#and again like. is personal use really that big compared to uh. the us military

[saltofmercury]

A König x reader where the reader gives off scary dog privilege.

Like at a McDonald’s, König will stand behind them, even if he’s like a MOUNTAIN compared to the reader and the reader will be like “HE asked for no pickles >:(“

Idk think it would be cute if the reader would help König out in social situations where he would be uncomfortable.

If König doesn’t feel like talking the reader redirects the conversation to themselves so König can just listen.

Pairing: König x reader

Summary: König feels better after meeting you.

"We"

He didn’t date. Dating was exhausting, humiliating, and daunting for König. A series of awkward silences followed by stupid questions, that seemed to be in constant loop.

“What do you do?”

“Where are you from?

“Why are you so quiet?

He was always too quiet, too shy, for women. Too soft, too detached with men. It’s like he couldn’t be perfect for either.

It was worse when he thought they were having a good time and König, already filled with nerves and anxiety, had ordered his meal wrong.

“Why didn’t you ask to have it without mushrooms?”

“Why don’t you ask them if that's not what you ordered?”

As if it were easy. They looked at him with stupidity like he couldn’t just do it.

Second + third dates were then followed by 

“I’m not asking them to switch it, that's your meal.”

“You’re a big boy, use your voice.”

Small jabs towards him because of his height and build, that he wished he could just push himself to do it but he didn’t want to add an extra burden to the waiter or crew in the back.

“It’s fine, I'll eat it.”

Later coming to realize at the end of the date that he wasn’t for “them.”

“It’s not me, it’s you, I just don’t see it working out.”

Until he met you.

You weren’t looking for anything, as a matter of fact you just wanted to decompress from the day, have a small get together with new and old friends, but lots of things changed that day. 

As you went around introducing yourselves, König said hi, but didn’t really put much input into the group. He seemed to be making himself smaller, fading away behind the group of people. He seemed uncomfortable.

You approached him— A small shiver from his side, mentally preparing himself knowing the lines of—

“WHY aren’t you talking?”

“How tall are you?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?”

“Why are you so quiet?”

However it wasn’t like that at all. You did most of the talking. Just asked for small input from him. He was so taken back by how comfortable you made him. You made talking to new people easy and by the end of the night it was you asking him on a second date. 

He nodded, dumbfounded. “A second date?”

A small shiver again, maybe this time it was different?

*

The second date, at some small diner nearby, you take the lead on talking again. You think it was perhaps due to your nerves, you had become a chatterbox.

“So why the military?”

“Uh— personal choice.”

Small silence as you chewed on the appetizer in front of you. You wide eyed, trying to not say 

“Well that explains the haircut.” so instead you said,

“Must be lots of traveling huh?” You continued, listing places you wanted to visit and asking if he had ever been there.

Relief pooled inside him. What was your motive behind this?

When it was time to place the order, König’s nerves had bundled inside of him again that he forgot to mention “no black olives.”

His dish was placed in front of him.

He looked concerned, like he was in for a long night of picking them off his meal, then bombarding him with questions of “why didn’t you just ask?”

You saw the concern on his face.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Why aren’t you digging in?”

“Ah… I said no olives but it’s no big deal.”

It was a big deal and you called the waitress over.

“I’m sorry we said no olives”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” The waitress flushed and ran away with the plate.

“Here” you said, so calm, “you can have some of mine while we wait.”

How effortless you did it. How were you so good at this?

“I hate when I do that. I can’t have cilantro because it tastes like soap.” You laughed and continued to pick at french fries in front of him.

God you were adorable.

He was sure he wasn’t going to see you again, thinking that maybe you thought he couldn’t speak up for himself, or the conversation ran too dry.

You however kept pushing yourself in, being his voice when he couldn’t speak.

“We said—

‘No olives’ 

‘No pickles’

‘This isn’t what we ordered’

Relief washing over him that you took it upon yourself when he had made the mistake ordering.

How you used “we” as opposed to “he” and he really liked that you didn’t single him out. He could melt. Was there finally someone who could lessen the burden of his anxiety?

Dinner dates went from bi-weekly to weekly. Then it was just easy. It was a no-brainer being with you. 

You never once thought he was too shy, or too quiet, too soft, or too detached. You didn’t question things between you two, you just took the lead in conversations with people, often checking in with König for a small part in it. You knew the right amount to get out of him.

You took the burden of first time conversations. You had started ordering for the two of you, knowing what he liked and didn’t like. König felt lighter, felt better that someone was here for him and opposed to him. 

#könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig imagine #könig cod #könig #ask #small drabble #könig x you

[chungledown-bimothy]

I haven’t actually been watching D20, I don’t have the attention span for it. Can you recap this season up to the latest episode for me?

oof. um. this isn't gonna be a great recap, but here we go. (this is all from memory god help me i'm sure i'm forgetting things and having to leave out really funny and great bits for length)

sleeping beauty, the frog prince, mother goose, little red riding hood, pinocchio, and puss in boots all met on a caravan to shoeberg. (Destiny's Children is the group name)

shit's Bad and most of them are looking for people they care about and/or answers as to why things are So Bad And So Wrong. but puss in boots and pinocchio are best friends and conning rich people. simply vibing, we love it for them.

mother goose has a magic book (that he got from making wishes with The Gander who is a Force Of Evil trying to resurrect his dead son and he's got one more wish but it'd kill him to make it) that seems to be the key to this whole thing and it can suck people into it and record their stories, and he gets sick new spells when that happens

things go to shit on the caravan, they all end up together and needing to go find a shard of glass that's in cinderella's fairy godmother's chest.

first combat happens, total party kill. they all fucking die. but the frog prince gets the shard, so it's not all bad. they learn that it's a multiverse situation and they all get thrown into a new timeline where things are Worse but they remember each other and what needs to be done. they get red beads and brennan gives NO explanation

well, pinocchio doesn't restart like the others. his stepmom (the stepmom, she's all the stepmoms) is his fuckin warlock patron and instead of him dying and being in a second story he replaces that universe's pinocchio.

they all meet up again and compare notes, turns out a bunch of princesses (including cinderella, snow white, rapunzel, and the beast) are aware of the multiverse thing and how it sucks that they're stuck in stories where they have no agency. plus things are getting So Much Worse. it's unclear what their plan is, but they want to fix how bad everything is (they need seven princesses, including sleeping beauty), whereas the fairies (there are 8 of them) are more or less fine with how things are and want them to stay that way.

they learn that the stepmother is a horrific eldritch being who eats mothers. pinocchio cuts his strings, she's not his patron anymore. (uh-oh, she might hurt his dad about that)

mother goose gets a text on his book from scheherezade, turns out there are other people with books in different universes and they can communicate through it. scheherezade and her companions are stuck and somehow destiny's children fighting a huge fucking spider would help her out? idk i'm arachnophobic i had to skip all that

they go through the book (?) and end up in The Lines Between, which is sick as fuck and sort of... the central hub for the multiverse? it's super fucking cool. they meet scheherezade and aesop (who also has a book).

ally nails a nat 20 and learns that there's Special Ink used by The Authors (shhh don't say that out loud it'll bring Trouble) to write all of everyone's stories.

there are cutbacks and something Really Bad is going on with it all.

they leave scheherezade and aesop and go to explore more, oops the stepmother is here and pissed that they're trying to put things back to normal (she... eats stories? definitely eats mothers)

puss in boots nails a sick nat 20 and pinocchio's patron is now his own story and the concept of destiny itself.

the stepmother yeets them the fuck out of the lines between, they do some sick backstory stuff, learn that the baba yaga's HUGELY powerful and is why the stepmother is as powerful as she is.

they land in a heavily industrialized city. they go find the person in charge, the baron of bricks, and they lean he's got the big bad wolf, who is Death incarnate, chained up because military industrial complex, i guess?

they free the wolf, who says he can get them to the baba yaga, but they decide that first they want to go find snow white. snow white seems chill, says they need more princesses to save the multiverse. so she yeets them the fuck to toy island where they meet the little mermaid

but oops sleeping beauty accidentally triggered a spell that was looking for the little mermaid (princess detector) and fight what was initially him but ended up really being against the terrible dogfish from pinocchio's story. but they beat it, get the little mermaid's voice back, and make their way back to snow white.

they all get there, and the princesses, including the frog prince's estranged wife, reveal that they actually want to fully destroy the entire multiverse. blow it all up to shit using the ink and mother goose's book.

they tried to fuck up their apocalyptic plans by putting cinderella in the book, but it fails. so they have to fucking haul ass out of there, just a little bit of combat almost killed sleeping beauty and the frog prince.

they get out of there, leaving the little mermaid behind, but only then do they realize rapuzel and her freaky ass hair stole mother goose's book. so they're kinda fucked. but they keep running and end up in the land of giants but hey they're the giants

after a really cool combat, they find and free The Golden Goose, the gander's counterpart, and after they also get back mother goose's husband and some of puss in boots' old friends, the goose, because she and mother goose are one and the same in many versions of their stories, makes the third wish and dies in order to get mother goose his book back.

they learn that the princesses have gotten to scheherezade and have her with them and she's also technically a princess, so they now have enough princesses to end everything.

so destiny's children track down the baba yaga to try to get her help. miraculously, pinocchio nat 20s the persuasion check. they all have to give things up to get her help, and it's heart breaking and beautiful and watch The Trials of Baba Yaga.

baba yaga gets them to the lines between, murph rolls TERRIBLY and gives the princesses a head start for the apocalypse. taking us to the most recent episode.

combat with cinderella, snow white, rapunzel, elody (frog prince's estranged wife), the little mermaid, the beast, and scheherezade begins. snow white is doing magic with the ink and it's all about to go to shit.

they talk the little mermaid and elody into being on their side, dispel the magic that was making scheherezade cooperate, and kill the beast, rapunzel, and snow white. leaving just cinderella.

the baba yaga so far has helped destiny's children, but said she's the only one who's gonna survive all this, so. that's ominous.

the episode ends with the fairies showing up in the room. round two is going to begin in the finale next week.

and that's what you missed on glee!

#neverafter #neverafter spoilers #dimension 20

[whales-are-gay]

im. look. i hate electric stoves ok? unless the entire power grid switches to all renewable, it would really suck to legislate away gas stoves

#what happens when you lose power you straight up would not be able to cook or eat anything warm #and again like. is personal use really that big compared to uh. the us military #personal post

[thelittleboyfromloveactually]

Two Shorten the Road

part 1

joel dawson x reader

warnings: cussing? idk, bad writing.....fluff, cuteness, monsters(is this a warning), mentions of death, SPOILERS

word count: 2154

prompt: when your best friend decides to leave your colony to go find the love of his life, you decide to join him on his journey even if you aren’t so happy about where this journey is going

Welp I did it, I took it into my own hands. I am writing a joel dawson series. Because we👏need 👏more👏joel👏fics👏 it’s basically the movie, almost the same script but obviously slightly different…ENJOY! <3

No one in my generation or later had a typical upbringing, I mean some of us did but then the world ended. This type of thing sounds straight out of some apocalyptic movie, but we basically live in one now. Agatha 616, an asteroid heading straight for earth, I know, so original. So we all came together and did what we do best, blow things up. Yup, we blew up teh asteroid, and humanity was saved! We thought. But here’s the thing about rockets, they are made of a bunch of chemical compounds which eventually rained back down on earth. Suddenly there were these Aileen creatures that mutated and started eating us. Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles, you name it. Our president was even killed by a giant moth. Ya….not so original now huh? We suddenly need tanks to kill ants, oh man I remember the good old days when a shoe would do just fine. Sometimes even the tanks didn’t work. Eventually the really big ones and our military took each other out and we lost 95% of the human population in a year! Those of us who survived hid, bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years I’ve been hiding in an underground bunker. It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and it’s better than getting eaten alive. It’s a great group of people and we all love each other.

“Are you sure they’re asleep?”

“Who?”

“Y/N and joel!”

“Oh ya I’m sure”

“Joel? Y/n?”

“He’s asleep”

Actually we are both awake. Me and my best friend joel have kinda mastered faking being asleep. Our beds are right across from each other so we normally just lie there and make stupid faces at each other. We are the only two single people in our bunker. Nice huh? Joel is my best friend. I met him when I joined the colony. He’s the sweetest. It’s funny cause everyone thinks we should just have sex already because that’s literally all everyone else does. But we are way above that. Anyway, joel is in love with his girlfriend from before the colony, her name is Aimee. With one “I” and two “e”s. He loves to talk about her, he writes her letters. So in reality, I am the only one who is not in love in this bunker. I’ve never had a boyfriend, ever, even before the world ended.

We don’t really get any sleep. The moaning kinda keeps us awake. I got up and out of my bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard Joel’s bed creak and then his footsteps as he followed behind me. Another annoying thing about being down here is that to get to the kitchen from my room, you have to walk though other people’s bedrooms. Oh shit, they are busy, why would they leave their door open. Me and Joel stopped.

“Oh” joel and I said in unison

“Hey Y/N! Hey Joel!” Ava said

“Oh hey Ava” Joel said, we didn’t dare look over to our left.

“Y/N how’s it going?” Tim asked

“T-totally good tim, h-how are you doing” I asked

“Yeah, good” he responded

“I uh we couldn’t sleep” said Joel looking at the ceiling

“Ya we know the feeling” Ava said with a laugh

“Yeah probably not for the…..same reasons” joel said looking straight ahead

“Your guyses door was open, did you…did you know that?” I asked

“Yeah we know” they said

I shook my head and knitted my eyebrows together

“Okay” joel trailed off

Ever since Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of termites he and Ava have gotten really close, in every way.

“Okay, goodnight” joel said as we walked

Basically everyone is coupled up down here, a baby was born last winter! Welcome to the apocalypse kid. Ok if we ever get out of this, that would be an awesome story to tell your kids. “Oh ya I was born in an underground bunker doing a monster apocalypse” “yes exactly like World War Z but with bugs bigger than a 5 story building”. I mean come on.

So your probably wonder how the hell we get food, we’ll we have a cow. Gurdy. Gurdy is great. We also have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It’s gotten harder and harder, cause we ran out of bullets. And facing one of those things with a handmade weapon is just as hard as it sounds. It’s very very difficult. I go with them….sometimes. I still get scared. But I’ve been out quite a lot, especially compared to my man joel over here. I’ve been out maybe 30 times, he’s been out…maybe once, or not even. He’s the chef of the bunker. He makes super good Minestrone.

Me and joel like to hang out with Mavis. A robot. Yup. Not much for conversation, her batter is shot. Just like every other mavis I would imagine. When I’m not hunting we hang out with her. But sometimes I just go read. Reading and joel keep me sane. I mean sometimes joel drives me insane but I still love him. I have quite the collection of books too! I’ve got Emma by Jane Austen, a couple random ones that we found, all the hunger games and Harry Potter books, some mysteries that stopped being mysteries after a while, and then of course some smutty romance books for personal entertainment.

Joel likes to say that his thing is target practice. He has never hit the target but ya know, gotta entertain yourself. I think his thing is drawing though, he has this book that he draws in from Aimee. It’s really cool actually. He’s really good.

I sat watching Joel as he tried to hit the target, laughing a little every time he missed. It was cute how hard he tried.

“Shut up” he said shaking his laugh away

I laughed again, but then suddenly the lights started flickering. You could hear screeches and creeks echoing through the bunker. Joel turned to look at me. Worry and determination in his eyes. We both scrambled out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was preparing.

“Hustle, hustle people we’ve gotta move”

I turned to look at Joel but then realized that he wasn’t next to me. Where did he go? Worry flooded through me. Suddenly the clanking of our weapon started behind me.

“Hey guys!” Joel said as he rammed into the railing, I shook my head. “Guys! I’ve got the weapons” he smiled at me

A few people walked over to him taking them out of his hands

“Stay” said Tim

“W-what?” Joel asked looking around in confusion

Everyone was talking and barking orders “grab what you need and let’s go! Y/N you coming?”

My eyes shot open “yes! Yup!” I jumped up and grabbed the bow and arrow from Joel.

“W-what's happening?” He asked innocently “what’s going on?”

“There’s a breach” said Tim

“What do you mean? Like inside the bunker breach?!” He asked

“Yes joel! Now come on!” I told him, patting him on the pack as I followed the others

He followed me and watched the plan get arranged

“Anna, Y/N and I will engage. Anderson and Tom plank him”

“Plank him, ya ok where do you guys need me? You want me to uh come through the rear or..?” Joel asked eagerly

“I don’t think your going to pass this joel” I told him

“Pass what? You guys need help, let me help” said clutching his crossbow

“You gonna make me say it?” said Sam

“Say what?!” God he was so adorably clueless

“You can’t handle it joel, your shook” said Sam, we all began getting into positions

“Ya ok, yes so you guys don’t get scared..ever?” He asked still getting ready to fight

“We get scared, we all get scared joel, but you get really scared” said Sam

“They are trying to make you feel bad joel” I said sweetly, trying to calm him down

“We love you joel”

“But your a liability”

“Ok why did that speech feel so rehearsed? And what about Y/N? She’s like…ya know?” He said bobbing his head

“Joel-“ suddenly the bunker shook and the lights flicked again

“Ok 30 meters out! Let’s move!” And we were off

Leaving joel and some others behind. You could hear the growling of whatever we were up against

I followed the others and listened carefully. I was freaking shaking. Don’t ask how I got sucked into becoming one the the hunters. Kinda just happened and I was just-

“OH SHIT!” I heard someone yell, it was too dark to see. Someone was gone, that thing took them. I couldn’t even see it. Oh fuck my life. Everyone began scattering, running away from the monster. I stopped running to take a breath, when I realized I was alone. Nicely done Y/N. The lights kept flickering. I heard something blow up in the distance.

“Conned? Conner?” I heard a whisper, one I knew all too well. Shit, joel. I ran toward the sound, and had no idea I was also running toward certain death. I stopped running. There it was, that thing. I’d never seen this before. I didn’t recognize it. I stayed silent, not moving at all. It slowly crawled over a shower curtain. Oh fuck. He was going toward joel! I quickly grabbed my bow and arrow and shot it. Right though the face. Next to its….eye I guess you could call it. Joel stood there, frozen.

I slowly walked over to him “Joel, hey are you ok?” I asked as I slipped my hand into his. He was trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He has a bad freezing problem, so I've been helping him work on it.

About an hour later I sat with Joel, still holding his hand as he stared out into space. We could hear everyone talking. How could this have happened?

“It ripped through steal”

“Anderson and I resealed the Breach point, nothings getting in that way again”

“But why did it happen?”

I tried to toon it out, and I hoped Joel did too.

“Joel, do you wanna talk about it?” I asked squeezing his hand, he looked so sad, which just crushed me

He shook his head

“Ok….” I nodded, I leaned into hug him but was interrupted by his voice

“How far away is Aimee's colony?” He asked

I pulled back, looking at him confused. The talking stopped and everyone look at him

“What?” Tim asked

“Aimee’s colony, how far away is it?” He repeated

“About 85 miles” he said as he furrowed his brows

“How long will it take to get there?”

“What do you mean joel?” I asked leaning closer to him

“Just humor me, how long?” He insisted

“7 days” said Tim

“Someone who’s armed and trained would hardly last 50miles, but you…joel” Ava said, I felt bad for him, he really didn’t deserve any of this

“Alright” Tim continued “now I need volunteers”

“I’m gonna go” joel said

No one said anything, they just stared

“It’s an impossible journey joel” said Tim, crossing his arms

Joel stood up, moving around my chair. “No im serious…I love you guys but there’s only one person in this world who ever truly made me happy and she’s only 85 miles away” he said strongly “I’m gonna go see her” I could see his mind was made up

God he was such a romantic, how could you not love this guy? Sure it hurts when your best friend tells you that you didn’t make him truly happy. Especially when you maybe sorta kinda have a crush on him.

He let out a breath “woah, that felt awesome” he said as he walked off to start packing

I stood there for a second processing and thinking, but then suddenly my mouth took over and well….

“I’m coming with you!” I said, he froze “I mean you can’t leave me here with these middle aged people, and your my best friend so” I shrugged

“I’ll come back for you I promise” he walked over to me “I can’t let you put yourself in even more danger” he said grabbing my arms

“I can’t let you put yourself in danger knowing that I could have helped protect you” I said, he stared blankly at me

I smiled “o-ohK…then I guess…” he trailed off

“Cool I’ll go pack” I skipped past him. Was I scared? Hell yes. But like I said, I needed to help joel and protect him in every way I can. And sure I wasn’t so happy that he was returning to his long lost love but if it made him happy then I would live. And anyway, two do shorten the road.

#love and monsters #joel dawson series #joel dawson fics #joel dawson #joel dawson x reader

[meghiemoo]

Leverage theories time.

This is kinda... rough. I'm going to be talking about harm coming to children so if that's hard for you. You know. Don't keep reading.

Anyway, Eliot and kids is like one of the highlights of Leverage for a lot of people and me personally. He's sweet to kids, talks to them like they're people, helps them out. It's a cool character trait and makes for some great scenes.

Lots of people have seen the way Eliot is with kids and drawn a fairly decent assumption that maybe he was a victim of child abuse and maybe that's where that comes from.

Its a valid theory, but I never got that vibe from him. He always seemed to me like the one member of the team with a normal, healthy childhood. At least comparatively anyway. He is estranged from his father now, but that seems to be about recent things from when he was an adult.

Nope. I've got a different theory for why Eliot seems to go out of his way to protect kids. And it sucks. I hate it.

The thing is, I rewatched The Big Bang Job. Again. Eliot said the line: "the worse thing I ever did in my entire life I did for Damien Moreau" and it got me wondering, again, what exactly he did and well...

John Rogers was nice enough to not tell us, but uh if you're paying attention... he told us.

-The team knows Eliot has killed people before and they mostly think he killed other bad guys but sometimes killed innocent people. Yet he decidedly doesn't want to tell Parker (who is really protective of children) this thing he did.

-The Guy Who Took Eliot's Job is quite clear that normally they kill entire families when the go to "kill" Atherton (who is specifically shown to have a daughter).

-We know Eliot was in the US military and doing shady shit and whatever this was, it was with Moreau, so it was worse that most of the average war crimes committed by US soldiers.

-In the 12 Step Job, Eliot refers to himself as a "bad guy" even though they've been helping people for a while now.

-Eliot is quite clear he will NEVER be clean of this worst thing he did. Apparently so bad, it is likely what caused him to stop working for Moreau and guys like him.

-Eliot kills since joining the team, especially early seasons, and it doesn't seem to really shake him? So whatever the bad thing was, it wasn't a simple murder. Because he views himself as irrevocably crossed-a-line bad so. Worse.

-In The Morning After Job, Eliot is specifically worried about kids in house when the domestic violence tip is called in and they stop.

-Eliot doesn't seem to like kids? He is good with kids but in The Fairy God Parents Job and The Ho Ho Ho Job, he clearly gets irritated with them, so he isn't just helping kids because he thinks kids are cool or something.

-Eliot is, in general, extremely protective of all innocent people, but especially children.

Anyway I think Eliot murdered kids and that's the worst thing he did and now I will be thinking about that all night so. You all get to suffer with me.

#I'm almost to Leverage Redemption in my rewatch #so this is based on the regular five season run that I've seen a thousand times and not that #leverage #eliot #eliot spencer #for the record i still love eliot #but like i think he did really bad shit #like the worst thing #Damien Moreau #the big bang job #leverage meta

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% loading…suspect into the apd database…

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: glasses, academia, coffee shops . with a slight resemblance to JEON JUNGKOOK of/the BTS.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

last name, first name: lee, david alias: electro realm of birth(if earth, nationality): earth age: 23 date of birth: september 1, 1997 gender: cis-gender male preferred pronouns: he/him, they/them species: cyborg level 1, civilian sexual orientation: questioning

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: light tanned eye color: dark brown, blue tint when using eye enhancemets scars: none reported piercings: both ears tattoos: a simple black star on left wrist hair color: black, dyed a variety of colors at times abnormalities: none reported horns/ wings/ etc: none transformed form: none

PERSONAL FILE:

powers & abilities: enhanced vision, lens screen, vital monitor and data collection, temperature scanning, night vision, light adjustment vision, app synchronization (photo, video recording, downloading) traits: determined, aloof

BACKGROUND CHECK:

date of birth: september 1, 1997

date of death: -

crime record: a clean record

BACKGROUND/BIOGRAPHY:

david was the 2nd born in his family, to a career solider and a

struggling

opera singer. his sister was 1st and her words upon seeing him as a baby was “i’m cuter.”at times he felt neglected given that his sister was getting more attention that him, she was the golden child while he was …david, quiet most of the time but had moments of intense energy. his parents enrolled him a variety of sports which kept him in check. he excelled in martial arts (taekwondo and kumdo) and basketball which was used as leverage to keep in ballet. that was something his mother wanted for both of her children, though he never got a reason why. near the end of elementary school his parent’s divorced and his mother remarried a “rich man”. though he was kind he was very distant to him. his sister however took a liling to increases social status she had.

it was during middle school did david and his sister start to grow apart. sneaking out, skipping class, among other things became his sister’s focus. he had an idea of some things but didn’t speak on them since it would lead to an argument. “boring and straight laced” was what she called him, he and to edge to him. the young boy’s concern was to make in on a national team, it didn’t matter the sport. david used his studies as a shield against the chaos around him, not just at home and school, but the city in general. sometimes it felt like a comic with how crime was almost normalized be it in the background or directly involving you. he kept his circle small and hid most information about himself, his image had to be pure for the scouts and his future career.

given the reputation of his father, david knew military enlistment was the next step college or not. now being in the army was a double edge sword. there wasn’t this pressure to perform like say the marines but he was held to a higher standard. sometimes he was afforded privildges like extra time but also more severe punishments for making the same mistake as others. just going for 2 years wasn’t enough, he was expected to stay for 3. not for his own goals or wants but that of his father. it was during this time did david see that he had lived a rather comfortable life compared to others in his unit, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any issues. the constant question on his mind was “where do i belong?”.  well the military wasn’t the answer, his discharge date couldn’t come soon enough and when it came, he was already in another system. college.

a bit older and wiser, david could fully focus on his studies (again) something he was happy about and rebuild some parts of his past that he couldn’t while serving. while he is aware his parents expect to major in something like medicine or law, he has no interest in either. his duties to his family and country are complete. it’s for david to live for himself. during his 1st year of college his sister got married much to the joy of his parents. his brother-in-law was “well put together” despite being a little off in his manners. it wasn’t until a few months later did his sister reveal she married a vampire along with hints of her planning to become one. their step-dad was willing to overlook all of his since it met more access to money and power however their mom had reservations. knowing her relationship was rocky with her daughter, she asked david to look after her.

this was 1 of the few times in his life he went against his parents wishes. david had a real chance to be a top athlete and having a gang affiliation wouldn’t help. even if he did have access to money and in some ways protection it was too big of a risk. his sister made her choice to get and stay involved, if she did need help he would but only from her directly. not going through with it put distance between the young man and his mom. maybe it was pressure of college, stress, or still trying to answer the question but david had a chance to “be better” and secretly got an enhancement on his eyes. this afforded him the ability to study in any lighting and pick up on details he would other wise miss. his grade improved greatly but the bigger reward was that his physical fitness was fine tuned to the point he could stay at his peak. with his enhancement he could monitor his calorie intake and vitals, adjust his work out plan so his whole body performing at it’s maximum. this offered him some stability as he had something to thrive for and could take his mind off of the less appealing parts of his life.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (PARA SAMPLE): “JUST RUN US THROUGH WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT”. - OFFICER

he was nervous looking at the “window” of the home unsure if there was others on the other side. running his hand through his hair was a ploy to cover his eye and scan for temperature, a rather unused feature of his eyes. he sighed out of relief not “seeing” anyone though he knew to not let his guard down. again the officer repeated their statement. this time he looked at them directly hands under the table quietly toying with the zipper of his jacket, “i was going home from the library but stopped at the store for a drink.” that was true, it was all true. though now he wished he just went straight home. “but you didn’t see the fight?” the officer raised a brow not totally convinced. “no, i wasn’t focused on that. i heard people yelling but didn’t look that’s how you get jumped. it wasn’t my business so i kept going,” he answered. “uh…david, you’re in school right? what do you want to be?” this sad attempt to relate to him. “that’s really irrelevant to why i’m here, shouldn’t you be talking to them or the store owner? i don’t know why i’m here, when i didn’t do anything.” his words had a hint of annoyance, he wasn’t a child. “you are a witness, maybe not a good one but still one regardless. even if your details are…missing. it’s enough with common sense to help confirm the series of events.” the officer replied, “you may go.” he was didn’t need to be told twice with his bag already on his shoulder and made his way out of the station.

#vcaccepted #vccivilian #krp #new krpg #oc krp #jeon jungkook #bts face claim #jungkook fc #supernatural rp #gang rp

[xenosgirlvents]

Hey can I rant to you about how I find the mono-focus on the very much human dominated forces of Chaos as the real bad guy of 40k to be honestly even worse than the Imperiaal focus?  You know what I always wanted in 40k?  Lizardmen, Alien Ogres, Space Dwarfs, Skaven, and some Vampire Counts to the Necrons’ Tomb Kings.   In WHFB only three playable armies were human (five if you count the undead as human) and WHFB had a larger number of independent factions than 40k.   Meanwhile in 40k about half of all the armies in the game are Imperial and another large chunk are the equally insufferable legions of Chaos as the two factions circlejerk over who is the more racist and xenophobic.   While in FB you had the annoying emphasis on Chaos as the one true threat (which is increasingly being emphasised in 40k including the awful, awful retcons they want to do to the war in heaven where what was supposed to be the xenos equivalent to the horus heresy gets “akshually the real bad guy is chaos lawl” shoved into it), humanity was just a part of the struggle against it or other forces such as Undeath or the Greenskins.  Not even the biggest part, with the High Elves, Lizardmen, and Dwarfs all bearing more of the burden than the Empire or Bretonnia.   Meanwhile, while theoretically 40k is a setting where non-chaos bad guys are more relevant and more able to defeat Chaos and take over as the one; the non-humans actually do less.  Chaos is the only bad guy faction allowed to have permanent wins, to be undefeatable without any asterisks marks and whose fanboys (including GW’s writing team) love to endlessly circlejerk about how opposing Chaos is useless because they’ll get you in the end. And how 40k is really about humanity’s inevitably doomed succumbing to Chaos and how the Chaos Space Marines and Daemons are the destined victors and blah-de-blah.  Any time an effective counter to chaos is written about in any other faction’s lore; the Chaos favouratism gets to show with “akshually chaos overcomes this because phhbbbbbt” with eye-rolling descriptions of how Chaos overwhelms say; the Tyranid hive mind by scattering it with the great rift, or how the death guard can infect nurgle, or how actually Tzeentch only pretended to lose to the Eldar or how Slaanesh actually pulled a fast one over the T'au.   Nobody is allowed to be more of a threat than the Chaos Space Marines and Daemons even though the former are literally a bunch of spoiled paramilitary stormtroopers salty about the Emperor saying they weren’t allowed to rule over normal humanity like god-kings and the latter have lore that is fifty million variations of “lol inevitable victory”.  The Chaos Space Marines are so lacking in numbers, so incapable of large scale cooperation not riven with petty fratricidal personal rivalries, so bereft of a functional logistical train, and are lead by such an insufferable band of edgy cartoon villains that they should honestly be little more than a nuisance that the Imperium only focuses on because of their symbolic threat. An annoyance compared to the much more organised and vastly more numerous and far better at exponentially scaling up power of the Necrons, the Tyranids, or the Orks. One that is carrying out an empty, pointless rivalry sparked largely over a bunch of stormtroopers being furious about not being allowed to be kings.  Wouldn’t it be more thematically meaningful and fit better into the cosmic horror that 40k wants to be if Chaos was actually mostly a symbolic threat that would be ignorable if the Imperium wasn’t still spooked over what amounted to an attempted religiously motivated military coup ten thousand years ago and that ultimately; this petty rivalry doesn’t matter? That the bitter hatred over Horus’ coup ultimately is meaningless in the face of the fact that this galaxy, this universe, has never belonged to humanity or anything spawned of it?  Khorne may feed off the violence of humanity and many minor xenos species; but Gork and Mork are a far more pure form of warmongering and what we now know as the Greenskins are just the tip of the iceberg compared to what they can really do when the WAAAGH! gets rolling. Nurgle may be an infestation of humanity’s despair and inability to progress but the Tyranids are the cancer that will kill the universe itself. Tzeentch may be clever and ancient as the firstborn of Chaos; but the Necrons have plans stretching back to before even the very idea of Tzeentch came into being.   And of course, unlike the Dark Elves; the Druklhari aren’t really a major villain or threat. Vect is just kind of an asshole in his own little corner, not one of the top big bads the way Malekith was.  But nah instead we get CHAOSCHAOSCHAOSCHAOSCHAOS coupled with ADB and Reynolds’ bizarre (but in hindsight, given what we’re shown of Chaos; sensible) revelation that actually Chaos is even more racist than the Imperium.  It leads to 40k’s central conflict being between Satanist Ethnonationalist AnCaps and TradCath Ethnonationalist Reactionaries. Creepy bloodthirsty edgelords versus Roman bust twitter pfps.  None of the other villains are ever allowed to “usurp” Chaos’ place as “the real threat” and any time non-chaotic bad guys get a time to shine, the Chaos writers pitch a fit and force in awful reminders that Chaos is actually the real threat behind everything and can never ever lose.   It makes Chaos come off less as an interesting villain and more of a childish edgelord fantasy written by a bunch of kids who go “nuh uh!” everytime they take the L or insinuate that spikelord edgy mcgee is anything less than the coolest bad guy ever made.  The fandom makes fun of Abaddon because he textually hasn’t really done much in thirteen tries? Well actually retcon in some outlandishly complicated super duper secret plan so that he and his army of *checks notes* less than one million racist storm troopers in ancap colours are actually totally the greatest threat in the setting and not the vastly more organised Tyranids or more tactically competent Necrons or the more numerous Orks.  People still make fun of abaddon because he looks like a goofy mook rather than an awesome overlord (at least Archaon looks like someone you’d immediately figure for as the big bad of a setting; Abaddon looks more like…the real bad guy’s stupid but strong brute muscle enforcer)? Have an entire novel series written to squee about how awesome and cool he is which literally none of the other “big bad” factions’ primary characters have ever gotten.   Also I am sick to death of how GW pushes Khorne as the unbeatable poster bad boy of the entire setting over and above even the rest of Chaos. Yeah his aesthetic is simple, marketable, and he’s incredibly easy to write into plots (even if I think there’s never been more interesting takes on Khorne where he’s shown as actually capable of cleverness in the pursuit of maximising mindless death and destruction as we see in Dawn of War 1 and Dawn of War 2 Retribution; where the Khornate villains have an impressively clever scheme even if the end goal is just “kill people”) and you can explain his concept to anyone.  Please stop trying to throw him into literally everything and let other bad guys have even a little bit of spotlight.   Octarius and Armageddon? Khorne crashes the party. Tzeentch threatens Luna? Well akshually Khorne invades Terra, take that nerds.  Where does Khorne even get all these worshippers to yeet themselves into every warzone in existence when he probably offers the least to his followers that most people would want? 

So on some points I agree with you, others I disagree, and in some places I understand the general feeling you’re conveying but am not quite so vitriolic.

Yes; I wish 40k as a setting was more akin to WHFB and AoS in that it permitted more factions to matter. 40k is, I agree, so myopic in it’s focus that it becomes frustrating. If the other factions weren’t playable I would understand, certainly, but if you’re going to offer players a chance to invest in the Xenos factions but then just never give them any return on that investment it feels like nothing more than lying to people.

Similarly; I also wish we saw more of a non-Human (and even then more of a non-Chaos Space Marine) component to Chaos. I find it hard to take Chaos seriously as a universal force when, over their supposedly non-linear/infinite period of existence they seem to never have done anything other than obsess over one species who, compared to the majority of other playable species in the game, have been around insanely briefly.

Yes; I do agree that I wish at times Chaos wasn’t used to usurp Xenos threats just to pull the old ‘but Chaos was the true villain all along’, see what you mention about the Hive Mind and the Great Rift, about Chaos usurping Orks on Armageddon etc. etc.

However, I disagree that Chaos is remotely as irritatingly favoured in the lore as the Imperium. Yes, it is true, that it is not infrequently written in vague terms that ‘you are all doomed, Chaos comes for you,’ but, in the majority of cases, this is purely informed, never shown. It is akin to the lines that tell us ‘Aeldari are so smart and elite,’ but then we just get shown them being curbstomped over and over again. We’re ‘told’ Chaos is some great looming threat which will win...but in practise they do only mildly better than Xenos in the lore, with Chaos losing the vast majority of everything they ever do in the lore, just like Xenos. I will admit Chaos has, lately, done *marginally* better in the lore, and that is definitely connected, as you say, to the active focus to make Chaos the ‘big bad’ now, but it is still only marginal.

I do agree that I would prefer not to see Chaos made to eclipse all other threats but my main motivation here is just because in 40k, as you point out, Chaos is never separated from the Imperium. In WHFB and AoS Chaos can take on a plurality of forms and is not just a ‘spikier’ version of the main human faction. For this reason the recent feeling I have had is just that 40k is increasingly becoming a clone of the Horus Heresy which, as someone who likes Xenos, is obviously a disappointment.

I don’t share your very strong disdain for Chaos. For the most part, in 40k’s lore, I feel Chaos is largely akin to Xenos in that we’re all glorified punching bags for Space Marines (you yourself point out Abaddon’s memetic loser status). I concede Chaos does *marginally* better but, at current, that is so inconsequential to me that it doesn’t bother me anywhere near as much as the treatment of Xenos vis-a-vise the Imperium.

My personal take is I think the favouritism as an antagonist, shown to Chaos, is less detrimental to the cause of Xenos agency in the lore than the raging boner GW and BL have for the Imperium and, in particular Space Marines. 

I also, in general, think Chaos would benefit from being developed in a more nuanced way. I don’t see them quite as cardboard-cut out as you seem too (not denying many are because BL and GW can’t write non-Imperium characters well mostly) but I think many of them have, and to an extent do also, get treated more nuanced in some of the literature. I do think a big failing here is that Black Library has made *some* efforts to make *some* of the Chaos characters interesting and nuanced but, for some reason, GW tends to just ignore this. Hence Magnus can in his own novels be portrayed as sympathetic due to his loyalty to his people and desire to not persecute Psykers, but then when appearing in a campaign supplement just makes the stock-generic ‘bow before me mortals/I am your doom/all shall fall’ comments with little to no character.

Personally, and this is recognizing as I said above that I do understand some of the points you’re making, I feel like Chaos players and Xenos players, in terms of the lore treating us like crap, have more in common than not. But, again, that’s just my personal opinion! 

[shhhlikeme]

Ok! So tanaka, kageyama, tusukishima, and asahi are all pretty scary boys at first glance. So I was wondering how they would react to a new 2nd year manager not being fazed by them at all (maybe she has alot of older brothers or something) and calling them cute. Love you writing. I didn't see a character limit so if this is to many feel free to cut some 😘😘

Thank you!!!! I loved this one it was so fun to write so please request again :) Hope you enjoy it 🧝🏾‍♀️😘

———————————

“Scary” Karasuno Volleyball Boys Meet Their Maker!

Tsukishima | Asahi | Kageyama | Tanaka x Reader

———————————

You and Kiyoko used to be friends in elementary school because her mom and both of your dads were in the military so you’d often be the only two young kids at events and ceremonies

She would only come sometimes but you would be an active member of your dads military boot camp year after year, and seeing Kiyoko, another girl sometimes was always awesome

The two of you became pretty good acquaintances and one summer at boot camp she would occasionally show you the ropes when you said you were interested in joining the 200m hurdle

While you two weren’t close, you followed eachother on all social media platforms and would sweetly comment “😍😍😍” on eachother’s posts

When she got injured you made sure to send her a text of endearment and she thanked you

Y’all were those type of friends

So that’s why you weren’t too surprised when you received a text from her while painting your nails one night in your room

Kiyoko had kindly asked you if you could take over her duties as Karasuno’s volleyball manager while she left to Greece with her family tomorrow for a wedding

She would be gone for 2 weeks and apparently the girl she had gotten too replace her just backed out completely at the last minute

You thought about it, realizing you had nothing to do other than train your team of female spartan racers, before replying ‘sure! 🤷🏾‍♀️’ and asked her what you needed to do

Kiyoko prepared you to the best of her ability, sending you a long scrolling text of the job. She said that although she wouldn’t be able to introduce you, the the boys are super kind even though they can get a little rowdy

A little nervous but wanting to help nonetheless, you agreed and confirmed the favour once again

The next day the boys had a practice and you had a little bit of difficulty finding their gym. You had gone to the girls vball team gym first and the captain pointed you in the right direction

When you approached what must be boys’ gym from outdoors you saw a blonde girl about your size scarily jutting around the outside of the gym like she was being stalked for murder

She was clutching a bag tightly

You guessed that maybe this wasn’t the gym, but you could have sworn this is where that team captain told you to go

You held your ground a few feet away because she was obviously terrified and you didn’t want to scare her more than she already was. You could hear her mumbling under her breath things like ‘they’re going to kill me’ ‘I’m too little to die’ ‘so strong, so tall. So very tall.’ ‘Attack on Titan is me. I am attack on Titan. I am MARCO!’

Who is Marco.....? You questioned in your mind.

Your military senses peaked as you changed modes to enemy approaching preparation.

You didn’t know you had these senses, but your dads would be so proud

The petite blonde was twitching and fiddling her hands while her eyes darted around.

She also had been so wrapped up in her terror to notice you there watching her. Seeing a cute mini side ponytail in her short blonde hair reminded you of a toddler’s hairstyle and you immediately felt the need to protect her. Your dads had taught you as much, and your years of self-defence class and borderline military training by copying the guys at your dads camps had built you quite the esteem. You knew immediately that you were going to save her.

“Excuse me?”

“AH!” The girl screamed and jumped 4 feet in the air when you spoke. You held your hands up in surrender, though you remained on guard for her pursuer.

“Hey, hey! I really didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

With bugged eyes, the girl explained to you that she had been studying in the gym by herself when she heard a bunch of gang men approach. According to her they were huge, threatening and super scary so she scrambled for cover but when she tried running through the door she had bumped into their leader who had a bunch of piecings, a rockstar dye-job who was smoking a cigarette. Before he could beat her up for crashing into him she picked up her bag and and ran away. Come to find out she had taken his bag by mistake because it was the same colour and size and she didn’t mean to! Now she is being hunted down by the leader’s big scary hunchmen who will literally pummel her when they find her! They’ve been calling after her saying threats like ‘We just want the bag, we promise not to hurt you’ but she’s heard that in scary movies and apparently that’s what they want her to think before they hurt her!!!

Before the girl (who you were able to get her to introduce herself as Yachi from class 1-5) fainted induced by anxiety, you stopped her.

You were pissed. How could big tall men be okay with trying to hurt a sweet first year girl like this?!

The world was evil.

She couldn’t be much smaller than you, but she had no where near your combat expertise.

You held your hand out for Yachi to hand you the bag.

She handed it over with trembling hands

“Where did you last see them?” You demanded just like your dads would have.

Yachi immediately freaked out, claiming that you’re just as small as her and they would crunch you like a potato chip!

Slightly insulted, you managed to give her a sweet smile and ask again.

She pointed in the direction of the outdoor vending machines near the gym.

“I’ll get your bag Yachi don’t worry. Do you want to wait here for me or do you feel safe coming with? It would be great if you were able to actually point them out, because there are a lot of boys here by the school not to mention I can better protect you when you’re close by.”

Yachi gave you a look as if she was seeing the stars for the first time. She was in complete awe of you because you emitted a mass amount of strength.

The energy around you was comparable to that of a decorated military Five Star General who had just been challenged to a game of laser tag.

Seeing Yachi visibly gulp, she agreed to come with you because chances are she’d be able to call for help louder than you and she held onto your arm as you walked.

She hid behind your shoulder, afraid

Looking around, you spotted a group of 4 large guys in the distance by the vending machine— just like Yachi pointed out

Without your glasses on, you couldn’t make them out very well from this distance

Yachi almost squeezed a bruise into your arm which confirmed that was indeed the guys that were awaiting her decease, she said

There was a tall one with dark hair that had a permanent scowl on is face who was staring at the vending machines options like a psycho. The smallest one (who was still very tall) looked tough—must be the braun because he had quite the biceps and his hair was shaven like the boys in your dad’s training camps. One of them looked like a grown man with a man bun that really should be signing off on big stock deals or something. The giant one was blonde with glasses but he appeared to be the verbal slicer—since you could see his mouth mumble something to the military looking one, who flinched like he had been physically stabbed through the chest.

You had to admit, you could see why Yachi was scared of them...a little

Straightening your shoulders so to seem a little bit taller, you took a deep breath and stalked towards these bullies

You were ready to give them a piece and a half of your mind

You would rip them a new one like they deserved

And if it got physical, you were more than equipped to handle them due to your years of training

As you approached, the boys noticed the bag you held and their eyes lit up like they’d just been saved

They started toward you making Yachi gasp.

You cracked your knuckles in preparation

But... when you got closer to them enough to make out their faces, something Kiyoko explained to you got thrown to the forefront of your memory..... and then you realized.

Wait a second.....

“There you are, uhh... small person. You took our coaches bag!” Exclaimed the one with defined biceps.

The small blonde girl behind you let out a shriek and tried to book it. You held onto her arm now as she screamed bloody murder, begging the 4 boys not to kill her because she had a single mother at home who needed her. The boys tried to explain their reasoning over her screams which only made things more chaotic! You gave the four boys a look of death to shut up and they did.

You patiently waited for toddler girl to chill.

“Uh Yachi??”

“Y-y-y-ye-ye-yes?”

“You said these were the assailants you were running away from?”

“Mhm. Don’t look them in the eye!” She shut hers tightly.

You smirked, officially letting your guard down. Now you remembered everything Kiyoko sent you in that text, including who-was-who on the team, what they looked like, and what each player specifically needed managerial-wise.

“Is it Tanner? No, Tanaka from my year, Asahi 3rd......and those two—- Tsukishima Kei and Kageyama Tobio, right? They are in your year..... they’re all Karasuno volleyball players.”

Yachi looked dumbfounded.

“Volleyball players...........................of doom?”

You shook your head, cupping Yachi’s shaking hands in yours. You gave this girl who reminded you of a toddler the kindest smile you could muster.

“I’ve never officially met these guys but Kiyoko has told me lots about them. I do see them bickering in the hallways a lot though, and it’s adorable. They are totally and completely harmless.”

“Harmless?” Yachi repeated you as if she’d never heard the word before.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it in such a de-masculine manner......” Tsukishima deadpanned, irritated by the fact that you spoke of them like they had the strength of a group of newborn goldfish.

Tanaka felt the same way. He mumbled “We do harm on the court! And just because you’re a pretty girl doesn’t mean you can say that we aren’t tough—“

Tsukki told him to shut up before he scared the toddler girl again.

Kageyama drank his little milk carton, barely listening to the commotion as Asahi, silent in the back, was about to start bawling. He was just so happy to be called harmless instead of monster by someone so much smaller than him his heart was going to explode 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Luv him

“Yep! Harmless.” You chirped, eyes twinkling at Yachi. You reassured her some more. “Total softies. You have nothing to worry about! Kiyoko told me that once on the bus ride home from a game she played a movie on the bus......and in the end Kiyoko counted all of them crying to the wedding scene in Princess and the Frog.”

“Hey now—“ Tanaka yelled, red in the face from anger but mostly humiliation. You looked over at the boys and noticed they were all pretty red. Tsuki had actually turned away to totally hide his face, starting toward the gym without so much as a goodbye.

“Brat.” He muttered. The boys followed with their tails between their legs.

“See? They couldn’t even deny it.” You smiled at Yachi. She visibly calmed down. “They’re just a bunch of cute little crows😊.”

Tsukki has returned with a scowl that didn’t scare either of you this time. He held out his hand expectantly.

“May we have our coach’s bag back, now? I trust you two can find your way back to Snow White the other 5 dwarves in one piece, correct?”

Ouch. You winced at his short person joke. Wow, Kiyoko was right about Kei’s stinging verbal jabs.

But Psh. You were a black belt. You could handle military men. You could even beat some of them in an arm-wrestle sometimes.

So you definitely weren’t afraid of any volleyball boys, no matter how badly this cute tall one’s jabs stung.

You smiled at Tsuki who didn’t return it in the slightest. You moved to hold out the bag in front of you for him to take, but low enough so he’d have to lean down to retrieve it.

When he went to grab the bag, you expertly maneuvered it out of his grasp before taking his cheek between your fingers in a tight squeeze. So gullible, this one. You had him trapped, just like you would a toddler.

“I’ll bring it to coach Ukai myself cutie patootie.” You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. He stared at you with surprised eyes before you continued. “After all, we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well as temp-manager and coach. Don’t you think?” The King of Passive Aggression’s eyes widened in shock behind his adorable glasses. You released his cheek from your grasp.

“Now get in the gym, soldier. You can introduce me to the rest of the team’s cuties and tell them that Karasuno’s new babysitter is here!”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu sfw #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu funny stories #haikyuu humour #haikyuu funny moments #tsukishima x reader #kageyama tobio #hitoka yachi #tanaka x y/n #tsukishima x you #karasuno #crows

[angeltannis]

Iron Boy, Chapter 3: A Quest For Validation

(Ao3 Link)

All the thinking in the world was nothing compared to The Real Deal. Which, that fateful day, came in the form of a companion Moze decided would understand.  

FL4K was extremely meticulous with the feeding times for their pets, which meant they were always in the same part of Sanctuary at the same time every day. This day was no different. Several bowls were lined up in a perfect row on the floor of the ship’s central hub, each filled with a different kind of food ranging from pellets to squirming grubs.  

If FL4K was surprised to see Moze lingering by those bowls that particular day, they didn’t express such a sentiment. Instead they stomped by her with their usual diligence, followed closely by an array of beasts. “Here you are,” they said in that deep, mechanized voice of theirs, stepping aside to let their pets at their bowls. “Feed.” 

“Hey, man–” Moze hesitated as FL4K met her gaze with that single LED eye of theirs. “Uh, I mean...” Speaking in masculine terminology was her go-to for everyone, including herself. FL4K never failed to remind her that they were neither man nor woman, and that her gendered slang made no sense in application. “FL4K. If I were to ask you to do something really weird, and then never, ever talk about it again, would you be down for it?” 

“A bizarre request. I cannot commit to a response until I am given more details.” 

Double-checking to make sure no one was around, Moze knitted her fingers together. “Would you be willing to call me a ‘he’? Just so I can see how it feels?” 

FL4K’s unreadable face was unsettling at the best of times. Now it left her with no idea how they were going to respond. 

“Maybe you could just, like...” Her voice faltered, dropping in volume. “’Oh yeah, Moze, he’s a really cool guy. Well not a guy, but like, a cool Vault Hunter. And he’s got lots of style. And the ladies love him. Something like that.” 

FL4K stared at her for a long time. Then, in a tone entirely deadpan, they said, “Yes, Moze. He is a really cool guy. Not a guy. A cool Vault Hunter. He has lots of style. And ladies love him.” 

Her stomach fluttered again. Wow. “Do you...think that suits me?” 

“Humans’ gendered pronouns are largely incomprehensible to me.” 

So FL4K could voice Moze’s requested pronouns, but could not weigh in on if they suited her or not. For that, she’d need human input. 

Still though, the tingling in her stomach was real. “Huh. Thanks, FL4K.” 

“I am uncertain what I actually accomplished, but you’re welcome.” 

Humans understood pronouns in a social context. But they could also pass judgment and reject her. Was there a human onboard this ship who could give her an honest opinion without potentially turning her into a social pariah? She was too nervous to talk to Amara about it, and Zane was unreliable at best. Telling Moxxi was as good as telling everyone on the ship, and Ava was way too young to get it. 

Wait a minute. There was absolutely a human on board who could give her honest feedback without fear of social rejection.  

After gobbling down some skag jerky and downing half a bottle of Rakk ale from the kitchen, Moze dragged her feet to Sanctuary’s upper level. 

~~~

In the army, one was taught to keep pace. Keep rank. Fall in line. Movements, words, even thoughts were trained to a rigid rhythm, and to break that rhythm was to risk your entire squad breaking formation in battle, a death sentence. 

The way Dr. Tannis moved, talked, and even just existed flew in the face of everything Moze had had drilled into her all those years. She was erratic and chaotic, unpredictable. Her behavior made Moze nervous for just that reason. She preferred conversations where she could be reasonably sure of what the person was going to say next. Talking to Tannis felt like reading dialogue written by a predictive text emulator. 

When the infirmary door lifted into the ceiling, Tannis had her back turned. The door opened constantly when people walked by (side effect of the ship being designed by people with no spaceship design experience, to put it politely), so it made sense she might ignore it. But Moze had a feeling the doctor intentionally ignored entrants to her lab, anyway. 

As Moze took a few more steps inside, she realized Tannis was talking to herself. No, wait–she was talking to the toothbrush propped in a cup on her desk. Of course.  

“No, no, you must have misplaced it. Ava specifically said she would not steal from my lab when I wasn’t around.” After a moment of silence, Tannis whipped her chair over to face the toothbrush. “Well I am more inclined to believe her, considering you lied about putting the toilet paper backwards on the roll. Who does that?!” 

“Uh, hey Doc?” Moze was practically on top of her before Tannis finally turned around. 

“Oh, hello...you.” Tannis made no attempt to hide her scant recognition of the Vault Hunter who had helped save her life just a few months prior. “Do you require something of me?” 

“Yes.” Unlike most everyone else, Tannis actually appreciated and understood the art of getting right to the point. It was just about the only thing the two of them had in common. “I need your opinion about pronouns.” 

“Oh, you can use any for me, I don’t care.” With a wave of her hand, she was already turning her chair back around. 

“Not for you.” Moze reached out and turned the chair back around. Tannis raised her eyebrows, but did not protest. “For me.” 

Tannis’ face scrunched. She briefly–very briefly–met Moze’s eyes. “I do not feel as though that’s something I could make a call on.” 

With a sigh, Moze leaned against the desk housing Tannis’ array of illegible papers and empty coffee mugs. “Do you think it’d be weird if I asked people to use he/him for me, even though I don’t think I’m actually, like, a guy? ” 

Tannis was eyeing her paperwork. It was clear Moze was little but a distraction to her. “I find it equal parts baffling and amusing that you are asking me to be the judge of ‘weirdness’. How on earth should I know how the slack-jaws aboard this ship will perceive non-traditional relationships to gender? Most of them glaze over upon the use of a word with more than two syllables.” 

“’Kay, look. Lemme explain.” Moze held her hands out in emphasis. Tannis’ eyes flicked from the right to the left in turn. “I’m kinda going through a thing here. It’s probably not a big deal, but I wanted to ask somebody who won’t treat me different afterward. I know you pretty much treat everyone with equal...” 

“Apathy?” Tannis volunteered. “Disdain?” 

“Yeah, those. So that’s why I’m asking you.” Moze drifted her hands down, emphasizing the entirety of herself. “Do you think I’d make a good he/him...whatever I am?” 

Tapping her chin, Tannis eventually said, “As surprised as I am by your decision to recruit me as your pronoun advisor, I must admit I am flattered. So I will give you my honest opinion.” Her bright green eyes, so vivid with life and curiosity, searched Moze for another moment. “I was not entirely sure of your gender when I met you. I’m terrible at that sort of thing, anyway, but...” 

“Wait. You couldn’t tell I was a woman?” 

Tannis shrugged her leather-padded shoulders. “I pay very little attention to gendered markers and such. Or to people in general.” 

“So you...” In spite of her bravado, talking about such delicate topics made Moze feel very, very small. “You think people would be cool with calling me a he? It’s kinda weird.” 

“I’d certainly call you that. Easier than trying to remember your name.” The accompanying blank stare emphasized Tannis’ point. 

Moze stared back. “It’s Moze.” 

“Right. Of course.” 

As much as the cyclical conversation had largely gone nowhere, it somehow made Moze feel better. At least one person on this ship didn’t give a damn what pronouns she used, and would respect whatever she chose. 

“I appreciate this, Doc.” Moze was tempted to give her a good-natured whack on the back like Lorelei had done, but quickly rethought it. “I might change my mind, but, well, I might not.” 

Tannis gave a sage nod. “It took me decades to really begin to know my own self. You’re young yet–it’ll come to you in time. And there’s nothing better than embracing yourself and your quirks!” Plucking her toothbrush out of its cup, she said, “Isn’t that right, Greb?” 

The surprisingly maternal bit of consolation dismantled the last bits of wall Moze had erected around her vulnerabilities. Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” 

“Anytime, Nose!” 

She was buried in her paperwork again before Moze could bother to correct her. Apparently that was the end of the conversation. Moze slunk out of the lab, her head filled with more thoughts than ever–but for once, they were not entirely bad. 

~~~

What little confidence Moze had worked up talking to FL4K and Tannis was obliterated the moment a certain other Crimson Raider sat down with her at the same dining hall table. Moze froze in place, the greasy meat of her sandwich sliding out onto her plate with a series of plops. She didn’t look up. She didn’t have to. The meticulously-moisturized deep brown arm lined with otherworldly blue tattoos that leaned down onto the table told her everything she needed to know. 

“Ugh, greasy meat scraps again? You really need to start eating better.” Amara’s multiple arms set down six plates, filled with probably every food group. “Didn’t they teach you how to take care of yourself in the military?” 

Uncertain how to respond, Moze took a big bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. 

Amara started in on the dish nearest to her, a hefty salad. “What’s the matter? Ratch got your tongue?” She laughed that teasing but good-natured chuckle of hers that made Moze’s heart rate increase. “I’m pretty sure they do eat tongues, actually.” 

Amara was not someone Moze felt comfortable with. Not because she disliked her–in fact, it was entirely the opposite. She made Moze sweat a whole lot more than usual, and say things even dumber than usual. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Moze attempted a laugh as boisterous as Amara’s. Her laugh was so small and thin compared to Amara’s deep, rich voice. “Sorry, just...really focused on my...sandwich.” 

Most of the remaining meat had fallen out. Moze was basically eating grease-soaked bread. 

Amara’s gaze flicked from the plate full of sandwich innards to Moze’s rapidly-pinkening cheeks. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. 

For as boisterous as she could be, Amara kept many of her opinions close to the chest. Moze had literally no idea how she felt about gay stuff or gender stuff. She had no idea whether Amara herself was gay or trans or anything like that, either. Much as she wished she knew what Amara was into. 

The tiny bites of bread she took slid down her throat like that deep-fried thresher tentacle she definitely had not grabbed off a food cart at Carnivora that time. Why did this have to be the time Amara suddenly took interest in her? Did she have some magic siren sense that told her when someone around her was in distress? 

She wanted so badly to reach out. Amara was the closest thing she’d had to a “gal pal” in, well, ever, really. Is that something we’d still consider ourselves? Or would I have to be something else? Amara’s...bro? That felt weird, but then another thought crept shyly through her mind–she was nowhere near ready for dating, maybe never would be, but if she did...could she call herself someone’s boyfriend? That thought gave her those stomach flutters again. They didn’t feel like food poisoning or gas. They felt like when you managed to dig up a good memory amidst a sea of bad ones. 

“I gotta go.” Moze informed Amara of her departure as she was already in the process of departing. Amara simply watched her, a frown on that gorgeous face of hers. Moze had never thought Amara cared–at least, not enough to hide her movie star smile behind a frown of concern. Yet there she was, not a trace of bold, cocky smile to be seen. 

She thought about Lorelei’s offer to talk again, and of Tannis’ oddly supportive advice. Maybe more people cared about her than she thought. Maybe she didn’t have to be scared to show her vulnerabilities to the people around her.

Turning back around was about the hardest simple thing she’d ever done. “Okay, actually,” she said, trying for a voice that was strong and devoid of fear, “there is something I wanted to tell you.” 

#borderlands #bl3 #moze the gunner #gender dysphoria #he/him lesbian #we're getting there my friends #iron boy

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 41

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 41 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 41/? SUMMARY: Elise Smith is now a teenaged Timelord. In addition to losing the Ponds, the fields of Trenzalore are calling. But first they have to figure out exactly who Clara Oswald is.

[A/N - 50th Anniversary special is next! Trust me when I say that you are not ready for it. So many reveals and even more questions! Might start writing it later.]

The secret entrance led to catacombs.

“Where are we?” Clara asked.

“Catacombs,” the Doctor said.

“I hate catacombs. So how come I met your dead wife?”

“Oh well, you know how it is when you lose someone close to you. It helps to have a backup.”

One of the creatures appeared, following them.

“Clara, come on! Run, run!”

They burst through a steel door.

“Come on, quickly, we're in.”

One of the creatures grabbed Clara.

“Doctor!”

“Clara!”

Elise and the Doctor pulled her away and the Doctor slammed the door on its hand.

Eventually, it pulled its hand out of the door and the Doctor closed it. “Yowza.”

They headed up a set of metal stairs.

“Still a bit of a climb. I think I remember the way,” the Doctor told them.

Clara started to falter.

“Clara? Clara. Hey, it's okay. You're fine. The dimensioning forces this deep in the TARDIS, they can make you a bit giddy.”

Clara pulled away from him. “I know, I know. How do I know? How do I know that?”

“Clara, it's okay. You're fine.”

“Have we, have we done this before? We have. We have done this before. Climbing through a wrecked TARDIS. You said things, things I'm not supposed to remember.”

“We can't do this now. The TARDIS is a ruin. The telepathic circuits are awakening memories you shouldn't even have. Clara. Clara? Clara, what's wrong?”

“What do you mean, you keep meeting me? You said I died. How could I die?”

“That is not a conversation you should even remember.”

“What do you mean I died?”

“The girl who died he tried to save. She'll die again inside his grave.”

“Run. Run!”

They finally made it the entrance of the tomb.

Dr. Simeon was there with Madame Vastra, Strax, and Jenny. “The doors require a key. The key is a word. And the word is the Doctor's,” Simeon said.

“Here I am, late to my own funeral. Glad you could make it.”

“Open the door, Doctor. Speak, and open your tomb.”

“No.”

“Because you know what's in there?”

“I will not open those doors.”

“The key is a word lost to time. A secret hidden in the deepest shadow and know to you alone. The answer to a question.”

“I will not open my tomb.”

“Doctor, what is your name?” Simeon grabbed the Doctor’s face and the Doctor threw his hand off him. “The Doctor's friends and his precious daughter. Stop their hearts.”

The creatures around them hissed.

“Madam, boys, combat formation. They are unarmed,” Strax said.

“So are we!” Jenny yelled.

“Do not divulge our military secrets.”

“Stop this. Leave them alone,” the Doctor begged.

“Your name, Doctor. Answer me,” Simeon said.

“Doctor?” Clara asked.

Strax picked up a stick and hit one of the creatures. It cut through its body. “Do you want me to do that again?”

They watched as the hole closed up.

“Doctor who?” Simeon asked.

One of the creatures reached into Strax’s chest.

“Please, stop it,” the Doctor begged again.

“Doctor who?”

“Unhand me, sir,” Strax demanded.

“Leave him alone. Let him be.”

“Don't worry, sir. I think I've got him rattled.”

“Doctor who?” Simeon asked.

“Please!” the Doctor yelled.

One of the creatures was reaching toward Elise when the doors to the tomb opened.

“Why did you open the door, sir?” Strax asked, “I had them on the run.”

“I didn't do it. I didn't say my name,” the Doctor said, “Is everyone all right? Is everyone okay?” He rushed over to Elise. “Ellie? Are you okay?”

She hit him on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Never take that long again.”

“I'm sorry.” He turned to Simeon. “Now then, Doctor Simeon, or Mister G Intelligence, whatever I call you, do you know what's in there?”

“For me, peace at last. For you, pain everlasting. Won't you invite us in?”

The Doctor opened the doors further.

They walked into the console room, except there was nothing but pillars of the light. The cloister bell was ringing as they went up the steps.

Something was wrong here. Instead of one, there were 4 additional ones surrounding the one in the middle.

“What are they?” Clara asked.

“What were you expecting, a body? Bodies are boring. I've had loads of them. Nah, that's not what my tomb is for,” the Doctor said.

“But what is the light?” Vastra asked.

“It's beautiful,” Jenny commented.

“Should I destroy it?” Strax asked.

“Shut up, Strax,” Vastra told him.

“Doctor, explain. What are they?” Clara asked.

“The tracks of my tears.”

“Less poetry, Doctor. Just tell them,” Simeon said.

“Time travel is damage. It's like a tear in the fabric of reality. That is the scar tissue of my journey through the universe. My path through time and space from Gallifrey to Trenzalore.” He soniced it and voices came through.

“Have you ever thought what it's like to be wanderers in the fourth dimension?”

“Do I have the right?”

“Daleks, Cybermen, they're still in the nursery compared to us.”

“There are corners of the universe that have bred the most dangerous things.”

“You were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.”

“I'm the Doctor. I'm from Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous…” That voice Elise recognized as the Doctor who saved her. The one whose brown eyes had comforted her.

“Hello, Stonehenge!” And there was the voice of her father. She had been the most proud of him in that moment.

“My own personal time tunnel. All the days…”

“It was the daisiest daisy I'd ever seen.”

“Even the ones that I…uh…even the ones that I haven't lived yet.”

“But I don’t understand. Who do the other ones belong to?” Elise asked.

The Doctor walked up to up each of them. “This one is yours.” The Doctor approached the three smaller ones. “These are your children’s. Following in the family business.”

“But why are we here?”

“Because the universe recognizes you as mine. We may not be blood, but you’re my only family.” The Doctor suddenly collapsed.

“Doctor!”

“Daddy!”

Clara and Elise rushed to his side.

“I shouldn't be here. The paradoxes. It's very bad,” he said.

Simeon stepped closer to the Doctor’s time stream.

“No. No. No. What are you doing? Somebody stop him!” the Doctor yelled.

“The Doctor's life is an open wound. And an open wound can be entered,” Simeon said.

“No, it would destroy you.”

“Not at all. It will kill me. It will destroy you. I can rewrite your every living moment. I can turn every one of you victories into defeats. Poison every friendship. Deliver pain to your every breath.”

“It will burn you up. Once you go through, you can't come back. You will be scattered along my timeline like confetti.”

“It matters not, Doctor. You thwarted me at every turn. Now you will give me peace, as I take my revenge on every second of your life. Goodbye. Goodbye, Doctor.” Simeon backed up into the time stream.

There was a big flash and the Doctor thrashed around.

“What's wrong with him? What's happening?” Clara cried.

“He's being rewritten,” Vastra told her, “Simeon is attacking his entire timeline. He's dying all at once. The Dalek Asylum. Androzani.”

Elise started to feel weird as she watched the time streams of her future children flicker out. Memories were disappearing. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

The Doctor managed to lift a hand to her face. “It’ll be okay”, he said, realizing what was happening.

Tears streamed down her face as the Doctor blinked. He was left holding only air.

Elise had disappeared before Clara’s eyes.

“No”, the Doctor breathed.

The one constant in his life was gone.

Forever.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the blink of an eye, Elise was back. She looked around.

The Doctor was standing up now, but someone was missing.

“Where’s Clara?”

“She jumped into the Doctor’s time stream, restoring you and everyone else,” Vastra explained.

“We are not all restored. I have to get her back,” the Doctor said.

“But how?” Jenny asked.

“Is she still alive? It killed Doctor Simeon,” Vastra said.

“Clara's got one advantage over the Great Intelligence,” the Doctor told them.

“Which is?”

“Me. Now, if I don't come back, and I might not…” The Doctor turned to Elise. “Go to the TARDIS. Make sure everyone gets home. And then travel and be amazing.” He kissed her forehead.

The Doctor suddenly spun around and grabbed at the air.

Elise watched as River appeared.

“How are you even doing that? I'm not really here,” she said.

“You are always here to me. And I always listen, and I can always see you,” he told her.

“Mum?” Elise asked.

“How can she see me?” River asked.

“I knocked down her mental barriers, allowing her to see you.”

“But if you could see me, then why didn't you speak to me?”

“Because I thought it would hurt too much.”

“I believe I could have coped.”

“No, I thought it would hurt me. And I was right.” The Doctor cupped River’s face in his hands and kissed her. “Since nobody else in this room can see you besides me and Elise, God knows how that looked.” He looked over at Jenny, Vastra, and Strax, who were looking at him oddly.

“There is a time to live and a time to sleep. You are an echo, River. Like Clara. Like all of us, in the end. She saved you, but you should've faded by now.”

“It's hard to leave when you haven't said goodbye.”

“Then tell me, because I don't know. How do I say it?”

“There's only one way I'd accept. If you ever loved me, say it like you're going to come back.”

“Well, then.” He stepped back from River. “See you around, Professor River Song.”

“Till the next time, Doctor.”

“Don't wait up.”

“Oh, there's one more thing.”

“Isn't there always?”

“I was mentally linked with Clara. If she's really dead, then how can I still be here?”

“Okay, how?”

“Spoilers. Goodbye, sweetie.” River turned to Elise. “Goodbye, litter star.”

The two Timelords watched her fade away.

The Doctor turned to Elise. “My brave, clever girl. Remember. Never cruel or cowardly. Laugh hard, run fast, and be kind.” Elise nodded and he stepped back into his own time stream.

A few minutes later, the Doctor walked out of his time stream, carrying Clara in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

“Is she okay?” Elise asked him.

“She will be.”

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor imagines #eleventh doctor fanfiction #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #river song #river song imagine #Madame Vastra #jenny #strax #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the fall of the eleventh #the name of the doctor

[og-danny-dorito]

Don't Fear The Reaper : FRANK CASTLE X READER

{ A/N :

This was done as my take on the prompt provided by @sparkingstoryinspiration (https://sparkingstoryinspiration.tumblr.com/post/189917527227/write-a-story-including-a-set-of-three-things#_=_). This is sort of short considering I'm mainly just trying to test out my writing again, although I may do a part two if someone seems interested enough. I asked people to choose and they chose #1) an old classic, a headache, blushing cheeks. Basically I'm reusing my favorite scenario, “Buff Sad Bad Mercenary Man Gets Medical Care From Sweet Person Who Likes Them For Some Reason”. Anyway, please enjoy this little Frank Castle x Reader thing I put together that is in no way shape or form a piece of quality.

   - Danny ✌🏼👽 }

<---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

  A pain throbs on the side of his head, sending shock waves down his neck at every slight bump in the music that the speaker produces. He can feel his spine relaxing into the padding of the couch, head falling back as he feels his muscles tense at the feeling of much warmer skin against his own.

   You've known each other since you were kids, and ever since you found out you lived fairly close by, you visited one another considerably more often than the years where he was in the military and you were off doing your own thing after he left. To find that his new occupation was a justice-handie-outie-guy (a name which he hated, but you could see the dumb grin when you said it to him in a mocking or joking way) was more than a surprise, and yet you hadn't expected much less after he told you how it came to be.

  You decided to act as a shoulder for him to lean on from that day forth, a crutch, if you will, for when he needed it. For old times’ sake partially, but for other reasons as well. Often times, he didn't take the crutch when he had to, which earned him very long lectures about how he should take care of himself because other people cared about him. Apparently your most recent lecture, which was two weeks ago, didn't get through his thick skull well enough.

  The stitches on his arm are more neatly done than when you had done them the first time, considering he only needs five and he seems to be much less nervous with you near an open wound. You'd give yourself the victory of having gotten them to be laid down neatly enough to seem almost like they were done by a real doctor. Well, you just hope they'll function like a doctors' stitches, anyway. You wouldn't want him bleeding all over the place like he had before; even though this old apartment was beyond saving, you at least wanted to keep it clean.

  "So let me get this straight-” Frank rolls his eyes, seeming to raise a brow at you. You're glancing up at him now, vaguely interested in what he has to say. “-you walked in without a plan, and walked out with 10 dead bodies to add to the count and more potential scars too?", you ask, almost disapprovingly. The beginning of 'Don't Fear The Reaper' by Blue Ouster Cult seemed to soon fade into the air, causing you to bop your head and mouth the lyrics as you reached for a patch to place on his arm. A bit ironic, but you don't have much to fear around Frank. Under all the muscle he's really thoughtful. At least thoughtful enough to take his shoes off at the door.

   While you appreciated the gesture, you sure it's excusable when he's bleeding out. 

   He grunts in response, his arm draped over his eyes as he extends his right arm to you and uses the left one to prop himself up on the couch as soon as you're done with the patch. Rolling your eyes at the stubborn grunt he gives, you place a few light fingers on the wound below his ribs, causing him to flinch a little. Your eye flickers up in a wave of concern, although he seems to avoid eye contact, embarrassed a bit.

  I mean, this isn't the first time he ended up on your couch in need of medical attention, nor is it the first time you had seen him half naked and/or basically fully naked. But you understand why he feels embarrassed when he flinches or seemes uncomfortable with something. "...I didn't have much time to make a plan."

  You raise your head at the statement, seeming to look at him with a small smile. He looks you in the eyes for a split second, both of his arms moving to rest on the seat of your couch to pull himself up a bit more. You have to admit that he's toned as fuck, and considering the happy trail that you notice he hadn't gotten rid of had grown a bit more made you feel a little like you shouldn't be watching so intently. Is that weird? I mean, if you see someone naked enough times you start to notice shit, and you can't help but feel grateful that his tshirt was technically ripped to bits by now from knife wounds. Not...that you wanted him to have knife wounds. What are you even thinking about?

  With a grin, you raise a brow and turn the music down a little. Your hands are sort of small compared to his chest, he notices, and your skin feels soft against his, although they may be scarred in some places. It's soothing- more soothing that patching himself up. But he wouldn't say that out loud. "They spotted you, or did they know you were coming?", you ask, placing a bandage on the laceration (you looked up what that meant the other day, and just thinking about the word made you feel pretty fucking smart). Frank sighs, his head rolling back. His neck extends to show where he hasn't shaved in a while. Something must be catching up to him lately, usually he'd at least groom himself.

  "I was sloppy and didn't cover my tracks." The response is half-sigh, and his voice rumbles in his throat. He feels the soreness building up from the intense conditions he had undergone earlier. Turns out it doesn't matter how fit you are; if you fight 10 guys on your own you still end up getting sore after it's over. Humans are designed pretty stupidly, at least that's what's he's thinking now. "How so? I'm assuming you mean you didn't get all dressed in spy gear or they saw you on their fancy cameras-" "You remember that one time when you got into the makeup drawer in my mom's bathroom and then forgot to sweep up the footprints in the powder all over the floor?" 

  You suddenly feel your face heat up, your eyes narrowing as you give a pointed glare at him. You can feel the embarrassment going through your body as you roll your eyes, glancing at him. He's grinning like a smug bastard, although that isn't far from what he is. "It's not like you to get all sentimental on me, big guy; you getting soft?" The weak rebuttal gains a snort from him, and in turn you laugh a little and shake your head.

  There are a few moments of silence that pass between you as he lay there, and for a good few moments you aren't sure whether he's asleep or not. But his occasional movement to check your progress leads you to believe that he’s only half asleep. Frank focuses on the touch of your skin against his. The gentleness of your hands is surprising regardless of your often harsh words. Your breathing stops when you were focused; something he noticed a while ago. That and you looked really cute when you were very focused on something. The music starts to have that's segment where it has the guitar solo, and you seem a little caught up in it before opening your mouth to speak.

  "Look, Frank...", you start, avoiding eye contact by focusing on his abdomen. He can feel himself sighing a little. "Another lecture, doc? I'll wait a good few days before I get myself into trouble again." Frank looks down to see you smile and snort a little. "Well that too, but I wanted to let you know...that you can come here for whatever." You sit up, looking him in the eyes. It seems to only just now restrict him that you are not in fact his hip size, and now that you're eye level he feels much more tense. But not enough to run. "It doesn't just need to be when you're hurt or like...- yeah. Anything you need I got it for you, man.", you say, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

  The song had long since died out to another one that he isn't sure of, causing him to feel a slight unease in not being able to predict which beats and notes will come next. He'd never liked unpredictability, but he's almost certain that he can't avoid it. You soon look down from staring at his unchanging facial expression with a grin, but this one seems more...sad. If that's the word for it. More dismal. "Is it cool if I uh-"

  He clears his throat after the failed statement, causing you to raise your head with a slight look of surprise. "Is it cool if I spend the night? Might not wanna- yknow -walk with stitches in my leg..." The excuse seems to be satisfying enough to you, and you grin. Nodding, you slowly stand up. Aw shit- you're kinda cute when you smile- "Yessir it is, but be careful if you wanna take a shower because the cat likes to sit in there whenever someone's in the room.", you respond, running a hand over your head. You leave the room in pursuit of leftovers, causing him to feel a moment of clenching tightness in his chest.

Shit, he might be getting soft.

<----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> 

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle headcanons #frank castle imagines #The Punisher #the punisher netflix #marvels the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher headcanons #the punisher imagines #marvel comics #marvel headcanon #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #daredevil #dare devil #daredevil netflix #daredevil imagines #daredevil headcanon #daredevil imagine #frank castle x Reader fan fiction #the punisher fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader

[gifted-burnout-archive]

Codename: Candy

Part Twenty-Four - Base of Operations

Word Count - 2155

Author’s Note: Here we go! The end is nigh, and I hope you are all excited! Little bit of Mike November this chapter too, the bean. A continuation on last chapter’s trigger warning on sexual assault, as it is mentioned.

There are few occurences in one's adulthood that a person dislikes their name. As a kid, perhaps cruel nicknames make someone wish for a new name, but if someone really hates their name so very much as an adult, they have the ability to change it. That being said, Mike November had always liked his name, he really did. It was the sort of name people remembered, and it reflected who he was as an individual rather well. The thought of his name only came into the picture when he realised the terrorist they were chasing shared the same Christian name of Michael, but it was an afterthought at most.

He stood with a team of fifteen officers, a microphone attahced to his body as the team sorted the final touches of their startegy before Jack and Greer hit the ground in Riyadh. A decision had been reached while the pair were in the air that Mike, being the man with the most informed team, should lead theof operations instead of the Saudi Arabia Embassy. As such, the conference room had once again become a hub, with employees darting in and out, or tirelessly working through floor plans of the Prelude conference building and personal information on the Rolands.

"Sir, Doctor Ryan and Greer have landed, suiting up now. We should have visuals and audio within the next ten minutes." Josh informed Mike, who nodded in approval, taking a sip of his coffee as his research head, Erin, walked him through the floor plan one more time. Mike would be dictating to the pair through their headsets, and needed to make sure his directions were correct.

"What about building surveillance? Do we have access yet?" Mike asked, and Josh nodded over to Rhona, who quickly pulled up cameras of the main points in the building. It was bizarre, being a voyeur of such a high-ranking group of officials from across the globe, but Mike shook it off. He watched with a tilted head, and as the visual from Jack and Greer's body cameras filled the second half of the big screen, Mike spotted the Secretary of State, accompanied by a raven-haired woman.

"Can we get a check on that official, any way to enhance her face?" Mike asked, and Rhona nodded.

"Just a moment sir..." She muttered, typing away at her computer. She pulled an image from the live feed, and while the image was grainier than preferred, Mike looked it over. It took him a minute to realise, thanks to the scars poking out of her blouse, that it was indeed Candy.

"Jesus..." he muttered, rather shocked by how different she looked compared to only a day before.

"Everything good, Mike?" Jack's voice came through the speaker, and visuals of Greer running to a car came on screen.

"All good. Lieutenant Jones has altered her appearance, be warned. Short black hair and brown eyes. Navy pant suit. She's with the Secretary now." Mike narrated what he could see on the building's live feed to Jack and Greer.

"Good. Keep us updated, we should be there in ten minutes." Greer spoke up, his camera showing the car speeding off the airstrip tarmac. Mike hummed in response, and turned back to the team.

"Has anyone managed to get in contact with the building yet?" He called out. They had been attempting to get in touch with the Embassy in Saudi, as well as the conference building, but no calls had gone answered yet. He sighed at the lack of response. "Looks like you will be in charge of evacuation boys... The only time we need people to pick up phones and they don't."

"We can handle that Mike." Jack said, Greer's camera catching the smile on the man's face.

"Sir, Secretary is on the move!" Rhona announced, and mike fixed his gaze on the live feed. Candy had walked out into the corridor, and the Secretary followed out with a soldier and unknown individual after a few moments.

"Change the camera, we need to see that corridor!" Mike ordered, and one of Rhona's teammates pulled it up for them. Candy was talking to the three men, and after a minute or two, the Scretary and Gates headed back inside.

"Talk to us Mike, what's going on?" Greer asked as Candy pulled out her gun on the unidentified man.

"Shit... I think Candy may have just found one of guys... Secretary is back in the conference room. Rhona, do we have anything for... They're on the move. Find me footage for the stairwell." Mike called, and the car pulled to a stop. Jack and Greer jumped out, and armed with concealed weapons, they flashed their badges at the door and rushed into the building.

"Greer, go to the Secretary. Mike, give me something. Where is Candy?" Jack called over the voices inside, looking for a door to exit through. The feed of the staircase was finally up, and the room went quiet, watching events unfold. Lieutenant Jones was stood still as the unidentified man began kissing her, followed by what Mike and the team could only assume was a rather painful slap. They disappeared through the door at the bottom of the staircase.

"To your left, bottom corner. Through the doors and down the corridor. Turn right and take the staircase. And Jack, bring guns." Mike suggested, and Jack walked over to two of the armed soldiers stationed. "Uh, Jack? Is there anything else we should know about Jones in relation to this case?" Mike asked, and Jack slowed down.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, our suspected Roland just... Just kissed her." Mike asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"Ex-husband... Shit, it is them." Jack muttered, his pace picking up. "You two, follow me." He ordered, and the pair nodded, being led by Jack into the corridor and breaking into a jog.

"Where is my feed?" Mike called, and Rhona let out a few curses under her breath.

"Sir, the cameras are gone. Shot out or otherwise. Doctor Ryan is going in blind..." She announced, loud enough for Jack to hear over the headset.

"Mike, you focus on sorting out the evacuation. I'll be fine." Jack assured, his camera showing he and his two armed military personnel at the top of the staircase.

"Right... Greer?" Mike spoke, beginnign to pace.

"Here, Mike. I have found the Secretary." Greer responded.

"It's confirmed, Rolands are in the building, you need to evacuate." Mike ordered, and Greer responded with a hum.

"Jones used the code word with the Secretary. We'll start now." Greer informed, and could be heard and seen announcing the evacuation to the room. Almost instantly, military personnel descended to protect their own country's ministers, and troops marched out under the orders of Protocol 643: terror threat.

-

Jack tried his best to steady his breathing as the trio of men stood at the base of the staircase, the door before them. What lay behind it was uncertainty, and Jack made a point to check his gun was loaded, encouraging the two soldiers to shoot to injure.

"Mike? Can you still hear me?" Jack asked, the crackling in his ear having increased the further into the building he went.

"Yes. We have visuals, also." Mike confirmed, and Jack let out a deep breath. With a hand on the door, he nodded for confirmation from his two soldiers. The nodded back, and the first slipped through the door, armed and checking to give the all clear. A gesture led the other two into the corridor, which extended both left and right.

"Jack? The floor plan shows the basement is a loop." Mike informed.

"Any rooms of interest?" Jack asked quietly, the three beginning a slow walk to the right.

"The servers are the third door to your left, ventilation is further down, fourth door on your right. Garage entrance is down there too, end of the corridor once you turn the corner." Mike said, when all of a sudden a gunshot was fired. Jack tensed for a moment, and yelling followed, muffled but still very much there.

"Sir, let us." One of the soldiers insisted, taking the turn for themselves first, Jack following. They quietly moved forward, toward the screams, the fourth door on the right. The first soldier, with the patch naming him Dante, indicated for the other two to stay back, and Jack pressed himself inside a door frame, the second soldier, Wilson, taking the doorframe ahead of him.

Dante took a deep breath, and with his gun raised, Jack watched him barge his full body against the door, sending it flying open. Another gun shot sounded, and Jack wathced Dante's body fall back into the corridor.

"Don't even try it, boys. Guns down." A voice called, and Jack felt his blood boil as he watched Michael Roland exit into the hallway, armed, lifting the rifle from Dante's body and then passing his previous weapon to Thomas, who followed him out. "I can assure you I'm a darn good shot." Michael called, and Jack threw his pistol into the middle of the hall, nodding for Wilson to do the same. The pair rose from their door frames, hands raised, and Jack took a good look at his competition.

Thomas was sporting a black eye and busted lip, and Michael had stemmed a bleed in his leg with his belt. Jack couldn't help but feel proud that the shot they hear dearlier was Amelia on the attack, and she clearly got a good few hits in on both of them.

"Hm..." Michael tilted his head, looking the pair over. Thomas glanced at him, and back at Jack and Wilson, before lifting the pistol in his hand and firing a shot straight into Wilson's head. Jack's fists clenched, and he closed his eyes. He couldn't look. Thomas disappeared back into the room after that, but Michael stayed in the corridor, still looking Jack over.

"Have we met before?" Michael asked, causing Jack to look up, his eyes fixed in a glare on the man. After a few seconds, Michael smiled wide, letting out a few laughs. "No shit! Jack Ryan, is that really you?" He beckoned Jack forward, and Jack walked towards him, kept at gun's distance.

"Do I know you?" Jack asked, and Michael looked confused for a moment before nodding, figuring something out in his own head.

"Of course, I wouldn't show up on your research, CIA wiped me from it all. We trained together, bootcamp." Michael revealed, looking him over. "Got to be honest, I have contacts within ISIS, talked about 'The Analyst' as if you were some sort of Grim Reaper. And then with Venezuela, when I got confirmation that 'The Analyst' was head of T-FAD at the CIA, and that it was you... I wouldn't say I was shocked, maybe pleasantly surprised. You would have had a great career if it wasn't for that crash." Michael explained, gesturing for Jack to head into the room. Jack did, trying not to focus on the amount of information the Rolands knew about him, and instead figure out what the fuck to do next.

And he saw her.

On the floor, beside more explosives than Jack could count, Amelia lay unconscious, her now black hair matted by blood, and her nose bleeding in such a way that Jack knew it was broken. Her wrists had been tied behind her back with her blazer, and her shirt below had been ripped open to expose her chest. But her trousers were still on, and Jack could only assume she had fought the men off before they had the chance to sexually assault her.

Thomas was packing a bag in the corner, his eye swelling up and shutting.

"Michael, we need to go now." Thomas said, walking behind Michael and into the corridor. Michael stood for a few seconds, a wicked smile across his face.

"Get to the car Tommy. I have something to do first." Michael told his brother, who ran down the corridor without hesitation. Michael approached Jack, lifting his gun and jabbing the butt into Jack's abdomen, causing the doctor to double over before swinging for Michael's legs. Michael dodged, hitting Jack once again, this time in the back, and Jack fell to the cold concrete. He felt a heavy foot on his back, Michael leaning down and ripping the cord of his ear piece away from his head, and nudging Jack onto his back with the gun, smirking as he saw the damaged camera that sat over the doctor's right pec.

"Bastard..." Jack whispered, and Michael laughed as he limped out of the room.

"Just be grateful you'll be dying instantly." Michael slammed the door shut on Jack, and after jamming it shut with the gun, he fled.

"I really hope you're getting this Mike..." Jack muttered into his headset, now completely shot, his camera showing the damage of Michael's throwing it to the ground. But Mike was, and upon seeing enough explosives to raze a city through the glitching camera beside Candy's limp body, and seeing a red light timer start counting down as the camera went to black, Mike decided he hated his name.

#jack ryan x reader #jack ryan x female oc #female oc #tom clancy #john krasinski #fanfiction #fanfic #thriller #romance #cia #florence pugh #us army #army #codename candy #part twenty-four

[ilguna]

i also have a list of shit my history teacher (this year) has said and done so I will share it with you:

warning: its really fucking long bc he would say/do shit MULTIPLE times a day

goes onto the next slide, “it’s a meme, get it?” proceeds to explain the meme (its the hey arnold meme with the first)

also goes onto another slide, with the twitter opinion meme. at the end of the paragraph it says “this class smacks, I’m lit”

“I’m going to beat up your brother. i am going to pummel him.”

On the 6th day of class he finally realized that there was a total of 6 guys and the rest were girls

student: “You should not put it in (as an assingment)”. teacher; “laugh out loud, im dead”

he was teaching us how to write a DBQ, the computer had a pop up saying that the battery was low, and then a spider shows up out of fucking nowhere, hanging from the ceiling. he CLAPS it, jokes about eating it, and then sets it on his desk (not in the trash can 2 feet away) so he can “deal with it later”

his endless military stories, specifically ORANGE DESERT

he wrote “if you would have had your thinking skull on” on my first DBQ

him saying “I hate this” after typing a word wrong multiple times while teaching us DBQ’s lmfao

“For the lols”

Threw a box of tissues across the room into the trash can

threw a box of tissues at a student

he had this obsession with throwing expo markers at his whiteboard, trying to make it land on the metal part so expect that a lot.

“Do you want me to drown him in a bathtub?” (which was about a student’s dog that had separation anxiety lmaoo)

Sang the rain drop, drop top song

The collars on his shirt turned up

“He’ll be beaten for that distraction” (after his son called him during his lesson and he willingly answered)

“Stay woke” 

“It was a hot boy summer for him”

expo marker landed on the metal thing for once thanks to a towel that was there

kyle (it must have been a story or something i dont remember)

He woah’d at some point

HAHA so there was a kid in my class that had got caught with a bong on the second week of school and he was suspended. when he came back to class, we were going over what the south grew in the U.S. very early on into colonization. and he used the bong kid as an example of a tobacco farmer

tried to eat a balled up paper

“important revolutionary war stuff”

“My bae, George Washington”

“They could’ve killed g-dubz, but they didn’t”

called george washington “g-dubz” frequiently

“Facts”

“Swagtastic”

he got excited over a military general (baron friedrich von steuben) for being a gay military general--”That was very well respected!”

“He had a ton of swagger”--referring to ben franklin

“His nickname was the swamp fox. You guys can call me that”

The snowball fight story--his brother was friends with a kid he hated next door. my teacher challenged the kid--Eric--to a snowball fight. In preparation, my teacher had froze snowballs, and so when he did have the fight, he LITERALLY knocked Eric out and left him on the front lawn unconscious (he was an elementary school kid)

one time he gave us the punishment quiz by accident, tried to make up for it by giving everyone the answer to #6. however, it turned out to be wrong so he just gave us all 100′s instead

another military story of the goat he bought from an old man with his buddies. unfortunately they had to kill the goat to eat, but the FACT that my teacher said this “a cute little goat--you know, baaa?” as if we didn’t know what a goat was 

He was the golf/hockey coach!! so not only would he talk about beating up the kids in the golf club

he would also do random golf swings all the goddamn time! with no gold club or ball, it was just air.

“You are about to get clowned, young lady”

pronounced pamphlet as pamplet fora good part of his teaching career (another story he told us)

“It’s definitely not the declaration of independence you mouth breather!”

George washington = bae on a powerpoint

“you tied me up real good”

“France also popped off”

Compares the Connecticut compromise to ppap (with the song and everything!)

Told someone to shut up after they suggested that Iowa was the least populated state (he’s from Iowa)

hick iowa, to be exact

Wrote 23 as 32, realized his mistake and said “oop im dyslexic”

“If it’s a purge, I’m killing everybody”

“Federalism, not onion!’

“Who’s the dumbass guy? Ducey!” (our state governor)

he got arrested once. his mugshot is on google images and everything

he got arrested bc some guy was destroying his house w a baseball bat at a party his friendw as throwing (but it was at my teachers house). my teacher respectfully punched him and brought him to the front lawn. called the cops when the guy wouldnt leave and ended up being arrested too. teacher thought his career was over and threatened the guy the entire way to the police station

“laugh out loud!”

“We beat the begeezus out of a bunch of british people”

pronounced wolf as woof

“Who was his daddy? Who’s his daddy?”

Called a swim cap a bonnet

“Kick!”--then proceeds to kick a tennis ball. before that he had just thrown it to get out of his way

“Jesus, you’re a big boy”

for like 2 weeks straight he used that same tennis ball to try and erase a whiteboard. and im not talking rubbing it on the board, he fucking threw it at the wall, getting it off little by little. he eventually gave up, though

“I’ll snot rocket into the trash can”

“Cause I realize most of you are morons”

was obsessed with the cowboy boogie

“Every time I cough, my tail bone hurts”

“Do i look normal?”

“I look like an old man”

“Shut up your faces”

“I see you back there, queen”

“Some of you girls need to learn from this article”--the article was old & about girls being submissive

“that would hurt some people’s feelings, but I’m not gonna show it hurt mine”

“He’s just--’meow’”--about his cat

he had a sweater that had his face on it, photoshopped over a boxer that a student gave him. he wore it during winter

flicked a tennis ball across the room with a hockey stick. hit the coffee thermo on his desk, stared for a couple of seconds, and THEN realized that it was open

First off, all you kids making memes about dodging the draft--we don’t want your dumbasses anyway” --continued to rant for a few minutes after that

he HATED the national anthem with a burning passion

“I’m old as shit”

also, his cat’s name IS meow cat

more expo marker throwing

“Hey there handsome”-- to the teacher next door

“Henry clay is going to haunt you until april” (unfortunately we didnt make it that far into the school year bc of covid. disappointed that i didnt get to be haunted)

Singing electric avenue

“but here’s the tea”

“Flagstaff is like--” *reaches as high as he can to put expo marker on the wall

“I’m adopting all of you, and we’re moving to saudi arabia”

teacher: “I’m gonna break bowers kneecaps in front of you. you still want to be on strike?” not bowers but a different kid: “no...?”

Cleaned the shades in the middle of him explaining something

“You know your pinky toe? this little roast beef?”

THE TURTLE SOUP STORY. when my teacher was still a kid, he found a turtle in the wild, and brought it to his grandparents house (they owned a farm). he took care of the turtle for a while, even after his grandfather found out. until one day he came home and saw blood everywhere, went to find the turtle to see it was gone. then found his grandfather chopping up the fucking turtle so they could have it for soup for dinner. his grandfather literally made him fatten up the turtle so they could eat it

“Did mr.*****--?” (referring to himself in 3rd person, also blocked out to protect privacy)

“i’m going to staple your nostrils closed. staple, staple. ‘I can’t breathe mr.*****!’ should’ve done your DBQ!!”

his pedo stache 

stood with a paper and smiled, thinking that a student was taking a picture of him when it was really the paper

doesn’t know who gaston is???

him: “I’m going to staple your noses together. One staple” Student: “*****’s piercing parlor!”

*singing* “beauty and the beast”

“I’m going to tackle you”

more random golf swinging

“What’s up (my name)?” me: hi *he then hits the bun on the top of my head on his way in the door*

And he did it again the next day

he literally made kids compete with pastries

which reminds me, he brought donuts in 2 days in a row like a week after that and make us (his first hour) take bites bc he realized he didn’t want to eat it. one of the girls was glad to take it from him, everyone else told him no

“Good morning (my name) how are you?” me: “I’m sick again... do you need help? (with the door)” him; “Actually, yes” (normally he can open the door even when his hands are full but there was a stack of pop tart boxes that were as tall as him so) i opened the door, he goes in and says, “thank you (my name), for not being rude”

the following quotes are for the Hot Seat

Student: “what do you do--?” him: “you’re in the hot seat!”

“Some people cry”

“La *****, luxurious”

“You sit here, and you stare (into the projector light)”

basically everyone in the class had to answer a question as a review. there was a stool in front of the smartboard, perfectly placed so that the projector light would LITERALLy be in your eyes. i actually got the question right on some miracle.

“2 points of weed?”

“Can I get some of that hot leaf?”

“They will make more drugs! You can’t do that much drug!”

“You guys bullied me and stole it”

“Whole rest of the nation sucked an egg”

“Whelp, let’s just kill myself”

“Do you guys know david chapel?” *sigh when everyone says no*

*some girls singing the national anthem* Him: “no! none of this, none of this!”

“Calibri’s for idiots” (the font)

“The only thing that was in--shit”

“and uncle sam--gettin lit”

“Their daddy--UH--”

“They’re going to blame the jews--my people” (he got a dna test done, he’s not actually jewish)

“Whatever you say, boomer”

“Use my words to plagiarize in college”

“I’m jewish, that’s offensive”

“Tell him he gave me instant cancer”

Me: “can i go to the bathroom?” him: “I’ll allow it”

him: “He’s antisemetic and it hurts my feelings” student: “what does that mean again?” him: “Hates jews :(”

“You guys can call me kingfish if you’d like”

~ after we said no to the nicknames, we tried to make one for him ~

student: “cornhusker!” him: “no, that’s offensive... and it’s also nebraska”

student: “corn picker!” him: “no--that sounds like a racist term or something”

“Unless corona really does take over--” (thank u, mr. for ruining the school year”

Student: “how old was she (his mom) when she had you?” him: “thirteen”

“My mom just turned 40 the other day...” (a joke)

him: “My brother got t-boned by a semi truck last night” Student: “Why are you laughing?” him: “Because he lived.”

“Yeah bc I would hide out in a public school with 300 new kids a year” (about him not living in iowa so he’s hiding out in az to get away from his “criminal record” (refer to the 1 time hes been arrested))

“Baby death?”

“Their family has more money than jesus”

*Standing outside the door yelling “CORONA” to students walking in”

“Hey I’m *****, f-word, blah, blah”

“We should fight our cats.”

“OH that’s a big chonk cat.”

“Mortal Kombat is pretty cool. I haven’t played in 25 years”

he told us in class once that we shouldnt open the front door if cops show up at a party. just to shut the blinds and be a little quieter bc the cops cant legally open the door

also one time he had a gun pointed to his face but he never finished that story bc he never liked it

during quarantine he set a DBQ as 1000 points (and i still didnt do it)

and “Here’s the tea, kiddos!”

honorable mentions: all the time he’s sent out emails bc theyre fucking hilarious

#ilguna #high school #gen z

[thehighlandhealer]

Surprise Date || Deirver & Leslie || October, 2019

Deirdre: It hardly felt like only a week had passed since she'd been here last. Only one week and it already felt like she'd met and seen half the town. When Callum hadn't been showing her around she'd done some exploring of her own, checking out the beach and the river and every bar in town. It almost reminded her of their village back in Arran. Except the accents of course.

There was just one person she hadn't managed to run into again during her very busy week. Time to remedy that.

Deirdre got out of her truck and walked up to her mystery man's trailer.

Oliver: The yard had a smell to it which hadn't been there last week. The stink of stale beer and burnt wood. The trailer park remained the same; someone out there just could not get a handle on grilling burgers.

Humphreys bellowed his greeting before her knuckles reached the door. The same, "Humphreys!" followed.

The door opened after an argument over the frame. The basset hound made a run for it, tripping on his ears at Deirdre's feet.

Deirdre: A delighted smile would meet both man and dog, although only Humphreys was picked up with surprising ease and cuddled close.

"Hi there!" she said to his owner. "It's me. The ghost o' Christmas past."

Oliver/Leslie: "I thought you'd be long gone." The house, limited though she'd seen, certainly smelled better than before; the entryway less cluttered, the floor swept and vacuumed. Oliver, much like the trailer, was better put together in crisp clothes and trimmed beard. Not a speck of engine grease.

From the couch sat a man that could easily have been his brother. In the middle of a coughing fit, punching himself in the chest as though that were somehow the cure.

Deirdre: "I haven't seen Callum in ages, I'm stayin' as long as I can."

The coughing had her peeking around him in curiosity. Whoever that was he was not having a good time. "Is this a bad time? I can come back later."

Oliver/Leslie: "How long is 'long as ya can' gonna be?"

Oliver glanced behind. "Nah that's - that's," he had to stop to chuckle, "that's Les, and Les will be alright."

"I'm," wheeze, "I'm alright!" he waved.

Deirdre: "I'm the boss, I make my own rules. I could be here for weeks." She gave Humphreys a big kiss and set him down.

The waving made her smile. "Steady on, mate. In and out."

Oliver/Leslie: "N'of all the places ya could be, ya came back here, huh?"

Humphreys leaned his full weight onto her, verbally and physically begging for attention.

"What are you trying to do? Get rid of her?"

"No!"

The blond leaned forward on the couch, giving what was obviously his best smile. "Because my name is Leslie Ethan Issott, and I know the best place to get-"

The door was hastily shut. "We're so much better out here," he muttered.

Deirdre: How could she resist such a plea? Back up Humphreys went.

His best smile was very nice indeed, and certainly returned in kind while he was still in sight.

"Nice to meet ye!" she shouted back, laughing as Oliver shut the door. "He seems nice. Brother?"

Oliver: "You're like, the eighth person t'think we are. Might as well be, but he's - he's just a friend." His fingers never left his beard while he spoke, only realizing seconds into his silence. "I think - I think ya got his name n'ya don't even have mine. Huh?"

Deirdre: "Am I really? Doesn't surprise me. Ye look really similar."

She smiled up at him, finally giving him a proper once over. As good as he looked covered in grease, he looked even better now. "Aye, it looks like. I'd be tempted to see how long we can keep the gag goin' if I didn't think he'd say yer name the moment he saw us again."

Oliver: "Ya wanna?" he laughed. "We don't have t'go back in. I mean he'll just stay there until he's hungry."

Deirdre: She grinned. "Kind of, yeah. Then when we do find out each other's names it'll be special."

Oliver: "I've been callin' ya Scotland in my head all week."

Deirdre: "Fittin'. Ye've been Humphreys' da in mine."

Oliver: "A father, huh?" Humphreys was quite content in her arms. Already falling asleep.

Deirdre: "Aye. Ownin' a pet makes ye a kind of parent in my book." The sleepiness probably wasn't helped by the fact that Deirdre was gently swaying, like she was holding a baby.

Oliver: "You're spoilin' him. He missed ya." I missed you.

Deirdre: "It's what he deserves. I missed him, too." And you.

She smiled. "Ye still owe me dinner."

Oliver: "I know I do." It was why he was dressed the way he was, and the trailer was in better standing. Though he told himself, and Leslie, and Tristan, that it had been nothing more than words, he'd been pushed into cleaning himself up. "Like I said," he swallowed, "thought ya long gone."

Deirdre: "No' gone. No' for a good while yet. Ye doin' anythin' today?"

Oliver: "Uh, nope. No. Ya want dinner? Ya want me t'make ya dinner now?"

Deirdre: "If ye're no' busy. And if ye don't mind." She hadn't been planning on a dinner date but she wasn't not planning on it. She wasn't dressed like a farmhand today. She'd even put some makeup on.

Oliver/Leslie: He felt awkward, but only for a moment. As though his brain were having difficulties processing what was actually happening. The door was reopened, the couch empty. Leslie had taken to the kitchen, that ridiculous smug smile plastered on his face as he pulled the top off a bottle of beer. Oliver hated that damn look. He called it; he had told Oliver that she would be back. Obviously he had believed him at least somewhat. All week he'd felt ridiculous in his nicer clothes. And he'd been right. Les was usually spot on with his predictions.

"He's got wine," Les called.

Deirdre: The bright grin was back, and it only grew as they stepped inside.

"Does he indeed?" she said, adjusting Humphreys. "That'll go great with the ribs he promised me."

Oliver/Leslie: "You've got ribs?"

"M'gonna go get ribs and you're gonna behave."

"I dunno what you mean. I'm a saint." Speaking of behaving, he offered his hand and a wink.

Deirdre: Deirdre chuckled and shook his hand. "Nice to meet ye," she said again. "I'd give ye my name but I have to wait until he leaves. We have a bit goin'."

Leslie: "You two don't even know your names?"

Deirdre: "Nope. We're goin' to see how long we can go without knowin' them."

Oliver/Leslie: "Brother," he nodded in her direction. "Do not do anything stupid."

"S'too late. I let her meet ya."

Oliver thumbed towards the door. "Gonna go get what I need."

Deirdre: She chuckled again and carefully seated herself on the couch, rearranging Humphreys so he'd be more comfortable on her lap.

"Do what ye need to do. Leslie and I will be fine."

Oliver/Leslie: "Yeah! We'll be fine."

Oliver trusted this man as much as he trusted Tristan Seger, so why did he feel so uncomfortable leaving her alone? Perhaps he thought she would simply disappear. He forced himself to turn, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed towards his newly repaired truck.

Deirdre: He had absolutely nothing to worry about. Even if she didn't have a precious sleeping dog on her lap, Deirdre wasn't going anywhere.

She waited until she heard the truck start to say, "My name is Deirdre."

Leslie: "You look like a Deirdre. My other guess would have been Olive, or Rose."

Deirdre: "I look like an Olive?"

Leslie: "Is there something wrong with Olive?" Offended on behalf of all Olives.

Deirdre: She laughed. "Nothin' at all. That's my next Halloween costume sorted."

Leslie: "Oh yeah, Samhain," he muttered. "Would you like something to drink? He's got beer, sweet tea, orange juice...?"

Deirdre: "Orange juice if ye don't mind. I'd stand up to get it but I don't want to disturb the laddie."

Leslie: "The laddie is gonna be spoiled." Oliver's "brother" indeed. He turned, making sure the glass he retrieved from the cabinet was clean before pouring.

Deirdre: "It's what he deserves." Deirdre gently scratched the top of Humphreys' head. "He's a good boy."

Leslie: "He is a good boy," he muttered. The cup was brought close as though to smell. With his back to her, he muttered a blessing under his breath. "May luck be your companion. Bless your friendship. May love seize and abide you both."

He smiled as he faced her, chuckled at the sight. "I'll bring it to you."

Deirdre: "Thank ye kindly. So tell me." She leaned back in her seat. "Have ye lads been talkin' about me? He looks so clean cut compared to the first time I saw him. Like someone told him to look pretty."

Leslie: "Someone may have told him to get his shit together." His smile remained consistent. "A few someones."

Deirdre: “A few someones? Well don’t I feel special.”

Leslie: He doesn't let himself have good things. "My intuition is almost never wrong. No pressure though, I promise. Nothing wrong with having a little fun."

Deirdre: Her head tilted curiously. "Ye had intuition about a person ye'd never met?"

Leslie: "Call it secondhand intuition?" he grinned. "You do know ribs take...hours to cook, right?"

Deirdre: "All ribs do when they're cooked properly. I'm a cattle rancher, ye see."

Leslie: "Ah. Land meets sea, then."

Deirdre: "Does it?"

Leslie: "He works on the docks, on fishing boats. He should have gills."

Deirdre: "Ahh that's right. This is a fishin' village. Is he a mechanic as well?"

Leslie: "He was once. When he served."

Deirdre: “And a military man to boot. He’s a complex man.”

Leslie: "I promise he's not. Not complicated in the wrong ways." His smile returned. "Am I being a good hype man?"

Deirdre: “Bein’ complex isn’t a bad thing. Just means a person has some depth to them.”

She grinned. “Ye are.”

Leslie: "And you! You most definitely have depth. I think you're wooing him."

Deirdre: The grin got bigger. “I might be. Think he’ll let himself be wooed?”

Leslie: "I hope he will," he chuckled. "Should I - I should start helping with dinner, or I should make myself scarce."

Deirdre: “I’m sure he’d appreciate the help. Gives me more time to try to make him blush when he gets here.”

Leslie: "Call him pretty. Does it every time."

Deirdre: “Good to know. What else?”

Leslie: "Public displays of affection freak him out. He might as well be crossing himself when he's in the line of fire."

Deirdre: “It bothers him to do it or when other people do it?”

Oliver: "I think it's both."

Deirdre: “Any insight as to why? Or are we no’ at the point where I can ask that yet?”

Oliver: "He's been that way for as long as I've known him, which has been post military. That intuition of mine says it's got something to do with that."

Deirdre: “So it’s no’ advisable that—if we were to get to that point—I pinched his butt in public?”

Oliver: "Oh I really hope you do," he grinned.

Deirdre: “We’ll start with a butt pinch in private and work up to it.”

Oliver: "Well, what do you think I should be making? What did he promise you besides ribs?"

Deirdre: “Ribs and cornbread.”

Oliver: "You're being a very adventurous Scot."

Deirdre: “My people eat haggis,” she chuckled.

Leslie: "That's only equivalent here is...fried liver, gizzards, and chicken hearts."

Deirdre: “Why do ye Americans fry ev’rythin’? Are ye allergic to stew?”

Leslie: "Hey, whoa. Do you hear this accent?" Barely there, but present.

Deirdre: “I don’t hear an accent.” She grinned. “I hear an echo.”

Leslie: "Cheeky," he grinned back.

Deirdre: “It’s been said before. Were ye born here or across the pond?”

Leslie: "Raised in Salford. Was there just long enough to where I can't mask it."

Deirdre: “Manchester. A northerner. Some people would say northerners are practically Scots.”

Leslie: "It's not the worst thing to be called."

Deirdre: “It’s the best thing to be called.”

Leslie: Indeed. "Would you like to help with the cornbread? I'll be scolded if you're caught, though." Another feeling of his.

Deirdre: “The manners my mama taught me would demand that I do, but those are currently at war with no’ wantin’ to wake Humphreys.”

Leslie: "Well, my recipe includes bacon drippings and-or actual corn, if he has it."

Deirdre: “Does he like yer recipe? Can I sneak some bacon to the laddie?”

Leslie: "He takes it home with him." The wire shelves on wheels was moved about. No canned corn. No fresh corn. A simpler recipe, then.

"I won't tell if you don't."

Deirdre: “My lips are sealed.” She gently removed the dog from her lap, whispering apologies the entire time.

“What do ye need me to do?”

Leslie: "You mix, I pour ingredients? And we interview each other. I think we have another five minutes left."

Deirdre: "Better pour fast then." She went over to the sink to give her hands a quick wash. "What do ye want to know?"

Leslie: "Hmm. Are youuuu religious?" He began buttering the largest cast iron skillet he could find.

Deirdre: "More spiritual than religious. My family is Pagan." Words chosen carefully, and his reaction would be observed much the same way.

Leslie: Leslie's body had stilled, and rather than repulsion or ignorance, his smile seemed all the brighter for her confession.

"'Blessed be' kind of Pagan?"

Deirdre: His reaction told her all she needed to know about what kind of person this man was.

"No' quite. What I am is far more...ancient and persecuted and Celtic than yer average 'blessed be' Pagan."

Leslie: Hmm. The baking soda and salt were added into the mixture. Buttermilk to follow while he thought. Spilled salt was casually tossed to his left shoulder.

"Now that is interesting."

Deirdre: While he thought, she mixed. Would he be able to guess? Or would more hints be required?

"Oh, aye? Interested in this sort o' thing, are ye?"

Leslie: "Something like that. You like my friend and you spoil Humphreys. Everything else takes a backseat."

Deirdre: "Well that's refreshin'." Reactions like his were uncommon, even among others in the know about these things.

Leslie: There was the truck. Bacon was placed on a clean pan. He gestured back to the couch. "His veil is very opaque, just so you know."

Deirdre: "Then it's perfectly suited to protect him," she said as she returned to the couch. "As long as he's surrounded by people who can see what he can't."

Oliver/Leslie: "I hope." His last words before the door opened. Eyes darted between the two of them before walking through.

"He's been behavin'?"

Leslie's smile returned. "I'm a paragon!"

Deirdre: "He's been a perfect gentleman," Deirdre chuckled. "Even got the cornbread started for ye."

Oliver/Leslie: "The kind with bacon?"

A scoff! "Of course. I'm American."

Oliver smiled softly to his guest. "Did he get ya a drink?"

Deirdre: "Yes, he did. He got me orange juice and entertained me with lively conversation."

Oliver/Leslie: "I also know her name now."

A finger was placed to his lips. Don't tell me. "Gonna get started on the ribs."

Deirdre: "We should come up with a code name for me so he doesn't accidentally let it slip."

Oliver/Leslie: "I'm gonna call you...Fae," Leslie smirked. Bacon was placed on a paper towel covered plate and set aside.

"What, like fairies?"

Deirdre: Deirdre grinned at Leslie. Getting warmer.

"Sure! Don't I look like Tinker Bell?"

Oliver/Leslie: "Certainly small enough," Oliver laughed.

"Ha! I mean...don't be a dick." Stern face.

Deirdre: "I'm small and mighty and I look really good in a green dress."

Oliver/Leslie: Leslie was ready to throw in another flirtation, but thought better of it. He would behave, as he knew he should.

"You wanted this for old boy?"

Oliver quietly watched as bacon was offered to their guest. His brother looked good with any woman. He didn't stand a chance if not for his integrity.

"Gonna steal some of that bacon fat."

"Go for it."

"Can ya start the fire?"

"Yep."

Deirdre: "Ooh, yes, thanks!"

Deirdre took the piece of bacon and offered it to Humphreys. His reward for being such an adorable good boy!

Oliver: Once Leslie was out of sight, Oliver audibly sighed. "Hi."

Deirdre: "Hi there," she chuckled softly. "Successful trip?"

Oliver: "Mhm." He nodded his head towards the kitchen. Come join me, please?

Deirdre: She stood. Of course she would.

Oliver: "Ya sure ya want me t'cook ribs? If I'd known ya were comin' I woulda started em at the crack of dawn."

Deirdre: "I was warned and yes, I'm sure. I was promised ribs and cornbread and that is precisely what I intend to have."

Oliver: "Ya ain't got anywhere else t'be today?"

Deirdre: Deirdre shook her head. "Nope. Nowhere to be. My cousin's all in a tizzy about doin' flowers for a weddin' and I thought it best to get out o' the line o' fire."

Oliver: "Ah. I'm your entertainment. I got ya."

Deirdre: "What do ye have in mind?"

Oliver: "I've got movies, music, n'myself. I guess Les, too."

Deirdre: "What movies do ye have?"

Oliver: "Um...I have Terminator, Die Hard, Total Recall, Expendables..."

Deirdre: "Ye're an action movie man, then. I didn't like the Expendables but I rewatch Die Hard ev'ry Christmas."

Oliver: "You're right. It's a Christmas movie."

Deirdre: "I knew there was a reason I liked ye," she said with a grin.

Oliver: "It's not Christmas yet, but ya wanna watch?"

Deirdre: "Yes I do!"

Oliver: He glanced to the aluminum door. "D'ya want me t'kick Les out?"

Deirdre: "Ye don't have to if ye don't want to. I don't mind either way."

Oliver/Leslie: Oh. Maybe he'd overthought all of this. He'd wanted too much, or she too little. Perhaps both. Either way, there was no harm in playing along. She would be back in Montana eventually.

The ugly dented door was opened. The scent of burning charcoal filled the small trailer and set Oliver at ease.

The pork ribs had been rubbed down with herbs, spice, and bacon fat, and set aside on a sheet tray. Without word Leslie reappeared to grab them.

Deirdre: Oliver hadn't overthought anything. If estimates on the cooking time for the ribs were to be believed, they had several hours to idle away before their private, possibly romantic dinner.

Leslie would be long gone by then. He could stick around for one movie.

"Want to watch Die Hard with us, Leslie?" And leave right afterward? she added silently.

Leslie: "It's not Christmas yet."

Deirdre: "Bruce Willis won't mind."

Leslie: "Bacon and Willis. Sounds good," he smiled.

Deirdre: "Excellent, then we're watchin' Die Hard. What do ye think about that, laddie?" she added to Humphreys.

Oliver: "I need t'take him huntin' or somethin'. All he wants t'do is sleep lately."

Deirdre: "Maybe he's comin' down with somethin'. How old is he?"

Oliver/Leslie: "Two-ish."

Leslie slipped away with the ribs.

Deirdre: "Still a baby." She gently scratched Humphreys' ears. "Couldn't hurt to take him to the vet, just to make sure ev'rythin's okay."

Oliver: Oliver hesitated. Could he afford that? He was raised in a family that never took their animals to the vet.

"Yeah, I'll do that," he'd say anyway. He didn't know how much his ex was going to want this month. She always demanded for more around the holidays.

Deirdre: "Maybe we can take him on a walk later. See if that cheers him up. And maybe we might walk by the pet shop. There could be a new toy inside."

Oliver: "That's a mile away," he warned.

Deirdre: "Don't tell me ye've never walked two miles before."

Oliver: "I can do it, but can a Scot do it?"

Deirdre: "This Scot can do it," she said with a grin. "I've hiked longer up a mountain, this place is flat."

Oliver/Leslie: "Alright. A walk after the movie." Leslie wouldn't want to tag along. Their chance to be alone, if it mattered.

Leslie smiled to himself and covered the grill. He would linger outside and check his emails.

Deirdre: Deirdre hadn't planned on it, but it would be a nice chance for them to talk and bond. Just like the movie was a chance for all three of them to bond.

A good plan indeed.

"Will the grill be all right unattended?"

Oliver: "I don't think Jimmy or anyone else is gonna just walk up n'steal half-cooked shit off my grill."

Deirdre: "Don't be so sure, people do weird things."

Oliver: "Should be fine." He dropped to his knees in front of the TV, looking for the one DVD out of the twelve he owned. All action, just as she had said.

Deirdre: "Are those all the movies ye own or do ye have more somewhere?"

Oliver: "This is it. I got Netflix n'Hulu, too."

Deirdre: "What's yer favorite movie?"

Oliver: "The second Terminator."

Deirdre: "Good choice. I like it better than the first one but they're both good."

Oliver: "What's your favorite?"

Deirdre: "Action movie? The Matrix."

Oliver: "That's - That's sci-fi."

Deirdre: "With explosions and gun fights and hand to hand combat. Action sci-fi."

Oliver: He had no leg to stand on, given his own favorite. The DVD loaded in. He took to the floor by her legs. It was only for a question.

"...N'I sit with ya?" barely audible.

Deirdre: "Aye," she said softly, patting the spot beside her. There would be no sitting on opposite ends of the couch. "Ye sit with me."

Oliver: He watched her, and he would not take his eyes off of her until settled by her side. The movie began, and Humphreys returned from his trot around the house. A heavy paw was placed on her foot. Please?

Deirdre: Deirdre watched him watch her, smiling softly. That was better. All that was missing was--

Ah, there he was.

"Well go on then," she chuckled, patting her lap. "Up ye get."

Oliver: "He's not gonna." He reached over her lap to grab him. Humphreys made himself at home between them.

Deirdre: "We're goin' to have to work on that." Deirdre scratched Humphreys' ears. "Gotta persevere for the snuggles, lovey."

Oliver: "He couldn't when little, so he probably thinks he can't now."

Deirdre: "We need to unlock all that puppy potential."

Oliver: He reached over to scratch Humphreys' ear as well, if only to bring his hand closer to hers.

Deirdre: That was just fine by her. Maybe she would even let her fingers 'accidentally' brush against his, just to see how he would react.

Oliver: His entire being remained calm. A leather-like index finger slid down the length of her own.

Deirdre: He didn't jump. That was a good sign wasn't it?

Smiling, Deirdre let herself lean ever so slightly in his direction. Not the whole way though; he'd have to bridge the gap.

Oliver: His eyes remained forward, but his body began leaning towards the right, indeed meeting her halfway.

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled to herself. There we go, she thought. That's more like it.

"They don't make movies like this anymore. They're all explosions with no nuance."

Oliver: "Ya gonna see the new Terminator? Back in Montana, I mean."

Deirdre: "No' sure yet. I bet it'll look great with all the new CGI and things but I'm kind of worried they'll ruin it."

Oliver: "Probably." Another bout of staring at the TV. He would just keep his eyes there. "Ya wanna see somethin' while you're here?"

Deirdre: Oh good, maybe then he wouldn't notice when hers drifted over to him every now and then.

"I would love to," she said with a grin. "Anything you've got your eye on?"

Oliver: He could hear the smile in her tone, and turned just in time to catch it.

"Just you."

Deirdre: The smile wasn't going anywhere. In fact, it grew. "Such a good answer. I'm flattered."

Oliver: "Maybe by then I'll have your name."

Deirdre: “If ye’re lucky. Maybe I’ll know yers, too.”

Oliver: "Les told ya, didn't he?"

Deirdre: “He didn’t actually. Ye’re still a mystery man.”

Oliver: "What do I look like?"

Deirdre: “Hmmm...” She turned so she could look at him properly. He had a strong face. He needed a strong name.

“Somethin’....manly. Like John or Caleb or Brock.”

Oliver: "Ha!" he smiled. He wanted to be on the other side of the couch, if only to rest his arm. Something to fidget with. Her eyes were too kind. He'd never seen a woman balance delicate and strong so effortlessly.

"Caleb is manly?"

Deirdre: “Verra manly. I have a cousin named Caleb and he’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He’s a champion caber tosser.”

Oliver: "A what now?"

Deirdre: “It’s a traditional event at the Highland games. Strong men and women take turns tossing a giant pole the size of a small tree as far as they can.”

Oliver: "That's...okay." He had to process that a moment. "Ya into Crossfit?"

Deirdre: “I don’t have enough time to dedicate to it. I just work outside and use the fancy treadmill my sister got for the house.”

Oliver: "Ever go huntin'?"

Deirdre: I can’t even begin to tell you. “Of course. I’m Scottish.”

Oliver: "What cha like to hunt?"

Deirdre: “Deer. I make a lovely venison pie.”

Oliver: All he could imagine was a pumpkin pie stuffed with wild game. He shook that thought away with a chuckle. "Gotta be somethin' wrong with ya. I can't find it, though."

Deirdre: “Call my sister,” she chuckled. “I’m sure she can come up with a thing or seven.”

Oliver: "That's what siblings are supposed to do, though."

Deirdre: "True. She'd also sing my praises if I asked her to." As she would if Bronwyn asked the same of her. "Ye have any siblings?"

Oliver: Mm. "No. None of them."

Deirdre: "Did ye ever want one?"

Oliver: "...No. I didn't grow up where..." He might as well say it. "I was in foster care."

Deirdre: Deirdre didn't even blink, but her heart did hurt a bit for the little boy he had been. "That's a rough way to start life," she said softly.

Oliver: "I guess. If ya never had somethin' ya can't miss it. Right?"

Deirdre: "Maybe ye can't miss it, but ye can long for it." Which was worse, she wondered.

Oliver: "Shit could be worse. I've seen worse."

Deirdre: Despite having just met him, she hated that he'd seen worse. And that that worse surpassed having grown up in foster care.

"And now? Things lookin' up?"

Oliver: Maybe. He shrugged. "Yeah. Sure." He should say more. "I didn't have an arm blown off in the Middle East." Smooth.

Deirdre: "There's that at least," she gave him a small smile. "Hell of a ruler ye're usin' to measure against."

Oliver: "Sorry. M'not very good at...this."

Deirdre: "Good at what? Watchin' movies?"

Oliver: "Ya know what I mean."

Deirdre: "Havin' a conversation?" She smiled. "Doin' all right from where I'm sittin'."

Oliver/Leslie: "I ain't...like..." Les, still sitting outside playing on his phone and minding the ribs.

Deirdre: "Ye don't have to be like anythin'. I like what I've got in front o' me."

Oliver: "Your standards are low. Low," he teased.

Deirdre: She laughed softly. "My standards are excellent, thank ye very much.”

Oliver/Leslie: It was probably time to leave. In fact he was overdue to make some excuse. Leslie poked his head in and smiled. "Gonna walk home now, man."

"Mm. Okay." He uncrossed his arm long enough to wave.

"See you later, maybe?" Oliver was in good hands. He'd never heard of an unsavory druid.

The door shut was shut behind him. Oliver took a breath. "I should see what he's done t'my ribs."

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled over at Leslie. "See you later!" Her mystery man was in good hands indeed.

Already she was learning about him, and she planned to learn much more before the day was done.

"Ye picky about yer ribs?"

Oliver: "I don't want em cooked like a steak." He got to his feet, hesitating for Leslie to put some distance from the trailer. "Don't get up."

Deirdre: "Low and slow is the only way to go. There's a pit master in Bozeman who says that ev'rytime I go for brisket."

Oliver: He needed four hours. Could he entertain a woman for that long? If he'd given that much consideration years ago he'd still -

Quietly, he stepped outside, leaving the door open while he checked on the ribs. The coals were given poke and better leveled. This wasn't Leslie's forte; he was just playing hero again.

Deirdre: He could entertain this woman for that long. All they really needed was a couple of good movies and they'd be golden.

Deirdre inhaled deeply. "It already smells lovely," she called. "How are they lookin'?"

Oliver: "Like Leslie only knows how t'throw a sirloin on a grill." The ribs were moved to the higher rack and the lid closed again. He would return to his place by her side, lifting Humphreys as he situated, and placing the dog on his other side.

Deirdre: "That's all right, ye're here to rescue them."

She smiled as he rejoined her and, now that Humphreys wasn't between them, took the opportunity to lean a little further than she had been before.

Oliver: There would be no yawning trick here. He would watch her carefully while placing an arm behind her.

"This alright?"

Deirdre: "Perfect," she said, smiling as she settled in against him.

Oliver: "Ya sure ya don't wanna know my name?"

Deirdre: “Of course I do. Ye wanna know mine?”

Oliver: "Of course I do."

Deirdre: "Should we break our no name streak?"

Oliver: "We don't have to...but I sure want to."

Deirdre: "I do, too," she chuckled. "What if we wait until the end of the day and if we can't handle it any longer, we'll exchange names?"

Oliver: "Ya can't kiss me 'til ya know my name," he smirked.

Deirdre: "Oh that's how ye want to play it, huh?" She chuckled again. "Well all right then."

Oliver: "Mhm." A noise from the pit of his chest. A sound a beset would make. A sound which came with a smile.

Deirdre: Deirdre grinned. "Looks like we're goin' to see just how long I can resist your charms and manly chest."

Oliver: "Ha!" she'd successfully caught him off guard. "If it's too much ya lemme know."

Deirdre: "Believe me, I will. Although..." She paused for dramatic effect. "I might need to see it. Just to see if I get overwhelmed."

Oliver: "Does that come before or after dinner? Is the chest before or after kisses? Is all of it after the movie?"

Deirdre: "After, during, and yes," she laughed.

Oliver: "So, we gotta finish the movie, we got three plus hours until dinner, and then ya want me half-naked tellin' ya my name between kisses?"

Deirdre: She gave a satisfied nod. "Yes, perfect. Ye got it exactly right."

Oliver: "Yes ma'am," he smiled. "Anything else ya want?"

Deirdre: “Yes.”

Oliver: "The suspense is killin' me."

Deirdre: Deirdre held up her glass. “More orange juice,” she said with a grin.

Oliver: "So innocent," he grumbled, arching a brow and taking her glass.

Deirdre: Cue a light chuckle. "Were ye expectin' a naughty request?"

Oliver: "I have no idea anymore," he said as he walked.

Deirdre: "I like keepin' ye on yer toes."

Oliver: "Ya do that enough already."

Deirdre: "Is it workin'?" she asked with a grin. If he only knew; she was just getting started.

Oliver: "M'on my toes. M'on em." He got on them to prove his point.

Deirdre: "Lovely," she laughed. She had to give him credit for going along on this unusual little journey they were on together. Plenty of other people would probably think it was weird that a woman they were on a date with refused to give her name and wouldn't ask for theirs, but her mystery man seemed to be taking it all in stride.

"Ye're a good sport, ye know that?"

Oliver: "Ya think so?" He returned with her glass and plopped (carefully, don't spill) back in his spot. Perhaps another inch closer to her.

Deirdre: "Aye, I do. Thanks." She accepted the glass and took a sip, smiling at him over the rim of her glass. "No' ev'ryone would just go along with the whole 'let's no' tell each other our names' thing we have goin'. And they certainly wouldn't make ribs at a moment's notice."

Oliver: Much of their night would have felt out of character had it not been this particular woman. Perhaps if not for Tristan and Leslie, either.

"It ain't hurtin' nothin'. Nothin' wrong with playin' a game."

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled, moving another inch closer herself. She fully expected them to be all over each other by the end of the night. "Well, I'm glad ye think so. And it already smells so good, by the way."

Oliver: "Got hours 'fore we need t'figure out what's gonna go with it." He turned his attention back to the TV, but only briefly. "So, tell me somethin' bout yourself."

Deirdre: "Well, let's see." She shifted so she was facing him, scooting a little closer to him in the process.

"I grew up in Scotland, I live in Montana. I'm a rancher. I have a sister. I can play the fiddle. My mama claims I like honey way too much."

Oliver: They were about as close as they could be without labeling their nearness an embrace. He wasn't about to say anything.

"I knew all that but the last two." He thought for a moment. "Honey on cornbread?"

Deirdre: "Cornbread, oatcakes, pancakes, waffles, oatmeal. Anythin' that can have honey on it really."

Oliver: His thoughts were not necessarily on food, but much like their nearness, he wasn't about to say shit.

"Mm." And in saying nothing, much have appeared mindless and dull.

"So, then I guess your name is...Clover."

Deirdre: Deirdre chuckled. "I mean, it would make a lot of sense. And suit me really well." She softly poked his chest. "Now ye tell me somethin' about yerself."

Oliver: "Alright. Um." He kept his eyes between them, focused on her hands and the couch itself. "From Tennessee. Been a mechanic, worked loadin' docks. Prior military. Was medically discharged." He gestured towards his temple. "Migraines."

Deirdre: "Bit of a renaissance man then." She wanted to ask about the discharge but it was a bit soon for that. They weren't quite that deep yet.

"My family has a home remedy for migraines that works better than anythin' ye can get at a pharmacy. I can bring ye some if ye'd like?"

Oliver: "Better than poppin' pills, I guess. What's in it?"

Deirdre: "Just a few herbs." And a little magic. "Peppermint, ginger, valerian, coriander seeds, willow, to name a few."

Oliver: "N'that gets rid of shit like that?"

Deirdre: Deirdre nodded. “Aye. It’s sort of like a tonic. Ye take it and it gives ye relief and as ye keep takin’ it, yer symptoms gradually improve.”

Oliver: "N'it ain't bottled n'sold 'round the world why?"

Deirdre: “It’s a family secret!”

Oliver: "We'll see about that."

Deirdre: “I suppose we will. I’ll bring ye some tomorrow and ye can see for yerself.”

Oliver: "So there's a tomorrow?" His smile was in full force now.

Deirdre: Oh wow. That smile was something else.

"I want there to be a tomorrow," she said, smiling back.  "Do ye want there to be a tomorrow?"

Oliver: His smile created many creases around the corners of his mouth, revealing his age a bit. It was an honest smile, one which seemed to loosen much of the tension in his shoulders.

"Well, we'll see how these ribs turn out. Ya might not want a tomorrow."

Deirdre: She liked the creases. They were genuine and human and they suited his face. "Are ye kiddin', I could bottle the smell o' them and make a million dollars."

Oliver: He opened his mouth, laughed at his own ridiculous flirtation he had in pocket, and tried to look at the television.

"Ya make me feel stupid."

Deirdre: "In a good way, I hope. Otherwise I need to run into yer bathroom and put some lipstick on and up my game."

Oliver: "In a way like, I was about to say if I could bottle your smile...which is...stupid."

Deirdre: "Awww." Her smile softened. "That's no' stupid, I love that."

Oliver: "Mm. So that Bruce Willis, huh?" he laughed.

Deirdre: Deirdre laughed as well. "Ye could totally take on Bruce Willis."

Oliver: "Now that he's old, yeah."

Deirdre: "Ye could take him at all ages. Ye're a big swarthy man and ye've got that manly chest and ye still have hair," she added with a grin.

Oliver: "So this is what it's like with a strong woman."

Deirdre: "No' to sing my own praises but I am pretty strong."

Oliver: "M'not surprised at all. Ya picked up a total stranger."

Deirdre: "And ye were helpin' a poor lost damsel in distress."

Oliver: "You're neither of those things."

Deirdre: "Okay I wasn't in distress, but I am a damsel and I was lost."

Oliver: "Damsel sounds all weak and submissive."

Deirdre: "Nah, I'm a modern damsel. I look great in a gown and I have impeccable aim with a huntin' rifle."

Oliver: "Ah. The huntress. The flannel all makes sense now."

Deirdre: "The huntress, the ranch owner, the lover of clothin' that can survive manual labor."

Oliver: "N'm'guessin' cowboys, of which I ain't."

Deirdre: "Eh, cowboys are a dime a dozen. I much prefer pretty, mysterious dock workers with adorable dogs."

Oliver: Deep, deep breath through his nose and out. She was too much of a good thing. She was making him smile again.

Deirdre: Yes, good. Deirdre wanted as much of that smile as she could possibly get.

"No' used to gettin' called pretty?"

Oliver: "Men can't be pretty."

Deirdre: "Of course they can."

Oliver: "Mm-mm. Women are pretty. A weddin' can be pretty. A flower..."

Deirdre: "Aye, all of those things can be pretty and so can men. It's a universal term like beautiful and gorgeous and stunnin'."

Oliver: "Men aren't those, either."

Deirdre: "I thoroughly disagree. I've got the evidence right in front o' me."

Oliver: Ah. He rubbed his face and audibly sighed.

Deirdre: "Wow, ye're really no' used to it. I'm goin' to have to do somethin' about that."

Oliver: "Look here. Men can be only one thing. Handsome. Most ain't."

Deirdre: “It’s the year of our lord 2019, men can be anythin’.”

Oliver: "So a woman can be handsome?"

Deirdre: She nodded. “Aye.”

Oliver: "You're crazy." And he didn't mind.

Deirdre: “Handsome just means good lookin’, therefore anyone can be handsome. My logic is verra sound.”

Oliver: "Handsome is masculine." This felt like Scotland verses United Kingdom again.

Deirdre: “No’ inherently. Women were referred to as handsome pretty often in novels from the 20th century and before. It’s only recently that we stopped callin’ women handsome.”

Oliver: "Are you in expert in everything?"

Deirdre: “I read a lot,” she chuckled. “Our tutor had a thing for literature.”

Oliver: "Ya keep up with world events, too?"

Deirdre: “I probably should but no. Far too depressin’.”

Oliver: "Stopped years ago."

Deirdre: "It sounds so bad but it's probably better for us that we don't. Never seen a happy face watchin' the news."

Oliver: "'Cause depressin' shit sells."

Deirdre: "And apparently we're all gluttons for punishment. Well, no’ us specifically."

Oliver: "Different kindsa punishment."

Deirdre: “True enough. Still, I’d rather leave that particular punishment to people who feel like they’re gettin’ somethin’ out of it.”

Oliver: "N'what gives ya that same feelin'?"

Deirdre: “The feelin’ that I’m gettin’ somethin’ out of what I’m doin’ or watchin’?”

Oliver: "Mhm."

Deirdre: "Spendin' time with my family. Workin' the ranch. Watchin' things I enjoy. Bein' out in nature." Practicing magic.

Oliver: He made a small noise. "What's the things ya watch?"

Deirdre: "Documentaries, animal shows, period pieces, really stupid comedies, all sorts of things."

Oliver: "Tell me 'bout the really stupid comedies."

Deirdre: She grinned. "I fuckin' love Archer."

Oliver: His smile returned in full, a quick laugh in tow. "'You're not my supervisor!'"

Deirdre: Deirdre full on giggled. "It's so stupid and I love it so much."

Oliver: "Krieger is the best."

Deirdre: "He really is, he's bloody hilarious. Archer, too."

Oliver: "Is it still on Netflix? Maybe after this...?"

Deirdre: Deirdre's eyes lit up. "Yes! To both!"

Oliver: Oliver chuckled, watched her excitement and lived through it a moment. "Alright." He counted the hours she would be here, and wondered, "Ya gonna be good t'drive back?"

Deirdre: "Aye, I should be fine. If no', maybe I can persuade a certain blond, dashin' individual to give me a ride home."

Oliver: The blond dashing individual hugged himself and sighed. "Yeah, of course." Then at some point he'd need to stop drinking...as much.

"Gonna check on the grill."

Deirdre: "Go on then." She would just keep looking at you the whole time you were in view.

Oliver: And his hands would remain attached to his ribs until reaching the door. He returned less than a moment later for tin foil, retreating again with the door trailing after his heel.

Deirdre: "How are the ribs lookin'?" she called. "Cookin' like ribs and no' like burgers?"

Oliver: "They ain't my best work. I'mma kick Les' ass."

Deirdre: "Aw, they can't be that bad, surely."

Oliver: "I shoulda foiled em."

Deirdre: “Too much of a char for how cooked they are?”

Oliver: "T'my likin'." He was remedying now, though this shouldn't have been her first meal.

First?

Oliver returned smelling of charcoal, meat and spice.

Deirdre: He smelled incredible. So much so that Deirdre leaned in to smell him and then just stayed that way.

Oliver: What a greeting. Impossible to wipe away a smile, nor the heat rising to his cheeks.

He made a small noise, something like approval, despite the self-hug.

Deirdre: Deirdre just grinned and made herself comfortable, curious how he’d react to what was now a complete lack of space between them.

Oliver: "What'r'ya tryin' t'do?" Words slurred by their softness.

Deirdre: "Get comfy," she said simply, cheek now resting against his arm. She'd found the perfect spot.

Oliver: Oliver swallowed. His arms loosened, forcing her to move long enough to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"We're both crazy, but you more."

Deirdre: As comfortable as his arm was, his chest was even more so and she was unabashedly snuggling against it.

She chuckled. "Why?"

Oliver: "Ya don't know if I'm some crazed serial killer."

Deirdre: "Crazed serial killers don't have sweet, well trained dogs and friends who sing their praises."

Oliver: "Sure they do! I dunno any but I mean...yeah?" His laugh became sheepish.

Deirdre: She chuckled. "They also don't help mamas and their babies. Leslie wasn't the only one singin' yer praises."

Oliver: "Gina's good people."

Deirdre: "I think so, too. And she thinks the same about ye."

Oliver: "N'so d'ya." You're all crazy.

Deirdre: “Aye, I do. And ye must think I’m fairly decent too, otherwise ye wouldn’t be sittin’ here with me.”

Oliver: Not that I'm desperate or don't care at all? Very confident, or good eyes.

"Maybe... somethin'," Oliver smiled.

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled back. She definitely had good eyes, and a good intuition.

“Aye, somethin’. Plus, we both like Archer. Only the best kinds of people like Archer.”

Oliver: "Ha!" His thumb circled her arm subconsciously.

"Comfortable?"

Deirdre: “So much.” She sighed contentedly. “Ye’re warm and ye smell good and ye’re comfortable.”

Oliver: "Mhm. I'm a treat." He knew their conversations should be more profound than this. If this was, in fact, a date, then an exchange of ideas, philosophy, politics, financial and career goals. None of it mattered to him. He couldn't will himself to care.

"I'm shit at conversation," he realized.

Deirdre: “Conversation is overrated. The real measure of a person is how they can handle comfortable silence.”

Oliver: Why did that remind him? "Shit, the cornbread." Without thinking, Oliver pressed his lips to Deirdre's forehead, excusing himself to the kitchen.

Deirdre: "Oh! Okay." Deirdre grinned, surprised and pleased at the unexpected affection. "The batter's already made."

Oliver: "He shoulda done the cornbread n'let me handle the barbecue." He knew he was just trying to be nice and give them space, but he wasn't sure the temperature Leslie used.

He made his best guess and stuffed the batter-filled skillet into the oven.

Deirdre: "At least he gave you a head start. Cornbread doesn't seem like an easy recipe to mess up."

Oliver: "It ain't, I guess. The batter's been out a while. I dunno what the hell's 'bout t'happen." He wanted to start today over. What a weird feeling.

Deirdre: "Worst case scenario, we'll end up with polenta instead o' bread. Win/win."

Oliver: Oliver made a face.

Deirdre: Deirdre laughed. "It'll be fine. This was always about the company, ye silly man."

Oliver: "Ya just called me silly?"

Deirdre: “Mayyyybe.”

Oliver: "Yeah?" He walked over, looming with intention, painting an intimidating figure...only to plop next to his guest with dead weight. Her shoulder was given a kiss.

Deirdre: Gods, but he was one hell of a specimen. Those eyes were so intense and a beautiful and--

A peal of delighted laughter echoed throughout the house. "Why thank ye," she giggled, leaning against him.

Oliver: "What cha thankin' me for?"

Deirdre: "For the kiss, ye silly man!"

Oliver: "People get thanked for kisses?" He rested his chin on her shoulder.

Deirdre: "They sure do." The opportunity was right there, she had to take it.

She kissed his cheek.

Oliver: Her bold, quick action extracted a surprised sound from his throat. He wasn't sure what to do in response, so...he just remained as is.

"Thank you."

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled and traced his jaw with her finger. "I could really just kiss ye properly right now."

Oliver: Oh, that was enough to steal his breath. He was watching her lips now.

"Shouldn't you know my name first?" he whispered.

Deirdre: "Aye," she whispered back, watching him watch her lips. "I should."

Oliver: "So... " He wanted to hear it from her, first. She needed to ask, or he'd prematurely end their game.

Deirdre: "What's yer name?"

Oliver: "...Oliver. I'm Oliver."

Deirdre: "Oliver..." A strong, dignified name for a strong man. "Nice to meet ye."

Oliver: "D'ya want me t'have yours?"

Deirdre: “Aye.” But you have to ask.

Oliver: Oh. He leaned closer, caution like a cat. His lips an inch from hers.

"What's your name, beautiful?"

Deirdre: "Deirdre," she murmured. "Deirdre MacAllister."

Oliver: "Nice t'meet ya, Deirdre."

Deirdre: "Isn't it just?" That last inch disappeared and her lips were on his.

Oliver: Once their lips touched, that was it. Nothing about the rest of the night mattered. The ribs could burn and the cornbread could turn to mush.

Deirdre's jaw was cupped, thumb sliding from her chin to her throat and back, sliding over the line of her jaw before cradling the back of her neck. Better than he'd imagined, and he had imagined. So many expectations. None which mattered now that he had her lips. His own were attentive, eager and yet timid, careful not to impose himself on her will.

Deirdre: There was nothing Oliver could've done in that moment to impose on her will in any way at all. Deirdre wanted this, wanted him, and she responded to his kiss with every ounce of enthusiastic gusto her body could hold.

Her arms came up to wrap around him and pull him close, wanting the heat and nearness of him.

She had imagined, too. Imagined what this beautiful mystery man would taste like and feel like, what his name would be.

Oliver. He looked and tasted and felt like...Oliver.

Oliver: He wanted to pick her up and feel her against his lap. For her to feel him as well, to know what she could do and what she had done. He wanted to taste her everywhere. Her tongue, her neck, her breasts. He was filled with heat and hunger.

But he breathed, and pulled himself back to catch his sanity. For why he had no fucking clue. Being an idiot, probably.

"I uh..."

Deirdre: Deirdre protested and chased his lips. "Just a wee longer, I don't smell burnin'." That meant they had some more time to start to get to know each other in this lovely intimate way.

Oliver: Her chase caught him off guard. A small noise of surprise flying away from his throat and between their lips. He had something to tell her, if this was going to go somewhere. Anywhere. It was her right to know. But that mouth was insatiable, and he was not the man to deny her.

Deirdre: There would be time later to be adults and talk things out, and Deirdre fully intended to do just that. She had no problem laying everything out on the table and being direct.

At the moment, however, all she wanted to do was indulge herself and kiss this truly beautiful mountain of a man and have him close. She'd been wanting to do this for what felt like ages and she had a feeling he had, too.

Oliver: "Dee." He'd meant to say her full name, but his mouth was otherwise occupied. And he forgot for a moment what it was he intended to say. Oh, there it was.

And gone again.

"Dee, baby," he found it again. He held that thought for longer than a second. "Wait, wait, wait."

Deirdre: Whatever lipstick Deirdre had been wearing when she arrived was well on its way to disappearing.

"Is somethin' wrong?" she asked, just a tad breathless.

Oliver: "I... No - No not - Nothin' wrong at all. You're perf ... perfect." She wasn't the only one breathless.

Deirdre: She wiped some of her lipstick off of him. "What is it?"

Oliver: "I have no idea how far ya wanna take this, but there's somethin' ya need t'know first. Okay?"

Deirdre: Deirdre nodded, brow furrowing slightly despite his assurance that nothing was wrong.

"Okay. I'm listenin'."

Oliver: "I..." Her host sighed. "I come with - I have a... a kid. A lil girl."

Deirdre: "Oh." The furrow cleared. The revelation was a surprise, but that's all there was. Surprise.

"That's lovely. How old is she?"

Oliver: Wait. That was it? No disapproving scoff or slack in her shoulders? He was waiting for a catch.

"She's...She's three. Amelia."

Deirdre: The complete opposite; her face softened and she smiled.

"Awww. I remember my nephew at that age. Wee ball of curls and energy. Does she live with ye?"

Oliver: "...No. But s'somethin' I think ya have a right t'know. Ya know...'fore this...goes...anywhere."

Deirdre: She tugged him closer by his shirt and kissed his cheek. "Thank ye for tellin' me."

Oliver: "Wanna...kiss me again?"

Deirdre: "I really fuckin' do," she said with a grin.

Oliver: The self-depreciation would come later. He didn't need to be told yes twice. His hand returned to the back of her neck, taking and giving what they both had wanted, he believed, since day one.

Deirdre: Since day one and since the very first moment she saw him, something about Oliver had just pulled at her.

Now he was pulling at her in a whole other kind of way. She wanted to see and feel more of him, wanted to learn the texture of his skin and feel every expanse of muscle.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt. Would he let her take it off?

Oliver: Only if Oliver was allowed to pull her into his lap. Hands fell to her thighs in silent request, searching her eyes as he licked his lips.

Deirdre: Just like him, Deirdre didn't have to be asked twice.

She would make herself comfortable on his lap and take off his shirt, pausing a moment to just...take him in.

Oliver: She would see clearly what had only been hints before. What he lacked in piercings he made up for in tattoos. A two-story house on his right arm; his daughter's name and date of birth on his left, down to the hour and minute. The man did not sport a farmer's tan. Rather, the warmth of his skin seemed to end at his belt line. His skin was warm, body taut, gently abused by years of labor and military service.

"M'gonna kiss ya some more," he whispered.

Deirdre: The absence of tan lines told her he spent a lot of time shirtless. The things he chose to tattoo into his skin told her what he held dear. The cut of his physique told her he worked long, hard hours. The whole of who he was, written right there on his skin beside his daughter's name.

Deirdre smiled. "Well, what are ye waitin' for?"

Oliver: Waiting for her permission. To slip his hands underneath her shirt, resting simply on her lower back. Nothing more for the sake of integrity, but still indulgent. Her mouth was his for the taking, offering his tongue and a shy laugh, breaking his kiss with a little smile.

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled against Oliver's lips. Oh, yes, by all means. Put those hands absolutely any and everywhere you want. She wasn't about to protest.

And that tongue? It was all hers.

Oliver: He wasn't going to question why it was this crazy beautiful woman was in his lap, why she was in his tattered trailer, why she was going out of her way to spend time with him. She didn't even live in this state, he reminded himself. This was how things could go terribly wrong, and yet he shivered into their kiss, pressed her body against his own and sighed.

Deirdre: The distance between their homes wasn't even a blip on Deirdre's radar. She knew how to bridge gaps in ways he couldn't imagine, at least not yet. This little matter of living on opposite sides of the country was just that: a little matter.

"I can hear ye thinkin'," she whispered.

Oliver: "Ya think so?"

Deirdre: "Mmhmm." She nipped his bottom lip. "I'm magic that way."

Oliver: "What m'I thinkin' then?" He chased those lips.

Deirdre: "That I can't say. I can just hear the wheels in yer head turnin'."

Oliver: "Click click click?"

Deirdre: "Like a well-oiled manly machine."

Oliver: "S'just thoughts of you."

Deirdre: "Well color me flattered." She pulled him in for more kisses.

Oliver: His hands climbed another inch and massaged. He could smell the cornbread and the barbeque and her perfume and something about the mixture made him want to laugh. The absurdity, he guessed. He managed to refrain to just a smile.

Deirdre: She could feel his smile and it brought on one of her own. She'd give anything to know what we was thinking. "Ye can take it off, ye know," Deirdre murmured.

Oliver: "Your shirt?"

Deirdre: "Aye. It's only fair."

Oliver: He wouldn't ask twice. "Arms up."

Deirdre: Up they went. As her shirt came off, it would reveal a candy pink bra and on her back, a large tattoo and several long healed scars.

Oliver: Oliver's brow wrinkled. He had followed the shirt up her back, only to find a familiar texture of trauma. He didn't want to ask; a part of him didn't want to see, but he was curious. Instead, he smiled at her bra. He'd half-expected something nude.

"Comfortable?"

Deirdre: “Very,” she said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry about the scars. They look worse than they are. A horse threw me when I was a teenager and I had a rough landin’.”

Oliver: "I was wonderin'," he said quietly.

Deirdre: “I know. I could see it here.” Deirdre gently stroked the furrow in his brow. “It happened years ago. They healed.”

Oliver: "You're okay." His way of saying he didn't think any less of her beauty. "I got all sorts of shit, most ya just can't see. Migraines..."

Deirdre: She smiled and kissed between his eyes. “I still plan to tackle those with my family’s remedy. They won’t be a problem for much longer.”

Oliver: "Ya make it sound like you're not goin' away."

Deirdre: "Ye didn't think I was, did ye?"

Oliver: "I mean at all." Both hands roamed from her shoulders to her neck, down her chest and over her stomach.

Deirdre: “I might for a while but it won’t be permanent.”

Oliver: "Missin' ya already," he whispered.

Deirdre: She leaned in to kiss him again. “Then we better make the most of this visit.”

Oliver: "We're at the mercy of the oven." He silently laughed.

Deirdre: "We can work around it," she said with a grin. "And work up our appetite while we're about it."

Oliver: "Or just burn the place down. S'also fine."

Deirdre: Deirdre laughed. "We won't get distracted enough for that." She reached into her pocket and pulled out to her phone. "How long has the cornbread got to cook?"

Oliver: "The timer's on." His hands slid back up her spine, holding her at her shoulders for another kiss.

Deirdre: "Then we're completely safe." She tossed her phone aside and took those lips for herself.

Oliver: Occupied by kisses, and an arm tight around her waist. Their bodies lifted. In a fluid movement she was pressed into the dingy couch, lips with haste and hunger covered from throat to mouth.

Deirdre: So fluid in fact that Deirdre hardly registered the movement at all until she felt the fabric of the couch against her back, so distracted was she by Oliver's mouth.

But since she could, she was just going to wrap herself around him like a particularly amorous snake so she could keep him right where she wanted him and feel as much of him as she could.

Oliver: Being so close, so warm and inviting, it hardly registered to Oliver that he had pressed himself against her, relieving himself and offering well-deserved friction in return.

"Mnn, fuck, sorry." Although what for he couldn't say. This was to be expected from pressing her body into the couch.

Deirdre: Deirdre purred beneath him, lifting her hips toward his. The last thing in the world he had to be was sorry.

"No sorry, just more."

Oliver: Fuck. She would feel a distinctive pulse between them. Her command would be obeyed, lips blindly in search of hers as he began a grinding rhythm.

Deirdre: She moaned into his kiss in both approval and encouragement. It seemed as though she could feel every inch of him and yet she wanted more. More heat, more friction, more him.

Deirdre freed one of her arms and felt around for the closure of his jeans.

Oliver: He swept his tongue over her lips, tasted her, and then realized where her hand was going.

"What d'ya want?"

Deirdre: Deirdre grinned as she finally got his button and zipper undone.

"You."

Oliver: "How much of me?" She knew his not-so-secret, but was there something else? Some caution he should be taking? His head was swimming with her, and he felt careless.

Deirdre: “As much as ye’re willin’ to give.” That was the important thing to her in this moment.

Oliver: His voice was gentle, careful even as he spoke nose-to-nose. "Tell me, crazy. D'ya want me t'fuck you?"

Deirdre: She smiled and leaned up for a teeny kiss. "Aye. I really do. Ye okay with that?"

Oliver: He would answer in action, lifting up and taking her clothes with him. Away with her jeans. Tossed into the accumulating pile with socks and panties. Careful, he told himself. Be very fucking careful not to - to what? She was the forward in this pairing. And he wanted her. He kissed her ankle like her lips. Left a trail of what towards her thigh.

Deirdre: Deirdre was all too happy to help him take off the rest of her clothes, completely comfortable in her bare skin and eager to feel all of his.

She made a happy little sound at the kiss, reaching for him.

"Get those lips up here, I miss them."

Oliver: "Up there?" he breathed against her skin. "But I like down here. Feels good." He was still clothed. Half-clothed, but enough incentive to take her hands and press against his jeans.

Deirdre: She grinned like the cat that caught the canary and slid those jeans as far down as she possibly could. She wanted to get her hands on all that lovely skin and muscle.

"Ye're right. Down here feels fantastic."

Oliver: Goddamn, she was beautiful. More delicate looking than he anticipated. He just wanted to remain on his knees, between her legs, admiring.

"Ya still want my lips?"

Deirdre: She reached for him again. "Aye, come over here so I can get back to bein' an octopus."

Oliver: He knew how they could compromise. Her small frame was pulled to his chest. Another flip. He wanted to see how she and feel everything within his power.

"Be an octopus, baby."

Deirdre: Deirdre didn't have to be told twice. She wrapped herself as completely around Oliver as was physically possible, stealing his lips as she let her hands roam.

She wanted to learn all of him, feel all of him, have all of him.

Oliver: A massive arm draped over her tiny waist. For a moment he worried the weight would be uncomfortable for her, before allowing himself to relax.

That itching thought again.

But still, he rubbed himself against her, allowed her to feel what she had done.

Deirdre: Oliver's arm on her waist was received with a content little purr that turned into a soft moan.

She pressed closer to him, seeking more friction for them both. Was she being too eager? Probably. Did she care?

Not a single bit.

Oliver: When Oliver finally reached between them, it was in an attempt to grasp himself, to rub with purpose against her clit, seeking mutual relief.

But he just had to say it.

"Con - Condoms."

Deirdre: Deirdre moaned again, hips slowly beginning to move of their own accord in pursuit of more; more pleasure, more relief, more closeness, more. The ache starting to build was almost enough to drive all precaution out of her head, but thankfully, not his.

"Where?" she asked between kisses.

Oliver: "Bathroom." One of them needed to get up, but he sure as hell didn't want to break their spell.

Deirdre: She groaned in protest. Dammit. Why the hell didn't she have any summoning powers? They would really come in handy in times like these where getting up was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

Rather than ask which one of them was going to go get them, she just ground her hips harder.

Oliver: Fuck. Her vigor was met with his own, pressing, teasing, and somehow restraining that very real urge to shove himself inside.

"You're killin' me, crazy."

Deirdre: "Said the pot to the kettle," she said around a breathy laugh, squeezing her legs around him. God, she wished he would just get in her. There really wasn't any reason for him not to.

She gave him one last kiss before pulling back a bit. "Grown up question. Ev'rythin' squared away down there?"

Oliver: A question to clear Oliver's throat. "I uh... yeah. Yeah I'm - last I checked." He never even thought to question that. His only concern had been children. He loved his daughter, but she had been the result of just this kind of recklessness.

Deirdre: "Brilliant, fuck the bloody condom." And back in she went for more kisses. She was a magical creature with magical birth control; a condom would only help with a mess she didn't give a single damn about.

Oliver: Both hands came to grip at her hips, squeezing and massaging. He wanted to be mindful. He wanted to put his foot down and carry her to the bathroom if need be, but he could hardly breathe between kisses, let alone think properly.

"Sit on it."

Deirdre: There was no need for anything except moving against him and breathing, which Deirdre finally let Oliver do as she took him at his word.

She lifted herself and reached for him, slowly guiding him inside her with a drawn out, relieved moan.

Oliver: "Fuck," was the only word in his vocabulary, pulling her back to his mouth. He wished he'd have gone down on her first. Maybe a mutual taste of each other on their tongues. He wanted to claim her in all things. He wanted to be claimed. He was stupidly in lust.

Deirdre: They had hours ahead of them, ready to be filled with just this.

But Deirdre wasn't thinking that far ahead quite yet. Her mind and her body were wholly consumed with the now, with the taste of him on her lips, the feel and heat of him inside her. Every little movement, fluid and graceful as it was, brought an equal measure of madness and relief.

Deirdre squeezed around him with all the muscles she possessed. However close they were, she wanted to be even closer. However many kisses he gave, she wanted even more. She wanted to be utterly consumed by Oliver Cole.

Oliver: Oliver was riding on the high of base needs. Nothing was more important than the feel of her skin and the tightness of her body. He felt at her stomach, ribs, breasts; caressed his way to her throat and down across her shoulders.

"Bounce for me."

Deirdre: She was bouncing before he even finished his sentence, shameless in her need and enthusiasm.  Her hair had come loose from its braid and paired with the thin sheen of sweat and her flushed skin, she looked very happily disheveled.

And just a little bit wicked as she bore down on him with each downward motion.

Oliver: Her breasts were pressed together and brought forward to kiss and lick. A particularly deep roll of her hips, and he began to suck. Fuck the grill and fuck the oven. It was going to beep any minute now. Let it burn.

Deirdre: Deirdre's breath stuttered around a soft little moan, tangling one hand in Oliver's hair to keep him close to her breast and using the other to brace herself on the couch.

The oven and the grill and their impending dinner were vague specks in her subconscious. She couldn't have begun to worry about them if she tried. There was only Oliver and what she was doing to him and what he was doing to her and how it was making her feel. There was only the building pleasure at her core and the needy pursuit of it.

Oliver: There was something absolutely fucking satisfying about being used by a woman for pleasure. There was no conceivable image that could beat a woman bouncing on cock.

Softly he bit a her, licked in feigned apology only to repeat his offense. His stomach and scrotum tightened for the inevitable.

"Fuckin' cum for me, crazy girl."

Deirdre: Gentle as it was, the bite made a pleased little sound escape Deirdre that landed somewhere between a gasp and a laugh and an approving hum.

So that's the way he wanted to play it, was it? Well that was just fine by her.

She released his head just long enough to guide his lips back to hers, kissing him for all she was worth as she squeezed around him again and let her hips pick up the pace.

Just a few moments more and she'd be gasping and crying out against his lips as she climaxed.

Oliver: Light scratches of worn fingernails down her spine. Encouraging squeeze of her hips. A gently playful bite to her swollen bottom lip. They would gasp in unison. He could feel her orgasm and it was fucking beautiful.

"Don't fuckin' stop. Don't stop. Fuckin' cum." So much he wanted to fill her. Watch himself drip down her thighs, mixed scents and maybe even savor the taste of her. But there was logic, once again, putting a damper on his fantasies.

"M'gonna cum." He raised her by her ribs in an attempt to rescue the situation.

Deirdre: Any tension she might have been carrying in any part of her body melted away with each pulsing wave of sensation. A delicate little furrow creased her brow as she rode them out, not the least bit shy about how loud or vocal she was.

And with all her muscles contracting around Oliver the last thing Deirdre wanted to do was move. She wasn't done with him yet, nor was he done with her.

"Do it," she murmured, holding tightly to him. "Nothin' bad will happen if ye do." Soft kisses were trailed down his jaw. "Just let go."

Oliver: "Goddammit." She really was crazy. He just attracted them somehow. And he was so goddamn useless to stop her.

Deirdre was pulled back down. Pressed to his chest to feel her warmth, take her as his own with every thick pulse.

Deirdre: Oliver was rewarded with another satisfied purr and more kisses placed anywhere she could reach. She was still riding the gently receding swells of her orgasm, and every throbbing pulse of liquid heat just made her want more.

Plenty of time left in the day for more.

She wouldn't move a single muscle even after Oliver had spent himself inside her; she would stay right where she was, pulling him in for lazy kisses.

Oliver: She could have his lips and tongue, chin and throat for all he cared. He would offer them freely.

And just in time to smell the cornbread.

"Hang onto me. Ready?" He lifted up to his feet. She was carried to the kitchen, hands firmly grasping at her ass and thigh. "Turn off the oven."

Deirdre: Freely offered and freely accepted. By the time she was done there wouldn't be one single, solitary inch of him that hadn't felt her lips.

"Mhmm." Deirdre locked her limbs around him like the octopus she was, only freeing one hand to turn off the oven for him like they did this every day. "Smells lovely. Like you."

Oliver: "You smell lovely." Tiny kisses made a wet necklace of her throat.

Deirdre: She laughed softly and nuzzled him. "Well look at us, just a pair o' lovely smellin' people standin' in a kitchen, fused together."

Oliver: "Want me t'pull out?" he grinned.

Deirdre: "No, stay." She kissed that grinning mouth.

Oliver: Too little too late, but he felt compelled to ask, "Are ya on the pill?"

Deirdre: Deirdre nodded. "Aye." In a manner of speaking.

Oliver: He had to look her in the eyes for this. Jantine had said the same. She hadn't looked him in the eyes, though. She'd been in the shower when she promised. Maybe it had been the truth, but Amelia had been the result anyway.

Deirdre: She met his gaze dead on, expression open and honest and serene. "The only surprise will be whether those ribs on the grill survive."

Oliver: He smiled. "Those got another hour. I got ya for even longer."

Deirdre: "How lucky for me," she said with a grin, resuming her kisses.

Oliver: Saying nothing of sanitation, Deirdre was placed on the kitchen counter. Finally giving himself the opportunity to kiss down her body, worshiping this beautiful petite creature.

Deirdre: Deirdre purred and hummed in delight at his ministrations, sneaking in her own kisses and nuzzles and love bites where she could. The smell of the cornbread was making her perfectly ravenous but even that couldn't sway her attention away from Oliver.

"Ye're awfully good at that."

Oliver: "What? Givin' ya kisses?"

Deirdre: Mmhmmmm. And ev’rythin’ really.”

Oliver: "Everything? Should be sayin' that t'you."

Deirdre: "By all means," she said with a grin. "Rain compliments on me."

Oliver: "Most beautiful," he kissed her, "crazy woman I've ever met."

Deirdre: Deirdre hummed against his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck. "To think that we only met because yer truck wasn't workin'."

Oliver: "T'think I met a woman from Scotland, n'she wanted t'spend the night with me."

Deirdre: She laughed softly. "Well who could blame the lass. Look at ye." She nipped his bottom lip. "Absolutely stunnin' man."

Oliver: He watched her with absolute awe. "You're the only woman that's ever said that."

Deirdre: "Tellin' ye. All the women ye've known have been blind as bats."

Oliver: "Maybe you're just somethin' else. I like that better."

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled and kissed him again. “A good somethin’ else?”

Oliver: "I sure hope so."

Deirdre: Have another kiss. "So how'd the cornbread turn out?"

Oliver: "It turned out," he chuckled through his nose. "Wanna try some? Got some honey."

Deirdre: “Aye, if you promise no’ to judge me for the ungodly amount o’ honey I’ll end up usin’.”

Oliver: "Sweet tooth?" He turned his nose to the stove. "Grab that there oven mitt thingy n'we'll pull it out."

Deirdre: “Sort of,” she said, reaching over to grab the oven mitt. “I just really like honey.”

Oliver: "No wonder ya taste sweet."

Deirdre: "Charmin' as well as handsome. I feel extra lucky today."

Oliver: "Is that charm, cheese, or honesty."

Deirdre: "Complete honesty," she said, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Oliver: "It can be all three." He turned to catch her lips.

Deirdre: She hummed happily. “No cheese, just truth. I’ll give ye the charm though.”

Oliver: "Then keep that honesty n'tell me 'bout Leslie's cornbread."

Deirdre: “Give us a taste then.”

Oliver: He would use his fingers, prying a piece to feet by hand. Not as sweet as cornbread outside of the south had become. Textured. Leslie knew his friend's recipe by heart.

Deirdre: Deirdre took it--perhaps with a little more show than was strictly necessary--and immediately beamed her approval. "Thank the good lord, he didn't put any sugar in it. It's lovely."

Oliver: "How would ya know the difference, Scotland?"

Deirdre: "Ye Americans like things so bloody sweet, all the time. One o' my ranch hands likes puttin' half a bag o' sugar in his cornbread and I just can't do it."

Oliver: "Don't lump Tennessee with all them idiots."

Deirdre: "Is Tennessee anti-sugar in cornbread?"

Oliver: "We want shit done right."

Deirdre: "Can't argue with that. What's yer stance on addin' in cheese, jalapenos, and bacon? That's what my sister does."

Oliver: "What? T'fuckin' cornbread?" He made a face.

Deirdre: "Jazzed up cornbread."

Oliver: "Cheese, bacon, n'jalapenos go in macaroni, not cornbread."

Deirdre: "She puts them in there, too. I think she just really likes that combination."

Oliver: "Well, what about ya?"

Deirdre: "What flavor combination do I like?"

Oliver: "Yeah. What d'ya like?"

Deirdre: "Hmm....maple bacon and pecan anythin'. Spciy sweet anythin'. Salted caramel."

Oliver: "Ah. Well. Welcome t'the south."

Deirdre: "Happy to be here," she said with a grin. "What about you, what are yer favorites?"

Oliver: A single finger pointed outside.

Deirdre: "Just ribs?"

Oliver: "All barbecue. I live off of meat."

Deirdre: "Spoken like a proper Southern lad."

Oliver: "Ever had collard greens?"

Deirdre: "Once. They're no' my favorite."

Oliver: "Turnip greens? Mustard greens?"

Deirdre: She shook her head. "Nope. I'm more of a creamed spinach kind o' lass."

Oliver: "What's that?"

Deirdre: "It's basically spinach dip but acceptable as a side dish."

Oliver: "Ain't even gonna be around long enough t'ask for it."

Deirdre: "There's always next time."

Oliver: "Sure." She was carefully left on the counter. He retrieved their underwear and excused himself to check on the grill.

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled after him, admiring the view for a moment before hopping off the counter and heading for the bathroom.

Some cleanup was required before her underwear could go back on.

Oliver: Everything has survived their bit of distraction. A miracle if ever there was one. He could just afford the trailer with the monthly payments to his ex. The last thing he needed was a pile of ash for his dog to piss on.

At least none of the neighbors gave two shits about a man walking around in his boxers.

He headed back inside.

"Where'd ya go, crazy?"

Deirdre: “Bathroom!” she called. “How are the ribs? Do we have enough time to feel each other up in the shower?”

Oliver: "Ya wanna share that shower with me?" It was as to be expected, cramped and beginning to lean.

Deirdre: Deirdre sized it up and smiled. “We’ve got to do our bit for conservation.”

Oliver: "Not gonna fuckin' complain 'bout havin' ya against me."

Deirdre: "Well come over here then." She turned on the water and adjusted the temperature to her preferred point between lukewarm and cool.

Oliver: Oliver watched from the doorway, arms crossed. She was just right at home, wasn't she? "You're so fuckin' beautiful."

Deirdre: Deirdre glanced at him over her shoulder and grinned.

"Right back at ye, silly man."

Oliver: "Not the same. A naked woman just makin' herself at home in my trailer. A gorgeous, crazy woman, with eyes on me."

Deirdre: The smile grew as she stepped into the shower and beckoned him closer.

Oliver: Round two with the boxers. His arm wrapped around her waist before closing the dingy curtain.

"Ya just fit just right."

Deirdre: "The advantage of bein' petite." She took his face in her hands and pulled him down for a kiss.

Oliver: Massive hands came to rest on her ass. He offered his tongue for her leisure.

Deirdre: Deirdre took her time tasting him, slowly guiding them directly under the spray. She couldn't wait to get her hands all over him under the pretext of washing him clean.

Might as well start now.

Oliver: So long since he'd showered with a woman, he didn't know where else to put his hands but underneath her hair. Massage the back of her neck and scalp.

"All I got's Head & Shoulders. Gonna," kiss, "fuck up your hair?"

Deirdre: She wasn't complaining one bit; as long as his hands were on her, she was happy.

"Shampoo is shampoo," she said against his lips. "My hair will be fine."

Oliver: "Gonna smell like a man goin' home."

Deirdre: She grinned up at him. "A nice bonus for me."

Oliver: "Gonna steal one of my shirts, too?"

Deirdre: "Don't tempt me, I just might."

Oliver: "Ya can have one without stealin'."

Deirdre: "Really? Aw, thank ye." Have a kiss.

Oliver: "No nice shirts, though. I only got a few of em," he chuckled.

Deirdre: “Just give me a T-shirt and I’ll be golden.”

Oliver: "With a hole in it?"

Deirdre: “Dealer’s choice.”

Oliver: "What about the smelliest, oldest shirt I got?" he grinned.

Deirdre: “Depends what ye mean by smelly. If it smells like ye, brilliant. If it hasn’t gone through the wash in the while, hang on to it.”

Oliver: "Smells like me, yeah. N'the docks I work at."

Deirdre: “Leave out the docks, just give me one that smells like you.”

Oliver: "Ya serious? Ya really want one of my shirts?"

Deirdre: "If ye don't mind me havin' it, aye."

Oliver: "I don't...mind. Somethin' to remember me by."

Deirdre: "Aye. Until the next time I come for a visit."

Oliver: "Yeah. Sure." Both hands made a mess of her hair. "Ya want this washed?"

Deirdre: "Aye, if ye'll massage my head while ye're about it."

Oliver: "If ya'll do the same for me."

Deirdre: "I'm massagin' ye from top to bottom."

Oliver: "Careful with the bottom part," he smirked.

Deirdre: She grinned. "Is it still a wee sensitive?"

Oliver: "Still? What's this 'still'?"

Deirdre: "Ah, I see. Always sensitive, then."

Oliver: "What?" he laughed.

Deirdre: "I plan to pay quite a bit of attention to the bottom part. Can't do that if touchin' ye is goin' to border on the painful."

Oliver: "You're... gonna what now?"

Deirdre: Deirdre just smiled. "Want yer front washed first or yer back?"

Oliver: He would let that slide, whatever it was. "Front." So I can look at you.

Deirdre: "Front it is."

Deirdre wet and lathered up the wash cloth and, starting at his lips, slowly worked her way down his body. She would kiss and cleanse his skin in tandem, not leaving a single inch untouched.

Oliver: Those would be a lot of kisses. Oliver couldn't help his laugh, nor the way his body firmed in response. He would not apologize; there was nothing to be sorry for. Not with her.

Deirdre: There was absolutely nothing to be sorry for. This was exactly what Deirdre wanted; for Oliver to feel relaxed and comfortable.

And aroused.

However, she purposely avoided his shaft in her exploration, focusing instead on his legs.

Oliver: "Hey now," he laughed. His cock visibly twitched, needy. "D'we need t'bargain? I'll drop knee right now."

Deirdre: She smiled against his thigh. “There’s no need for all that. Just a wee bit o’ patience, silly man. Just a wee bit o’ patience.”

Oliver: "I got patience. I got plenty of that. M'just sayin'."

Deirdre: “Well don’t ye worry.” She switched over to the other side, starting at his hip. “Ye won’t have to drop knee. I’m goin’ to get to absolutely all of ye.”

Oliver: "Are ya sure? My tongue could be in your pussy right now."

Deirdre: "Completely sure. This stunnin' body o' yers needs some appreciation."

Oliver: Stunning, really? He'd never seen himself in that light. It was just a body. Fit, but nothing special. He believed her, though. That look in her eyes, her warm tongue, was all honesty.

"M'gonna have my mouth between your legs soon."

Deirdre: "Not until I'm done with ye," she said with a grin.

Only after his whole front was washed and rinsed did she finally turn her attention to his shaft. Using the softest, lightest touch possible, she slowly started to clean him. Any kisses she give him were feather-light, chaste, and fully designed to drive him mad.

Oliver: For a body fully flushed and needy, driving to insanity was no difficult feat. His next throb nearly smacked her square in the eye.

"Ahn, sorry," he laughed.

Deirdre: Deirdre just chuckled softly. "He's a lively lad." She pressed a tiny kiss to the tip. "No need to be sorry for that."

And now back to ignoring his shaft as she dedicated her loving and cleansing attention to his scrotum.

Oliver: A fist gently smacked against tile. Something for composure. He fought the curl of his toes, the jerk of his muscles, and the threatening moan in the back of his throat.

"You're crazy, baby."

Deirdre: "Crazy about you, silly man."

It was only right to give him some relief, poor thing. So she straightened and started working on his back.

Oliver: He blindly reached for some part of her to caress. Maybe a teasing squeeze of her breast.

Deirdre: Deirdre hummed softly, moving so she was in better reach until deciding to go all the way and just press herself against him. He could feel all of her as she kissed his back and let one hand sneak around to his front.

Oliver: There was something incredibly erotic about the warmth of a woman's naked body. More to have that body skin-to-skin with himself. Not just any woman. This crazy beautiful creature.

"Where's that hand goin'?"

Deirdre: "Right here," she said, smile evident in her voice. Her hand had stopped just below Oliver's navel and was petting him there.

She pressed a kiss directly in the middle of his back and lowered herself down again to wash the rest of him.

And maybe give that ass of his a teeny tiny soft bite.

Oliver: Jesus. Oliver visibly shivered. He could safely say no one had ever touched him there before. He didn't know what to do, other than keep his hands on the wall and steady himself.

Deirdre: Judging from Oliver's reaction, Deirdre felt safe in assuming that none of this other partners had given him this type of affection before. Which to her was a damn shame.

The other cheek was given a kiss before she finished washing his legs.

Oliver: "Your turn." More soap - no, he should start with her hair. She was going to smell like a man leaving this house, and in a way, it was a mark of pride. Wearing one of his shirts no less. At least, some part of him hoped.

"Turn 'round for me. Tilt your head back."

Deirdre: She obligingly turned and tilted her head back, but first she put herself directly beneath the spray to finish wetting her hair.

Oliver: To comb his fingers through that hair was truly a pleasure indeed. Gently, he tugged for the tactile pleasure. Kissed at her neck and shoulder.

Deirdre: Deirdre closed her eyes and purred like a cat. His touch felt bloody magical.

"How ye feelin'?" she asked.

Oliver: "Like I had a massage," he said to her skin.

Deirdre: "Mmm, good. I'm no' done with ye yet."

Oliver: "What more can ya do t'me?"

Deirdre: "Have to wash yer hair for one."

Oliver: "Yours first." Which he was only halfway finished with.

Deirdre: "Take all the time ye like," she said with a content sigh. "Feels lovely."

Oliver: "Yeah? M'not bein' too rough?" Not as fluid as a professional massage therapist, but the effort was made with care.

Deirdre: “No, no’ at all. It’s perfect. I could fall asleep if I wasn’t standin’.”

Oliver: "I've done that," he muttered, turning her just enough to begin the rinse.

Deirdre: “Fell asleep on yer feet like a horse?”

Oliver: "N'tipped over like a cow."

Deirdre: "Poor lamb. Hard work that day?"

Oliver: "Yep. Sunburned n'fuckin' exhausted."

Deirdre: "Did someone pick ye up at least?"

Oliver: "Nah. Just curled up somewhere else t'sleep. Ya never been exhausted?"

Deirdre: "Aye. I always seem to wake up on a soft surface. Except for a notable time that I woke up in the same pub I'd been in the night before."

Oliver: "The fuck?" he chuckled.

Deirdre: "I spent the previous night gettin' sloshed with my cousins."

Oliver: "No one fucked with ya?"

Deirdre: "It was a pub in the village I grew up in. They just covered us with a tartan."

Oliver: "That the kilt thing?"

Deirdre: "Aye. It can be folded into a kilt or used as a shawl. We call it a plaid but my ranch hands kept gettin' confused when I called it that so, tartan."

Oliver: "Ya got family colors or somethin'?"

Deirdre: "All Scottish clans do. Each one has its own tartan, which is the pattern Americans call plaid."

Oliver: "What's your colors?"

Deirdre: "Our tartan is red and green and white."

Oliver: "That's so Scottish m'seein' sheep."

Deirdre: Deirdre laughed. "As Scottish as bagpipes. Which several people in my family can play."

Oliver: "I already got migraines. Don't tell me this."

Deirdre: “I promise no’ to sic my piper cousins and uncles on ye.”

Oliver: Oliver simply smiled, not realizing he was standing there staring.

Deirdre: When Oliver didn’t move for a bit, Deirdre turned to face him. “What?” she chuckled.

Oliver: "Hmm? Oh, shit. Sorry." His laugh was sheepish.

Deirdre: “No need for all that. What were ye thinkin’ about?”

Oliver: "Nothin', really."

Deirdre: "Give us a kiss then, silly man."

Oliver: He would, but not where she probably expected or even wanted. Lips pressed just beneath her eye.

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled. "Sweet man."

Oliver: "Crazy woman."

Deirdre: She laughed and turned back around. "Am I ready to rinse?"

Oliver: "You're good." And he would continue to help, almost tangling his fingers in the process.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Deirdre: "You're fine," she chuckled. "My hair's been much, much worse off than bein' washed by a handsome man."

Oliver: "I think you're bein' lenient on me."

Deirdre: "I've had a bat tangled in my hair before. Countless nettles. A round brush durin' an ill-fated quest to become Farrah Fawcett."

Oliver: "Why Farrah Fawcett?" Just to hear her speak.

Deirdre: “My grandmama had a magazine with her on the cover in all her feathered hair glory and I decided I must have hair like that.”

Oliver: "Think I'm gettin' her mixed with Jane Fonda."

Deirdre: "Farrah was the one in Charlie's Angels."

Oliver: "I ain't seen it."

Deirdre: "We're goin' to have to fix that."

Oliver: "Fix huh?"

Deirdre: "Aye. Ye need the original Charlie's Angels in yer life."

Oliver: "Did I tell ya I didn't watch movies as a kid?"

Deirdre: “What about TV shows? That’s what the original was.”

Oliver: "No TV where I grew up. Not allowed."

Deirdre: “Ye realize ye just signed up for many, many marathons.”

Oliver: "What are ya gonna make me watch?"

Deirdre: “So many things. Charlie’s Angels for starters.”

Oliver: "That somethin' ya got with ya, somehow?"

Deirdre: “I don’t but I’m sure we can find it somewhere.”

Oliver: "Ready t'get out?"

Deirdre: “As soon as I wash yer hair.”

Oliver: Oliver dropped his head for her mercy.

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled to herself and kissed the top of it before thoroughly lathering shampoo into his hair and gently massaging.

Oliver: "I can smell the grill."

His hands came to rest on her waist, giving a brief squeeze before gently traveling over her back.

Deirdre: "Well we can't have that," she said, still massaging his head. "We have to get it out."

Oliver: "Ya even hungry anymore?"

Deirdre: "Starvin'."

Oliver: "Can't have that," he echoed. "Lemme rinse."

Deirdre: "Go on then." She guided his head under the spray.

Oliver: Oliver held his breath long enough to tilt his head back, relaxing under the heavy uneven pelt of water growing colder by the minute.

The faucet squeaked off. "Stay. I'll get your towel."

Deirdre: Deirdre gathered her hair to squeeze out the water and nodded. "All right. Careful gettin' out, wouldn't want ye slippin'."

Oliver: Oliver looked around his body, making a show of the action.

Deirdre: She just grinned to herself and admired the view. He really was stunning, all muscular and wet as he was.

Oliver: "I don't see the flower petals on me."

Deirdre: "That's all right, I do."

Oliver: "I dunno how t'respond t'that, so, towels." The largest he could find, clean as it happened to be, was wrapped over her shoulders.

Deirdre: She chuckled as she snuggled into it. "I really have a gift for surprisin' ye into speechlessness, don't I?"

Oliver: "I don't talk much anyway."

Deirdre: "So it's an extra accomplishment," said Deirdre, carefully stepping out of the shower. "I'm proud."

Oliver: Oliver caught himself before his hands hovered, knowing how slippery his bathtub could be. Like much of the house, hadn't been cleaned in ages.

"Gonna check on the grill."

Deirdre: "All rightie. Mind ye, don't let the neighbors see ye bare-assed nude."

While he was off doing that, Deirdre secured the towel around her and searched for a brush or a comb.

Oliver: A pair of boxers would suffice. Nothing unusual in this neighborhood. A quick back and forth with pine-scented deodorant and he was out the door.

Deirdre: Deirdre managed to find a comb and tame her hair, also helping herself to his deodorant before putting her bra and underwear on. That's as far as getting dressed would go, she didn't feel like putting her pants on.

Now to make more kissy faces at Humphreys.

Oliver: The scent of charcoal and meat wafted from the dingy front door. The sound of a beer being opened. A sound similar enough to Humphreys' wet food to gallop across the house and down the steps in a single bound, tripping on his ears.

"This ain't food ya mutt."

Deirdre: Deirdre laughed from inside the house. "He went out there so fast," she called to Oliver. "Is that the sound his food makes?"

Oliver: "Yeah," he called back in full voice. "S'a dry food day. He'll live."

Deirdre: "He needs a treat to compensate." She made herself comfortable on the couch. "Humphreys! C'mere, lad!"

Oliver: It was as though she'd always been. It felt so natural to have her, and gave no thought towards her being so comfortable for his dog. Humphreys loved her already, but he was a dog. He would love anyone willing to give him an ounce of attention, and she had her weight in affection.

"Hungry?"

Deirdre: "I'm proper famished at this point," she laughed. "It smells so good. How do the ribs look?"

Oliver: "Like a B rather than an A+ so... how ya feel 'bout B ribs?"

Deirdre: "Verra favorable, give them here."

Oliver: Humphreys followed behind as Oliver returned to the kitchen. His begging was met with a hiss, and away he went to sulk on the couch.

"Did ya want... somethin' other than cornbread n'ribs?" Not that he had much else to offer, but still.

Deirdre: "I'm a simple country lass, meat and bread is just about all I need." Deirdre welcome Humphreys with open arms, scratching him behind the ears and lavishing him with praise.

Oliver: "Wanna eat over here, or there?"

Deirdre: “Let’s eat in the kitchen,” she said, getting to her feet. “Less potential mess.”

Oliver: "He knows better, but he's a beggar."

Deirdre: "Like any proper pup. I can't be swayed, lovey," she added to Humphreys, trying to look firm. She was mostly lying, but he didn't know that.

Oliver: Oliver made himself a bowl of pulled sweaty meat from the bone and crushed cornbread. Hot sauce included in sparse drips.

"Ya want BBQ sauce, honey, hot sauce...?"

Deirdre: "Honey for cornbread, barbecue sauce for ribs."

Oliver: Both were given, leaning his elbows against the kitchen counter. He was fine with silence, but he realized he should probably fill the air with something.

"...Ya want, uh, music, or...?"

Deirdre: Deirdre put an ungodly amount of honey on her cornbread, humming happily as she took her first bite.

"This is fine," she said. "A nice quiet moment is nice ev'ry now and then."

Oliver: "That's nice," he smirked.

Deirdre: She laughed. "So nice. Let's get a taste of these ribs and see how ye did."

Oliver: "Not my best," he frowned, "I'll kick the hippie out sooner next time."

Deirdre: Like the cornbread, these too got a happy hum of approval. "If this is no' yer best then yer best must be truly bloody spectacular because these are great."

Oliver: Oliver wasn't used to such praise. He couldn't say anyone had ever given as easily. Like her smile. Not even the fucking hippie was so generous. He couldn't pin how to react other than an awkward smile.

Deirdre: He was getting better at taking compliments already, he hadn't even tried to deflect.

"Stunnin' and handy in the kitchen to boot. The heavens have truly smiled on me."

Oliver: Okay, that was pushing it. His shoulders tightened towards his neck. Deep breath. "Mm." An uncomfortable laugh followed his exhale.

Deirdre: Getting better but not quite there. She'd give him a break for now.

"What else do ye like to make? Just stuff on the grill or?"

Oliver: "Grill, yeah. If it ain't grill s'them TV dinners."

Deirdre: “Not a fan o’ the stove?”

Oliver: "S'an electric stove. I burn everything."

Deirdre: “The medium settin’ is yer friend.”

Oliver: "Is that 4 or 6 'cause I can't figure it out. Everything boils over."

Deirdre: "It's 5, unless the dial doesn't let ye set it between two numbers."

Oliver: "Five is certain death."

Deirdre: She laughed around a bite of cornbread. "Is that the settin' where things always burn and boil over?"

Oliver: "Five t'seven, yep."

Deirdre: "In that case, stick to four."

Oliver: "S'probably gone t'shit. Or maybe I just stick t'the grill."

Deirdre: "That still gives ye lots of options for things to cook."

Oliver: "Been wantin' to uh... learn... other things on the grill."

Deirdre: “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Oliver: "Like anything else. Pork n'beans. Vegetables 'sides corn."

Deirdre: “Have ye ever had grilled fruit?”

Oliver: "Pineapple. Is there more?"

Deirdre: “Peaches, plantains.”

Oliver: "Ain't had that."

Deirdre: “Grilled peaches are so good with vanilla ice cream. Ye should try it.”

Oliver: "I... I'd - Next time, maybe."

Deirdre: Deidre smiled. “Next time. We’ll grill fruit and cook on the stove.”

Oliver: "Ha! You'll cook on the stove n'I'll feel ya up from behind."

Deirdre: “Ev’rythin’ will really end up burned and boiled over then,” she chuckled.

Oliver: "M'willin' t'take that risk." This time, a smile.

Deirdre: It was returned tenfold. "Well in that case, we'll have to see what we can cook up."

Oliver: "Ya make it sound like you'll be back soon."

Deirdre: “I plan to be.”

Oliver: "How often are ya gone?"

Deirdre: "Fairly often. I go visit my sister and my mama and go to business meetin's out of state."

Oliver: "How often does that lead ya to your cousin?"

Deirdre: "No' as often as I like but that's about to change."

Oliver: He wasn't going to read into that. Not on day two, despite their intimacy. His brain could not process the insinuation.

"Are you um... D'ya wanna stay... the night?"

Deirdre: Deirdre smiled. "I'd love to, if ye'll have me."

Oliver: "Yeah, or I wouldn't ask." His expression shallowed as he swallowed down his bite of cornbread. "I mean, yeah. Of course. I want ya."

Deirdre: Precious man. How'd she manage to find him?

"Then it looks like I'm stayin'," she said brightly.

Oliver: His words not sharp enough to cause a fight? Jantine would have circled like a shark with blood. He wasn't stupid; she wasn't Jantine. Nothing like her. So that meant he didn't deserve her.

Oliver just smiled, brief and blatantly strained.

Deirdre: "I can hear them from here." She tore off a piece of meat and not-so-sneakily passed it to Humphreys.

Oliver: "Hmm?" Oliver looked up from his bowl.

Deirdre: "The wheels turnin' in yer head."

Oliver: "They're rusty."

Deirdre: "No shame in that at all."

Oliver: "Got experience with it?"

Deirdre: "We all accumulate some rust as we go through this mortal coil."

Oliver: "People actually talk like that?"

Deirdre: Her laugh was quick and bright. “My grandda says it a lot.”

Oliver: "What, 'mortal coil' bit?"

Deirdre: “Aye. It’s true though.”

Oliver: "I guess. Ya sound unscathed."

Deirdre: “Time is a decent balm. No’ great, but decent.”

Oliver: "Too early t'talk about it?"

Deirdre: “No’ much to talk about. Shitty people come to all of us at least once in our lives and take a little piece of us with them. If we’re lucky, we can get it back.”

Oliver: "Wish I could agree. The piece from me I can't reverse."

Deirdre: “Sometimes we’re lucky, and sometimes we have to grab Fate by the throat and shake it out o’ her.”

Oliver: "Jesus, you're violent," Oliver laughed.

Deirdre: Deirdre laughed with him. “Fate can be a right proper bitch, it’s completely justified.”

Oliver: "I ain't given it much thought," he admitted.

Deirdre: "Most people don't. Unless they're Scots. Scots think a lot about Fate."

Oliver: "Why's that?"

Deirdre: "Must be somethin' in our DNA. Or our environment. Have ye ever been to the Highlands?"

Oliver: "Ya know I haven't. Ain't been anywhere that wasn't a deployment."

Deirdre: "They bring ye to tears."

Oliver: "Mountains? I mean... I can see that. What gets me is... Ever seen Oklahoma? Just green. Flat green n'nothin' else. No trees. Nothin'. That shit got to me."

Deirdre: "I've never been but parts o' Montana are similar. Bein' a Highland lass, of course I've always preferred the mountains. No' just them on their own. I've seen lots o' mountains that haven't gotten the same reaction outta me."

Oliver: "So, gonna ask a stupid question now. Ready?"

Deirdre: “Ask me anythin’ ye like.”

Oliver: "Ya know how t'mountain climb?"

Deirdre: "I do! Someday I want to climb a glacier."

Oliver: "Wow. Ya just said that."

Deirdre: "I did," she chuckled. "They're beautiful and I want to see one and climb one."

Oliver: "I ain't climbed anything but bars in basic."

Deirdre: "Have ye ever wanted to?"

Oliver: "Ain't been a thought. I work on fishin' boats. More about...ya know...not drownin'."

Deirdre: "Do ye ever swim or dive for fun?"

Oliver: "Yeah. Shoulda been in a different branch."

Deirdre: "Ye could always look for buried treasure as a side job."

Oliver: Now that was something. He leaned against the counter again, took a sip of his beer. "Ya swim?"

Deirdre: "Aye," she said with a nod. "I grew up on an island."

Oliver: "So, ya own a ranch. Ya climb mountains. Ya swim. Ya love dogs. Ya have the confidence of a queen. Ya like cornbread n'ribs..."

Deirdre: "Of a queen? That might be pushin' it. But aye, all the rest are true." She gave him a playful squint. "Ye sound like ye're waitin' for a but."

Oliver: "Probably better than a queen. No one tryin' t'behead ya." Oliver silently laughed.

Deirdre: If he only knew.

"Better than a queen? What's better than a queen?"

Oliver: "The jester," he grinned.

Deirdre: "Oh aye?" Deirdre laughed. "The confidence of a jester is better than that of a queen, is it?"

Oliver: "The jester is the only one that can make fun of royalty."

Deirdre: "Ah." She nodded sagely. "Point verra well made."

Oliver: "You're just smilin' n'noddin'," he laughed.

Deirdre: "Well, I can't help it. Yer worldview fascinates me. Say more lovely things, stunnin' man."

Oliver: "What?" he blushed.

Deirdre: God, that face. She needed to kiss it and she needed to kiss it right the hell now.

"C'mere."

Oliver: Oliver dropped his spoon into his bowl. He didn't need to be told twice.

"Yes ma'am?"

Deirdre: Deirdre cupped his face in both hands and brought him in for a kiss.

Oliver: A kiss he would gladly accept and return in equal measure.

Deirdre: She purred in approval, using her legs to draw him closer. Lovely, beautiful blushing man. She wanted to eat him up, in more ways than one.

"I'm goin' to have ye for dessert," she whispered.

Oliver: "That's the best news I've had all day," he grinned. "Can I have ya for dessert?"

Deirdre: "Mmhmmm....." She nipped his bottom lip. "But I'm havin' ye first."

Oliver: "You're so... crazy." His laugh was broken by a kiss, forgetting all about dinner as he wedged himself between her legs.

Deirdre: Deirdre hummed contentedly. Crazy about you, she thought. Crazy about you.

"Finished eatin' then?"

Oliver: "Ya full? Ain't gotta act it up 'round me."

Deirdre: "I'm many things, but dainty around food isn't one o' them. Pass us that last bit o' cornbread. I'll finish it off before I get started on ye."

Oliver: Obedient, but disbelieving laughter just the same. "You're gonna what?"

Deirdre: She just grinned as she popped the last bite of bread in her mouth.

"All in due time. Fancy the couch again or would ye rather the bed?"

Oliver: Oliver was suddenly well aware of the state of his house. Of his shitty couch. Of the bed that needed making, possibly another wash. The smell of dog and the abysmal carpet. Things he never gave a shit about now glaring. He wouldn't call himself embarrassed. Too proud for that.

Deirdre was pulled by her thighs, lifted by her ass into his arms and carried to the bedroom.

Deirdre: "Oh!" Deirdre laughed as he carried her past the couch. "Well that settles that. Bed it is."

Now to take those lips again.

Oliver: Distracting lips caused a mild collision with the wall. Not enough to bruise his shoulder, but a damn good thump before fumbling for the doorknob.

Deirdre: She tried to stifle another laugh, rubbing that shoulder gently in apology.

"Ye all right?"

Oliver: "Mhm." But would Deirdre, after being thrown onto the bed was a separate question. Six feet two of man lumbering after to tower at her thighs.

Deirdre: Deirdre would be just fine. Delighted even, letting herself sprawl on the bed for a moment before propping herself up on her elbows.

She grinned at Oliver. "Don't go gettin' any ideas, silly man. I'm havin' ye first."

Oliver: "I can't have a taste?"

Deirdre: "No' until I'm done," she said, beckoning him close.

Oliver: "That won't take long. Sorry," he chuckled.

Deirdre: Her smile only got wider. "It's about the journey, lovey, no' the destination."

Oliver: "That's so sexy." Have a kiss for your sexiness.

Deirdre: Deirdre gave a satisfied little hum, cupping the back of his head with one hand as she shifted and gently nudged him until he was on his back.

Oliver: A teddy bear, he was, falling onto his back with ease. Smile still constant and warm, forming tight lines around his mouth and brightening his eyes.

Deirdre: God, that smile was like a punch of sunshine straight to the gut. She wanted to keep it in place for the rest of the night, or at least as long as possible.

"Just relax, okay?" She kissed that smile, then his jaw and his neck.

Oliver: "Mhm." Fingers combed through her hair, nearly tangled. Already firm and wanting, eager to please in as many ways as allowed.

Deirdre: "Lovely." Deirdre kissed him one more time before she started working her way slowly downward.

How was it, she wondered, that he'd never received treatment like this from someone before? How could anyone resist kissing his chest or massaging his shoulders, tracing every line of muscle or teasing his nipples with their tongue?

Had every woman he'd been with really been that unaffected by the rugged beauty of him?

Oliver: Oliver would have scoffed at her musing. Blushed and possibly rejected her affection outright. The women of his life were one-night stands and a brief glimpse at domesticity, complete with nightly bickering turned shouting turned throwing things, followed by sex and pretending everything was fine.

Deirdre was something foreign. Interesting was an understatement.

"You're beautiful," he caught himself saying.

Deirdre: That earned him another kiss, softer than her previous ones but not so much that it made him uncomfortable. "I was just thinkin' the same about you," she murmured. "Lift yer hips for ye. These dastardly boxers are in my way."

Oliver: Oliver followed direction to a T. Going so far as to pull at the last of his clothes for her. Exposed, warm, a twitch with need.

Deirdre: Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Such a helpful gentleman. Thank ye kindly." Now to continue her exploration, paying extra care to the area just above his groin. To the insides of his thighs. The vee of his hips.

She could've gone on for ages more, but she'd already tormented the poor man in the shower; some relief was in order. Hopefully there would be more time to torment later.

Careful, lavish kisses were placed all along his shaft, his scrotum gently massaged. Which would get a bigger reaction? Would she only get one when her kisses reached the head of his erection?

Oliver: All Oliver wanted was to toss her onto her stomach. Kiss down her spine and taste between her legs. Fill her with pleasure neighbors would catch through their single pane windows. His body was on edge, overheated with anticipation and ticklish. Too long since a woman had given him any sort of attention. Toying with his scrotum served Deirdre well; head back and fingers through his hair. Fingers through her hair. A part of him sympathized, concerned his thickness would wear her jaw. A complaint he had heard twice in his life. One he intended to keep to himself. Concern instead given with, "I want ya t'ride it."

Deirdre: "Mmm, do ye now?" Spurred by his reaction, her kissed migrated to his scrotum and the base of his shaft while her thumb massaged his head.

He was a thick man--deliciously so--and while that was nothing to take lightly, Deirdre was a resourceful woman. There was more than one road to Rome.

Oliver: "Mhm." But he would let her do whatever she wanted. Within reason, of course. But what reason could he fathom to push her away, when she insisted on being here, he couldn't fathom. They were both happy, and he was willing to live with that. To say goodbye in the morning would be a sweet sorrow.

#Surprise Date chapter #deirdremacallister #olivercole #leslieeissott

[huds-hub]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; MUN & MUSE - MEME

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

Stolen from @mrfunnybone. Since this meme has a bias for canon muses, I’m tagging two of my favorite canon writers that I know didn’t fill this out yet: @soulcoerced and @spearslinger (I wonder if a fellow Undyne RPer has a different take on some of these questions? ^^;;). For everyone else, feel free to steal it and tag me if you do! I’m curious to see how OC muns answer some of these questions...

MY MUSE IS:   CANON / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [[ The adult version of my muse is canon, but her teenage equivalent is not present anywhere in Undertale / Deltarune. So, uh… canon but kind of complicated I guess??? I like describing my muse as canon-wise. My Deltarune fishies are undoubtedly AUs at most, canon-divergent at least. ]]

[[ Mun’s note: I’m going to cheat on this. For the next 8 questions, I’ll answer for both Undyne as my teen muse AND regular adult canon Undertale Undyne. My thoughts on her counts as something, right? My muse is based on canon! ]]

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK [[ Undyne’s character to the rest of the fandom is unpopular (compared to Sans, Chara, Gaster, etc…). It’s a shame, because her dialogue portraits alone would make great meme fodder. HOWEVER, among Undyne fans, I notice there’s an interest in depicting her early years because she’s one of the few cast members who’s had their childhood explicitly mentioned. ]]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK [[ She’d better not be, because my muse is a  C H I L D. As far as I’ve seen, canon adult Undyne is depicted more often as a ‘badass’ than a ‘sexy fish.’ ]]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK [[ Younger Undyne is definitely interpreted to be a determined, tough kid. Of course it’s the same for adult canon Undyne. It’s basically her most distinct character trait. ]]

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK [[ Lordy, Undyne as a whole is entirely underrated by the fandom... ]]

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO [[ OMG... you’re gonna get me started. I’m marking ‘no’ on this question because this is supposed to be about my aged-down muse. But Undyne... sweet violent Undyne’s very important to Undertale’s story! *fangirling START* Besides being the mid-point antagonist in the game, Undyne adds a layer of the theme of DETERMINATION to the game and how it can manifest in monsters if their bodies are strong enough to handle it. In an allegorical sense, she represents extremism in reaction to oppression and how that passion can take on the form of extreme love or extreme hatred depending on circumstance. So HELL YEAH she’s important to the main story of the game! AAAHILoveThisFish!! *fangirling END* ]]

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [[ Same as the previous answer for my teen Undyne: begrudgingly marking this with a ‘no’... It’s a YES for canon Undyne. In all routes, original game’s Undyne is the first character who is purposefully trying to kill the Player. Players can’t get the best ending without helping her hook up with Alphys and not incurring her wrath by killing any monster. In the worst ending, she’s one of the two antagonists that put up enough of a fight to make any player abort the Genocide Route. ]]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO [[ My muse WANTS to be significant to her world. In the original game, Undyne’s only mentioned by others in Snowdin and Waterfall (not counting Alphys in Hotland). She’s described as a “local hero” by Gerson. I get a sense she’s not exactly famous to the people in the entire Underground compared to, say, Mettaton. ]]

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL [[ Oof. Pretty sure my teen fish annoys the residence of Waterfall for being a loud-mouthed little scamp. The only reason she’s not considered ‘bad’ is because it’s pent-up energy and misguidedness, not flat-out cruelty. In canon, it seems like the people who talk about Undyne do it in either a positive or neutral light. You have Monster Kid, Papyrus, and Onionsan singing her praises. The Royal Guard members respect her. Asgore thought of her well enough to have her lead his military. Uhh, for a neutral instance, I remember an NPC in Snowdin saying she’s “loud, rude, and beats up anybody who gets in her way” (I don’t remember the exact quote). To weigh this more on the side of my muse, I’ll mark this answer as ‘neutral.’ ]]

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON?  [[ Since I have an aged-down character, canon is literally my END GOAL! I gave her a “starting point” on her journey to the determined, dedicated, and excitable warrior fish we all know and love from the game. I filled in the gaps from there, using parts of her past mentioned in the game to glue the headcanons together. Deciding what she was like when she was younger – What’s her family background? What aspects about her changed as she matures? What internal and external conflicts would she deal with as a teen? – THAT’S the non-canon part. My Deltarune AUs are… different. Canon is my end goal too, but the timelines are all wonky to fit the needs of wanting to interact with the Fun Gang. LOL ]]

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS.   [[ This kid is spunky, loyal, compassionate of the plight of her people, and will see through anything she sets her mind to, despite life’s barriers. She’s got a lot of pent-up energy and is searching for what she can do with it to help her achieve her goal of setting Monsterkind free! ]]

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?).  [[ The teen fishy has a streak of selfishness and short-sightedness. Being honest, Undyne would be a racial supremacist if she existed in real life. Big yikes. Also, she’s willingly being trained as a child soldier. Another big yikes right there. ]]

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE?   [[ Ages ago, I RPed the adult version of Undyne, which resulted in a bunch of headcanons for her past. I had no desire to RP any of them after it ended. A year later, I commissioned an artist for a Gerson vs. teen Undyne piece. That single-handedly made me want to get back into RPing again. ]]

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING?   [[ My fellow RPers wanting to interact with this silly fishy! When I first started, I expected my interest to peter out over the months. I didn’t expect many RPers wanting to interact with an aged-down character. But here I am, wanting to expand my headcanons further and making AUs so I’m not limited to canon. ^^ It’s all thanks to you guys!! ]]

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO?

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF?     [[ I should do it more often TBH. But I find showing them via story-telling more fulfilling than just explicitly explaining them in posts. Plus, it gives me more leeway if I’m still playing around with an idea. ;) ]]

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO  [[ I’m not counting the three pending drabbles until I finish them. ^^;; ]]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO [[ She finds a way to bother me! Usually in the form of sudden inspiration for how to respond to RPs. ]]

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [[ Sometimes I wonder if I forgot some aspect about Undyne that’s in canon, or unintentionally exaggerating other less-important aspects of her other characteristics… ]]

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / SORT OF? [[ Generally, yes. But I do have my days when I suffer from low self-confidence. ]]

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO. / SORT OF? [[ It depends on what’s meant by that. I’m sensitive to other people’s feelings, so I don’t intend to sound rude OOC, even if I’m expressing something negative about something I think the other did. If this is referring to being sensitive about events in RPs… my sensitivity is equivalent to that of being invested in any work of fiction. I know it’s not reality. I can pull away from the fictional world and it won’t bring down my real life. ]]

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?   [[ If it’s given in good faith and is constructive, sure. ]]

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER?   [[ Hell yeah, give them to me! ]]

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?  [[ It depends if they want to tell me. I don’t mind either way. Personally, I like hearing other people’s interpretations! ]]

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT?   [[ *shrug* It doesn’t matter as long as they don’t harass me. ]]

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT?   [[ I’d just ignore it. They don’t need to interact or follow me. If my muse really is a bother to them, they can block my account. ]]

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?   [[ I hope my grammar’s good enough, or else my English degree studies went to waste! But yeah, sure. Fun fact: explaining grammar rules so people can avoid major errors in the future is more helpful than nit-picking insignificant errors without explanations. ]]

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN?   [[ As long as fellow RPers aren’t being rude OOC, don’t break any serious rules, or do something that I mention are personal triggers to me, I am easy-going! RPing is fun and it should stay that way for everybody involved! ]]

#mun monday #ooc #long post #yikes that took me a week to finish writing #but it was fun #this post was such a pain to format

[miraculousfoxnews]

Kitsune’s reveal & Stoneheart’s rage

This whole mess started when I, the lovely Jasmine, was shopping for college.

There was this lovely thrift shop that I found, it had so many cute boxes and plates and goodies, how could I resist. 

I got a cute jacket, it had fox ears! I found some cups, they had pretty designs okay. I found a few cool boxes, they could be useful guys, don’t judge me. The item responsible was one of these boxes. It had dark red wood with a cool red pattern on it.

I swear that the box just appeared in front of me, it wasn’t there when I looked a minute ago.

Regardless, I bought my new stuff, for a great price, and headed home to pack it to take to college.

My room is super cute by the way, it’s painted like a field of flowers, my mom did it when I was really little and it’s super pretty.

It’s currently a bit of a mess, with books scattered all over and clothes in piles on the floor. I have two full floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and books stuffed all over my room, and it’s so difficult to pick the ones to take to college. 

I may also have a habit of collecting nicknacks, so there are a lot of items for me to pick from around my room.

So I started wrapped the cups and stuffed them in the backpack, and checked each box to make sure they were empty, until suddenly the red one lit up when it was opened. 

A brilliant light rose up and I stared in disbelief as a strange being appeared.

“Mm,” the creature shook its head as it stretched.

I slowly reached for a throwing knife I’d been debating on whether to take to college or not and prepared to throw it at the creature.

“Oh, Hello!” It beamed at me and I froze. 

“....... AHHHHH” I threw the knife at it. 

“Woah, nice throw kit,” the thing dodged neatly, “I’m Trixx,” it dodged the next knife, “the fox kwami of Spirits and Trickery.” it twirled around another knife, “It’s nice to meet you!” 

“Uh... “ Now, this was a very odd situation, but let it not be said that I can’t adapt… after a brief panic, “Nice to meet you.”

The creature, a kwami it said? Beamed at her, “I like your room,” it zipped around, studying everything, “Do you have any eggs?”

“Uh, I’ll give you eggs if you tell me what you are and where you came from.” 

The kwami laughed, “I already told you what I am, I’m a kwami, my name’s Trixx.” Trixx was suddenly right in front of me, “As for where I came from, I am the embodiment of Spirits and Trickery. I came from those, I am those.”

I stared, was this thing saying… was it saying it was basically a god?

“Uh…” 

It laughed, “It’s okay, don’t think too hard about it. Most humans don’t get it.” Trixx turned back to studying my room, it’s white tail tipped in black twisting as they studied the room.

“Okay, why are you here then? You’re like, a god right?”

“I’m a kwami!” Trixx spun around, “And I’m here because I’ve picked you as my next guardian mademoiselle… uh, what’s your name?”

Of course this was absolutely ridiculous, a mini god just appeared in my room declaring I’m its guardian, then asks me what my name was. Brilliant, just brilliant.

“I’m Jasmine. What does being a guardian mean?”

Trixx gave a little bow, “Hello then Jasmine. Fear not, I shall explain all!” It’s stomach growled, “After I eat. So, eggs?”

I got them eggs.

After Trixx ate their eggs, they settled down on a pillow and looked at me expectantly. 

“So, what’s a guardian?” I sat down across from them.

“An excellent question!” Trixx grinned and suddenly there was a figure in the room.

“AH,” I threw a knife at it, (I knew all these knives would come in handy one day), but the knife went right through the person. 

Trixx cackled, “It’s just an illusion kit, my last guardian in her hero form.”

“Hero form?” 

The figure had a flute held in her hand, her outfit streamlined, nothing loose except the tail and ears, faint claws glinted on her hands and white and black were the predominant colors. It wasn’t skin tight, but it was still sleek, stylish almost.

“This is what you’ll do!” Trixx flit up to hover in front of me, “You’ll use my power to accomplish the duties of my miraculous and ensure the safety of spirits.”

---------

Workers Report

So we had this big order, like huge order, and Geoffrey was in charge of the details. 

But this other guy, Owain, he took the call from the client, Rene, when they changed some details. But he forgot to tell Geoffrey. So the order wasn’t changed, but like, it was a big change, they wanted a different color entirely.

So when the order was filled and it was wrong Rene was furious, and Owain claimed he had no idea what happened, so Geoffrey got fired.

Then I don’t know man, suddenly he was covered in weird purple stuff and then he was a rock giant!

It just came out of nowhere and he just started destroying things, it was scary.

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

So I headed to college, Trixx coming along for the ride.

And this is where things really got crazy.

---

I finished smoothing out the bedding my friend Ian had given me (He’s a snobby rich kid but he’s a loyal friend… and tends to buy anything I look at for more than three seconds), pausing to peer around my half of the room. It looked good, lots of art, plenty of pillows, and my secret stashes of chocolate set up.

My roommate was straightening up her bed still, she’d added some fairy lights to the bed frame. 

I hummed, double checking my plugs, then turned to my roommate. I have no idea what her name is but I do know she’s unfairly pretty.

She bounced on her toes, looking very cute, “Uh… Ciao! NO wait… Bonjour…? I’m Hazel-August Primo! I’m from Italia! Milan specifically! It’s uh… very nice to yeet you! I MEAN meet you! I am sorry, I’m really awkward and don’t talk much.” 

My roommate ducked her head, her hair covering her face.

I smiled shyly, “Konichiwa, or uh, haha, we’re both doing it. Bonjour I suppose. I’m Jasmine Vermillion, I’m originally from Britain but I’ve lived in Nihon for the last ten years.”

I bowed politely, “It’s very nice to meet you Hazel-san, I hope we can get along.”

She perked up instantly, “Japan! Oh my stars! How many cherry blossom blooms did you go to? Did you participate in the street fashion? What was your favorite part? Did you try Soba?”

She suddenly flushed, rubbing her neck, “Oh uh, Apologies. I got excited. It’s very nice to meet you too! Let’s do our best this year!” She bowed her head.

I couldn’t help but laugh, “I love the festivals, though I’ve only been to a few. They’re so beautiful. And I didn’t do much street fashion, but I did help some of my friends with theirs. My favorite part is undoubtedly the shrines, they’re all so pretty and there’s so much to do. And yes, I’ve had soba many times.”

I shrugged, smiling, “I’m glad you’re excited, I’m happy to be roommates with you uh,” And I may have already forgotten her name, “I guess we should finish setting up. I can go grab some groceries.”

I tugged my hair, my stomach twisting into knots again. Trixx snickered in my hair as I peered at my roommate, whose name I can't remember.

My roommate giggled, "I can come with if you would like an extra set of arms. Or I can stay back and start putting away pots, pans, and plates. My Mother sent some nice stuff from a military installation in India! Mostly plates and silverware but also some spice jars for keeping spices." 

I perked up, "that's great, I have a bunch of cups and jars and stuff, I can go get some groceries and you can put your stuff up, then I'll put up my stuff and you can put up the groceries?”

"Okay! Oh! Before I forget! I got you a gift! I only knew my roommate was a girl so I hope you like it!" The shorter girl smiled and offered me a beautiful bracelet, probably from Milan. 

It had seven gems embedded in it. Ones I recognized from Trixx’s lessons, Ruby, carnelian, yellow quartz, emerald, sapphire, amethyst and Obsidian. It was on a silver chain that was not really thick but not thin either. "I know it's kinda pricey but I really wanted to make a good impression. I hope you like it!" My roommate smiled up at me shyly.

It was amazing, I definitely loved it, though I couldn’t be rude.

"Oh! You didn't need to," I tried to push it back to her roommate, "I really couldn't accept, it's too much!"

"Please accept it! I think it'd be good for formal occasions! My Mother will flip if she finds out I bought something expensive because 'bambina, it's conducive to your therapy! You don't need to get people nice stuff to like you. Just be genuine and up front!' It's not getting you to like me as much as it is trying to make a really good first impression. I should explain. I have borderline personality disorder and I get anxious and sometimes I say stuff I don't mean and that's called splitting. So like one day I could be really nice and kind but then the next day I can be like mean and rude. Is this making sense? I'm sorry! I can return it!" 

"Oh, I just wouldn't want you to feel the need, but if you insist..." I smiled slightly as I accepted the bracelet, picking it up carefully with both hands.

 "I understand, I have ADHD which isn't nearly the same but does come with struggles, we'll work out issues as they come." 

 I carefully put the bracelet on my wrist, "it is a beautiful gift, thank you. I actually have one for you as well." 

I dug through my trunk for a moment before pulling out a plastic bag, I pulled out the present I had carefully wrapped in green. I offered it to my new roommate with both hands. 

She accepted it with a gentle smile. "Grazi! I appreciate it very much." I watched her unwrap the gift nervously. Compared to what she got me my gift to her was much simpler. 

She finished unwrapping it and just looked at the folded fan for a moment. I had picked it carefully, from the darkness of the wood to the beautiful purple fabric with the delicate white butterflies on it, I went for some simple symbolism, while focusing on the elegance. 

"This is beautiful. Did you know that Purple was a very hard color to produce? It was made from one type of sea slug and was very rare and usually reserved only for royalty." My roommate sounded in awe of the gift, which was a relief. 

I smiled, "I'm glad you like it, and yes I did. It symbolizes celebration and luxury in Nihon."

I let out a breath, "I very much like the bracelet that you gifted me, thank you for thinking of me." 

I turned and grabbed some grocery bags, the reusable kind, glancing at the clock. "I'll go grab groceries, anything you need?"

"It's a bit of an odd and pricey request, but could you get some Camembert? I'll pay you back!" My roommate looked hesitant. 

I nodded, "sure, as long as you don't mind me getting some eggs" ‘Or a few dozen.’ 

“Sure, go ahead.”

I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, slipping my shoes on as I left. "Be back in an hour or so"

 I headed out to grab some groceries so we could have food, we had a microwave! And yelped when a rock nearly took my head off.

I snapped around to gape at the stone golem in front of me. It was huge.

“You need to hide kit” Trixx hissed from my hair. 

I quickly ducked and slunk along the line of cars to slip into an alcove hidden by some bushes.

“What is that?” 

“It’s the butterfly! I can sense it’s power but I don’t know what it’s doing this, Nooroo always picks kindhearted people to hold their miraculous.”

I frowned, this isn’t good, “Okay, but what do we do about it?”

“You need to transform to fight it.”

I blanked, that thing, a monster attacking us, the butterfly was supposed to be a partner to me, that’s what Trixx said, but it was attacking, and how was I- what was I- This couldn’t- I can’t fight this thing. The ground spun, my head hurt, what was I supposed to do? Throw some illusions at it? FoxFire probably wouldn’t do anything to stone, Requiem was useless for this, how could FoxHunt help ? Honoring? Useless, Shift couldn’t help! My ears were ringing, I’m not a fighter holder, I’m a strategist! I can’t do this, Trixx should pick someone else, someone who could use the skills she gave, but I’m not it. I can’t do this, I just can’t.

“No, no Trixx how am I supposed to fight-”

“You don’t have to fight,” Trixx hovered in front of me, “You don’t have to fight, just gathering information will be enough. Stay hidden and find the corrupted item. It’ll be something that the golem has.”

“I- I- I-” My chest was tight, an asthma attack? 

“Focus on me, Jasmine, look at me, look at me.”

I looked at the little kwami, “Okay, looking? Good, now focus on my breathing, see, in, out, in, out,” The kwami’s tail flicked and suddenly there was a shape, growing slowly, “In,” it started shrinking, “out,” slowly my breathing steadied. 

In, out, in, out, in, out, I breathed, finally able to take a breath. I could hear again, the crashing farther away, but crying nearby, I needed to move. 

“You alright?” I blinked, looking at the kwami, they peered back nervously. 

“I- sorry, I guess my asthma acted up.” I scrambled for my inhaler.

“That wasn’t an asthma attack, that was a panic attack kit.” Trixx drifted forward to nuzzle my cheek, “It’s okay if you don’t want to go out and fight, it’s scary.”

“I-” The cries were loud, sobbing from nearby, people were hurt. I normally don’t particularly care, I have low empathy, but… I still couldn’t stand by and do nothing. This was a lot of pain, I needed to help somehow, “I just need to transform again?”

“Yep, only this time focus on the threat, your suit will change to match the situation.”

I blinked, “The suits change?”

Trixx giggled, “You didn’t think that dressy, dramatic, bright outfit was the one you’d fight or sneak in did you?”

“Can it change mid-battle?”

Trixx nodded, “Yeah, you can use your flute to change it, but it leaves you vulnerable while you change forms, and it will take a point from your miraculous, so it’s best to know what your intent is before transforming.”

I took a breath, the building shook, I could do this, focus on sneaking. 

“Trixx, Time to Hunt.”

The magic of the transformation swept over me, different from the previous times. Instead of rising to coat me in softness and loose cloth, it slid close to the skin, muted and steady. The two tails remained, but otherwise the style differed. 

I studied myself for a moment, touching the new mask, styled like a kitsune mask from a festival. The suit was more dark grey then white and black, but it was nice, the belt had multiple pockets, and the flute was tucked into a loop on the back.

I clutched the flute, and slipped out of the alcove. 

Slinking along the path I had a hard time breathing. The destruction was horrible. Buildings crushed, torn apart, people broken and bleeding. This was very real, and very dangerous.

I slid around and leapt up to a roof, studying the area. I was to gather information, couldn’t do much else right now.

I carefully followed the golem down the road as it yelled in rage. 

Then there was a child crying as it stumbled away from the golem. A young boy with blonde hair. The golem raised its fist.

The world blurred as I snatched the boy up and threw us into an alley. I spun to see the golem focusing on us. Damn.

“YOU, FOX”

A symbol appeared on its face, a butterfly huh? Well, looks like I need to trick the fool into breaking the item Trixx mentioned, or I’m doomed.

“GIVE ME YOUR EARRINGS!”

I blinked, earrings? Whatever.

“Fox Sense.” I murmured, twirling my flute. Breathing in as I focused on the enhanced senses. The dust was annoying, but I could see every detail of the golem, hear the cries from all around the area, and smell the dirt and fear and blood around me. 

More importantly, I noticed nothing on him that could be the item, but I also noticed his fist. One was open to attack me, the other, it was in a fist. As, I realized, it had been the whole time.

If the item wasn’t on the golem or visible in any way, then the golem must be holding it.

I crouched, gripping my flute tighter. The fox is not meant for battle, but that doesn’t mean I can’t win anyways. 

I raised the flute to my lips, blowing a soft tune, “Mirage” 

The area shimmered with light for a moment, and then it was a construction zone, with bars falling onto the golem, a rumble as a crane tilted.

“RAAA” The golem staggered, grabbing for the bars falling with both hands, a small piece of paper falling from his hand.

The bars shattered right before they could touch the golems hand. Shards falling as the crane fell towards it. The golem stumbled back, raising its hands to cover its head. 

I moved. I reached the paper, a strange black energy surrounding it. It shattered as soon as I stomped on it.

A little black butterfly pulled free, fluttering off.

Black energy bubbled around the golem, fading to reveal a man.

I blinked, ‘that...’

“Huh” My ponytail swung as I shook my head, “Weird.”

“Who are you?” A whisper caught my attention, the boy was staring.

“I’m....” Names were important, “Kitsune Neige.”

I swiped my flute to disperse the illusion and leapt up, pausing on the roof to look at the butterfly hurrying away. It still had black energy around it.

-----------

Time to Rest-

#Chapter one #Kitsune's Reveal and Stoneheart's Rage #Miraculous Fox News #Miraculously Better #Tale of the Misfit Heroes #Kitsune Neige #fox miraculous #Stoneheart #ML rewrite #sorta #This is the real canon