#leslie did not put it that kindly

[faithwounded]

@sgarrigh psps'd irial || starter call

&&&. "I love what you've done with the place," Irial drawls from his artful sprawl on the couch. Both tone and posture elegantly dance the knife edge of plausible deniability as to whether or not he is being genuine. "It really says... I am my own King."

There's a pause as the former regent runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting the words as he lolls his head toward Niall with a languid grin. "Are you comforted? Our little Shadow Girl suggested I try being less abrasive if I want you to indulge me. She said I should try a compliment."

[mercurygray]

Apologies Owing

Well, they're finally here - the pilots, that is. The base's WACs have some opinions they'd like to share.

A follow up to this piece - and an announcement! I'll be trying to post all of Cord's drabbles on AO3 at Pavilioned In the Fields.

--

The talk over dinner was about nothing but the officers.

There was no consensus yet, it seemed, over who was the handsomest. Netta was stumping for Brady, the one who'd ridden his fort straight into a rut in the middle of the airfield and had walked away without a scratch, but Anita and Mary Dacre both wanted to speak of no one but DeMarco - or rather, the dog he'd brought with him, who had kindly consented to pets and treats and much crooning while his owner stood by and beamed at himself for the genius idea of getting the husky to find his Friday night dates for him. (Mae, too, seemed taken by the idea of the dog, though she was a little too world-wise to let the pup's gorgeous blue eyes win her over to his owner.)

"I liked the one that blew us a kiss," Nina said, almost loyally, still mooning into her soup about it nearly three hours later, elbow firmly planted on the table while she started wistfully into space. "What'd you say his name was, Phoebe?"

"Biddick," Phoebe said, wisely taking the middle road and saying nothing about anything apart from name, rank and serial number, reaching around Nina's elbow for the salt. "Curtis Biddick. Flies with Richard Snyder."

"The one who looks like Leslie Howard?" Becky looked like that was more her speed. "Now there's a man I'd let do a few close maneuvers."

"Curtis Biddick," Nina smiled dreamily, staring off into space obviously having heard nothing Becky had said. "It was so romantic."

"You gotta watch out for boys like that, Nina, they're usually more trouble than they're worth," Mae said, locking eyes with Phoebe across the table and exchanging abbreviated smiles.

"You all can have fun with the squaddies, but I feel like aiming a little higher," Ethel said with a cutthroat grin, inspecting the arch of her brow in the convex of her soup spoon. "That blonde who drove in with Major Egan looks like he really could be in pictures."

"Cleven," Phoebe supplied, before anyone could ask. "Major Gale Cleven. He's Egan's best friend, apparently. He came up to tower, didn't he, Cord? With Major Egan and Demarco?"

"He did," Cord said, non-committal while she wiped some sauce off the corner of her mouth and considered whether she wanted to try chasing down the last of her peas. "Seemed nice enough."

"Hmmm." Ethel looked unimpressed, and perhaps a little put out that Cord, of all people, had gotten an eye in to the main chance that she clearly couldn't appreciate properly. "Nice enough to have a girl at home?"

But no one ventured an answer for her - the half of the table that was facing the doorway all clammed up at same time as the man himself approached the table, uniform immaculate and blond hair swept just so over his very handsome face. The table stood up as one, Nina accidentally flinging her spoon into her bowl with a clatter.

"Ladies. Was wondering if I might have a word alone with Lieutenant Callaway." His voice was all gravitas and gravel, and Ethel looked like she'd die of envy the way she was glaring across the table at her lieutenant.

Mae's eyes, on the other hand, flashed with delight, and Cord looked around the table to see that nearly everyone else was smiling the way girls smiled when they thought you had something to keep a secret about. She felt hot with betrayal. Now just what do you all think - "I think we're all finished, Major, we can leave," Mae offered, gesturing to the rest of the table to get going. "We'll catch you up, Cord." Mae promised, beaming back at her friend, following the rest of the group out the door and back to barracks.

Cord took a breath and studied her shoes for a moment, hoping that none of that heat had made it to her face, and Cleven hadn't seen any of their hinting smiles - or heard what Ethel had just said. She waited until the crowd cleared the door to speak. "Sir?"

"Seems I owe you an apology, Lieutenant."

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say ...wasn't that. "…What for, sir?"

Cleven's gaze was patient, though it looked like that patience was being tested a little at the moment. "Whatever John's done here for the last month."

It took Cord more than a moment to realize he was talking about Bucky Egan. She'd plumb forgotten his first name was John, if she'd ever known it at all. He introduced himself to everyone as Bucky. "…that's very kind of you, Major Cleven, but I'm not sure that's your apology to make, sir."

"Well, a fellow can try." He smiled - a brief thing - and Cord realized why Ethel thought he'd do well in movies. Underneath those baby blue eyes ran some very, very still waters. Well, they'd have to be, to have Egan for a friend. "He - he means well, usually. He's just not…real good at thinking things through sometimes."

You can say that again. "That's…not a quality one looks for in an executive officer, if you don't mind me saying, sir."

Cleven chuckled - a sound Cord was getting the impression most people didn't hear very often. "No, it most certainly is not. But he has others - a damn fine flyer, a good man to have with you in a fight, and a - a good friend."

The quiet fortitude was growing on her - a strong contrast to Egan's boisterous take-all-comers antics. And he'd come here, when he didn't have to, when nothing said he even needed to, to apologize, on the sole basis of one meeting this morning where she'd stood her ground and been short with his friend. He noticed things, Major Cleven did - and that counted for something. "He must be, to have you making apologies for him on your first day here."

Again, the smallest of smiles. "He'd do the same, if it had been me that had stepped wrong. I'm just trying to…pay the favor forward." He took a breath, and looked at his shoes. "He, ah - he mentioned you were from Ohio."

"Dayton," Cord supplied, wondering when this had turned from an apology into an interview.

"Pretty prime flying country out there at Wright-Patterson," Cleven said quietly, glancing at her with softly curious eyes.

"Yes, sir, it is. I practically grew up there - my dad worked on the base, as an engineer. Worked pretty close with the test pilots."

"Is that how you got into the tower?"

"More or less, sir."

"Heard Brady say you were the calmest voice alive, talking him in today."

The 'for a woman' that had doubtless followed the original comment went unsaid, and Cord measured out her own smile. "Well, there's two types of pilots, sir - those who've had a belly landing, and -"

"-those who will." Cleven finished the old chestnut with a smile. "They teach you a lot about belly landings in Dayton, Lieutenant?"

Cord took a deep breath, remembering the rumbling, skating feeling of the plane underneath her, the nameless terror that the brakes no longer worked and her steering was in God's hands, waiting endlessly while the machine skidded heavily to a halt and she planned her exits, preparing to make a run for it. "A fair bit, sir."

"Hopefully we won't give you any more." He caught her gaze and held it. "Let me know, if he gives you any more trouble? We can't have our controller off her game."

She looked him in the eye and knew, instinctively, that he meant that, and if she said something, he would take her at her word - something not too many men on this base would do. That counted for something, too. "You'll be the first person I tell, Major."

He nodded, glad to be heard and understood, and turned to leave, before thinking of one last thing. "And maybe you'll let your friend know the girl at home is named Marge?" His smile was nearly imperceptible, and Cord almost laughed to see it. So he had heard. That's a very dry sense of humor you have there, sir. "Wouldn't want anyone …getting the wrong idea."

She nodded, happy that there was something here she could do for him. Oh, we're going to get along so well. "Of course, sir." Well, Ethel, serves you right. She could just see the other woman's face when she told her that Cleven was definitely off the market.

The understanding, it seemed, was mutual - Cleven gave a little nod and put his hand in his pocket. "Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant."

"And you, Major."

He went back outside, and Cord's eye followed him through the windows to the group of pilots joking and laughing in the road outside, probably getting ready to go into town. What reason could he have given for stopping in the mess hall? Or maybe he didn't need one. Egan hooked his arm around his friend's shoulders, and Cord caught a glimpse, again, of Cleven's fleeting smile - wider now, laughing with his friends as they set off for the village and the pub. And they're best friends? Well, they do say opposites attract.

Cord tidied her seat and exited the mess, surprised to see Mae was sitting on the bench outside the mess, apparently waiting. She got up as Cord stepped outside, grinning from ear to ear. "A word alone with Lieutenant Callaway, huh? You got something you want to share with the class, Cord?"

"Oh, buzz off, Mae. He just wanted to -" She paused, feeling, suddenly, that the apology was not for public consumption. "To thank me, for helping Brady land."

Mae nodded, a little impressed with the new Major. "The way she's going, I think Netta's gonna thank you too."

--

You can read more of Cord here on tumblr at her tag.

[mylovelylittleobsessions]

Banned From Lindon

A Rings of Power one-shot

Literally no one asked for this.

Warning for OOC Galadriel. Song lyrics blatantly stolen from “Banned From Argo” by Leslie Fish. Enjoy!

Galadriel shifted in the closet-sized cage she was trapped in. Her attempt to hold Adar hostage had… not exactly gone to plan. (Why did he lean into her like that? Why did he have to make it weird?)

After a rather embarrassing disarming by the orcs, she was shoved unceremoniously back into the cage she’d just gotten out of, and admonished for her behavior like a child. She bristled under it, being told she’d stay right where she was until supper was ready, “because Lord Father insisted you get a proper meal!”. As if she were malnourished in Lindon!

As for Adar, he was perched on a log, watching his troops (she steadfastly refused to refer to them as children) bustle around their camp, preparing weapons for their invasion of Eregion. As long as she kept his legion occupied with her, her company could escape unnoticed. She sent a silent prayer to the Valar for their swift and safe passage.

A handful of orcs sat by the fire, busying themselves with what looked like instruments. A drum, she recognized, but the stringed one escaped her. Some strange kind of harp? Wouldn’t that be a sight - an orc playing a harp! She would have laughed, if she weren’t too busy with sussing out a weakness in her cage.

“What have you there, son?” Adar asked one of the group clustered by the fire.

“Well, Adar,” replied an orc with a snaggle-tooth sheepishly, “we was thinkin’, well, we could entertain. Since we’ll be ‘ere for a bit ‘n all. Skek wrote a new song, didn’t ya, Skek?” The orc clapped the drummer on the back, who ducked their head shyly. “Yeah, it’s a funny one! Even the elf might like it!” The orc looked at her. “Elves like music, yeah?”

Galadriel blinked, dumbfounded. “Well, yes.” She replied, shocked into answering.

The orc grinned. “Yeah, of course ya do!” He looked back at Adar pleadingly. “C’mon, Lord Father, please? Just till supper?”

Adar sighed with a soft chuckle. “We could probably use the levity. Go ahead.”

The orc group cheered and clapped each other on the back before settling down to play. “Alright!” The orc announced. “This lil’ bit is called ‘Banned From Lindon’.”

“You’ve never been to bleedin’ Lindon!” Someone heckled. “How in the pits could they ban you?”

“I know that, spithead!” The orc shot back. “I was sayin’, if we ‘ad been to Lindon, this’s why we’d be kicked out!” He gave the drummer orc’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’ listen to ‘em, Skek. E’ryone’s a critic.”

“Jus’ ‘ope Adar likes it…” the drummer mumbled.

“I’m sure I’ll love it, Skek.” Adar assured him kindly.

Galadriel was having a hard time reconciling the concept of orcs with anything involving kindness. While she tried to piece it together, the orc group starting playing a jaunty tune, not unlike a Mannish drinking song. The leader of the little band opened his mouth and began to sing.

His voice was… not great.

“When we marched into Lindon fair in need of R & R, The men set out investigating every joint and bar. We had high expectations of their hospitality, But found too late it wasn't geared for Uruk such as we.”

The others joined in for what was likely the chorus, which made it sound a bit better.

“And we're banned from Lindon, every one. Banned from Lindon, just for having a little fun. We spent a jolly respite there for just three days or four, But Lindon doesn't want us anymore.”

Adar was leaned back against a rack of spears, eyebrows raised, seemingly wondering where this was going to go. Quite frankly, so was Galadriel.

“Our Adar’s right hand yields to none in putting down the brew; He outdrank seven soldiers and an Elfish Navy crew. The sieging chief, he didn't win, but he outdrank almost all, And now they've got a trebuchet on the roof of city hall!”

“The faith they have in my liver is astounding.” An orc next to Adar muttered, presumably the right hand in question. Adar shushed him, smiling.

“And we're banned from Lindon, every one. Banned from Lindon, just for having a little fun. We spent a jolly respite there for just three days or four, But Lindon doesn't want us anymore.”

Apparently, the orc’s idea of fun was more Dwarf-like than she expected. She had concerns for Lindon if these creatures ever did show up.

“Our proper, cool, head torturer was drugged with something green, And hauled into an alley where he suffered things obscene. He sobered up in base camp and he's none the worse for wear, Except he somehow taught the Elfish children how to swear!”

“Oh, no…” Adar rasped between chuckles as the orcs went into the chorus again. Galadriel had to agree. A torturer shouldn’t be teaching that to children!

It was a sailor’s job, clearly.

“Our Adar’s tastes were simple but his methods were complex. We found him with five partners, each of a different race and sex. The Royal Guards were on the way — we had no second chance; We got him out in the nick of time, in the remnants of his pants!”

Galadriel bit back a snort of laughter at Adar’s scandalized “Hey!”.

“There, there, Adar.” A chuckling old orc patted Adar on the back, the same one that had chided Galadriel before.

“You get invited to one orgy, and no one ever lets you forget it…” Adar groused, smiling in spite of himself.

“Our shaman won a bag of silver doing something sly: She added hallucinogens to Lindon’s water supply. Now every time an Elf pops in to pay a friend a call, The flesh is there, but the clothes they wear cannot be seen at all!”

The entire camp roared with laughter as they went into the chorus, with some joining in as they picked up the words. Galadriel did her best to fight down a smile.

“Our healer loves all decent folk; his private life is quiet. The Royal Guard arrested him for inciting whores to riot! We found him in the city jail, broke in, and set him free— Intact except for hickeys and six kinds of VD.”

Galadriel had no desire to learn what kind of disease that might be, even if the disgusted laughter around her gave her an inkling.

“Our cook, she loves exotic plants; the plants all love her too. She took some in on holiday and we wondered what they'd do, Until the High King summoned us and swore upon his life That a gang of plants entwined his house and then seduced his wife!”

A fit of giggles escaped her at the mental picture of Gil-Galad and his nonexistent wife. Adar, meanwhile, was wiping away tears from laughing so hard.

“A troop of Dwarves came into town; nobody seemed to care. They stamped into the nearest bar to announce that they were there. Half our men was busy there, and invited them to play. But the Dwarves just took one look at us, then turned and ran away!”

Even Adar had joined in on the chorus by now, which seemed to please the drummer to no end.

“Our army’s Adar’s finest, and our record is our pride, And when we play we tend to leave a trail a mile wide. We're sorry about the wreckage and the riots and the fuss; At least we're sure that city won't be quick forgetting us!”

“And we're banned from Lindon, every one. Banned from Lindon, just for having a little fun. We spent a jolly respite there for just three days or four, But Lindon doesn't want us anymore.”

The drummer finished the song by plaintively singing, “Wonder why?”, which caused Galadriel to finally break, clutching her sides and laughing.

“She laughs pretty…” An orc murmured, awestruck.

“Don’ get used to it, kiddo.” Another replied.

Multiple spears beat the ground in applause, and the old orc leaned in to tell Adar that supper was ready. She then ambled over to Galadriel’s cage. “If I let you out, you promise not to cause no trouble?”

Galadriel, whose laughter had finally abated, replied, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Perhaps this could end peacefully after all.

[dailylesliec]

[TRANSLATION] Art and Piece Issue 16 - Alan Chan about Leslie Cheung

“He climbed out of the pool and asked me, 'Don't you just think my shorts look so gorgeous and sexy today?'”

A BEAUTIFUL TUNE IN THE MIDST OF EMPTINESS

Alan Chan - Renowned Hong Kong designer

I am Alan Chan. I am a designer, and designed multiple album covers for Leslie Cheung.

In the 80s and 90s, I designed album covers for several big names and superstars. Some people even called me Leslie's "go-to designer" because of that, and I also witnessed a lot of high points in Leslie's music career. As I work in graphic design as well as advertising, I don't use a very personal angle in creating an album cover. Rather, I use the artist as a starting point, to accentuate the public image the artist had at that point in time.

The first time I helped Leslie create an album cover was in 1984. Capital Artists was beginning to realise that they needed to "package" or "dress up" their artists and came to me for help. And like that, I worked with Leslie for the first time on his album Craziness. Leslie was a gentleman - once he even invited me to have dinner at his then-home in Taikoo Shing after the album was done. To be honest, Leslie and I weren't very close, but we were both very emotional people. We didn't need to say much to understand each other. It was quite fun working on Craziness though. At the time Capital Artists was still quite new and our budget was quite small. The waistcoat, shirt and bowtie that Leslie wore during the photoshoot were actually mine, I just lent them to him. Fortunately, they fit.

I still remember when Florence Chan, Alex Chan and I waited outside the recording studio from noon until late night. When we heard the finished product of Sleepless Night, I really couldn't help but let out a "WOW" in my heart. We knew that this song would make him a superstar. Later when we went to Japan for the Summer Romance photoshoot, I had my eye on a pair of shoes while shopping there. When I went to pay, I found out that gor-gor had already kindly bought them for me. It's an unforgettable memory of mine. Those pair of shoes are almost completely worn out but I still keep them.

I don't really know a lot of artists, but Leslie is definitely the most artistic one. You can see this even in the details of his everyday life. When he moved from Repulse Bay to Kadoorie Hill, he did all of the interior design himself. The furnishing was very tasteful - he just knew how to pick and arrange elegant furniture. He was also a really easy person to communicate with about creating. We both trusted each other a lot in the design process. I knew very well that at some point, o matter if it's singing, acting, or any other sort of artistic approach, an artist should be able to think for themselves and not just follow the crowd.

Just like for the later Leslie '89, Leslie himself took the album cover photo, while I added some finishing touches and colour with aerosol paint. Or take For Your Heart Only. He knew what he wanted to do from the start and even prepared his own outfit. When he arrived, he put on the ring his lover gave him for the photoshoot, so in the end we used a more soft way to handle the cover in order to show Leslie's pure, loving side. Rather than expressing it to the fans, I feel like the concept of the album was for Leslie's own heart. Virgin Snow's aesthetic and typography doesn't look outdated even today. Final Encounter is also really worth remembering - I constructed a ten-or-so feet tall podium and used a vertical ladder to climb up there and take photos, it actually wasn't very stable or safe.

Mirages exist in all of entertainment business. All performances will have parts where we are "pretending" and this is called showmanship. The personality of an artist shows through your showmanship. I felt that the natural, creative energy that Leslie had was unique. No other artist had it. Leslie's beauty came with a sort of feminine sexiness, it was soft-spoken, and he wasn't afraid to show off his attractiveness. I remember during the photoshoot for the Leslie album cover, he climbed out of the pool and asked me, "Don't you just think my shorts look so gorgeous and sexy today?"

Not everyone can be him.

Translated by me (aka @dailylesliec on Twitter/Tumblr), do not repost without credit. If you like this translation, consider following me or buying me a Ko-fi! For the formatted PDF version of the article, click here.

[ninjastormhawkkat]

The Fall of Fair City - Chapter 24

The next day in Fair City, Miss Question was planning to cause trouble with her newest scheme. Grinning evilly to herself, Miss Question made her way to one of the local pawn shops. She was in the mood to get some valuables to decorate her apartment as well as steal some valuable question mark shaped earrings that were on display there earlier that day as she was picking up some breakfast downtown for her, Leslie, and Beatrice to enjoy. She used her hover board-shaped question mark to arrive at the unsuspecting pawn shop quickly and with style. Once she arrived, Miss Question gleefully hopped off her board and observed the display cases that were visible through the windows. Miss Question smiled happily when she saw the question mark shaped earrings were still there along with some other valuable goodies she could pilfer. "Is it really possible to have too much of a good thing?" Miss Question asked to herself as she approached the doors. Just as she was about to enter the Pawn Shop, a loud voice from behind caught the woman's attention. "FREEZE MISS QUESTION!" Miss Question turned around and saw to her amazement Police Commissioner Watson and some cops all standing behind her. They all looked prepared to apprehend the villain and prevent her from escaping. "Is it just me or does anyone else find this surprising and odd?" Miss Question asked with bafflement in her voice. Some of the cops looked puzzled at the villain's specific question. Miss Question rolled her eyes at them not getting what she was implying. "Doesn't Wordgirl show up to stop me way before you guys do? Don't you show up just to deliver villains to jail after Wordgirl stops us?" Miss Question taunted. The commissioner frowned angrily at her assumptions. "For the record, the fine men and women of Fair City's police department are more than capable of handling villains like you Miss Question." Watson replied, feeling insulted. Miss Question snorted as if she heard a funny joke. "Really? Then why haven't you guys shown up as much as Wordgirl to any crimes that have happened? Why does it seem Wordgirl does most of the work around here while you sit on your butts and do nothing all day?" Miss Question's last retort held slight traces of anger in her voice. While she didn't get along with the young heroine nor her sidekick that much, Miss Question did care for the child hero as much as other villains did, she felt that the city's law enforcement was becoming too lazy and dependent on Wordgirl to fight crime. Shouldn't she have more time to be a kid? Police Commissioner Watson scowled angrily. How dare this villain insult his police force and work as an upholder of the law. "Miss Question I am placing you under arrest for attempted robbery among other lists of charges. Surround and cuff her people. As the rest of the officers attempted to put Miss Question under arrest, Commissioner Watson felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket. He picked up his phone which showed he was receiving a call from an unknown phone number. The commissioner gave a puzzled and annoyed look. 'Who in the world could be contacting me at this time? Don't they understand I am in the middle of important work and can't be interrupted." He muttered to himself as he decided to answer the call as to not be rude. "Better not be a telemarketer." The commissioner grumbled as he answered. "This is Police Commissioner Watson. To whom am I speaking too." A brief static silence was heard before someone began speaking. "Oh hello Commissioner Watson. Thank you for taking my call and speaking in such a kindly manner." A voice responded. The commissioner frowned as he couldn't make out the tone of voice nor tell if the caller was male or female. "Um I'm sorry but there is something odd about your voice." The caller let out a static chuckle before replying. "Oh I am using a device to disguise my voice. I don't want you or anyone else to know stuff about me. Not yet anyway." They concluded with another chuckle which sent chills down Watson's back for some reason. @melodythebunny @dualnaturedscientist

[daydreamgoddess14]

Home Time

MASTERLIST

11 hours on a bus back from Amsterdam is a long time.

~~~~~~~~~

They'd cycled through a number of crowd favourites - Three Little Birds, followed by Sweet Caroline, Livin on a Prayer and a stellar duet of Starman by Rebecca and Piggy Stardust... Once they'd left the city, Ted stood to address the bus.

"First rule on my bus, same as the outbound journey - only number ones on the bus. No number twos, no negotiation. If anyone toots on the bus, they find their own way home." Nods and murmurs sounded throughout. "We have a journey time of about 11 hours ahead of us, first stop is Ghent after lunch, then we plow on to Calais for the boat at 4.30 this afternoon. We should be back in Richmond by 8pm. Where I expect you all to go straight to bed. We have lunch on board, kindly picked up by Will and Higgyboy. What's my snack rule fellas?"

"Share snacks, Coach"

"That's right, you will share those fizzy sour haribos I like so much - especially with me. You wanna sleep? Fine by me, I'll stick a DNR on you-"

"DND" Beard interrupted 

"Oh right, yeah, course. No need for DNRs, I'd happily resuscitate any one of you guys, no fear there! You don't wanna sleep, we've got card decks, Uno, and some other games. Also - book swap! I finished a very exciting cozy murder mystery involving a baking club this morning, if anyone wants to give it a whirl. Lookin' at you Royster. Other than that, relax, rest and I'll catch up with y'all in a bit."

"Thanks Coach" various voices spoke up. Once Ted was seated again, Higgins made his way down the coach aisle with a takeaway cup which he popped down in front of Rebecca. 

"Leslie you wonderful man. How did you know?"

"Didn’t see you at the hotel breakfast, and I was picking up lunch for everyone anyway. It is coffee though, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive, thank you. So much." Rebecca smiled warmly. "How was your evening of jazz?"

"Oh it was excellent, young Will enjoyed it too. Isn't it a lovely city?"

"I saw less of it than I expected to be honest." Rebecca gave a small shrug. Try as he might, Ted was struggling to avoid eavesdropping, fortunately Rebecca didn't offer any further information. "Could you order me a new phone please? Do you think we could have one at the club for tomorrow morning?" Higgins pulled his phone out of his pocket and started an online basket,

"Of course, shouldn't be a problem. Did you want the new model, and in pink?"

"Yes please, that would be perfect. I'm afraid mine is in the bottom of the canal. Can we access my account remotely to forward any calls?"

"Yes, yes, calls only though - messages don't get retrieved until you get your new phone?"

Rebecca caught Ted's eye and smirked. 

"That's not a problem, I'm sure I can get caught up on those tomorrow. Ted, would you mind putting a message on the group chat to let everyone know I'm incommunicado please?"

"Sure thing boss, betcha those little fishes wish they had thumbs for textin!"

After a couple of hours on some team admin, Ted checking ferry tickets, Rebecca checking passports and passing the takeout coffee across the table for him to share until the dregs were too cold to drink. Ted moved towards the front of the bus where he leaned down to speak with Will. Between them, they reached into the overhead lockers and started pulling out boxes and bags of sandwiches with cured deli meats, cheese and salad. Bags of salty crisps came next, and then a selection of bottled soft drinks. Far from the heavily curated super healthy menus they were used to, their comfort lunch was well received. Ted stayed down the front of the bus, taking Will's seat so he could talk with Trent.

"Good night, Trent?"

"Most enjoyable thanks Ted. A very welcoming city."

"That's great to hear, good to have you with us."

"I've said it before, the team is on a remarkable journey. It's a privilege to be alongside." Ted gripped Trent's shoulder in gratitude before taking an open rubbish bag up the aisle to collect the lunch wrappers. 

He paused between Isaac and Dani,

"You boys doing OK? It was a pleasant surprise to see you all at breakfast this morning."

"We stayed in, Coach. Did something you'd be proud of, I think." Isaac's smile grew.

"Coach, we had a pillow fight. It was the most glorious and wholesome experience for me, I felt like I was in a sorority girls movie" Dani beamed.

"Well that sounds pretty dang great! I am proud of you! And it was probably a darn sight less seedy than those sorority movies, Dani."

"For sure Coach, we all kept our clothes on!"

"Hey, that's fantastic! But y'all get naked with whoever you want to, as long as you're in agreement then who the heck cares! I would not stand in the way of true love or male bonding rituals. And I've heard how English folks love a bit of bonding." Ted patted both players on the shoulder before leaning closer to Isaac's ear. "Great job, Captain. Really great job." Isaac nodded solemnly at the praise and sniffed a little at the suddenly dusty bus. 

Further on making his way to the back of the bus, Ted stopped again between Roy and Jamie.

"Coach! I taught Roy howta ride a bike! We saw the whole city!"

"Alright Jamie, put it there!" Ted put a hand up for a high five. "Glad you fellas got some time together." Roy growled,

"We're together every fucking day." He looked at Ted, who discreetly nodded towards Jamie, who's eyes had dropped to the floor. "But..." He added, "it's not every day you learn to ride a bike. Or see a windmill. Or see a city like this." Jamie's head snapped up. "Cheers Tartt, you fucking tart. It was a pretty great fucking night in the end" Jamie's smirked, Ted nodded happily at Roy and moved on. 

He dropped the rubbish bag into the stairwell of the coach loo and sat in Rebecca's previous seat at the table. She'd moved round to talk to Beard, who was busy showing her Ted's epiphanious notebook. 

"Coach Beard has been explaining your method to me."

"Not his method" Beard interrupted, Rebecca slapped his hand.

"I don't care when it was invented and who by, I care that Ted believes in it." Beard rolled his eyes.

"Happy to tell you about it boss. Time for our first stop though so let's get us a coffee and some sugar first. Need to get you some caffeine so my explaining doesn't send you to sleep." Ted smiled at Rebecca as the bus pulled to a halt at a service station. They were about to start getting off the bus when the sound of Dani weeping travelled through the bus. 

The field next to the service station was awash with pale pink tulips.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Rebecca marveled at the calibre and quantity of sweet treats being passed up and down the bus, the team never missed her out of the distribution loop - randomly shouting recommendations. She contributed a tray of caramel cookies which had been so well received, they'd earned her a huge cheer. 

"Ms W, try these bad boys from Moe - they're so good!" Jamie put a bag of fizzy jelly sweets in front of her and she took a couple. Jamie's face contorted as he took a bite, "Uuugggh they're so sour!" The grimace turned to a grin, "Sooo good!"

"I love the sour ones!" Rebecca took a bit and felt the sour notes hit her tastebuds "Oooh, that's amazing!" Across the table, Ted watched as the team embraced having the boss on the bus with them, Beard was napping across the very back seats so he and Rebecca had a card game in front of them - he was trying to teach her poker. "Ted likes the sour ones too," she passed the bag along to him, "try these."

"That's cos they start out sour and prickly but they suddenly go sweet without you noticing." He grinned at Rebecca, Jamie had turned back to his teammates who were playing some sort of 20 questions game in teams of 3 or 4. "So it's time boss, I'm mentally, spiritually and cosmically prepared for the story of how you lost your phone." Rebecca smiled, the last 5 bus hours with her team had been just as soothing to her soul as the previous night had been. 

"I was on the phone to Sassy who was trying to persuade me to take drugs and visit prostitutes-"

"Standard Sassy"

"Standard Sassy. I was stood in a bike lane, stupidly. I just got pushed and prodded right over the barrier on the bridge, straight into the water." Ted's eyes widened, 

"Holy smokes boss, why the heck didn't you say sooner? Are you hurt?" she brushed his concern away with a hand wave, 

"Just my pride. Anyway, a gentleman on a houseboat rescued me, I was drenched-" She stopped suddenly and shivered. Ted was quick to remove his sweater and pass it over the table. 

"and?" He prompted.

"He plied me with wine and food, I slept on his sofa and with no phone and no one I could contact, I just... relaxed. I learned to just... be, I think. Nothing at all against you, or Keeley or Sass, but you've all seen the very worst of me. This stranger hadn't, it felt like a total reset of my brain. I don't need to worry about what Rupert thinks anymore, or how he'd control my every mouthful and movement," she gestured to the sweets, chocolate and coffee cups next to them, "I don't need to care about what my mother thinks. I can just be myself. I just need to relearn who that is." She shrugged. Ted had fallen completely still and silent,

"I'm proud of you, boss. You're finally on the same page as the rest of us. These boys adore you, they'd go to war for you. We all would. Believe me, if you could see you the way we see you, you'd know how loved you are around here." He looked down the aisle at the team laughing and joking together, Rebecca's eyes filled with tears, she let them fall for the first time in a long time - no longer needing to hold the facade of total control, elegance and fortitude. She nodded, unable to speak for a few moments. Something was creeping around the edges of her mind, she looked at Ted with a small smile. His t-shirt was dark for a change, he usually wore white. There was some sort of band name, slogan, album cover. She couldn't see with the way his arms were crossed and leaning on the table. 

"Could I borrow a page of your notebook please?" she asked, he passed her the whole thing and a pen. Quietly, she flipped to a blank page and tapped the pen against her lips, thinking with a frown.

"Something on your mind?"

"Just trying to work something out." 

"I'm gonna do a check on the boys, I'll leave you to it for a bit." 

"Green matchbook," she mumbled before writing it down, followed by the initials S.O. "Shite," she wrote, with J.W alongside, her mind beginning to flow more freely, "drenched," she didn't have initials to add, but wrote 'boat guy'. "What was next?" she muttered. "Thunder and lightning..." Beard snorted in his sleep, she looked across and took in the full Piggy Stardust experience with a grin. There was a lightning bolt on his outfit. She froze immediately and looked down at the book and then around the bus frantically. Ted was coming back from his tour, she could see the t-shirt clearly now. It was an old Springsteen tour shirt with Thunder Road scrawled across the front. Rebecca’s jaw dropped,

"Don't know about you boss, but I was not built to spend eleven hours on a bus." He stretched his arms up to touch the roof of the coach. The t-shirt lifted slightly, exposing a neat line of his stomach. Rebecca’s brain was going into overload, the jumbled, rambling thoughts making no sense and in no particular order. 

"Fuck me." She muttered, Ted looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. 

"Well, ordinarily I'd offer to buy dinner first. I don't like to be too presumptuous." Rebecca saw the glint in his eye and felt the heat pool in her stomach. "Our very own Van Damme would like to know if we'll join the guys for a game of poker? I said you were still in training so he suggested we team up." He dropped to her ear level and whispered, "They're playing for M 'n' Ms, the peanut ones." 

"I don't like peanuts."

"That's a shame, I'll have to keep yours and I'll trade you for something else." He winked and offered his hand. As she took it, she felt something bolt in her heart. Thunder and lightning. That crazy old bint might have been onto something after all.

~~~~~~~~~

Ted had often wondered about couples or friends who could hold entire conversations with their eyes. He and Beard could do it. He and Michelle could not. He was starting to regret his over tired flirtatious behaviour a little while ago because he was now sitting in very close proximity to Rebecca and having a full conversation via eye contact. His eyes which had spent all morning quietly looking at Rebecca. Her legs in those jeans, wearing his sweater, sharing his coffee and snacks, her tired but content smile... He might have been slightly bitten by the love bug, but he thinks they might be better at this than he and Beard. And that's saying something. She sought his approval on her hand of cards, sure, but she was also regarding him with some weird combination of awe, lust, love... and trepidation. And shock. Not shock horror, fortunately. More like revelatory shock. Also a bit of relief. He nearly laughed aloud, that sure was a lot of feelings for one person to be feeling. In reply, she saw humour, confusion and something else she couldn't quite understand.

They were in the coach queue at the ferry port, once boarded, they'd be let off to get food and wander around the boat for an hour. They were all dying to stretch their legs and get some fresh air, the bus was starting to get stuffy and with over a dozen grown men in the bus, there was a distinctly locker room smell going on. They were all starting to flag, curling in on themselves and each other for somewhere to rest their heads. The poker game was over, Rebecca had played well for a novice, but Van Damme dominated the game. He wouldn't take her last 'all in' effort though, and told her to keep her handful of M 'n' Ms which she immediately handed over to Ted. Once the coach was settled in the belly of the ferry, Higgins hopped off to provide tickets and passports. He returned after a while with a weary "We're OK to get off for a bit. We need to be back on the coach twenty minutes before we dock at Dover so let's call it 5.30pm. An hour or freedom before our final furlong."

"I suggest you guys eat? Saves you the job later when we get home, we don't all have a Julie Higgins at home with a hot dinner." Beard offered. 

"Buy you a bourbon, Ted?" Rebecca offered. She wasn't sure the bank card that had been in her pocket would still work, but she had others in her unscathed bag. 

"As tired as I am, I cannot refuse that offer." He'd made it to the coach door before her and held out a hand to help her on the steep steps, which she gratefully took. She didn't let it go once she was on solid ground. They ordered chips to share, and coffees spiked with bourbon and took them onto the upper deck of the ferry where the sea breeze was fierce but welcomed. Most of the team had had the same idea and were enjoying the cool air of the English Channel. Even when they had the opportunity to be apart, they all wanted to be together, Rebecca marvelled. She nudged Ted and nodded her head towards the group a few rows down from them.

"Looks like Isaac has had his John Keating moment." She smiled, knowing with certainty that he'd get the Dead Poet's Society reference. He put a hand over his heart,

"Oh Captain! My Captain! Are you kiddin' me boss?!" She rolled her eyes,

"Ted! I'm not completely pop culturally illiterate you know." He laughed, handing her the last of the chips. "But something has definitely clicked with them."

"They had a pillowfight last night."

"In a sex club?"

"Nope."

"In a pot bar?"

"Nope. At the hotel. They had a couple of drinks, had a pillowfight, and went to bed. Sam was telling me. They spent so long trying to decide what to do - because they only wanted to do something together - that they ran out of time to actually go out and do something."

"It's sweet that they wanted to be together."

"It is, it bodes well for what Beard and I have planned for next week. Freedom, to move around the pitch fully supporting each other. True and meaningful teamwork."

"Oi fuckers! Back to the bus!" Roy bellowed from the front of the deck.

"Looks like the boss has spoken." Rebecca said with a wry smile.

"Oh you just wait til I tell you what he got up to last night, boss. It's such a doozy, I'm saving it for biscuits with the boss." Ted wiggled his eyebrows and took the empty tray and coffee cup from Rebecca, taking them to the nearest bin and then waiting for her to join him.

Back on the bus, silence had descended. Most were listening to music, waiting TV on their phones, or sleeping. Beard had moved to the front to sit with Trent, leaving plenty of space for Rebecca and Ted to lay across the seats. They lay either side of the table, their heads meeting at the top. They'd been unconsciously connected since she'd gotten on the bus that morning, hardly leaving each others side and sharing everything. 

"I'm sorry if I worried you last night." She whispered, turning to lay on her stomach so she could see him better, he did the same making them practically nose to nose.

"Freedom to move around boss. Sounded like you needed it. I'm sorry about the overload of messages. When you actually do see them, I'd just like to remind you that Beard gave me drugged tea. I was probably 'too much Ted'." Rebecca searched his face, she felt like she was truly seeing him.

"I think there might be no such thing as 'too much Ted'." 

"Well, Michelle certainly thinks there is."

"She's wrong. Very wrong." Rebecca said firmly. "Rupert thinks women should be seen and not heard, shouldn't run football clubs and shouldn't speak their mind."

"He's wrong. Very wrong." Ted repeated her words softly.

Y'know someone left a bottle of bourbon in my kitchen after my summer barbecue. When I get home, I'm taking a glass to my bath."

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day. Save me a spot."

"Of the bourbon or in the bath?" Rebecca asked boldly, quietly.

"Both." He replied with a slight shrug and a knowing smile. 

"Do you ever feel like things happen that are purely happening so they can lead you, draw you to something else more important?" Rebecca leaned up on her elbows, angling her body closer toward Ted.

"I sure do boss. We have to go through the mess so we can make progress"

"A work in prog-mess."

"Exactly." He blushed and looked down to where their hands were nearly joined, "Becca... I would really like to kiss you?"

"I would love nothing more, but I do think we probably shouldn't do it on this bus?" Ted lifted his head right up above the table to look down the bus.

"They're all asleep or distracted. No one's gonna know but you and me." He whispered.

"Well in that case, it would be rude not to." She smiled and reached towards him. The terrible angle allowed for the briefest chaste kiss, but it was enough. "Struck by fucking lightning." Rebecca said in awe as the bus pulled into the AFC Richmond carpark, the sun lowering over the training pitch and covering her home in a golden light.

[fan-girling-101]

Pickup Lines

Corpse Husband X Reader

Summary: Just some pickup lines from Corpse in a round of Among Us.

Warnings: Maybe some swear words somewhere and my trashy writing.

Wordcount: 1629

Definitely not my artwork. Also I’m back and not dead. Yay! Tell me what you think and please request.

Rae, being the big sister she is, begged me until I had to give in to make her be quiet, got me to agree to playing Among Us with her gang. As in Poki, Felix, Sean, Brooke AB, Sykkuno, Toast, Fuslie, and Corpse. I have never once in my entire existence played Among Us. I stream but never this game. I mostly stream the Sims 4 and I just started The last of us two. I download the game and the proximity mod Rae told me to get. After setting up my stream and greeting the early people who come early I open the game and join the discord call.

“Rae you said you have someone new to play.” One of Rae’s friends says as I join the call. I can clearly tell from the voice that they are excited.

“Yea, she’s really annoying most of the time and we share DNA.” Rae laughs causing me to gasp. “ME! Annoying imposable!! I’m the most un annoying person in the world. The audacity you have Rachell Hofstetter.” 

“Guys this is my little baby sister Y/N.” Rae introduces me to all her online Among Us friends. A chorus of hi’s sound out in my headphone, really loud hi’s form some of them. “Introduce yourselves.” Rae commands the group.

“Hi I’m Sykkuno I have a plant hat.” 

“Ok, um Hi I’m the better sister Y/N nice to meet you all.” I kindly say with a wave though after I realize they can’t see me. “Oh God I just waved though none of you can see me. Let’s just start before I do more weird things.”

“We still have to wait for Corpse.” I let out a small oh as I mute myself and talk to chat.

“Corpse finally you’re here!” Syykuno’s voice is the first I hear in a while. He greets the player that’s 19 minutes late.

“Corpse meet my sister Y/N, she’s our tenth player.” Rae butts in before Corpse even has a chance to talk.

“Whaddup baby.” An unbelievably hot voice makes it’s way through my headphones. I just sit there stunted for a second. His voice is Godly and amazing what I would give to wake up to that every morning.

“Uh um h-hi.” I giggle out feeling my face heat up a ton. My chat is going a million miles per hour even with slow mode. The ones I can read say something like SIMP!!!, that reaction tho, look at her blush.

“Hey, that’s my sister Corpse!”

The game starts with me being a crewmate. We all spawn around a blue circle table. I stay there for an extra bit trying to regain myself. “Rachell, how do I play?” After Rae gives me a quick rundown she leaves to the left to do her tasks. I head down to a place filled with boxes. I walk in circles around the boxes for a while just for fun when a body is reported. 

“Body in Nav.” Felix says being the one to report Sean’s body. 

I listen to the conversation they all have, silently observing what they have to say. That is until I’m brought into the conversation. “Y/N you’ve been silent.” Toast calls me out. “Where were you this round?”

“I was in a room.” I start off as the others laugh around me as I try to think what that place was called. “Sus” Someone says, causing me to panic. “Wait, give me a second it was a room with boxes some of them were like floating or something.”

“Storage?” Corpse asks, again causing my face to heat up. God this man doesn't even have to say anything interesting to make me blush, he could say the dumbest thing and I’d be hooked.. “Where else were you?” Toast asks clearly, trying to sus me for no reason whatsoever.

“Um… storage, I was there the whole round running around boxes. Why you so sus Toast trying to cover up the murderer are you?” I try to throw the sus back at the man. 

People start voting so I vote for Toast because why not, he’s being mega sus. My white head pops up next to Toast’s name with a little black head. And Toast’s cyan head pops up next to my name. We get into the next round and Corpse insists I follow him, so I do. I mean who can say no to him, certainly not me.

“Wait here,'' he tells me. I stand in Caf in the top corner unsure if I’m about to be killed or not. Corpse walks out of my sight before walking in front of me. “Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk past you again?” He asks, causing me to become a stuttering mess.

“I um I… I got ta-task to g-go do.” I start walking away feeling my face heat up. But he follows after me.

“I'm learning about important dates in history. Wanna be one of them?” No matter where I go Corpse follows after me giving out pickup lines.

“I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?”

“Corpse s-stop following me I um I-I I have tasks.” I stutter helplessly trying to get away from him passing multiple people laughing at me. 

“Can I follow you where you're going right now? Cause my parents always told me to follow my dreams!” He uses another pickup line before a pink body gets reported. 

“The body is in the back of electrical.” Leslie is the first one to talk. The blush on my cheeks caused by Corpse Husband doesn't feel like going away anytime soon.

“I think Y/N and Corpse came from there.” Poki adds to the conversion by throwing the sus over to me and Corpse.

“It couldn’t have been Y/N I was with her the whole round.”

“Ye-yea yes it is not Corpse I-I um I was with him.” I stutter out. People start accusing Corpse because how unserten I sounded until Sykkuno stuck up for him saying he saw us together alot. Most of us skipped except a few votes on Corpse and one vote on Toast from me. He’s still sus.

And now the pickup lines from Corpse start again:

“I hope you know CPR, because you are taking my breath away!”

“If I had four quarters to give to the four prettiest women in the world, you would have a dollar!”

“Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile!”

“I'm in the mood for pizza. A pizza you, that is!”

“If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?”

“Do you have a name? Or can I call you mine?”

“Is your name Google? Because you have everything I've been searching for.”

“There must be something wrong with my eyes. I can't take them off you.”

“You must be a campfire. Because you're super hot and I want s'more.”

“My buddies bet me that I wouldn't be able to start a conversation with the most beautiful person in the game. What should we do with their money?”

“Remember me? Oh, that's right, I've only met you in my dreams.”

“I'm glad I remembered to bring my library card. 'Cause I am totally checking you out!”

“I'm no mathematician, but I'm pretty good with numbers. Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it.”

“Are you a time traveler? Because I see you in my future!”

“There is something wrong with my cell phone. It doesn't have your number in it.”

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together.”

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Boyfriend material.”

“I was blinded by your beauty; I’m going to need your name and phone number for insurance purposes.”

“Something’s wrong with my eyes because I can’t take them off you.”

“Did the sun come out or did you just smile at me?”

“You’re so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line.”

“I know you vented Y/N. Right into my heart.”

That’s all I hear for the rest of my steam. Each time making me more flustered than the last. My face has been red all the time and chat hasn’t failed to notice, making me more flustered each time I read a comment calling me out.. We were all chilling in the lobby going to do our last game when Corpse decided to use another pick up line on me.

“Hey guys watch this, watch this!” He says getting everyone to stop their conversations. “Hey Y/N.”

“Hi?...”

“You remind me of the twenty letters of the alphabet.” He starts. I tilt my head a little confused where he got twenty from. But like sure dude.

“Corpse buddy, there are twenty six letter in the alphabet.” Sean says, correcting Corpse who somehow forgot about six letters.

“Silly me, silly me how could I forget U R A Q T.” Again the blush gets deeper.

“Hold up man you're still missing one you can’t count!” Felix yells out over the chorus of awww. From the rest.

“Don’t worry I give you that D later.” I think I died and went to heaven. Maybe hell couldn’t be sure.

“Woah woah woah THAT IS MY BABY SISTER YOU ARE TALKING TO!!!! KEEP IT PG!!!!” Rae yells out over all the people laughing and saying things. 

“I think I’m broken.” I whisper in my mic, somehow over all the talking Corpse heard me. “Sorry Kitten, maybe I should come over and make you feel better.”

CORPSE was banned by Valkyrae

CORPSE was kicked from the call by Valkyrae

[sparkypantaloons]

Only Pieces

Every time he sees Jason he has to remind himself that it’s real. His son, his precious boy, is here and breathing and living. But, alive or not, he still died. And that bit never goes away.

Jason came back, but Bruce still mourns his death.

Love is the whole thing. We are only pieces.

It hits Bruce out of nowhere. Like a rabid wolf materialising out of the warm afternoon air, savaging him in to pieces of the man he once was. Breath, bone and sinew; torn apart and thrown up into the atmosphere. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t speak. Why would he need to? He’s nothing but fragments now. Left to rot down into dust.

“You okay, B?” Tim asks, looking at him concerned.

He pulls his mortarboard hat off Jason’s head, elbows his brother in the ribs.

Bruce blinks. Tries to pull the shards of himself back together. Cobble them into something that resembles human.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, old man.” Jason says, side-eyeing him. He shrugs off the graduation gown as he speaks, throws it over Tim’s head.

Tim huffs, grabbing at the swathes of fabric. His hair sticks up in all directions as the cloth falls into his hands.

Bruce manages a stiff nod. Clears his throat. “We need to leave in five.” He says. The words rise in his throat like glass.

Tim shrugs. “Ready when you are.”Jason doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the older man, eyes narrowed.

Bruce turns. Leaves the library. His vision is blurring, he feels like he might be sick.

Somehow he finds his way to his study. He closes the door more heavily than he intended and it rattles in its frame. The sound is like an assault, all at once too loud and barely audible over the rushing in his ears.

He sits in the chair behind his desk. Gropes for the second drawer down on the right hand side. The whiskey bottle rattles as he yanks the drawer open. Then the liquid rattles down his throat as he drinks straight from the bottle. It doesn’t burn the way it used to, but it still works. Just.

His senses return. Taste first, then smell, the woody flavour of the spirit left lingering in his mouth. Then he can feel the bottle in his hand, round and smooth under his calloused fingers. He watches the liquid settle as he places it down on the desk, the blurring at the edge of his vision disappearing. He can breathe again.

He slumps back in the chair, tilts his head back and takes a deep breath through his nose. A tear escapes the corner of his eye before he can stop it. He wipes it away quickly and takes another deep breath. He can’t do this now.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred is stood in the doorway. His eyes slide from the younger man to the bottle on his desk, and he tilts his head knowingly. “The boys are waiting.” He says gently.

Bruce nods. His eyes are in danger of blurring again. “Jason, he…” He croaks. He screws his eyes shut, takes another steadying breath.

“I know, Master Bruce.” Alfred says kindly. “I saw.”

~

Bruce drives Tim to his graduation ceremony and Dick comes too. Tim makes his brother sit in the back because even if Dick is the oldest, it’s Tim’s graduation. They chatter away on the journey and Bruce makes sure to laugh or interject at the right moments, to frown or make disapproving sounds when he should. But he’s gripping the steering-wheel too tightly and he’s not fool enough to think they haven’t noticed.

When they arrive, they have photos taken of the three of them. Dick and Bruce in dark blue suits, Tim in between them in his academic regalia. They grin brightly but Bruce only just remembers to let go of Tim when it’s over. Remember’s that he can’t hold his children in his arms forever, no matter how much he wants to.

They mingle before the ceremony, meeting some of Tim’s friends and their families. Brucie Wayne comes out, and Bruce manages to lose himself in the performance. He almost convinces himself that he’s okay, is sure that he will have at least convinced the boys. But when he and Dick take their seats in the hall and Tim has left to sit with the rest of his class, Dick reaches down and takes his hand. He squeezes it tightly and says under his breath “You’re okay, Bruce. It’s okay.”

Bruce has to take another deep breath, then makes the command decision that enough is enough. He slips his hand out of Dick’s, takes out his phone and opens an old WhatsApp group. He sends a short message, then mutes the chat before any replies come through.Today is about Tim.

Bruce slips the phone back into his pocket. He can fall apart later.

~

Tim accepts his degree and they have more photos. He throws his mortarboard higher than any of the other graduates, and then he puts the cape on Bruce and the hat on Dick for one last photo, grinning between them and clutching his certificate, one arm wrapped tightly around Bruce’s waist.

Back at the Manor there are more photos and Alfred opens some champagne. Steph and Babs are there, Cass and Damian and Jason too. Together they laugh and hug and clink glasses and order pizza for dinner, because Tim didn’t want Alfred cooking when he should be celebrating with his family.

Bruce lets himself slip under the surface of the noise, the sound of his children, bickering and joking and breathing and growing. The sound of the living. He lets the sheer life of them wash over him, feels the splinters of his heart float to the surface. He can breathe again.

Dick watches him from across the room. Bruce pretends not to notice.

~

It’s a long few hours later when he checks his phone. The old group chat full with unannounced messages.

He slips quietly out of the drawing room. The hallway is cold away from the warmth of his family. He suppresses a chill and makes his way to his study.

Sat at his desk in the quiet and the dark, he feels some of his resolve seep out of him. The Zoom loading wheel spins, then faces begin to populate the screen. There’s Judy in the top right, her horn rimmed glasses sitting atop her thick curly hair. Sal is just beneath her, his French bulldog snoozing in his lap. Top left is Bhavin, Ganesh sat on a shelf behind him, peeking out behind the cloud of white hair. Beneath him, in the bottom left of the screen, is Bruce. Elbows resting on the desk, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

“Oh darlin’.” Sal’s southern drawl comes through the speakers. “What happened?”

Bruce can’t speak. His throat has closed up. He’s trying desperately to force his tears back into his eyes, but they slip down under his hands anyway.

"Didn’t your boy graduate today?” Bhavin asks. He’s lived in the US fifty years, but his voice still carries the sound of his native Mumbai.Bruce manages a nod.

“Ah damn.” Judy says softly, pushing a hand to her chest. “That’s hard.”

“It’s been years.” Bruce croaks out. “This shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” Bhavin asks him sharply. “Shouldn’t still mourn your child? What his life could have been?”

Bruce takes a deep breath. He finally looks at the screen. “I just… I know today was about Tim, but all I could see was Jason in the cap and gown, clear as day. And all I could think was how he should have graduated. How he should have grown up and been safe and happy and whole and…” He trails off. Stops himself before the tears threaten to spill again.

“He should have.” Judy says emphatically. “Jason should have had all those things. And so should my Tiana, and Sal’s Michelle and Bhavin’s Darshan.”

“It’s not fair.” Sal adds. “It’s not fucking fair and it’ll never be easy. Because you love your boy and he shouldn’t have been taken so soon.”

“My Darshan died forty years ago.” Bhavin says solemnly. “I still cry. I still wonder what he would be like now, who he would have become. Still rage he is not here with me. It never goes away.”

Bruce nods, and it’s Bhavin’s last sentence that keeps the guilt at bay. Because of course Bruce can’t tell them that Jason isn’t dead anymore. He can’t tell them how Jason dragged his small broken bones out of his own grave and clawed his way back to life. How he’s currently sat not fifty feet away, under Bruce’s own roof, surrounded by family and warmth and love.

And part of it doesn’t feel fair. That his boy came back when their children didn’t. But he’d gladly spend the rest of eternity paying whatever debt it is he owes for that miracle. Every time he sees Jason he has to pinch himself, remind himself that it’s real. His son is alive, his precious boy is here and breathing and living.

But, alive or not, he still died. And that bit never goes away.The grief of it comes out of nowhere. On a Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a board meeting, or out on patrol on a Thursday night. It’ll hit him when he’s eating breakfast, or brushing his teeth, when he’s in the gym, or lying in bed… and the ground will fall out from under him. He’ll plummet into an abyss of grief and despair and rage. His boy, his darling boy. Dead. The life he could have lived, the wonder he could have been. Gone.

Because even if Jason is back, is alive, the dying never goes away.

All the pain and torment that came with it is here to stay, for good. He’ll never be what he could have been and Jason never deserved that.

It’s these three people, these once-strangers, who in some ways helped keep him alive just as much as Tim did, that bring him back from that edge. People who understand just as well as him that feeling of loss. How a taste or a smell can mean nothing one day and have you drowning the next.

Bruce hadn’t bothered to respond when Leslie had suggested he join a support group. She couldn’t possibly understand what it was to lose a child; what value could her advice possibly have? But then the rational part of his mind, what sad, little fragment of it was left, said that a support group could understand. That that was the whole point.

So he’d done it. Apprehensive though he was, he’d shown up on a rainy Wednesday evening all those years ago. At a church hall that wasn’t quite warm enough, serving coffee that was all but cold. Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd’s father. Turns out grief takes the edge off celebrity. Judy and Sal and Bhavin didn’t care who he was, only what he’d been through, only what he’d lost. Being a billionaire didn’t make you immune from loss. Hell, neither did being Batman. Nothing did. They understood that. In a way no-one else in his life did. And all these years later they understood it, still.

“You’re allowed to be sad, Bruce.” Judy says. “A hundred years from now you’re still allowed to be sad. But you have to keep on.”

“Remember Tim did it for him too.” Sal says. “Your boys and Cass are living for Jason too. Just like you are.”

Judy and Bhavin nod in agreement and Bruce finds himself joining in.

“Thank you.” He says. And he means it. “As always.”

“Any time, beta.” Bhavin says. “Any time.”

The screen goes black, and Bruce sits with his thoughts a moment. Already a weight has started to lift and he finds himself glad the night isn’t over yet. That his family is waiting just a short walk away.

Ace pads into the room, rest his head on Bruce’s knee. He scratches the dog behind his ears.

“Err… what are you doing?”

Bruce startles. Dick is stood in the doorway, staring at him with a look of concern.

“Why are you sat in the dark?”

Bruce can’t quite help himself when he says. “I’m Batman.”

Dick rolls his eyes so aggressively they might pop out of his head.

“What are you two doing?” Jason walks in to join them. “Why are you in here in the dark?”

“Why are you in here in the dark?” Dick shoots back.

“I came looking for you.” Jason shoves Dick lightly.

“I came looking for him.” Dick shoves him right back.

Bruce stands and walks towards them. He can't help but smile. “Mission accomplished.” He says. “What fine detectives you both are.”

This time Jason rolls his eyes, but Dick says, “You okay, B?”

Bruce nods, puts his arms around both of their shoulders as they leave the study, and maybe, just maybe, he squeezes Jason a little tighter than normal, relishes the solid aliveness of his second son in his arms. “I’m fine.” He says. “Just fine.”

[khaleesiofalicante]

This is from last chapter but still I need somewhere to scream, sorry💙

First part was a rollercoaster and I am not ok!!! Lets just get some points:

Alec taking Magnus hand so he doesn’t bite his nails and kissing a boy for the firts time in his home is something that can be so personal🥺🥺

IZZY AND JACE. JUST THEM ALL NICE AND LETTING HIM PUT THE DECORATIONS AND I AM NOT CRYING😭

She is the one who asked for a divorce. Shouldn’t she be happy? Relieved even? I dont like the way this parallel hurts :)

Alec and Jace looking out for Izzy is so soft but the part of Max just hurts me in so many levels😭

AHH MARYSE BEING ALL NICE AND RESPECTFUL AND GRATEFUL TO MAGNUS AND GIVING HIM THE EARINGS HIT ME LIKE A TRAIN. I LOVE THAT WOMAN😍

*whispers* Sizzy....

“Nothing,” Alec whispers back. “But I plan to love you more than I love you today.” chezzy little shit jdhdujdjs

"Look at me carrying all that frankincense.” reminds me of the time I played a little devil on a Christmas play😂

FUCK ROBERT. OMFG I AM A SECOND AWAY TO THROWING HANDS. HE WAS 11 FOR FUCKS SAKE!! DOESN’T SOUND FUCKING FAIR INDEED!! I know he tried and did better, etc, etc but still...

“I’m not giving up on Magnus,” Alec says firmly. “I love him, and I intend to marry him.”💙💙💙

Ok, that discussion was so damn painful and angsty, but it was fucking amazing!! And again, both of them are right to certain point. Like, they did violate Magnus rights basically and he has all the right to go away, and also Alec is so used to things like this that he doesn't see how wrong it is. But also Alec had a point that families are like shit sometimes

BUT. You also need to know where to draw the line bc it comes to a point where its not healthy anymore... Ahhh I could do a whole analysis of this😂

"Don’t treat me like shit and then ask me to be the bigger person.” FUCK IF I DIDNT FELT THIS TO A DEEP LEVEL>>

That was really fucking low of Alec...

MY BEAUTIFUL RAFAEL. EVERYONE GIVE HIM A BREAK. HE DESERVES A FUCKING REST!! Also Alec pulling this shit... AHHHH!!!

Rafael and Magnus crying when he knew about the divorce omfg now I'm crying too😭

I feel so fucking bad for Max rn. Also Alec, kindly fucking stop🙂

Will the fact that Max loves Magnus so fucking much and he inmediatly worries if he is crying ever not hurt?? Nope :)

"It’ll be okay. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it.” FUCK😭😭

The baby. Their blue. THE SILENT OATH BETWEEN RAFAEL AND HIS PARENTS TO PROTECT MAX. I CANT. I'M DYING INSIDE

"Max, who has always been able to keep his head above the water, is drowning." idk why but this was my favorite quote of this Timeline. POETIC WRITING😭

I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Please stop asking me. I WILL PROTECT THIS BOY TILL I'M DEAD AND YALL BETTER PREPARE FOR THAT🔪

I'm one "sometimes love isn’t enough" away to combust internally

GOOD MORNING TO LESLIE AND ONLY HER. THAT WOMAN IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE😍

I KNEW JACE KNEW!!!

The "notes to self" are always on point *chef kiss*

I will learn to do necromancy just so I can bring Albert back and kill him slowly🔪

OMFG god he reads AND writes smut. This info is ✨first priority✨ jsvsjsjksksks and on fucking church HOLY-

He keeps tampons for Lexi and Selena just in case. He. Is. Fucking. Perfect. THIS BOY IS THE DEATH OF ME🥺🥺

"But David catches him though.  He always does. This smut-reading, tampon-carrying, beautiful son of a bitch." ✨DAVID IS PERFECT AND LITERALLY NO ONE CAN ARGUE ME✨

David really is killing poor Max jdhsksjskjs

LESLIE IS ICONIC. AMAZING. TALENTED. BRILLIANT. THE BEST-

As I coffee hoe, I relate😔

YES TO GABRIEL AND SELENA. MY SHIP IS SAILING!!! Gabriel is in love and I love them for that. Who wouldn’t be?? 😍

Ok, kinda worried for Rafael...

For someone with such a mess in his love life, he really gives good advice...

DAVID AND HIS WRIST KISSING IS KILLING ME!!

Max, we need to aknowledge your abandonment issues... Like, same bro. But you need help...

The person who got hurt the most was the person who helplessly watched it all come crashing down and wasn’t able to do anything to make it stop. OUCH💔

I didn’t need to know that Alec cried every night after the divorce but thanks🙂

OF COUSE HE IS SPECIAL TO MAX. THAT WHOLE SPEACH GOT ME BETWEEN WANTING TO CRY AND WANTING TO LAUGH JDHSISJSJ

Poor Rafael. Now everyone thinks he has a degradation kink I mean he does but still👀

"I’ll always see you. No matter how hard you try to hide from me.” stop with the cryptic-romantic shit. I am already crying😭

THE WAY I LOVE DAVID ISTG-

"He wants everything. He wants everything with David." This is going to get out of hands, BUT I'M LOVING MAVID SO MUCH AND ALL THEIR THOUGHTS BREAK MY HEART OK?!?!

This chapter, as always is just ✨MASTERPIECE✨

Ayyyy I’m so so glad 💙💙

Here is a tiktok for you. This is Magnus/David with Alec/Max 😭😂😭😂😭

[brucewayneargento-moved]

“I think I might be pregnant.”

Immediately after uttering those words Talia smiled more widely than ever, and she began to laugh upon seeing Bruce’s jaw dropping.

“Oh, wow!” she said as his husband ran towards her and spun her around, got her down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I suppose that means you’re happy about the news?” she asked sarcastically. Bruce simply nodded as kissed her again.

__________________________________

"It's cold," Talia commented as she gritted her teeth. Bruce nodded as she pressed his hand.

Leslie kept dragging the transducer probe through her stomach.

"Oh!" She said suddenly.

"Oh?" Bruce said, worried. "Is there something wrong?"

The doctor pushed her glasses up and smiled kindly at the couple.

"The machine detected two heartbeats." She announced.

"T-two...heartbeats." The man managed to get out. Talia simply gasped.

Leslie pointed at the screen. "One is here here and the other one is here."

Bruce was about to say something when Talia suddenly hugged him for dear life. He could hear her sobbing. He clumsily patted her back and smiled. Twins. They were going to have twins.

__________________________________

“Surprise!”

Talia laughed as small colourful papers were thrown onto her and her friends laughed.

Everyone was there: Shado and her one year old daughter Emiko; Jade and her three year old, Lian; Sandra and her six year old Cassandra; her friend Selina and her sister Nyssa.

The woman being celebrated caressed her seven month baby bump. She felt loved.

She was guided to a chair and sat down, the rest of the afternoon they spent it opening gifts, drinking non alcoholic beverages and talking about the future members of the family.

__________________________________

"It 's a girl!" The doctor announced after a while.

Talia sighed in relief, as half the job was already done. A nurse kindly put a wet cloth on her forehead as she told her to continue breathing. Meanwhile Bruce was standing in front of her, next to Doctor Thompkins, his eyes wallowed with tears.

"Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?" Leslie asked, the man nodded.

Talia smiled slightly as sweat and tears fell down her face. She was incredibly uncomfortable but hearing her daughter's cry, the sign that she was healthy, made it all worth it.

The mother and father looked at each other with love in their eyes. The nurse handed Bruce the baby and he looked down at her.

"Hello, it's so nice to meet you." He said to the wailing baby.

Talia suddenly felt a huge contraction, she gritted her teeth, gripped into the canvas of the mattress and groaned in pain.

The other nurse took the baby from Bruce and put her into the incubator, the man went over to his wife and held her hand.

"It's almost over," he said softly. "We'll go home soon with our children."

Talia nodded as she yelled. Trying to do her best to keep pushing. She pressed so hard on Bruce's hand that she felt a little it of work blood coming out.

Suddenly they could hear another baby's cry.

"Congratulations," Doctor Thompkins said as she cradled another baby onto her arms. "it 's a boy."

Talia laughed a little, between tears "Now we have one of each."

__________________________________

"Damian," Talia said, looking at the baby boy he held in her arms.

"I like it," Bruce said as he cradled the baby girl. "Athanasia, like your grandmother."

The woman nodded. She shushed Damian and booped his cute little button up nose.

Meanwhile Bruce was standing up while spinning softly and practically dancing while holding his daughter. The baby suddenly started crying, her brother soon followed.

"They must be hungry." Talia said. She stretched out the hospital gown from her neck and got the baby boy to drink the milk.

"It feels weird, good, but weird." She commented.

"You think you can do double shifts?" Bruce asked as Athanasia continued to cry. Talia nodded.

The man slowly handed the baby girl to his wife and she held her with one hand, now both babies were eating happily. The woman smiled at both of them. So did Bruce.

__________________________________

The man stood on the corner of the room as his family in law gathered around the hospital bed his wife was in and the incubators his children were in.

"How are you feeling? "Nyssa asked as she sat next to her.

"I'm tired." She sighed. "Never again."

"Never?" Bruce smiled cheekily.

"Oh oh." Dusan chimed in as she held her own two year daughter, Mara in his arms.

"Oh don't start." Talia warned, although she wasn't as intimidating as she usually was.

Meanwhile her father was looking at the babies in the incubator. He seemed to slightly curl his lips upwards, Bruce was just left to assume that was his version of a smile.

__________________________________

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from her kids and into Alfred's blue-gray eyes. Up to that point he was sitting on the couch from under the hospital room window while looking intently at the incubator. All the while Talia slept on the bed.

The man walked through the room and went over to say next to him, he was carrying a tray of coffee and passed one of the cups to Bruce.

"You're a grandfather now." The younger man said as if the other wasn't aware of that.

"Not a grandfather, pops, makes me sound younger." Alfred said. Bruce laughed.

__________________________________

“Home sweet home.” Bruce finally said as he advanced through the door while holding Damian with one hand. Talia followed quickly behind him while cuddling Athanasia close to her chest.

They went inside of their appartement and immediately the feeling of how tired they actually were dawned on them.

They went through the umbral of the bedroom door of the babies, they accommodated both children on the cradle together and wrapped them both with a pink and blue blanket

The couple wrapped tehmesleves around each other and looked fondly at their kids.

[goldandbluesmiles]

Acquisition

Summary: By Bruce Wayne's calculations, he still had two years to go until he could safely take over the Court of Owls, and an additional two years after that until he could turn them into something that could help Gotham instead of control it. His timeline gets accelerated when he hears about Richard John Grayson, a little boy being trained to become a Talon.

Ao3

Part 1 of Guardian Wolf

xxx

Bruce had never thought of children for himself. It would be easy to say that he never wanted them but the truth was that after losing his parents, he had refused to let himself even consider the idea. How was he supposed to take care of a child when he still felt half-broken and wrong from his parent's death. How could he take care of a child when there was an infinite sadness in him that probably had nothing to do with being an orphan and everything to do with the fact that he was just a mess. How could he subject a child to the dark ache inside of him?

No, he was best left childless even if sometimes his dreams were filled with the vague scents of small faceless pups, a hidden wish that was to never come true.

So Bruce buried his dreams deep and started his training. He travelled the world, visited mountains and desserts, met assassins and healers, and stood in front of crumbling temples and timeless treasures. He visited the league, became Ra's Al-Ghul favourite student and Talia Al-Ghul's favourite lover. Afterwards, he came back to the whispers of the Court of Owls and the hand they had had in his parent's murder. Slowly, he started to infiltrate them, turning members, sowing seeds of distrust and sending away anyone that was too much trouble. None of them exactly had clean records and while it took a lot of digging, there was always something that could be used to take their power away.

For four years, he worked his influence in the Court, gaining allies and putting on a false face. By his calculation, it would take him another two years to gain complete control and then another two turn the Court into something that could actually help Gotham instead of control it. It was a long game but Bruce was a patient man. He could wait.

Until he heard of the little boy. One of the Court's other favourites quietly informed him of a little boy that was being trained to become a talon. They hadn't injected him with too much yet since he still had to grow but they were working him to the bone.

"His name is Richard John Grayson," his informant told him

Grayson. He knew the name. He also knew that most Graysons, like William Cobb, consented to the transformation that made them Talons.

This child definitely hadn't consented.

"Has he been here the whole time?" asked Bruce

"Yes," the other answered.

Bruce cursed himself. He remembered hearing of the fall of the Graysons, remembered not paying it any attention since the talon-aged Graysons were already dead. The boy and the circus had quickly disappeared from the city and Bruce had assumed Richard would be with them.

How stupid of him.

"It's not your fault," murmured the other, quite understanding of his silences, "They kept it under wraps. Even the most loyal members do not know. Only the Grandmaster and his inner four,"

"How did you find out?" asked Bruce

The other grinned, "Everyone has a weakness of the flesh, Brucie. Mr. Crow is no different,"

Bruce raised his eyebrows at them, "I never would have expected you to go that far,"

His companions laughed, "Don't worry, Wayne. I was always going to use the sedative and I could have done it without getting naked but..."

"You actually enjoyed yourself," said Bruce, "Is the man really that good?"

"Well, if you must know..."

"Actually, no. Please leave,"

The other chuckled again, "Alright. I'm going to assume that you're going to accelerate your deadline due to this. Let me know if there's anything I can do,"

"I will," said Bruce, "And one more thing,"

"Yes?"

"Your therapist appointment?"

The other rolled their eyes, "Don't worry, Bruce. I rescheduled it for tomorrow,"

Bruce smiled, "Good. Take care of yourself,"

"You too,"

Once the door was closed again, Bruce went back to looking through the report.

It was time to make a few calls.

xxx

Deathstroke carefully deposited the boy in front of Bruce, his hands gentle despite the pain Bruce knew he was capable of inflicting. The boy seemed to be asleep, sedated most likely.

"How was he?" Bruce asked Slade, "Did he come easily?"

"He seems to be used to taking orders," said Slade, "Though he seemed bit out of it, sort of in a trance,"

Bruce nodded, surveying the little boy on the ground tightly wrapped in a blanket. From stories, he knew that the boy was a Panther shifter. He still smelled like a pup but Bruce could tell he was an Alpha.

Richard would grow up to me something formidable one day. For now, he looked small and broken, making every omega and wolf instinct rise up in Bruce.

However, it wasn't the time or place so Bruce pushed it down and turned to see a lynx and a coyote jump on the roof, only a few paces away from them. A few seconds later, Selina Kyle was fixing her hair while he had an arm full of Talia Al-Ghul.

"I missed you, Beloved," murmured the Alpha

Bruce smiled, and kissed her hair, "I missed you too, Darling,"

Behind them Slade made a disgruntled noise, forcing them to let go of each other.

"So, Lover," Selina, "What happens now? Do I need to take myself out of Gotham for a little bit?"

"You shouldn't have to but better safe than sorry I suppose," said Bruce

"What about the Court?" asked Slade, "It's going to create a power vacuum,"

Bruce smiled, "The Court won't go away. I have enough support to be seen as a hero for saving it from the attack from the 'traitors' and will be appointed the new Grandmaster. The changes I intended for will take some time but this is a start. Most of those that oppose me are currently being labelled to be exiled. Of course, I will kindly 'spare' some of them,"

Slade whistled, "And all this on an accelerated timeline. Remind me never to piss you off, Wayne,"

"Noted,"

"We should be going," said Talia, "We must not be spotted here by any lingering opposition of yours in the Court,"

"Right," said Bruce nodding, "Thank you for coming here,"

"Anything for a paycheque," Slade saluted him before jumping off the roof but not before calling out again, "Take care of the kid, Wayne,"

Bruce shook his head. For all his violence, the man could have soft spot for children.

"It's my city too, Lover," said Selina, "But I need to go look for safe transport out. Good luck,"

As always, Selina left on silent feet

"You should take care of the boy," said Talia. Her gaze almost seemed wistful as she looked at the child. Though maybe that was just his imagination.

"Yes," he murmured, "Will you go back now?"

Talia looks at him with regret in her eyes, "You know I must Beloved,"

Must. There were so many things Bruce would say to that, so many arguments that could be made. But there was a boy lying on the rooftop so he merely nodded. A gentle kiss on the cheek and Talia was gone too.

Bruce bent down and carefully lifted the boy up. He was impossibly light and easily fit in Bruce's arms.

"Alright, Pup," murmured Bruce, "What am I going to do with you?'

xxx

Alfred cornered Bruce as soon as he got inside.

"Master Bruce," said the butler, scandalized, "Please tell me that is not a child,"

"Richard Grayson," Bruce told him, "He was being trained to become a Talon,"

A look of rage passed over Alfred's before his expression settled into its normal blankness.

"I see," said the butler, "I shall ready some soup for when the young man wakes up,"

"Thanks, Alfred,"

Bruce was then left holding the small boy. On instinct, he took him to his room and gently laid him down on the bed. The space was too large for the little pup, making him seem like a deserted island in the middle of a green sea.

What could he do now? Whenever he wanted warmth he would get-

Blankets. Bruce needed blankets. The pup would like blankets. Yes, blankets.

He first raided his closet, there were some things that smelled fresh and some others that smelled like him, things he kept for when he was in heat. They still smelled like him so Bruce carefully laid them out around the little pup, leaving enough room for Bruce to slide in around him. He then took some pillows and cushions. After that, he took out some sweaters and shirts lining them in the small spaces of the structure, effectively filling it with more of his scent and closing any openings.

When he was done, Bruce stepped back and surveyed his work. Little Richard was still under the influence of whatever sedative had been given to him and was snoring softly. The blankets and other things around him would keep him safe and warm, just like Bruce wanted. Still, there seemed to be something missing. Something important. What was it?

Bruce thought back to his own childhood. He had tried to keep some of his parents' scent at first. Once it had become evident that it was just making everything worse, he had replaced them with-

Oh. He knew what he needed.

But he needed to leave the room to get it. Could he leave the pup alone? what is he woke up? What if he got scared?

In the end, the need to complete the structure won out and he ran to where he knew Alfred would be.

"Alfred!" called Bruce as he entered the kitchen, "I need more blankets!"

Alfred looked surprised to see him, putting down the spatula "Master Bruce, What-"

There was no time for questions! The pup was alone and he needed blankets quickly.

"Alfie, I really need blankets right now. Maybe something of yours and Leslie's and Richard is alone right now so I need to quickly find-"

Alfred placed a gentle hand on his arm, forcing him to slow down.

"Master Bruce," said the older Beta, "Why don't you go ahead and go back to Richard? I will find the suitable things for you,"

There was an understanding look on the man's face which was good. If Alfred understood then he would fix it. Still, Bruce hesitated. What if he got it wrong?

As if reading his thoughts, Alfred smiled.

"Master Bruce, need I remind you that I was the one who would help you with your nests as a pup?"

Bruce thought back to his childhood and nodded. Alfred was right, of course. He would find the right things and Bruce could go back to hi- the pup.

"Okay, Alfie," he said.

He quickly kissed Alfred's cheek and practically ran back to his room. To his immense relief, Richard hadn't woken up yet.

Carefully, Bruce made his way to the middle so he was curled around the little boy. Almost in a trance he pulled Richard to his chest and tucked him under his chin.

Bruce didn't know what was happening to him. He'd never acted like this before and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave the boy alone. He was so sure something bad would happen if he stayed away from the little pup too long. And as foreign as the feeling was it also felt right in a way very few feelings did.

In light of that realization, Bruce tucked Richard close and waited for Alfred to come back.

xxx

"Did he seem to be in a trance state or just worked up?" asked Leslie

"Just worked up," said Alfred as they walked to the room, "He seemed to be afraid to leave Richard alone,"

"I see," said Leslie, "Well, I don't think we have anything to worry about. It sounds like he saw a pup that could be in distress and the instinct built until he didn't know how to deal with it. It doesn't happen a lot but is quite common in people like Bruce,"

"People like Bruce?"

"He keeps a dangerously small pack on purpose, avoids pups including his cousins and obviously has some sort of anxiety surrounding the thought of children, all that builds up to feeling overwhelmed at taking care of a small pup," said Leslie, "Most do it on instinct but what do you do the when the instinct is completely foreign,"

"Hmm"

"By the way," continued Leslie "We really need to do something about the way he thinks about children. Even if he never has children of his own, it's not healthy,"

Alfred sighed, "I know. I just always thought it was something he was going through as a teenager, that he would change his mind once he was a little older and had some more time to get over his parents' death. I suppose that is on me for not seeing the signs,"

Leslie gave him a sympathetic look as they reached Bruce's room. Slowly opening the door, they found him sitting in the middle of his nest as he gently rocked the little boy in his arms. Whatever sedative had been given to the boy still seemed to be working.

Their own little boy, not grown, looked at them with wounded eyes. Leslie was reminded of the times years ago when he had looked at them like that, believing that they could fix anything. That belief ad wained over the years and the return of that look made Leslie's heart hurt. They would have to let him down all over again.

"Master Bruce," murmured Alfred, "We brought what you asked for,"

He just kept staring at them for another moment. He then looked at little Richard and then back.

"Leslie, Alfie," he brokenly whispered, "What am I doing? What's happening to me?"

"Oh my dear boy," said Alfred, sitting down just at the edge of the bed, "You're just a little overwhelmed by your instincts and your instincts are telling you that your pup needs a safe nest,"

"But he's not my pup, Alfie," Bruce sounds ready to cry, "It shouldn't feel- it shouldn't-"

"Shouldn't what, Kiddo?" asked Leslie

"It shouldn't feel this right," said Bruce, staring down at Richard's peaceful face, "He's not mine,"

Unfortunately, Richard wasn't but all those years of pushing down his wishes and his instincts meant that Brue had latched on. Leslie hated to think about what would happen once Richard had to part with him.

"Bruce," said Leslie, "For now, he doesn't have anywhere to go and from what I've heard, he's been trained brutally so let's just take care of him for now. Kind of like Lucious took care of you when I or Alfred couldn't. Think of it that way, okay,"

"Like babysitting?"

That wasn't what Leslie had meant but it seemed to be calming Bruce down so she merely nodded.

Bruce took a shuddering breath and carefully put Richard back down onto the sheets.'

"Okay," he said, "Okay, I can do that,"

Leslie shared a relieved look with Alfred. Baby steps. At least Bruce was calmer now. Once the boy woke up, they could check him over and convince Bruce to start the legal process for whatever was best for the little pup. Though, Leslie had a feeling they were going to be having an addition to their small pack.

"This is going to be difficult," said Alfred as they watched Bruce rearrange the nest again

"We'll help him," said Leslie.

He was still their little pup after all.

xxx

The Little Talon was floating on cotton candy. Very strange and nice smelling cotton candy. This was different than the other times. Usually, he woke up on the hard floor or the hard slab.

Why would he be on a cloud? Or maybe it wasn't a cloud?

Little Talon finally opened his eyes and found that he wasn't on a cloud at all. He was on a bed. A very nice bed.

Why was he on a nice bed? The beds Mr. Cobb like to get him to sleep on were always small and hard. He called them cots. They smelled like wood.

Little Talon tried moving his arms around and found that they were trapped in a blanket. He quickly untangled himself and sat up. He looked around and froze.

There was someone else there with him. A big man with dark hair and dark clothes.

This must be his new Master. Which meant that this was a test.

It wasn't like any other test he had been in though. For one, the Master seemed to be asleep.

He would wait.

After about two minutes and a half, the new Master started to move a little. Little Talon kept himself perfectly still.

The new Master opened his eyes and looked straight at him. His eyes were very blue.

"Hello," murmured the Master

Was he supposed to talk back? Taking a chance, he responded.

"Hello,"

Master smiled and Little Talon relaxed. It was a nice smile. This meant Master was happy for now.

"How are you, Richard?"

Richard? His masters didn't call him Richard. They called him Little Talon.

He didn't know how to respond and Master frowned. Oh no. Was he mad now?

"Isn't your name Richard?" Master asked

Richard? That wasn't what they called him. They called him Little Talon but...There had been the before. Before, that was filled with bright colours and happy voices. Cotton Candy and music. What had he been called before?

D-

Di-

"Dick, Master," he murmured

"Dick?" Master questioned

Little Talon nodded.

"Mama and Papa called me, Dick,"

"Do you remember your parents?"

Little Talon frowned, "I-I don't, not really. Fuzzy,"

"Oh," said Master, and then hesitated before speaking again, "Why do you call me Master?"

Little Talon frowned, "It's what you are, Master,"

"I see," said Master, "From now, I want you to call me Bruce,"

"Bruce?" Little Talon tested the word. He liked it, "Bruce,"

Bruce smiled the nice smile again and Little Talon felt happy.

"We're going to talk about some very important things, okay?" said Bruce, "So I'm going to need you to listen very carefully,"

Little Talon nodded. He was a good listener. He could be good.

"You were taken by the Court of Owls and your custody was given to Samantha Vanaver. Do you remember her?"

"Grandmaster," murmured Little Talon

"Yes. The people of the Court weren't very good people so I-"

Bruce hesitated.

"I made sure that the bad ones couldn't hurt anyone anymore," said Bruce, "I had some of my friends help with that. One of them got you out of there. Do you remember?"

Little Talon cast his mind back and a memory came to him. A large man with white hair and an eye-patch?

"Eye-patch man?" he asked

Bruce let out a laugh. Little Talon liked the sound. It was warm.

"Yes," he said, "I'm going to have to tell Slade about that one,"

Slade?

Bruce must have noticed his question because he smiled again.

"He's eye-patch man," Bruce told him

Oh.

"What happens to me now?" he asked, "Am I going to be you Little Talon now? Help you with the Court?"

"Oh, pup." murmured Bruce, "Sweetheart, you don't have to be Little Talon anymore, you can just be Dick,"

"Be Dick?" asked Little Talon. His throat felt funny so it came out all croaky.

Bruce's eyes seemed a little wet as he opened his arms, "Come here sweetheart,"

Little Talon hesitated but the room was starting to fill with a nice and sweet smell and it seemed to be coming from Bruce. He wanted to b closer to it so he complied. Once he was in Bruce's arms, he was glad he had listened. The arms were strong and felt safe. His skin felt tingly and nice everywhere Bruce was touching him so he curled even closer to chase the feeling.

"You're going to stay here now," Bruce whispered, "I'm going to take care of you. No one will hurt you here,"

"No training?" he asked

"No training," Bruce said firmly, "No cage, no cold,"

It sounded like a dream.

"Also," said Bruce, "I would like to call you, Dick. Is that alright?"

Dick. He hadn't been Dick for a while now. He had only been Little Talon but from what little he could remember, Dick had seemed like a happy boy with nice par-

There had been a fall and there had been screaming and blood. Someone had taken him away.

"My Mama and Papa are dead aren't they?" he asked.

He knew he should feel sad but all he felt was empty. Like he was light enough to be floating and the only thing keeping him in place was Bruce with his strong arms.

"Yes," murmured Bruce

"But I can still be Dick," he asked, "Even if I don't remember properly?"

"Yes," said Bruce pressing a kiss to his hair, "You can be Dick,"

"Will I remember later?"

He could feel Brue hesitate.

"You were given some drugs," said Bruce, "There is a chance that you might not remember but most likely, you'll start getting your memories about your life back,"

"I'm gonna be sad, aren't I? Because my parents are dead?"

Bruce's arms tightened.

"Yes," said Bruce, "Most likely,"

He thought about it.

"I still want to be Dick," he said.

"Okay," said Bruce.

Little Talon would become Dick again. And maybe, just maybe, he could be safe, like he was in his dreams sometimes.

Maybe, Dick could be happier and warmer than Little Talon was.

xxx

End Note:

Dick isn't completely lucid until five days later. Bruce takes this time to figure out the legal aspect. It doesn't take much to fake papers saying that he was to take care of Dick if anything ever happened to Vanessa. When Dick wakes up properly, he promptly freaks out but Bruce is able to calm him down. Dick can now properly remember his parents and starts the process of grieving, forcing Bruce to grieve too.

Oh, and they both go to therapy. Because in this universe, we are going to be healthy.

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (2/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | AO3 | 3.9k words

A/N: I was going to post this update yesterday but *life*. We really get into the story, though—I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​ for her amazing art; and to @kmomof4​ and @cssns​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

say what you will about Glee, but Darren Criss’s version of this song is amazing

part two— the air is humming, and something great is coming...

2020

The sun was setting on another day, just like it had for the last 5000-plus. At least, Emma figured the number was up there; she’d stopped counting around day 4,588. Which was really an absurdly long time to count considering her days were no longer numbered, but old habits died hard, even if she never would.

She’d accepted that fact somewhere around day 4,040, which ironically was her 40th birthday. But instead of dealing with gray hairs and wrinkles and aching joints, she was still in her 28-year-old body, fairly spry and with exactly one white hair blended into her blonde. (Not that she could see it in the mirror anymore—or, you know, anything—but she knew it was there and that was all that mattered.)

She knew she’d finally settled into her new life when she was looking forward to drinking the deer blood she had at home and not longing for chocolate cake like she had the past several birthdays. Well, she still wished she could eat it—real food didn’t digest properly anymore—but the blood sounded just as good.

“It probably took me about that long to come to terms with it, too. Longer for your dad,” her mom had told her about the revelation.

That had been another epiphany: that the kindly undead couple she’d somehow ended up on the doorstep of—David and Snow Nolan—were her parents. Her actual birth parents. You know, the ones she’d been looking for her entire mortal life? (Had once dreamed would save her from one shitty foster home after another until she finally gave up hope, and instead turned to counting the days until she moved again?)

As it turned out, they’d been attacked and turned shortly after she’d been born—which apparently had been in a backwoods cottage in Maine that her grandparents had owned—and were taking her to the hospital for checkup after the fact. They didn’t trust themselves to face their new reality while also in charge of an infant (an infant with delicious-smelling blood, no less—creepy, but true) and so finished the journey to the hospital, but left her there alone.

Coming to terms with that had taken 1,187 days. There would have been lots of tears, were any of them able to cry; but instead, there was just a lot of emotion, which Emma had never dealt well with. But she was getting better. Who knew the kind of personal growth one could achieve after death? And it was a good lesson in how to handle (or not handle) things should the son she herself gave up ever manage to track her down.

(She looked—once, before she was turned. All she’d been able to find out was that he ended up in the foster system, too. She just hoped he was having a better time of it than she did. Well, had—he’d be an adult by now, wouldn’t he? Damn.)

So. Anyways. Sunset. Which Emma was watching from the roof of their building, which had become something of a refuge for her over the past 15 years. She had her own bedroom, but after so long on her own, being an adult suddenly under the same roof as her parents (who, despite being physically younger than her, still acted like her parents) was a bit stifling at times.

It wasn’t much, but it was her own space: she’d cobbled together a tent with some reclaimed tarps, filled with gently-used cushions, and on nice nights, would bring out a sleeping bag and let the lights and sounds of the city wash over her. It had been overwhelming at first—she kind of envied that her parents only had to deal with forest smells when they turned, and not the incredible everything of New York—but it had dulled over time, which she probably should have expected; it had only taken her a week or so to get used to the smell the first time, right?

That’s to say—the overwhelmingness did; she learned to tune things out and let them fall to the background. But her senses themselves were the sharpest they’d ever been, consequently making her even better at her job than she’d been pre-death. Having ethereal beauty compared to a mere mortal easily drew in most of her targets; her preternatural sight, hearing, and strength made it pretty simple to track them down and subdue them (she loved it when they ran); and she’d found out they were extra willing to comply with her demands when they were down a bit of blood. (It probably was connected to the whole your-sire-can-control-you thing but it didn’t last once they’d recovered from the blood loss and it kept her from murdering random ne'er-do-wells on the street; the lower a body count a vampire kept, the better.)

On a normal night, she’d be getting ready to catch another skip: either gussying up for a honeytrap, revving up her old Bug for a stakeout, or trying to track them down on Tinder while binging Netflix in the background (they kept up on technology...for the most part; she still wasn’t sure what a TikTok was). One thing a lot of the stories leave out is that it takes a long time to build up the kind of wealth and decadence you see with old vampires; even Emma’s parents still had to work, 40-odd years into this thing (David was an after-hours vet and Snow taught night school) and their townhouse was not rent-controlled. 

Of all the vampire media out there, their existence was far more What We Do In The Shadows than Twilight.

(Emma had always preferred comedy anyways.)

God, she was really getting sidetracked tonight. Anyways. No one was working because it was the anniversary of her being turned—her rebirthday, so to speak—and her mom was very much Leslie Knope when it came to anniversaries, but especially this one, given that it marked them finally coming together as a family.

That, and they were all going to get drunk.

“My class is a bunch of assholes this semester—I need this,” Snow had gushed earlier that week, grading papers behind their blackout curtains. (Vampires didn’t sparkle, thank god—at least, not without the help of glitter—but they were dangerously susceptible to sunburns, so the whole pale thing was accurate.) “And David—you’ve worked every weekend the last month; they can definitely operate without you for one night.”

“I put in for it a month ago, dear,” he tutted as he gathered the laundry, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went. 

They were definitely one of those nauseatingly cute couples, so it was a good thing Emma’s gag reflex was dormant. And, though she’d never admit it, she was a bit jealous that they’d been able to find—and keep—something that had evaded her her entire mortal life, and likely would for her afterlife, too.

Every now and then, a flash of blue eyes blinked into her vision; the same pair she’d seen on the night she transitioned. She still wasn’t sure they were real, and her parents genuinely knew nothing when she’d asked, so she never did again. The fact that she hadn’t ever seen them again, despite knowing just about all the vampires in this part of town (for better or worse), had her pretty convinced it was a mania-induced hallucination. But damn, was it a good one.

“Emma, are you ready?” Snow’s voice pulled Emma from her daydreams (nightdreams?). “It’s time to go,” she shouted—not loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but enough for Emma to hear.

“Coming,” she replied, then took one last glance at the night sky. Maybe there was something different in the stars? She didn’t know; she just had this feeling that something was going to change tonight. 

She brushed her hands down the skirt of her light pink dress; it wasn’t what she’d usually wear, but since this wasn’t her typical honey trap, she’d borrowed a dress from Snow. It was definitely sweeter than her taste, with its pastel color and A-line skirt, but just cut low enough to not be demure. Her high ponytail fell somewhere in between. Her fangs would probably take it in another direction, but it’s not like she was going to pose for photos—she only just showed up in those.

In a moment, she was back in the house, grabbing her purse and joining her parents (who equally straddled the line of sweet and seductive; it was a vampire thing). 

Out of nowhere, a flash of light blinded her. “Seriously?” she cursed, blinking away the temporary blindness, only to see her mother holding a Polaroid camera. That was the one thing that could document them; thank god the hipsters over in Greenwich Village had clung to them.

Snow just grinned and shook the picture while David lectured, “It’s not like we got to see you off to prom or anything.”

“Yeah, but are you going to do this every year?”

“Yes,” Snow stated matter-of-factly, smiling at the photo before setting it aside. “Now come on; there’s a bloody mary calling my name.”

“Where are we going?” 

“That new underground club at 43rd and 10th. Figured we should try it, and it should be trouble-free.”

‘Trouble’ meaning the Aurum coven. Emma still hadn’t figured out the reason for this centuries-long blood feud, but she did know that she’d been dragged in on the side of Coroza, under a woman named Cora; turns out Walsh had been one of her cronies. And it normally wouldn’t affect her, save for the fact that her parents were turned by someone in Aurum (led by the mysteriously mononymed Gold) and that had dangerous implications, not to mention the rising tensions between the two groups as they began to encroach on each other (and each other’s feeding grounds) on the Upper West Side. 

“You sure? That’s awfully close.” 43rd had become an arbitrary border between the two factions, and there had been more than a few skirmishes while people were on the prowl for a midnight snack. She’d had a couple close calls of her own while tracking down skips in the part of town, but had somehow managed to evade notice.

“It’s on our side of the street,” her mom shrugged in response and grabbed her purse.

(Why one side couldn’t just move to another part of town, Emma didn’t know, but she was definitely aware of how stubborn vampires could be. And she wasn’t going to move; there’s no way they’d be able to get a place like this anywhere else for a reasonable price.)

She’d hardly gotten out the door when a familiar scent caught her nose—and not necessarily a welcome one: Graham.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he stammered, while giving her a shy yet adorable grin.

“Hey,” she answered back, not meeting his eyes—and instead finding Snow’s, who was intently studying the sky. Snow had been trying to get the two of them together for at least 10 years, and while Graham was a great guy, a good friend, and handsome to boot, Emma had never been attracted to him like that. A fact that seemed to keep falling silent on Snow’s ears despite her enhanced hearing. 

(His blue eyes were pretty, but they weren’t the pair that kept haunting her.)

Given the sudden awkwardness that settled over the group—because that was apparently something you had to deal with whether you were dead or alive—it was up to Emma to break it. Not that she had any skill in that department.

“Alright, uh, let’s go,” she said with little confidence, and set off towards the club, with the others falling in behind her; Graham stayed close and if she wasn’t mistaken, attempted to put an arm around her, but she walked a bit faster to avoid his reach. The bar was only a few blocks away, which they could normally cover in less than a minute, but they had decided to blend in with the crowd tonight; it was nice to be normal every now and then.

But still—every now and then, the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose, and it had nothing to do with Graham’s proximity. Something was coming; she just didn’t know what. 

That wasn’t for her to worry about tonight, though. Tonight was for fun and drinks and dancing. And once they got to the darkly-lit club, that’s what she focused on for the next hour or so—

—Until her gaze locked with the blue eyes from her dreams.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian took a deep breath as soon as he exited the jetway—and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why he expected LaGuardia to have changed at all in the past 15 years. Despite all the reconstruction, it still smelled the same: of old coffee, questionable sushi, and stale humans. (The latter was a double-edged sword: despite eating shortly before he got to Heathrow, there had been a few delays before takeoff and he was feeling rather peckish now, although nothing here seemed appetizing. Which was probably something he had in common with mortals at the moment.)

He didn’t know why he’d assumed that he might have been routed through JFK this time—why would he think Gold would care enough to properly welcome home his best operative from abroad after 15 years?—but he tried to push that ire to the back of his mind as he summoned an Uber.

At least the delays meant he landed just as the sun was setting; his previous plan had been to hang around the terminal until dusk, so at least this prevented any awkward encounters with some overtalkative Midwesterner on their way back to Cleveland. Signs pointed him to the ride share lot, and a gentleman named Marco was waiting to take him home.

On the ride into the city, he marveled at how New York always seemed like a living, breathing thing, constantly evolving and changing. He could still sharply remember the dusty bustle of the town more than 200 years ago, the sound of carriages running over dirt and cobbled streets. He’d watched as the city grew, sprawling both across and beyond the Manhattan island and up into the sky, the smell of horses and people and sweat replaced by the acrid stench of exhaust (although, even his extra-sensitive nose had gotten used to it in short order). 

So it was both surprising and not to see how much the city had changed even in the last 15 years, most noticeably in the skyline: the Twin Towers were still fresh in everyone’s memory when he’d left, so to see the new One World Trade Center in their place was a bit jarring. But the sun still glinted golden off the skyscrapers the same way; pedestrians still hardly waited for the crossing signals to give the okay to go; and though he wasn’t in a yellow cab, a language barrier still lay between him and his driver. 

Cash tips were understandable to all, though, which Killian handed over once they’d arrived at his apartment building on 34th—the Chelsea side. He’d owned his flat since the building was constructed, which was fairly impressive, but did require him to occasionally change the name on the paperwork lest anyone notice anything suspicious. 

(Someone had figured out at some point that it was helpful to have an ally in both the Social Security office and the DMV; Archie and Jefferson traded off every 20 years or so in order to help create revolving identities for the members of the vampire community. The name on his ID at the moment was Kyle Johnson, and during the past 100 or so years since he’d been required to have one, he’d also been Killian James, Ian Joseph, and—though he had to admit, he’d picked this one just to see if he could get away with it—James Hook.)

And thankfully, he’d had a reliable roommate for the past 80 years. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out after braving the still-shaky lift to the top floor.

“About bloody time,” Robin called back from the couch. “You know I had dinner ready for you before you left?”

“Ha,” Killian answered. “I’d hate to see what that looks like after all this time.”

“Oh, I let him go. And good thing, too—he ended up writing Hamilton.”

Killian had barely poked his head into his musty bedroom before he returned to the living room. “You didn’t actually have Lin-Manuel Miranda in here, did you?” To most people’s surprise, Killian was a bit of a theater nerd; the West End was great, but he was looking forward to catching up on Broadway again. 

“No. But maybe that’s a good strategy if we want to get tickets.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

His stomach grumbled in agreement.

Robin chuckled. “There’s a bottle in the fridge you can have; figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

Killian tossed his luggage in his room and emerged again. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Maybe a few times over the past several decades.”

He downed the bottle quickly; the black blood market never gave the best stuff—considering the type of mortals who would be willing to sell their blood for money and didn’t qualify to sell plasma—but it hit the spot in a pinch, and every now and then had something good. This definitely wasn’t, but it sated his thirst long enough to take a shower and wash the airplane off of him.

As he stared at the fogged mirror with nothing looking back at him, rubbing his palm over his permanently well-trimmed scruff, he realized he hadn’t yet checked in with Gold. Even if he’d spent the last decade-plus doing the man’s bidding from abroad, it was still easy to forget about him.

Well, mostly—until he glanced back down at his blunted left wrist. Then it just brought ancient memories to the surface, as fresh as the day they’d happened, no matter how many centuries had intervened.

Which reminded him: he was still missing something. He shot off a quick missive to Gold as he pulled some clothes out of his depressingly dated closet (having left anything more modern in a consignment shop in London), managing to put together something vaguely timeless. But before he dressed, he turned his attention on the nightstand drawer.

He slowly pulled it open, though he knew what would be inside: his hook, as sturdy and sharp as ever, with its well-worn leather brace. Sure, he had a fairly modern prosthetic hand—one that TSA didn’t mind so much—but the hook had come first, and was definitely his preferred artificial appendage. He hadn’t meant to go so long without it, but then again, he hadn’t expected his London assignment to take so long. 

(Although, 15 years to him was roughly the same as 2 or 3 to the average mortal.)

Slipping on the soft leather was like greeting an old friend (well, another one, albeit he’d known this one longer than Robin). And snapping in the hook settled a part of him that he hadn’t realized had been adrift all these years. It didn’t fully still the odd sense of anticipation he’d had ever since he landed, but he definitely felt more at ease.

With that settled, he finished dressing and then headed back to the living room and flopped on the sofa next to Robin. “When did we get a new couch?” he asked indignantly, inspecting the unfamiliar upholstery.

“As soon as you left.”

“And what was so wrong with the previous one?”

“It was from the 70s! It was hideous and uncomfortable and you know it.”

Killian could only sigh; Robin was completely right. 

“Anyways,” Robin continued. “We’ve plenty of time to argue about furniture but very little to decide what we’re doing tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“You arrive back in North America for the first time in a decade and a half and you think that’s not a reason to celebrate?”

“Well, I was in Toronto a few years ago.”

“Still the Commonwealth. Doesn’t count. What do you want to do? There are quite a few people anxious to see you.” 

Well that’s good for them, he thought, but he wasn’t so sure of the same. The time away in the UK had definitely made him reconsider some of his connections back here in the States; getting away from the drama with Coroza had made him realize how petty he found it all. Though he’d never be completely extricated given that Gold was his sire, he’d definitely be alright with staying distant from the other frivolous disputes.

(And after spending a bit too much time in Brighton—particularly with some headstones bearing the name Jones and some rather divy taverns that were still somehow open all these centuries later—he wished more than ever to be free of Gold’s influence. Alas.)

He supposed he could placate them for one night, though; it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. “Are there any new clubs to check out?”

“For you—plenty. For all of us...aye, there’s one that’s just opened up about...10 blocks away? Ish?”

“In which direction?”

“Up, but kind of midtown so it should be in the clear.” Meaning no one from Coroza would be there.

“Sounds fine, then,” he replied; after so many years, every club started to feel the same, but he was willing to give it a shot.  

It wasn’t long before he found himself dressed in a waistcoat and slacks that were trendy a decade ago, hoping his hair was styled appropriately (he stopped caring about 130 years ago), and waiting outside the apartment building of Robin’s girlfriend Regina.

“Jones, it’s the 21st century; why do you still have a fish hook on the end of that arm?” she greeted when she emerged from the tower, with a young vampire behind her. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Regina,” he tossed back. They’d known each other for well over a couple hundred years and this was just how they communicated. Nodding at the young man, he continued, “Who’s this?”

“This is Henry; he’s new.” The statement was matter-of-fact enough that Killian knew she wouldn’t say anything else. But he seemed friendly, albeit nervous, and Gold never complained about new vampires on their side—just Coroza.

It didn't take much for him to immediately think of Emma. His thoughts had drifted to her more than he cared to admit over the past years, wondering if she’d acclimated or if she’d burned out. It was definitely odd that such a brief encounter had left such a lasting impression, but at the same time, it had taken him well over 250 years to get over his first love; he was a romantic at heart, even if that heart no longer beat. 

He of course said nothing about it as they continued on; if no one had discovered what he’d done that night by now, he was content to leave it that way. There were other ways of him finding out if she was still around, such as—

—Such as the green eyes staring at him from the other side of the club, barely a minute after he’d entered it, freezing him in place.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @shireness-says​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @bleebug​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​​ @lenfaz​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @lfh1226-linda​

[grasscorpse]

The Starry Sky and Leslie's List: Chapter 1

*From Ynntranslations

Bright sunshine illuminated the roof of the House. The joyful voices of small children rose up from here and there around the yard.

A short distance from the yard, underneath a tree on top of a hill, a boy was singing to himself.

He had silky hair and a freckled face, and his eyes were a pale color. He created a gentle melody in a restrained voice, quiet enough that only the butterfly that had flown close to him would be able to hear.

“What a beautiful melody.”

Hearing a voice suddenly address him without warning, from a branch above his head, made the boy who had been singing—Leslie—jump with shock.

“Isabella!”

The girl he had addressed as Isabella nimbly leaped down from a branch high in the tree, her hair, done up in a single braid, sailing through the air behind her as she did so.

“I heard a wonderful song while I was climbing the tree, and I couldn’t help myself…” Isabella smiled and said, “I’m sorry.” Leslie put a hand over his heart, which was still pounding.

“You scared me…”

Isabella sat down next to Leslie, hugging her knees.

“So what’s the name of that song?” Isabella asked, and for a moment, Leslie hesitated. He considered keeping quiet, but he was happy that Isabella had shown an interest in his song, so he answered in a small voice.

“It… doesn’t have a name. I didn’t give it one.”

Isabella instantly intuited the meaning behind his words and leaned forward in surprise.

“You wrote it, Leslie?!”

“Yeah…”

That he hadn’t named it, meant that he had composed the song himself. Leslie replied to her, confused by her unexpected reaction of surprise.

Isabella breezily said, “That’s amazing!”

She gazed at Leslie, her dark eyes open wide. She genuinely believed it. Anyone who could do something she couldn’t was truly amazing. She smiled brightly.

“Let me hear some more!”

“What?”

Leslie had never expected her to say something like that, so he blinked in surprise and looked back at Isabella. Beside him, Isabella was waiting for him to sing for her.

“… Okay.”

Leslie felt embarrassed in front of his first audience ever.

“But keep it a secret, okay? I’d be embarrassed,” he said, raising his index finger. Isabella smiled and nodded in response.

Leslie began singing, in a soft voice, as though he were telling a secret.

His voice, shaky and faint at first, gradually grew clearer and stronger.

Isabella hugged her knees and watched the boy beside her sing.

Leslie almost always had his gaze downcast, as though he had no confidence in himself, but when he was singing—doing anything related to music—his eyes would shine with wholehearted enjoyment. As she watched him, Isabella began to sing along with him.

Leslie glanced at her, surprised that she had picked up the tune so quickly, but he continued singing along with her without missing a beat. Isabella took a deep breath and repeated the pleasing melody.

Such a beautiful song…

Their song drifted from the hill along with the wind.

After that, Isabella sang that song with Leslie many times.

The time she spent with him was relaxing and fun.

Isabella enjoyed playing with the others, doing things like running around or playing chess, but the time she spent with Leslie brought her a different kind of comfort. Being with him was soothing.

The gentle atmosphere that surrounded Leslie was embodied in his song.

When she had told him so, trying to compliment him, he smiled awkwardly and averted his eyes.

“I’m not any good…”

Isabella found it strange. He could compose music of his own, and he was an excellent singer. He could even play the violin. Yet Leslie still acted as though he thought very little of himself, and told Isabella with a laugh that she was the amazing one.

From Leslie’s perspective, Isabella was perfect, able to do anything and be better at it than most.

She was smart enough to always get perfect scores on the tests, and she was also an exceptional athlete and swift runner. Everyone loved her. Their younger siblings looked up to her and adored her, while the older ones recognized and respected her as even more capable than themselves.

Compared to Isabella, Leslie thought of himself as boring and bad at everything. He was no good at studying, and he would always be one of the first caught in games of tag. He never knew what to say to people, and he knew that if he couldn’t be fun to be around, no one would have any respect for him, either.

He loved music, but to Leslie, that wasn’t something worth taking pride in. It was cool to be good at studying or sports, but if you were good at music, that’s all it was, nothing more. That was how Leslie viewed his situation.

Which is why he wanted to become able to do just one thing—besides music—better than Isabella could.

He wanted to change.

Now that he thought about it, it was a long time ago when he had begun writing down his “goals” for that.

Leslie sighed. “I couldn’t do even one of them, as always…”

Leslie was sitting alone in his room, on his bed, during their free time in the afternoon. He held a small notebook open in his hand. He traced the words written on the page with a finger and sighed.

At that moment, Isabella peeked inside the room from the open doorway.

“Leslie! Mama wants to see you.”

“Oh, o-okay, I’ll be there right away.”

He quickly closed the notebook and stuffed it back in the drawer. Getting up from the bed, he followed Isabella down the stairs.

In the dining room, they were well into their preparations for dinner. Mama was scolding some of the younger children for running around, and Isabella called out to her.

“Mama, I brought Leslie.”

At the sound of Isabella’s voice, the woman she had addressed as “Mama,” clad in a black dress and white apron, turned to face her. Beside Isabella, Leslie nervously shifted his gaze, wondering what Mama would say to him.

Mama put a hand on his shoulder.

“Congratulations, Leslie.”

On hearing those words, Leslie lifted his gaze and met Mama’s eyes as she smiled kindly.

“You’re going to join a foster family.”

[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.

[wlw-imagines-blog]

Drinks Are On Me.

Anon asked: Can you do a Wanda x reader with 2 and 55 but like angst to fluff?? Please and thank you!! ❤️

2. “Stay here tonight.”

55. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bartender!Wanda x CEO!Reader

A/N: not necessarily angsty, sorry, but it’s a little fluffy, and romantic.

Warnings: There’s a creepy dude who tries to be a douche, but nothing really bad in those terms. There is also heavy NSFW, but I can’t tag it in the tags, or else tumblr will hid it from the search and I’ll have to put it up for review, so NSFW will by under the cut, aight?

You weaved through the crowd, trying to find an empty place at the bar. It was a busy Friday night at the Maximoff’s Lounge, and music flowed throughout the main floor, punctuated by rich laughter from corners of the room. You managed to steal an empty seat at the counter. 

As the week ended, you were suppose to spend the evening with a supposed “New love interest” according to you best friend, share some drinks at the fancy new bar in Midtown. As much as you wanted to enjoy yourself, the new love interest was one of the creepiest men in the entirety of New York. About an hour into the evening, and multiple attempt to grab your backside and chest, you excused yourself to get another drink, eyes threatening to water. Emotionally preparing yourself for another grueling hour of conversation with walking, talking, Sleaze-Master 5000. 

You put your face in your hands groaning internally. “What am I doing here?” you muttered to yourself.

“Is everything okay?” A woman asked from the other side of the counter.

You looked up and were met with a beautiful woman with sloping features and a quiet smile. Her eyes were luminous, a kaleidoscope of colours ranging between blues, greens and gray. She was dressed in a breezy dark grey button down and tight black slacks. The woman offered you a warm, easy smile.

You sniffed a little and wiped your eye delicately. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Is there anything i can get you?” She asked kindly. “A drink, maybe?”

“Oh,” You were shook back into reality. “I’m not sure, actually. Any specialties?”

The woman leaned against the bar. “I make a killer lime daiquiri. It might be a good pick me up. Sound alright?”

You nodded, watching her set to work. “Tonight’s busy, isn’t it?”

“You should see this place during New Years; it’s a full house, even the rooftop,” she responded while pouring rum into a shaker. 

“I can imagine,” You took a deep breath, massaging your shoulder and stretching out your neck.

The woman raised her eyebrows but grinned. “Are you okay? Let me guess; running away from a terrible date?”

You chuckled. “That obvious?”

She pulled out a bottle of syrup. “Yup. Let me guess; is he sleazy?”

“Kinda.”

“A Scumbag?”

“Sorta”

“The Bourgeois?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Well that’s a shitty date if I’ve ever known,” she shrugged before shaking the cocktail mixer. Every movement and flare was filled with grace and clear experience. She poured the beverage into a tall, margarita-like glass and garnished it with a wedge of lime.

“I guess I’m just... Kind of bored,” You explained. “I spend everyday in the office for about ten hours for the past six years. I work my way up the corporate ladder to a CEO position. And then when I try to go out with some jerk like tonight, he degrades me and treats me like some simpleton.”

She lid you the drink and whistled. “That’s pretty harsh, Miss.”

“I know.” You sipped the drink, savoring the tartness and the sight burn. “Oh my god, this is fantastic.”

The woman grinned modestly, taking a towel and resting it on her shoulder. “Good, yeah?”

You nodded, licking your lips. Her eyes flicked down to your mouth, clearly intrigued. You gazed up at her through your lashes.

You shifted. “I’ve told you a lot about my woes, and I haven’t even given you a name.”

“Let me guess.” She said. “Josephine? Leslie? Gertrude?”

“Y/N,” You responded, a smile flickering on your lips. “Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N,” the woman rolled your name on her tongue. “That’s pretty.” 

Heat crawled up your neck. “What about you? what’s your name?”

She leaned in. “Aren’t you going to guess?”

You considered. “Michelle?”

“Nope.”

“Um, Natasha?”

“Nadda.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Lovely, but no.”

You threw your hands up. “Okay, I give up! I have no clue!” 

She chuckled. “Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.”

You stopped mid sip, eyes widening. “Maximoff? As in, the Maximoff’s Lounge?”

Wanda nodded, leaning against the bar once more. Her face was radiant.

“Wow, I had no idea you owned this place. It takes a lot of effort and perseverance to own your a business,” you lowered the glass. “That’s pretty damn impressive.”

“Thanks,” Wanda wiped down an area of the bar. “I own the place with my brother, Pietro. It took us years to get enough money and coverage to actually buy a place and set up shop. But it was worth it.”

You listened intently, watching the way her eyes flickered with focus as she recalled the past. 

“Hey, baby, why’d you slip off?” A hand wound itself around your waist, dangerously close to your rear end. “I was missing you.”

You discreetly rolled your eyes and Wanda smirked. 

“I was just getting a drink,” You turned to your “date”, moving so that he was no longer touching you. Jesus, he seemed even greasier than you remembered. “Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m just not really interested right now. I’m sorry for wasting your night, alright? Have a good one.” 

Just as you turned back to Wanda and your drink, there was a firm hand on your arm. The grip was tight enough to bruise. 

Your date’s mouth leered next to your face, reeking of alcohol. “Come on, baby, the night is still young, I can show you a good time.”

You cringed away, visibly disgusted. “Um, no. You’re drunk, and acting like a creep. Leave me alone.”

He was persistent, about to say something, but Wanda intervened.

“Hey, buddy, she said back off.”

You looked to her, and smiled. 

Your date begrudgingly released your arm, and stalked off to the exit, walking out the door.

“I guess I’m paying for drinks tonight,” you started to pull out your wallet.

Wanda put a hand up, smile still on her face. “No, it’s fine. Drinks are on me.”

You tried to argue, but she seemed resolute.

“Can I repay you somehow? Buy you a coffee, or something” You asked. “When does your shift end?”

She checked her watch. “Give me two hours, okay?”

Two hours later, You were laughing as Wanda recounted tales of her earlier life. The two of you were sat outside a 24/7 cafe drinking coffee and sharing a pumpkin muffin.

“I can’t believe that! Did you actually skip prom and hitchhike all the way to Detroit?” You asked, peeling away the muffin wrapper.

Wanda nodded. “Yup, and that was possibly the best impromptu vacation ever. Even though I was grounded for two months when I came back.”

You laughed in disbelief. Your hand traveled along the table to Wanda’s hand was, fingers brushing against the rings and bracelets that adorned her hand. 

Her eyes landed on yours and you bit your lip. Wanda swallowed thickly, and you watched the way her hair fell against her neck. You wanted to kiss the spot just under her ear.

You leaned forward and pecked her on the lips, pulling away just as quickly. before you could apologize for your brash action, Wanda reached out and held your face, kissing you deeply, tongue brushing against your bottom lip. You gasped in surprise.

She looked into your eyes before murmuring gently. “Take me home.”

You nodded, standing up to hail a taxi.

The two of you stumbling through the front door. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or being dizzy with lust, but the night passed in a pleasant, hot haze. 

You remembered falling forward onto the bed, straddling Wanda. Slipping your fingers into her mouth, consumed by the heat that enveloped each digit. The press of your bodies became overwhelmingly wonderful as she kissed the sensitive spots near your collarbone. You remembered the sweet taste of her skin on your lips as you sucked hickies onto her neck, hearing her moan and pull you closer and closer. You remembered your fingers pushing into her tight heat, rubbing and teasing, obeying her noises of pleasure. You remembered falling over the edge, body seizing and gasping, letting Wanda take control.

The two of you laid there until Wanda rolled over and cradled you. Drifting off into blissful oblivion, You murmured before you could stop yourself.

“Stay here tonight.”

Wanda did not hesitate. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You slumbered peacefully.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Fourteen

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

April 16th, 2018

He tried his hardest to not cry, honest to goodness, he did. But Logan couldn’t help letting a few tears slip down his cheeks. It stung to have everyone sing Happy Birthday using Jessica, not Logan. It stung to have girly presents and dresses instead of wearing suits and ties. Jack knew what was going on, and he tried to keep Logan’s spirits up, but there was only so much even Jack could do.

So here Logan was, trying to muffle his crying. He was fifteen years old, dammit! He wasn’t supposed to cry over people using the wrong name when they didn’t even know any better.

As he finally, mercifully, fell asleep, he remembered with a happy smile how Jack had sung Happy Birthday using Logan, rather than Jessica, and his tears trailed off just enough for his breathing to even out as he finally slipped into the blissful nothing of unconsciousness.

February 15th, 2019

Logan thought he might pass out. He was sitting in the recently-acquired minivan that Mister Emile and Mister Remy had purchased since Patton and Virgil had turned up. They were heading to court, because today was the day that Mister Emile and Mister Remy were adopting him. There was no going back from this. If he did this now, his parents would never get him back...not that he wanted to be back there. Still, there was something inside him that made him feel weak at the knees because he thought about what would happen were his parents to change their minds. And this meant they couldn’t.

They pulled up to the courthouse and Logan held his breath. He was both elated and filled with dread because of this moment. He forced himself to keep moving, no matter what. If he stopped, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move again.

Mister Emile and Mister Remy were talking quietly behind him, and Logan couldn’t focus on their conversation, too nervous about this new development. Well, maybe new development was the wrong term. He had known this was coming for a while, he had consented to it. But all of it seemed to become real today.

They went inside and walked down a series of corridors until they stopped outside a judge’s office. Logan was standing perfectly still, and Mister Remy put a hand on his shoulder as Mister Emile knocked on the door. On the other side, when the door was opened, were Sarah McGee the social worker, and a judge who was smiling kindly at the three of them. “Right on time,” the judge said. She laughed. “Are you three ready?”

Logan was nudged forward and Mister Remy and Mister Emile walked up to the desk with him. When Logan saw the documents, his eyes widened. “But that’s...” he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“We figured since we were changing your last name we may as well change your first one too while we were at it,” Mister Emile said softly. “Is that okay?”

Tears pricked Logan’s eyes and he nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, please, yes.”

“Okay,” Mister Emile said with a smile. Sarah was beaming off to the side, and Mister Remy was looking very satisfied with himself. “Should we sign the papers?”

Logan nodded again and the judge, Mister Emile, and Mister Remy signed all the documents, Sarah signing as a witness. Logan watched everything with tears in his eyes. His sex was still female on the documents, but that was okay, that would allow him the possibility of insurance covering some of his transition for now. And besides, his name...his name wasn’t Jessica. As everything was signed, the judge smiled at him. “Congratulations, Logan.”

That was all it took for him to start breaking down and crying. Mister Emile and Mister Remy laughed as they asked if he was okay, and he nodded. He was far, far better than okay. No longer would he be known as Jessica Gaines. No, from this day forward he would be Logan Picani. That’s what it would say on his bank account. His passport. His license, when he got one. His deadname was well and truly dead. To the outside world, he could be Logan. And that was the best feeling in the world. He beamed, smile a little watery, but elated all the same.

“That didn’t take too long, did it?” Mister Emile asked, laughing. “Here I was worried it would take a while with the name change!”

Logan was still in shock, but he managed to choke out, “Did you plan that from the start?”

“Yeah,” Mister Remy said. “Emile suggested it. If we’re changing your last name, it’s easier to change your first name now rather than later. It was my idea to keep it as a surprise, though. As a little gift to you for joining our family.”

Logan cried some more, holding the back of his hand to his mouth as he smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“The pleasure is all ours, Logan,” Mister Emile said with a smile. “Now all we have to do is send copies of your new birth certificate to the school, the bank you use, and maybe one or two other places, and you’ll be all set!”

Logan continued to smile and cry. “My report card. My report card is gonna have my actual name on it. I can’t believe it.”

Mister Remy laughed. “Of all the things for you to fixate on, that was not on my list of expected ones.”

Mister Emile nudged Mister Remy playfully. “Let the boy live a little, Rem,” Mister Emile said with a grin of his own.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Mister Remy defended. “Just that it was unexpected.”

Logan laughed. “You’re good. Both of you. I’m not offended or any less happy.”

“Well, good,” Mister Emile said. “Are you ready to head into school a little later than usual?”

Logan nodded. He couldn't wait to tell Jack about this great news! He was adopted, and his legal name was Logan! This day couldn't get any better!

Well, yeah, it could. Because he could get a hug and a clap on the back from Jack, both of them beaming and laughing at the fact that transphobes were going to have to acknowledge his name now. That...that would be fun.

So he went to school, smiling all the way. It was lunchtime when he arrived, and he nearly ran head-first into Jack as he walked in the front door. “Logan! Man, where were you?! You haven’t been in school all morning, and you never miss a day of school!”

Logan just laughed, grinning so hard his face hurt. “I was in court,” he said.

Jack frowned. “Why would you be in court?”

“I’m adopted!” Logan exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “And my name changed! You’re not looking at Jessica Jordan Gaines, but Logan Avery Picani!”

Jack stared at him a moment, before he whispered, “Seriously?!”

“Seriously!” Logan exclaimed. “They changed my name, Jack! As a surprise gift for being adopted!”

Jack whooped and wrapped Logan in a crushing hug, which Logan eagerly returned. As predicted, when they broke apart Jack clapped him on the back, saying, “Congrats, man! I knew you’d get to have this day eventually!”

Logan grinned and sniffled a little, saying, “I wasn’t so sure,” his voice thick with emotion.

Jack rolled his eyes playfully and turned to the students eating lunch in the hallways. “Hey everyone, listen up!” Jack shouted.

“Jack!” Logan hissed, a startled laugh flying from his mouth.

“You’re looking at one Mister Logan Picani, everyone! If anyone calls him Jessica, they can answer not only to me, but Logan’s legal documents!”

“Jack, no,” Logan laughed, as a few students clapped and cheered, while others scrunched up their faces or sneered their way. Most of the students just looked very confused.

“Jack yes!” Jack retorted with a laugh. “Suck it up, Buttercup, you’re stuck with me!”

“Why are you still calling me Buttercup? I haven’t watched Powerpuff Girls in years!” Logan exclaimed.

“Because we both headcanon Buttercup as trans, and anyway, Buttercup rhymes with suck it up, so it works,” Jack explained smugly as they started to walk to their normal group of friends.

Logan shook his head. “That really shouldn’t be how you logic things out, Jack, but okay.”

“You logic one way, and I logic another,” Jack shrugged.

“But...but logic is universal! You can’t just ‘logic one way’ and then change how you do the same thing the next day! That’s...that’s illogical!”

Jack laughed and Logan frowned. “I love when you get passionate about stuff,” Jack said with a small grin. “Even if you’re trying to prove me wrong.”

“You are wrong,” Logan said.

“That’s the spirit!” Jack laughed.

Logan rolled his eyes but he couldn’t resist the small smile breaking on his face.

Their friends were sitting in front of the auditorium, as always, and one of the theater nerds in their group named Preston asked, “Jack, was that you yelling?”

“Yep!” Jack said proudly. “Did you hear what I said or just the shouting?”

“Just the shouting,” one of the girls, Leslie, piped up. “What’s going on?”

Jack grinned. “Logan got adopted, and they changed his name, legally, to Logan. His deadname isn’t connected to him anymore, at all!”

Logan turned red as all of his friends congratulated him and cheered and were generally excited about everything this entailed. When Jack and Logan sat down and started eating, Preston and Leslie started arguing over whether Dear Evan Hansen or Heathers was better, and Tristen, their person of ambiguous gender, suggested that Hamilton trumped them both, sparking a heated and yet playful debate over the merits of all three musicals.

Jack nudged Logan lightly. “Don’t you just love our friends?” he asked with a wide grin.

“Yeah,” Logan said softly, musing as he took a bite of his sandwich. “They never had to be as supportive as they have been, and yet here we are.”

“Some people are just decent human beings, man. Not everyone is looking for something in return for their kindness,” Jack replied.

Logan let out a shuddery breath. “That’s a scary thought, honestly,” he whispered. “Because that means my parents were wrong about so many different things they taught me.”

Jack wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders in a sideways hug. “We can tackle that another day, sound good?”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed. “Sounds good.”

And it did. He didn’t want to have to focus on the fact that his parents were wrong right now. He just wanted to be happy about his legal name, and his friends supporting him. He grinned as Tristen made a particularly good point about Hamilton and the story surrounding it, and Logan pointed out a few factual tidbits that most people didn’t know about the musical, and immediately he was getting interrogated about what else he knew about the musicals they were talking about.

Eventually, lunch ended, Logan went to his afternoon classes, and then he was getting a ride from Mister Emile back home. His leg bounced nervously as he sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window. He blew out a breath. “So much is going on recently,” he said softly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Mister Emile sent him a glance. “It is,” he agreed. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Fine,” Logan agreed. “I’m just...nervous, I guess.”

“What about?” Mister Emile asked.

“Everything just became...real. That seems to be happening a lot lately. Abstract concepts like abandonment, and adulthood, and growing up are all becoming terrifyingly real, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

Mister Emile put a hand on Logan’s shoulder and Logan turned to look at him. “You have a point, Logan. Those things can be terrifying. But just know that you don’t have to do it alone, all right? Mister Remy, myself, your friends, even your brothers are all ready and willing to help you with whatever you need.”

Jack’s words from earlier came back to him: Not everyone is looking for something in return for their kindness. He supposed that applied to his new family. Which was terrifying, in a comforting way. He smiled and looked back out the window. “Yeah, I know. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Mister Emile said. “Let’s go tell your brothers the good news.”

When they got to the middle school and picked Roman up, he hopped in the back and grinned at Logan. “How’d the adoption go?” he asked.

“It went well,” Logan said with a smile. “Mister Emile and Mister Remy were kind enough to let me change my name.”

“What, to Picani? Yeah, that’s how adoption works,” Roman said.

Logan shook his head with a grin. “No, not to Picani. Well, yeah, they changed my last name, but they changed my first one, too. And my middle one, for that matter.”

Roman stared at him in shock before he laughed. “Hey, congrats, Lo! That’s gotta be a great feeling!”

“It is,” Logan agreed.

“Do the twins know yet?” Roman asked.

“Not yet,” Mister Emile said. “It was a surprise gift. So Logan gets to tell them the good news.”

“They’ll be ecstatic,” Roman said. “Be prepared for a lot of shrieking and yelling.”

Logan just laughed.