#hot take question mark? eh

[irlkisukeurahara]

guys i cannot lie as a miles edgeworth fictive I gotta admit that manfred von karma is a based af character

[glossysoap]

glossy. this isn’t a request but lord jesus i need to share this thought with someone.

rudy.. just rudy being a very sweet person when around his family and friends, but with you? alone? oh god he’s so rough, he grips your ass and thighs. leaving marks there and slapping every inch of your body. especially your thighs and ass. grips your cheeks together to smoosh your cheeks together and make your lips pout out.

he chuckles at you, so evilly :(( just gripping your hips with so much force, your head forced into the pillow as he plows into you from behind, the bed creaking because this man thrusts in you. then he grabs at your throat, pulling you back and making your back arch for him, your hands try to reach the sheet but at the angle your at you cannot reach them. you can hear slow murmurs of: “Sí mamá, esa mierda se siente bien ¿eh?” (yeah mama, that shit feels good huh?) to “deja que te folle, mama. vas a recibir mi semen muy dentro de ti.” (let me breed you, mama. your going to take my cum deep inside you.)

and JESUS.. his arms? his muscles, he looks so good. sweating while his pelvis and abs tense and flex, scars adoring his skin and fuckkkk- you might cum on the spot because of how good he’s fucking you. he pushes you back down on the bed, flipping you over so he can watch your pussy take his thick dick. he and you both look down as he begins to thrust, a creamy ring beginning to form at his base. you moan and he groans. “look at tha’ mama. she loves my dick. sucking me right back in.” and when he begins to thrust in a little bit you cum so hard you squirt.

anyways, that’s my thought on rudy. i’m not sure why this popped into my head but it did. <3

(ps, my ovaries are wilding right now. so just ignore this if it isn’t your thing.)

FANGS your brain just keeps making banger after banger after banger.

(also im so so sorry for this taking long. you know what kind of dumpster fire these past few months have been. these are just some thoughts, not a full blown fic. this is also the very first time i’ve ever written for rudy so 🤞)

18+, afab and fem reader, fingering under table (so if you consider that dubcon then that's dubcon i guess?), breeding kink, choking, dirty talk, squirting, daddy kink (papi kink technically)

The way he’d be the sweetest to your family, especially your parents but fucking you to tears in private? Chefs kiss.

The scene that immediately comes to my mind is when your mom invites the two of you over for sunday dinner with your famly.

The weather was great, a little breezy — not too hot, not too cold. So you opted to wear a cute little sundress for dinner. It was a fresh shade of teal, ending just above your knee and flowing perfectly in the wind as the two of you walked arm-in-arm up to the door.

He was a perfect gentleman, like always. Holding the door open for you, pulling your chair out for you. Squeezing your hand while the table says grace, if your family does it.

The dinner takes place like normal, the different conversations flooding the dining room while some ate and some passed food around to spoon onto their plates.

“How’s your work going, hun?” Your mom would ask over her plate of food, with a fork in hand. You forced a smile as you felt your cheeks warm. Though Rudy looked perfectly normal to everyone else, eating his own plate of food next to you, they had no idea what he was really up to.

If anyone in your family had taken a look under the table they would see what his other hand was busy doing, which was gripping your bare leg. Starting at your knee and inching up your thigh, leaving a trail of electricity along your sensitive skin. Slipping underneath your dress to rest inside your inner thigh.

"Oh, sorry, w-what was your question?" You stumbled on your words with a sheepish laugh, still looking at your mom and trying to listen to her. It proved to be more difficult than you thought when Rudy picked up the pace. The rough pads of his fingers had begun inching closer and closer to the hem of your panties when your mom called your name again.

Your breath hitched, both from Rodolfo's dangerous teasing and from your mom pressing you for an answer at (what she didn't know) was the worst moment possible. You shook your head a bit in hopes of yanking yourself out of your lust-filled mind.

Under the table, you swatted at his hand that was planted on your inner thigh. His lips twitched as he fought back a smirk, his usually warm deep eyes all filled with hunger and want.

“I said, how is work?” Your mom pressed, taking a small bite of her food while she waited for you to answer. You could feel the attention of everyone else at the table waiting for you to answer. Rudy, the smug asshole, hummed expectantly. As if his fingers weren't now sliding under the flimsy fabric of your panties. As if the rough pads of his finger tips weren't caressing the sensitive skin of your folds.

"It's going good! Yeah, it's going good." You choke out as he traced a single finger along your soaked slit.

"Awe, well that's nice! I'm glad," She took another bite and began striking up a conversation with someone else sitting next to her. You couldn't tell who, nor did you really care. Not when Rudy had began easing two fingers into your dripping heat.

You barely conceal a gasp as he begins moving his fingers inside you, teasing your warm walls with delicate rubbing and stroking.

From that moment on in the dining room, everything around you is tuned out. Your families voices are muffled and the scrapes of silverware against plates are just a small clink in the background.

"W-what the fuck are you thinking?" You whispered to him, attempting to speak with venom but the warmth in your stomach was just too strong that it overpowered any intimidation you'd hoped to have. And he could tell, leaning over so his mouth was next to your ear.

"I'm thinking," He whispered against your ear, his fingers scissoring inside you. "That I need to get my hands on you and that perfect pussy, cariño... and I need it now."

… Which is how you ended up here.

All but whisked away to your childhood room, food long forgotten, as he locks the door behind you and paws at your sundress. His calloused hands tug on the straps and pulls them down so they hung off your shoulders, revealing your tits.

He wasted no time in pawing at your breasts, grabbing handfuls into his calloused hands and groping to his hearts content. He backed you up against your bedroom door, brown eyes peering down at you with what could only be described as pure unadulterated hunger.

“There they are,” He crooned, voice deep and husky, sending chills down your spine as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue flicked at it as his mouth was wrapped around your nipple, lapping at the sensitive skin. He’s all tugging and teasing, suckling your bud with a hum, before letting go with a pop.

Your breath hitches and he smiles against your nipple at that small gasp.

“Been seeing these all day long, wanted to grab them so many times.” He remembers seeing them sit so pretty in your sundress, wanting to grope them and nudge his cock between them.

"R-Rodolfo, please!" You plead, your hand coming up to card your fingers through his hair, holding his mouth to your tit. Your cunt still throbbed, all from his teasing throughout the dinner.

"Oh, I know, querida," He murmured against your breast, "You're all needy, hm? So pathetic." Your cunt throbs even more at his degrading words. You nod over and over, whines spilling from your lips.

He laughs.

"All wet n' dripping for me? For papí?" The last word made your breath hitch.

"Yeah, yeah! Please, please, I need you, papí!"

(...)

Before you knew it, he had you bare on your childhood bed. Skin slapping against skin, wet sounds filling your room. Your moans and whines mixed with his grunts and groans. He was still fully clad in his suit, only his cock fished out of his pants.

Your legs were folded up as far as they would comfortably go, hiked over his shoulders. His chest was damn near flush against yours, just as his forehead was pressed against yours. His cock filled you up perfectly with every thrust, his tip nudging your g-spot every time he thrusted in.

"So- so fucking tight! So perfect, my preciosa." He grunts out, feeling you clench around him.

His face was crowding you, not letting you look away as he splits you open on his cock. One hand is gripping your throat and keeping your gaze on him - slightly squeezing to restrict your air flow just enough to have your head all fuzzy.

"Fuck, fuck! P-papí," You choked out a moan. He chuckled at the blissed out look in your eyes, your pupils all lust blown and your eyes all glassy. Your lips were all slick with spit and drool, sore from being kissed and bitten.

"Go on, let it out. Don't you dare hold back, cariño." He damn near demanded, readjusting his position and propping himself up on the balls of his feet to be able to thrust into you even sharper. He smirked as he watched your mouth hang open in a wail and he bottomed out.

"Good girl, good girl," He leaned into your ear to purr. He felt you clenching around him as he whispered into your ear, never slowing in his thrusts.

The coil in your stomach tightens as you feel yourself growing close to the edge, his previous fingering already building up your pleasure. Your brain's all muddled and fuzzy and your cunt's gripping him so tight, clit throbbing and swollen.

He could feel it, too. you were practically milking his cock, begging for his seed to fill you up and claim you as his own.

"Fuck, you're taking me for all I'm worth, amor." His mouth moved down to your neck, licking a stripe along the span and ending up under your ear where he left a bite.

"Gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like me breeding that cunt, taking her for myself?" He growls in your ear, mouth moving to start biting your neck again.

He hisses in your ear when you pulse and flutter around his cock at his words. He feels his own orgasm approaching from how tight you were hugging him. It only moved him even closer with how pretty you were whining and whimpering for him.

"Fuck yeah, please!" You cry out, clutching at his shoulders desperately, trying to find purchase through all the pleasure. "Breed me, breed me, breed--," He laughs as you babble mindlessly, begging for him to fill your cunt with his spend.

He ruts into you endlessly, feeling his tip nudge the plug of your cervix. He uses his free hand to reach between your bodies and find your swollen clit, just begging for his attention.

When his rough finger pads start toying with your throbbing clit, he hears you wail and clench around him so deliciously. You gush around him with a cry, squirting with a damn near shout. When you cream on his cock, you push him over the edge too.

"Fuck!" He damn near howls, warmth flooding your core as he fills you up nice and proper, determined to make it take. He punctuates his orgasm by sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission

[rouxbea]

Nothing but Love

Hashira!Tanjiro x Demon Slayer!Reader

2nd person POV, kinda canon, fem reader

(Sfw) (Part 1) (You’re Mitsuri’s sister)

Tw: injuries (not graphic)

Tanjiro was a menace. You, being Mitsuri’s little sister, followed her advice. “Find a man that is strong, who will love you, and who will protect you!” So, when she introduced you to the Hashiras, her coworkers, you obviously had those words floating in the back of your mind.

Each one was loads stronger than you, even though you were a demon slayer yourself. The women, the men, gosh. Beautiful, strong, and smart. There was almost no way to choose, you thought. At least two were out of the question— your sister and the man she loved. Iguro was sweet, and he warned you against a particular person he wasn’t too fond of. You nodded, but still introduced yourself to the one you were warned of.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Said the man, Tanjiro Kamado. His hand was much larger than yours, holding it tight as he shook it. “Mitsuri’s sister, hm? That makes sense! You and her share a certain beauty.”

“Thank you..!” You said softly, giving him a smile. Another man then crashed into him, yelling about one thing or another. Tanjiro calmed him, patting the man’s blonde hair. You had excused yourself from the conversation, waving goodbye to the men.

The next time you saw Tanjiro, it was under very different circumstances. He was in bed, a gash in his stomach and over his chest, claw marks along his arms. You had spent time at the Butterfly Mansion, returning when you had hurt your leg. You decided to stay and help out while you healed.

“Tanjiro?!” You exclaimed, eyes wide. He was already cleaned up, but you were instructed to change his bandages.

“Oh, (Y/n), hello.” He said, his voice quiet, the warm, kind look still on his face. He was putting up a front.

“How are you feeling? Do you need some pain killers?” You asked, gently pulling back the covers, undoing the bandage on his arm and taking it off. You made sure to be gentle, avoiding unnecessary pressure and irritants on the areas.

Tanjiro shook his head, wincing as you pulled the bandage completely off. “No, I’m fine, thank you. I had some earlier.”

You nodded, cleaning the wound and re bandaging him, whispering soft apologies for the pain. You repeated the area on his other arm before moving to his stomach. It looked bad. It must have hurt like hell.

“Eh, it wasn’t too bad.” Tanjiro said, looking away. You didn’t realize you’d said that last part out loud.

“I.. ah.. still. Thank you for harming yourself while protecting humans. You save so many people. You deserve better, for being such a good person.” You ran your hand over the skin above the new bandage, making sure nothing was pulling.

He hissed, sucking in a breath at the cold hand that traveled along his hot skin, begging his mind not to wander. He didn’t get genuine compliments like this all the time. He felt special. “Thank you,” he said, reaching up and cupping your jaw with his hand, running a thumb along your cheekbone. “You are sweet.”

Your eyes went wide and you blushed, blinking at him. You could hear your sister’s advice in your mind again, thinking how Tanjiro’s sweet, kind, smart, warm, loving, and strong.

“Ah.. I..” you mumbled, looking away.

Tanjiro hummed, smiling and chuckling a little. “Hey, why don’t you come back here after the sun goes down? I’d like to show you something.”

The request seemed a little odd, but you nodded nonetheless, agreeing to it. “Sure, I’ll.. I’ll see you then.”

Tanjiro beamed, waving goodbye as you left, butterflies in his stomach. He’d met many different kinds women in his life before. Civilians, demons, slayers, princesses, entertainment district workers… but you... You were different, somehow. The sparkle in your eyes, the warm, sweet smell radiating from your body… it was intoxicating to him.

////

That night, you pulled your haori around your pajamas, small silk shorts and a top. It was only a little chilly, but you didn’t mind. You felt so sneaky, walking to a man’s room so late at night for… something.

Once you knocked then opened the door, your eyes widened. You saw a little girl curled up on his bed, playing with his hands as she cooed, her legs kicking absently.

“Tanjiro..?” You weren’t sure what to say. Once you met his pretty wine colored eyes, you were put at ease.

“(Y/n)! Perfect timing.” He said with a smile, waving for you to come closer. So you did, tilting your head at the girl. “This is my sister, Nezuko.” He said, patting the girl’s head. “She got turned into a demon years ago, but she hasn’t killed anyone. My goal is to change her back to the lovely young woman she is.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight of such a close bond, at how determined they were, at everything. You looked to Nezuko, who was looking up at you with bug eyes. You smiled, crouching down. Resting your arms on the bed, you reached out, patting her head. “It’s nice to meet you, Nezuko. I’m (Y/n). You’re a beautiful girl!” You told her with a smile, smiling up to her brother next. He had a warm expression on his face.

“Nezuko, can I braid your hair?” You asked excitedly. She nodded, remembering another woman. She was like you, but bigger. She played with her, loved on her, cared for her… she made the connection that you two were sisters.

You sat down on the floor, patting the space in front of you. She climbed down, settling with her back towards you. You looked to Tanjiro again before running your fingers through the girl’s hair. “I understand the odd request, now.” You told him, beginning to section off pieces of her hair.

“Yeah.. I didn’t want to scare you off. Plus, I felt that the two of you would hit it off right away.” He said with a chuckle, wincing from the movement. His hand flew to his stomach, but he gave you a smile, letting you know he was fine.

After a few minutes of humming and braiding, Nezuko’s hair was done, and she ran over to look at herself in the mirror. She cooed, running back over and tackling you in a hug. You laughed, hugging her back before she climbed back up in bed with her brother, showing him what you did.

“Beautiful!” He exclaimed, running his hand along it. “Misses (Y/n) certainly is wonderful, isn’t she?” Nezuko nodded, curling back up against her brother.

“Miss.” You corrected, looking away. “My sister is Misses. She and Iguro… yeah. I’m just miss.”

Tanjiro was quiet for a moment before nodding. “I’m sorry.. I assumed…” he shook his head, a smile on his lips as he turned away.

You spent more of the evening playing with Nezuko and talking to Tanjiro about this and that, enjoying each other’s presences. You told him about all your sisters, including Mitsuri, who he already knew fairly well. He told you about his other siblings, a sad smile on his face as he spoke. You reached your hand up, placing it over his to offer support.

Nezuko climbed in your lap, curling up like a kitten and starting to doze off, so you decided you’d lean against the bed. What’s the harm in resting your eyes for a moment? Tanjiro had begun to doze off, but you really didn’t want to disturb the girl. Just a bit…

A bird awoke you about five hours later, yelling about a demon inhabiting an abandoned house. “Shh!” You scolded, glancing over to Tanjiro, who was still asleep. Nezuko had moved to her box before the sun rose, while you stayed passed out.

When you stood up and stretched, your bones cracked, awaking the Hashira. “Where are you going?” He mumbled, not fully awake.

“A mission.” You replied, apologizing for waking him.

“No worries. Be safe. Come back to me, (Y/n).”

///

Those five words echoed in your mind as you traveled, as you camped out, as you fought, as you trekked back days later.

You arrived back at the Butterfly Mansion, going straight to Tanjiro’s room. But, to your surprise, it wasn’t him in bed. It was your sister and her husband, both giving you looks.

“So… wanna tell me what you’ve got going on with-“ Mitsuri started, only to get cut off by her husband.

“I told you to stay away from the Sun Hashira. You didn’t listen to me.” He glared at you, Kaburamaru flicking his tail.

“Oh shush! It’s better him than Inosuke…” she teased, nudging Iguro.

“Says you.” He griped, respecting Mitsuri’s wishes and laying off of you.

“Right!! Says me! Now… who are you looking for, sis?” She asked, giving you a shit eating grin.

“Tanjiro. He… asked me to come back to him.”

Mitsuri kicked her legs excitedly, shaking Obanai. “Did you hear that!?!!? My sister’s caught the eye of a Hashira!! I knew you could do it!!! I’m so happy for you!!!”

With pink cheeks, you quickly excused yourself, your sister calling out that Tanjiro had moved to a new room since he was doing better.

“Hey, are you awake?” You asked quietly, opening the door and seeing the familiar man in bed. “Oh! I see you are. You look like you’re feeling better,” you said, stepping in the room, closing the door behind you.

“You came back to me,” he said with a smile, patting and empty space on his bed, asking you to sit with him. You did, placing your hands in your lap as you looked to him. He was so radiant, so warm, so caring. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m perfectly okay,” you assured him, placing your hand on his knee, giving him a nod. “It wasn’t anything difficult, I assure you.”

Tanjiro hummed, nodding. “Maybe you’re just skilled. That’s why it felt easy. Do not sell yourself short.” He reached up, placing a hand on your hip. It was so warm against your cool skin and clothes. “I hear you continuously turn down a seat as a Hashira.”

You hummed, nodding. “It’s not for me. I wish to be able to retire easier. To be expendable.”

Tanjiro grew quiet, and you could practically hear him pouting. “Don’t say such things. You’re not expendable.”

You hummed, turning to look at him with a smile. “Touchy today, Tanjiro.” You teased. He pulled his hand back, mumbling apologies. “I didn’t say I disliked it.” You took his hand in yours, moving it back, but placing it on your thigh this time. “I love feeling your body heat.”

His cheeks darkened, his temperature going up. “Ah.. So.. you don’t mind if I flirt with you? If.. if I court you?”

You gave him a look, your cheeks turning pink, matching his. You shook your head, giving him a smile. “I’d quite like that, Tanjiro.”

Ever since then, life was brighter. You found yourself stumbling into situations with the Sun Hashira far more frequently, appreciating his gentle guiding touches, along with the flowers he’d pick for you.

He also found perfect ways to tease you. Whether it was commenting to Obanai about how you watched the sun ride together, or subtly bragging to Inosuke that he could be *gentle* with a lover, he always found ways to make you blush in public. Another time was when you two were getting onigiri before a mission. “Well isn’t she a good wife,” the lady commented, you picking out a table.

“The best wife!” Tanjiro had replied, loud enough for you to hear and for your cheeks to darken, yet again.

What really got you though was the soft compliments and praises he’d whisper into your hair as the two of you camped out, hunting for the next demon.

Whether it was rainy or sunny, whether he was with you or not…

You felt nothing but love.

[dopscratch]

Spydad Excerpt

so a while ago i was just idk going wild over spydad and dadgineer and my tf2 headcanons and wrote this

idk if i will ever finish it but it doesn't seem right for it to just rot away in my docs

and yes i do have a LOT of headcanons for engie's family which i may share at a later date if the interest arises haha

i still absolutely love spydad and also extremely love dadgineer so this is certainly not the end

without further ado:

The Engineer prided himself on being able to solve practical problems, very efficiently with a copious amount of gun. He had a feeling this one would take a little more nuance.

---

Down in the dusty badlands of New Mexico, a Texan with a hard hat and oil-stained overalls offered his help to a rather taken aback Frenchman in a prohibitively expensive suit. It all started when a new man joined the team of mercenaries warring in the gravel pits two exorbitantly rich brothers were feuding over. Really, the new Scout was a kid, in his early twenties physically and even younger mentally. He adapted quickly to the job and his new coworkers. It certainly wasn't his first time he had worked as a trained killer, judging by the practiced ease he handled his weapons. The amount of gloating he did while slaughtering the enemy helped too. He fit right in with the rest of the questionably sane men, sharing that marked disregard for human life. However, the resident Engineer noticed something strange going on between the newcomer and the Spy. Usually, the masked infiltrator was distant and unseen on the battlefield, his only impact being the convenient disappearance of some enemy forces and the strategic destruction of a few buildings. Ever since the Scout joined, he seemed to be much more present and daring, stabbing backs in the frontlines much more frequently. In the Engineer's opinion, Spy had blocked far too many bullets cloaked in front of the young mercenary for it to be coincidental. The implications were so clear to him. Some might have called it an instinct, others may have chalked it up to excellent reasoning skills. Regardless, the assumption had planted itself deep in the Engineer's mind, and at a certain point just became fact.

"Say, son, how does it feel to work with someone you personally know?" The Engineer asked the Scout one day as they were getting ready to enter the battlefield.

"Eh? Whaddya on about, egghead?" The pure confusion from the Bostonian would have marked an embarrassing miscalculation on Engie's part if it weren't for the Spy, standing a couple feet behind the Scout, dropping his precious cigarette. Though he quickly wiped the look off of his face, it was enough. The kid didn't know.

"Ah, never mind. Musta spaced out for a second, mistook ya for someone else. Guess I'm gettin' old, huh?" The Engineer laughed good-naturedly and headed off for the gates, leaving the baffled Scout behind.

---

The Engineer was not done with this. Perhaps it was the sudden separation from his own kids, still a fresh wound even after months. In retrospect, he had no business in meddling with the two. Interpersonal relations strayed dangerously far from his area of expertise. In the moment though, he was not about to deny the kid the presence of a father who clearly still cared for him. So, he approached the Spy on that hot, dusty afternoon.

"Spy, I know we've got our differences, but I can't just stand here and watch that sad display you got goin' there between you and your son. If there's anythin' I can do, just say the word."

"What." Was all the normally eloquent Frenchman could muster in response. 

"Well, I'm a father myself, so I suppose I could give ya some pointers-"

"I don't think I need help from a man who was banned from seeing his own children," the Spy snapped back coldly.

"How didja know about that?" Even as the Engineer asked the question, he already knew the answer. Still, it was strange hearing it from someone else when he had put so much effort into separating his personal and work life.

"I am the Spy. It is my job. However, you are the Engineer. Your job is to make little toys to aid us in battle. So tell me, tinkerer, how did you know about me?" 

"Well..." He started, lifting a hand to adjust his helmet. "I noticed y'all been hangin' around a touch more ever since the kid joined..." The Spy raised an eyebrow.

"So you guessed. It was pure luck. Fascinating." The observation was nearly more sarcasm than accent, and Spy had a pretty heavy accent.

"I wouldn't say that," Engie quickly interjected, unwilling to take that blow to his ego. "I’d call it more of a... educated guess. A hypothesis, ya might say.”

---

and unfortunately that's all i've got, but hope you enjoyed :)

[leiawritesstories]

PART SIX: JUNE

Word count: 8.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m aware.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maeve.

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not on my face, no,” he answered. 

“Are you itchy anywhere else?” 

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

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

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

“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready,” Ren confirmed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to move, Moonbeam. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Farran crumpled to the floor. 

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

Easy. 

Right?

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Got it, Boss.” 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled. 

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

“Do you trust me, love?” she asked. 

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

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

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

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

“You…you know the head chef?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Possessive much?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? How long ago was that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected. 

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

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

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

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

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

He just happened to be on a different side. 

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

Blood. 

That coppery tang was unmistakable. 

Fuck. 

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

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

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

He’d found the source of the blood stench. 

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

He froze. 

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Tread carefully, Lieutenant. 

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

It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.

~~~

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

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@sunshinebingo

@hiimheresworld

[pitgritted]

Sett.... On the making of Paranoia. On the scene with you getting uppercutted by a robot. Didn't it hurt? Did it knocked you out? Did it left a mark?

On the bloopers. How many takes did it took for you to get aggravated by aphelios?

What made you think of crashing those cars. Making Yone mad?

❝  were  you  the  person  interviewin’  eve’  recently  ?  ❞ being  a  rapper  had  it’s  pros  …  got  him  to  places  he  wouldn’t  ever  think  he’d  cross  over  .  even  had  a  few  good  years  put  into  sharing  his  talent  in  lyric  creation  with  a  handful  of  people  —  very  few  things  got  him  heated  .  he  went  730  when  someone  got  too  bold  enough  to  snuff  too  close  to  home  .  like  now  .  𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓  feels  his  straight  thick  brows  form  a  crease  at  the  more  or  less  invasive  questions  thrown  at  him  .  took  a  lot  of  restraint  not  to  socket  a  fist  again  .  HEARTSTEEL’s  founder  could  only  reply  with  a  snort  followed  by  a  grin  .

❝  course  it  fuckin’  hurt  .  scrap  o’  metal  didn’t  knock  me  out  though  .  but  it  damn  sure  left  a  mark  ,  bruise  formed  after  the  take  …  ez’  was  kind  ‘nough  to  cover  it  up  during  the  remainder  of  the  film  with  make  up  or  whatever  .  ❞

at  the  mention  of  aphelios,  it  did  little  to  smooth  the  wrinkle  mounted  atop  the  protrusion  of  his  brow  .  how  many  takes  did  it  take  for  him  to  get  aggravated  ?  he  wasn’t  aggravated  ,  per  say  .  annoyed  because  he  knew  it  was  teasing  ?  yes  .  but  𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓  didn’t  necessarily  let  that  get  to  him  .  it  was  him  &  the  boys  —  you  ought  to  expect  shit  n’  giggles  from  time  to  time  .  apart  from  the  fact  kayn  had  no  business  stuffing  boiled  spaghetti  into  his  gym  bag  a  week  ago  .

❝  holdup  ,  i  wasn’t  aggravated  .  it  was  pretty  hot  up  in  that  old  manufacturing  facility  .  everyone  was  pretty  tired  already  from  the  repetitive  retakes  if  there  was  so  much  as  a  wink  of  a  mistake  made  .  as  for  that  scene  in  particular  —  ❞  𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓’s  eyes  made  headway  for  the  screen  positioned  annexed  to  them  ,  recapping  the  ‘  blooper  ‘  .  ❝  this  was  our  fourth  take  ,  if  ‘yer  so  curious  about  that  .  aphelios  was  standin’  around  for  a  good  while  ,  can’t  blame  him  for  wantin’  things  t’get  lively  .  ❞

now  …  at  the  mention  of  the  cars  being  crashed  into  …  𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓  restrained  the  want  to  allow  his  ears  to  dictate  the  resurfacing  of  discomfort  &  guilt  .  yone  was  real  mad  that  day  .  &  it  fuckin’  sucked  trying  to  appeal  to  yone  for  the  rest  of  the  day  as  an  apology  .  not  something  he  wanted  to  venture  back  into  again  .  ❝  eh  …  i  dunno  .  look  —  i  gotta  run  .  boss  man  can’t  be  sittin’  ere’  for  too  long  .  ❞

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @somethingclevermahogony!

OC Questionnaire

My questions:

What would you rather be doing right now?

What is your favorite desert?

What color are your eyes?

I'll answer these for the Outcasts!

1) What would you rather be doing right now?

Izjik: "Fishing. Nothing beats a nice day on the water and the shade of a good willow tree. Plus, I'm fucking hungry."

Sepo: "Not this, that's for damn sure."

Twenari: "Oh, probably reading. I found this delightful treatise on multi-linked runes and their application to telescopes the other day - I really hope to finish it by this evening. I've always wanted to build my own telescope."

Djek: "At the club! Look at me! You think a treat like me deserves to be rotting away at work? Nah bitch, I should be where the other baddies are!"

2) What is your favorite desert?

Izjik: "Eh, I'm not really a fan of sweets. Twenari makes fruit pie sometimes, and I guess that's alright, so long as I take the crust off."

Sepo: "I do have a sense of taste, contrary to what some hayseed halawemavar might tell you. I like dark chocolate."

Twenari: "I have to pick just one? Well, crème brûlée is my favorite desert to make, but raspberry tarts are wonderful to eat. Also, hot chocolate. Does that count as desert? I'll split the difference and go with chocolate-cherry cream pie."

Djek: "Call me cheap, but you know those little cinnamon bread twists they sell on the street corner outside of bars? Gods beyond, I could eat my own body weight of those fucking things. I'd steal some all the time when I was a kid."

3) What color are your eyes?

Izjik: "Slate, I guess? Like a blue gray? I don't know - we didn't have mirrors growing up, so I just say the color Sepo tells me."

Sepo: "Black. Duh. All sirens have night-colored eyes."

Twenari: "A light amber, brighter than my skin tone. They're very distinctive. Sort of a mark of the Devaris family."

Djek: "Proper Amaranthi red. No one gave a shit back on Fayuki, but here on the mainland? A little shadow magic, some super direct eye contact, and bam, I'm a demon out of hell!"

Thanks for the questions, these were fun!

I'll tag @kaylinalexanderbooks @willtheweaver @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @bargainbincheese @cssnder @meep-writes-stuff and YOU 🫵

Your questions are:

What's your favorite type of weather?

Who was the last person you told a secret to?

Have you ever broken a bone?

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 3 - With flying colors

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 -- Part 4

Pairing: Mike x OFC (Danielle)

Warnings: Smut! 18+ (Minors DNI). shower sex, oral (M receiving), swearing, general awkwardness. There's some footnotes... Those always scare me...

Summary: Dani spends the night at 179th Crescent Street and meets the roommates in the morning...

Word count: 5.8k

If you catch any mistakes, just know that Daddy August doesn't take kindly to tattletales... 😏😏

A/N: Not a lot of smut here - but some of it. Lot's of ~social interaction~. Also, for anyone trying to figure out where exactly these guys go to uni: CANDYLAND, okay? I'm most familiar with Dutch uni's, but some US College-type things snuck in... It's a hot mess, and we're gonna keep it that way.

Finding the perfect movie to watch on a date is not easy. The tragedy commences as soon as someone shoves their Netflix account in your face. Let’s be really clear about one thing: Everything on Netflix blows. There’s too much and too little at the same time, the suggestions are all terrible, they always have that one movie that reminds you of the one you’re actually looking for, but that’s never on there. It’s a nightmare. Then, there’s the selection process itself - and with that a shocking amount of social protocol to navigate. As a woman, you obviously can’t make any unsavory intentions too obvious. Which means you can’t pick something that’s so bad that he instantly knows you’re not interested in watching, but you don’t want to pick something you actually end up watching. And it is slim goddamn pickings in that ‘don’t mind watching, but don’t mind not watching’-category. 

“Hi, guys!” It sounded dull, what with the door being closed and everything, but it was definitely Mikey. 

Someone else, whose voice you didn’t recognise, replied to his greeting. “Don’t you have company?” 

“Yeah, speaking of: Could you keep it down tomorrow morning?” Mike again. Who was he asking? He’d said ‘hey guys’, plural. Who else was out there?     

“Of course.” That was definitely a second mystery voice. 

“Thanks! G‘night, guys! Nice to meet you, Elena!” Mike’s voice got louder until you could tell he was right outside the door. 

“Hey!” Mike smiled at you when he walked in. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Pick something?”

“Eh, no,” you said. Why were you blushing? Why was your heart already out of control? 

“Stakes aren’t high, babe,” he walked over and pressed his face into your neck. “Probably won’t see much of it, anyway.” His intentions were probably just sweet and cheeky in a 'can't keep my hands off you' kind of way, but your insecurities really saw their chance and took it.

“That’s the only reason I’m here, isn’t it?” You knew it. You fucking knew it. It took everything you had to not burst into tears; they already burned behind your eyes. 

“Are you kidding me? I like you!” Mike looked at you, entirely confused - the only thing missing were cartoon question marks over his head. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. How many times had you heard that before? Mike closed the distance between the two of you and took your face in his hands. “I don’t take girls I don’t like out on dates, Dani.” He looked at you, brows furrowed, one side raised. And that smile. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips, your thoughts went from “punch” to “kiss” and back again so fast it gave you an emotional whiplash. 

Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you finally said something: “You’re not exactly taking me out, now are you?” Fuck, you could just about kill him right now. It wasn’t that you had an issue with hooking up, absolutely not, but you did have a problem with being led on. 

“Woah, okay, back up.” He put his hands on your shoulders and stepped away from you. “So we agree that this,” he gestured at the both of you, “is a date?” 

You snorted derisively. “I’ll agree that I thought this was a date, until about two minutes ago.” 

Mike breathed in deeply, his head fell back and you could practically see him count to ten. 

“Okay, we agree that when you stepped through this door, like, two hours ago, you thought this was a date, then?” The way he held you messed with your head; at arm's length, hands heavy on your shoulders. Intimate, but distant... You just nodded in reply to this question. 

“And so did I. Still do.” He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost laughed. When he took another deep breath, it seemed like he had a better handle on himself than before. 

“Okay, so I mentioned taking you out on a date, and you said that this wasn’t ‘out’,” he thought about that for a second. “Does that mean that you think this is the only time we’ve been together that the word date could refer to?” 

“Mike, could you fucking stop treating this like a programming issue?” It was your turn to grow impatient. 

“How is this not like a programming issue?” He retorted. “If I don’t get the output I’m after, something’s gotta be wrong with the input. Just… Humor me, okay?” You rolled your eyes.

“Alright: yes. Mostly because you asked me out two days ago, and I haven’t seen you since.” 

“Okay, I see,” Mike grinned. God, how that annoyed you right now. “Dani, when I asked you if you wanted to go to the movies with me, and you said yes, and we, y’know… Went.” Oh Jesus. “I meant for that to be a date. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear about that.”

You tried to convince yourself that this could have happened to anyone. It had happened to you, but it could have been anyone. Ariel and Sloane would have a field day if they heard this. Despite that, you were still going to tell them. Mike looked at you questioningly. 

“You didn’t kiss me or anything,” you murmured, while you looked at the floor.

“Too nervous,” he chuckled, “that’s what I tried to make up for when you came in.” The distance between your bodies got smaller as you stepped forward, your arms reaching for him, and pulling him in. Strong arms wrapped around you and squeezed gently. With a sigh, you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his body. 

“See,” he said softly, his head buried in your neck, “fix the input, get the right output. Programming issue.” 

“Damn, computer nerd,” you laughed as you nudged him with your shoulder as best you could. All of a sudden, he put his hands back on your shoulders and pushed you away. For a second, you were afraid you had offended him with the nerd-remark, but then you saw his face. On it, was hands down the dirtiest fucking grin you had ever seen in your life. He licked his lips - you had to choke back a moan when he did: it was so incredibly sexy.

“What?” You asked, but he just looked at you. “Mike, what the fuck is going on?” 

“You hooked up with me on what you thought was our first date.” There were three options: you were losing your mind, needed glasses, or he found that thought very entertaining. 

Your cheeks burned, and you were sure he could tell. He followed up on his observation with a single word that set every nerve in your body on edge: “Hot.” 

The kiss that followed ended way too soon. When he let go of you and stepped away, you noticed it was quite cold. You made your way over to the bed so you could get back under the covers, but Mike grabbed your waist when you passed him and grinned at you. The sudden touch - and the cold - made you shiver. You looked up when Mike chuckled. His eyes summarized him perfectly: horny and cheeky.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower…” You didn’t need much time to pick up on that hint.

The bathroom wasn’t big, but it was nicer than you’d expected. You didn’t realize you were looking around with an open mouth until Mike pointed it out. 

“It’s just so… clean.” It was nothing like the student bathrooms you were familiar with - especially not the ones in houses with only men living in them. Or mostly men - or any men. Hell, your own bathroom - and your house was all girls - was messier than this. If by messy you meant: ‘regularly looked like someone bombed a Sephora’. You just couldn’t connect the state of the room to the idea that it was shared by four guys. 

“I am one hundred percent sure August will commit bloody fucking murder if we make a mess of this place,” Mike laughed, as he turned the water on, “and I’m about eighty percent convinced that Sherlock won’t think twice to help him cover it up.” 

“These guys sound colorful,” you said hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of the remark. 

“Oh, things get interesting, for sure,” his laugh echoed a lot less now that the water was running, “but I don’t really want to talk about my roommates right now, if you don’t mind.” 

“Well, what did you want to talk about, then?” The whole false naivety schtick worked very well on Mike, you noticed, as you closely watched his reaction to your doe-eyed coyness. He stepped around you, with his signature playful laugh on his face, and reached out to lock the door. In the meantime, you let your sweatpants drop to the floor. Luckily, his t-shirt was long enough to cover you up - you knew you wouldn’t be wearing it for much longer, but it was nice to not be completely exposed. 

“I wasn’t planning on talking much, ba-” the shape of his mouth changed from the interrupted a into a silent o. As his eyes changed and his mouth morphed - once again - into a devilish smirk, you were certain that this mischievous piece of work would be the death of you. 

“I think that’s mine.” He said dryly, holding out his hand to signal that he wanted his t-shirt back. Now that you no longer felt in control, shyness started to set in. Your fingers rolled the hem of the fabric between them, and it suddenly felt extremely hot in the room. He noticed - of course he noticed! It’s Mike, and he noticed things nobody noticed. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t always a fair trade against missing things no one else missed. That’s what he’d told you right after you had asked him why he was like that - he had quoted Awolnation’s Sail1 by means of an answer. 

“C’mon beautiful, I want that back,” he grinned, his tongue darting briefly, wetting his lips. The only thing you could think about was the way he called you beautiful, and the hungry look in his eyes. Very slowly, and as sensually as you could manage, you started to undress. Your fingers trailed your thighs, your hips, your stomach, to finally linger at your chest before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it to him. Before he could get to you, you stepped into the shower. 

“Your turn,” you giggled softly, and blew him a kiss. 

It took him less than ten seconds to join you. Hands wrapped around your waist and spun you around so fast that you were sure you'd both slip and fall. When you didn’t, you looked at the non-slippery floor in surprise. 

“One of us almost broke his neck once,” Mike said while running a hand through his hair, “and we tend to learn from past mistakes.” 

“And this guy,” you laughed, “did he happen to be you?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” His face told you more than enough. Even with his hair all wet, and in this horrible bathroom lighting, Mike was cute. The horrible lighting probably wasn’t something you should have thought about. Why did it have to be so bright? And there was nowhere to hide! You looked around, almost frantically. There was one place to hide, or at least conceal most of your body from his sight. You leaned into his body, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. He was hard, and the feeling of his cock against your body made you wince. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologized, “can’t help it. You’re just so fucking gorgeous.” The way he said it was so sincere, so reassuring, that you finally allowed yourself to relax and melt into his embrace. The heat of the water running over your back really helped. You traced the muscles of his back for a while, and he moaned quietly at your touch. After some time, you moved your hands to his chest, resulting in a groan that sounded almost offended. 

“Sorry, my hands are getting a little cold,” you said without thinking about it. 

“Imagine how my back feels,” he retorted. You must have looked really guilty, because his signature grin broke through the almost cynical mask on his face and he laughed. “It’s okay, baby, I would’ve said something if it wasn’t.” He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. There was a rough edge to it that made your heart pound in your chest - a roughness that hadn’t been there before. For the second time today, you could hardly believe what this guy did to you. Mike was grinding against you as his mouth left yours and dipped into your neck, instead. Your fingers snaked into his hair and pulled him closer while he licked and nipped at the skin of your neck, sucking the most sensitive spots. He occasionally moved up to moan into your ear, and it drove you absolutely wild. Hot water, cold air, soft lips - there were plenty of sensations to choose from, and they all seemed to turn you on one way or another. You both let your hands wander over each other's bodies while entangled in that very wet kiss. Shocked by your own initiative, you reached a hand between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around him. Mike’s mouth found yours again and he turned both of you around so he could lean back against the wall. You stroked him a couple of times, chuckling softly as he moaned into your ear. It felt great, seeing him like this. He sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth. 

“No, keep going,” he groaned into your mouth when your hand stopped moving. You pulled your lip free from his grip and moved to his ear. He shivered when you licked his earlobe, and you felt his cock twitch in your hand. 

“Is it good?” You whispered. 

“Mhm,” he nodded, “very.” You kissed his neck below his ear, then his jaw, his throat. The sound he made when he realized where you were headed2 was charmingly depraved - you couldn’t smile any wider if you tried. Unfortunately, you hadn’t thought this all the way through; the shower floor was rough on your knees, but you figured you’d just have to suck it up3. The bigger problem was the water: most of it came down straight on your head right now, and it made the task at hand4 significantly more difficult. Luckily, Mike reached up to solve this little problem. Part of you expected him to hog all the water and leave you there, freezing, but he didn’t - you decided that these levels of consideration deserved a reward. He struggled to keep quiet as you dragged your tongue all the way along his length. It seemed less scary now. You easily settled on the comfortable depth and rhythm you had before - with similar reactions from Mike - yet something in the back of your mind encouraged you to take it a bit further. Slowly, carefully, you took more of him into your mouth. It wasn’t easy, but the ecstatic squeal that Mike let out made it more than worth it.

“Fuck,” he breathed so softly that you could barely hear him over the sound of the water. You could tell he was trying really hard to stay still, which was very much appreciated. It was already difficult enough to focus on not choking without having to worry about him bruising the back of your throat. His ragged breathing and the slew of profanity that erupted from him as your lips finally reached the base of his cock were beginning to make you feel very good about yourself. You should have known - right when everything seems to go well, tragedy strikes. 

“Hey, lovebirds, get out of the fuckin’ shower!” The voice appeared suddenly, accompanied by the slamming of a fist against the door - hard. Twice - and it startled both of you. Mike’s brilliant reflexes made him jerk his hips, which hurt - like a bitch, by the way - and made you gag. Your reaction, however, was far worse. As soon as you could, you let go of him and curled up on the floor in the opposite corner of the shower, making yourself as small as possible. Sloane’s hysterical laughter echoed through your head already. How exactly were you going to tell them this? We were getting it on in the shower and I was going down on him and it was going remarkably well, until his roommate knocked on the door and startled me so much I bit him, or something? Actually, that was probably exactly what you were going to tell them - before dying of embarrassment, that is.

“Sy, fuck off,” Mike yelled back through gritted teeth. That name sounded strangely familiar to you, you just couldn’t figure out why. Not that you were really trying to. “I swear to God, I’m going to fucking kill you!” He turned his attention to you, pulling you into his arms. You hadn’t even noticed him getting down onto the floor with you. “Dani, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” It was nice to rest your head against his chest. 

“You’re asking me?” It sounded like a bad joke. “What about you?”

“I’m fine, come here.” He chuckled. “You never answered me.”

“Mortified, but not hurt,” you declared in a surprisingly upbeat way. 

“Noted,” Mike nodded, “then, if neither of us are hurt, do I have your permission to find this whole thing fucking hilarious?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you said, but you were already laughing. 

Mike owned a suspiciously large amount of pillows - for a man, anyway. He’d tossed all of them into the corner, and then he’d grabbed you and sent you flying the same way like it was absolutely nothing. Now, you were curled up beside him with your head on his shoulder while you played with his hair. It was still damp from the shower. 

“So, who else lives here,” you were already pretty anxious about running into any of the guys in the house tomorrow morning - to the point of wanting to escape out the window in the middle of the night. 

“Alright,” Mikey smiled, “no need to be nervous. They’re all great guys!” You hid your face in his shoulder, embarrassed at how he always just knew. Maybe you were just anxious a lot, that was entirely thinkable. You didn’t get a lot of time to think that through - and you probably shouldn’t have wanted to, anyway - because Mike continued: “You’ve met Marshall - eh, Walter. We usually use his last name. Criminology major.” He paused again, trying to organize his thoughts. 

“Ok, on the ground floor, we have Napoleon. We usually call him Leon - you get why. Does something along the lines of Business Administration, with a minor in Art History.” Art history - not immediately something you had expected to come across in a house like this. 

“First floor: Marshall. And then Walker, eh, I mean: August. Third year Political Science with a minor in Criminal Justice." 

"The guy who would kill you for making a mess of the bathroom." 

"I feel Walker would kill me for a bunch of reasons…" Something about the way he said it made you wonder whether or not Mike was joking. You couldn’t help but point out that this Walker guy didn’t sound very nice. 

"Nah! He's great! Very consistent, I like it. He's a good time when he's drunk." 

"He sounds like a jerk, Mike."

"And he kinda is, but he also isn't." He laughed at the puzzled look on your face. " He’s complicated. You'll see what I mean."

"I'll take your word for it. Who's next?"

"Charles Brandon, he…" Mike's eyebrows shot up when you interrupted him. 

"Ladies man, very much opposed to the concept of monogamy. Little respect for other people's relationships. Does that cover it?" 

"Just about. He majors in Political Science, same year as Walker, and he's very good friends with the dean's son," Mike continued the profile, "He's a great wingman, too." He added thoughtlessly. 

"Don't need to know, Mikey!" You shoved him so hard he almost fell over.

"Ow! Sorry! Second floor; Geralt. Majors in Mythology and Folklore. And then Sy, the guy who…”

“Made me almost bite your dick off?” A sarcastic laugh escaped from your throat. You absolutely dreaded meeting this guy; he was already responsible for one of the most awkward moments of your life - so far - and you still couldn’t shake the thought that his name sounded very familiar. 

“Yup,” Mike laughed, “he’s cool though. Not a great wingman, had a habit of stealing my chicks... OW! Would you stop that, I’m just joking.”

“Are you?” You hated when the insecurities hit you like this. 

“Well, mostly. Trust me, I don’t miss striking out at the bar.”

“Do you miss… not striking out?” You looked at Mike, waiting for him to say ‘no’. 

“That sounds like a trap, I’m not going to answer that.” Smart man. You shrieked when he tickled you. “Anyway, that’s Sy. Then upstairs; Sherlock. Holmes. Third year Law and second year Philosophy, last thing I heard he was also taking some classes in Psychology. He’s not even nineteen, by the way.” It took you a while to process all of that. You had enough trouble with one major, let alone two. And did Mikey just say this guy was not only your age, but two years above you? Mike saw your face, and laughed. “He’s a genius.” 

“I think I’ve heard of him,” you said. You weren’t quite sure where you’d heard the name before, but it was unusual enough that you remembered it very distinctly. 

Mike’s next sentence cleared up that confusion: “Oh, and he’s the first violinist of the university orchestra. He and the second violinist, Elena - I actually just saw her for the first time - practice together every Saturday afternoon. He usually starts in the morning, though, but I’ve asked him to keep it down.” 

“And he said he would?” Sherlock sounded like the friendliest guy in the house so far.

“Oh, yeah, he never makes a point of it when we ask. But we let him have the two or so days before a concert, that’s the deal.” 

“So, with seven other guys in the house, he never gets to really play?” You wondered out loud. 

“Oh, no, you’re safe until about eleven. But he’s good, a billion times better than any alarm. I stopped asking him to keep it quiet for anything other than a potential hangover a long time ago.”

“But you did ask him just now?”

“Yeah, for you. Didn’t want it to wake you up if you didn’t want that.” He presses a kiss on your hair. You buried your face in his neck, in hopes of hiding the fact that you were blushing like crazy, but you were well aware that Mike was onto you.

“And the girl? Are they, like, together?” You never imagined that you’d be so invested in the goings-on in this house.  

“We don’t know for sure. Leon keeps track of the bets. I’m pretty sure all of us are in on one of those, at least. I believe I’m out twenty if he doesn’t sleep with her by Christmas.” Ah, there it was: The kind of stuff you expected from a house like this. You rolled your eyes and pulled the comforter snugly around you as Mike put on the movie you’d settled on. 

Walking into that kitchen was definitely one of the scarier things you’d ever done. Luckily, there was only one person in it when you and Mikey got there. His appearance was striking, with the silvery hair and very light-brown eyes that were almost the color of honey.

“Morning,” the guy said stoically when you walked in, and he put the newspaper he was reading down on the table. 

“Danielle, Geralt. Geralt, Danielle.” You were really grateful that Mike took care of the introductions. “Coffee, Dani? G?” Both of you nodded. The kitchen was big and bright, and looked well taken care of. You noticed that the appliances weren’t falling apart like they were at your house. 

“You can sit down, I don’t bite my roommates' girlfriends,” Geralt said dryly. 

“Just your own?” It was out before you even realized you opened your mouth in the first place. You were about ready to sink into a hole in the floor when Geralt laughed. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because someone else stepped into the kitchen. 

“Damn, Mikey, she might actually be able to survive this circus!” How many Brits lived in this house? And why did all of these guys look like they had run away from the covers of magazines? The guy in question turned around to you: “Charles, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m…” 

“Danielle. The girl who stole my wingman.” He extended a hand to you, and you took it with the intention to shake it. Instead, he brought it to is lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. 

“Hands off, Brandon,” Mike slapped him against the back of his head with a teatowel. “And take Leon, if you need a wingman so badly.”

“Leon doesn’t need a wingman, girls flock to him offering services in exchange for a discount.” Charles started laughing, while your confusion grew. 

“And some of those girls, I sent to you,” a new voice retorted. The kitchen was quickly becoming crowded. “Or to Mikey.” You saw Mike make a not-so-subtle gesture in your direction to signal the newcomer - whom you guessed had to be Napoleon - to shut up. 

“I’m sorry, didn’t see you there. Napoleon, call me Leon.” He actually shook your hand. “If you ever need anything, term paper, answers to a test, talk to Mikey.” He laughed. This guy was dangerously charming. 

“Thanks, but I don’t suck dick for good grades.” 

“Well, maybe computer science,” Mikey said with a wink. You stared at him, unable to believe he just threw you in front of the bus like that - careful not to let your mouth fall open: you were sure it would look even weirder than it already did. Luckily, Geralt caught your distress and kicked Mike in the shins. 

“Thanks, I couldn’t reach.” You said sourly while Geralt grinned and the rest laughed. Mike put two cups of coffee on the table and sat next to you. Charles took the last cup from the pot and left the kitchen with it.

“No coffee?” you asked Mike. 

“Not if I want to stay awake,” he laughed. When you looked at him funny, he pointed at his head. “My wacky brain,” was the only explanation he offered, and then he shrugged. Leon took it upon himself to make a new pot of coffee. 

“Walker here?” A somewhat familiar voice sounded from just outside the kitchen. It belonged to Walter Marshall, whom you had met when you arrived yesterday. 

“Don’t think he will be,” Geralt answered. You noticed that his voice startled you - despite having heard it before. It seemed to go against some law of nature for him to speak. 

“How so?” Mike was often a tad too curious, but this time you didn’t mind - it sounded like there was some kind of drama here, and you were invested already. 

“Anjelica showed up.” For anyone who lived here - or anyone else who knew who Anjelica was and what she was to August Walker, that was enough information. Mike turned his head to you. 

“Girlfriend,” he said plainly, and you figured you could fill in the rest. 

“Not if you ask him,” Leon scoffed. He leaned casually against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. 

“He loves her,” Geralt interjected dryly, as if that settled the matter. 

“You hear anything?” Mike asked with a filthy grin on his face. 

“I hear everything, Mikey,” Geralt sighed. Your eyes went wide and your face turned red. Leon and Marshall laughed when they saw it; Mike tried to grab your hand off your knee, but you pulled it away. 

“Ooh,” Leon and Marshall sounded at the same time. Leon murmured something along the lines of ‘someones in trouble’, while Marshall slapped the back of Mike’s head and told him: “You tell a girl about the roommate with the super senses before things get serious, Mikey.” 

“What are they talking about, Mike?” You hissed at him, absolutely beyond furious. From the corner of your eye, you saw Leon pour himself a cup of coffee, before holding the pot up to Marshall, who nodded, but didn’t dare speak - they were a little too keen to see how this would play out. 

“I can hear Sherlock play the violin,” Geralt said calmly, “he’s three floors up, and using a practice mute.” You were just about ready to slap Mike in the face and storm off; this was definitely something he could have shared before all of yesterday happened. 

“It’s exhausting enough as is, so believe me when I say I don’t listen to everything.” He still wasn’t looking up from his newspaper. “Besides; if something is ever… repeatedly annoying…” he chose this time to shoot a meaningful look your way, “Let me put it this way: I’m sure it’s not the reason headphones were invented, but I thank my lucky stars every fucking day that they were.” Now all five of you burst out in laughter. Leon hurried to answer the door the second the doorbell rang, and didn’t return. It wasn’t long, though, before another housemate walked through the door.

“Marshall.”

“Walker.” Ah. The infamous August Walker finally made an appearance. He turned to you as soon as he set foot in the kitchen.

“You must be Danielle,” he said, “nice to meet you.” Whether he assumed you knew his name, or simply didn’t care if you did, you didn’t - and couldn’t - know. He grabbed the coffee pot off the counter, only to find it empty. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Better make plenty, Sherlock’s on his way down and Sy just woke up. And I could do with another cup, too, if you don’t mind.” Geralt said. 

“Then why, pray tell, don’t you do this?” August hissed as he turned the kettle on.

“Alright, I could use a second cup as well, but now I know better than to ask you for anything in the morning, so why don’t you move out of the way and let me do it?” You shocked yourself; you were never this forward. Geralt made a half-attempt to hide his impressed smirk behind his paper, while Marshall and Mike didn’t try at all. Even August had trouble keeping his face in check - unsurprising, it had to be exhausting to frown that goddamn much.

“Charles was right,” Gerald chuckled, “you might be able to survive this circus.”

“The biggest clown is already mine,” you sighed as you got up and waved at August to get out of your way. The boys - including Mike - laughed. 

“Is there any coffee left,” someone asked. The voice was soft and polite, and sounded like its owner was in desperate need of coffee. 

“Coming up!” You said cheerfully as you pressed the button on the coffee maker. 

“First time here and they already put you to work?” 

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do if she wants coffee,” you laughed, “and I couldn’t ask Mike to do it. His coffee is terrible.” Geralt and Marshall raised their cups in agreement while Walker murmured ‘Amen’. Sherlock chuckled, somehow sounding a lot like a British version of Mike. The five of you drank your coffee mostly in silence. After August had finished drinking his, he made a cup of tea. On his way out of the kitchen with it, he was almost knocked over by Mike as he went to take some orange juice from the fridge. 

“Sorry, Walker!” He said. August just mumbled something unintelligible as he went back upstairs. Mike shrugged and put the carton to his lips. You weren’t surprised that this was a habit of his, but you’d expected more protest from the other guys.

“We tried,” Sherlock answered your question - nevermind that you hadn’t actually asked it, “he just gets his own carton, now.”

“You’ll get used to the unusual communication,” a female voice said, “Anjelica Madden, hi!” She greeted you with a hug. “Sherlock, Geralt, Marshall and August you don’t even have to ask anything once,” this woman was awfully cheerful in the morning, “but Charles, Sy, Leon and that dork over there you have to ask everything twice, so it evens out.” She disappeared about as quickly and suddenly as she had appeared. 

“Speaking of Sy, he’s taking his sweet time,” Marshall noted. 

“Probably taking a shower,” Sherlock responded, “I understand it was occupied for quite some time yesterday.” Geralt, Marshall and Mike looked at each other in surprise. It wasn't like Sherlock to say things like that.

“And on a similar note,” Mike laughed, “have any of us won any bets yet?”

“I heard her leave, so my guess would be ‘no’,” Marshall added. 

“You would be correct,” Sherlock muttered. All of a sudden, he looked so much younger than the rest of the guys in the kitchen.

“Will she be here after lunch, though?” Mike asked curiously as he got up and turned to you. “Breakfast?”

“I have no reason to assume the contrary.” Sherlock replied dryly. 

“There’s food in the house?” You exclaimed quasi-surprised.

“There better be, I’m starvin’,” a familiar voice sounded behind you. Finally, now that you weren’t concerned that you had maimed Mike, you recognized the voice. Your legs felt like they were made of lead when you turned around while praying it wasn’t true. Unfortunately, when you finally looked up at the man who had just spoken, your suspicions were confirmed. 

“Ari, help!” You groaned into the phone as soon as Ariel had picked up. 

“Dan, what’s up?”

“I met his housemates - all of them, it was an experience, holy shit, more on that later. But, bitch, I…”

You heard some mumbling in the background - it was probably Sloane. 

“Girl, Slo is here, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Hey babe!”

“Slo, oh my god, sit down. Ari, you too. Remember the guy from orientation?” There was no point in drawing this out any longer; you had to tell them. 

“You mean your spectacular Southern stud, the Don of dinner down there? The prince of pussy eating perfection?” Sloane yelled in your ear. 

“Enough with the alliterations, S.,” Ari laughed, “clearly, we remember. What about him?” How were they not connecting the dots on this? Normally, you were the one who was slow to pick up on these things. 

“Nathan motherfucking Syverson is one of Mike’s goddamn roommates.” You felt like you were about to cry. It stayed awfully quiet on the other end of the line. 

“So, red or white?” Ari asked in a deviously perky tone. You could hear Sloane’s muffled laughter in the background. 

“Red,” you sighed.

 

A/N: Whoops, some footnotes. 1: “Blame it on my ADD” is the line we're talking about... 2: Pun intended 3: Pun not intended. Happy accident. I promise 4: I am so sorry

[digital999placebo]

comic that I will probably never get around to finish. monologue is from a fic that i dont remember if i posted, read beneath cut hehe

“Eh— Hallo?” Ludwig’s voice sounds raspy through the line, having heard the small click as the phone was picked up. “Are you there?”

Feliciano takes another drag, and Ludwig must hear the way his cigarette crackles as it burns because he speaks again, “Is everything okay?” 

Feliciano watches the phone in silence and can see the letters of the words Ludwig speaks seep out of the receiver. Ludwig shuffles on the other end, marks the silence with an inhale.

“I— I thought I saw you in Berlin last week,” he goes on in Feliciano’s silence and his voice is closer to the phone. Feliciano takes a swig from the flask. “On the U-bahn, there was this man who looked just like you from behind, he had that ribbed tank top you always wear beneath your shirts and so I grabbed his shoulder and— it wasn’t you. His nose was crooked and his eyes were green and when I looked at him from behind again I didn’t understand how I could’ve ever thought that was you. He was much paler… I thought— I think— I don’t know how to say it…” 

Feliciano takes another drag from his cigarette, another swig from the bottle and then resumes biting on his nails. He stares at the phone as if he could somehow see Ludwig through the miles-long telephone wire, undoubtedly sitting in his office behind a pile of papers filled with repeating numbers. Ludwig opens his mouth and it must be dry because Feliciano can hear how his lips part. 

“I think I miss you so much I see you everywhere.” 

Feliciano can’t help the sob that comes out of him, wrenched somewhere from the depth of his chest, and he has to put the bottle down before he drops it. 

Again, Feliciano hears Ludwig’s long inhale on the other end and can imagine him tugging uncomfortably at his tie like he always does when he has to open up, biting at his moustache and carefully raking his fingers through his waxed hair. 

“Do you feel the same way?” 

The question is so quiet that Feliciano barely hears it over the buzz on the phone.

He picks up the phone with his empty hand and presses it to his ear. The plastic is cold against the side of his face and vertigo ebbs just outside him, waiting for a full take over and he parts his lips, releases his tongue and moves it into position for words but comes up empty. He’s so incredibly filled with shame about everything that his throat has physically closed itself in terror of giving away his guilt. He takes hold of this throat and pulls at the skin just above his collarbone until it hurts as though it’ll somehow make the words come to him. The cigarette’s butt burns hot. The wall in front of him grows larger until it fills his entire vision with its white colour and has that spot always been there? The little dark one? It looks like a cigarette burn or— or something. 

“Forget I said anything,” Ludwig quickly says and then the line goes dead in Feliciano’s hand.

Feliciano blinks. The wall has gone back to its normal size. Feliciano puts the phone into place and any shame he has gives away to disappointment.

[ackermom]

there's still dust when the soldier lifts his hand. bertholdt sees his skin— grime laid in patches across his palm where his hand glanced over the hot metal, never grasping round the surface of the barrel to keep from getting burned. even so, his fingers are pink beneath the dust and dirt, from the heat or just from the wear of the ropes that pulled the cannons from their carts and onto the field.

"antiques," the soldier announces, as an observation, or an accomplishment, as if that's something to be proud of and he expects to look up and find bertholdt nodding in agreement and appreciation. "these suckers killed a good few of your lot back in the day."

his fingers smudge together as he dusts off his hands. he looks up with a dark grin, his eyes hidden behind the glare of the sun. bertholdt nods in agreement. some things are just facts.

"nearly a hundred years old and probably still finer than whatever they've got to throw at you on the island," the soldier continues. "intel says their cannons are about the same, give or take a few decades. their whole island is armed with weapons stolen at the end of the war. can't be much use left in them by now."

the black metal is glimmering with heat beneath the midmorning sun, even under the dust. three are lined up on the grass, the middle of a field so wide bertholdt can't see to either end, and they're manned by a huddle of soldiers he thinks have seen better days. or worse ones, judging by the stories they've been spewing out all morning. the youngest among them sailed in the north sea armada twenty-five years ago, and the oldest looks as if he might have seen the fall of the great houses with his own eyes. their wicked ancestors, that is, the strongholds of devils whose evil power succumbed to the might of this great empire. at home they say those devils still walk the streets, the descendants of those who met their deserved ends at marley's storm and swords. he used to pray he was not one of them.

it's stupid now, the thought that his family could be descended from anyone other than people who were as poor then as they are now. but he used to pray— if he could not be good, at least let him not be wicked.

"he's half-mad for this," the soldier is saying. he wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his head, and bertholdt sees his palm is still thick with grime. "no expense spared for magath's little warriors, eh? you're getting the royal treatment from us."

not me, bertholdt thinks. he glances to the distance, to the starting line where the race will begin with a flash, a giant scuff mark in the dirt, and a sprint through cannonballs as if there was a wall a hundred meters high standing where they are now. they talked about it. magath's soldiers think him only half-mad, when the truth is he nearly lost it all the day he grumbled out loud whether they had time to reproduce the behemoth fossil they'll have to smash through when they reach the island. there was a hush and a mutter, before it was deemed too expensive, even for the most ambitious operation in marley's history.

he can't see the other end of the field beneath the hard glare of the sun. but the cannons are aimed that way, and they're being loaded to shoot. the cannonballs make a thunderous clanking drop when they're rolled inside, like a bomb going off at the bottom of a well. a sound he's only heard from within.

"will it hurt?" he can't help but ask.

the soldier doesn't answer for a moment before he realizes bertholdt is talking to him, and then he laughs, waving for his grunts to load the last cannonball. "would it hurt if you took one of these to the knee? i'd think so, kid, but that's a question better answered by your lot. can you even feel pain?"

a stupid answer to a stupid question, bertholdt thinks when he's waved off the field so the test can begin. those cannons couldn't even reach his knee. 

[ratwhsprs]

∞ @question-marked

Send me ∞ and my muse will tell you... || Accepting! || @question-marked

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Nice || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning || No Opinion

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh… Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply

If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh… Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW! || Asexual

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || I'll Hug You If You Want It || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

"If there was anything he needed, he'd just have to ask. I've got his back and I know he's got mine."

[circusgoth-dotcom]

In This Still Life, Heart Beats Up Love

Ship: Charles Lee Ray x Ash Englund (Rockstar AU)

Word Count: 898

Summary: An edgier piece depicting a typical scene out of the band's life. CWs for implied intercourse and general suggestiveness, smoking and drug mentions, questionable relationships (specifically Chucky and Tiffany's).

Tag List: @canongf

Ash’s breath came hard as he trembled against the bathroom wall, only being able to half focus on drying himself off as Charles examined himself in the foggy mirror.

“Chucky, you gotta stop being so rough with me before a show, I’m not gonna be able to remember any of the lyrics,” he half-heartedly complained as he groped the floor for his clothes.

“Eh, they won’t care. To them you’re just a pretty face, right?” Charles responded, smirking at the bite mark on his shoulder. “Besides, you know I only go zero to sixty in three seconds and there isn’t any in between.” He chuckled somewhat sadistically as he turned and picked up his husband’s clothes for him, shoving them into his hands and kissing his puffy lips roughly.

“Yeah, you fuck like a Corvette. Real classy.”

“I love it when you snark at me, makes me wanna go again,” Charles snarled lustfully and attacked Ash’s already tender neck, making him squeal and shy away, putting a hand on his chest.

“Chucky, stop, we’re already late to sound check,” he reminded with a breathy laugh before pulling on his clothes.

“Jesus, you’re right, what am I thinking.” Charles shook his head and picked up his own clothes, grumbling slightly to himself before leaning against the sink counter. “Why don’t we just cancel and lock Tiffany and Eddie out of the room tonight?”

“Absolutely not, our fans paid good money to see us tonight! Put your pants on and let’s go.” Ash pushed out of the bathroom, walking into the main hotel room and onto a scene of Tiffany and Eddie making out on the couch. “Oops.” Speaking with no remorse, he kept the door open long enough for Charles to see.

“HEY!”

The two sprang apart as if touched with hot pokers. Charles made himself decent in the blink of an eye, though his pants and shirt remained unbuttoned and dishevelled as he entered the room, grabbing his switchblade from the TV stand and pointing it angrily at his “best friend.”

“Caputo, get the fuck out of here. So help me Christ if you don’t get your ass down to the lobby and tell our chauffer that we’ll be down in five minutes, if you don’t get up off that goddamn couch--”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Eddie shot off like a rocket, terrified, and let the door bang shut behind him.

“And you,” the knife was directed at Tiffany, quivering slightly in Charles’ hand. “We’ll get to you later... holy shit, this is a new low, ain’t it?”

The knife flashed as the blade flipped back into the handle and was pocketed. Tiffany shifted on the couch, shrugging.

“We were bored, you know I’m not really into him. What took you two so long, anyway, I thought you were just going to...?” She trailed off as she eyed the fresh hickeys on Ash’s neck and folded her arms. “You’re a real hypocrite, you know that, Chuck?”

Charles made an uncaring sound as he buttoned his pants and shirt. “I am a rockstar, a key part of that is fucking like you’ll die tomorrow.” He shoved a pair of sunglasses on his face and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and sticking it in his mouth before handing the box to Ash. “Try it sometime. Ash, lighter.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes as she stood from the couch while Ash fished in his pocket for his lighter, taking a cigarette for himself from the box before sharing the lighter with his husband. They both knew Tiffany would only sleep with the one she loved- Charles, for better or for worse.

“Alright, I’m getting sick of looking at you and our manager’s going to be pissed if we wait any longer,” as Tiffany went to open the door, Charles sped ahead and opened it for her.

“After you, toots.”

“Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

The grins they flashed at each other emanated something far beyond devotion or mutual hatred. Charles continued to grin at her long after she had passed him by and entered the hall, soon followed by Ash.

“So, are we doing coke in the bathroom before or after the show?” Charles muttered to Ash as they followed Tiffany down to the lobby.

“Definitely before, I want to get this shit show over with as soon as possible.”

“Fucking agreed, babydoll.”

“Can’t we go to a fun city next? Like Vegas,” Ash blew smoke into the air, grinning, “or Miami.”

“You think it’s fun, risking getting shot at?” Charles turned and grabbed their forearm, making them stop as he caressed their temple with his opposite hand, his cigarette dangling precariously between his knuckles. “You really are fucked in the head, aren’t you, sweetheart?~” To the sane, Charles’ words would’ve sounded harsh, but for Ash, he was speaking in the sweetest, most honeyed tone he could muster.

“Well, it beats being sober.”

The two cracked up as Tiffany turned ahead and made an exasperated sound.

“Hurry up!!” She yelled. “I’m not holding the elevator doors for you!”

“You heard the lady,” Charles sighed and lightly swatted at his partner’s rear, “get a move on. We’re coming!”

Ash laughed again and they quickly joined Tiffany in the elevator. Neither of them would remember that night- which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence -once they reached the venue, but the fond feelings lingered.

[ask-shu-todoroki]

Here's your permission to talk about your MLP character hyperfixations

go on now

Do I just rattle off who's on my mind right now? Well, okay, lemme think... XD

King Sombra - Currently the most pressing hyperfixation at the moment because I want to write a redemption arc for him. I honestly think he was done dirty by the series and he should've been given the Discord treatment instead of being revived in Season 9 only to be killed off. Kind of a waste, don't you think? Also he's extremely hot and I cannot help but simp for his majesty aaaaa

No seriously look at him and tell me if you're a man you don't immediately question your sexuality

Soarin - He just has a really cool design and looks like a really cool and chill dude. Can do no wrong and his voice is really cool too. Kind of gives off California surfer dude vibes and although he's second-in-command he's way more chill than Spitfire. I wish he had more speaking roles tbh because we just need more of this man instead of him being a weird side/background character hybrid. Like people know who he is but he only speaks in like, three episodes???

Thunderlane - Okay, he's a background stallion and no one really cares about him and his brother Rumble and I didn't either until "Marks and Recreation." Like, he's a talented flyer but he can also cook? Where has this guy been all my life? His design is awesome and he looks like he'd be a confident boss type but from what I saw of him he's just as sweet as Soarin which is why they belong together don't @ me Idk how these people get his voice down perfectly but his voice fits so well aaaaa

Help his face in this image, just, gay panic

Shining Armor - He's like the only major male character in the series that appears frequently and I'm not mad at it, literally best husband and he probably speaks for all new fathers when he looks like he's losing his sanity in The Crystalling. Wait, does that make him a DILF???

Braeburn - He's not so much in my thoughts as other stallions but maybe he should, like he's a really cool and down to earth character and I can see why so many people in the fandom write him. Basically a Texas cowboy but ponified? How can you not like him hrrrr

Thorax - THE CINNAMON ROLLEST CINNAMON ROLL THERE EVER WAS

No really he's so precious and needs to be protected, can literally do no wrong, he helped take down his own queen like what an icon. He also never gave up on his brother who was kind of being a jerk to him and he's also the only leader who didn't get angry at Neighsay for being a racist. Definition of gentle giant in his metamorphized form

Sunburst - Initially I was kind of "eh" about him when he made his debut but I grew to like him as he made more appearances in the series. Probably the character who I can connect the most with, being socially awkward, wears glasses, and also smart? I can connect with him on a personal level and his wizard vibes despite not actually being a wizard are to die for aaaaa

Flash Sentry - Okay, hear me out, hear me out! I know no one likes him in the fandom but he genuinely seems like a nice dude, if his human form is anything to go by. Also we never really see what it's like to be a royal guard so why not go into more depth with him? He was supposed to play a bigger part in the series but he was axed due to the absolute vitriol that was thrown towards him from what I heard and it's really a shame.

You can't tell me he's not cute in this shot

Flash Magnus - He's as badass as he looks. No seriously he's just such a confident and awesome character that I love him so much. He also looks suspiciously similar to Flash Sentry so I have to wonder, are they related? Is Flash Sentry a descendant of Flash Magnus? Is this a possible fic idea? XD Also his red mane is just, chef's kiss

He looks like he's been through war and he's literally a living legend, what's not to love?

Rockhoof - Okay he gives me Thor vibes and Thor is hot so I think he is hot. The episode of him trying to find his place is the right mix of seriousness and comedy, like nothing in the modern world is made for someone that buff XD He and Thorax are gentle giants and I love them both pretty much, I can't choose between him and Flash as a favorite Pillar of Equestria XD

Okay after writing like a thousand words those are all of my hyperfixations at the moment when it comes to MLP, they live in my head rent free fighting for space with Cars, Planes, Mariah Carey, and Transformers

[the-whumpening]

The Backstory Arc, Part 2

Prev | Masterpost | Next

Here's where the smut begins (Do I need a CW for horni and sex? Eh, consider this a warning for Ash awkwardly but consensually losing his virginity lol)

Pressing her chest to his, Uma feasts on every inch of his face and neck, her hot breath igniting his skin. Again, he tries to tune out the questions and confusion cluttering his brain, locking his attention to the incredible softness of her body and the stiffness growing underneath her. Much to his embarrassment, her breathy laugh confirms she noticed it, too.

“That's a good boy,” she murmurs into his cheek. She leans into his ear and whispers, “Let me help you with that, Kitty.” As she pulls away, she nips his earlobe, sending shivers down his spine.

Before he can gather his thoughts enough to reply, her hips begin to gently sway, rubbing the bulge in his shorts. Reflexively, he clings onto her waist, torn between whether to hold her still or encourage the movement. The pressure and warmth certainly feel good, but the unfamiliar sensation is startling. How far is she going with this? She doesn't want to . . . does she?! The warmth between her legs bares down on him, and he pulls in a squeaking gasp.

“U-uma . . . ” he stammers, squirming underneath her to control the confusing pleasure. Seeing the panic bubble up, Uma pulls back, holding his face in her hand.

“Hey, you okay?” She rubs his cheek with her thumb, the intensity in her gaze softening to tenderness. He starts to nod, then shakes his head. “Oh, Kitty . . . I’m sorry. This is a bit fast for you, isn’t it?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ash nods and lowers his head. She plants a soft kiss on his forehead before climbing off of his lap.

“That’s okay,” she reassures him. “Why don’t we just go lay down, hm? Slow down, see how you’re feeling, and go from there?”

He chokes out a quiet, “Okay,” before following her on wobbly legs to her bed. His usually-buzzing head is surprisingly empty as she lies close to him, though he wishes even a single thought would come to help him understand his feelings. I have to figure this out somehow . . . As the two quietly embrace, he runs through the events of the night in his mind, attempting to label what he felt.

Evius’ kiss: Good. Definitely good. Amazing, even.

Uma's kiss: Also good? Intense. The bite was . . . surprisingly good, too.

Uma on my lap: Scary. No, good. I mean, both? It was new, but it still felt good, right?

He continues to mark the sensations in his mind--the smoothness of her skin, her soft arms and legs pressed against him, the floral scent of her hair.

After a while, she pipes up, “I can feel you thinking over there. Is everything alright, kitten?” She props herself up on her elbow, her other arm still wound around his waist.

He rests his forehead on hers, melting into her touch. “I'm okay. Just . . . needed to get my brain together.”

“And what conclusion did you come to?” Uma murmurs, touching the tip of her nose to his. Her fingers trace up and down his spine, goosebumps following closely behind.

His lips scrunch together in thought before he returns to biting the inside anxiously. “I . . . I really like this.” With his hand behind her back, he broadly gestures to the two of them intertwined. “This makes my heart feel light and achy. But,” he averts his eyes and lowers his voice, “it’s also . . . scary. And I know that’s dumb, but it's the truth.” As the words tumble out of him, his heart pounds against his chest and the corners of his eyes start to sting.

Uma pulls him in close, dropping her elbow to envelop him entirely. She combs her fingers through the black waves of his hair and settles his head on her chest.

“Sweet, silly kitten,” she coos. “You know I wouldn’t push you into something I didn’t think you could handle. There’s nothing to be afraid of; I’ll take care of you, Kitty.” Loosening her grip, she picks his chin up to kiss him, breaking away just long enough to whisper, “Trust me.”

The hair on Ash’s back stands on end, a shiver rolling through him.

“I do.” He allows the kiss to linger and grow, noting the warmth spreading in his chest and the lightheaded sensation as he nearly forgets to breathe. I do trust her . . . everything will be okay. Right? Yeah, he coaches himself. Be brave; there’s nothing to be scared of. Except . . . Before he has time to ruminate, Uma nudges him over, pushing him onto his back so she can loom above, an arm on each side corralling him in place. She trails kisses down his neck, to his collarbone, and onto his chest before lifting up.

“Help me with my clothes, Kitty,” she says in a gentle command. Ash’s hands shake a little as he reaches for her top, trying to very carefully lift it. He pulls it up over her head, and she uses her hands to catch her breasts as they’re freed from the fabric. She leans forward onto his chest, pressing them against him as she slides off her bottoms.

For the first time, Ash sees all of Umazura. His heart aches and his stomach starts to flip as he takes in the image. Her breasts, perky and larger than expected; her curves, so soft and so delicate. And the little tuft of hair between her legs, missing what Ash expected to be there. Right, girls don’t have those . . .

“Now for these . . . ” Uma murmurs, glancing to catch Ash’s eye as she tugs at the waistband of his underpants. A greedy smirk plays on her lips as his nudity is revealed and the shorts are dropped to the floor. Instinctively, he starts to cover himself with his tail and hands, but Uma gently pushes them aside. “No hiding, Kitty. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

Ever since his intelligence increased, Ash has become much more aware of his own nakedness. He’s started turning away or covering himself when undressing, despite living most of his life nude or half-clothed at best. It’s gotten easier and less embarrassing as he gets used to his newfound knowledge, but now—laid out on this bed, completely stripped—he has never felt quite as exposed. He desperately wants to roll over and pull up his knees, shielding his body from view, but Uma’s firm hands hold him in place.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, gathering his courage and resolve. When he opens them, he catches Uma’s reassuring gaze, and his heart starts to settle. He lifts a shaky hand to her face, feeling the curve of her cheek. She places her own hand over his, rotating her face to kiss his palm.

“You still doing okay, Kitty? You’re shaking.” She takes his hand from her face and holds it in both of hers.

“I’m . . . I’m okay.” Ash takes another deep breath to steady himself. “Let’s keep going.”

Uma smiles and leans down to kiss his cheek before getting up from the bed. She quickly rummages through her bedside table and pulls out a small bottle of liquid, some kind Ash doesn’t recognize by smell. She rolls the bottle in her hands to warm the contents, then tips a little into her hand. As she sits back on the bed, kneeling with her legs tucked beneath her, she drips it onto the head of his member. She uses her hand to spread it down the shaft, lubricating the entire length.

Ash shudders from the touch, his nerves lighting up and his breath catching. This feeling is unlike any he’s felt before; even cleaning himself, he’d never felt such an intense sensation. She continues sliding her hand up and down, gently tracing around the tip. It twitches slightly, a tiny bead of liquid leaking out. Uma leans forward, resting her chest against Ash’s and sliding her face up to his. He clings onto her, desperate for the security of her embrace, and meets her lips.

She holds his hair with her dry hand, pressing the other between her legs, though Ash can't quite make out what she's doing. As they kiss, Ash starts to notice Uma gently rocking back and forth against her hand. He can feel her face getting warm and her breath is a little more frantic.

“Ash,” she pants, “are you ready?”

An electric jolt leaps from his toes all the way up to the ends of his hair. Goosebumps rise on his arms, and his cheeks start to burn. Be brave, there's nothing to be scared of, he repeats like a mantra in his head.

With a shaky breath, he nods. “R-ready.”

At his approval, Uma throws her leg over Ash’s hips, balancing on her knees as she starts to sit upright. She adjusts him into just the right position, and as she slowly leans back, she engulfs him.

Uma gives a small contented moan, and Ash's head starts to swirl. The warmth, the softness . . . he can't find any comparison, any frame of reference. An unfamiliar pleasure ripples through him; even his lips and fingertips seem to tingle. He meets her eyes again, and the panic in his stomach finally subsides. The relief is evident on his face, anxiety replaced by tenderness and calm.

“There’s my good Kitty,” Uma says as she notices the change. “Nice and relaxed. Just feel, don't think.” She leans down to kiss and nibble on his neck. He can feel himself start to unconsciously rock his hips, an ache deep within him trying to be fulfilled.

Grinning, Uma encourages this movement by doing the same. She slowly rocks back and forth on top of him, getting deeper and faster with each pass. Sensation floods through Ash's body, building and building as Uma bounces. All thoughts disappear from Ash's mind; no longer is he concerned about his nudity, no longer is he scared of this new experience. With each thrust, he melts more and more, hypnotized by the sway of her breasts and her rhythmic movements.

Sooner than he expects, Ash begins to feel an uncontrollable urge. His skin flushes as his breath becomes quicker and more shallow. Is this what Kane told me about? Am I . . . ?

“Uma,” Ash says breathlessly, “I think I . . . I’m--”

“Hang in there just a little longer, Kitty.” Uma slightly slows her pace, reaching down to rub herself. Ash tries desperately to hold on, but the pressure is nearly unbearable.

Just when Ash thinks he can't take any more, Uma cries out and trembles on top of him.

“Now, Kitty,” she pants. “Let go.”

As if on command, Ash gives in to the urge. He holds Uma tight and quickly thrusts into her, finally releasing the pressure. The rush of pleasure is more potent than any adrenaline-fueled hunt, yet somehow still as primal. For a second, he fears that this animal instinct will overtake him, but as the wave subsides, his head comes out of the fog. He loosens his grip around her waist, his heart thudding softly in his chest.

Uma slides beside him in bed, resting her head on his chest. “You still okay, Ash? You feel alright?”

Ash notices just the faintest prickle in the corners of his eyes, but more than anything, he has an overwhelming sense of calm. He might not have all the answers yet, but he’s not afraid anymore.

“I’m . . . okay,” he says softly. Uma presses a gentle kiss onto his lips.

“Let's get some sleep, okay? Your clothes won't be dry till the morning anyway, so you might as well just stay.” As she speaks, she nestles closer into his expansive chest, winding her arm around him and locking him in place.

He chuckles, squeezing her in return. “Okay, okay, I'll stay.”

As they lay together, Ash stumbles over half-conscious thoughts. I hope Evvy got home safe . . .where did he go? Maybe we should talk tomorrow . . .

Sleep comes to him fitfully that night, flashes of gold and copper flickering through his dreams.

[jayalaw]

Vlad Masters in Brighton (Ghost and Molly McGee and Danny Phantom Season 2 Spoilers)

@hcsp1, thank you for helping me brainstorm!

For chronology, assume that season three of Danny Phantom hasn't happened, but the Halloween episode of Ghost and Molly McGee, "Frightmare on Main Street" has.

Brighton seems to have become less safe for ghosts. The Chens stream nonstop, showing off their canister. Having Ollie on Molly and Scratch's side makes a difference, though. When he stops seeing Scratch as evil, he takes notes when asking questions. 

Molly starts another en-happifying campaign. She starts building treehouses and temporary shelters in the park. Sure, Brighton doesn't exactly have a homeless population, but a person can never be too careful. It also gives her an excuse to find the cameras on a map that Ollie has marked, so that she can mark safe paths for the ghosts. June doesn't have to know about the counter-campaign, and none of the ghosts will be destroyed. 

When she sees the girl in the hat and sweatshirt sneaking around the encampments.

“Hey!” Molly holds out a picnic basket. “Are you hungry?”

The girl turns to leave, but her stomach rumbles. Molly offers the food that she and her dad have made, and Scratch even tossed in some of Grandma Nin's recipes because he had started cooking as well, so that he could feed himself more. 

Her name is Dani, and she is camping. Molly expresses worry about being out here as the weather is getting colder. When snow falls in Brighton, it can get freezing. Even though Dani looks dressed for the winter, her parents should pick her up before winter hits. Maybe she can get back before Thanksgiving. 

“I’m going to be fine,” Dani says. “Don’t worry.”

Molly doesn't start worrying until seeing signs that Dani hasn't left the treehouses. On the news, the weather warns of snowfall and a snow day soon. Anyone who stays out in that temperature will freeze to death.  

“Hey!” Molly greets Dani with hot chocolate in a thermos. “I have an idea!”

She invites Dani for a spontaneous slumber party at her house. Absolutely nothing suspicious about that and Dani can't refuse an invitation. Dani says that Daddy will be worried, but Molly lures her with a promise of space movies. 

“The Mars Rover movie just came out! And I know you were looking forward to it!” 

“You know me too well.” Dani lets her guard down and smiles. “Fine, I’ll be there.” 

Dani for the first time ever sees a family that loves each other. Peter McGee offers her more dumplings. He asks Molly in a whisper if the attic is safe. Molly assures him yes. Because after all, Scratch can choose who sees him. He's going to sneak snacks from the sleepover and still.

They didn't expect Dani to drop the spare set of pajamas that Molly had lent her. She stares at Scratch, who had been helping himself to some fresh popcorn. Scratch also points at her. He says that he can sense she's a ghost. Dani panics and transforms. Silver hair and black pants. She even floats! Scratch prepares to go full Chairman.

“Oh, no! You’re not haunting this attack!” He dons the cloak. “Eh, give me a minute, the sleeves are tight-”

Molly gets between them, saying how cool it is that Dani has powers. She says it's perfectly fine if Dani is a ghost, because her best friend is one! And ghost aren't evil, the snacks are going to get cold, and it's movie night. The space movie isn't going to watch itself. It's supposed to recreate the last moments of the Mars Rover, before it inexplicably comes back to life and returns to Earth. 

Dani settles for a truce because of the movies. Scratch settles because of the snacks. And once Dani is snuggled in the sleeping bag -- borrowed, obviously-- Molly tells her she can stay as long as she needs. Her secret is safe within the attic. Just in time, as they watch the snow fall. Means that no one in Brighton will be sleeping tonight. 

After breakfast, Molly has dozens of questions. Did Dani step through a portal? Is she a wraith? Can she do stage magic? If so, can she not because Molly hates it with every depth of her soul? 

Dani isn't ready to answer everything. No, she isn't a wrath; she is half-ghost. Dani doesn't like stage magic either. She does request no selfies, because someone is chasing her. He can spy through cameras, even those on phones. Molly respects that. Dani does say that there is a person she can call, her third cousin once-removed, but he may not want to talk to her. She's not ready. 

They have a plan. Hide Dani in the attic for a few days. Molly keeps it clean, so Sharon doesn't bother her. Then before Thanksgiving, motivate Dani to call her cousin. She doesn't want to talk about her dad, although occasionally she turns her head away when Peter kisses Molly on the forehead. Peter also offers her hugs and says it is nice to see another new face in Brighton.  

Just as well, because the Chens are on the prowl. They share with their other ghost hunters that their canister works. June messages the Fentons, asking about their thermos. Something is not right. It shouldn't have caught the evil ghosts on Halloween. June also checks the cameras. Something is shimmering in the cameras, but then vanished. She makes note of it on the vlog, saying that the ghosts must have hunkered down for the winter. 

Next thing you know, a familiar van has pulled up next door. Dani spots it and hides in the attic. She would love to go outside and feel the winter breeze in her hair, but Danny Fenton is probably in that van. So is his family. 

The kids aren't thrilled about another spontaneous road trip, especially right before Thanksgiving. Their grandmother is going to kill Jack. It's freezing in Brighton, too cold for ghostly investigations. Danny, however, sees his ghost powers activate. But no ghosts are causing trouble. At some point, there would be screaming. Something is suspicious in this town.

He spots someone who looks familiar in the neighbor's attic, and gasps. After blinking, he confirms it is who he thinks it is. Danny asks to excuse himself. Jazz distracts the Fentons by asking the Chens about their tech and winter garden, since it's too cold for chili peppers. June's sensors go off, but Ollie asks if she can help design him snowshoes that would allow him to chase ghosts in the snow. He says that he saw some in the park. 

Meanwhile, Dani had her first good night's sleep in weeks. Yet when she spots a translucent head poking through the wood, Dani's about to run. But as she transforms, she starts to ooze. Right, because Vlad never figured out that kink. 

Danny powers down. He tells her she doesn't have to fear him. They're family, Vlad or no Vlad. And he has been worried sick about her since she flew away from Amity Park. 

Dani stops oozing. She regains control. Then she sits on Molly's bed. Danny joins her. And they talk. 

Molly isn't there, shoveling snow for people at the Senior Center. Scratch, however, runs a bubble bath so he won't hear a dozen apologies from a girl who says that she thought the man who created her was a good person. He lied to her and used her. Danny tells her there's nothing to forgive. Vlad Masters lies to everyone. He uses people.  

Danny wants his cousin to come live with the Fentons. If he can keep his ghost side a secret, so can she. And he can use the lab to help with her disintegration, to stop it from getting worse. He and Jazz can make up a story at Thanksgiving about a forgotten cousin. Vlad is far away from Wisconsin, far from here. She's safe now. 

Neither of them knows that Vlad Masters is one of the Chens' biggest sponsors online. He has taken advantage of the Internet and has a network of ghost hunters, connected in the country. When June's feed shows the image, he can't resist the formulation of a plan. 

It seems that the Fentons will pass through town, and Dani will go with them. Molly is relieved and saddened since she always wanted a little sister, and Scratch admits that he'll miss the little kid. Even Darryl complains that he won't have someone who is good at hustling as his other partner-in-crime. 

Then a limo pulls up in Brighton. The most expensive mansion there goes up for rent. 

“I would know that limo anywhere!” Jack Fenton jumps into the van. “Don’t wait up, for me honey!” 

Jack only dings the limo a little when it brakes before he can respond. He goes to shake his best friend's hand and what are the odds they're in the same Midwestern town? 

Vlad Masters, eye twitching from the dent, is interested in relocating. He has seen that the town is filled with ghosts. And the mayor is an incumbent. 

“Maybe it's time for new blood, especially since November is an election month.” He looks at the town. “And a person like me could make some changes.” 

Molly and Danny both freak out as Jack Fenton returns and announces loudly outside the McGee house that the Fentons will stay for as long as Vlad needs to run his campaign. Maddy tries to remind Jack about Grandma and Thanksgiving, while Jazz rolls her eyes. To Molly, it's threatening a mayor who has always tried his best, and none of the treehouses she built are meant to help a family survive the winter. 

But to Danny? He knows that any Vlad plan is not a good plan. They can get Dani out of the town and back to Amity Park, but that doesn't solve the problem of how to foil whatever scheme that Vlad has. The Guys in White won't answer any more calls from the Fentons. 

Dani is adamant about one thing: they have to update Molly and Scratch. Danny asks who they are, just as Molly returns from shoveling driveways. Scratch freaks out about more ghosts in his space and asks when did the attic become a reception area. This time, Dani calms things down, saying that she can explain. Everyone gets up to date, and Molly's expression changes when she learns who Dani's father is, and how he created Dani.

"Surely... he's not that bad?" she ventures. 

"He tortured a teenager- me!" Danny rolled up his sleeve. "Yes, he is that bad." 

"I can't believe I’m agreeing with a broody teenager, but that guy sounds really evil!" Scratch adds. "Let me handle him; I can curse him in his sleep to leave Brighton and never return." 

"Or I can talk to him," Molly says. "Maybe I can explain that Brighton is very happy with our mayor and he doesn't have to bother with the ghosts around here."

"My plan is better," Scratch grouses. The fact is that Vlad hurt a girl younger than Molly, and he remembers what happened with the Chairman. He doesn't want to take any chances, especially when Frightmares are nearby. 

They try going with Molly's plan, with Dani staying in the attic but Danny coming along as backup. When Jazz spots them, she knows when glancing at Danny, and tosses the Ghost Catcher to her little brother. 

“So what is that?” Molly asks casually.

“Oh, this split me in two a few times,” Danny replies. “Literally! My ghost half and human half. But I guess Jazz doesn’t want me to trap Vlad in a thermos.” 

Molly’s eyes widen. She touches the net part of the Ghost Catcher.

“Eh, I’m not buying it.” Scratch pokes the rod. “Looks like a fancy butterfly net to me.”  

They soon make it to the mansion, bundled up and ready to face Vlad. Danny has the Ghost Catcher ready, while Molly prepares to put on the charm. 

Neither of them can stop Scratch from going inside the rental mansion, cloak and all.

The cloak flies in the air. Scratch flees from Vlad Plasmius, screaming for the whole while. People point at them. 

"Scratch!" Molly looks around. "What do we do?"

"You stay here!" Danny says. "I'm going ghost!" 

As he transforms, Molly grabs the Ghost Catcher. It has an on and off-switch. She presses it on, and sets it up on the ground. Then she takes a leap. 

The next thing you know, Andrea Davenport is broadcasting a screeching Vlad Plasmius as a yellow wraith chases him down, trying to boop him on the nose. The wraith leaves flowers in her wake while yelling at him to stay away from her best friend. Everyone picks up a dandelion or a daisy. 

"Okay, that girl is officially the scariest non-ghost I have met, and I have a gym teacher that made us climb up a rope twenty times," Danny says, watching the trail of destructions and native flowers. 

"You have no idea," Scratch agrees. "Donut?" 

Danny takes a chocolate frosted one. It's nice having someone on the team fighting by his side. 

Molly finally boops Vlad on the nose, sending him crashing to Earth in a mound of flowers and snow well beyond the borders of Brighton. She warns him to never come back to the town or hurt Scratch, or he will have to deal with her. Then she leaves him, and advises him that this is a common highway for ride-shares, so he'll be fine. 

Vlad doesn't know who the yellow ghost is, only that she managed to depower him in mid-air, with one touch. But he does like a challenge. After he regains his dignity and manages to find his phone, he sheepishly calls his limo driver to ask for a ride. After all, a future mayor of Brighton can't freeze under a bed of flowers. It's not dignifying for a man like him.

[suckitsurveys]

What was the year/make/model of the last car you drove? 2008 Ford Escape Hybrid.

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celcius)? It was like -10F with windchill the other day.

What was the last thing you used your phone for, besides calling/texting? I was browsing Reddit a little bit ago.

Do you have more male or female coworkers? I am the only girl here from M-Th. Friday we have our admin assistant in the office with us.

Did you enjoy high school? No.

What’s an unusual food combination you like? I don’t think there’s anything that “unusual” I enjoy.

What’s the longest stretch of time you’ve spent completely alone? Good question, I can’t recall a huge stretch of time I was completely alone. Probably no more than a day or two.

Have you ever lived in a studio apartment? I have not.

Did your parents allow you to drink soda when you were a kid? Yeah, but I was supposed to ask first. They used to keep Dr. Pepper in the fridge but I wasn’t allowed to go in the fridge without permission, but they always had cases of it not in the fridge so I used to sneak the warm ones and drink those lol.

Do you always check the prices of things when you buy groceries? Yeah, for the most part. We have the Jewel-Osco app so we always look for deals and stuff on that and clip coupons before we go shopping.

Do you like gyoza? I can’t remember if I’ve tried it or not.

Have you ever been in a situation where you needed a lawyer? Nope.

Do you use Instagram? If so, what’s your current profile pic? I do; it’s me dressed as Billie Eilish from the When The Party’s Over music video from this part Halloween.

Did you ever go through an emo or goth phase? Sure.

What are your thoughts on kids being given iPads to keep them entertained? I don’t think it’s all that bad, as long as they aren’t on it ALL day long.

Do you get regular check-ups with your doctor? Oops.

What was the last thing you felt apprehensive about? Work-related shit.

How many nights per week do you cook dinner at home vs. going out to eat? Mark cooks almost every night, but we do have a take out day two or three times a month.

What’s a trend you’ve seen recently that you thought was really dumb? AI. Also the fucking Stanley Cup obsession. it’s not even practical at ALL.

Do you know anyone who has been evicted? Yeah.

When did you last wash your sheets and pillowcases? A couple of weeks ago.

Have you kissed more than 10 people in the past 10 years? I’ve only kissed one person in the past 12 years.

Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? Yeah.

Did you leave the house before 10 AM yesterday? I do that every work day, M-F.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? I actually don’t really like macarons that much.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Very rarely.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? Eh.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? Twice? The Wilderness water park resort in Wisconsin and then at a hotel near the airport here in Chicago for my bday. All the other times I traveled I stayed at someone’s house.

What kind of technological advancements do you expect there to be 100 years from now? I don’t care I’ll be dead.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Nah.

What about a flip off of a diving board? I’ve done flips into the pool when I was kid.

What was the last hot beverage you had? I’m currently drinking tea.