
he leaned down gently placing a kiss on your lips. you immediately kissed back, tasting the metallic flavor of the blood that was on his lower lip. your nails ran across his scalp sending a shiver down his spine. tangerine gripped your lower back harder, minding the wound, to bring you in as close as physically possible.
tangerine pulled away from the kiss, bringing his mouth to your ear, "by the way darlin', you spinning around on his neck and what you said was really hot."
"then i suggest we get the fuck off this train soon and i'll show you the move personally."
#tangerine#tangerine bullet train#tangerine x reader#tangerine x you#tangerine x y/n#tangerine x oc#tangerine imagine#tangerine imagines#tangerine fanfiction#bullet train imagine#bullet train#tangerine blurb#tangerine headcanon#tangerine fanfic#tangerine angst#bullet train x reader#bullet train lemon#bullet train tangerine x reader#aaron taylor johnson imagines#aaron taylor johnson x reader#tangerine oneshot#tangerine fluff#tangerine fic#sebsbarnes
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Out of Sight (Out of Mind)
Danny hopped from foot to foot as he waited, constantly shifting his weight about. The store smelt strongly of herbs and spices. There were crystals on the walls and other things strewn about the area. It all looked so... cheesy. fake.
Makes for a pretty good coverup, he'd have to say.
With the sound of movement behind the counter, Danny stopped wriggling about and stood still. He leaned towards the counter and crossed his arms on top of it, his face already breaking into a grin as the person made their way to the front.
"What is it this time? I was slee- Oh." A cranky accented voice said as they made their way to the counter. They paused after making eye contact with him, before pulling a face.
Danny smirked at the man, before tossing the papers he'd been holding onto the counter.
Constantine didn't even try to protest, instead leaning forwards onto the counter as well to look over the papers. He let out a whistle as he shuffled them about, flipping through grainy photos from surveillance cameras.
"A big one, eh?" Constantine asks, flipping to a different photo before pausing. He groans, before letting the paper relax in his hands so that Danny can see the top of it as it curls. "And the bats are involved. You're not serious, are you?"
"Serious as the dead, Connie." Danny replies, pulling the picture from his hands. It's a grainy night vision camera photo of what looks to be a group of people in costume making their way down an alleyway covered in bright decals. "And I'd rather I don't actually cross paths with them. You can talk with them all you want, but I'd rather follow their lead."
"And you think they won't notice you?" The blonde asks. He's pulled all of the papers into a messy pile in his hands. Danny doesn't respond with an answer, instead winking before handing over the image for the pile.
He turns and begins to walk out, Constantine letting out a tired sigh as he moves around the counter to follow. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Yeah. It'll do you some good, though. Wouldn't be in this position if you weren't so fond of making bets. Maybe this'll teach you to stop making them." Danny replies, stepping out of the store and holding the door open for the older man.
"Yeah yeah. Consequences of my actions, and all that. Can we just get a move on?" Constantine grumbles, pulling a cigarette from somewhere in his trench coat as he looks about the street.
Danny rolls his eyes. And the cigarette rolls up into a ball in between Constantine's fingers, before rolling out of existence.
"First rule; no smoking around minors."
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i feel i should preface this with saying that this relationship analysis "takes place" before qcellbit's emotional exhaustion and motivation crash---
---but i have been having SUCH crazy thoughts abt the archivists (qcellbit n qphilza). guy who needs evidence of Everything 🤝 guy who takes pictures of and hoards Everything. two-cars-passing-each-other meme whenever cellbit (practically nocturnal at this point) makes a late-night run to the Ordo to grab some notes he left there and bumps into phil (trouble sleeping ever since the birdhouse incident) who's sitting in one of the evidence rooms organizing a new backpack of photos to hand over to cellbit.
"oh. hey phil." "hi mate."
their conversations and interactions center mostly around cellbit's investigations---the ones cellbit lets the public know about, anyway---and whatever new info phil managed to scoop up since the last time they saw each other. theories are exchanged, and photos are passed between them as easily as pleasantries. "how're you doing?" "oh, doin' alright, doin' alright. you?" "eh. busy, you know?"
they don't talk about much else.
see, they both understand secrets. intimately. things you did you would much rather leave behind you, if you can, or thoughts, worries, doubts you would much rather keep to yourself for fear of speaking them into existence. sealed lips; a tight lid. they look at each other and know they're only seeing what the other wants them to see, but that's okay. they get it. sometimes, it's just easier to focus on what is directly in front of you. what you can see, what you can touch; what you know is true, what you know is real.
what you can do.
so cellbit generates and bounces his theories off of phil, and phil is more than happy to be a sounding board. phil fills up a backpack with photographs, and cellbit is more than happy to take it off his hands. they focus on The Work, on the spiderweb of red string and loose ends and grainy pictures and scrawled notes pinned to the wall, madness-incarnate sprawled out before them. they trust each other's judgement, and they trust each other's skills, and they trust each other, and neither asks too many questions. they both appreciate it.
#like seriously most of their conversations thus far have been about everything and everyone BESIDES themselves.#and that!! makes for such an interesting relationship!! bc they trust each other despite it!!#btw i rly tried to format this so that the concepts/ideas touched on this relationship study usually came in pairs-#-the first of each pair being mostly and cellbit and the second being mostly about phil-#-with the exception of the bolded sentence which is supposed to have different meanings depending on whose perspective-#-you read it from. idk i had a lot of fun formatting this. me when parallels me when mirror images <33#dont mind me im just rambling#qsmp philza#qsmp cellbit#q!philza#q!cellbit#also phil acting as cellbit's rubber duck is so important to me actually.#shout out to every friend of mine who has put up with my wall of texts abt an au or writing idea or incoherent mess of disjointed thoughts.#shout out to every friend of mine who's been there hanging out or on call with me as i lose my mind on a problem im whiteboarding.#u keep me sane and u help me more than u know. ily.#archivists#archivist duo
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PART SIX: JUNE
Word count: 8.1k
Warnings: swearing, violence, breaking and entering, fuzzy science, scheming, flirting and more flirting, innuendo, a villain, more violence, blood, minor character death
shout out to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading this hot mess and to @backtobl4ck for encouraging frederick
I don't know if I should say this, but...enjoy!! 😁😈
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Moon Moon!” Aelin clapped her hands twice as she strolled past Fenrys, who lounged against the Boss’s office door like it was the most natural place for him to be. “Thanks for showing up.”
The blonde man shrugged, a half-smirk curling his lips. “Like I had a choice.”
“You always do.” She threw him Celaena’s sweet little grin that usually made people either piss themselves, cry, or start babbling. “You can choose to show up, or you can choose to die.”
“Not much of a choice, Boss,” he drawled. He flopped into the chair across from her desk. “So tell me, who’s the mark?”
Aelin tapped on her computer for a few minutes before she slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. “Have a good long look, Moon Moon, because this is the only time you’ll see all of this info in one place.” As the Boss, she was many things, and stupid was decidedly not one of them.
Fen picked up the paper, his dark eyes scanning each line of text and small, grainy photo. He cocked one blonde brow. “Rourke Farran, eh?” Not looking up from the paper, he huffed out a breath. “The man’s whole fuckin’ house is a booby trap, Boss.”
“I’m aware.”
“So what’s this bastard done to…god damn.” Before he could even ask the full question, it was answered. “He’s got a front for a front.”
“I have never tolerated, nor will I ever tolerate, the treatment of human beings like commodities,” Aelin said softly, lethally. Celaena Sardothien’s notorious steel undercut her tone. “Farran thinks he can get away with it because I haven’t come for him. Yet.”
Fenrys whistled lowly and set down the paper. “What’s your timeline, Boss?”
Aelin liked this man more and more with each interaction. “I need Farran at the river warehouse by the 10th. You can use whatever means necessary, beat him up a little, get him nice and ready for his session with me, but don’t even fucking think about killing him.”
“Don’t worry, Boss.” A lazy, hungry grin unfurled across Fen’s handsome face, the dim lamplight reflecting off the scars on his cheeks. “Softening up bad boys is my specialty.”
“That’s why I hired you.” Aelin took back the paper and tossed it into the shredder next to her desk, which ate through the single sheet with a brief mechanical grinding of teeth. She burned the shreds at the end of each day, never one to take any chances with documents that could potentially be stitched back together. Fenrys stood up to leave, and she waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “One more thing, Moon Moon.”
“Yeah?” He paused, alert, his stance striking an oddly familiar chord in her mind.
“Farran isn’t dumb enough to put all of his guard dogs in one place.”
He nodded slowly, working over that little tidbit of information. “Noted. I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you.” With a wink that was far too flirtatious for anyone’s good, Fen left her office.
Aelin rolled her eyes as she returned to her computer. Her encoded list of targets was shrinking by the week; really, there was only one name left after Rourke Farran received his one-way ticket to her riverside warehouse, and it called to her every day. Some days, it took all of her willpower to stick to her typical Boss hours and Galathynius hours when she knew that if she spent just one more hour as Boss, she could solidify the plans that she’d been simmering for so fucking long. Just before she slit his throat, she’d once murmured to a criminal that she was cleansing the world of villains. In the months since then, that cleansing had nearly been completed.
She slid her gaze down to the end of the page, following the trail of crimson lines that struck out each name up through Farran’s, and stopped, musing on the last name left. Five letters. One name—the villainous criminal was possibly more elusive than Celaena Sardothien herself.
Maeve.
On the one hand, it made complete sense that Arobynn’s lover—ex-lover—would have taken over his business, diminished as it was when all of his cronies started fighting over their pieces of the trade after Arobynn died. On the other hand, Aelin had wondered just why the hell Maeve would have wanted to take over Arobynn’s drug- and gun-running business; surely the money couldn’t be the only reason. The more she dug into the grimy, seedy backchannels of truth, though, the more she came to understand why Maeve had done it.
The woman had been madly in love with Arobynn Hamel, and now she was madly out for blood.
~
In the prep room of the Gal Inc. labs, Aelin snapped on a fresh pair of sterile blue latex gloves, checked her badge where it was clipped to her lab coat, and nodded at her reflection. It had been seven weeks since Ren had come into the labs to have his SecondSkin changed—she and Nehemia had decided to extend the wearing period to seven weeks, as Ren’s use of SecondSkin was an experiment—and she was curious to see if anything was different.
“About time,” Nehemia said dryly as Aelin walked into the small, sterile lab, the one that Nehemia typically reserved for experiments that needed to be kept quiet. “I was just about to assume you were in a meeting and start the removal process without you.”
“Hello to you too, Dr. Ytger,” Aelin returned, just as dryly. “I just had to primp a little longer, you know how much effort it takes to look this good.”
Nehemia snorted. “Galathynius, if you spent that much time primping, I’d never let you in my lab.”
“Don’t I know it.” Aelin sat down on the second rolling stool and scooted over to Ren’s side. “Okay, Nemi. It’s your experiment.”
Quickly but clearly, Nehemia ran through her usual list of removal instructions, then dismissed Ren to go take his shower. He emerged about half an hour later, wearing his robe, his hair damp and his face…
“Aelin, come here.” Nehemia motioned for Ren to sit down and scooted her stool up close so she could examine his ruddy face. “This doesn’t look like a typical hot-shower flush.”
Aelin scanned the redness on Ren’s face and nodded in agreement. “Allsbrook, does it itch?”
“Not on my face, no,” he answered.
“Are you itchy anywhere else?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Chest, elbows, upper arms, torso, knees, feet, most of my back, some other areas. It’s not bad, it’s more annoying, like when you have a mosquito bite that you want to scratch.”
“Would you please remove your robe so we can see if there’s anything visibly wrong with your skin?” Nehemia asked.
“One sec.” Ren hopped off the chair, went into the shower room, and came back out a moment later. “Just wanted to put my boxers on.” He took off his robe, hung it on the hook in the wall, and sat back down.
“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled.
Nehemia ran her analytical gaze over Ren’s body, charting the red rash spread over the areas that he had said were itchy. It looked like an ordinary chafing rash, the skin irritated and slightly split in some places, and some of the redness faded, indicating that it was probably sensitive to the heat of the shower he had taken to remove the SecondSkin.
“Are you allergic to latex or any of its components?” Nehemia inquired.
“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Ren said.
Nehemia hummed. “Ae, I have thoughts. What do you think?”
“Prolonged exposure?” Aelin asked. “It almost seems like what happens when you wear the same tightly fitting garment—like a leotard—for an extended period of time and it chafes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. It could also potentially be compounded by bacteria and dirt buildup under the material. It lays atop the skin, and as much as we want to claim that there’s no gap, we know there has to be a microscopic distance between the material and the wearer’s skin that could allow that to happen.” Nehemia gently touched two gloved fingers to the rash on Ren’s chest. “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
She pressed down. “Does it hurt when I do this?”
He shook his head. “No. Itches, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“That’s a good sign, at least.” Nehemia sighed. “Okay, Galathynius, we need to talk before we can decide how to move forward.” She beckoned Aelin towards the back of the room. “Should we go ahead with another application?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper.
Aelin pressed her lips together. “Well, we can’t exactly have him disappear while we try and work out the rash.”
“I don’t want it to spread or get any worse because it wasn’t treated, though,” Nehemia said. “I think we need to at least treat the rash.”
“Yes, I agree, but how will that work with another application?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “And how should we treat the rash if we’re not fully certain of what it is and how it works?”
“We haven’t yet agreed to do another full application,” Nehemia reminded her, “and my instinct is saying to treat it like it’s a normal chafing rash—hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, that kind of thing.”
Aelin nodded. “Okay, that sounds fine. How do you think we should apply the SecondSkin?”
“Hmm.” Nehemia tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “We could selectively apply it and avoid the rash areas. Theoretically, he’s not going to be stripping down in front of anyone for any reason, so he really only needs to have the right fingerprints and face, maybe footprints too. I vote we just apply the SecondSkin to his hands, face and neck, and feet.”
“I think we should apply it from hands up to elbows, just to be safe, but that sounds like a solid plan. Do we have hydrocortisone cream here?”
“Should be in the first aid bin.” Nehemia returned to Ren’s chair. “Okay, Allsbrook, here’s how we’re going to proceed. We’ll treat your rash and reapply the synthetic to your hands and lower arms, face and neck, and feet, which should hopefully give the rash time and breathing room to heal. You should apply this cream every day, as often as necessary, to the parts that are most itchy or inflamed.” She took the tube of hydrocortisone cream that Aelin handed her and applied it to Ren’s rash.
“Is this something I can find at the pharmacy?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s a common treatment,” Aelin replied. She walked over to the safe built into the far wall, keyed in the combination, opened the compartment, and retrieved a sleek steel canister from inside. She closed the compartment back up and brought the canister over to the prep table next to where Ren sat.
Nehemia took off her used gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Ren confirmed.
Working in tandem, Aelin and Nehemia carefully laid the almost-invisible film of SecondSkin over Ren’s hands, forearms, face, and feet, carefully molding it to his skin. The pieces had all been prepped beforehand, since it took a significant amount of time to press fingerprints and other distinctive blemishes and markings into the synthetic material, and the SecondSkin molded to Ren’s skin flawlessly, leaving almost no evidence that it was there.
“Come back in two weeks,” Aelin instructed him as she disposed of her gloves. “We’ll want to see if your rash has improved, which will help us decide how to move forward.”
“Got it.” Ren went back into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back out as Chaol Westfall, contact lenses placed and bland grin on his face. “See you in two weeks, Dr. Ytger, Galathynius.” He left the lab.
“We should have seen this coming,” Nehemia groaned when Ren was gone, chucking her gloves into the trash bin. “Honestly, Ae, I feel like such an idiot.”
“Nemi, you are a genius,” Aelin reassured her. “You’ve been so busy with development and research, and we didn’t even know this could happen until we saw it today.”
“Yeah.” The chief engineer sighed. “I need to go chart all of this, and you probably have meetings or whatever shit you do in your big fancy office.” She smirked at Aelin.
Aelin rolled her eyes, nudging her friend in the shoulder. “I’d say something smartass, but I do have a meeting pretty soon. Let me know if anything comes up with Allsbrook, yeah?”
“Of course.” Nehemia waved and turned down a side hallway towards her office. Aelin headed back to the prep room, put her lab coat in the laundry basket, and collected her things before heading to her office and the inevitable day of meetings.
Two weeks later, Ren came back to the labs, his rash significantly improved. Nehemia removed and reapplied the SecondSkin in the same few areas and instructed him to keep treating the rash, as she didn’t want to move forward with full SecondSkin application until it had completely healed.
“It’s a good sign that the rash is healing,” she told Aelin over the phone later that day. “In theory, that means the SecondSkin could cause a rash from chafing, irritation, or prolonged use, but the rash can be treated like normal.”
“Definitely a good sign.” Aelin jotted down that note. “Hopefully, that means SecondSkin can be used for the wide audience we’ve been intending all along.”
“How much longer do you think this is going to be in development and testing?” Nehemia asked. “It’s been over two years, Ae. Shouldn’t this be about the time where we start to consider trial groups?”
“I’d say yes, but we’ve only just learned about the rash, and we’re not yet sure if the current formula won’t cause that rash.” Aelin was partially thinking out loud. “My gut says to wait until the Ren trial isn’t getting a rash, and then move into trial groups.” Which will give me more time to get rid of Maeve before she can make a move for the SecondSkin tech like Arobynn did, she added silently.
She was the only person who knew why Arobynn Hamel had died when he did—the former crime lord had taken one step too close to her highly guarded technology, and she’d had no choice but to retaliate. It was…not unexpected that Maeve would try to do the same.
~
Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane.
People had told him that frequently, ever since he was a reckless kid jumping off the playground structures at school, but he’d never had the thought himself until he was strolling into the Night Owl—a popular nightclub that was rumored to be the primary front of Maeve’s organization—in tight leather pants, a silver sequined jacket, and no shirt. Because rumor also had it that Maeve, the so-called Queen of the Night, had a…taste for handsome men, and he had it on good information that Rourke Farran was a frequent guest at the Night Owl.
He sauntered up to the bouncer with a lazy, easy grin sprawled across his face. “Hey.”
The bouncer, who could accurately be depicted as a concrete brick, stared flatly at him. “Invitation only, fancy boy.”
“I’m with Cadre,” Fen returned, sliding his hand into his jacket to retrieve a beautiful ivory card with purple script embossed across its fine surface. He waved the card at the bouncer. “And they’re expecting me in ten minutes, so it would be great if you’d let me get my pretty ass through the door.”
“Fuckin’ performers,” the bouncer muttered as he swung open the door.
“Thank you,” Fen crooned, blowing a kiss at the stone-faced man. The door slammed behind him, and he tucked the invitation—expertly forged by Celaena’s man Nox—back into his jacket and slipped into the crowd of dancing bodies. He winked and smirked his way through the crowd, letting the thumping beat of the music ease his rhythm, until he reached the bar.
Sure enough, Rourke Farran lounged on a barstool near the far end, one hand around a bottle of beer and the other around the waist of a blonde woman whose lipstick was littered all over his neck.
Fenrys muffled the snort he wanted to let out and waved over the bartender. “I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” he purred, giving the guy, who was probably in his early twenties, a wink.
The bartender’s blush was faintly visible in the flashing strobe lights. “Want that extra strong?” His gaze flicked ever so quickly to Fen’s bare chest.
“Give it to me as-is, and then we’ll see.” Fen lowered his eyes to half-mast and watched the bartender make his drink. The other man threw the drink together effortlessly, sliding it across the bartop to Fenrys with a little smile of his own.
“I get off shift in an hour,” he said softly, dark blue eyes alight with hope and a little hesitancy.
“Good to know.” Fen took a long sip of his cocktail and nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.” In his periphery, he noticed Farran push the blonde out of his lap and stand up, swaying a little, and turn towards the dancefloor.
He brushed past Fen on his way over. “Get a fuckin’ room,” he slurred, his glassy-eyed gaze flicking once over Fen’s glittering jacket and tight pants. “Goddamn fancy boy.”
“I’ll be back.” Fen drained the rest of his drink, tossed a twenty on the bar, and rose, following Farran into the sea of dancing bodies. He kept a discreet distance from the man, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to watch the man’s moves.
As he had suspected, Farran oozed sleaziness. What he was doing on the dancefloor barely passed for dancing; his gyrating hips and roaming hands were just barely short of outright having sex in public. He moved from girl to girl, changing partners as often as the music changed, leaving a good number of people giving him dirty looks for being too handsy. Fen snorted, knowing that the man probably deserved their scorn. Farran began to move towards the doors, and Fen slipped onto the dancefloor himself, moving fluidly through the crowd, keeping a constant eye on Farran’s steady, subtle escape route.
Time to move, Moonbeam.
Feeling a twinge of guilt for not staying to meet the cute bartender, Fenrys watched Farran leave the club and waited exactly a minute and a half before he headed out as well, putting enough unsteadiness in his step to indicate intoxication. Once he was out of the club, he glanced down the street in both directions and then went left. Even if he couldn’t track Farran, he knew where the bastard lived.
After a quick pit stop in an alley to swap out his flashy jacket for a closely fitted black knit turtleneck, Fenrys headed into the tidy grid of streets that made up western Orynth, taking a meandering route towards the tidy, wealthy neighborhood where Rourke Farran lived. The neighborhood was decked out with security cameras, as Celaena had warned him, so he looped around through the expansive back yards, slinking easily through the landscaped trees and plants until he came to the fence that marked the edge of Farran’s property. There weren’t cameras along the back fence, primarily because of the rotating patrol of guard dogs and security guards, so Fen swiftly scaled the fence and hopped into a tree.
He waited for the first round of patrols to pass before he carefully reached into the thigh pocket of his pants, withdrew a slim, vacuum-sealed package of meat, quietly cut open the plastic, and tossed the meat in a gentle arc directly onto the grass beside the paved walkway that wove around Farran’s house. A pair of guard dogs came barreling around the corner within sixty seconds, barking and growling and quickly discovering the meat. The second and third patrols weren’t far behind, and it was only a few minutes before all eight guard dogs were tearing apart the meat.
“The fuck is happening?” A security guard rounded the corner, breathless from sprinting. He saw the dogs calming down and settling back into their patrols after having finished the meat. “God. Which idiot dropped snacks everywhere?”
Another guard sprinted around the corner. “Everything okay?”
“One of you jackasses dropped the dogs’ snacks,” the first guard snapped.
The second one raised his hands in innocence. “I’m not the snack keeper tonight, dude.”
“Whatever. Just get your ass back to rounds.” The guards nudged the dogs back onto the path and headed away.
Mentally, Fenrys started counting minutes. He got to four, then five, then slowly and carefully slid down from the tree and darted across the lawn and onto the shadowed back porch. A moment later, he’d scaled the drainpipe leading up the side of the house and was perched on the balcony directly outside the master bedroom.
Wherein Rourke Farran was fully naked in front of his mirror, with his—
“Fucking hell,” Fen groaned to himself, shaking his head. “Disgusting.” But also enough of a distraction for him to slip down onto the balcony, pull a slender silver tube from his sleeve, raise it to his lips, and blow a tiny needle dart straight into the back of Farran’s neck.
Farran crumpled to the floor.
Good work, Moonbeam, Fenrys complimented himself. Now you just have to get the asshole out of his booby-trap house and over to the river warehouse.
Easy.
Right?
~
“He’s all yours, Boss,” Fenrys drawled as Aelin strolled past on the way out of the storage warehouse.
She glanced at her smart watch. “It’s only the eleventh, Moon Moon. That was quick.”
He shrugged, irreverent as always. “What can I say? I like to work fast.”
“Hopefully not all the time.” She smirked wickedly. “Your bartender boyfriend might be disappointed.”
Fenrys flushed a delightful shade of pink. “How the fuck—”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Moon Moon.” She winked wickedly at him. “How’s our special guest doing? Is he adjusted to his new home?”
“It took him some time to get used to the room,” Fen returned, casually pulling a set of brass knuckles from a pocket of his cargo pants and spinning them over his fist.
Aelin chuckled, soft and lethal. “Not surprising. Thanks, Fen.” She paused just in front of the side door, her gloved knuckles resting on the doorknob. “Oh, Moon Moon?”
“Yeah?” He froze, his posture still as a…soldier’s.
“I’ll need you for cleanup on the twenty-seventh.”
He nodded. “Got it, Boss.”
Aelin keyed in the door code and left the warehouse, satisfied that she had set the wheels of her plan in motion. While she trusted Con’s assessment of his brother, she wasn’t fully convinced that she could completely trust anyone on her payroll, and Fen’s easy charm masked a cold, heartless willingness to carry out whatever depraved task she demanded of him. Furthermore, that stance of his—the utter stillness of his posture when someone ordered him to stop—had been pricking at her memory for days, and she’d only just realized why.
Fenrys stood like a soldier. More than that—he stood like one of her uncle’s men, one of the Terrasen Special Forces.
And Aelin knew the day one of Gav’s men got into Celaena Sardothien’s business would be the day her double identity began to crumble. Even if she wanted to trust Fenrys, she had to confirm for herself that she could, and that meant giving him a fake kill date in case he needed to report back to someone in the military.
If he did, if he turned out to be a spy, then the TSF would come sniffing around for Rourke Farran when it was already weeks too late.
~
Aelin laced her fingers with Rowan’s as they strolled through the fancy restaurant’s glass front doors, something settling deep in her chest at the simple, casual intimacy of holding his hand. Her mind had been running in overdrive for the last two weeks, and even now, with ten days left in the month, she hadn’t been able to slow the constant dizzying whirl of her thoughts.
Rowan was one of the only people who’d brought her a glimpse of peace recently, in the few scattered dates they’d been able to snatch between both of their busy schedules. He flicked her a tiny, secret smile, one that only she ever saw, before approaching the hostess stand with the same confidence that cloaked him when he was in his investigator clothes and badge. And dear god, the things that confidence did to her already throbbing pussy—she was half tempted to slip off her panties and sneak them to him under the table.
But she was a mature woman, so she wouldn’t.
“Whitethorn, party of two, seven-thirty reservation,” Rowan said to the hostess.
The young woman—probably a college student, if Aelin’s guess was correct—tapped a few things into her tablet. “Your table is ready, Mr. Whitethorn. Please, this way.” She led Rowan and Aelin through the low-lit restaurant towards the far wall of windows. Through the glass was a breathtaking view of Orynth, the city cast in shades of bronze as the sun began to drift downwards.
“Gorgeous,” Aelin murmured, captivated by the view.
Rowan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. “Not half as much as you.”
She blushed. “You’re quite the flirt, you—oh!” Unexpectedly, a man’s shoulder brushed hers as they wove through the restaurant floor. She looked up to find none other than Police Captain Chaol Westfall, wearing a nice suit and a mildly shocked expression.
“M–Miss Galathynius,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “And, ah, Lieutenant Whitethorn. I…I apologize for running into you.”
“Westfall, what are you doing here?” Rowan inquired, polite on the surface but with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“Considering we aren’t at work, it’s none of your business, White-horn, but I was at dinner with a friend of mine,” Chaol shot back. There was definite animosity underlying his words.
Rowan raised a brow. “You…have friends?”
“Ah, lighten up, darling,” Aelin interjected before either man could resort to fists. “We don’t all live at our workplace, as we seem to have discovered. And Ro, darling, we’ve left that poor hostess floundering.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards their table.
He shot Chaol one last suspicious look. Chaol returned the look, but broke the stare-off to nod respectfully at Aelin as she passed. “Ms. Galathynius.”
When they reached their table, Rowan pulled out Aelin’s chair before seating himself across from her. Questions brewed in the shifting of his eyes. “Question, Ae—do you know Westfall? How?”
“That was two questions,” she teased. “Yes, I’ve met Captain Westfall before. It’s all part of the business; I’ve met just about every notable figure in Orynth at some function or another. I probably met the police captain at some kind of gala.”
Rowan nodded slowly, digesting the information. “That makes sense. All those faces probably run together after long enough, yeah?”
“I try to keep them separate, but yeah.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “There’s only so many names and faces you can memorize before they all start to appear the same.”
“Why, Miss Galathynius,” Rowan drawled, his face alight with mischief, “are you implying that there are too many men in suits in this fine city?”
She shrugged, meeting the gleam of his humor with her own dry wit. “I’m simply observing that if a few less of them were to bother me at every function I attend, my mind would be clearer.”
“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap, love.” Raising a brow, he sipped his water.
“It sometimes takes a moment to pull out a name from the file cabinet,” she returned. “And—oh look, here comes our server.” Their server, a sandy-blonde-haired man in his late twenties wearing the restaurant staff’s uniform of white shirt, black trousers, and maroon tie, wore a pleasant (if tired) smile as he pulled his notepad from his apron pocket.
“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear about our specials this evening?”
Aelin glanced at Rowan, whose eyes had visibly narrowed as he scanned the server. The look was so blatantly male, she almost rolled her eyes, but her possessive buzzard relaxed when he saw the silver wedding band adorning the server’s left ring finger. “I actually think we’re ready to order, if that’s alright?”
James the server just about melted to the floor in relief. “Are you serious?” he asked, lowering his voice to an incredulous whisper. “I—I haven’t had a single easy table tonight, and it’s the last two hours of a double and—I’m so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me.”
Aelin chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, was it? Customer service is a rough job.”
“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled.
Rowan shot Aelin a confused look. “Ae, love, I haven’t even looked at the menu.”
“Do you trust me, love?” she asked.
He pursed his lips, not quite used to letting someone else order his food. “All right.”
“Perfect.” She blew him a subtle kiss. “Okay, James, is it alright if I give you our order a few steps away?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, keeping it still loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I want to surprise my boyfriend; I’ve been here more than once but he hasn’t ever been.”
“Of course.” James smiled, a genuine one this time. “I brought my wife here once when we were dating—took half my paycheck, but it was worth it.” He stepped aside a few paces and Aelin followed, quietly giving her and Rowan’s order. The server’s pen flew over his page.
“And say hi to Chef Emrys for me, would you?” she concluded.
“You…you know the head chef?”
“Bit of a long story, but yes. Tell him Aelin Galathynius says hi, please. Thanks!” She came back to the table and slipped into her seat, leaving the very nice but very shocked server to collect his wits after realizing just who he was talking to and go to place the order.
“Poor guy looks like he just got hit by a truck,” Rowan observed, smothering a laugh.
Aelin smirked. “I may or may not have given him my full name.”
“Ah, the name drop.” He nodded sagely. “Just what every famous CEO has to do to the poor server who got their table.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth for a soldier, you know,” Aelin mused, her words slowing to a near- seductive pace. “A respectable man would never insinuate that his date uses her job title for perks.”
“I never said I was respectable.” Lazily, his gaze roamed down her upper body, admiring the way her little black dress scooped beneath her collarbones, accentuating the gleam of the single small teardrop diamond pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat.
James came by with two glasses of white wine and an appetizer platter with two sharing plates, breaking the dangerous haze of the moment, and Aelin thanked the server as he headed off, no doubt to take care of his other tables.
Rowan’s jaw slacked just a bit at the sight of the cured meat and prawns arranged on the plate. “Please tell me you didn’t order the most expensive things on the menu, Ae.”
“Of course not.” She reached across the table and linked her hands with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. “I got us an appetizer to share, a first course, a meat course, and a dessert, and I’m not the kind of person who orders expensive items just to flash her money around.”
He breathed out a deep, controlled exhale. “I know, love. It’s just…” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “I’m not used to any of this—the fancy restaurants, the fancy food, the way people don’t bat an eye at spending thirty dollars for some toast.”
She cracked a grin at that. “Let me introduce you to the fine, fine work of Chef Emrys, then. I actually used to work for him, way back when I was eighteen and my parents decided I needed to experience real-people jobs.”
“Way back when,” he drawled, teasing her.
“Hush, old man,” she teased right back, plating up a sampling of the appetizer plate and sliding it over to him. “I know I’m only twenty-seven, but my stint as a hostess feels like forever ago.”
“Kind of like how basic training feels like forever ago for me.” Rowan agreed. He bit into one of the cured prawns and nearly moaned, his eyes closing in joy. “God, this is incredible.”
She beamed. “Wait until you taste Chef Emrys’s filet mignon, Ro.”
The conversation flowed freely between them after that, only interrupted by the arrival of new food and wine. A mushroom and herb risotto accompanied by an aged Riesling. The promised filet mignon, which almost made Rowan cry with joy, and a spectacular six-year Merlot. And finally, individual blackberry cobblers, the berries ripe and fresh and perfectly sweet-tart, paired with the restaurant’s signature Cabernet.
“I don’t think I can move,” Rowan sighed as he set down his last empty wineglass. “But it was absolutely worth every bite.”
“I think I’m going to dream of this cobbler,” Aelin added, regretfully nudging her empty dish towards the end of the table. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave, yes?”
“Gonna need three to five business days,” he mumbled.
Her laughter rippled across their low-lit table. “I love when you let that humor of yours loose.”
A different kind of hunger flickered in his forest eyes. “And I love when I have you all to myself.”
“Possessive much?”
He just shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, love, but we both know you only come for me.”
Flames flickered through her blood at the deep, sinful timbre of his voice. “That’s only because I haven’t introduced you to my drawer full of battery-powered boyfriends.”
The banked embers simmering in his expression flared into a bonfire, and he sat upright and beckoned their server over. “Suddenly, I’m ready to go home.”
James was at their table within two minutes. “How was everything for you tonight? Can I get you anything else?”
“It was absolutely mind-blowing, as always,” Aelin said. “And no, I think we’ll just take the check.” Covertly, she slipped James her credit card, and he gave her a small nod as he went over to the server computer to process the payment.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” Rowan murmured, the velvet caress of his voice stroking down her spine. “Mind-blowing, Ae?”
“Would you happen to know anything about that?” she asked, innocently.
In response, he trailed a brazen stare down her figure. “Seems like you need a refresher.” He stood up far too smoothly for someone who had just finished his fourth glass of wine, gave her his hand for stability as she rose, and then rested that hand against the small of her back, his touch burning through her dress.
Their server returned with a check folder in his hand and passed it over to Aelin, who glanced over the receipts, signed her name, and tucked her credit card and her copy of the receipt back into her small handbag. “Thanks, James.”
“Ah, thank you, Ms. Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn. You might have been the best table I’ve had all day.” He tucked the folder into his apron pocket with a wry grin. “Have a good one!”
“If it’s good, it won’t be just one,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear.
A shiver danced down her neck. “Is that a promise, Lieutenant?”
He held the door open for her as they left the restaurant. “Ask me again when you’re begging for my cock, love.”
~
Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, was expecting Whitethorn’s visit, but the man’s presence in his office still gave him an oddly unsettled feeling.
He pasted a bland, blasé expression onto his face. “Yes, Whitethorn?”
Rowan dropped into the chair opposite Ren’s, regarding him with a piercing look that almost seemed to pierce beneath the layer of SecondSkin cloaking his true identity. “How the hell do you know Aelin, Westfall?”
Ren shrugged. “We met at some city leader event a while back. Some big thing the mayor hosted so the big names of Orynth could pretend to be civil to each other.”
“Yeah? How long ago was that?”
Fucking think, Allsbrook. Chaol Westfall had been the police captain for about three years, Ren had taken over as Chaol six months ago in January, and the mayor’s Leaders Gala was always held in…the fall…“Last October, I believe. You’ll have to give me a little grace on the estimate, since I was damn busy with actual work.”
“Cute of you to think you can get away with sneering at me from your soapbox, Westfall,” Whitethorn said dryly. “Well, I checked the dates, and the mayor always holds his little party in October, so I’ll buy your story.”
“My story, huh? When did you get so desperate for leads that you started accusing coworkers, Whitethorn?”
“Shut up,” Rowan grunted. “I’m just making sure you haven’t been doing anything shady with my girlfriend, jackass.”
“Ooooooh, we’re using official terms now?” Ren couldn’t resist the urge to press Whitethorn’s buttons. “I thought you were allergic to that kind of commitment.”
“I wouldn’t get smart-mouthed with me, Westfailure,” Rowan grumbled. “I’ve seen you going to the Galathynius labs. What the hell are you doing there?”
Ren muffled a rather creative string of curses. “Whitethorn, I know you’re terse, but what the hell was that subject change? Give me some goddamn context, for shit’s sake.”
“Fine.” Rowan pulled up some security camera footage on his tablet. “This is a record of the feed from the Galathynius, Inc. lab complex’s security cameras, and before you open your mouth, I have clearance. Two and a half weeks ago, on June 4th, you went to the labs. You went again yesterday.” He tapped on the video, and the footage played, clearly showing Chaol walk into the labs and walk back out after a period of fast-forwarding through nothing.
“Well.” Think, you fucking idiot! “Since we are currently quietly investigating a connection between Galathynius, Incorporated, and the, uh, Shadow Killer—”
“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected.
“Whatever. That person. You think there’s a connection, and I’m pursuing it. I happen to know a scientist who works in the Galathynius labs, and I set up a couple of meetings to speak with her.” Ren folded his arms across his chest. Buy the story, Whitethorn.
Whitethorn frowned. “Why didn’t I hear about these meetings?”
“Because I was being discreet, duh.” Ren poured a heavy dose of sarcasm into the last word.
Rowan grumbled something that sounded like a string of cussing. “I didn’t get sent to this investigation for the laugh track, Westfall.” He stood up and left the office, carelessly banging the door shut behind him.
“Jackass,” Ren grumbled. He turned back to the endless slog of paperwork and files he had to get through, because the job of police captain came with a lifetime supply of that shit. Against all beliefs, he’d actually come to enjoy this job, this role, and he was just as invested in the case as Whitethorn was.
He just happened to be on a different side.
~
This is fucking insane, this is fucking insane, this is fucking insane. Those were the words running through Fenrys’s head as he and his twin strolled down the secret back stars of the Night Owl. He was barely able to focus on the opulence of the hallway—plush velvet lining the walls, fine mahogany banisters, and black wall torches and overhead lights giving the whole space a deep purple glow—when his mind was so focused on what lay at the end of the walk.
“Relax,” Con muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed before we’ve found out what she wants.”
“I’m trying,” Fen grumbled. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, the same sequined one he’d worn to the Night Owl three weeks ago. “But—”
“But nothing.” Con cut him off. “Remember why we’re here.”
“Right.” Because Celaena had trusted the two of them with infiltrating Maeve’s lair. Because they were the key to taking down the last obstacle in Boss Sardothien’s path, whatever the hell it was.
The masked guard in front of the twins stopped at a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said, expressionless. He went into the room, closed the door behind him, and came out a few minutes later just as expressionless. “Maeve will see you now.” And he opened the door.
Fenrys took a quick, deep breath and strolled into the dark-paneled office, Con at his side, both of their gazes immediately locking onto the woman who sat behind the imposing black marble desk at the far end of the room. Her face was pale, nearly opalescent in the darkness, her lips were stained scarlet, and her unnervingly violet gaze was fixed on the twins.
“Thank you for being willing to meet on such short notice, boys,” Maeve said, her calm, cold voice slicing through the room like a blade.
“Our honor,” Fen replied. Maeve gestured at the pair of leather chairs opposite her desk, and the twins sat down.
She steepled her fingers under her chin. “I have a job for you.”
Con shared a loaded look with Fen. “Both of us, or just one?”
“Both of you. I need one of you for each side of the job.”
Slowly, Fen nodded. “Alright. What can we do for you?”
One corner of Maeve’s scarlet lips curled upwards. She retrieved a thin manila file from her desk and slid it across the desktop. “Fenrys, kill this man.” The order was as clearly and casually enunciated as if she was asking for a glass of water. “Connall, you will stay here to monitor Fenrys’s task.”
Beside Fenrys, Con’s posture stiffened. “How?”
“We have an advanced tech space that will provide all the equipment you need, as well as the chance to experiment with some of the devices we’re working on.” A gleam flickered briefly through the Queen of the Night’s unflinching stare. “And I require company.”
“Alright.” Con dipped his head in acquiescence, flatly refusing to meet the sharp, concerned gaze Fen shot towards him.
“Excellent.” Maeve smiled, and it sent a shiver down Fenrys’s spine. “You may go, Fenrys. I expect it won’t take you too long to get the job done.”
“I pride myself on efficiency,” he smirked, masking the oily chill in his blood with a lazy, half-wild grin. He rose, nodded at Maeve, and strolled out of the room and then out of the club, his steps sure and unfaltering until he was around the corner and out of sight.
Then, he ducked into a side alley and slumped against the wall, his veneer of easy confidence dropping to reveal his hidden terror. Fuck! He’d left his brother in that spider’s lair; gods only knew what could happen if either of them failed to do what Maeve commanded. Hands shaking, Fenrys reached into the hidden inner pockets of his jacket, his fingers closing around the comfortingly cold steel of his favorite twin flat knives and the envelope containing the thick piece of cardstock that had been in the file. The least he could do—for himself, for Connall, and for the man he had to kill—was carry out his task quickly, before the Queen of the Night could hurt his brother.
And so, heart heavy, Fenrys Moonbeam adjusted his jacket and the weapons contained within it and began his prowl towards Orynth Police headquarters.
~
Rowan arrived at Orynth PD unusually early on the morning of June 30. After a restless night—he’d tossed and turned far into the wee hours of the morning, snatched probably three solid hours of sleep, and had a muddled collection of dream snippets—he’d just decided to bite the bullet and drag his ass out of bed at five in the morning. Shortly before six, he keyed in his code at the door of the police station, let himself into the quiet, chilly building, and dragged himself to the locker room to dump his bag and splash some icy water on his face. With his vest strapped on and his badge around his arm, he grabbed his laptop bag and trudged up the stairs to the offices, ducking into his office to drop off his things and try to form a to-do list.
Fuck, he needed caffeine. He needed it badly enough that he’d even drink the bitter shit from the common-room carafe. So he pushed his chair in, left his office, and went down to the bullpen, following the faint scent of the first batch of coffee. Operating on autopilot, he was halfway to the break room before he smelled it.
Blood.
That coppery tang was unmistakable.
Fuck.
Coffee forgotten, Rowan whirled around and strode back to the bullpen, following his nose like some kind of hound. A bloodhound, whispered the traitorous part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Aelin’s witty laugh. In any other context, he might have laughed along. But not this time. Head down, he tracked the metallic stench of blood across the bullpen, its tang growing heavier with each successive step he took. The blood, wherever it was, was still fresh enough to be that strong, but old enough to have spread its scent through a significant part of the floor. Both of those things worried him. A lot.
Hand straying to his holster, Rowan rounded the corner towards the cluster of desks where the detectives and Westfall worked whenever Westfall was in the bullpen. He inhaled, catching a lungful of blood-scent, so strong it nearly knocked him back. That part of the floor was still shadowed in the early-morning dimness, so he flicked on the nearest light for a better visual.
The flashlight in his hand clattered to the floor. His other hand clenched around the cold, smooth handle of his gun.
He’d found the source of the blood stench.
He blinked. Shook his head. He snapped his jaw shut, swore at himself a few times, imagined Gav yelling at him for losing his mind like a goddamn fucking green idiot, and took one step forwards.
He froze.
Sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, the back of his skull concave as if bashed in with a heavy, blunt object, with a bullet hole ripped through his temple and knives pinning his now-limp hands to the desk, was Chaol Westfall.
Rowan locked up the side of himself that immediately started screaming questions and approached Chaol’s…corpse…carefully, forcing the investigative side of himself to take the lead. He cautiously nudged Westfall with his baton, noting the lack of response. With that amount of blood loss, he’d be more shocked if the man was alive, but he still had to go through the steps. As much as he could, Rowan circled the body, clocking each new wound he found on the man’s body. It was…more brutal than he had initially noticed, slashes and cuts scattered over the body, as well as the knives stabbed through the hands and the obvious point-blank range of the bullet, marked by its entry and exit wounds.
As he came to the other side, Rowan stopped once again, because there was a goddamned note tacked to Westfall’s forehead. No—nailed to his forehead.
Fuck.
He pulled on the pair of latex gloves he kept tucked into his belt and gingerly reached for the note, lifting it up enough to read it. He didn’t remove it; he was too experienced to fuck with a crime scene like that. He did, however, lift up the paper, which was surprisingly thick and high-quality for a fucking assassin signoff. Three words were printed onto the note in dark ink. He tilted the paper slightly, and the black ink shimmered with a dark purple sheen, indicative both of its quality and probably of the signature colors of whoever the hell had written the message.
Tread carefully, Lieutenant.
There was no signature. There was, however, a symbol stamped beneath the short, threatening message. Rowan peered at the stamp, sharp gaze scanning it until the shape came into focus. It was an almost photographic image of an owl, the bird posed in eerie stillness, its inked eyes large and unblinking. And atop the owl’s head sat a crown, a perfect arc of five jeweled spikes.
It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.
~~~
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#my writing#until proven guilty#criminal/investigator au#rowaelin#aelin galathynius#rowan whitethorn#rowan x aelin#rowaelin fanfic#rowaelin fanfiction#rowaelin au#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfic#throne of glass au#throne of glass fanfiction#tw: big bad villain hehe#tw: violence#tw: fighting#tw: blood#tw: minor character death
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Hi Krav, I have a question regarding your Little Lamb AU.
Does Eda know Luz is the princess? From what I interpreted she doesn't, and I really want to know what her reaction would be when she eventually finds out. Speaking of, just how will she find out? Will Luz come clean and tell her of her own accord, or will she be forced to? Will Lillith reveal Luz's identity and try to bring her back? Ooh that could result in your AUs version of YBOS' climax!
you're 100% right about luz's identity playing a part in this AU's version of the season 1 finale. i dont have the details planned out but i'll at least explain my idea of how eda finds out (i wanted to make it into a comic but uhhhhh i burnt out on drawing again whoops)
belos sorta protected luz's identity as she grew up as part of his whole "keep the lamb pure" thing so there's like, never any pictures of her anywhere. for luz's birthday every year the official emperor's coven penstagram account just posts the same pictures of her when she had her coronation ceremony and you wouldn't exactly recognize someone in person if you'd only ever seen grainy pictures of them as a five year old.
also, luz purposefully keeps it a secret for a long time. she doesn't want to be treated different just because she happens to be the princess!!! she's tired of it!!! she just wants to be a normal witch and learn magic!!! at first she tries to hide that she's human too but that's a bit harder and also, similarly to canon, no one really... gives a shit? everyone just shrugs it off except gus & boscha (and those two care abt it for VERY different reasons.)
at some point around the end of season 1, belos finds out from SOMEONE (torn between kikimora, lilith, & hunter) that luz is apparently masquerading as a student of hexside & living with the owl lady while learning wild magic from her.
belos, who had legit thought luz had just like gotten lost or kidnapped for ransom or something, obviously looses his fucking mind. outwardly, he's like "oh no the owl lady's kidnapped the princess!!" but he 100% knows what the fuck she's up to.
so he decides to just say fuck it and makes a whole ass national announcement that the princess has been kidnapped by wild witches as a form of revenge against belos & that the titan calls on all citizens to help aid him in finding her & bringing her home.
he includes an updated picture of her along with her full ass government name and broadcasts it to every phone & crystal ball across the isles.
this, obviously, fucks luz up severely because not only does everyone know who she was, she's also putting anyone close to her in direct danger bcus the emperor wants her so badly.
eda is eda over it. she doesn't fucking care. she's mostly just concerned about luz, who saw the broadcast at school and ran home in tears and didnt even pause before running up the stairs and locking herself in her room. eda doesnt treat her differently and she comforts luz by being like "eh im already public enemy #1 this doesnt make much a difference to me"
actually, i think it will be lillith who reveals to the emperor that luz is with eda... but not on purpose. i think that lilith and luz never knew each other and she just reported back to the emperor about her quest to capture eda and was just like "oh yeah she's got this human apprentice now-- she's named luz or something" and then belos would crack his neck from looking down at lilith so fast
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"Say, Paimon. Would you mind taste testing these chocolates for me?"
"Free chocolates!? Paimon would never say no to that! ...Hahn~ Mm! Not bad! The texture is a little grainy though."
"I see. I'll need to work on improving that."
"...Traveler~ Could it be that you're making Valentine's Day chocolates for your lovely companion? Ehe~ Geez~ You're going to make me blush!"
"Actually..."
"ーー But in that case you shouldn't let Paimon taste test them! It'll ruin the surprise!"
"Mm...My bad."
( I better make some for Paimon too or she'll throw a fit later... )
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A Good Omens Fanfic (please help me think of a title) *contains some s2 spoilers*
Part 1:
The first thing Crowley remembered was his roaring headache. Then his gut shifted uncomfortably. It had been a long time since Crowley used his powers to shrink and grow his body. He almost forgot the terrible stomach pains that came with that. He recalled stumbling through the graveyard in Aziraphale’s arms. Then the earth opened up and sucked him down what he only could describe as a great big ‘straw.’ Gray shadows shifted side-to-side, and he heard a giggling — no — a chortling. His yellowy snake eyes always took a moment to adjust to change of light. He felt around for his small, circular sunglasses. He wore them for the look of it, of course, but there were other reasons Crowley wore them besides for fashion. They helped him see better, too.
You look silly, the angel said at one point in the last one-hundred years. He had changed his glasses up pretty frequently. He thought that maybe Aziraphale would like each next model. Then again, the angel hardly ever saw what was directly in front of him.
The shadows became grainy and then came together. Lord Beezelbub was sitting on their throne, one leg crossed over the other, body stretched over the arm rests. Flies buzzed around their head and landed on their dark, dark eyes. Between them and Crowley, a long table spanned the length of the room. On one side of it, six demons sat straight. They looked down over their noses at him with disapproval.
“Can you lower your voices? I had a wild night, I’ll tell you.” He said this with a sarcastic tone. He wanted the demons know he wasn’t scared. Demons didn’t ‘get scared’ and he was terrified. “Partied all night. Got many humans drunk with wine. Some man broke a bottle over another’s head. Very, very bad,” an air of pride stung as it left his mouth.
“No one has said anything,” a junior demon spoke.
“Silence!” the lead demon barked. “The Demon Crowley--”
“Yeah? Stating the obvious today are we?” He kept his smile living.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Eh,” he looked around for effect. “I’d say we’re in Hell, but I’m not sure.”
“Of course we’re ‘in Hell.’ Do you know where in Hell we are?”
“Where the hell am I?” he laughed. The demons sat in silence. “Tough crowd.”
But Crowley knew were he was. He was in the Judgment Room. Not the ‘judgment room’ that humans went to at death, but the capital ‘J’ ‘R’ Judgment Room that demons went to when they royally screwed up.
“What were you doing that got you almost disincorporated?”
“Almost disincorporated? I thought you were either disincorporated or not disincorporated.”
“Well—” one of the junior demons spoke.
“Silence!” their leader shouted. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. What did you do to get almost disincorporated?”
“Alcohol poisoning.”
“Alcohol poisoning?”
“Alcohol poisoning.”
“We know it wasn’t alcohol poisoning.”
“Ngh, do you know what a case of alcohol poisoning looks like?”
“Of course I do. Alcohol poisoning is a big deal. It has its own department.”
“Yeeahhh, it’s changed in the last three centuries. Alcohol poisoning.”
Crowley was sweating. He knew that ‘alcohol poisoning’ was not a good lie. He was a demon, and he knew what lies were good and which were bad. But technically good lies were bad and bad lies were good, which puzzled him greatly. The demons looked at each other. The junior demon whispered to the leader. The leader then smacked him in the head with their clipboard.
“You idiot. Of course it hasn’t. Crowley, we’ve given you a chance give us an accurate report and you lied. We know where you were and what you were doing.”
Crowley’s stomach dropped. His lips twitched. “Were you watching me? Ugh. That’s just distasteful. You’re having demons follow me when they could be doing actual demon work.”
“We know you saved a human’s life and another human’s soul.”
“What!” he exclaimed. “I don’t go around doing any saving. It’s all a part of my greater plan. Like how I tempted that one guy on the mountain with infinite money and riches. Well, that didn’t work as I wanted to, big curve-ball on that one, but this time — this time it’s going to work.”
“Be quiet,” Beelzebub said calmly. They sat slouched over their throne as before, but it was obvious to Crowley that no matter how distracted Beelzebub looked, they were always listening like a fly in the corner of a room. “Crowley. You are under review. For the next century you will be under review. The demon Thrush will accompany you to Earth.”
The one demon who kept getting silenced stood. As he was rising, his knees shook, and the chair behind him scooted loudly across the floor. He fixed his eyes on the ground and bowed. “I’m a big fan of yours, Crowley, sir. I would have killed to even be part of some of the projects you worked on.”
“Your name is Thrush? Aww, this is going to be good.” Crowley jumped to his feet. He rubbed his hands together. “When do we get started?”
“You’re not supposed to be enjoying this.” The lead demon shook their head.
“Hi, hey, hello, yes.” Crowley shook Thrush’s hand, ignoring what the lead demon had said. Thrush let his hand sit in Crowley’s. “You’re supposed to shake my hand back. It’s a new thing the human’s invented. It’s called a handshake.”
Thrush shook his hand back.
“There ya go. Now, to the elevator. It’s working again, right?”
“No, it’s still down.”
“What!? It’s been down for the last millennia. Agh, never mind. Let’s take the stairs, Thrush.”
Crowley knew it would be a very, very long time until he could see his angel again.
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Part 2
"Wait right here. One sec." Evan sprints around to his side of the table again and grabs his placecard. He makes his way back to me as I sit down in my original seat.
"Oh, shit I didn't grab this" Evan picks up my original date's card and chucks it across the table. It lands face down somewhere near his old seat. "Eh, close enough." A couple of people shoot looks in his direction. I can't help but giggle and that makes him smile. Those damn dimples again. They're so deep I could fill them with water and go swimming.
"Hey, thanks for coming to my rescue" I say to him.
"I mean I haven't done anything much yet. If he comes in with a good story I would be more than happy to back off. But you're welcome."
I only smile at him. If he walks in, he better have an epic story for me to totally ignore Evan. I can't say that to him quite yet.
Evan speaks again "Wow, ya know, I'm usually super shy around women. I don't know what got into me" He laughs. He starts fiddling with the seam of his pants. Maybe his anxiety is kicking in now.
"Oh? What made you come over?" I realize I'm totally putting him on the spot and instantly feel bad. "Sorry. You don't have to answer that." I say.
He lets out a quick nervous laugh. "Uhh, no that's ok. I, uh, saw you sitting there and you looked like you were in distress, but I also noticed...how beautiful you were." He clears his throat. His eyes are shifty.
I laugh nervously and then our eyes meet and they stay locked for a few seconds.
We are interrupted by our waiter asking us what we would like for our meal. I order beef street tacos and Evan orders nachos.
"Want some wine?" Evan asks
"Yes , please. Something white. Red makes me sick"
"Oof, that's not good. Can I get a bottle of Chardonnay to split between us please?"
"Thanks" I say to him and the server.
"So, what's the story? What's up with douchebags standing you up and shit?"
"Well, I don't know him well or anything. So, cutting my losses isn't a big deal. In fact, I'm wondering if he even is who he says he is. It all seems rather strange. The last text I got was sort of a confirmation for tonight, but that was at 11 this morning. I tried googling him, but couldn't find much"
"Let's see here..." Evan has his phone out and he's scrolling through some pictures. "I met him once, not too long ago. He seemed like an alright guy. But, you just don't know people, really." He stops scrolling. He clicks on the picture and zooms in on a face. "Is this him?" He gently hands me his phone so I can get a good look. Evan's dimeanor and his voice are both soft. It strikes me how kind and helpful, even comforting he is.
I'm looking at a group picture of some people at an event. The picture isn't a close up, but even the grainy zoomed in face is recognizable. "Oh, I'll be damned. Yep, that's him" I hand him his phone back.
"Hey, at least we know he's real. Hope it makes the night a little bit less unsettling for you" he says softly.
"Well, can I be honest? You actually have made this night a hell of a lot less unsettling for me already." My eyes get soft as I smile at him. "Thank you for that"
"No problem" I can't describe the look on his face. Caring. Kind. More than that. Who is this guy?
I speak "So Evan, what's your story?"
"Well, I'm Evan peters. Been acting for a little over 20 years now."
"Oh, ok! Yes.." American Horror Story" I watched a few seasons then kind of stopped. But you were recently in a series playing Jeffrey Dahmer. Been meaning to watch it. I'm kind of a true crime follower" I laugh nervously. *Not in a weird way, if that's even possible" I close my eyes and put my head in my hand.
Evan laughs. "Gotcha. I won a Golden Globe for it, but man it took a toll on me"
"I can imagine. Having to put yourself in such a dark place for months. Sounds like you did a great job though if you won a Golden Globe! Congrats on that! I will have to watch it now"
His face lights up."Thanks! It did make it all worth it"
"Are you doing better now?" I ask
"Yea. Still have my moments, but much better. Been seeing a therapist."
"Yea, we all have our moments normally anyhow. No shame in getting some help. That's a big step." I smile encouragingly. He stares into my eyes.
"So how long have you lived in LA? I'm getting Midwest vibes from you" Evan says
"Oh really? What gave it away?"
"The accent. I'm from Missouri"
"Ah, ok then fellow midwesterner. I'm from Michigan. Got a job with an automotive company and they moved me out here about 3 months ago. Paid for it. Got me in a company owned house for my trial period. After that I pay rent, but it's discounted. Pretty good set up. I can't complain. I like the job too."
"Wow that's amazing..." His voice trails off as his eyes dart to something. I noticed it a split second before I hear a man's voice and woman's shrill laughter. My immediate thought is they are both drunk. Evan's face has gone from playful to pissed off.
"What?" I ask as I turn to look in the same direction as him.
"Well, there's your douchebag. Apparently with another woman."
Sure enough, there they are. Sloppily making their way to the seat. Douchebag sees his placecard on the floor and starts laughing hysterically. He sees me sitting there staring at him. And something like recognition hits him, but then he quickly pushes it aside.
"I take it he forgot who he invited where and what time" I say out loud.
I look at Evan. He looks pissed. But then he looks at me and his eyes soften. "Do you want me to back off so you can confront him. Or..." His voice trails off. He's holding his breath.
"Absolutely not. You're more of a man than he will ever be." I reply.
"Want to get out of here? Before they bring the food out?" Evan asks.
I nod my head "Yes, please."
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Can I get just a sweet moment of the adventure husbands eating ice cream together on a bench, complete with laughing when it gets on each other’s faces?
Get creative with the flavors, too, if you want.
I went and looked up how popular ice cream was during the 1870s, and apparently it was very popular and easy to get from little stands and such on the street.
I don't know why, but I found that cute from a historical point of view, haha.
On with the fic!
--
"You've never had ice cream before?" Will asked, rather surprised by Phileas' admission to never actually trying the treat before.
Phileas, for his part, looked rather sheepish and a bit embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "W-well, it's never been something that caught my attention if I bothered to order a dessert! We don't even serve it at the club. Puddings and the occasional sorbet, yes, but never ice cream."
"Well then," Will took his arm on his own, "then we'll just have to change that, angel. My treat." He winked and walked Phileas towards a little stand, set up to serve the frozen treat.
The server seemed to have a mix of fruit flavor, 'for the summer' he had said. Phileas had never actually known there to be more than just vanilla as a flavor for ice cream, and decided on strawberry, seemed the safest route.
"Alright, one strawberry and one pear, please." Will said, placing a few coins down to pay. Phileas made a face, pear? Really? Of all the flavors?
The server held out two dishes to them, one with pink-tinted ice cream, the other a yellowish-green. They said their thanks and walked through the park together. Will suggested they should sit and enjoy their treat, so much easier than trying to eat and walk.
The found an empty bench, overlooking a duck pond. Two gentlemen were on another bench, feeding the waterfowl and quietly discussing something that seemed to make one of them laugh with glee. A young woman seemed to be in the middle of being courted on another bench on the other side of where Phileas sat.
Phileas looked at Will, blushing just a bit, in a sense, this was a bit like courting, wasn't it? He decided to focus on the ice cream instead, best to eat it before it melted.
He took a bite and made a surprised, pleased sound, oh! It was delicious, cold and smooth, and there appeared to be small chunks of strawberry in it, marvelous!
"Seems you like it, eh?" Will commented, grinning.
"Oh, it's divine, dear! How is... yours?"
Will raised an eyebrow. "You sound like I bought myself something disgusting."
"Well, it is pear flavored."
This seemed to make the adventurer smirk. "Not a fan, eh?"
"Uhg, of course not! They're disgusting, all... soggy and grainy, like eating wet sand that wished it could be an apple!" Phileas made a face. "I have no idea how anyone can even dare put that thing into their mouths!"
"Ah, it's not that bad." Will chuckled and scooped up some onto his spoon, holding it out. "Come on, just a little try."
Phileas looked at it with disgust, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine with my strawberry, thank you very much!"
"Just one bite!" Will laughed and pushed the spoon into Phileas' face, who turned just in time to get the cold treat smeared on his cheek.
He gasped and looked at Will, who blinked, then burst into laughter. "Oh, you troublesome-!" Phileas huffed, scooped up some of his own ice cream and smeared it on Will's nose in retaliation.
Will blinked again, going cross eyed, before both of them started to laugh at how childish they were being. "Alright, alright," Will snickered, his cheeks pink from laughter, and a bit of ice cream, "no taste then."
"Thank you." Phileas pulled a kerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his cheek before reaching over, cleaning up Will's face, smiling as he did so.
--
No David Tennant character I write for will ever like pears (because the Doctor's right, they are disgusting).
#adventure husbands#the adventurer: the curse of the midas box#around the world in 80 days#will charity x phileas fogg#will charity#phileas fogg#john's drabbles#good omens extended universe
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“Billy & Sarah”: Random moments, hijinx and shenanigans
1) A chill and calm summer’s day for Billy and Sarah, an increasing rarity for them as the years went by they noted. An opportunity for them to head out to a nice spot they’ve been going to since childhood at the far corner of Oak River, either a 4 hour walk or an hour or so by bike, that overlooked the entire area enclosed by the mountains. It was perfect. Perfect for a relaxing and leisurely afternoon to spend w/ your close friend.
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2) A mixed befuddled reaction from the two kids to something out of frame. What is it?
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3)
🎶 Let’s groove tonight! 🎶
I was just listening to this, and I decided to draw Billy & Sarah grooving to the beat.
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4) Based off: media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdkajc…
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5) Typically going into the urban/downtown area would be more than enough of a deterrent for most of the “unique” wildlife of the area, but not this time. The reptilian beastie, Betty, is dead set on ending the fleeing boy. Going right into the heart of downtown Oak River not caring. It’s now or never in her mind. Runs by Sheriff Doug, during his lunch break, as he’s being chased down by the giant reptile.
Sequel to this:
https://artmakerproductions.tumblr.com/post/684623010619162624/billy-sarah-creatures-from-foggy-bog
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6) A sample of the type of humour I’d integrate into the series of ever green lit. The kind of jokes young viewers years later would go “wait— W H A T”, upon revisiting. This is a joke about how a lot of BaS characters either end up as working middle/lower class range or from some very rich background. The class divide is strong in Oak River.
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7) Behold — The daily goings-on of Billy’s mind. In case you can’t read it, “Scream, run or play dead”
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8) Billy & Sarah meet Count Orlok.
Over 100 years ago today, the film "Nosferatu" was released to German theatres. Tried to make a "grainy effect" w/ the line work, but eh. Not the best but it'll suffice. "Nosferatu" belong to public domain.
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9) A yearly event involving go karts and the neighbouring towns in the area. Oak River is infamous for always being dead last and bad luck since the event started back in the mid 60's. But, that was going to change soon (at least they'd hoped so) now that they were of age to enter the race. Billy and Sarah are determined to end their town's loser streak and finally win one... And of course as you can see, typical Billy and Sarah brand antics and chaos ensues.
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10) Run, Billy, Run:
Billy on the run from Matilda and Crissie (www.deviantart.com/artmakerpro…) no doubt. Title in reference to the song, "Run Rabbit Run": m.youtube.com/watch?v=SXmk8dbF…
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"Billy & Sarah" belongs to me, ArtMakerProductions.
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its been a while since i tried to draw semi seriously, as always i am a lover of flats + 20 blend layers (actually there are none in this. i used a gradient map on the flats. i had a few overlay/soft light layers, but it looked garish and washed out the atmosphere, so i disabled all of them. btw, i cant look at the unaltered flats anymore because they are so bright in comparison). the noise is not something i usually use, but the graininess works...
no, its not because im lazy.
i noticed some big mistakes after, mostly in terms of composition... i still have the original uncombined layers, but eh, ill just be more vigilant next year...
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Oh no, I totally agree both of those things are horrible and it’s gross that “fans” acted that way. The way i worded it, it did come off a little weird, my bad. I just meant it that way because years ago when i joined, for example, the supernatural fandom, i remember some “fans” being the reason Jensen and his wife had to move and that some “fans” gifted his wife fishing hooks and she had to get tetanus shots. And at the same time some fans were just weird and crossing lines with actors. So i think in my brain because of witnessing that, those two got stored in different compartments (like wtf and wtf 2.0). But I totally agree just the date story alone made me sick to my stomach because I can’t imagine how that has to feel. I had no clue though that the fan’s behavior kind of affected Gale and Randy’s friendship, that they basically couldn’t hang out. I’m glad that fans now calmed down if they see them in public. I’m happy that the show wasn’t around during the social media because this would be crazier now but damn, i do wish it was around social media but only for bts content and better quality videos. Anyway, thank you answering and my bad if it came off like those two things were just eh whatever type of behavior.
Hey anon!
Oh, yes the supernatural fandom is another level of unhinged I've witnessed it on the outskirts, I mean if you're on tumblr it's literally impossible to miss. It's disgraceful the way people behave, it leaves me shocked by the human condition to willingly participate in that type of behaviour and it still continues to this day.
I hate celebrity culture full stop, I have never and will never have any form of parasocial relationship with an actor or feel entitlement, I may fangirl and enjoy their work but that's it.
I've seen it happen in many fandoms and it won't stop it just seems to be getting worse, people's sexuality is still dissected, actors are made highly uncomfortable and even outed. We'll never really know the entire deal with what happened to Gale and Randy and to be honest I don't want to, what I've seen is enough. I unfortunately don't think it has calmed down in regards to them, if they posted a picture together tomorrow I'm 100% sure there would be inappropriate comments. I'd take the low quality grainy bts content over them being on social media in this era any day. I don't think they would survive it to be honest I mean it was bad enough then.
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hi emily! i love the way you make gifs (methods? techniques? idk jksnadjk) and i wanted to ask you for sharpening / grain / finishing touches tips or tricks because whenever i upload them the qualities are just eh :< (could it be dimensions problems?) i'm a mac + ps cc user! thank you so much in advance! or i'm sorry for asking if this is a weird request to make
hi!!! first of all thank you so much for liking my gifs!!! and absolutely don't feel weird i'm more than happy to help! (or try to help lol) apologies in advance if this is kinda rambling ;p
also you asked about being worried about dimensions so here are the standard dimensions for tumblr photosets!
1. overall quality
so first of all i highly recommend the (free!) program vapoursynth! it's a free program for mac that basically preserves the quality of your video. for pc users i believe avisynth is the closest equivalent.
for whatever reason, photoshop deteriorates the quality of your gif when you crop, so you can use vapoursynth to crop without losing quality! vapoursynth also has a denoise feature with can be great for grainy/lower quality videos to help smooth things out!
i had a lot of trouble downloading vapoursynth originally so feel free to ask questions if need be and i'll try to help! but also although i highly recommend vapoursynth it's not by any means necessary it's up to you!
here are some tutorials for installing & using vapoursynth (google has lots more if these aren't helpful!): x x x
2. sharpening
okay so sharpening is highly subjective based on what you like, so i'll just show you how i do mine!
first of all you can sharpen in vapoursynth, but i prefer to sharpen completely in ps! i sharpen in 3-4 steps.
step 1: smart sharpen filter
step 2: smart sharpen filter (again)
i usually adjust the "20" value per gif to see what looks best!
step 3 (sometimes): camera raw filter
you can find camera raw filter under the same "Filter" drop down menu as filters like sharpen and noise! sometimes this helps and sometimes it doesn't so i only use this sometimes!
once you click on the camera filter it should pop up a window; under the "Basic" drop down menu you should see "Texture" and "Clarity" sliders
IMPORTANT: Like the smart sharpen filter, using the "Clarity" slider can end up lightening the skin of subject of the gif, so if you use it it's important to correct any lightening you do with filters!
Here is the tutorial I used to learn how to use the camera raw filter!
(Also if you want to do reduce grain in your gif w/o vapoursynth: You can use the "Detail" drop down menu in the camera raw filter to reduce noise!)
step 4: high pass
Last thing I always do to sharpen is add a layer of high pass! Here is good a tutorial on sharpening with high pass! I usually use the same setting as OP does in their tutorial (4)!
Like with other forms of sharpening, this can also lighten skin so be careful to correct any lightening that happens!
3. exporting
how you export will also affect gif quality! here are my export settings:
4. misc tips and tricks
okay so if all else fails here some things you can try to improve overall quality!
make the gif smaller! gifs can only have 256 colors, so the bigger your gif, the more colors it's going to need to look smooth. if you're making a gif that keeps coming out grainy try bumping down the size!
shorten the gif! the longer the gif the more grainy it's going to get. even shortening it by a few frames can make a big difference, play around with the length and preview in the editor to see if the quality improves!
less vibrancy/less colors! this one pains me because colors and vibrancy are the hallmark of most of my gifs, but admittedly cranking the vibrancy up can also crank the grain up. if you're struggling with grainy gifs try changing the colors to be a bit less intense and/or less diverse to see if it helps!
less sharpening! again, this one pains me bc i like a good sharp gif, but using a lot of smart sharpen particulary can make your gif grainy, so you can try lowering the values of your smart sharpen to see if the helps at all!
change the speed! if you save via timeline, photoshop will automatically set fps to 0.07, but imo faster gifs tend to look a bit higher quality for whatever reason. my usual speed is 0.05 (or 0.03 for ts files or any 60fps videos) this is a matter of opinion though but it's worth looking into if you haven't!
hide it with noise! often i add noise for aesthetic but tbh sometimes i do it just to hide that the gif is actually not that hq lol. this works best your gif is just a little grainy but if it's super grainy the noise will just make it worse.
EDIT: Just remembered also, make sure you're downloading videos in the highest quality you can! If something is available in 4k for example you need to download it in MKV format not the MP4 format to the highest quality! I use 4k video downloader for anything from youtube, and in general MKV format will give you the highest quality!
Also, if you gif from .ts files you need to deinterlace them! You can do this with vapoursynth fairly easily by selecting a preprocessor filter when in the resizer menu!
~
That's about all I can think of off the top of my head. Hopefully at least something here was able to help you! If not, or if you have questions, please feel free to reach out again!!
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Enok had almost burst from excitement when his parents had agreed to take him with them on a longer journey to one of the main islands of Galahd. That was the first time! At least the first time he could remember.
And while his parents had business and trading to do, Enok could almost not see enough of the bustling busy town here. To him this all was huge. The village the boy hailed from was so much smaller huddled into the coast and cliffs. But here?! Their river was so much bigger! So many people!
But there was one thing that almost had his child-heart stop and then beat so much faster.
Not a thing. A person. A guy. A young adult by age, so that should have thrown his thoughts off, but to Enok adults were adults. And this one was without a doubt the biggest hero of them all!
He only had grainy photos to go by, cut from newspaper articles, but he was so sure! It was him!
Enok even was so absolutely sure, that he walked up to the young man by the bar, eyes absolutely fixated on him and mouth slightly open with a smile around it. He was in awe!
"You're Ulric... Kaleb Ulric! One of the most famous hunters Galahd has ever seen!"
the bar was busy today – way busier than he or libertus had expected it to be, but his mother had warned him, bless her soul, something about it being a week until the festival for leviathan and something else about the weather and outer islands … he didn’t remember her exact words, but nyx knew exactly what she’d say later: i told you so, with her arms folded across her chest and her toe tapping the floor.
yup, she had.
it was nice to see the town so lively for a change – to watch the kids running back and forth across the main square, the adults all chatting or haggling at different stalls, someone was playing music too, and there was a smell of frying meat and spices on the air. looking across the way to where old kar’s diner was, nyx could see the old coot was just as busy, which meant so was his mom. and selena?
well he had her perfectly poised – she’d wanted to help out in the bar, despite still being a kid, and what kind of big brother would he be to say no? he’d let her help out behind the bar with some of the glasses and but he’d somehow convinced her to go with grandma a few hours ago, she’d promised to show her a new cookie recipe.
he was sure the bar was taking in more today than it had in the past month. Sidling his way through the crowd, nyx set some platters of meat skewers on the table, smiling and nodding when the lady thanked him and it was another side-stepping dance to make his way back to the counter again, trying not to bump into anyone or knock over any kids on his way.
dragging a dish-cloth across the wooden counter-top, nyx mopped up a spill just as a kid clambered up onto one of the high-stools on the other side. a kid who sat there wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and who looked about the same age as selena, give or take, maybe a little younger than her actually?
nodding his head at the mention of his surname, nyx leaned down so his elbows rested on the counter directly opposite the boy, ‘ sure am, ‘ for a fleeting moment, nyx suspected that perhaps one of the stall vendors outside had sent the lad in on an errand, but then the little guy spoke again and nyx’s elbow nearly slipped off the counter as libertus passed with a chuckle.
kaleb ulric?
… how the hell did the little kid even know who his father was? or had been. or whatever.
catching himself before his chin hit the counter, nyx stood up, shooting libertus a sideways glance to shut up before he tossed the dish cloth at his friend and turned back to the little boy.
‘ eh, no … ulric, yes. kaleb, no. i’m nyx. kaleb was my father. ’
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#was trying to make some gifs but no matter what I do they all turn out looking so grainy#I can't even look at them#and idk how to make them less grainy even denoise doesn't help#I guess it's the colouring but that's my achilles' heel I wouldn't even know what would reduce the grain eh#dl
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Mom's Peanut Butter Waffle Recipe (and how written records do not match practices)
Rather than putting the biographical stuff at the top, let's start with mom's recipe. I promise if you read beyond it, you'll be rewarded.
Ingredients:
3 cups flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 cup peanut butter
2 eggs
1/4 cup vegetable oil
3 1/2 cups milk
Hand knead the flour, baking powder, and peanut butter until you have a grainy, somewhat dry base. (this will keep well in the freezer for at least six months)
When ready to make the batter, add the eggs, oil, and milk to the base. Mix well and pour into the waffle iron in appropriate amounts.
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This was an old family recipe from mom's side of the family, though usually dad would make it. I fondly recall waking up on weekends to the smell of waffles and sausage.
When I went off to college, I decided I wanted to make these on my own (in no small part to woo partners with a lovely breakfast), so I got the recipe from mom, as written above. But no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't get the flavor right. Everyone else loved them, but all I could taste was disappointment. To me, they were bland.
So one day when I was back home visiting my parents, I talked with dad about the waffles to learn what I was doing wrong. "Oh, I just use the recipe," he said. "It's not hard." The following morning, I woke up to waffles exactly as I remembered them, but was no closer to learning the secret.
This happened several more times before I insisted that dad let me observe him making the waffles. Clearly he was doing something I wasn't.
So dad pulls down the flour, baking powder, peanut butter, and sugar.
Me: "Wait, sugar isn't in the recipe."
Dad: "Oh, yeah. You need sugar. Not a lot, just a bit."
And he proceeds to just pour sugar into the mixing bowl. No measurement, just eyeballing it.
Me: "Um...dad? How much sugar did you put in there?"
Dad: "..."
Me: "Okay, do that again, but pour it into this bowl instead."
After getting an approximate measurement, I see him take the one cup measuring cup and gouge into the peanut butter jar, coming up with a heaping mound much larger than the cup itself.
Me: "Dad, do you always put that much into the mix?"
Dad: "Yeah, it's a cup."
Me: "Dad, that's like two cups of peanut butter."
Dad: "Eh."
And then he goes to the pantry and pulls out a bottle of vanilla extract.
Me: "Wait!"
Dad's Peanut Butter Waffles
Ingredients:
3 cups flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
2 cups peanut butter
2 tablespoons sugar
"some" vanilla extract (at least a tablespoon, probably more)
2 eggs
1/4 cup vegetable oil
3 1/2 cups milk
Hand knead the flour, baking powder, peanut butter, sugar, and vanilla extract until you have a grainy, somewhat dry base (this will keep well in the freezer for at least six months).
When ready to make the batter, add the eggs, oil, and milk to the base. Mix well and pour into the waffle iron in appropriate amounts.
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