#( kieran. two big hands & a heart pumping blood )

[turnandface]

"I'm so sorry..." Cigarette smoke spirals from the man's lips and loses itself in his carefully styled curls. "But that would be confidential information."

Something about the way he says it suggests he isn't sorry at all.

// hmm! kieran, maybe? or someone else, if you think they'd work better! i'm not particular.

"Confidential," Kieran drawls after him "...what are you, a cop?" It's clear to him that BJ doesn't know who he is. The left side of his torso is slouched against the brick, facing BJ as he breathes with a laugh and a toothy grin, content to keep his calm for the time being. His attention slanted toward those green eyes. Standing like this he looks exactly the other man's height. Ziggy's toying with him. And while he generally enjoys being toyed with depending on the day and the pretty little thing, he'd come to the club with important business tonight.

They're bathed in a green neon, surrounded by stuffy air and an echo of thumping music. "We're lucky money makes the world go round, aren't we?" Kieran leans in closer, already in his personal space. "What are the rates for a pretty thing like you? I'll make it worth your while."

[twcheaded-a]

@forjanus sent ⌧ for Alec to grip the back of Kieran's neck ( manhandling prompts // always accepting ! )

Kieran lets himself move back with Alec's grip, but not without lowering himself with slightly bended knees for balance. Anyone else, and he might have socked them in the mouth, but then again, the company he was in played more of a role than Kieran would admit to himself. He was more inclined to resort to violence in public as if he thought he had something to prove or some kind of status to uphold. And -- to a point, he did; his rank as a made man and caporegime meant not many were supposed to lay a hand on him.

He twists to reach back and to the side, balling his fist into the fabric of Alec's shirt with force enough to pull him closer. "You looking a kiss or a bloody nose? I'm feelin' generous." Kieran has scarcely broken eye contact with him, his eyes glancing down the man's face and lingering on his lips when he mentioned a kiss.

[twcheaded-a]

@forjanus

[lilaxwinemoved]

Like this post to receive memes from KIERAN PALOMINO. If you are a multi-muse blog, please specify who you'd like the memes to be geared towards! Otherwise, I will pick at random. I'll most likely be in your inbox to plot if I have ideas or if something catches my eye.

[mesangelique]

Part 1/2 of a story with a pairing no one requested : JOHN MARSTON/KIERAN DUFFY (I will post it on AO3 tomorrow)

Rating : R / 18+

Warning : alcohol, drunk sex, SMUT (but not in this part)

Thanks to @bluesilksilverspurs for the beta reading 🤠, I hope you will give this pairing a chance and like this first part ~

It's been a long day, an exhausting one. Arthur, John, Bill and Kieran went to Six Points cabin, hoping to find Colm O'Driscoll, but they found nothing spare a little cash, and Arthur's life had been saved by the « ex O'Driscoll boy » - otherwise known as Kieran Duffy. In doing so, Kieran had earned the right to be able to stay with the gang like any other member, doing chores and taking care of horses. Oh, he is well aware he won’t be able to disappear for days on end as Arthur or Micah do, but at least he won’t be tied to that tree anymore.

 

 When the group got back to the camp and were explaining to Dutch what had happened, Lenny had arrived, panting, terrified, babbling about Micah waiting to be hung in Strawberry’s jail. At that point, Dutch suggested Arthur take Lenny into Valentine to relax a little, and now, hours later, John noticed he himself was drunk as he stood up from the stool in the saloon. The world started to turn around as if he was on a roller coaster, but all he managed to do was order another drink.

 

 Arthur and Lenny had the great idea to invite John and Kieran to their little "having only one drink” thing. John was invited because he was standing there when Dutch suggested the outing, and Kieran mostly because that kid saved Mister Morgan's life - and desperately needed a bath. Hosea had also told Arthur that they had to accept him in the gang. John didn’t care much for stuff like that as long as this O’Driscoll was getting a good wash first.

 

 And speaking of the O'Driscoll boy - he had just taken a whiskey and sat right next to John, drinking thirstily straight from the bottle. John couldn't help but look at him, squinting his eyes. Now that he was clean, smelling of soap and tobacco instead of horseshit and piss, with his hair framing his thin face, he was not THAT disgusting… Actually, it was maybe the first time John was really looking at him; at his thin beard, his worried dark green eyes, his nose. John frowned. He shouldn’t be looking at him like that. But he was drunk.

 

 Yes, that's why.

 

 "Think ye can drink better than me, O'Driscoll boy?" He chuckled deeply, his laugh raspy like his voice. He didn't have to find anything else to say to have Kieran looking at him with his scared deer eyes, a rabbit about to run for his dear life. "C'mere I'll show ya how WE drink."

 

 Not giving him time to answer, he grabbed Kieran's whiskey bottle and brought it to his lips, taking big gulps, the whisky running right down his throat, burning and warming him up, and once he had run out of breath he handed the bottle back. John had to admit he was quite proud of his performance - he didn't choke or end up coughing.

 

 "Dare you to do better than that. O'Driscoll." He whispered, leaning a bit towards Kieran, smirking arrogantly. Why was he like this suddenly? Why did he suddenly want to impress that O'Driscoll boy? Ah yes, he was drunk, maybe he didn’t have to search further for a reason, maybe …

 

 Kieran’s eyes were wide, seeing his bottle being stolen like that. He was already tipsy, so he didn’t react like he normally would. Actually, he had been focusing on John Adam’s apple, the way it had bobbed up and down as he swallowed the alcohol… That ride earlier, where his body was fully pressed against the other man’s had made him look at John Marston differently.

 

 And here, now, he was mostly drunk, and his initial shyness was gone. He was just chuckling, cheeks red like a teenager, a happy one, the one he never was. Being alone like this with John should be quite embarrassing, to be honest, and at first he had been afraid. But now... John was so drunk he probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight. He was giggling and evidently really proud of his drinking performance.

 "Gimme that- you'll see I can!" Kieran retorted, reacting to John’s arrogant smirk and trying to avoid looking too long at the man’s lips and at that drop of whisky on his neck. Without much more thought, he took the bottle and emptied it. A delicious burning sensation in his throat, his head feeling so light he could float. All his anxiety, all his problems just drowned in the liquor, and so he laughed, pushing the bottle away, proudly looking at the other man.

 "Ah ah! See Marston? Was able to follow you on this!" Kieran chuckled, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows (or trying to do so at least). He closed his eyes for a few seconds and suddenly, a hot wave was spreading all over his body, thickening his saliva. Now he was looking at John, at his dirty hair, his three days old beard, his scars … How fascinating are these scars, how marvellous they are … That very one on his lips.

 "Pheeew, it’s so hot in here." The ex-O’Driscoll breathed out, looking at the ceiling, taking his dust coat off. He felt like he was on fire right now. He would love to jump naked in some river... or in some horse's trough. His cheeks were red and burning, and he could almost feel sweat droplets forming on the back of his neck. He continued, "So hot in here…. So, what we doin' now – ya know, since I finished the bottle" Kieran chuckled, trying to get rid of his neckerchief.

 

 Oh he is a mess, a fucking mess right now, unable to talk properly, babbling shitty stuff that is ricocheting about in his head. He must be mad - drinking that whole bottle hadn’t really been a good idea. Even if he thought it had impressed John… John had watched him emptying the bottle, mesmerized, in fact, by the sight of that boy drinking like he hadn't drank in days.

 

 "Ain'tcha a thirsty one, eh?" John had given a husky laugh when Kieran lowered the empty bottle and then started whining about the temperature. He can feel a warm feeling in his groin, spreading up his spine right now, and it is making him feel like he is burning too. That very same feeling he has when a pretty lady walks by and he pulls her onto his lap. The only problem is that he ain't looking at a pretty lady right now. He is looking at a very drunk O'Driscoll boy. Well, an ex-O’Driscoll boy. He is looking at Mister Duffy. Kieran. Kieran Duffy. What kind of a fool is he, John Marston, to be looking at a guy like this? The last time it happened was a decade ago. But he is drunk tonight, so that must be why. That’s obviously why.

 

 "I suppose you're pretty hot now what with all that booze you've been drinkin'. C'mon, let's get out of here and take some air" John grumbled, pushing away from the counter and bumping into some tables before finally making it to the back door. He opened it roughly, almost knocking an old man backwards while doing so. John could hear Kieran behind him, trying to act naturally, as if they hadn’t just been drinking like two sailors, and as he held the door open for him, he was able to clearly see that Kieran was having a hard time even walking straight.

 

 As Kieran drew level with John, he even tripped, and although John did not know how, or why, his reflex was to react fast, fast enough to grab him. The amount of alcohol in his own blood was sapping away at his strength though and ultimately he found himself pinning Kieran against the nearest wall with the weight of his whole body, his hands on each side of Kieran’s head and his face almost buried in his neck. His body felt spineless and he was suddenly very tired. Both of them were giggling like teenagers after their first beer. He couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. In fact, neither of them could feel their legs right now.

 

After almost collapsing on at least three occasions, they were both outside proper now. Navigating the tiny step outside of the saloon almost pitched both of them over, which was no surprise at all seeing as how drunk they were, but now they were here, leaning against another wall. How did they even make it this far? No one will ever know.

 

"You alright?" John asked in a thick voice, their noses nearly touching. They are close. Really, really close. Kieran can feel every piece of the wood behind him snagging on his shirt and scratching his back, he can feel how muddy the ground is, how cold the air is but how hot he feels, like he is burning inside. He tried to focus on everything but their sudden closeness. Because the problem is the ex-O’Driscoll is far more into men than the church wants him to be, than society wants him to be – it’s a problem he has known about for a long time, and has tried to hide for even longer… people get hanged for it. Kieran could hear his heart in his ears, his blood pumping roughly, and his lungs running out of air, his tongue heavy in his mouth but most importantly that warmth waking up in his lower belly, spreading in his groin, curling up his spine. Having John Marston, drunk, his nose almost against his, his body flush against him... He swallowed thickly, looking at John’s lips as though hypnotised, and managed to nod, his green, greyish eyes glancing over John’s scars.

 

"Y-es. 'Am alright, Mister." He whispers.

 

 John's breathing was suddenly deep and fast. He could feel Kieran's warmth mixing with his own. Strangely, he didn’t mind. He knew damn well he was already growing hard, mostly because of the  alcohol, of course. He always got so horny when he started getting drunk, so the fact that it was Kieran and not another cheap whore isn’t so surprising, right? The fact that he found Kieran’s eyes fascinating and his lips kissable right now, and his so thin, fragile collarbone beautiful – that was just the alcohol. This closeness wasn’t helping, creating friction on his - their - cock under his – their - pants, having him - them - hum deeply, both acting like they did not hear or feel the other.

 

"Yea? That's good then. Yea."

 

 There was a silence then when John met Kieran's eyes, and his mind was filled up with dark fantasy and desire and want and that need of possession. He rarely felt that with a girl, that possessiveness rising. But he had really drank a lot tonight, they both had really drank a lot, and Kieran looked like a lamb waiting for a wolf to eat him.

 

 "Thought you were hot? Gotta do something about that, right?" John whispered thickly, lowering his eyes to Kieran's throat, almost able to hear his thundering beating heart when his hands went to the collar of his shirt and started working on the buttons. The alcohol doesn’t help his fingers at all, but he was slipping one button free and then another…

 

"Yeah- I'm… I'm hot - but w...whatabout you ?" Kieran whispered back, trying to keep his voice steady, but freezing immediately, unsure. He could feel John’s hands on his shirt, feel his fingers working on opening it – the way his breath was coming quicker and his eyes had grown significantly darker. Kieran couldn’t help but bite his lip, and couldn’t decide if he hoped John would notice it or not, the way he himself has noticed John’s hooded lustful gaze and the way he is staring at his face, his neck.

[turnandface]

Kieran's first instinct is to say yes, just as his second instinct is to say yes. Though he hesitates for a moment, using a drag of a joint as an excuse. He doesn't want to sound too agreeable or like the other man has any sort sway over him. But Han isn't just anyone. He isn't one of the boys in his crew. He's as far away from business as he could hope to be right now. There's no need to second guess himself.

He brushes his knuckles against Han's, offering a joint he'd been smoking. "Why? You tangled up in something?" He asks it lightly enough, any edge in his voice is softened by the sly quirk in his brow. Warm brown eyes ask a third question: 'Would you like to be?'

SEND ME A ✐ FOR A RANDOM SENTENCE STARTER

for @turnandface

"Do you think I could spend the night at your place?"

[unrequitedmime]

Fear is a lot of things.  Fear is this: Fear is waking up to the sound of a phone ringing. Dawn breaking softly behind the curtains. Nothing but the sound of Peyton's breaths.  It's hearing a younger sister call her oldest sister's name with a strangled cry. As if she's underwater. As if she's drowning in an ocean of pain and fear.  It's the name of the youngest sister. The smallest of the three. Eight years younger than the oldest. 12.  The name of a 12 year old.  It's whispered words and Cecily's blood turning to nothing but solidifying ice and the familiar beeping noises of machines vibrating through the phone.  Peyton stirs in her sleep. It seems to sharpen something inside of Cecily. Her pumping body stills for a moment as she stares at her best friend, calm and sleeping. Unaware of the storm racing through Cecily's mind. Time seems to still as Peyton's breathing evens. A slow, gentle symphony of life and health.  Life and health.  She grabs her bag and runs. Room 588.  Cecily's chest collapses into nothing when she rounds the corner. When her eyes finally fall upon the numbers. Big, black, shiny. They hurt her head. Everything hurts her head.  Family is a lot of things.  Family is this:  Family is the smell of her mother's perfume; a soothing, rich floral that seems to wrap her up into a cocoon of love and warmth and familiarity. Family is the sound of Mya's soft laugh. It sounds broken this time when Cecily hears it. Hollow, empty. It's the sound of her father's deep voice. Family is a sea of dark heads.  Italian hair.  Tears fill Cecily's eyes. More than her exhausted eyes can hold. They flow down her cheeks like gentle rivers of love and fear. Her family does not see her; lost in their own worlds of worry and love and hospital exhaustion. They find a way to spread throughout Fifi's hospital room and still remain connected.  Mya lays on the bed next to her youngest sister, her cheek resting against Fifi's sleeping shoulder. Her hand, stretched across Fifi's stomach, rests on top on top of her mother's. Cecily's mother sits in the chair beside the old bed, fast asleep, her head resting gently on the mattress. Her father sits in the chair beside her, his hand on his wife's leg. He stares into the distance; into nothing.  For as long as Cecily lives, she will never forget the empty look in his eyes as he stares at his youngest daughter with nothing but blank faces and gulps full of pain.  "Is she okay?" Cecily's whisper dances across the room.  Mya jerks, as if the sound of her sister's voice awakens something within her. She glances up, finding Cecily standing broken in the doorway. Her eyes fill with tears.  "CeCe," she whispers.  Cecily collides with her before the sobs escape her chest. Mya hugs her back just as tight, burying her head in Cecily's shoulder. Cecily feels everything within her calm for a moment as she holds her sister in her hands. They stand together for a thousand years; a mess of broken limbs and fearful hearts and tears, holding each other together.  They pull away as the smell of their mother's perfume settles across them, a blanket of warmth and love.  "Hi," her mother whispers to her.  "Hi, mum," Cecily whispers back, falling into her mother's welcoming arms. As she hugs her mother, she feels a light kiss bless her forehead.  "Hi, love," her father breathes into her hair. She blinks up at him, smiling a small smile.  "Hey, dad."  The window behind her father holds the rising sun. It seems to shine through the room, upon her family. It seems to dance across each dark head with beauty and grace and a blessing from the gods. Cecily prays that all of the sun goes into Fifi.  "How is she?" Cecily whispers again, breaking away from her mother's hug to float to her younger sister's bed.  Fifi lays asleep in a hospital gown. A light blue scrap of material that seems to shine against her pale skin. Her dark hair, as dark as Cecily's, is a beautiful mess of flowing rivers across the white pillow. Tubes are everywhere; Cecily tries not to look at them. Cecily watches her 12 year old sister's chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. She's still alive. She's alive and well and breathing.  "Type 1 diabetes," Mya's whispers comes from no where. They spin towards her like bullets. Sharp shards of glass and pained cries and a voice hoarse from crying. "Her seizure nearly killed her. She nearly died, Ce-"  Her voice cracks. So does Cecily's heart. She listens to it break within her chest. Her 12 year old sister. Type 1 diabetes.  Cecily tries to remember everything she had ever learnt about diabetes. Low blood sugar. Insulin turns blood sugar to energy. Body can't create insulin. Right.  Cecily watches her sister sleep; a soul full of shining smiles and giggling laughs and a body that never seems to stop dancing with brightness, and she can't help but think that this is unfair.  This is unfair. Why has the world decided that such a loving soul deserves something so shattering? Why has her shining sister been tinted with the dark mark of the universe?  What the fuck?  "We didn't know," her mother's soft voice is broken as she speaks from her chair, her dark eyes on her youngest daughter, "There were signs, but we didn't see them. We didn't realise it was... We should have realised," her mother's voice is thick with pain, guilt, regret. Tears fill her eyes.  "No," Cecily whispers, moving to sit beside her mother. "No, mum, this isn't your fault. I've read about diabetes, its hard to see the signs. They're subtle-"  "I'm her mother," she interrupts, her voice firm with self hatred, "I should have seen them."  "Blair," her father's voice is low, rough, "It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself. None of us saw it, and we're all around her every single day." Cecily glances at him, standing in the corner. His eyes are red and puffy. Something in his face seems lost, gray. Everything about him is tired. Cecily's heart hurts seeing him crushed.  Her father is never crushed.  Ten minutes. She's been in this hospital room ten minutes, and her dad hasn't come close to making one joke. He hasn't even smiled. A deep fear settles within her. Cecily hopes that Fifi wakes up soon; he'll smile for her.  She stands, gesturing at the empty chair, "Sit."  He begins to shake his head, but her frustration must burn in her face, because he closes his mouth before obediently stretching across the chair, whispering a thank you. Her parent's hands find each other's, despite the mess of tired bodies and lost minds. They seem to find each other. They always do.  Mya lays on one side of Fifi; a long, thin body beside a smaller and thinner body. Sickly thin.  Why hadn't Cecily noticed how thin Fifi had become? She saw her last week, she should have noticed.  "Lay," Mya whispers into the silence of the room, her eyes on Cecily.  Cecily obeys, her yearning for her sister's a deep ache within her chest. It seems to always be there. Sometimes it takes the breath out of her, though. This is one of those times.  Her body brushes against Fifi's as she stretches along the bed, and the ache calms slightly. She settles herself down into the uncomfortable sheets, and when Mya's hand comes to rest on hers, strewn across Fifi's stomach, the ache soothes into nothing but loving sisters and a sense of home.  Cecily lets herself breathe.  They lay in silence for nearly ten minutes; a family of broken hope and drowning worry and slicing guilt and a love for one another that seems to feed souls.  Her parents look so tired.  "I'll get you some coffee," Cecily whispers after watching them for a few minutes. Their faces seem empty, pale, their eyes hollow. The fear within Cecily pushes against her chest. She knows she should be responsible; act like the 20 year old she is, but she has never seen her parents look so blank. It scares her.  She cannot bear to look at them.  "Yes, thank you, hun," her mother whispers, closing her eyes for a moment as she leans her head against her husbands shoulder. Her father nods in his sleep.  The hospital hall is busy despite the early hour. Cecily checks her watch; 5am. Jesus Christ.  She doesn't remember driving here. She doesn't remember sitting in a moving vehicle for an hour, or running up the hospital stairs with racing breaths. She doesn't remember anything before seeing the numbers 588. She glances up at them as she passes. They still hurt her head. Her head never stopped hurting since she saw them. As she turns the corner into the public section, the noise and presence of a thousand other people hit her right in the stomach. Chairs line the hallway, and the entire world seems to sit in them. A mother with a sleeping 7 year old, a 15 year old with a trembling little brother, and a beautiful 20 year old boy with golden hair and a bouncing knee.  Mason's eyes meet hers, and he jumps up. His hair seems to vibrate in the morning light.  "Cecily!" He breathes. Cecily's head stops hurting.  She stares, numb with confusion, as dark hair appears beside him. Cliff jumps up from his seat, startled awake. His eyes widen when they fall upon his friend, "Hey," he croaks.  "Ce," Kieran's smile is soft, patient, when he shines it at her from his seat beside Cliff's. "How is everything going? Is Fifi okay?"  An elevator a few steps down the hall dings. Finn steps out of it, Peyton by his side. Coffee's decorate both of their hands. Their eyes widen when they fall upon her.  The world stills. "Ce," Peyton breathes, rushing towards her. Cecily stands, frozen, as Peyton wraps her up in a tired hug. Despite her exhaustion, her arms wrap around her best friend. "Are you okay? What's going on? Is Fi okay?"  "Albany," a sharp voice, as familiar to Cecily as the rising sun, slices through the voices in the hall as two girls make their way towards her, both their eyes on each other, "I swear to god, if you open my packet of Snickers I will disown you."  "Cool it, drama queen, they're not even yours."  "This receipt says that they belong to me! I payed $5 for that!"  "Well-"  Sybil's eyes find Cecily's first. She stops dead, a few paces away, and stares at her best friend. Cecily stares back. Albany stops with her as her eyes fall upon Cecily. Something in both of their faces soften, brighten, when they fall upon the last piece in the puzzle of four.  "Morning, darlin," Sybil whispers, running to Cecily and folding her body into a tight hug. Albany follows, her hands falling across the shoulders of her best friends as she snuggles in. Peyton's warmth flows through Cecily's back as she completes the puzzle.  They hug for a few moments; four bodies full of love and support and undying loyalty. When they pull away, Cecily is left with nothing but her cold body and her spilling tears.  "We got you Nutella drops!" Albany announces, her face brightening as she holds up a packet of chocolate.  "What are those?" Peyton frowns in confusion.  Cecily cannot bring herself to speak.  "Dunno," Sybil announces, opening her own packet of Mini Snickers, "But they're Nutella. Super edgy, right?"  Peyton eyes them and nods appreciatively, "Very edgy. They look yummy as hell."  A packet flies through the air and lands in Peyton's clumsy hands, "Not to worry," Albany winks, "We got you Cadbury."  Peyton smiles as she opens the packet, and Sybil makes a strange and dramatic moaning sound as she bites into her snickers. Albany chews thoughtfully on a packet of chips. The Nutella drops feel heavy in Cecily's trembling hands.  "How did you even know I was here?"  "Mya texted me."  "So... you all came?"  "I've never seen the girls run so fast in their lives," Cliff announces behind Mason. Mason grins at Cecily, and her heart softens. He looks to tired, yet so determined to be here. Cecily's eyes fall upon each of her friends.  Sybil's hair is a mess and she wears Nike sliders with mismatched coloured socks. Peyton wears an old jumper, her hair hardly brushed. Albany wears her Christmas sweater that she only ever wears to bed. The boy's hair is messy in a way that only sleep can achieve.  "You came?" Cecily whispers softly, feeling slowly coming back to her body. It feels like molten gold in her limbs, "You came all this way for me?"  The boy's eyes soften, and each of her girls' eyes shine with open love and support. They stand around her, a ring of flowing trust and affection and soft smiles. It warms her.  "Of course." Albany.  "We're here for you, B." Peyton.  "Always." Sybil.  The coffee can wait.  Cecily falls into her best friends' arms.

unrequited 

[turnandface]

@claochlu SENT; 🎤🎤 — one for miles and one for Kieran // FOR EVERY 🎤 SENT, I WILL LIST A SONG I ASSOCIATE WITH MY MUSE. (always accepting!!)

🎤 My Mirror Speaks by Death Cab for Cutie (for Miles) Something about him being emotionally stunted but also a whole grown ass man. Also his internal struggle with his gradual loss of humanity and self. He's a tool more than he is a person, and while he doesn't really notice a change from his younger self, he's definitely changed. This song also speaks to his fear of commitment. Deep down he's a lonely man.

🎤 Dilaudid by The Mountain Goats (for Kieran) This song speaks to his younger years when he is absolutely drug addled and wild (moreso than he is now). Between the tempo and imagery evoked in the lyrics, everything is so manic and Him.

[turnandface]

OPEN STARTER // for mutuals !

"people need to look both ways before crossing . . . bullets."

[twcheaded-a]

Kieran Teddy moment

[twcheaded-a]

i have cannibalism as a metaphor for desire/ desire as violence on the mind ft. kieran

[twcheaded-a]

OPEN STARTER FOR MUTUALS

"Wrap a piece of pancetta around each fillet..." Kieran stood in front of a range, cooks gathered around him amid preparations for the night ahead. This was the last of many dishes on the menu to be served tonight, and save for this moment of silence and attentiveness, the kitchen had been busy, bursting with the sounds of knives on cutting boards and the clanging of pots and pans.

He folds the pancetta around one of the fillets in a way that he doesn't need a toothpick. "We're going to sear--" Kieran glances up from the fillet when the door opens. If it had been one of the cooks, he would've continued with the preparation of the dish. But this is different; his brown eyes linger on the guest a moment before speaking. "I'll be back." He doesn't specify when, setting the fillet back down on the cutting board for one of the cooks to deal with.

Kieran takes a step back before glancing at the chefs gathered around him, peeling off his gloves. He doesn't know how long this will take. "After you sear both sides, set it on top of the roasted vegetable rounds, and put it in the oven till the fish is perfect. Plate with the creamy fennel sauce.. you can get creative, just make sure we can replicate it." His fingers dance across each other as he counts down --index to pinky finger--. He's met with a chorus of 'heard' and 'yes, chef.'

He pulls a clean towel off the rack after taking off his apron and washing his hands, slinging it over his shoulder. Drying his hands, Kieran walks over to his guest. "You're here early." 'Very early.' His lips twitch into a toothy smirk. It's too soon to tell if the look borders on annoyance or something more playful. "Coming around tonight?" He moves past them, then, while still facing them, back toward the dining room.

[twcheaded-a]

PLAY WITH FIRE. Kieran's pokeverse.

A Team Rocket admin and a restauranter. Much of his backstory stays the same. His restaurant doubles as a tool for money laundering. This fine dining establishment is located in Saffron City. He holds unwavering loyalty toward Giovanni and the rest of Team Rocket. His main team and battle team consists of a Crobat, a Houndoom, a Toxicroak, a Tyranitar, a Noctowl, and a Primeape. He has two other pokemon that often help him in the kitchen, a Magneton named Pasquale and an Alakazam named Romeo.

TEAM BREAKDOWN

Archeon (Houndoom)

Item: Ability: Nature: Moveset:

Minerva (Noctowl)

-larger than average wingspan Item: Leftovers Ability: Nature: Moveset:

Matteo (Primeape)

Item: Ability: Nature: Moveset:

Shinobi (Tokicroak)

Item: Ability: Dry Skin Nature: Impish Moveset:

Mari (Crobat)

Item: Black Sludge Ability: Inner Focus Nature: Hasty Moveset: Taunt, Super Fang, U-turn, Roost

Kage (Tyranitar)

Item: Ability: Nature: Moveset:

[twcheaded-a]

dig — when your muse makes a mistake, are they quick to own up to it or will they ignore that they’ve done any wrong? // for kieran & whoever has the braincell rn!

Technical Machine character development questions (still accepting !)

Kieran's the kind of guy that figures it's better to do something wrong and ask for forgiveness later. But it depends on the mistake and who the job is for because in some cases his life is on the line. Although he strongly prefers to ignore anything that he has done wrong.

[turnandface]

Kieran moment

[turnandface]

In this short episode of Sol Psychoanalyzes His Muses Instead of Doing Schoolwork, why does Kieran kill people?

While it is tempting to say he kills because of his looser connection to humanity, that doesn't exactly fit his reasoning. (Whereas, for Alexander, it would.) His looser connection to humanity certainly helps, but he also likes killing; he gets gratification from it. He enjoys having the power to control who lives and dies.