#regular hood cleaning

[red-eagle-fire-protection-encino]

The Long-Term Advantages of Regular Exhaust Hood Maintenance

In any commercial kitchen, the exhaust hood system is a vital piece of equipment, responsible for maintaining air quality, reducing fire hazards, and ensuring proper ventilation. However, to keep it functioning optimally over time, regular maintenance is key. Routine maintenance offers numerous long-term benefits that go beyond just keeping your kitchen safe. In this article, we’ll explore how consistent upkeep of your exhaust hood system can save money, enhance performance, and extend its operational life.

Increased Efficiency and Performance

One of the most immediate and long-lasting benefits of routine maintenance is improved system performance. An exhaust hood works hard to expel grease, smoke, and heat from the kitchen, but without regular cleaning and inspection, these contaminants can accumulate in the hood, filters, and ductwork. This buildup restricts airflow, forcing the system to work harder to do its job.

By scheduling regular cleanings, you ensure that the system operates efficiently, maintaining strong airflow and reducing the strain on the fan and motor. Over time, this leads to smoother operation and consistent performance, improving the overall environment in your kitchen.

Extended Equipment Lifespan

Routine maintenance not only improves performance but also extends the lifespan of your exhaust hood system. Grease buildup, mechanical issues, and blocked filters can cause components like the fan, motor, and ductwork to wear out faster than they should. Regular inspections and cleanings help prevent these issues from escalating into major problems, ensuring that the system remains in good working condition for years to come.

By investing in regular upkeep, you can significantly prolong the life of your exhaust system, saving on costly repairs or replacements in the long run.

Reduced Risk of Fire Hazards

A well-maintained exhaust hood system is crucial for fire prevention in commercial kitchens. Grease is highly flammable, and without proper maintenance, it can accumulate in the hood and ductwork, increasing the risk of a grease fire. Regular cleaning removes this buildup, reducing the likelihood of fire and ensuring a safer kitchen environment.

In addition to preventing grease fires, regular maintenance helps your system stay compliant with local fire codes and safety regulations, protecting your business from fines or penalties.

Lower Energy Costs

When an exhaust hood system is clogged or malfunctioning, it consumes more energy to expel heat, smoke, and contaminants from the kitchen. This inefficiency drives up energy costs and puts unnecessary strain on the system. Routine maintenance keeps the system clean and free of blockages, allowing it to operate efficiently and use less energy.

Over time, the energy savings from regular maintenance can add up, making a noticeable difference in your monthly utility bills.

Preventing Unexpected Breakdowns

Unexpected breakdowns can be both disruptive and costly, especially in a busy commercial kitchen. Routine maintenance helps identify potential problems early, such as worn-out parts, motor issues, or airflow blockages. By addressing these small issues before they escalate, you can avoid sudden system failures that could halt operations and lead to expensive emergency repairs.

Regular maintenance ensures that your exhaust hood remains reliable, reducing the risk of unexpected downtime and keeping your kitchen running smoothly.

Compliance with Health and Safety Standards

In commercial kitchens, adhering to health and safety regulations is critical. Many local fire and health codes require regular exhaust hood maintenance to prevent hazards and maintain proper ventilation. Failing to comply with these regulations can result in fines, penalties, or even business closure. Regular maintenance ensures that your exhaust system meets these safety standards, reducing your liability and keeping your kitchen safe.

Compliance also builds trust with customers and employees, showing that you prioritize their safety and well-being.

Long-Term Cost Savings

While routine maintenance requires an investment of time and resources, the long-term cost savings are substantial. Preventative maintenance helps avoid expensive repairs, reduces energy costs, and extends the life of your equipment. By addressing issues before they become major problems, you save money in the long run and ensure that your exhaust hood system continues to operate efficiently for years to come.

[red-eagle-fire-santa-barbara]

The Impact of Regular Maintenance Schedules on Extending Exhaust Hood System Lifespan

Keeping a kitchen ventilation system in top condition requires consistent kitchen exhaust hood maintenance. Adhering to a proper maintenance schedule not only improves efficiency but also significantly extends the lifespan of the system. In this article, we’ll explain how following a regular maintenance routine can lead to a longer-lasting exhaust hood system, preventing costly repairs and maintaining safety.

The Role of Maintenance in Extending Exhaust Hood Lifespan

Your kitchen exhaust hood plays a crucial role in removing grease, smoke, and fumes from the kitchen. Over time, grease and debris accumulate in the hood, filters, and ductwork, reducing airflow and efficiency. Without regular kitchen exhaust hood maintenance, this buildup can lead to system damage, breakdowns, or even fire hazards.

Scheduling routine cleanings and inspections ensures that all components—filters, fans, and ducts—function properly, reducing strain on the system and helping to extend its overall lifespan.

Key Benefits of a Regular Maintenance Schedule

Following a consistent kitchen exhaust hood maintenance schedule offers several benefits:

Increased Efficiency: Regular cleaning prevents grease and debris from blocking airflow, allowing the system to work more efficiently and reduce energy consumption.

Cost Savings: Routine inspections catch minor issues early, helping to avoid expensive repairs or full replacements.

Fire Hazard Prevention: Regular maintenance reduces grease buildup, minimizing the risk of kitchen fires, especially in commercial kitchens.

Extended Equipment Lifespan: By keeping key components clean and functional, you can significantly increase the longevity of the exhaust hood system.

Components That Require Regular Maintenance

Key components in the kitchen exhaust system require frequent attention to ensure they stay in good working condition:

Filters: These trap grease and particles, becoming clogged over time. Regular cleaning or replacement is essential to maintain proper airflow.

Fans: The exhaust fan circulates air and removes contaminants. Regular cleaning of the fan and motor helps avoid blockages and mechanical wear.

Ductwork: Grease buildup in the ducts can restrict airflow and increase fire risk. Cleaning the ductwork regularly helps prevent these issues.

Establishing an Effective Maintenance Schedule

The frequency of kitchen exhaust hood maintenance depends on kitchen usage. Busy commercial kitchens should have inspections and cleanings every three to six months. Smaller kitchens or residential setups may only need maintenance annually. A consistent schedule reduces wear and tear on the system and ensures smooth operation over time.

Conclusion

Regular kitchen exhaust hood maintenance is vital for extending the life of your ventilation system. Following a proper maintenance schedule improves efficiency, reduces repair costs, and ensures the system operates safely and effectively. By committing to regular maintenance, you can enjoy a longer-lasting exhaust hood system that runs smoothly for years to come.

[redeaglefireprotectionorange]

How Regular Kitchen Exhaust Hood Maintenance Minimizes Fire Hazards

Maintaining a safe commercial kitchen requires diligent attention to its ventilation systems, particularly the kitchen exhaust hood. Consistent kitchen exhaust hood maintenance is essential for reducing fire risks and ensuring a safe cooking environment. By keeping the exhaust system clean, you can effectively prevent grease buildup, a common cause of kitchen fires. Let’s explore how regular maintenance helps minimize these risks and keeps your kitchen secure.

The Importance of Kitchen Exhaust Hood Maintenance for Fire Safety

The kitchen exhaust hood is designed to extract smoke, steam, and grease-laden air from the kitchen, helping maintain good air quality. However, if it isn’t cleaned regularly, grease can build up in the hood and ductwork, becoming a significant fire hazard. Without proper kitchen exhaust hood maintenance, this buildup can ignite due to high heat or sparks, leading to dangerous fires. Regular cleaning ensures that grease doesn’t accumulate, keeping your kitchen safer and compliant with safety codes.

Benefits of Regular Kitchen Exhaust Hood Maintenance

Beyond reducing fire risks, maintaining your kitchen exhaust hood offers several other benefits that enhance both safety and efficiency:

Reduces Grease Accumulation: Consistent maintenance removes grease deposits from the hood, ducts, and filters, lowering the potential for grease fires.

Improves Ventilation: A well-maintained exhaust hood system ensures better airflow, effectively removing smoke and heat. This creates a safer, more comfortable environment for kitchen staff.

Extends Equipment Lifespan: Routine kitchen exhaust hood maintenance keeps critical components like the fan and motor in good working order, prolonging the system’s life and reducing repair costs.

Ensures Compliance with Safety Standards: Many local fire and building codes require regular exhaust hood maintenance. Staying on top of maintenance helps your kitchen pass inspections and avoid penalties.

Signs That Your Exhaust Hood Needs Maintenance

Knowing when it’s time for kitchen exhaust hood maintenance helps prevent small issues from becoming major problems. Look out for these common indicators that maintenance is overdue:

Visible Grease Drips: Grease dripping from the edges of the hood is a clear sign that it’s time for a deep clean.

Reduced Airflow: If the exhaust system no longer effectively clears smoke, it could mean that grease buildup is blocking the ducts and restricting airflow.

Lingering Odors: Persistent smells in the kitchen may indicate that the exhaust system is not properly removing fumes, signaling that a more thorough cleaning is needed.

How to Maintain Your Kitchen Exhaust Hood

Proper kitchen exhaust hood maintenance involves regular cleaning combined with professional inspections. Here’s how to keep your system in optimal shape:

1. Clean Filters Frequently

Remove and wash the filters every few weeks to prevent grease buildup. Using warm, soapy water helps keep airflow strong and ensures the system functions efficiently.

2. Schedule Professional Cleanings

Hiring professionals for deep cleanings every three to six months is essential to ensure that ducts and hidden areas are free of grease. This is particularly important for high-volume kitchens where grease can accumulate rapidly.

Prioritize Regular Maintenance for a Safer Kitchen

Regular kitchen exhaust hood maintenance is key to reducing fire hazards and maintaining a safe commercial kitchen. By keeping your exhaust system clean, you prevent grease buildup, improve air quality, and extend the lifespan of your equipment. Making maintenance a priority protects your kitchen and offers peace of mind for you, your staff, and your customers.

[sistertotheknowitall]

Danny is Some Guy with a not so secret admirer.

Part four? Post #four? I don’t know, none of these are exactly in order. Post one, post two, post three.

——

By the time Tim opened the door, Danny had his coffee made and handed to Mia at the register. He resolutely ignored her smug face and went back to making the other orders.

Tim had been a regular long before Danny had started at the coffee shop but it was three days into Danny’s third week when Tim had stumbled in at eight a.m. and did a double take upon seeing Danny. A very obvious double take followed by intense staring before Mia had cleared her throat. The blush that lit up Tim’s face was only rivaled by the one on Danny’s.

He had never had anyone openly stare at him before.

Mia had been insufferable ever since.

It also didn’t help that shortly after their first meeting Tim had started taking his breaks at the little coffee shop. It’s been three weeks, nearly a month and Wayne Enterprise’s CEO went from a bi-weekly regular to an everyday one. (Danny wondered if he should be concerned for the man’s caffeine intake but he only had the one cup every time so probably not.)

Originally, Danny had no plans to talk to Tim. It seemed obvious the guy had a crush on Danny if the constant looks over his laptop were anything to go by and Danny didn’t want to encourage it. Danny barely had time to make new friends let alone start a relationship.

There was also the added problem of what was quickly becoming his bat stalkers. How do you explain to someone that you were being watched by Gotham’s vigilante’s for no reason? (Or worse because he had made a poorly timed sleep-deprived comment.) Danny didn’t think you could without seeming suspicious.

Incidentally though, Danny’s plan went out the window when on a slow afternoon as he was cleaning tables and passed behind Tim. Once he saw the article the other man was reading he snorted.

Bruce Wayne and The Batman? Could This Be A New Romance For Gothams Most Beloved Billionaire?

It was one of those gossip rags that printed things like: Elvis: alive and well and Superman: a mild mannered farm boy? It was all nonsense.

Danny asked Tim why he bothered with the site and Tim responded that he found it amusing to read and that his family had a group chat where they sent the articles to each other.

“Okay. But Batman? Really? Your dad could do so much better.”

“You don’t like Batman?” Tim asked. Danny had slid into the chair next to him and shrugged. “I respect what he does but for as intimidating as he is, he also seems a little silly.”

Tim had given him an incredulous look and Danny hadn’t given him time to ask for an explanation, “and his kids can be just as rude. Like that flying monkey one.” Tim choked on air and Danny politely waited for him to calm down. “Kids? Wait - flying monkey one? Which one -?”

“The one always doing back flips with the blue bird symbol. He’s also a dick that gives hypocritical lectures about fighting.” Danny wouldn’t say he hated the guy but he wasn’t sure how many more lectures he could endure before going ghost and fighting him.

Tim had turned to Danny completely and was watching him with a look of disbelief, “you mean Nightwing?”

“Is that his name? Imma call him Dickwing.”

Tim had started choking again, this time Danny patted his back hoping to help. Yet it was all for not once he kept talking, “I think I’ve only had positive interactions with the one who looks like a walking red flag.”

“Red flag? Do you men hood-?”

“No, although he is definitely a red flag, I mean the other Red one. I’m sorry, I don’t know all these peoples names yet.”

“Danny!” Mia called.

Danny stood and patted Tim, who looked a little shell-shocked, on the shoulder. “Well work calls, see you later Mr. Drake-Wayne.” As he walked away he heard Tim mutter “it’s just Tim.”

(Tim for his part, placed his head in his hands and thought, well at least I have his name now.)

After that first interaction Tim stopped playing the lurker and started to actually talk to Danny and vise versa. Danny never asked if he still had a crush on him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Unfortunately, their growing friendship had only encoraged Mia as she happily sang “your boyfriend’s here!”

Danny, very maturely, did not stick his tongue out at her. He did however flip her off under the counter like an adult.

[rafesangelita]

…SHERIFF!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🍺⊹♡

SHERIFF!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER who spend a lottt of time in the back seat of his cop car. they have an age gap that would raise all kinds of alarm if the people of the small town they resided in ever found out. sheriff!rafe is beefy, his muscles bulging through every shirt he wears. farmer’s!daughter!reader is too busy raising hell all around town in hopes that someone calls the police station so rafe can handcuff her and get her act cleaned up. “you can’t just go actin’ a fool whenever you feel like screwin’ i mean it!” he’s pulling her underwear up her thighs as she lays face down against his leather seats, completely fucked out. “whatever you say, dad.” rafe is groaning at her words as he uncuffs her. “yeah? i oughta’ take you home right now then and let him know about all the trouble you been gettin’ into.”

SHERIFF!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER who go on their dates in the next town over so they don’t run the risk of being caught by any locals. farmer’s!daughter!reader who teases rafe all the time, calling him an ‘old man’ and saying he’s a perv for entertaining her antics. “there’s a motel not too far from here.. just ‘sayin.” there’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips, the older man in front of her looking unamused. “you’re suggesting that i take you to a motel and you’re callin’ me a perv? get outta here.” despite his faux disinterest, they end up checking into the said motel for the night, his stomach slapping against her clit as he fucks her into oblivion on the dingy mattress of the cheap room. sheriff!rafe who actually knows farmer’s!daughter!reader’s father very well, both of them going all the way back to their high school days.

SHERIFF!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER who can’t stand each other sometimes. rafe is scolding her, telling her that she shouldn’t be wearing those ‘godforsaken’ shorts of hers since it draws a lot of the wrong attention. “you’re just mad because jj maybank is wondering what color panties i have on..” she’s leaning into the window of his cop car, his jaw clenching as he eyed the scruffy looking blonde who stood not too far away, shot gunning hot beers with his friends. “mad at the ‘maybank kid? please, darlin’ he’s a joke.” she’s laughing at his words, getting close to his ear before whispering; “i’m glad you think so, because i’m about to go over there and tell him i’m not wearing any..” that sets rafe off and it isn’t long before he’s slamming jj down against the hood of his car and arresting him for underaged drinking..

SHERIFF!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER who are such polar opposites, even they don’t understand how they work together. sheriff!rafe has a rough exterior, seemingly cold, closed off and never smiles, whereas farmer’s!daughter!reader is dancing on tables in bars she shouldn’t even be at, and being a little minx to see how many free drinks she can get out of the regulars. so much so, that rafe started patrolling around town at night so he could stop her from doing something stupid. and of course, without fail, he’s getting a radio call saying there’s been a report of a quote, unquote ‘young woman resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.’ and rafe is arriving onto the scene almost immediately, cursing under his breath when he see’s her being held down by at least four of his men in uniform.

SHERIFF!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER who eventually have to get serious with one another, both of them knowing that what they have is anything but casual. sheriff!rafe who doesn’t know how to go about it, so he decides it’s best to just be blunt. “so uhm— what do ‘ya say to moving out of your pop’s and living with me instead?” farmer’s!daughter!reader is staring at him from across the table at their favorite diner. “what?” she’s frozen, holding her knife over her plate of fluffy pancakes. “are you serious?” rafe is nodding as he takes a cigarette out of his pocket, placing it between his lips. “yeah, but this rowdy act of yours needs to stop. m’not gonna have you actin’ reckless if i’m the one taking care of you.” he doesn’t have to tell her twice before she’s nodding, throwing her arms around the grumpy sheriff before pressing kisses to his cheek.

[dilfl0v3rss]

quiet!choso

quiet!choso who has no problem being out by himself, but refuses to talk in any other way than a hushed tone in public. only using his regular voice at home or with family, but he still barely spoke in full sentences.

quiet!choso always looks to you to order for him. voice too deep and quiet for waiters and drive threw workers to hear him so he always just lets you do it.

“i’ll take the number five with fruit punch as the drink pleaseee.” you chirped into the receiver. pretty skirt riding up your thighs as you leaned halfway over the center console to order your food.

“okay! anything else?” the employee asked. you looked at choso, who stared deep in thought at the menu before moving his lips towards your ear. “same thing…please” you smiled at how soft spoken he was, giving him a quick peck on the cheek for his cuteness before giving the woman his order.

quiet!choso who not only speaks quietly, but moves in silence as well. there has been too many times where your soul has left your body because this man has come home from work without making a sound. just quietly changing his clothes before sitting on the couch to watch his shows.

you were in the main bathroom, just getting done with some cleaning. your earphones were playing sza softly in your ears as you hummed along to her voice. as you walked from the toilet to the shower, you glanced out the door and your heart dropped to your ass. there was a man on your couch, hood on his head as he sat comfortably watching tv. you covered your mouth from the scream that you wanted to release before quietly reaching for your phone to call your boyfriend.

since you hid in the tub, you missed the part where choso pulled his phone from his pocket, giving it a confused look before answering it. ‘why is she calling me if i’m home?’ he thought as he quietly spoke to you through the receiver. “hello?” he instantly grew worried at your shaky breaths, quietly getting up from the couch before slowly walking to where he saw you cleaning. “t-there’s a man in the house”

choso stopped in his tracks, turning around before looked around the empty living room and kitchen. “where?” he said softly walking towards the small black pistol he kept deep in the cushion of his recliner. he slowly pulled the weapon out, being as quiet as possible before walking towards your bedroom to further his inspection. “h-he in the living room. got a black hoodie on with his hood up. looks pretty big too.” choso took a deep breath, rolling his eyes as he realized his mistake. you always told him to let you know when he’s home if he doesn’t see you when he walks in the door, but of course he forgot. “mama that’s me. i’m home from work” before he could say anything else you hung up, standing up from the tub before walking out into the living room with your arms crossed.

“choso bring your ass over here right now boy!”

quiet!choso who even though is seen as an antisocial guy, goes out with you to parties and get togethers. always giving you the same quiet speech about how “a man doesn’t need a voice to keep his woman safe”.

quiet!choso who doesn’t really care what people think of him, letting his brothers and friends call him all types of names without getting irritated in the slightest.

“she already do the talking so i’m guessing she be doing to fucking too” his middle brother sukuna said with a chuckle. choso, yuji, and sukuna agreed to have “bro bonding” (clearly yuji made the name) every other weekend to “keep their relationship strong”. this time it was being held at sukuna’s cave house where the three of them ate takeout and played on the game. “kuna leave em aloneee. there’s nothing wrong with letting your woman have control” his youngest brother said, large hand outstretched on choso’s back as he gave it a small rub.

“man cut the bullshit. even yuji don’t let bitches do that shit. you should hear the sounds that be comin outta my guest room when he crashes here wit a some random broad from a party.” yuji covered his face in embarrassment, making his older brothers chuckle. choso felt if he were to tell anyone how life was at home, it would be the two knuckleheads he was raised with. a small smirk planted on his face, tattooed hands gripping his controller a little tighter as he spoke.

“if my girl ‘ran’ me, don’t you think she’d be doing whatever she wanted? when we go out, why do you think she rather sit by me than go shake her ass with her friends like she usually used t’do?” sukuna and yuji’s eyes widened, giving choso a shocked look before the two of them looked at each other.

quiet!choso who doesn’t need to talk for you to know what he’s trying to say. settling for stern looks and a tap on your thigh, ass if nobody’s looking, as a warning to get you to act right.

quiet!choso who sometimes had to use rougher tactics to correct you when you’re out of line.

“say it again” choso groaned, long girthy dick rearranging your guts as he held you up by your hair. “i w–won’t cuss at daddy” you moaned, back grazing his broad tattooed chest. wrists bound together by fuzzy grey cuffs as you dug your nails into your palms. you were so frustrated earlier that you may have let a couple curse words slip into your vocabulary while texting choso, but regardless of your instant apology, he told you to be stripped and ready for him in the bed by the time he got home from work. now you were paying for your disrespect through taking all 8.5 inches of him without complaint.

“say it louder mama. daddy can’t hear you clearly through all that moaning” choso chuckled as he listened to you whine, pretty breasts bouncing with every thrust as you tried to speak clearly for the fifth time tonight. “i won’t c-cuss at daddy ever again! fuck m’gonna cummm” he rolled his eyes, pace never faltering as he fucked you through your third orgasm of the night. choso’s inked hand abruptly let go of your hair, making a chuckle slip as he watched you fall to the bed with a huff, hands not able to stop you.

“now you cursing right at me. gon be here all night if you don’t clean it up princess”

[exhaslo]

Hiii！I love your stories!!But can you write about Miguel × hybridbunny！reader？that Miguel was a rich mafia or ceo and he bought reader from a black market or an auction.（ps：make reader sit on Miguel’s desk while he works and he ended up eating her out and fcking her hehehehehhehe）🐇🐇🐇🐇

Hehehehehehehehehehe

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie

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There were many pros and cons that came with being the CEO. Unfortunally, claiming ownership of Alchemax carried far more cons than the alternative. It did not help that Miguel took over the company from his corrupt father.

There were a lot of problems that needed to be fixed. Many were within the company itself; the associates to say the least. Miguel had to fire and clean up a lot of the corrupted associates' messes. This included having Miguel silently attend a black auction market.

Turned out, one of his former coworkers who worked in genetic splicing decided to test various animals on different people. While Miguel was so focused on Spiders that created Spiderman, his stupid coworker created hybrids and sold them on the black market.

Miguel just hoped that he could save as many people as he could. The work of tracking the others down was going to be a lot harder for him.

As Miguel sat in his VIP seat with a hood on, he watched the scum below him cheer with anticipation. None of these people cared. They just wanted new trophies. Miguel was going to buy as many hybrids were auctions and try to revert them back to regular humans.

-------

Miguel was about to lose faith. The auction was at the last bid and there had not been a single hybrid. Miguel did check and this was the only black market auction in the city. It was too dangerous for there to be anymore.

"Now! What you've all been waiting for, the most popular item during our shows! A hybrid!!" The announcer cheered.

Miguel nearly gasped, leaning forward as he watched the curtains unveil, revealing you.

"We got ourselves an adorable hybrid bunny!!! You know what they say about rabbits."

Miguel ignored the sea of laughter. You were standing on stand, shaking like a leaf. Before the announcer could even start the bid, Miguel yelled out an insane number. There were gasps in the crowd and barely anyone had the guts to go higher.

And just like that, you were bought by Miguel.

--------

You were hesitant as you followed your new 'owner' to his vehicle. The chain and collar still tight around your neck. Once you were seated in the back seat, you flinched as your tail got caught in the belt. You had to lower your ears, not wanting to hit the roof of the car.

"My apologizes, I'll get a bigger car." Miguel apologized as he entered the vehicle. You gave him a slight glare, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Just fuck me," You whispered.

"No," Miguel sighed as he took the collar off once the car started moving, "I'm trying to right the wrongs that the former CEO of my company did."

You touched your neck, watching Miguel very carefully. You had an inkling of where this conversation was going, and it started to make your heart and body shake.

"My name is Miguel. I have no intention of using you for any purpose, but to try and undo what Alchemax did to you, if you would let me."

"Hah, so am I the lucky test subject?"

"No. I want to find all those who were experimented on. You were the first one I saved." Miguel noticed your hesitation and offered you a bottled water, "I have a room set up for you. Anything you want or need, just let me know and I'll get it for you."

"I suppose freedom isn't an option?"

"You and I both know what will happen if I let you go."

"Yeah, I know. Just wanted to hear your answer." You scoffed and leaned forward slightly, "I actually worked at Alchemax as an assistant. I don't think it will be easy to undo my DNA now that its been changed."

"I can try."

---------

It had been a few months since you were bought by Miguel. It came as a surprise, but he did mean what he said. You were living comfortably and Miguel was trying his absolute best to cure you. As you guessed, nothing worked.

That didn't stop you from wanting to help Miguel with his endeavor. Miguel had even rescued a few more hybrids during your stay with him. You couldn't help but feel a little jealous that you weren't his only one now. There was a simple reason as to why you felt like that.

You fell in love with Miguel.

You wanted to believe that Miguel liked you too, but you weren't sure what was holding him back. Perhaps guilt? Needing to see him, you started to hurry to his office. Thanks to your rabbit DNA, you were a fast runner.

"Miguel? Can I come in?" You asked with a knock at his office door.

"Of course, (Y/N)." He said with a smile, opening the door for you.

Before entering, your nose caught whiff of something delicious. Sniffing around, you ended up next to Miguel. You gently gripped his jacket, sniffing against his collar.

"(Y-Y/N), are you alright? Do I smell?" Miguel cleared his throat, careful to hold you back.

"Hm? O-Oh, sorry. You just smelled really good." You laughed nervously, wondering what was coming over you.

Miguel patted your head, assuring you that it was okay. You could only feel embarrassed again. This wasn't the first time your rabbit DNA caused you to do something silly or embarrassing. You were still having a hard time getting over making a 'secret room' in the building when winter was coming.

"Want to help me with something?" Miguel offered, motioning towards his desk.

You hurried over, taking a seat on his desk as Miguel pulled out some paperwork. Since it was hard for you to sit in regular chairs due to your tail, Miguel allowed you to have a spot on his personal desk. It felt like you were a trophy for him. One you didn't mind.

"So, what are you working on?" You asked. Miguel chuckled towards you as he leaned back in his seat,

"Company business."

"So how can I help?"

"You already are," Miguel chuckled again and leaned closer towards you, "I feel better having you next to me. I'm not as stressed."

Your cheeks started to burn up at his confession. Your heart was racing and you could feel yourself getting hot. This was bad. Lately, whenever you thought about Miguel you would get into a small frenzy, needing to relieve yourself. It had to be because of your rabbit DNA.

"(Y/N), are you alright?" Miguel asked, his hand against your forehead.

"Mhm," You winced slightly, shaking from his touch alone, "M-Miguel, I should...g-go," You stuttered, finding it hard to keep yourself together.

Miguel furrowed his brows as he gave you a quick check up. He checked your eyes, noticing the glossy lustful look, then your heart rate. Miguel inhaled deeply once he finally noticed you rub your legs together and your nipples perk.

"You're in heat?" Miguel muttered lowly, glancing at your once more, "Let me take-"

"N-No, let me stay," You whined, holding onto Miguel, nibbling against his shoulder, "I-I'm only...like this because of...of you,"

"Oh," Miguel resisted a groan, gently pushing you back, "Then, I suppose I need to take responsibility for you, huh?"

Oh, how those words turned you on even more. You whimpered and moaned against his touch as Miguel took off your pants. Your panties were soaked. You swore Miguel mumbled something under his breathe, but you were so zoned out that you couldn't hear him.

Next thing you knew, Miguel had taken your panties off and laid you back against his desk. He brought your legs around his head, making sure your tail wasn't crushed under you. His head directly in front of your vagina,

"My, my (Y/N), you should have told me sooner about your little problem. I could have helped you happily,"

"B-But-Ah~ M-Miguel~" You cried out as his tongue started to swirl against your folds.

Your eyes widen and your body arched as Miguel feasted. His tongue touching you in ways that your fingers could not. His aggressive licks and swirls against your clit causing that knot inside you to grow tighter.

"Ah~ R-Right...t-there~" You moaned, crying out your orgasm.

Miguel cleaned up your mess, his tongue now threatening to enter your drenched hole. Your whimpers and moans were delicious. He wanted to hear more, but he also didn't want to take advantage of your state. Licking your insides, Miguel hummed at your sweet taste. Your legs wrapping around his head.

'Miguel~" You whined, grinding your hips slightly.

"Now, now my little bunny, if you don't behave I won't be able to control myself," He hummed, sucking against your clit.

"P-Please...f-fuck me...I need you~" You whimpered.

Miguel felt his restraints snap. He flipped you on your stomach and inserted a finger inside your cunt. Your body shock as you moaned louder than before. Miguel groaned at how your cunt sucked his fingers in.

"Does my little bunny want to be fucked that bad? Even using your tail to seduce me." Miguel huffed, using his free hand to play with your tail.

Unable to take the pleasure, you cried out another orgasm the moment Miguel touched your tail. It was so sensitive. Pressing your face against his desk, you whimpered, begging for Miguel to fuck you. You needed him. You wanted him to make you feel good.

"Alright, I'll give my bunny what she wants."

"Mhm~ Y-Yesh," You babbled.

A sharp gasp escaped your throat as you felt Miguel's dick push through your folds. His cock stretched you out and filling you so perfectly. Your body felt so hot as his tip threaten to push your cervix. You could feel his shape every time your pussy clenched around him.

"A perfect fit. My little horny bunny likes this right?" Miguel chuckled as he started to thrust his hips into you at a rough pace, "My little horny bunny going into heat because of me."

"Ah~ Mhm~ M-Miguel~"

You swore you started to lose your common sense. Miguel was pounding the life out of your cunt and the air out of your lungs. Your vision kept blurring as you just focused on the feeling of him filling you.

You gasped as Miguel lifted your hips ever so slightly. His dick hitting your g-spot with each thrust while his free hand was playing with your tail. You were losing count how many times this man was making you cum.

"Does my little bunny want me to fill her up?" Miguel leaned over you, whispering your ear,

"Mphm~"

"I can't hear you, are you too fucked out to answer?" Miguel nibbled against your ear.

You pressed your ass up, "Inside~" You begged.

Miguel complied as proceeded to fill you with his cum. He moaned lowly, giving you a few more pumps before coming to a stop. Miguel started to pull out, but heard you whine in protest. A chuckle escaped his throat as he continued to slap his hips into you.

Miguel continued to fuck you until your heat finally died out. By the end of what seemed like endless fucking, both you and Miguel were out of breathe. Miguel had you seated against his lap, resting your body against his.

You whimpered tiredly, cum pouring out of your cunt. Miguel rubbed your back, his hand nudging against your tail slightly.

"Mhm,"

"Shh, it was an accident, baby." Miguel whispered, rubbing your upper back, "You should have told me when these heats started. I can make some medicine to help you."

"You're fine," You whispered lowly. Miguel chuckled, kissing your head,

"If that's the case, then it would be easier for you to stay at my place. I have been looking for a wife,"

"Mhm...I'll gladly...take that role," You muttered tiredly.

Miguel resisted a chuckle. He waited for you to fall asleep before dressing the two of you. He had one of his assistants bring your stuff to his place as Miguel took you home. He was going to make you as comfortable as possible.

But first, you both needed a shower.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed!!!!

[666soulz]

rapper!connie first run in with fashionvlogger!reader was…interesting. you answered a question from a fan on twitter who asked if you could style one rapper who would it be? you replied saying, ‘connie springer, his music don’t match his style. he dressing like a regular hood nigga when he should be dressing like a bad bitch with a dark lair. pisses me off.’

eren snorted when he seen the tweet and sent it to connie. at first he was a little offended and was about to clean you right on up, but when he saw the comments agreeing??? he had to find out why your opinion mattered so much. so the the first thing he did was tap that instagram link. 550k followers. hmm. he seen that plenty of his celebrity mutuals followed you. 

                           hollowsoul

followed by thegirljt, gunna, liluzivert and others. 

when he tapped on your pinned photo he almost drooled at your beauty, your body, and the outfit you were wearing.  you indeed had that shit on to the T. connie caught himself scrolling through your feed as his anemic ass shook ice into his mouth. you sure did have a love for all black outfits. 

he taps on that message button and types in two words. ‘style me’ 

your phone lights up as you stir around the meat in the pan. you put your glass of wine down to pick up your phone. 

instagram 

new message 

you tap on the notification and it takes you to the dm. you didn’t really have a shocked reaction, but you were surprised that he even bothered to to dm you. connie was semi private. he has moments where he’s very active on social media then he becomes a ghost. 

‘sure long as your okay with me vlogging’

connie puts his cup of ice down beside his feet warning his dog, Choppo, to not touch before replying to you. 

‘i don’t mind. you free on friday?’

   ‘i am’

ight let’s meet at the outlet mall on Lafayette @ 1 then. you mind if me, my friends, and security come?

 okay sounds good and i don’t mind at all.  see you on friday x

trust me you were less boring in person. connie was lacking in first impression as he was late to you guys shopping date. 

you didn’t mind though, you were right in dior trying on sunglasses. “how these look y’all?” you ask your camera. “i don’t know they’re kinda cunt..” you say looking in the small mirror. you didn’t even notice connie and his crew walking in and walking towards you. 

“i like them.”

you look behind you, seeing connie and his friends. connie took you in while you were distracted and you were better in person. you were in an all black outfit, of course, and you looked fucking beautiful. 

“they’re cute right?” you smile looking up at the 6’1 FINE ass dominican man. one thing that  also irritated you about connie’s style is that it doesn’t emphasize his face. connie face card was something different. He had beautiful features, hazel eyes, low lids, some pretty plump lips, and he was pulling off a buzz cut like david beckham in the 2000’s. not many people can do that. 

“yeah, sorry I was late. had to drop my sister off to her dance practice.” connie says you wave him off, “oh I'm not worried about it. it gave me time to think of what stores i want to go to.” you say taking your glasses off. “hey it’s nice to meet y’all,” you said looking at the two men behind connie. eren and ony. they weren’t a group but they put out some collab albums. those albums were heat, and was always playing when you were working out or cleaning. 

“we’re starting here by the way. can’t go wrong with dior. do you have a favorite fashion brand or designer?” you ask connie as you walked over to the men’s section. 

“uhm nike?”

“nike..? you know what i’m just..i’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.“ you say shaking your head in disappointment. ony was laughing to himself in the background cause he could hear it in your voice. 

“what’s wrong with nike?” connie smiles as you picked up a dior sweater. “well first off all nike is a sports brand i’m talking about a fashion brand like rick owens, true religion, moschino. 

“what’s a moschino?” connie scrunches his face and he was dead serious. 

“do you know who jeremy scott is? law roach?”

“are these random white people?”

you looked at connie like he was a little lost baby, pouting your glossy lips. “aw you are so cute.” you pinch his cheek. “this is my favorite part. teaching you the ins and out of fashion.” you smile pushing an outfit into his chest. “go try this on.”

connie found out that you were a bossy little thing. if he didn’t like something, “oh well too bad you’re getting it anyways.” ony and eren enjoyed seeing him get bossed around as he was usually the demanding one in the studio. you had fun telling connie stuff about fashion and how to put together a good outfit. 

connie left that outlet with a new wardrobe, friend, and crush. a very big crush that his friends noticed. the way connie blushed like some nerdy school boy every time you’d hype him up. you noticed as well and found it absolutely adorable. 

“do that lil pose that you do. period!” 

you enjoyed Connie's presence. He was a mix between laidback and hyper. like when he got comfortable around you, he got to cracking jokes. even joking you. picking up some ugly ass cowgirl boots and saying, “this looks like something you’d like.” and you’d just give him a little playful glare telling him to not play with you. 

you left Connie with a homework assignment. learn how to use pinterest and make a pinterest board. 

[carolmunson]

wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[painted-flag]

Little Red Riding Hood - Cregan Stark

Part 1 of 2.

Story 2 of Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. main masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: cregan stark x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: a little bit of period-specific misogyny. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.7k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: the reason this is split into two parts is that my mac crashed and i lost the full draft (around 10k). i rewrote it, but i promised that it would release on the 29th so despite the fact i have not finished writing the full imagine, i am splitting it into two parts.

The sound of quiet chatter filled the small schoolhouse. It was a stone building, old and worn from the centuries since its construction, one of the oldest buildings in the small town of Wildgate. Young girls sat in a circle, each focusing on the fabric in front of them as they stitched the day away. Their hands gripped their wooden loops and meticulously weaved the needle up and down to create their desired patterns. 

The hall was warmed by two hearths on each side that chased away the winter chill. Your clothes aided in keeping warm while you paced around the outside of the circle. Your gaze watched the little girls as they sewed and your heart swelled with pride at the proficiency of your students. It was a rewarding job to work as a teacher for the girls in the town, despite the abysmal pay. Any money counted to the support of your family.  

The girls finished their work one by one, earning praise from you which had them giggling and running to go home to their parents and share their work. As each girl left, you began to clean up the room from the day's activities. Once the desks were moved back into their regular position and the chairs in place, you eagerly made leave of the schoolhouse. 

You made your way through the bustling town streets. The ground, usually muddy, had frozen over for the winter and patches of piled snow littered the area. People were hastily making their way to their destinations to run from the chill. The deep scarlet cloak you wore had been a gift from your grandmother and provided the perfect reprieve from the icy air. The red contrasted against the snowy surroundings. 

Upon turning to another street, you quickly open a wooden door. The heat from the ovens in the bakery had mixed with the smells of fresh bread. You inhale slowly, savouring the scent. 

A man came from a backroom and grinned when seeing you, “Ah! Darling, how are you today?” He was a short and plump middle-aged man who never had anything but a smile on his face and rosy cheeks. Every week, he would donate food to the schoolhouse for the children who were from poorer households. 

“I am doing alright, James. How have you been?” You put your basket down as he begins to place your regular bread order in it. 

“Well, the weather is drab but every day alive is a great day.” He nodded to you and accepted the payment. Once saying your goodbyes, you wandered back outside to the cool streets. Only a few buildings down was your next destination. The familiar sound of metal clanking against steel got louder as you approached. 

The area was covered with a roof but open to the elements with a single wall being opened. It was the only blacksmith in the town, which happened to employ the man who had enchanted your fantasies. You watched as Aegon pulled a blade out of a forge and set it against an anvil. He grabbed a heavy hammer and began to pound it down against the glowing steel, over and over. The sound reverberated across the buildings and travelled through your body. He was sweating from work and despite the gentle snowfall, he only wore one set of clothes. The shirt he had on was thin and billowed with the breeze. 

Aegon was not your first choice in men. He had only arrived in the village a few years ago and settled down into an apprenticeship. While you could not deny the beauty he held, you had not been enticed at first. You were generally disinterested in most men in the village, especially having known them all since childhood. His uniqueness was what had reeled you in, not the prospect of romance. Though there were no qualms with the way he treated you, the spark you so desperately wished to feel only flickered. 

One thing was undeniable, his steady income would protect you and your family. A considerable rarity among the other available men. 

Upon seeing you approach, Aegon used large tongs to pick up the blade and dunk it into a nearby vat of water. The sizzle and bubbles from the heat-laden steel rippled across the water. He smiled at you and put the items down. When you made it to the work area, Aegon took and placed your basket down. He gently held your hand and brought it up to lay a small kiss on the knuckles. 

You accepted his affection, following like a sheep unaware of the wolf’s lure. 

“And how is my lady?” Aegon moved back to organizing some of his tools, lifting them as though they weighed nothing, despite them being heavier than you could imagine. Although he had a lean and built figure, it seemed uncharacteristic with the amount of weight he could lift. 

“The girls are doing so well with their stitching progress. I don’t believe there is much else I could teach them.” You spoke and Aegon hummed while he placed a hammer off to the side. 

Aegon moved back to you and kissed your cheek, “Well, it is just stitching. There is not much to that work, maybe they could move on to other womanly duties?” 

There was a brief moment of bitter taste in your mouth, but you swallowed it down. You reached for your basket on one of the tables and lifted the small cloth that covered the items inside. When you took out a package wrapped in cloth, Aegon watched your movements. 

“I got your favourite dinner.” You placed the package into his outstretched hands choosing to ignore his previous comment, “Though, I am still so confused on how you could eat so much.” You laughed at your little joke and Aegon did too, but his gaze still pieced through you. 

“I am always hungry,” Aegon’s voice dropped a few octaves and his expression darkened for a moment. It was quickly extinguished and he continued speaking, “Thank you, my love, for bringing this to me. I should get back to work now.” 

You nodded at his words and leaned in to kiss the side of his mouth, “I shall leave you to it then.” 

Your hands grasped the handle of the basket and picked it up. Giving Aegon a wave goodbye, you started back down the street and hummed idly to yourself. The trek in the falling snow was quiet and pleasant. All of the cottages around you had smoke billowing from their chimneys and glowing windows from candlelight. The sky had darkened fast. 

A cottage in the distance caught your eye. The home was not large, but the warmth from your mother and little brother was more than enough to make it feel larger than a castle. You opened the heavy wooden door and rushed in, closing it quickly to keep out the cold. In the open area that consists of the kitchen and living space, your brother was sitting in front of the hearth and your mother was busying herself with dinner. 

Upon spotting you by the door, your little brother rushed to greet you. He called out your name and wrapped his arms around your legs with his head burying itself in your stomach. Your arms encircled him and squeezed. 

You ruffled his dark locks, “Good to see you too, buddy.” He pulled away from you and started asking countless questions about your day. You laughed at his curiousness and mentioned you would speak over dinner before sending him on his way to wash his hands and prepare the table. 

Your mother had moved to the hearth to tend to the cast iron pot simmering with that night's stew. She stirred it around and brought a wooden spoon up to her lips, blew on it, and tasted. She nodded at the taste and decided it was ready. She turned around and saw you standing there and wrapped you in a hug.  

“I expect your day went well?” Your mother pulled back and grabbed the pot. She carried it to the table and set it down by the bowls your brother brought out. When you sat down with your brother in the spot beside yours, a piece of parchment was dropped by the bowl that your mother placed.

“My day was fine. What is this?” You held up the parchment. 

“A letter from Winterfell’s healer.” Your mother answered. You furrowed your brows. Winterfell was the town over, about a little over a day's ride from here. It was where your grandmother lived. It had been years since you visited last. 

You unrolled the parchment and began to read. The more you did, the greater your worry grew. Your grandmother was sick and had been for a while. The healer could not keep watch on her enough while also taking care of others in Winterfell. He asked for a family member to come to the town and watch in on your grandmother for the times he is not there. The healer said he would be waiting at the town gate on the morning of the moon's first quarter to escort whoever showed up to her home. 

“That is two days from now.” You spoke to your mother as she swallowed a spoonful of stew, “I will have to go tomorrow at midday.” 

“You do not have to.” Your mother interrupted, “I could go.” 

“Mother you need to take care of Joffrey.” You interjected. Your mother did not speak for a moment and considered your words. After a few minutes of quiet eating, she acquiesced to your stance and accepted your travel plans. 

Dinner was spent with your brother speaking about his day. Both you and your mother occasionally interjected with quips, but the mood from ill news regarding your grandmother hung over the table like a thick smoke cloud. You thought back to all of those moments you had with your grandmother, which became fewer the older you got. Trips to Winterfell became scarce to the point that it had been close to a decade since your last visit. 

Cleaning up the kitchen and table was done in silence between you and your mother. Your brother had been dismissed to go to bed early - something he was adamantly against, but listened to nonetheless. You slowly packed the items you would need for the trip over. Getting time off of teaching would be easy, but you were hesitant to leave your family for however many weeks it would be. 

Once you were settled in for the night, sleep came quickly. 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

Your black boots made crunches in the snow as you walked through the town. You had swung by the bakery that morning to pick up a couple of sweets and pastries for the road. Your grandmother had always loved raspberry tarts, so you picked out a couple for her. While you may not be able to cure her sickness, at the very least you could brighten her spirits. You were set to begin your journey in just a few hours, but you had one last task to complete. 

The same familiar sight of the blacksmith appeared as you made your trek down the street. The sound of metal clanging rang through your head. You saw Aegon working, steady and focused. When you approached closer, he spotted you out of his peripheral. He stopped what he was doing. The smile on his face faded slowly at the neutral expression across yours. 

“Are you okay?” Aegon spoke. He moved forward and pulled you closer by your scarlet cloak. One of his hands fiddled with the hood that protected you from the snowfall. 

“I have to go,” You began, “My grandmother is sick and it's getting worse.” 

Aegon’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Go? Go where?” 

“Winterfell.” 

For a brief moment, a shadow swept across his face at your answer. His posture went rigid and the hand clasping your hood was pulled back and balled into a fist. You attributed his change of mood to your sudden departure. 

“For how long?” He asked. 

You reached out to gently squeeze one of his biceps, swiping your thumb up and down in comfort, “A few weeks, possibly a month or two. I leave tonight.” Aegon shrugged free from your hand and stepped back. His arms raised slightly with his psalm facing you. They shook for a moment before lowering. 

“So, you’re just going to leave… like that?” Aegon now looked bewildered, with a slight air of offence in his voice. 

“My grandmother needs someone from her family to take care of her.” 

Aegon began to move his equipment away, “I’m going with you.” The finality in his tone made no room for rebuttal, but you stood your ground. 

“I need someone to look after my family here.” After you spoke, Aegon halted his movements and turned back to you. You went up to him and placed your hands on his chest.

“I’m guessing no amount of persuading will work?” He questioned. When you nodded, he accepted your answer. He cupped your face, “Just… stay safe. The people of Winterfell are vipers.” 

You rolled your eyes at his overprotectiveness, “I will, Aegon. Just keep my family safe while I’m gone.” 

Aegon licked his lips, “I’ll keep your family safe.” 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

The gates of Winterfell looked unfamiliar compared to the faint memories you had of this place. It was morning and the ground was laden with a thick cover of mist that hovered above the packed snow. Early light from the rising sun cast against the snow and sparkled. You breathed in the scent of pine and exhaled, watching as the mist from your mouth evaporated in the air. You wrapped the scarlet cloak around you more to drive away the chill. The horse you had rode had been taken to the stables. 

On the inside of the gates, you spotted an old man hunched over. He was dressed in clothes that signalled his position as a healer; neutral grays and a simplistic design of a tunic, trousers, and coat. His hair had turned gray from age and his beard was twisted into a braid that fell down to his chest. 

You approached him, “Excuse me, are you Orym?” 

“Yes. I assume you are one of the family members?” The old man greeted you politely and shook your hand. 

“Her granddaughter. Is she alright?” 

“She is as good as she can be, given her condition.” The man responded. Just as you were going to speak, the sound of horse hooves hitting the ground caught your attention. A couple of horses ridden by men passed through the walls. They all dismounted. One of the horses had a wooden carrier that towed the body of a large stag. The man on the horse dropped down with his back to her. 

The men all gathered around the stag and clasped the shoulder of the man who, by the positive words being spoken, had taken down the wild beast. From his back, she could see the thick pelts that draped from his broad shoulders. His dark hair was long, falling to his shoulders, with the top half tied up in a knot. The greatsword on his back had to be close to six feet. 

He turned around and she saw his face. Strands of his dark hair framed his face, carving out the already sharp jawline he possessed. His brows were even, set over pairs of calculating eyes. The man’s face held a stoic look while his lips were set in a line. You were shocked that such a handsome face could belong to an imposing figure like his. Despite his stately appearance, there was a sense of familiarity there that was comforting. The morning sunlight shone against his figure, almost deifying him. 

The man’s gaze found yours and that feeling of calm swayed to a sense of purpose. Like all your life had been waiting for that precise moment. 

His eyes were kind and inviting, but also commanding. You were stuck by how off-guard you became. The snow that fell around you, including the world, faded into the background. A sudden pounding feeling hit the back of your head. It was like a part of you, somewhere deep inside, was clawing to be released. It felt as though you knew him already. 

Orym shook your arm slightly, “Are you alright?” 

You broke your gaze from the man and turned to the healer, “Just fine. Could we go to my grandmother now?” 

Orym took your arm and escorted you through the streets of the town. People began to bustle through the streets. All were friendly, exchanging good words with others as they passed. Some stalls opened to sell goods ranging from fish to other oddities. You were slightly angered that you had spent so long away from such a town. This place would have been a wonderful area to grow up in. There was a fair amount of carved wolf imagery in the wood and stone that made up all of the buildings, a running theme throughout Winterfell.

There were summers that you spent here in your youth, but the memories of them had faded with time. 

After a few short minutes, you and the healer happened upon a cottage. It was humble but looked homely amongst the snowed backdrop. You had a faint recollection of this place, but since those scattered memories were only marked by summertime, the winter feel of everything was new. Yet, the winter here somehow felt warmer in spite of the biting cold. Three large oak trees surrounded the home, protecting it from the elements. 

Orym opened the gate that surrounded the cottage and walked you to the door. He tapped three times on the knocker. He announced you coming before opening the door. Orym bid you a good day before hurrying on to another patient who needed him. When you entered the home, it was apparent that your grandmother lived there. It was neat but decorated immensely with furnishings, quilts, and other odds and ends. The smell of baked goods permeated the air, mixed with hints of dried lilac. 

From the door of a room on the far end emerged your grandmother. She was a short and plump woman whose natural energy radiated everywhere she went. While your heart swelled upon seeing her for the first time in many years, you could not help but notice the slight sway in her step and the way her eyes were almost glazed over. 

She welcomed you with a great hug, “Oh, darling look how you’ve grown!” For the first time since your arrival, you felt warm and at home with just a simple embrace. 

“How are you, grandmother?” You questioned. The woman pulled back to look at you and pinched your cheek lightly. 

“I am healthiest than ever. Really, it is just a cold.” She then moved over to her kitchen, but her steps faltered and you caught her and guided her to a seat by the hearth. 

You knelt and began to stoke the fire more as it had reduced to burning embers. While you were occupied, your grandmother began to brief you on all her symptoms and how the sickness had progressed, but she seemed to be in denial about how bad it had gotten. Your worry had tripled upon seeing her state. 

You took out the raspberry tarts that your grandmother would love. Over the course of a few hours, you two caught up on all the years missed. It was as if no time had passed. You ate the treats and laughed by the fire as the cottage warmed. At some point, you made tea that the both of you nurtured in cups. 

There was a sudden knock on the door that broke you out of the story you had been telling. Your grandmother smiled like she knew who was there and called out for them to come in. The door opened, and a large figure fit through the doorway, ducking to get in. The light from the gray day outside hit his back and cast the front in darkness. He closed the door and suddenly you could see it was the same man who you saw just a few hours prior. 

“Cregan, how was your hunt?” Your grandmother asked. The man, who you now knew as Cregan, smiled and moved to place a wrapped package on the table next to the kitchen. 

“A large stag. I saved you a hindquarters cut.” He responded. You furrowed your brows. The hindquarter was one of the most expensive and you wondered why this man was just giving it away.  Your grandmother stood up to go and unwrap the meat and you followed.

Your grandmother looked between you and the man and decided to introduce you, “This is my granddaughter. I told you she was coming to take care of me.” 

Cregan then moved to greet you, taking your hand in his and pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “It’s good to see you again after all these years.” 

You were confused by his words. There was not a moment you could recall ever meeting a man such as him. Surely, with looks like that, you would remember. Upon seeing your confused expression, Cregan released your hand and looked to your grandmother. 

“I am sorry if I misstepped there. It was rude to assume you would remember me, for you were a few years younger.” 

It was then that the scratch from the back of your brain was alleviated. The name had sounded familiar, but now that you were closer to him, that familiarity you felt when you saw him for the first time washed away to the faintest of memories. It was flashing still moments in your brain. The tall summer grass, glaring sun, and the images of children running in an open field. The same dark hair bounced on the head of a young child, just a few years your senior, as the two of you chased the other children. 

“Cregan?” You spoke, “I think I remember.” 

The corners of his mouth turned upwards, “Well, I never was one to make lasting impressions,” He joked. 

Your grandmother hit his shoulder gently, “Don’t be so silly, you are a wonderful young man.” You could clearly see that Cregan and your grandmother got along well. He must have been taking care of your grandmother for a long time. It made your heart stutter.

The old lady then yawned, “Could you show my granddaughter around Winterfell? I am awfully tired.” There was a mischievous glint in your grandmother’s eye and you were unsure of her motives. 

“It would be my pleasure,” Cregan answered. He turned to you, “If you would like to, of course.” 

“It would be good to see all of Winterfell as I plan to stay for a while.” Your reply made the subtle, almost indecipherable smile on Cregan’s face light up a little more. You and Cregan gave goodbyes to your grandmother and put your cloaks on. The scarlet colour was a sharp contrast to the greys and blacks that made up Cregan’s clothing. 

Cregan held open the door for you. You gave one last look to your grandmother who sent a wink your way. Your face flushed at figuring out her plan to get the two of you alone. Surely, if you had mentioned seeing Aegon back home, she would not have done this. It also made you question yourself. Why had you not spoken of Aegon when catching up with her? He was a large part of your life, yet did not seem important enough at the time to bring up. 

Upon reaching the road, Cregan began to point out important locations. The bakery, library, market, and everything in between. You noticed everyone had kind exchanges with Cregan. They seemed to gravitate towards him. 

“The people like you.” You spoke to him. 

Cregan glanced at you for a moment while still walking, “Well, I am the lord of Winterfell. My family was given the title by our Queen Rhaenyra’s ancestors. It is a lucky position to be in. I’m grateful to serve these people.” You watched as children ran across a patch of road, all giggling and chasing one another. 

“Is Winterfell in need of a teacher?” You asked. Cregan weighed your question for a moment. 

“We could always use help with the children around here. Are you a teacher back home?” Cregan spoke. 

“Yes. If I am to be here for a while, I should contribute and get money to support my grandmother.” You reasoned. A light dusting of snow began to fall and settled all around. Pieces of snow clung to Cregan’s hair and he shook his head. 

“You need not trouble yourself with work. I have taken care of your grandmother for years, I can do the same for you.” He spoke. 

Your heart warmed at his words. “That is kind, Cregan, truly. However, I would like to teach.” 

“A beautiful woman like you should not trouble herself with work,” Cregan responded. Your brows furrowed at his words, having taken them the wrong way.

“So a woman’s looks dictate whether or not she should work?” You crossed your arms. 

Cregan froze while you continued to walk. He was caught off guard by your quip. “That was not my implication. I merely thought that your husband would have made sure you have enough coin for your trip.” You turned around to see him stopped with his hands raised in a surrendering manner. 

“I do not have a husband,” Cregan caught up to your pace and let out a hum after your words, “But there is a man I may marry, he is a blacksmith back home. His name is Aegon.” 

Your gaze was focused on what was in front of you, but you could still see the hardened gaze of Cregan’s features. His lips turned down to a sharp frown. The name almost seemed to evoke a deep response in him. 

“Well, then you must be sure that he will treat you perfectly if you are so faithful in his intentions.” Cregan’s words seemed to hide a double meaning that you struggled to ascertain. His steps fell harder on the snow-covered ground. You began to question the meaning of your relationship with Aegon. Now that you were away from him, it felt like you were washed from the confinement of his presence. A troubling but newfound realization. It was then that a guard turned around the corner and looked relieved to see Cregan. 

“Lord Stark! You are needed at the gate.” The guard spoke and then spotted you there as well. He lowered his voice, “Tracks have been spotted.” 

Cregan tilted his head in question, “I fail to see how that warrants my attention.” 

“My lord, it is uh…” The guard whispered the last bit, “Wolf tracks. Not of our own.” His words made Cregan’s shoulders stiffen. His gloved hands formed hard fists. You were confused about those last words, not of our own. The meaning was lost to you. 

Cregan turned to you, “It is best that you get back to your grandmother’s house. I must go handle this.” He moved in the direction of the gate with the guard following. You stood back for a few moments in the falling snow and watched as he walked away. The chill crept up your spine and you decided it was best to go inside. 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅ 

The first week in Winterfell was spent taking care of your grandmother, watching over some of the kids at the school, and spending your free time with Cregan. The children in Winterfell were much more calm in the classroom, but also wicked tricksters outside. However, you managed to gain respect from the kids and are not subjected as a victim to their pranks. That was done rather easily having brought them butter tarts and candied lemons. 

Once the children trusted you, the people of Winterfell warmed to your presence as well. They were wary of outsiders, but seeing their children take a liking to you was enough to sway them. You were on your way to do errands. While weaving through the streets you listened in on people talking. Bits and pieces hit your ears. 

“Jamie is improving on his reading.” 

“There are no good pieces of-” 

“The full moon is tonight.” 

“Where is Lily?” 

You made your way through the street stalls. While on your errands you wondered what Cregan was up to. You had found a good friend in him, despite the fact that your heart would beat faster and your cheeks would burn when you got near him. He had been a friendly companion, having shown you around Winterfell and introduced you to his friends. His friends, while a bunch of rowdy loud-mouthed people, had treated you respectfully. 

Cregan continued to check in on your grandmother and bring game from hunts every day. There are moments when you are alone with Cregan, that you find your resolve crumbling. With each passing day, your fancy for Aegon dwindled to the point that he was rarely - if ever - on your mind. It brought you an immense feeling of guilt. Aegon has been nothing but supportive of you and your family. While he did tend to get overprotective - at one point fighting an old childhood friend simply for talking to you - Aegon still showed you passion. 

Yet, with Cregan, he introduced a type of stability you had never felt before. There was support given to you, but reassurance and encouragement in your own capability of taking care of yourself. You were not treated as helpless by Cregan, a surprising contrast to the men back home. It was nice to see, but also wildly different than what you were used to. It confused you to see such a difference in culture despite there only being a brief two days of travel between the two places. Cregan only said that it was the way Winterfell functioned. 

“We are like a pack here - always looking out for one another.” 

It was easy for you to fall in love with Winterfell in just a week. With your grandmother’s improving condition, you wondered how many days you had left in your stay. It was incredibly relieving to have your grandmother up and active more and coughing less, though you wondered if it would be okay to extend your stay. 

You spotted one of Cregan’s friends, Ser Dustin, walking in your direction. He was a few years older than Cregan, with a bushy beard and muscled figure. His clothing matched Cregans - dark greys and black with silver embellishments and the familiar wolf head insignia on a patch on his chest. You smiled in greeting. His normal warm smile was replaced with a troubled look on his face. 

“Are you alright, Ser Dustin?” You questioned. 

“Quite alright. The night is approaching, you should be inside.” He responded. 

You pulled your scarlet cloak tighter around your frame, “Have you seen Cregan? I have not seen him today.” Ser Dustin sighed. 

“Cregan has been busy with his duties. I’m sure you will see him tomorrow.” His brief dismissal was so out of character. You blinked a few times. 

“Okay,” You spoke, “I’ll be going home now.” While you wanted to talk to him more, his earlier comment on the day ending almost sounded like a warning rather than an observation. It sent a deep feeling of uncertainty in your bones. The cold of the weather was not the origin of the chill that slithered up your spine. 

You took a few steps back from Ser Dustin before turning and going on your way. When you were out of sight, your hands grabbed the fabric of your skirt and lifted it up so you could run. You sprinted as fast as your clothing could allow you until you reached your grandmother's house. You swung the door open and flung yourself against the door to close it. Your lungs were pushing for any semblance of air. Your grandmother looked up from the table as she was setting down two bowls of stew. 

“Is everything alright?” She questioned. You calmed your breathing and shrugged off your scarlet cloak to hang it up on a hook by the door. 

“Everything is fine, grandma.” You lied, not wishing to stress her out, “What’s for dinner?” 

“Stew.” She responded. 

Dinner was spent with your grandmother taking up most of the conversation. You nodded along graciously and occasionally made quick observations, but your mind was elsewhere. The entire day something had felt off. An unfamiliar itch that you could not ascertain. The people of Winterfell seemed more tense than usual, and the countless ornamented wolf heads felt like they were staring through your soul, piercing everything within. You had chalked the feeling up to homesickness, nothing more. Yet, your gut was sounding an alarm. 

It is nothing but missing home.

You exchanged goodnights with your grandmother and secluded yourself in your room. The gentle monotony of your night routine lulled your nerves just a bit. You were down to your nightclothes - a thin white shift with silver vine embroidery - when your gaze locked with the small window. Night had come and you could see the full moon rising in the distance. Clouds obscured the moon, but its white light still illuminated Winterfell. 

A pounding sensation began to hit the back of your head. You lay down in your bed hoping that some rest would wash it away. Over the period of a few hours, your body tossed and turned as you fell in and out of sleep. You had left your window open just a hair to let in the winter cold, but your body felt like it had been set alight. 

It was in that forever torment of heat and restlessness that a shrill shriek cut through the crisp night air; a sounding cry bellowed from the depths of a chest and torn through the vocal cords. Wolf calls echoed the sound and bounced off the walls of buildings until they bounced throughout your skull. When the vibrations hit your ears, the pounding in your head eased. 

Another shriek rang out.

_____________

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[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 1

**based on a prompt by @purple-goo-writes about Danny getting a job as a club singer for Penguin- I hope y'all like it!**

Oswald Cobblepot watched as his lounge’s newest acquisition crooned on stage, the crowd transfixed by the young man’s stunning voice. The Penguin was beginning to notice that the Iceberg’s profits went up by twenty percent every night this particular new hire was singing, and he had plans to promote the kid. Daniel Nightingale lived up to his name.

He’d stumbled into the young man in an alley, starving and beaten, and offered him a cleaning job. Daniel had taken him up on it, after his sharp blue eyes searched Oswald’s face like he could see his very soul. One of his bartenders had heard the young man singing while he worked a few weeks in, and soon enough, Daniel was the Iceberg’s crowning glory, even if he didn’t know it himself.

Oswald would make sure the young man knew how valuable he was to the Penguin and never left.

Danny gave a short bow to the crowd after his last song, and they all made noises of disappointment as he slipped off the stage through the door in the back. It had been several months since he’d started singing at the Iceberg, and he was thriving. Penguin had started paying him more for less work- Two nights a week he sang, enchanting the denizens of Gotham’s underworld.

It was probably cheating, that he was using some ghostly tricks picked up from Ember, but it’s not like the GIW existed in this universe to track him down.

“Siren! Boss wants you in the VIP lounge before you take off.”

Matt, his security detail, was waiting for him outside his dressing room.

“Sure! Walk me up?”

Danny winked at Matt, who just rolled his eyes.

“Happily married, Siren. Let’s go.”

With a laugh, Danny turned to head up the back steps to the VIP area, swinging his hips a little to make Matt sigh in exasperation.

He wasn’t truly interested in Matt- nor anyone else he’d met in the dimension, but as he began to be fed on a regular basis and filled out more, he found that people thought he was attractive, and he enjoyed the attention. It was far different from being reviled as a nerd or even as the local menace. The attention of people who wanted him felt easier to control even than the attention he received from the ghosts as their king.

The door to the VIP balcony swung open as he approached, and he was waved through. Plastering a sultry smile on his face, he slunk through the tables, winking at patrons as he made his way to his boss.

The Penguin was sitting in a comfortable chair on a raised dais, across the table from a man Danny hadn’t seen in the Iceberg before. The stranger was wearing a domino mask, and had a streak of white through otherwise black hair.

“Thank you for coming, Siren. Please, sit!”

An attendant melted out of the shadows with a third chair, placed beside the bossman. Danny smiled gratefully at the attendant and settled into the chair.

He wasn’t sure what Penguin wanted- sometimes he called Danny up just to show him off in his glittering dress that clung to his skin, and sometimes he called Danny up to read whether a person was trustworthy or not.

“Siren, Mr. Hood here was suggesting a possible business deal- why don’t you hear him out and tell me what you think?”

Ah, reading. Danny could do that.

“I don’t have time for nonsense, Cobblepot.”

The man’s growl raised goosebumps on Danny’s arms, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. Damned if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

“Oh, but Mister Hood, I’d love to hear about your business proposal! What my employer does with his money affects us too, you know- if the business proposal falls through….” Danny batted his eyelashes at the man. “I’m sure you know what happens to the bottom line.”

Red Hood sighed, and then began to explain himself.

Danny didn’t listen to the actual proposal more than he needed to make the appropriate noises. Instead he listened to the tone and cadence of the crime lord’s voice, the way his body moved as he spoke. Everything screamed sincerity, even the small, half-formed core pulsing in the man.

Wait. Hold up. Turn around, go back. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. A core? Here? In someone so clearly still living?

He would have to investigate, but later. His employer was beginning to look to him for a verdict.

“Wow! That sure does sound interesting,” simpering, Danny stood and wrapped an arm around Penguin’s shoulders. “I think you should hear him out, boss- he seems pretty up-and-up to me!”

Penguin smiled sharply up at him and then waved him away.

Danny could feel the stranger’s eyes on him as he left, swaying back to where Matt was waiting at the door.

~~

Look. Danny didn’t intend to get into this situation on his day off, but things just happened to him that didn’t happen to other people. Sam and Tucker would call it the “Fenton Luck”.

Danny didn’t think luck was involved at all.

If luck had been involved, the weird clown wouldn’t have attacked him with a crowbar. If luck had been involved, Danny wouldn’t have responded like he would with a ghost. If. Luck. Had. Been. Involved, the clown would not have flown back into a brick wall and then slumped like a marionette with it’s strings cut.

Stepping forward, Danny leaned down to check his victim’s pulse, but reeled back when he got a good look at the man’s face.

The Joker’s sightless eyes stared back up at him.

Ancients.

“Whatcha got there, sweet thing?”

Luck had nothing to do with anything in Danny’s life, ever. He was cursed somehow, that had to be it.

“A bagel?”

Harley Quinn hopped off the roof and came to investigate Danny’s dead body.

“Sure looks to me like an ex-boyfriend of mine, and not at all bagel shaped. You didn’t even leave a hole in him!”

“I’m…. Sorry?”

Harley grinned up at him, all teeth and a fierce light in her eyes.

“No need, sugar, you did a good thing. What I wonder is why the gas hasn’t triggered?”

Danny laughed nervously- he couldn’t help it, his fear response was laughter!

“Gas?”

“Mhmm! Had his body rigged, the bastard. Joker gas should have spread for six blocks or more when his vitals stopped.”

“Oh. I- you won’t tell the bats, will you?”

“My lips are sealed! I don’t owe Batsy anything!”

With a sigh, Danny shrugged.

“I’m a meta. Joker gas preys on fear, and so do I. The gas must have triggered, but I’m close enough that I filtered it pretty fast.”

Harley put her hands on her hips.

“Batsy doesn’t like metas much.”

“The Bat can suck it.”

She laughed and slung an arm over his shoulder.

“I like you, kid! Let me call my body disposal squad.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Ten minutes later, Poison Ivy and the Red Hood walked into the alley, looking around cautiously. Harley had talked Danny into braiding her hair, and was chatting amiably at Danny.

“-And that’s why Bill owes me a trip to Cabo. I don’t plan to collect, though, he’s just a henchman. Ives! Thanks for coming!”

Red Hood put his hands on his hips.

“I get why you called her, Harley, but why me?”

Harley tilted her head, pulling her hair out of Danny’s hands carelessly.

“You deserve to see him before he disappears, kid. The whole of Gotham deserves that, but we can’t risk it.”

“See who?”

She pointed at the body, and Red Hood went to inspect it. While he did so, Ivy walked up to Danny, peering down on him.

“I know you.”

“Hi, Dr. Isley.”

“I was right! You work for Oswald. Almost didn’t recognize you without your getup. I take it this was your doing?”

“Yes ma’am, although entirely on accident.”

She laughed, and Danny smiled too.

“One we’re all glad for. Thank you.”

There were stomping footsteps, and Red Hood was suddenly in front of them. Harley stood up from the box she’d been sitting on, shielding Danny with her body.

“You did this?”

Danny the angry pulsing of the Hood’s half-formed core. It felt similar to the way his own core had felt when he was forced away from Amity Park. He slid out from between Harley and Ivy and held out his hand.

Hood took it, whether on purpose or unconsciously.

“Hi. Danny Nightingale. I just avenged thousands by accident. Please don’t kill me.”

The pulsing turned from anger to relief, and the Red Hood laughed. It sounded odd through the modulator in the helmet, but Danny smiled along nonetheless.

[red-eagle-fire-protection-encino]

Why Addressing Grease Buildup is Critical for Fire Safety in Commercial Kitchens

Commercial kitchens are constantly exposed to high heat, open flames, and grease, making them particularly vulnerable to fire hazards. One of the most significant risks in these environments is the buildup of grease in exhaust hoods and ventilation systems. If not managed properly, this hidden danger can lead to devastating fires. In this article, we’ll explore why addressing grease buildup is essential for fire safety in every restaurant and how proper maintenance can prevent serious incidents.

How Grease Buildup Occurs

Every time food is cooked, especially when frying or grilling, tiny grease particles are released into the air. These particles are captured by the kitchen's exhaust system, where they gradually accumulate in the hood, filters, and ductwork. Over time, this buildup forms a thick, flammable layer of grease, creating a significant fire risk if not regularly cleaned.

In busy commercial kitchens, grease can accumulate quickly, often out of sight, which makes the risk even more dangerous. While exhaust hoods are designed to remove smoke and heat, they also trap grease, and without proper maintenance, this can become a recipe for disaster.

The Fire Hazards of Grease Buildup

Grease is highly flammable, and when it accumulates inside a kitchen's ventilation system, even a small flame or spark can ignite it. Once a grease fire starts, it can spread rapidly through the ductwork, reaching other areas of the building. These types of fires are notoriously difficult to extinguish and can cause extensive damage in a very short amount of time.

In addition to the physical dangers, grease fires put employees and customers at risk, leading to potential injuries, financial losses, and possible closure of the business. Fire prevention is crucial in ensuring that your restaurant remains a safe environment, and the first step in prevention is addressing grease buildup.

Preventing Grease Buildup with Regular Cleaning

The most effective way to prevent grease-related fires in commercial kitchens is through regular cleaning of the exhaust hood and ventilation system. Establishing a consistent cleaning schedule ensures that grease doesn’t accumulate to dangerous levels. For high-volume kitchens, exhaust systems may need cleaning every month, while other kitchens can maintain safety with quarterly cleanings.

By investing in regular cleaning, you are not only reducing fire hazards but also improving the efficiency of the ventilation system. A clean exhaust hood helps maintain better airflow, reducing heat and odors in the kitchen while also lowering energy costs.

The Role of Professional Cleaning Services

While in-house staff can handle surface cleaning, professional cleaning services are essential for thoroughly addressing grease buildup in hard-to-reach areas like ductwork and fans. Professional cleaners use specialized equipment to remove grease deposits from every part of the exhaust system, ensuring it’s safe and compliant with fire safety standards.

Hiring professionals also provides peace of mind. They can inspect your system for potential issues, keep detailed cleaning records, and ensure that your restaurant meets local safety codes and regulations, reducing your liability in the event of an incident.

Fire Code Compliance and Liability

Many local fire codes require commercial kitchens to maintain their exhaust systems regularly, and failure to do so can result in penalties, fines, or worse—shut down of the business. Additionally, insurance policies often mandate proof of regular cleaning in order to cover potential fire damage. By complying with these regulations, you protect your business from both legal and financial consequences.

Proper exhaust system maintenance also demonstrates a commitment to safety, which is vital for building trust with both customers and employees.

Conclusion

Grease buildup is a hidden but severe fire hazard in commercial kitchens, and addressing it is essential for maintaining a safe and compliant environment. By investing in regular exhaust hood cleaning and working with professional services, restaurants can significantly reduce the risk of fire, protect their property, and ensure the safety of everyone involved. Don’t overlook the importance of proper maintenance—keeping your kitchen clean means keeping it safe.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#397

“Are you Terry?  Good.  The pics you sent are a little…  outdated.  Still, you are honest when it comes to your size.  C’mere….

“You are the right size.  Five foot seven?...  Five six!  Now boy, I told you to address me as Boss.  I am not your Sir or your Master. 

“I see you followed orders with what you wore.  I know it’s a bit cool, but it’s very important that you wear a T-shirt and gym shorts that you don’t care if they are stained or torn.  See I can reach in and feel for your nipples.  I can tell you are smooth, which is good.  And I can reach into your shorts to feel no hair around your pecker.  Very good.  And your pecker…  It’s definitely a micro-penis. 

“Now your pussy…  Hairless.  Pre-lubed?  That’s a nice surprise.  And let’s see if you cleaned out.  Quit squirming.  It’s just my finger.  I don’t feel anything.  Now for the visual.  No brown streaks.  This would have ended right here if my finger found any mud.

“You get the weekend off?...  Good.  If I think you warrant more than this evening, then I’ll keep you around.

“Walk with me.  But first.  Bitch boys like you should dress like bitch boys….  I told you that your shirt could get torn, and with one yank, most of it is torn off.  Here, take the piece in my hand and throw it and what remains of your shirt in the garbage.

“It might be cold, but you look more appropriate like that.  And don’t worry about the cold, my van is up ahead.  And it’s Friday at six, the factory and loading dock workers are long gone.

“OK, we are past where this can be viewed from the street.  Hold still….  Well, those shorts came off way easier than your shirt.  They tore up much faster.  So, I guess when I’m done with you, you’ll have to find some new clothes.  If you do good—I mean really good—I’ll dump you by your house.

“Too bad some of my co-workers aren’t still working the loading dock to see a scrawny-assed pussy boy walking next to a real man.  They would have known that you were going to get used.  So many cat call whistles would have been made.  I miss those days when shit like that happened with regularity. 

“Many years ago, when I started working here, after the almost all the men have left, men and boys would come out as the dark set in.  I remember hitting the pub down the street for a few hours after getting off work along with some of my buds some of which were also waiting for the right time.  We all knew what we were up to; no one said anything. 

“I would come back here to the dark alleys and really plow some boy’s hole.  I loved it when I drew a crowd.  Sometimes a train would start, and I would just leave that boy get plowed by some other worker and go back to the pub.  Hours later after I left, I would see the same bitch boy still getting railed in the alley, only to join in and get my second or third nut.

“There was about a dozen of us guys—not all at the same time—who would frequent it as our way of blowing of the day’s stress.

“I miss those days.  The conservative police chief cracked down hard.  There’s no public anything.  So, my buds either go without or they spend their hard-earned money on motels for a five-minute fuck with a third-rate whore.

“The apps seem to make things easier, but shittier at the same time.  I’m glad you responded to me.

“Here’s my van.  I like to call it my Shaggin’ Wagon.  Blacked out windows and a curtain between the front and the cargo area, means it was made for fucking, anywhere I go.

“Come to the side door.  Look inside.  Everything you need for a good time.  Mattress, toolchest full of toys, restraints, rimseat… all the goodies.  The foam on the walls act as some soundproofing. 

“No, don’t get in yet.  Bend over first.  I need to bust my nut, and I want to stand for it.  Reach behind you and feel me.  No, no.  Don’t look.  In fact, I should do this….

“…Hold still.  Quit squirming…  That hood is not coming off for a long time.  I don’t want you to see anything.  Now grab a hold of my cock.  Hard isn’t it?  I was hard ever since I saw that clitty of yours.

“Feel it at your back door?  It’s coming in.  Open your mouth first.  This is a pair of my dirty underwear.  You are going to scream, and that should shut you up.

“Ready?  On the count of three.  One….  FUCK your pussy feels good.  Ha!  I never make it to three.  For a small boy like you, you have one deep puss.  It’s gonna go far. 

“…And you can take a power slam.  Bitch, I am loving your hole.  You are going to go far with me this weekend. 

“…My cock however is not going to last long.  It’s like silk in here and it fucking feels great.  Your puss is going to be put to the test this weekend.  I’m a multiple cummer, and you are going to be full.

“Do that again.  Clamp down.  Fuck!  I’m already close.  Boy, I’m going to flood your guts with a two-week load.  Here it cums.  Here it cums pussy boy!  Uhh, ahh, fuck, ahhhh!  Ahhhhhh.  Fuck yeah.

“Bitch.  You know how to work that hole.  I’m going to pull out.  Clamp down….

“Jesus!  I haven’t cum that fast in a long time.  I would love to say it was all your hole.  No, it’s that there are two on-lookers, I got two of my closest buds standing beside me. 

“Hey!  You guys are going to like this hole.  I haven’t tried out the boy’s mouth.  Why don’t you guys climb in, and we will be off.

“Boy, climb up.  These two men are managers on my shift.  We go way back to those after-work fuck days.  They get first crack at you.  Treat them with the utmost respect they deserve even though they are going to treat you like shit.  After they are done, I have a number of other guys lined up at another few spots.  You are going to perform for all of them as well as you did me.

“Gentlemen, while this is a new boy, the old rules still apply.  You can get as wild as you want, just no permanent or long-lasting damage, no shit, no blood.  I don’t need a bloody mess back here.

“Get your leg in bitch.  I need to close the door.  The Shaggin’ Wagon needs to move, and your pussy needs to be turned into one hell of a sloppy gaping cunt.  I’ll be up front drivin’ and chillin’ and smokin’ my cigar with the sounds of men using a cum dump bitch boy.  Let’s roll!”

[redeaglefireprotectionorange]

From Fire Hazards to Safety: How Regular Cleaning Saves Kitchens

Maintaining a safe commercial kitchen goes beyond preparing delicious meals—it’s also about keeping the equipment clean and safe. A crucial part of this is kitchen exhaust hood cleaning. Without routine cleaning, grease buildup in the exhaust hood can become a significant fire hazard. Understanding how regular maintenance protects kitchens is key to creating a safer workspace.

How Grease Buildup Becomes a Fire Risk

As food cooks, grease and oil particles rise with the steam and stick to surfaces inside the exhaust hood and ductwork. Over time, this buildup forms a highly flammable layer, turning the kitchen ventilation system into a potential fire hazard. Even a small spark or high heat from cooking could ignite the grease, causing flames to spread quickly through the ducts. That’s why regular kitchen exhaust hood maintenance is essential to reduce fire risks.

The Benefits of Consistent Kitchen Exhaust Hood Cleaning

Keeping up with kitchen hood cleaning offers several advantages beyond fire prevention. It improves air quality, helps the kitchen meet safety regulations, and enhances the overall efficiency of the exhaust system. Here are some key benefits:

Fire Prevention: Regular cleaning significantly reduces the risk of grease fires, protecting your staff and property.

Enhanced Air Quality: Clean exhaust systems help remove smoke and odors, creating a more comfortable environment for both employees and guests.

Compliance with Regulations: Many local fire codes require routine kitchen exhaust cleaning to meet safety standards, ensuring your kitchen stays compliant.

Professional Services vs. DIY Cleaning: Which Is Best?

When it comes to maintaining a clean kitchen exhaust hood, choosing between professional services and DIY methods depends on your kitchen’s needs. Understanding the differences can help you make the best choice:

Why Choose Professional Kitchen Exhaust Hood Cleaning

Professional kitchen exhaust cleaning companies offer thorough services using specialized tools that reach deep into the ducts, ensuring all grease deposits are removed. This level of cleaning is especially important for high-volume kitchens where grease can build up quickly. Professional services provide a deeper clean that DIY methods may struggle to achieve.

DIY Kitchen Exhaust Hood Maintenance Tips

For smaller kitchens, some owners opt for DIY methods, using degreasers and manually scrubbing accessible parts of the exhaust hood. While DIY cleaning can be effective as part of a routine, it often doesn’t reach the depth of professional cleaning. Regular inspections and thorough scrubbing are necessary to ensure no hidden grease remains, which could pose a fire risk.

Determining How Often to Clean Your Kitchen Exhaust Hood

The frequency of kitchen exhaust hood cleaning depends on how busy your kitchen is. High-traffic restaurants may need professional cleanings every three months, while smaller kitchens might manage with biannual maintenance. Regular inspections can help determine when a more thorough cleaning is needed, ensuring that grease doesn’t accumulate to unsafe levels.

Prioritize Safety with Routine Maintenance

Neglecting regular kitchen exhaust hood cleaning can lead to serious fire hazards, turning your ventilation system into a potential danger. Consistent cleaning not only keeps your kitchen safer but also improves the overall environment for staff and customers. Whether you choose professional services or manage the cleaning yourself, maintaining a clean exhaust hood is essential for preventing fires and ensuring a safe, efficient kitchen.

[andrevasims]

Pretersolaria Institute: CC-Free Uni & Individual Lots

Eventually I want to share the entirety of Rhyolite Valley, but it's a bit hairy with the 47 sims & CC hood deco & the garbage data I let seep in while playing (so I'd have to remake all of that before sharing).

I thought I'd "practice" the process of remaking the hood by starting a little smaller: The uni subhood. Since I only made a handful of sims for it (which are not included... yet) and it works aesthetically without CC hood deco. Sounds simple, right? Weelllll it took about a week of near daily effort to actually do. Makes the prospect of doing the actual hood soooo much more exciting lol /s

Anyway, that's what this is: A new university subhood template that's CLEAN & EMPTY. As a bonus (or if you just don't like the subhood), I've also included individual lot packages for every lot in the subhood to use wherever you want.

The "gimmick" of this hood is that Rhyolite Valley, and by extension Pretersolaria Institute, is entirely self-sufficient & cobbled together by the local residents. Which means there's no indoor plumbing lol.

That also means simply sitting down at a computer to write a term paper isn't as easy as a regular uni. Students have to go to THE BOOKMOBILE to access computers. Same goes for the skill building required for each semester/major. You have to venture out to the relevant community lot to find the means for skill building.

I've included in the uni's photo album & the lot descriptions which skills are available to build on each lot. It'll say "+Cooking" or whatever skill(s) the lot can provide based on the objects it has.

— WHERE/HOW TO INSTALL: —————————

Place the "PRTR" folder in its entirety in the "Program Files > EA GAMES > The Sims 2 University > TSData > Res > NeighborhoodTemplate" directory. Or whatever equivalent location you have for a TS2 University folder in the Program Files section.

Mootilda's Subhood Selection Mod is required to see additional universities below the main 3 pre-made ones.

You can then select Pretersolaria Institute in the list of options when creating a new uni subhood in a neighborhood.

— UNI SUBHOOD LOT INFO: ——————————

• Dorms: 1 (Klaatu Mobile Park)

6br / 5ba | Value: §20,444 | Size: 30 x 20

• Residential: 3 (Fulquard, Mushnick, & Burson Shack)

1br / 1ba | Value: §3,816-§3,862 | Size: 10 x 10

• Greek House: 1 (Tobor Testing Bureau)

10br / 10ba | Value: §30,363 | Size: 30 x 20

• Community: 6 (Wiploc Amphitheatre, THE BOOKMOBILE, Ikron Confectioneries, Zarkov Training Center, Big Heart Dude, Krelboined Horticulture)

• Secret Society: 1 (Temple of Laganaphyllis)

Value: §56,035 | Size: 20 x 20 | Zone: Community (individual version)

— NOTES: ———————————————————

• On 2 lots (Big Heart Dude & Wiploc Amphitheatre), I used the Seasons Music career reward The Rock Hammer for speaker deco. I used MoveObjects to delete the guitar but keep the speakers.

It's possible that either A. The guitars will respawn when you move the lot in the hood, or B. Sims will attempt to play the guitar and complain about being blocked (because I purposely blocked them).

If the guitars respawn, open the lot in Buy/Build mode and with MoveObjects On use the sledgehammer tool to remove the guitar.

If sims are complaining about not being able to reach the guitar, well they're not supposed to be able to lol. If hearing them complain is annoying, you can either use this mod that makes them stop yelling when something blocks them and leaves only the thought bubble, or delete the whole object.

• The Wiploc Amphitheatre may also have some glitchy-looking ground that you can see in neighborhood view when the camera moves. This is because I shortened the lot with Lot Adjuster. I don't know how to make it stop doing that, because I've transferred the lot to other hoods, packaged the lot, Lot Cleaner'd it, Lot Compressor'd it, moved it to the Lots & Houses Bin, etc. and it has never stopped looking like that. So again if that annoys you, remove the lot I guess?

• Please let me know if there are any additional problems.

I've never done this before specifically with a uni subhood, so it's very likely I messed up somewhere.

Additional Interior/Detail Pictures

DOWNLOAD UNI SUBHOOD: SFS | MF

DOWNLOAD INDIVIDUAL LOTS: SFS | MF

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 15

Double Prompt: "What are you wearing?" / "It's Laundry day!" + "Yes. No. Maybe."

Pairing: Steve Rogers (Captain America) x Reader

Warning/Tags: FLUFF, allusions to sex/innuendo at the very end, established relationship, petnames (sweetheart)

Summary: It's laundry day and you whip out your handy cosy outfit you wear when Steve isn't around. However, Steve comes home early...

Word count: 879 words

A/N: Hello! I am currently in Wales for the week so my future posts will be via mobile rip I've just had a 6.5 hour drive I am not ok

also, this one is inspired by the fact I have one of these <3- Love, Grem x

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How you'd managed it, you never knew.

Keeping an item of clothing expertly hidden away from your boyfriend to save yourself an embarrassing conversation was nothing short of a miracle in your shared apartment. However, when Steve Rogers was busy playing Captain America elsewhere in the world, it came out. Especially on cold days such as this and when there were no clean clothes (who are we kidding ? Pyjamas) left to wear.

Today was laundry day and Steve was away on a mission. Which meant one thing; out came The One.

You waddled to the kitchen grasping the overflowing washing basket, dumping it unceremoniously into the middle of the kitchen to better pile the washing. Four distinct piles later (whites, colours, darks and delicates), the first load of washing went on. You stood and watched the machine grumble to life, slowly pushing the clothes in lazy circles. With a heavy sigh you padded back into the bedroom and began the tedious task of stripping the bedding.

A simple pleasure in life was clean sheets. Soft, clean cotton smelling like it had been dragged through a field of spring flowers made the effort of stripping and re-assembling the sheets worth it. Even if they wouldn't stay clean for very long. Regardless, your boyfriend would be appreciative (if he noticed before he collapsed into the bed as per usual after a long mission).

Bedding stripped, and feeling slightly sweaty, you headed back to the kitchen to make yourself a drink. You wondered about Steve and how his mission was going as you idly sipped at your glass. Long missions were always a pain since Steve couldn't talk at regular times, meaning you were often left wondering what kind of state he was in. Though, worrying yourself silly wasn't an option.

Shaking your head trying to rid yourself of thoughts of your blue-eyed, blond bombshell, you pulled out your phone and started up your cleaning playlist. You may as well continue to be productive after all! First, kitchen counters were wiped down with swaying hips. Then, the fridge was deep-cleaned with off-key singing. Then the trash taken out and so on, to the sound of your off-key voice and occasional dance move.

By the time you'd snuck back into the apartment (after dodging your nosy elderly neighbour near the stairs) the washing was done. Bending down to collect the damp laundry and belting out lyrics to a timeless tune of ABBA's, a familiar voice spoke. Startled you drop the clean clothes with a squeak, spinning to see who had entered.

"What are you wearing?" Steve chuckled from the kitchen doorway. He was dressed casually in T-shirt and jeans, holding his kit bag. He had come back from his mission early.

He had come back from the mission early.

" I –" You begin realising you had been caught red-handed and red-faced. " It's laundry day!" You say, two octaves higher than you wanted.

Steve bites back a grin as he looks at you stood in the middle of your kitchen in a Captain America onesie. It was the retro costume, bright cerulean blue, red and white. There was even a hood with the wings embroidered on. Not to mention the zipper that was his shield. It was too big for you but you looked cosy and cute.

"Okay..." Steve finally says slowly, raising an eyebrow as you cover your face. You're too cute. "Have you been hiding this from me, Sweetheart?"

You shuffle your feet. You wanted to combust on the spot. You wore an arguably cuter version of your boyfriend’s damn costume and he's found you in it.

"Yes. No... Maybe." You mumble from behind your hands. "I didn't know you'd be home so soon."

"Thought I'd surprise you." You can hear the smirk in Steve's voice and it only makes you feel more flustered. "Looks like you beat me to it."

"I can explain," You say quickly but as you move your hands away you can see that Steve is chuckling at you. Your heart hammers as embarrassment flushes your cheeks. You sigh, defeated, and give him a quivering, embarrassed smile.

Steve drops his bag and strides forward, wrapping his strong arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

"You look amazing as always." He teases.

"Shut up." The feigned huff of annoyance isn't lost on Steve and it only makes him smile wider.

"I mean it," He leans back to look down at you with his goofy grin. He gently brushes a wisp of hair out of your eyes. "This is a nice surprise to come home to.”

You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight, resting your head against his chest. "Har har, very funny." You look up at him and feel yourself grinning. "I'm glad you're home."

"Glad to be home... but aren't you hot in that?" Steve's brows furrow at you. The material is plush and thick, there's no way you wouldn't be boiling. Steve fiddles with the shield zipper between his fingers, wondering where did you buy this from.

"I uh..." You give him a sheepish smile. "Only have underwear on underneath."

Steve eyebrows shoot up and he gives you a playful grin. "Oh, this is definitely better than my suit."