#thanks for all your diligence mr. fox!!

[spyeriasecret]

tested deltarune yesterday and experienced my first dog check!!! it was cool before i figured out that this is what toby fox is looking for and celebration should Cease

[themotherofblood]

Hello!

I saw that you asked about request for Tywin. I wanted to ask something brief about modern!Tywin with his young girlfriend. Anything you can think of with that scenario would be fine.

Thanks for reading me!❤️

you’ve been so engaged with the whole mafia Tywin thing, fyi I love you for this ask because that’s what inspired it bubs. I feel like this is a quaint set up chapter for this series :)

synopsis: a drunk encounter between Tywin and his golden darling.

warnings: shoe riding, AGE GAP, mentions of bullets. alcohol consumption.

word count - 2k+

masterlist | series masterlist | Lion’s Grasp AU

There was an odd sense of contentment, you were too comfortable with the life you had right now, devoid of having to ask too many questions— mostly for your own good. You had found a jewel of a man, and yes the gold digger comments never sit right with you but a man so fine, devoted was far good of a catch to let go. You wouldn’t think twice but close your eyes and jump down the cliff that was your relationship, there was no lie in the subtle fear that lingered in your heart around him. A striking silver fox and total charmer, it took learning to even breathe freely around him. 

Here you are now, in your own little apartment. Dabbing your fingers on your lips to soften the red lipstick, with the exam season finally over, you could let your hair down and drink till you become very aware of the organs within you and the booze— well, your perfect man happened to own some of the most notorious clubs around Lanniston, more like his son Tyrion but all the same. You looked up at the mirror, feeling great about how two hours of work made you look. 

You hesitantly looked at your phone, cheekily smiling at yourself as you unlocked it and snapped a picture of yourself and sent it to Tywin, you could almost predict the message you’d receive back. 

“Do not drink too much darling.” 

You gnawed at your thumb, shaking your head before shooting him a quick text agreeing with him. A bald-faced lie and he knew so, his men were already on the lookout for you and your girlfriends at Satin House. 

The music, as usual, blared so loud you were sure your heart was thudding the same beat, it felt liberating to not spend another night in dirty pyjamas and crying about your coursework. The henchmen Tywin had put up diligently did their jobs as not a single man dared to go beyond the stern glares these bulked men shot their way. You were sure Tyrion was here somewhere, the air was far too sultry for his involvement to be missing. 

You left early, however, knowing your heeled feet nor Tywin would appreciate it but mostly because you missed him terribly. Practically barring him from witnessing the mess you were in the past month. You huffed out into the cold air of the night, the skies were clear and downtown Lannisport was still alive. Meren already stood at the ready by the town car, you rolled your eyes at him. He always had this pinched look to him, very mean. 

“To home, miss?” He asked as you shuffled into the back of the car. You merely hummed in reply.

He was quick to the driver’s end, ready to head towards your apartment but you stopped him.

“Where is Mr Lannister?” You asked, eyes closed as you huffed deep breaths to shake away the loopy daze in your head. 

“At work, miss.” 

“Take me there then, take me to him.” 

Meren hesitated for a moment, his orders were otherwise but how could he deny his boss’s girl. So he nodded, and you rested your head on the window. Drawing little pictures from the fog that followed with your mouth breathing. That lulled you to sleep somehow from the twenty-minute drive that was to Loren Tower, you were roused by Meren as you blinked away the small nap. 

In front of you was the eighty-two-floor skyscraper, the first time you visited your jaw nearly hit the ground. The building was nearly empty for the night other than security and other essential staff who were only here at two in the morning because their boss was a cruel, cruel man. You fixed your hair in the reflection of the elevator mirror, hoping Tywin agrees with this little surprise drunk visit. 

When the elevator dinged open to his floor, his burnt-out but pristinely dressed assistant was the first face you saw, she looked like she was nearly checked out. 

“Miss—“ she raised the telephone but you pressed your finger to your lips, forcing her to keep your little secret as you walked towards his office. Your heels clicked against the annoyingly polished and glossed marble floors. 

Without knocking you pushed in, leaning against the mahogany door frame, admiring the view you had craved for weeks. His white button rolled up his taut forearms, fingers toying with the idle coffee cup. Brows pulled to a harsh gaze, as usual, he didn’t even look up. 

“Reached home, has she?” 

His crisp voice nearly made your already wobbly legs even more unstable. You smirked at him, he looked almost cute— so focused. You pulled in your lips before speaking up. 

“You should really get yourself a third assistant, poor Cassandra looks dead.” 

Tywin’s eyes shot up, immediately locking onto yours before burning into every inch of your body, from your toes to your head— torturously slow as he leaned back onto his chair. 

“I could— you know, fill that position if it’s open.” you hiccuped, pushing yourself away from the door frame. A dopey smile on your lips softens Tywin’s resolution. 

“How many have you indulged in, love?” 

You place your point exactly on the tip of your nose to prove your point, you weren’t aware of your organs just yet. You half wanted to crawl on top of his table and then onto his lap but you chose the more appropriate route and walked around the desk and then plopped onto his lap. 

“What’s the point of all this, if you still work till two?” You kiss his cheek, nuzzling into the stubble he had grown. 

“It’s tax season.”

“Tax season.” you scoff making him look up at you questioningly “Just because I don’t ask questions doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Like your hench-“

He cuts you off before you could finish, pressing his lips to yours and pulling your thighs around his so you straddle his lap. The taste of sour cherry vodka is very apparent on your lips.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to darling.” he lectures, leaning lower to kiss your neck. 

“On— on a more serious note, I could use a big girl job.” you smile at him, fixing the already untouched collar of his shirt. Truly, the corporate market was the Dothraki Sea without any administrative experience. 

He raises his brow. “Well, are you after Cassandra’s job?” 

“No, no — but what rich businessman doesn’t have a dozen assistants.” You shrugged, “And I think I have just the right qualifications.”

“Oh, do you now?” 

You eagerly nod, preparing yourself to list a vocal resume. “I make great coffee, a barista duh? I can type quickly, I’m friendly and I can be very pretty and— and” you stick out your pointer and curl it around his collar to pull yourself closer to his ear. 

“I can service you in many other ways, Mr Lannister.” You whisper in his ear before settling back on your calves. 

His gaze hardens once more as he pulls his lips to a tight line. “Alright,” he rubs up your back “you have had one too many.”

This time like an indignant child pouting you pick his pointer finger and place it on the tip of your nose to once again prove you were indeed not wasted and within your right mind. You wanted the job, and you were just a little horny. 

The green of his eyes traced over yours for a moment, before a scoff tumbled from his chest. “You want a job?” 

You nodded your head once more. 

“Earn it then.”

He helped you off of him, letting you settle onto your knees, the rug providing ample protection to your poor knees, you tilted your head confused as he lifted your chin with his pointer. 

“Take your panties off for me.” 

Your breath hitched as excited electrocution began hurtling towards your mound. Your dry spell was to be lifted, another reward for acing your exams. Your eyes were fixated on Tywin as you shuffled your fingers under your green dress and pulled off your black thong, he held your shoulders to stop you from stumbling forwards as you pulled the flimsy fabric back your legs. 

His other hand extended out for you to hand him your panties which he promptly shoved in his pocket.

“Let’s see if you are as qualified as you say you are, little miss.” 

You could stay here all day, oddly warm, comfortable. Minus the heels constricting your feet. It felt nice, it felt good thought it should be humiliating.

You sat on calves, with Jimmy Choo’s on your feet and a diamond pendant necklace around your neck. Head rested against Tywin’s thigh as he sat ever so commandingly in his armchair, his pretty whore knelt between his feet with an aching between your legs. You bite your inner cheek to not moan. 

“Please sir,” you whimpered, feeling another wave hurtling towards you as you rocked your hips against the fine black leather of Tywin’s dress shoes, the texture torturously stimulating your throbbing bud. You gnawed at his knee to stop the surge and then you whimpered once more. 

Your bottom lip wobbled, sniffling as you blinked away your tears. You sat straight with your back straight. You should have chosen the belt lashes instead, this was cruel—so fucking cruel. Here he sat, reading his revenue reports. You, about to be his pretty assistant (only by name) writhing at his feet, eyes glossed and lips bitten, full of colour.

Tywin rather enjoyed this, having you moved to a babbling, tearful mess before he buried his cock in the warm, wet snug for your pussy. He would make you earn the treat, he would have wanted nothing more but to keep you within his eyesight all day, safe and untouched. Your college had already taken such a toll on you he even went through with the private jet arrangements and hotel room to offer you a luxurious escape. His housekeeper, as you sat wiggling by his feet, was packing your luggage. 

“You’ve got to keep quiet, little girl, that was the deal.” His deeper voice crumbles, moving his hand away from the folders to gently pet your hair. 

You looked at him, lips pouted and trembling and nodded your head. Your eyes give him the sweetest most apologetic look, before sinking further into your knees and closing your eyes to avert this feeling of perpetual embarrassment and agony. 

Tywin set down his reports, finally having read through at least a dozen papers before focusing his attention on you. Her pet through your hair, lifting your chin to wipe at your tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Messy little slut.” He tuts, “So desperate to be around me, aren’t you?” 

You nod, sniffling away the more frustrated tears threatening to fall. 

“You’ve earned it.” he pets your cheek once more before the magical words fell from his lips. “Come sweetheart.” 

You nearly sob out in relief as you drop your head against his knee and pick up the pace of grinding against his shoe. Your shoulders shudder just as hard as your legs, your orgasm decimating your resolve. Crying out and heaving as you recover, the muffled sounds of Tywin’s voice coaxing you through it.  

He pulled you back to his lap after, rubbing your back as he put away his work for the night, making a call to have the car prepared. 

“I think I feel my organs now.” You groan against his shoulder, Tywin chuckles, shaking his head, wrapping his blazer around your shoulders before bundling you up. 

He walks out of his office, effortlessly carrying your smaller frame along, he turns to Cassandra’s desk, noting that she indeed looked exhausted. 

“Take your vacation days girl.” He orders as he walks to the elevator. 

“Night Cassandra,” you shoot her a wink over your shoulder. 

You almost doze away on his shoulder as you ride down to the parking, merely a few twitches at your fingertips. 

“Are we going to yours?” you murmur, looking up at him through half-closed eyes. He nods, placing you inside the town car before sternly turning to Meren. 

“The next time you choose to disobey my orders, a bullet will lodge itself within a place you may never find.”

Taglist in the comments

Ahhh, I’m so sorry how long this took to write. Minus the unnecessary things that have gone on for the past few days. My mojo really left me for a week or two but I’m here now, trying to get back into it.

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated.

Also my requests for one shots, this series and Bloody Baby are open, also stop by to my asks any time. I love ranting about my fics hehe.

[atlantis-scribe]

Mcshep as Destiel

first thing's first: this ask is evil. cursed. this is the kind of text that even Dr. Daniel Jackson, successor of the great Evelyn 'I-don't-believe-in-cursed-texts' Carnahan-O'Connell, who canonically possesses 0.1% self-preservation instincts, will not touch with a ten-foot pole.

no fandom archivist / enthusiast worth their salt would want to wake up in the morning & immediately sustain massive psychic damage upon seeing a notification like this:

understood? cool.

now that we have those disclaimers out of the way, dear anon, we can play ball.

let me preface my actual response by saying that my experience with Supernatural & Tumblr’s Golden Ship has been unorthodox, at best.

when spn first came out, I was a child, but a child with an indulgent father who cultivated my love for cinema & urban fantasy. we got into Supernatural wayy before Castiel was a thing. we watched it diligently as soon as the newest episode became available in my country. my dad would quiz me on the case’s salient points, and we’d talk about the monster-of-the-week & how it compares to the creatures in our own folklore. Supernatural was, to some extent, educational. heh. (yes, i was very much a minor. yes, my parents were pretty lax on the exposure to blood & gore. I grew up fine, all things considered.)

we stopped our religious following of the show around the time the Leviathan storyline was unfolding. my father & I loved Bobby, and we were also starting to notice a lack of focus in terms of plot & direction. the rest of my exposure then to SPN was courtesy of Tumblr, which I managed to compartmentalize thanks to my other hyperfixations with high fantasy & sci-fi shows.

BASICALLY, what I’m saying is that I know Supernatural like a kid knows their local urban legends. and that, plus my current hyperfixation on All Things Stargate, has been a cause of many a crossover & fusion ideas.

but there’s a reason I’ve been dragging my feet when it comes to actually making content for these plotbunnies (and why I have yet to include spn for my McShep AU series). it’s because the whole thing is bound to be chaotic.

(by the way, dearest anon, what the actual heck made you send me this cursed ask? exactly which blog posts made you go, “ah. this Kit person loves Stargate & McShep, and would absolutely know something about Heller stuff.” WHERE did i go so wrong??)

ACTUAL RESPONSE:

it’s sooo easy to have Rodney as Castiel + Sheppard as Dean. (bitchy, sanctimonious fandom favorite? self-loathing, repressed, & too-pretty-for-his-own-good green-eyed action hero? practically cardboard cut-outs)

but here’s the thing, my lovelies: Kit thinks otherwise (and yes, I just referred to myself in third person. “mentally unstable as a fox“ and all that jazz)

1. Rodney is Dean because while Sheppard’s Daddy Issues are more overt & present in-text, Rodney’s are closer to the Winchester Kind of Daddy Issues (in that there’s pressure-from-beyond-the-grave to carry on with the ‘family business’. in this hypothetical AU, it could be hunting, it could be science, take your pick, but Rodney-as-Dean has taken it upon himself to be the Good Son, and it’s 99.9% because of Dad McKay.)

“This is not what dad would've wanted.”

"Shared credit, huh? We'll do this together? Dad'll be so proud."

- 3x08, McKay & Mrs Miller

2. Rodney & Dean both have a kid sibling who wants out (who wants a normal life outside the family business, dammit.) really no need to elaborate on that. Jeannie is Sammy. I dont make the rules.

3. Rodney & Dean both have that one-track-mind drive to do what they think they do best, their only purpose for existence, to the point that they cannot see anything beyond that One Thing (science, hunting/protecting their younger sibling) because that’s how they were raised. their perceived Only Talent becomes their whole identity, and when that is taken away from them, there’s (at least according to them) virtually nothing left.

4. Sheppard is Castiel because of the gay coding. c’mon.

5. Sheppard is Castiel because grace & ATA gene can be metaphors for each other, and I think that’s pretty cool.

6. Sheppard is Castiel because they’re both Soldiers who rebelled & disobeyed shitty orders because it went against everything they are & have ever believed in. there was a fundamental disconnect between what they’d been asked to do & what makes them them, so they went up against The Man, and said, No.

7. Rodney is Dean because they refuse to believe in a higher power that governs everything they do. they tell the universe what’s what, not the other way around.

8. Rodney is also Dean because the only exception to this is Sheppard & Castiel. if the higher power (God / Ancients) had a hand in the creation of this Being, then maybe it’s good for something, after all.

9. Sheppard is Castiel because they share an inability to say no to this one person they keep having to save over and over again, even when said person’s ideas are shitty and risks everyone & everything in this plane of existence.

10. McShep as Destiel will have Rodney McKay as a stubborn & competent man who embodies everything good and bad about humanity, and whose misguided views on family & masculinity are forever changed when someone who is Definitely A Little More than Human chooses him as their favorite person ever; it’ll have John Sheppard as the Prodigal Son Extraordinaire, who damns himself & all that is holy because he just wants to save his best friend, this flawed human he’s come to treasure beyond reason, from himself.

[psychemeanscure]

PART 3 { Thanks Google Search for quantum physics meaning reference though I revise it for a bit. And Google translations for the Spanish words, though I’m not so sure by its accuracy. Lol! that’s all, okay bye! happy reading~ keke}

A gleam yet aesthetic lights of his Casino Hotel welcomed them as they both enter its futuristic hall, screaming with dominance. Greeted by his people while passing through the buzzing of gamblers of any kind, frivolously wasting every cents and ownership they have. The sea of expensive liquors, the sound of tokens and chips, the chime of jackpots and failures of losses. How she hated the sight of it and now she’s just one step closer to face the reason behind it. But only to flinch from another sight she can never get used to.

The chromic face of Jang Taeyoung endlessly playing to his initially Led TV. As she eyed him with abhorrence. “Do you really have to shout that cloy face of yours around this Casino? Tss.” she finally blurts it out while his usual arrogance immersed. “I’m the signature of my Casino myself, what can I do?” and the only thing she could do is cringe. “No. You are simply a narcissist yourself.” a hasty laugh was heard by him, then. 

“Come on, Honey. You’ve watched it many times yet you only learn it just now? I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m enormously gorgeous man.” She hissed. Uninterested by his boasting but vexed from what he called. “Shut that Joder Honey of yours. I’m not a bee! Por favor.” decides to walk ahead of him instead, better than engaging his nonsense callings. 

He catches her pace anyway. As he stops by an open wine cellar, getting one type from a rack. “Should we have brought a champagne for him? This Berlin drink looks fi---“

His suggestion was abruptly halted, leaving the wine he’s holding put off on a center table just beside him. For he was dragged by her through the corner side of the cellar. Enough to spot that someone she did not expect. Him, being pressed on a column of wine bottles, trapped by his panicking volatile. 

“Qué coño? What does that bomber prosecutor even do here?!” her scoffing whispers came then, eyes still on the enemy’s sight. The man they called Mr. Kim who has a very suspicious guts on her. “Oh. Him? He’s the frequent sniffing fox I’m telling you about. Craving to catch you obviously.” As much as he’s enjoying their position, he had no choice either but to diligently answer her distresses.

Multiple curses start to blab from her mouth nonstop as the so- called fox is now nearly passing their path. Till a cunning idea came after him, sneakily touch her bare back. “You do aware that I am fully attracted to you, aren’t you?” and she knows what he possibly wanted her to do, that she’s now secretly cursing herself for wearing the said garment. Too late to regret her thoughtless moves, mind still stuck with hesitations that her stressed eyes keep shuffling between the taming man in front of her and the persistent enemy who’s eager to catch her no matter what.

“Mierda! I hate you.” Her firm remark before she finally gives in. Swiftly taking his collar to changing their position and crash her lips to his awaiting mouth. She knew she’s going to pay for it. But she’s left with no choice. That sniffing fox would never get tired to investigate her, and to be seen from the Casino is the least she would do. That in between the kisses, she intendedly opens her eyes to sight the prosecutor’s stands.        

Not until a sudden moan escaped from her lips that she had to close her eyes by his hungry kisses. She was too focused by the presence of her predator that she almost forgot her other predator. Right, Jang Taeyoung as he is will never accept a petty satisfaction as she only learns about his seeking tongue to enter hers. Only makes it worse when he starts to wrap his hands around her waist after deciding to press her more through the columns of wine bottles which also starts to make a sound of clinks from his move. Not long enough when his other hand begins to run through caressing her bare back to gripping her neck, up until finding a hold from the wooden feature of the wine columns.

“Hmm…”

And just like that, she lost it. Fully lost from the presence of her petty enemy, leaving her only focus to this taming man’s kisses. Scolding herself in mind but had to admit she’s liking it. She’s liking every touch of him that even her hands find its way uncontrollably wrap around his neck through stroking his hair, up to cupping his cheeks. Letting him experience the same intensity as she begun to push herself to kiss him back. Savoring each other’s taste. Giving in from the undecided touches. ‘I’m crazy’ a thought which only made her frown, yet she already meant. 

“Jeez. Get a room.”

That alone made her snap back from reality, that she forcefully pulls herself from his still eager kisses. She may not have been busted by the prosecutor only to be found as embarrassment. The fox failed to see her though as it already passed through them before she pulled out, but because of the already loud sound of wine clinks caused by them, it had to found out their sudden make-out.  

“F*ck!”  

He hates to admit, but he liked it too. The way her lips brushed into his was just exceptional that he even begins to put a liking smile in between their kisses. He wants more and he mean it. And as much as he wants to thank the bomber prosecutor for letting things happen, he hated him even for cutting it. For they can still hear each other’s breaths as his arms still resting in between her, while she’s not eyeing his glances like he does. “We better get going. Our guest must have waited for too long.” As he intends to get serious but his teases aren’t helping when his usual tilting of head and a smirking smile ignites. “I thought Gangnam Gal is five kilometers afar from Itaewon Guy? Then why does it feel too close today. Huh, Sung Eunyoung?”

“Save that for later, Jang Taeyoung.”

Her only stern response after shoving out from his trapping arms between her and with one last biting of his lips, he turns around with a face of a cold hunter as they both went upstairs for VIP Casino Hall to finally pursue their first mission.

~

“Señor Alcaziar.”

His first greeting of its name before urging for a handshake. “So sorry for being late, a little situation just happened unexpectedly. I hope it didn’t get you bored though.” His proceeding excuses as well. “I see. Not at all. I’m actually enjoying!” a calm but lively response of the Spanish old man before its eyes begun to dart on her.

“Ooh. And who’s this lovely Señorita with you?” They then both looking at each other as if a lovesick lovers head over heels in love. She, who is as if asking for his permission, only to be answered a motioning gentleman’s sign. And he, who swears if only a Grammy nomination will be offered to them, they surely conquer the award-winning title. Thus, as if on cue. Their workshop begins to roll.

“Hola, Señor. Allow me to introduce myself. Me llamo Amilia. Mucho gusto.”

As expected, an astonished reaction had appeared, while unlinking her hand from his arms and offer to the guest. “Mucho gusto. Me llamo Veeros.” The latter’s introduction as well, that even after accepting her handshake, a compliment follows by talking to him. “She’s good, eh?” And the only thing he did was to give him a proud smile. “But you didn’t tell me you’ll be bringing a date for tonight. I should have brought mine.”      

With a kinky smile, he went beside her placing his hand on her bare back. “Well, to properly introduce you Señor. This dazzling lady here beside me. My dearest fiancé, Amilia Martin.” so for the second time, their whipped staring game reenacts again, while the became out of place old man only had to react in awe from what he thought lovebirds that its eyes were stuck staring with the both of them. “Oh. Wow. Now that makes a lot of sense. So, am I Veeros Alcaziar proud to be father then?” its humorous response anyway by which cause the laughter among them anyhow. 

Still moved from the burst of laughter. The latter tries to bring back his composure though. “Wooh. That’s hilariously unexpected. Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you, young lady. Amilia Martin is indeed a beautiful name for you.” His complimenting remarks again, while she hated the fact that she needed to thank him for that.  

Amilia Martin. A name given by her foster parents since she became an orphan. She’s sorry for them, yet it became her disguised identity. Truth is, only few knows Sung Eunyoung, which includes the reckless man beside her obviously. The corporate world only knows Amilia, gone Sung Eunyoung. She loves to be called by that name anyway. But hearing it from the mouth of the enemy is a total exemption.

Meanwhile, a prying watch from Jang Taeyoung occurred. Eyeing the peculiar stare from their guest. For he had already felt it the moment its eyes landed to his volatile. Something he cannot describe yet fishy. And he didn’t like it. “I almost forgot, Señor. Here’s our present for you.” His prompt interruption indeed which led the latter to change its focus to him, as he handed the Berlin champagne he decides to took anyhow a while ago. “Oh, wow. Villa Di Corlo. One of my favorite as well. Thank you.” After accepting it and give to its assistant, the Spanish old man begun to sturdy clasping its hands. “So! Can we talk about business now?”

“After you, Señor.” His leading motion the moment they arrived to the front door of his office, as the old man is about to went in, not before realizing something. “Wait? With your fiancé?” Its off remark indeed. “Well… I couldn’t get a permission if not to her. So, sí Señor.” His response then after from looking each other’s eyes. “Uhuh. Partners in crime. Nice. Well then.” Thus their first conversation started.

The deal went smoothly. From sharing both terms and conditions to how each other’s transaction must be done. But not until the certain word sneak into the dealer’s mouth which led them to give each other’s meaningful look. “Narcotics, Señor?”    

“Sí, Narcotics. I’ve been searching for a great timing for it but didn’t get a chance. You know, being a busy man. But looking with our conversation today, I think I’m convinced to give it a go. What do you think, Mr. Jang? Young lady?” His indeed pertaining to the both of them, and grasping from her seat isn’t even much of help. He saw it otherwise, as her habit of flicking her nails didn’t survive from his sight as well. Thus, he had no choice but to do the safest thing he guess.

“About that Señor. I think we need to talk about it first. Seems like my Amilia here is a bit surprised by your sudden proposal.” And she thanks him for that. “Oh. I see. My bad. But no rush. I can wait. Just make sure you both talk it wisely, alright?” and the only thing they could do is smile, hiding the fakeness.

“Thank you for inviting me to your humble Casino, young lad. I had a great time.” With a final handshake he offered a hand. “And thank you for accepting our invitation as well, Señor. We had fun talking.” And so they both escorted him and bid goodbye.

“Mierda!”

As he expected. Her curses erupt, the moment the door shut closed. Stroking her hair at the back of her head. She’s frustrated, and he knows it. That he had to grab her car key from the valet. “I’ll drive you home.” Only for her to get it back. “I can manage.” But who is she lying, though? He wouldn’t be surprise if a news came up of her for over speeding. “I would rather not take the risk. So, just better sit peacefully and let me. “snatching the key from her again while forcefully pushing her to get in the passenger seat.

The ride indeed at peace. But too much peace that her nail flicking habit bothers him still. “Eish. Can you stop torturing your nails? What did they even do wrong to deserve your frustrations. Tss.” only to receive a crumbing look from her. “Shut up. I’m thinking.” With a heavy sigh, she ends up looking by the window instead. Not too long though when her thoughts aren’t even helping her at all.

“Urgh. I need a break! Maldita sea. Stop the car!”

She burst out indeed, that he had to stop the car as well by a bridge. Stomping out through the sidewalk overlooking the steady shore, as she released another of her heavy breath. Her, who’s only feeling the solemn air, gripping to the railings of the bridge. Him, who’s only leaning to her car, arms crossed while playing with his shoe. Just silence between them.

“I have something in mind, actually. Want to hear?”

Breaking the ice, somehow. She hesitated of course, but at the back of her mind, why give it a shot? And so she does. “Let me hear it, then.” She, who’s crossing her arms now. From focusing his eyes on his playing shoe, he darts his eyes to the overlooking shore as well. “If I were to ask, I rather accept his proposal.” His straight suggestion indeed, while she had to turn her head to him, unpleased by his words.

“Are you even---“

“Then you shouldn’t have started if you’ll have to give up anyway.”

And that snap her indeed, that even a fading ‘but’ cannot surpass what he said. She would not like to admit, but he’s right. And him, seeing her doubting face, decided to proceed his following invocations. “You think declining him ain’t do any suspicions? Tss. That’s a lamest excuse for a gambler, Sung Eunyoung. Whether you like it or not, we have no choice either.” Thus a surrendering sigh escape to her again, as her eyes went back to the overlooking shore. “I know. It’s just that… I did not expect things to go this worse.”

“Sung Eunyoung. Even gamblers need to expand. You’re in a business. You should have known that.”

Then another silence appeared. And by measuring her silence again, he began his final follow-up. “So? Are we in or what?”

And with one last deep sigh, closing her eyes. She finally gave in.

“Okay.”                                    

[angrylizardjacket]

self-same mettle

Summary: "I love my sister more than anything in this life; I will choose her happiness over mine every time."

A/N: BIG WARNING; August Reid, who you may remember from the main story, child groom tw, though nothing comes of it he's still creepy and predatory. Okay so I just wanted to write a little something from Oscar's perspective in the High School AU. Let me know what you think!!

{AYDTD}

----

Oscar's always been a romantic at heart, always wanted to be the star of his own Mills and Boone novel ever since he was sixteen and found his mother's stash while hunting for Christmas presents. It had been painfully straight, right when he'd been discovering the delightful world of loving men, but he was invested enough in the romance that he didn't care.

In 2017, at the tender age of 19, he discovers the author Chuck Tingle, and despite the fact that he's technically now a literature student, this ridiculous, gay erotica makes his heart happy in ways he can't quite articulate.

The point is, he knows August Reid, because he's his dad's drinking buddy and fellow professor, but Oscar doesn't think of him much until he takes the man's class. Ash, who's fifteen and who spends weekends at the local art gallery down the road, has always been far more artistically minded, Oscar's always been more drawn to words, but he takes August's Art History class on a whim.

There's a certain draw to the whole teacher/student fantasy, and August looks kind of like an older Richard Madden, still angular and defined, but greying at the temples, the prelude to an extraordinary silver fox. So Oscar let's himself daydream, and take the follow up class, and look forward to the weekends where his dad's friends would come over to smoke cigars and play cards. August Reid was nothing if not polite, always smiling and kind and happy to see Oscar, answer his questions. Oscar knew he was married, thinks he probably has a kid, and so he was happy to keep his daydreams to himself. He thinks there's something romantic about quietly unrequited love.

However, it takes a year, once Ash has matured more, not a lot, but enough to catch August's interest, for the rose-coloured glasses to be ripped off. August takes an interest in her; when he and the rest of their father's colleagues came over, he would make a point to stop and check in with Ash, encourage her interest in Art, both physical and theoretical, and even suggest research for her, or upcoming exhibits he thought she might like. It's harmless, at first.

Talk of art turns to compliments, her taste in things, her outfits, how she wears her hair, the colour of her eyes. Ash seems to start looking forward to his visits, and something about it doesn't sit right with Oscar.

"He's just, Oz he's so cool," she was smiling, blushing a little; she had a crush, it was plain as the nose on her face, "and he said he could get us tickets to the Renaissance exhibit in Glasgow next month, how awesome is that?"

August starts calling her Miss Ashley, a joke that started since she still had a habit of calling him Mr Reid - because she's a fucking highschooler, it's how she's been taught to address teachers - Ash delights in it, straightens her posture a little when he says it. August makes a habit of petting her head fondly when she does. It makes Oscar's stomach turn just a little. August shouldn't be looking at his little sister like that, she's just a child.

Their father seems blind to it, tells Oscar 'don't be ridiculous, he's just being kind' and when he goes to mum, she just brushes him off, insisting that August is lovely, that he's so in love with his wife, and that Ash is just excited to have someone who understood her.

"A little schoolgirl crush is harmless, Oscar, dear; weren't you singing his praises not too long ago?" It's meant with a wink and a nudge, like perhaps Oscar's jealous, but his mother can be so dense; it's not the same at all. He's an adult, and Ash is a child, and yet he's not the one August is giving leering looks to when he thinks no-one's looking.

It's not that their parents don't love them, it's just that they don't particularly care. They're trapped in a loveless marriage, too self absorbed to care about those that can take care of themselves.

So Oscar takes it upon himself.

Oscar's never understood art like he's understood literature, never been able to make it make sense in the same way, but that doesn't matter. The point is, on Sundays, when his father's colleagues come over for tea and cigars and cards, Oscar's started taking Ash to art galleries across the country.

"But August is-"

"It's the impressionists, Ash," Oscar takes her hand with a grin, practically begging her, "come on they have the Water Lilies," he enthuses, and Ash's expression softens.

"I do love the Water Lilies."

Because he can't tell her what he's really doing, because she's sixteen and thinks she knows everything and the idea of telling her that August has any sort of feelings towards her, even if he explains why that's creepy and wrong, is probably the worst thing he can do to discourage her. So he distracts her, and is careful to never mention him if he can help it, or steer the conversation away if she brings him up.

She's his best friend. She's always been his best friend, but in an abstract, sibling sort of way, but it doesn't take long for the two of them to become legitimate best friends. He listens to all the drama of her highschool career, and her ideas for sculptures, and anything else she wants to talk about, and in turn he tells her about whatever he's reading that week, whatever poetry ideas he's been riffing with lately, and complains about pretty straight boys in his lectures.

Oscar may be a poet, but neither he nor Ash could hold a tune to save their lives, and so of course they sing along to Ash's Spotify playlists at the top of their lungs whenever they're driving. There's three weeks where she plays the Hamilton cast recording on repeat, and Oscar finds himself muttering it under his breath in class.

He works nights, and Saturdays, to afford all these day trips, and his family think he's so diligent, studying and working so hard, and on his day off he spends it with Ash. He keeps local for a few weeks, a few months actually, and surprises her with a trip to the West End for Christmas.

She talks about August less and less as time goes on. Though she does ask about it, in a roundabout way.

"Why're you spending so much time with me?"

They're having lunch in the park across from a gallery somewhere in Ireland. Oscar packed jam sandwiches.

"I don't understand this art shit like you do, but it's good to find inspiration from all mediums, you know?" Oscar smiles, takes a big bite of his sandwich, and watches Ash wrinkle her nose.

"You sound so pretentious," she snorted, shaking her head, "but whatever, I'm not gonna complain, you're the one paying."

"And I like spending time with you, biscuit." His voice turned overly sappy, as did his grin, "I love you." Oscar reached out and ruffled her hair, and Ash squawked, batting his hand away.

"I love you too, ya muppet, but if you wanna hang out we can just do something lowkey, or like, close to home."

She takes him at his word, which is good because he's being honest, but she seems content with their routine. Sometimes they go bowling, or to the library, sometimes they go op shopping, or to the movies, but they never miss a week.

She's his cheerleader at poetry readings, his tour guide at art galleries, and his favourite person at all times. His father's a literature professor who stopped truly engaging with her about her love of art once he stopped understanding her, and his mother was a Type A accountant who was just disappointed she wasn't interested in something employable. So Oscar was her cheerleader at art competitors, her enthusiastic student at art galleries, and ends up being her best friend and quietly, her favourite family member.

August asks about her, according to their father, but Ash's brief infatuation with him seems to have died down.

"Do you have a problem with me, Oscar?" August asks almost a month after Oscar's started spending Sundays with Ash, and maybe their father's told August what's happening, maybe he's noticed Oscar glaring at him whenever he saw the professor, but either way, he's so painfully kind when he asks that it's a dead giveaway; August knows something's wrong.

"Stay the fuck away from my sister," Oscar, kind-faced, bright eyed Oscar, snarls. He's 6'3" and never more thankful for his height as he towers over August.

"I'm simply showing an interest in her, she's an art enthusiast, I'm an art professor, don't worry-"

"I don't give a shit; look like the innocent flower but be the fucking serpent under it, right?"

"I don't understand what you mean? Does your father know you feel this way? Does Ash?" And it doesn't sound like a threat, it sounds like a very genuine question, but Oscar wants nothing more than to punch him in his stupid, angular nose.

"Does your wife know you spend weekends ogling underage girls?" Oscar fires back, and August's expression sours considerably, his mouth closed in a tight, humourless line. "Yeah, dad knows, not that he gives a shit," Oscar sneered, "but if you go near my sixteen year old sister again, you smarmy creepy -" his voice dropped very low, expression dark, his hands balling into fists by his side.

"If your father's not bothered by it I don't see why you should be, I haven't done anything wrong, but you're throwing around some serious implications here," August gives a blithe smile, "Ash is an incredible young woman I'm simply encouraging her passion."

"August Reid, I need you to know that I'm not threatening you," Oscar said calmly, "I'm promising you; I'll fucking kill you."

And maybe he doesn't believe Oscar would legitimately harm him, but he sees it's not a fight he's going to win. August leaves Ash well enough alone after that.

At the start of their Summer break, before Ash is due to start her second last year of high school, their father gets a job in England, their mother gets an excuse to leave her loveless marriage, and Ash and Oscar get a choice. Oscar knows without even having to ask that Ash will stick with him. He also knows that in two years, if she's still here, she'll end up studying under August and his father's other creepily complicit friends. Oscar's playing the long game to keep his sister safe when he announces he'll be going to England with their dad.

He lies, says he doesn't mind transferring courses and maybe retaking some classes at this new university, makes sure he's nothing but positive when he talks about the move, and Ash, add expected, joins him. It hurts to leave the life he's building himself, but he knows it's what's best for Ash.

Adjusting to a new life is difficult, and some weeks they don't end up spending Sunday together. Oscar let's himself relax, takes time for himself, and starts to build new relationships, new connections in this new situation he's found himself in.

Here, he didn't have to worry about Ash so much. She was still his best friend, but now she could just be a teenager without a creepy professor leering at her and grooming her. Though quietly, Oscar was just glad she still wanted to spend time with him; she still goes to his poetry readings, still wants to go on day trips with him, and she's starting to get to know his new friends little by little.

Meeting Freddie is like getting hit by a freight train; they're both taking a Creative Industries subject as an elective, and they get partnered together. Freddie is intense and warm in equal measure, a lover of cats judging by the pins on his bag, he's always drawing or doodling something on his notebook, and he writes songs. Oscar adores him from the moment he meets him. He's always busy, always on the move or at band practice, but he seems to like Oscar well enough, so the two of them start having lunch together a few times a week.

Freddie thinks Oscar's selfless when he learns about everything that had happened back in Scotland.

"Picking up and moving your whole life just to make sure she's safe," Freddie shakes his head, "you're a Saint, you know that?"

"She's my sister, I couldn't not do it," Oscar laughs a little self consciously, but Freddie just seemed endeared.

They're messaging almost every day. Freddie sends draft song lyrics and selfies with his cats and Oscar will send bits of poems and shitty angled selfies or photos taken by Ash. They both live busy lives, but they keep up with each other without even trying.

[I've got a cat named Oscar, you know?]

[I didn't actually. You really like me well enough to name a cat after me 😂😜]

[har har I've known the cat longer. sorry to disappoint. 😘]

He's so caught up in his new life and his new friends, and Ash seems so happy with her new school, especially their art program, that it takes Oscar a while to realise how painfully lonely Ash was. She's always been introverted, always focused more on her projects than on the people around her, but when Oscar realises that person she talks most about is her physics tutor, it hits him that she doesn't actually have any friends her own age here. She likes his friends well enough, one even got her a fake ID if she might ever need it, but she had none of her own.

"How was school?" They've been here for about three months, and finally things have maybe started to look up.

"Fine; we're starting sculpture making in art," Ash said offhandedly, rolling her eyes; she already spent time outside of school making sculptures, the idea of being graded on it now seemed trivial, "this one dumbass spent like twenty minutes negotiating with a teacher about whether he can also make a second sculpture for fun." Ash's voice was flat, unimpressed.

"Sounds like someone you'd get along with-"

"He wants to make a dick."

Dick Sculpture Guy turns to Fucking Roger, and Oscar starts to hear more about him, because Roger's always seemingly causing a scene and Ash is endlessly annoyed with him, though she once let it slip that she thinks he's rather hot, and Oscar, though he's never brought it up, will never forget it.

Until he gets a call on Friday afternoon, from Ash, in tears, asking him to come to the school.

She's surrounded by the pieces of her broken major work when he arrives, and there's a tall, dark haired guy checking up on her. This is Brian, the tutor he's heard so much about. He's thankful, but comforting Ash is his first priority.

Brian leaves, and together the siblings piece together her work. The school gets locked at five, and they're there until the very last minutes. Once the bust is sitting up on one of the desks at the edge of the room, Ash sniffles only a little bit.

"I'll paint the cracks gold."

"Kintsugi," Oscar adds, nodding sagely and Ash actually beams at him, "see, I listen to you, biscuit."

He suggests they go to Freddie's gig to take her mind off of it, though it's also because she's been asking to meet Freddie for a while now, but he's always been busy. However, things don't go as planned when not only is Ash's tutor part of the band, but Fucking Roger is too. Fucking Roger who's sculpture exploding made Ash cry.

Ash is adamant she's going to kill him. Oscar doesn't stop her. She disappears around the end of the bar after Roger, while the rest of the band - Freddie, Brian, and some kid called John - hang back.

Ash decidedly doesn't kill Roger, and actually ends up enjoying her night, which Oscar's glad for. That being said, he's a little bit distracted; he's quickly discovering that Brian might be the loveliest person he'd ever met. Brian's an astrophysics student, a guitarist, a tutor, and he took the time to check up on Ash; Oscar hasn't been seriously romantically interested in anyone since high school, and he's only met Brian today, but damn if there wasn't definitely a crush forming.

They play good music, and Ash seems to have a good time, and he tells himself that that's all that matters.

Days go by, weeks go by, the siblings keep going to Queen's gig's, and Fucking Roger turns to just Roger. Oscar messages Brian and Freddie that Ash might have a crush and Freddie sends back a wheezed voice message saying that Roger probably does too, but that he's stubborn as hell and would never be the first to admit it. Something warms in Oscar's heart at that. Slowly but surely, between Roger and John, Ash is finally making friends her own age.

Ash deserves a normal-ish crush on a normal-ish boy, and Oscar will do anything to encourage that crush. So they go to gigs, and Oscar wiggles his eyebrows at her when Roger's got an arm around her between sets, and Ash turns as red as her hair. But Brian's got a hand on his thigh where they're sitting near the door, and it feels weirdly normal, and kind of the best.

To see Ash smiling and happy, everything was worth it. It's all worked out, though he knows he'll never stop worrying about her, not that he'd want to.

[k-i-s-m-e-t]

The Fox, The Wolf

Fandom: 19 days Rating: Mature Status: In Progress 1/? Warnings: None Pairing: TianShan Words: 1,792

Summary: Sometimes you find success, sometimes it comes for you.

“Aaaannnd cut! That’s a wrap! Thank you everyone!” 

Clapping and cheers rang out as the overhead lights brightened. “Finally,” Mo thought rising from the couch, yanking at the too tight tie he wore. Not even bothering to say goodbye to the interviewer, he headed for the studio’s exit. She’d been too intrusive anyways, focusing only on personal questions rather than about his restaurant. Despite having sat through several of these exclusive-style interviews he still wasn’t used to it. Didn’t want to be. 

At this point though, he didn’t have much of a choice. A few months ago a celebrity chef had dined at his establishment unbeknownst to him. The chef had been incredibly impressed with the food, calling it a culinary experience to die for. He’d name dropped the restaurant, The Fox, on his show & posted a lavish review on his website, photo of Mo included. Since then it’d been nonstop television appearances & interviews. Mo’s phone rang constantly - to the point he’d had to hire a PR rep. The Fox was booked for reservations months in advance and the waiting list extended into next year. He was appreciative of course, the bills were guaranteed to be paid. Fame be damned though, he was tired of it. 

He nodded politely as he passed crew members on his way to the elevator. Leaning heavily on the call button it dinged promptly, doors sliding open. He pressed the button for lobby, silently hoping for a solo ride. He sighed in relief as the doors closed, only to scowl immediately in distaste when a flurry of blond hair managed to slide through at the last second making them snap open harshly at the obstruction. 

“Jeez would it kill you to wait for me for once? You didn’t hear me calling you?” Jian Yi huffed, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. 

“You probably weren’t loud enough,” Mo responded, pulling out his cell phone to check his email. 

“Yea well we came together how did you think I’d get back?” 

“I didn’t think anything to be honest.” 

Jian Yi rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

“Anyways, the interview went well, it’ll appear between prime time shows on the Food Network.”

“Fascinating,” Mo offered. Checking his messages, he saw his head chef had sent photos of tonight’s entrees for his approval. Squinting at the screen he approved three of them, rejecting the fourth and suggesting an alternative. 

“I’m sure everyone will be eager to hear about who I’m not dating and my skin care routine.” 

“She was trying to be friendly.” 

“She was being nosey as fuck.” 

“Guan Shan, everyone knows you’re an excellent restauranteur, they want to know more about the man behind the business.” 

“Yea well I’m not interested in them,” Mo said, stepping out of the elevator into the lobby. 

“I suggest you spend more time focusing on doing your job as well. You’re supposed to be representing the restaurant not setting me up on dates.” 

Jian Yi smiled shaking his head tiredly. 

“Whatever you say man.” 

In the lobby they rendezvoused at the front desk, the cheerful attendant retrieving their coats from check. Outside the air was brisk, mid-day sunlight filtered through the clouds. Horns honked as the city bustled around them, streets crowded with the lunch rush headed back to work, retreating from the cold. Mo pulled his coat tighter around him, hands shoved firmly in his pockets. He huffed out a breath, slight fog briefly materializing before him then vanishing. 

Despite his sour exterior this time of year always made him feel lively. There would be parties to cater for, new recipes to try. He’d be having the annual staff meeting with his kitchen team soon to discuss seasonal meals and get their suggestions. The team was a slapdash mix of talented individuals from all walks of life and he fed off their energy, fond of each and every one of them. They’d all been considered carefully before being invited to work for him. Concern tilted toward their talent & compatibility with each other rather than their appearance or background. 

“Hey!” Jian Yi called, snapping him out of his reverie. 

“Let’s get going. We have a meeting at two.” He’d already hailed a taxi and it was idling at the curb. 

“M’ coming,” Mo mumbled, shifting back into work mode and sliding into the car. Jian Yi rattled off directions as the taxi merged into traffic, then pulled out his planner, discussing talking points for their next meeting. Mo only half listened, mind drifting to his kitchen, hands twitching in his pockets. 

An hour later they sat restlessly around a conference table waiting for their remaining meeting attendees, an investor and his financial advisor that wanted to partner with The Fox. Mo was silently fuming that the men were late. Jian Yi curiously had nothing to say for once, but his eyes would dart to the door every time there was a noise in the hall. Despite the lack of conversation, he was still driving Mo crazy. Consumed by a tic he kept alternating between clicking his pen and jiggling his foot until his chair squeaked. Gathering himself to thoroughly cuss him out, Mo’s interrupted when finally they heard muted conversation and made out shapes beyond the frosted glass of the walls. 

“Be sociable,” Jian Yi whispered harshly, rolling his eyes at Mo’s blank stare. 

The door opened to reveal a serious but attractive man with brown hair and grey-blue eyes. 

“My apologies,” he said stepping into the room, voice warm but carrying authority. He bowed respectfully. “Mr. He and I were caught in traffic.” 

“My name is Zhan Zheng Xi,” he said politely extending a hand. “You must be Guan-“ 

“He’s Guan Shan,” Jian Yi cut in jumping from his seat to grasp the extended hand. “I’m Jian Yi, it’s great to meet you,” he gushed winking. 

Zhan nodded, eyeing the extended hand that Jian Yi was still holding. 

“Uh,” Jian hastily retracted his hand. “This is Guan Shan, he’s the owner of The Fox.” 

Mo rose in greeting, side-eyeing Jian Yi. 

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. Does Mr. He plan on joining us this year.” He looked pointedly at the ajar door. He could see the back of the other man as he finished a cheeky conversation with the building secretary. 

The man perked at his name, finally ending the conversation. He strode into the room with purpose, shutting the door neatly behind him, like he hadn’t just made them wait an extra five minutes. 

“I apologize gentleman, she was an old friend, wanted to catch up.” 

“Fast friends? It’s almost like you met her today,” Mo remarked. 

As soon as he’d walked in the room Mo had firmly decided he didn’t like him. Shaking his hand only confirmed his distaste. 

“Please call me He Tian,” he’d said, managing to caress Mo’s palm with his fingertips, eyes sparkling in amusement. The bastard was charismatic and handsome as fuck. Fit, his slacks tight in all the right places, Mo could see the flex of his biceps beneath his dress shirt as he shook Jian Yi’s hand. Did he mention that he was handsome? Dark hair and grey eyes that looked sharp but playful yet seductive. Mo could already imagine him fucking him over the conference table. It fueled his loathing. 

Pleasantries exchanged, Zhan joined the table as He Tian set up his presentation. Midway through, Mo had to admit the man was well spoken & intelligent. His plan for investing in The Fox was intuitive and forward thinking. He Tian had an extensive resume of businesses in which he’d spear-headed their development and expansion - all prestigious in their respective industries. He was lateral, with dealings that weren’t centered in one industry: finance, manufacturing, healthcare and media were all areas he had his hands in. Retail was a route he was eager to get into. 

Mo couldn’t understand why he would be interested in The Fox. It wasn’t a restaurant chain, nor was it exactly in the Michelin star exclusiveness of someone of He Tian’s status. Though honestly a Michelin star was something Mo yearned for. With He Tian heading the business direction of The Fox, it seemed a possibility. According to He Tian, The Fox had serious potential and he could see a bright future ahead of it. Pondering deeply on that note Mo’s jolted when something brushed up his leg and into his lap. Jerking his head up, he saw Jian Yi gazing dreamily off to his left. Following his line of sight, he landed on Zhan who was diligently taking meeting notes, eyes focused on He Tian. 

He looked down into his lap, a yellow dress sock clad foot ground against his balls making him choke. Mo glared at Jian Yi across the table, whipping out his cell phone. 

[sent 2:29 PM] 

To: Jian Yi 

Can you get your fucking foot off my goddamn dick!!!! 

Jian Yi’s phone buzzed lightly on the table. Glancing at it in irritation, he stole another look at Zhan before snatching it up. He swiped the screen, checking the message. Mo watched in satisfaction as he read the text, eyes widening before he snatched his foot back like he’d been burned. Face turning tomato red, he pulled out his planner avoiding eye contact for the rest of the meeting. 

Once He Tian concluded they discussed for a bit. Mo offered every ‘what if’ he could muster, but He Tian countered him at every turn, sound and confident in his business plan. Mo briefly acquiesced, asking for a few days to think before he made a final decision. He wanted to discuss the possibilities with his team and his mother as he valued their input. Wrapping up, He Tian held him in a smoldering gaze thanking him for his time, and that he looked forward to their next meeting. 

The over-confident bastard. 

His mind was still whirling by the time they made it down to the curb. Jian Yi hailed a cab for him but beat a hasty retreat, calling over his shoulder that he’d stop by the restaurant tomorrow, cheeks still a vivid pink. Mo let him go, appreciating the solo ride home. The cabbie thankfully made no effort to talk to him and he got comfortable in the back seat. His weight rested against the door, warm air from the heater made him drowsy. He gazed out the window deep in thought, watching the city speed by, cars and buildings tinted with gold from the late afternoon sun. He turned He Tian’s words over in his head. This would be a big step for The Fox, the payoff insurmountable… but, he wondered, can The Fox trust this newfound wolf? 

Hi :) I do have a plan to continue & I’m working on Ch. 2!

Read on AO3

[patty03]

FOX OFF Fury as ‘selfish’ Laurence Fox buys Covid ‘exemption badge’ on Amazon sparking mask row

He tweeted: "After a long period of consultation with myself, an extended review period and proper due diligence conducted with myself, I've received the badge that I ordered from Amazon.

"Thank you for being there for me. #anxiety."

The lanyard says "mask exemption" and the badge itself reads: "I am exempt from wearing a face covering."

Fox's tweet, which has been shared thousands of times, prompted an angry response from Twitter users with many branding him "selfish".

Tory MP Simon Hoare called Mr Fox a "nuclear-powered p***k."

He tweeted: "I hadn't realised that being a first class, ocean going, chateau bottled, nuclear powered p***k was an exemption from wearing a mask.

"What a selfish loathsome tool this man is'."

Another user, who said they were "extremely vulnerable" to the virus due to a severe lung condition, asked the actor: "What's your excuse for putting me at risk?"

A third person posted: "Lets all get with the programme and not undermine the best efforts of the govs and our people for doing the right thing.

"Try sending the right message out."

Government rules on face masks mean people must wear them in public transport and in shops during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Yet, some people are exempt from wearing coverings on medical grounds - however they are not required to carry proof of the exemption.

Government guidelines also state that police may take action against those who do not comply with the rules "without a valid exemption." เกมยิงปลาออนไลน์

[fuckyeahcatdog]

Robert Lamoreaux Interview CatDog writer

1. As an animation writer describe your job tasks. Did you also assist in the animation and drawing?

"Me? Draw? That's a laugh! CatDog would be a vastly different looking show if I drew it. And I don't mean different in a good way."

"My job was basically just to write. CatDog's writing was set up essentially like a sitcom. We had a staff of four writers including a Head Writer. We each wrote our own scripts but punched them up together. Occasionally as shows were storyboarded, the writers would be asked for additional lines of dialogue, but that's about it." 

2. Describe your fondest memories working on CatDog. What were some of the craziest and funniest moments?

"CatDog was a great show to work on. Probably my favorite. In fact Nickelodeon in general is just a great place to work. You can't beat free lunch Fridays."

"The craziest moment had to have been when our Head Writer, Vic, kept urging Peter and the other writers to do a CatDog episode based on his favorite play, Les Miserables. He actually stood up and started acting out how CatDog would play the roles. Very peculiar. Needless to say, it never came to fruition." 3. As a later writer, was it difficult at first getting settled in, with the rest of the team?

"No. I had worked on CatDog since almost it's inception, just in other capacities. CatDog was a very comfortable, relaxed place to work. Except that my office was next to Rob Porter's and he had a chronic flatulence problem. That wasn't too pleasant but I supposed that's a story for another time."

4. Out of the episodes you worked on, which seemed to be the most enjoyable to put together and why? Which seemed the most challenging and took more time than others?

"Well, certainly the TV movie was a lot longer and more complicated than the other episodes. It was really cool that we were able to have a cast and crew premier at Paramount on a big screen."

"I also, really liked "Cat Gone Bad." The voice actors are so talented, they really brought the beatnik Cat characters to life (I'd like to see a show based on just those characters). I still haven't seen the episode, but the board and audio were really cool." 5. Describe the story idea and brainstorming process. The writers room.

"Basically, the Head Writer would tell us to come up with ideas. Then we acted like we went into our offices to work but we really snuck out to 7-11 and bought big blue Slurpees. Nothing gets the creative juices going like Slurpees. Then when the end of the day rolled around, we'd look at each other and say, "Oh, no! The premises!" We'd run back to our offices and type like the wind." 6. From the TV movie, "CatDog and the Great Parent Mystery", which parts of the movie can you safely say were your ideas?

"All the good ones!"

"Seriously though, I'd say it was mostly a group effort, but obviously a lot of the credit needs to go to Peter Hannan. He had strong vision of what he wanted -- especially with the musical aspect of the movie."

7. Before joining CatDog, which episodes impressed you a lot as a writer?

"I love "Send In the CatDog."

Also, "The Island." Any of the early shows where Steven Banks wrote songs."

8. The age old question for all fans, Cat or Dog? Which one suits you > more?

"A lot of people identify with Dog. I really like Cat. I have a lot of sympathy for him. No matter how hard he tries to get his house in order; or mingle with the rich and famous; or impress a girl he never gets his way."

9. Name some of your favorite CatDog characters, and why. Which character(s) best fits your personality?

"I love Rancid... what an actor! Sometimes he's very mean and blustery and at other times he's all sparkly and charming. Call me crazy but he reminds me of Sean Connery."

"Winslow was a riot to write for. Also Lube."

10. CatDog, has so many different mysteries and story line ongoing gags added into the mix. What are some of your favorite ongoing gags, and "mysteries"? (such as the bathroom mystery, Shriek's crush on Dog, etc)

"I love the episodes where CatDog are out having an adventure then we cut back to Winslow doing something cryptic and strange in their absence."

11. Have you worked any other positions in animation besides writing, such as sound editing, supervising, etc?

"Not really. Everything I do is related to writing except maybe directing the odd voice session and a little casting. Those are some of the responsibilities you get once you build your credit up to Producer." 12. When did you decide to get involved in the writing, and animation business? Did you study anywhere, and have any special degrees in art or writing?

"I started writing little plays and skits in my bedroom when I was about 7. Boy, the critics (my older brothers) were harsh on my work back then. Eventually I went to film school in New York, but then switched majors to English to satisfy my desire to write, and to satisfy my desire to get away from people who wore big clunky shoes and dressed in all black." 13. What advice would you offer, to those reading that are thinking about a career in animation or television writing?

"I can't really speak intelligently about the artistic aspects of animation. Heck, as you can tell from this interview, I can't speak intelligently about much of anything. But as far as writing -- it helps to watch tons of movies. Read tons of scripts and most importantly write scripts and move to Los Angeles. Oddly, there seems to be a lot of people who want to be writers but they don't diligently write."

"How's someone going to hire you if you don't have any spec scripts for them to read? Unless of course you're like Steven Banks and you can just mime your way through life."

14. Are there any cartoon writers from the past that inspire you most when you are writing for cartoons?

"Until a few years ago, I never knew they wrote scripts for cartoons. When I found out they did, I thought, "Wow! That's a scam I could really capitalize on! Where do I sign up?"

"I really love the writing on the now defunct "Larry Sanders" show. Surprisingly a lot of live-action style writing translates to animation. For example, almost any given episode of Hey Arnold could be live-action. And in many ways CatDog echoes shows like the "Odd Couple." 15. What other projects are you currently working on?

"Right now I'm Head Writer on a new show for Fox Family called "Totally Spies." It's sort of like "Charlie's Angels" meets "Clueless." We just started the second season of writing. It premiers in early September I think. I'm also developing and Producing a show for Fox Kids called "Senior Misterioso." Imagine a Latino "Austin Powers." Hopefully, we'll start writing in the Fall."

"Other than that I've done some "Hey Arnolds," my wife Michelle is a Producer on that and continues to write episodes. I did a few "Angela Anacondas." Other odds and ends." 16. Is there anything else you would like to say to your fans, about your experiences with CatDog crew or anything else?

"Only that working on the show was a great experience. And I'd really like to thank Peter Hannan for giving me the opportunity to contribute."

Thank your Mr. Robert Lamoreaux, for agreeing to this email interview. Your fans appreciate it very much.Well there you have it fans from a great mind of CatDog!

Robert, has written these episodes.(CW)= co-written

Cloud Bursting

Cat Gone Bad

ConeDog

Dog the Not So Mighty

CatDog, and the Great Parent Mystery(CW)

Robert has also helped with writing on the games CD Rom "The Golden Hydrant", and Playstation's, "Saving Mean Bob". Steve Molaro and Robert, did a lot of the writing on the CatDog pages at Nick.com. Along with Peter Hannan, he was an editor consultant, on most of the CatDog books; "CatDog Catcher", "CatDog's Big Idea", "CatDog Undercover", "CatDog's Vacation", "Way Off Broadway", "The Perfect Bone", "Cat's Big Night"/"Dog Behind Bars", "Romancing the Shriek", "Joke Book", and the "Trivia Book".

[mhsn033]

Best health Virus-shadowed Emmy nods could bring surprises, diversity

Best health

Best health TV has been The united states’s fixed partner amid the coronavirus and a whirlwind of racial reckoning

By

LYNN ELBER AP Tv Writer

July 24, 2020, 7: 45 PM

5 min be taught

LOS ANGELES — Tv has been The united states’s fixed partner amid an unyielding virus and whirlwind of racial reappraisal.

However will the Emmy nominations arriving Tuesday mirror the cases or retreat to the familiar? The announcement itself used to be compelled to bow to health safeguards, going virtual and without the identical old mini-swarm of reporters and anxious publicists readily readily accessible at the TV academy’s Los Angeles headquarters.

How September’s ceremony airing on ABC will stare is any one’s bet. As emcee Jimmy Kimmel said in June, it be unknown the set apart, how or why it would possibly be held, “but we’re doing it and I’m web hosting it.”

The predominant essential entertainment awards of the pandemic era clearly is a traveler with no blueprint.

“All the things is assorted,” said Tom O’Neil, editor of the Gold Derby awards web insist. Amongst the adjustments: “in your consideration” promotional occasions to woo Emmy voter toughen maintain been abandoned out of COVID-19 considerations.

With isolation-compelled time on their fingers, TV industry members can maintain been extra diligent about attempting out probably nominees that otherwise would maintain been misplaced sight of. That also required adjusting to the academy-mandated swap from series DVDs to online screenings (aimed in opposition to saving sources).

“We want to be ready for all and sundry to be blown away by an entire bunch surprises on nominations morning,” O’Neil said, quoting a old Gold Derby prognosticator.

Which is doubtless to be a factual thing. Newly expanded classes and the departure of final three hundred and sixty five days’s dominant series winners, “Sport of Thrones” and “Fleabag,” opened the door for newbies and under-valued series, among them the inclusive comedies “Ramy” and “Alarmed.”

The academy has floor to win up in selection. In 2019, much less than a quarter of the acting bids went to people of coloration, down from better than a Third of the nominations in 2018. Last three hundred and sixty five days’s ceremony proved groundbreaking in a single regard, as “Pose” star Billy Porter became the necessary openly pleased winner of the high drama acting trophy.

The 72nd annual Emmy nominations, if no longer finally the awards, would possibly win growth thanks to the racial reckoning that’s underway, said Eric Deggans, TV critic for Nationwide Public Radio and author of “Plug Baiter: How the Media Wields Perilous Words to Divide a Nation.”

“A great deal of Black creators are talking up ‘Alarmed’ now, hoping that the moment blended with the exhibit having a terribly factual season” will assemble it deserved nods, Deggans said. Since its 2016 debut, “Alarmed” has perfect one high Emmy nomination, an acting nomination for Black creator-star Issa Rae.

“Ramy” had a significant season, one bolstered by the addition of Oscar-winning Mahershala Ali, a contender for a range of efficient supporting actor, said Deggans, who also cited OWN’s Black coming-of-age drama “David Makes Man” as great of attention.

Ramy Youssef’s series a pair of millennial Muslim American earned him a 2020 Golden Globe for a range of efficient comedy actor and a vaunted Peabody honor, but it be attempting for its first Emmy recognition after two seasons.

Other doubtless comedy nominees include past winner “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” from Amazon and Pop’s singularly quirky “Schitt’s Creek,” which drew increasing buzz in its closing season. The farewells of “The Real Space,” “Silicon Valley” and one-time Emmy popular “Standard Family” are also contenders.

Top drama series contenders include newcomer Apple TV’s drama series “The Morning Divulge” and its lead actresses Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon. Prone to face them: past winners “The Crown” (Netflix) and “The Handmaid’s Story” (Hulu), and their respective stars Olivia Colman and Elisabeth Moss, who is searching for to repeat her 2017 most productive-actress take.

The academy’s formulation to tie the need of nominees to submissions has increased the slots in some classes, which can per chance mean newbies take care of Zendaya, star of HBO’s teenage drama “Euphoria,” are introduced into the Emmy fold.

Greater than bragging rights are at stake, with the ballooning ranks of streaming products and companies attempting for awards validation to entice subscribers. Their growth is corrupt news for old college broadcast networks including ABC, CBS, NBC and Fox, largely squeezed out of Emmy recognition for scripted series and relegated to reality and talk about exhibit classes.

Last three hundred and sixty five days, simplest “This Is Us” and “The Real Space” — each on NBC — earned most productive series nominations.

Amongst itsy-bitsy series, the graphic-novel impressed HBO’s “Watchmen,” with a various forged led by Regina King and a dystopian theme that jibes with the zeitgeist, is a entrance-runner. FX’s “Mrs. The united states” and Netflix’s “Wonderful” are among other high contenders.

Leslie Jones will host the web nominations announcement. The Emmys, which rotate among the many essential broadcast networks, will air Sept. 20 on ABC .

———

Online: https://www.Emmys.com

———

Lynn Elber can even be reached on Twitter at http://twitter.com/lynnelber.

from WordPress https://ift.tt/3acsZKG via IFTTT

[showdepremiosclub]

Just Say No To Sex

( Extended satire, presented In 10 installations of 4 pages each. This is the second installation; previous ones are included on this site, in instance you miss one.).

" They all seem remarkably real in their purposes," Dr. Coburn responded. "As youths are vulnerable to do, they really intend to do their component to conserve the world-- and now they see a practical method to continue.".

" We shall see. Yet, also if you have the ability to instill your linguistic nonsense, how much time do you expect they'll abstain prior to their fulminating libidos bewilder your flimsy barricades?".

" Until they are easily as well as securely married. I also presume that one of the most thorough students will remain to keep an extensive degree of procreative small amounts in wedlock.".

" Please, they would certainly all be much safer merely making use of prophylactics.".

" Prophylactics? Oh, don't also point out the word. How abnormal, just how risky, just how--".

"-- Concerning waiting on time to expose the solution?" she disrupted, and then, sighing, claimed, "Precious me, the greatest responsibility a bright person can have today is the lack of a strong scientific history. Your well-intentioned mind just does not have actually the expertise called for to innovate credibly in the field you have actually chosen. It is plagued with many webs you simply can't separate yourself from them.".

" Webs to you, Prissy. Caring preservation to me!".

" Yes, out with the brand-new, in with the old! Let us promote old suggestions, run out as developments. Luddites of the world, unify!".

" I confess happily! Antiquated suggestions are my favored kind. They have withstood the test of time as well as, as a result, their merit is self-evident." After that he leaned ahead as well as issued, what was to her, an especially disheartening reproach. "Prepare yourself, Priscilla. The around the world adoption of my technique will in fact make the need for your misguided educational programs and medical research superfluous.".

" Physician Coburn, you are-- in the field in which you are dabbling-- a most oblivious, insensitive, and dangerous man.".

" Oblivious! Aloof! And hazardous? Ah, currently I understand well the taunting trendsetters have actually needed to manage from time long past. I can, at this time, also offer consolation with the early plight of my arch-nemesis, Freud. What nerve he had to persist against the Victorian tide. I will obtain a page from him, however, not in regards to his incorrect unearthing of the sex drive, however in remarkable doggedness.".

" Please, don't dumbfound yourself with Freud. Your method is not only impractical; it's one of the most cockamamie-- ".

"-- Dr. Ernst, if you please. One of my all-time the very least preferred words is 'cockamamie.' What a regrettable morass of mortifying associations.".

" Excuse me, Richard. Often your prudery is revelatory. I shall just call it runaway lack of knowledge." "I think I have currently endured enough of the slings of specialist jealousy. Do you think I do not know the clinical school is close to itself due to the fact that this historic advancement in sexual behavior-modification has come from the sociology division?".

" Not, Medical professional. The reality, like it or otherwise, is that at the clinical school we need to be entirely practical every minute. Lives rely on the practical orderliness of our treatments. Most importantly, we know we have to deal with humanity as we locate it-- delicate and restless humanity. We likewise recognize that at this specific time in background, because of the huge selection of undesirable pregnancies, expanding overpopulation, as well as prevalent Sexually transmitted diseases, Nature has us, like it or not, by the spheres!".

" Pity on you, Priscilla! What language-- and also for a lady of your distinction.".

" Oh, fiddlesticks! Would certainly you be better if I stated it has us by the ovaries?".

" Do not minimize the alarming circumstance we find ourselves in. You have failed to remember one very crucial element of my approach. It is a new reality, not a technique of birth control that has shown poor to our overheated needs or the gleam in a frenzied scientist's eye. No, no, mine is a pragmatic method that is available for immediate implementation.".

" Oh, Dickie-- ".

"-- Priscilla, please. You understand exactly how I feel regarding that alternating appellation.".

" Yes, dear," she replied with a trace of sympathy. "Sorry.".

" Concerning what?".

" Calling you 'dear.'".

" Oh. I really did not discover.".

" Of course," she claimed, surrendering herself to his hurtful indifference as well as progressing with her debate. "However someplace underneath your fearless surface area, certainly you suspect the eternal inclinations of males and female. Just how can you potentially believe that your so-called method can moderate the tidal bore of sexual desire that sweeps through the globe at every minute? Exactly how can it restrain the young, whose whole physical being throbs with sex-related eagerness? Or the poor, who have priceless couple of other enjoyments? Or the affluent, who perpetually court indulgence?".

" My dear Dr. Ernst, what you clearly fail to recognize is that I do not simply ask people simply to say no to sex. I give, in a collection of one hundred engaging and self-evidently real axioms the resources the human will needs to be victorious-- axioms that will eventually no doubt be viewed as the Euclidean geometry of sex-related resistance.".

" Sorry, I continue to be not impressed.".

" Why? Due to the fact that you have actually been dethroned. While you and also your realistic associates have trusted to sexual propriety in the warmth of wish and also the far perspective of medical study, I have had the insight to see the gold at my feet.".

" Fool's gold, I'm afraid!".

" On the contrary, a strong gold chain every link of which contains irrefutable logic-- a detailed technique in which every declaration follows the other as relentlessly as one moment follows its antecedent! Take, as an example, Coburn's First Axiom of Abstaining. I risk you to discover an imperfection in it," he tested, and also took guide from the coffee table. He opened it and held it towards her, as he recited, 'Sex leads to pregnancy. Maternity leads to overpopulation. For that reason, sex needs to be prevented.' Argue with that, if you risk!".

" Richard, the debate is not with your self-evident rubbish yet with your expect compliance. How in the world do you expect such a lightweight train of facilities as well as verdicts to urge the world's billions to abide by sexual abstinence?".

" Buffoon me if you must, Priscilla! Nonetheless, my hopes are being validated as increasingly more diligent students sign up for my genuinely enlightened method.".

" To discover what? To state no to sex, regardless of every natural proclivity and also lure, state no despite drunkenness or medications? Sorry, Richard. I much prefer prophylactics to Coburn.".

" Oh, Dr. Ernst, the effrontery also to state my name in apposition to that sine qua non of imperfect treatment.".

Then, the doorbell called. Physician Coburn checked out his watch. "Ah, ha," he introduced, "that should be my new star candidate, Dan Fox.".

" Fox? He wants to subscribe?" "Correct. He phoned call to apply right prior to you arrived. Normally, I invited him ahead over right away, lest the legendary stud have second thoughts.".

" I can not believe his interest is at all genuine.".

" After that it's a great fortuity that he has arrived while you're still here.".

" If by some opportunity you are able to apply also moderate restraints on him, how many young girls' hopes you'll ruin. It's outrageous to think you can regulate him, provided the variety of ladies who had actually tear their own garments off to jump into the sack with him.".

Simply then Melanie entered the space, as well as claimed, "Really did not I listen to the buzzer ring?".

" Yes, dear. I think it's Dan Fox.".

Melanie appeared abnormally upset. "Dan Fox? What's he doing right here?".

" He intends to enroll in my program.".

" Father, begun. He's the last man on the planet--".

"-- Now, now, Mel, do not prejudge him." He observed her doubt. "Please, simply obtain the door.".

" Sure," she consented, with a little bit of teeth grinding.

He stood proudly while Melanie walked there.

She took a deep breath and also pulled it open. "What are you doing below?" she asked the good-looking athlete.

" Hi, Melanie," he replied. "I want to sign up for you dad's course.".

" Certain, you do," she stated, showing she suspected him of nurturing an overlooked intention.

" Allow him in, Mel," Doctor Coburn called.

" All right," she concurred, as well as stood aside.

" Thanks," he informed her.

" Dan, my child, come right in," Coburn called.

" Thanks!" he responded, with as much clear enthusiasm as he might muster up.

Melanie shut the door and observed as her papa put out his hand.

" Welcome, Fox.".

" Thankful to be below," he claimed, eying the hesitant observer beside his new-found mentor. "You know Dr. Ernst?" Coburn asked.

" Yes, I do," Dan said. "Hi, Dr. Ernst.".

" Hi, Mr. Fox," she responded distantly.

" I'm happy you made the big choice to research with me, Dan," Dr. Coburn claimed.

" Thanks," he responded. "I'm persuaded it's the responsible point to do-- I mean, with all the issues sex can cause.".

" Good, Dan!" Dr. Coburn exclaimed. "I see that, besides brawn, you've got minds.".

" Thanks, sir. My ideal is, like the ancient Greeks claimed, 'a sound mind in a sound body.'".

" In an extremely audio body," Dr. Ernst commented. "The women inform me you're rather alluring.".

" Many thanks. But it's not my mistake. I was born by doing this.".

" But you can rise over it, I assure you," Dr. Coburn suggested him.

" That's my goal," Dan said. "I need to save my energy for football.".

" Tell me, Dan," Dr. Ernst made inquiries, "what makes you think Physician Coburn's technique can work for you? Have you review his new book?".

" Not yet," Dan confessed, "however I have actually heard a great deal regarding it. From what I can tell, it interest the mind-- and I like that. Mind over body-- the very same point you need in the 4th quarter when you lag and also you have to do a whole lot greater than you believe you can.".

Dr. Coburn counted on Dr. Ernst, and also informed her, "I have wonderful confidence in this boy." Then he eyed Dan seriously. "My hope is that you'll turn into one of my celebrity students.".

In some way, this remark cut Melanie to the quick, as well as she stated, "Dad, I need to speak to you.".

" Later on, dear. In the meanwhile, please, companion Mr. Fox to my research study as well as get him registered.".

She checked out Dan with condescension. "I can not think this! Begin.".

" Many thanks, Melanie," he claimed, and also followed her.

" What do you assume?" Dr. Coburn asked.

" Me? Oh, I also have fantastic confidence in him," she replied wryly. "Did you notice the way he looked at your daughter?".

" No, I really did not. It all appeared rather common to me.".

" Really?" she asked. "And why do you believe Melanie appeared so anxious? Could she possibly be captivated with him?".

" Mel? Oh, please, she's much also well trained for such an indiscretion.".

" Richard, occasionally you are a blind butt. Fox certainly has something on his mind other than learning exactly how to say no to sex.".

" You think he's just here due to the fact that he's interested in Melanie? Little Melanie, with all the sexy women that go to his beck and call?".

" I have a suggestion.".

" You indicate, a proposition?".

" Whatever. You teach him your method as best you can. Then you arrange for him as well as Melanie to be alone for an evening.".

" Alone?".

" Yes, and also Melanie has to be provided directions that she is to try every wile she can manage to break down his willpower. If he preserves his indifference to her advancements, I will leave you to proselytize as thoroughly as you can. On the other hand, if by some chance he can not withstand her beauties as well as succumbs, you will certainly confess defeat and also cease to promote your technique.".

" But poor Melanie-- to subject her to such a severe experience.".

" Do not inform me you presume she might be in any kind of sort of threat? Richard, if your method is half just as good as you claim it is, she'll be faced with an overwhelming, and also as a result an entirely safe, job.".

" However to ask her to do something so as opposed to her lifelong training--".

" Yes, but consider the feasible benefits if you do well with Dan. Your victory will certainly reverberate throughout the school. I'll withdraw all my arguments as well as suggest that the clinical school withdraw its. After that you'll have a freedom on campus as well as on the welcoming arms of a desperate globe!".

" Do you I have your word on that?".

" Definitely. Currently, how much time do you require to indoctrinate Mr. Fox?".

" That relies on just how much time he wants to give me. But in no occasion will I require greater than one month.".

" Then you have actually obtained a bargain," she stated, and produced her hand.

" Offer, Priscilla!" he verified, as well as offered her hand a hearty shake. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.".

" My enjoyment, Richard.".

" Don't neglect your gift," he told her, and grabbed the autographed duplicate of his book from the coffee table.

She accepted it.

As he strolled her to the door, she claimed, "Best of luck. You'll require it.".

" Thanks, Priscilla," he replied, "but not nearly as much luck as you'll require.".

She offered him a peck on the cheek, and also his face purged somewhat that somewhat humiliated him. "Till then," she claimed, and also went out the door.

[kansascityhappenings]

Virginia man says he found dead rodent inside his peanut butter jar

WARNING: SOME VIEWERS MAY FIND THIS DISTURBING OR GRAPHIC.

YORKTOWN, Va. – Jacob Fisher says he bought a jar of JIF Creamy Peanut Butter in May of this year, and since then he has made dozens of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for himself and his 2-year-old toddler – until a few weeks ago.

“I’m making my daughter, Azalea, a sandwich and I’m getting these quarter- or nickle-size spots that wouldn’t flake out. I just thought it was dried peanut butter,” Fisher told WTKR.

So, he gave his daughter a sandwich and then made one for himself. And that’s when he gagged.

“I ran and grabbed the sandwich from her, and all I could see were little legs and paws and a torso is what made sense to me,” he said.

At his home on Wednesday, Fisher showed us what he claims is a small, deteriorating mouse inside the jar. He has kept the jar and the half-eaten, half-made sandwich in his freezer for weeks.

“If you look up close, you can see there is a finger, there is a hand, leg, backbone and a head,” he pointed out with a toothpick.

Fisher says he unsealed the jar before using it, so he is adamant and claims that the rodent must have made its way into the JIF jar during the manufacturing process.

“We weren’t dying like we can’t move, but it was like we kept getting indigestion after we ate the sandwiches, like acid reflux where you just gotta sit down a few hours,” he explained.

A physician hasn’t confirmed Fisher’s claims, as he has yet to see one.

“But I am concerned there are diseases. I have no idea if we have a disease; I think rats carry like 30 diseases,” he said.

Fisher says he called JIF, owned by Smucker’s, right after the incident in early August. They said they would send him an email with postage to send the items back. They never did.

He told WTKR he called numerous times before finally getting an email yesterday with the information on how to send back the product.

JIF sent us this statement as well:

Thanks for contacting us and for doing your due diligence. We certainly don’t feel there’s a story here. Below is some pertinent info we think you’ll find helpful:

In our manufacturing process, the jars are processed upside down, air is forcefully blown into them, then they are flipped right side up, immediately filled with peanut butter and sealed. We do this to essentially eliminate the chance a foreign object enters our products.

Even with this manufacturing process in place, our Quality Assurance teams run through a variety of additional steps to ensure the products meet our quality standards. If any abnormality (i.e. loose label) is noted, the product is not shipped to a retail store.

We have spoken with Mr. Fisher multiple times and in each instance have attempted to move the discussion forward to a point of resolution. At this time, Mr. Fisher hasn’t even provided us a UPC number or production code so we can confirm the specific type of product he is referencing. Nor has he provided pictures of the product or used the prepaid mailing label we provided to send in the product for inspection by our Quality Assurance professionals.

We want to make sure everyone that buys our products enjoys them so when we hear that a consumer is not happy with one of our products, we take it seriously. We were sorry to hear that Mr. Fisher’s family is not feeling well but have no reason to believe our product is to blame. We’re hopeful that Mr. Fisher will take the next step of providing the basic information we’ve requested, including sending in the jar with the prepaid label we provided

Fisher was asked how the general public should believe he didn’t plant the alleged rodent in the jar.

“Do every single test you possibly can, every single one. Put me on a polygraph, it don’t matter,” he said. “I 100% know for a fact that rat or that mouse has been in that thing since it was manufactured.”

Fisher says he wants an apology from JIF and action taken.

“I’m scared to buy anything. It’s like I double-think everything now, like, ‘How can this get in my jar, and what is safe and what is not?'” said Fisher.

He says he is consulting with personal injury attorneys to see if he should file a lawsuit. He says he will soon send off the items to the company.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/08/29/virginia-man-says-he-found-dead-rodent-inside-his-peanut-butter-jar/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/08/29/virginia-man-says-he-found-dead-rodent-inside-his-peanut-butter-jar/

[laura-elizabeth91]

Theresa, behind the mask

Boyfriends before Philip. Exploding puds. Her neighbours the Clooneys. When JAN MOIR spent this week with the usually inscrutable PM, she saw the real woman so many non-Tories are warming to

ON A spring morning this week, Prime Minister Theresa May strides across the concourse at London’s king’s Cross station. As she hurries to catch a north-bound train, few recognise her — or even give her a second glance. Look closer, and you will see that she is surrounded by discreet security men and a dapper civil servant who walks behind carrying her ministerial red box, packed away in an anonymous black bag.

To a man, they keep pace with Mrs May, her leopard- skin pumps marching briskly onwards, her stylish pale blue handbag swinging in her grasp. She insists to me later that there is nothing special inside. ‘I haven’t got a furry toy or anything like that in my handbag.’ however, as it is such a random thing to say, I immediately suspect that she does. Yet a sentimental token would not be Very Theresa, would it? For it would not match the public perception of the studious only child and vicar’s daughter, the duty-first politician who promises to deliver Brexit and who has enjoyed a 37-point lead over Jeremy Corbyn as the best person to run this country.

It is said of Mrs May that her reputation for frivolity begins and ends with her choice of shoes, but — as I am to discover — that is not true.

During the time I have spent with her this week — between Lincolnshire, Yorkshire and London — Mrs May emerges as a serious person, of course, but a warm character who is happy to admit to once accidentally blowing up desserts in her own kitchen, making a mess of her nail polish, and her romantic life before meeting husband Philip.

She seemed perfectly at ease, too, sitting down in a pub on the campaign trail to have a proper chat with voters.

These people, I noted, all affectionately called her ‘ Theresa’ rather than anything formal.

Remarkable, really, considering that over the past 20 years in the public eye as an MP, and Cabinet minister since 2010, she has given very little away about herself or her personal life.

Yet all that has suddenly changed. On television this week, in her first ever joint- interview with her husband, she spoke about ‘girl’ jobs’ and ‘ boy’ jobs’ on the domestic front. At home, Philip takes the bins out, she explained on BBC’s The One Show, while she does the cooking.

Inevitably, from the usual predictable quarters, accusations of old-fashioned sexist attitudes with regard to the division of labour between couples were directed at the Mays. For her part, Mrs May dismisses such absurd views with a wave of the hand.

She says she believes that ‘most couples have certain ways of doing things,’ adding: ‘There are things that Philip does and there are things that I do. It is not that there are chores that are always for the girl or always for the boy. It is just how we split things up.’

Another very personal revelation this week came when she broached the subject of her childlessness. The topic had first become an issue during the Tory leadership battle ten months ago when her short-lived rival Andrea Leadsom suggested that, as a mother, she had an indisputable edge over Mrs May.

At the time, Mrs May understandably said she liked to keep her ‘ personal life personal’, but added that she and Philip ‘ dealt with’ the fact they couldn’t have children and ‘moved on’.

Yet this week, on TV, she talked of how she had been the subject of ‘fake news’ as a young wife, when a newspaper mistakenly stated that she was pregnant. her mother-inlaw, she said, was disappointed when she learnt the truth.

During a subsequent radio interview with Nick Ferrari on LBC, when asked how she might have been different if she had children, Mrs May said: ‘I think it’s impossible to answer the question about how I would have been. It’s been very sad — it just turned out not to be possible for us. We’re not the only couple who find themselves in that situation.’

TALKING after her TV sofa interview with Philip, she tells me that she came to terms with her situation when she was a young woman in her 30s and hopes the showbizzy introduction of her husband to the electorate — and this uncharacteristic burst of frankness about not being a mother — will give ‘a broader picture of me and of us together, because I am asking people to put their trust in me and that is only fair to do that’.

Now on board the train darting North out of king’s Cross, she settles into her seat and attends to government business; taking calls, being briefed by her aides, talking to her civil servant.

Today, she is wearing her Vivienne Westwood tartan suit, the one she wore to launch her leadership bid and also when she made her keynote speech earlier this year setting out, in the clearest terms, her target for achieving Brexit.

When pundits called it her lucky suit, she swore it would never make a re-appearance. Why the change of heart?

‘I’m only wearing half of it,’ she says, pointing to her black trousers — and then, typical of a woman who gets upset when fashion magazines obsess about her choice of clothes, adds: ‘Who can afford to wear an outfit only once?’

Despite the occasional designer extravagance, everything about her screams restraint, discipline and order.

her recipe for scones does not contain too much butter, she has stopped dyeing her hair blonde and now lets the grey roll in, she often buys her statement jewellery in craft shops (‘I’m always on the lookout for bits and pieces’) and she never has a manicure but does her own nails at home instead.

‘Always a rush job. I never have enough time. Don’t look at them too closely,’ she says.

An aide passes over a chicken and avocado salad in a bag — her lunch on the run. At some point during this meal, she will discreetly inject herself in the stomach with insulin, a procedure she must do twice a day following her 2012 diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes.

Like all diabetics, Mrs May also always has a sugar lump or a glucose drink close to hand in case she needs a boost.

She maintains her health by eating carefully and going to the gym regularly, sometimes with a trainer and sometimes alone.

‘I’ll do weights, I’ll do rowing. I will plank sometimes [an excruciating exercise that involves lying flat on the floor, raising yourself on your tiptoes and elbows and holding yourself in that position], but it is not my favourite thing to do.

‘But as far as I am concerned, being a diabetic doesn’t change anything other than I have a routine to follow each day.’

And what a routine that is – particularly during an election campaign. During my time with the Prime Minister, she kept to a gruelling pace without flagging.

I would crawl home each night absolutely shattered, while she carried on working. By the time I groggily awoke the next morning, she would have had meetings with bigwigs such as the Secretary general of Nato, or opened a major international conference to help tackle problems in Somalia or held talks with the President of kenya.

Out on the road — be it Leeds, Nottingham or Scunthorpe — she bangs the drum for her ‘strong and stable government’ (hurrah) as opposed to the misery that an opposition ‘ coalition of chaos’ (boo) would bring. She visits steel-

works and factories, she knocks on doors, she rallies candidates and meets with business leaders.

She holds meetings on the move with her staff in basement kitchens that smell of yesterday’s lunch. She roars through Sherwood Forest in her motorcade, and has a drink with supporters in a Lincolnshire pub where she orders, well, guess what? ‘A boring sparkling water, please.’

Throughout all this, absolutely nothing rattles her. In the pub, a woman tells her that, after a lifetime of supporting Labour, she will vote Conservative on June 8.

She tells the PM it’s because ‘you strike me as a very sincere person’. Mrs May beams and thanks her, happily posing for a selfie.

This is not the first time I hear this sentiment expressed on the stump, yet Mrs Mayurges caution among her team. ‘We are taking nothing for granted,’ she says.

While canvassing on the doorstep in the Lincolnshire village of Messingham, someone starts heckling the PM about her surprise announcement that if re-elected, the Tories would allow a free Commons vote on fox-hunting.

Mrs May listens carefully. She tells the man that it was ‘nice to meet you anyway’ and moves on, as controlled as an icebreaker steaming through the creaking bergs. No wonder she can’t remember the last time she cried or lost her temper.

‘Not that it hasn’t happened, just that it is so rare. I don’t cry. I don’t shout and scream. I don’t go around sticking pins in wax effigies of people. In fact, I don’t do wax effigies at all,’ she says. ‘I just get on with it.’

The true blue posters and the slogans on the campaign bus talk of Theresa May’s Team rather than The Conservative Party.

But this is nothing to do with a wish to turn the election campaign into a presidential- style battle, more a reflection of the fact that she scores way above the party itself in private polling. The more people see of her, the more they like her.

After the glossy chumocracy and Flashman swagger of the Cameron era, it seems her head-girl sense of duty and diligence are exactly what the country needs. Smug metropolitan types like to sneer at Mrs May, but I cherish her sincerity and calmness, the equanimity of her approach to Brexit.

Unlike certain career politicians, she didn’t go to Westminster to use it as a stepping stone to a plum job such as making a fortune on the after- dinner circuit, becoming a non-executive director or running a museum.

‘I came into politics to make a difference, to improve people’s lives,’ she says — and I honestly believe she really means it.

UNDAUNTED by being described by a Tory colleague as ‘a bloody difficult woman’, she used the phrase about herself earlier this month following reports that she and her chief eU antagonist, Jean- Claude Juncker, had clashed during a fraught downing Street dinner.

Certainly, there is a resolution and steeliness about her, traits that lie at the heart of what some are calling Mayism — although she doesn’t recognise the term herself.

‘I don’t think there is such a thing as ‘Mayism’. I am a Conservative and what I am promoting is Conservatism.’

A life - long church- going Christian, she believes in the power of prayer — but she won’t reveal if she prays every day or not.

‘I am not going to go into exactly what I pray and when I pray. Why is everyone so interested in this?’ she laughs.

In a life that has not been without disappointment and loss, her faith has seen her through difficult times. Her vicar father died in a car crash, aged 64, the year after he officiated at her wedding to Philip. Then her mother contracted multiple sclerosis and died a year later.

‘My faith helped me, but so did having the support of Philip, my rock. Having somebody there supporting me was tremendously important as well.’

She says there were boyfriends before Philip, but he was Mr Right. The couple were introduced by fellow Oxford student Benazir Bhutto (who went on to become prime minister of Pakistan) and they married in 1980.

‘I hadn’t been properly in love before, if I can put it like that. Sometimes, when you are young you think you are attracted to somebody, then someone comes along and you realise wow, this is the real thing.’

Philip’s appearance alongside her on a television chat show sofa this week was clearly an important development in the PM’s election campaign strategy.

The significance was reinforced by the care that went into the presentation. Backstage, Fiona Hill, Mrs May’s all-powerful joint chief of staff, was asked by a tieless Mr May before going in front of the cameras: ‘ Jacket buttoned or unbuttoned?’

‘I think unbuttoned,’ Hill tells him. She added: ‘ enjoy getting your make-up done, Philip!’ Mr May gives a little showbiz shimmy, like Liza Minnelli in the film Cabaret, to show that he is game.

Mr and Mrs May — 59 and 60 — are clearly devoted to each other and, like so many older couples, have developed obvious, deep bonds of affection and closeness.

He now works only four days a week as an executive at a finance company in the City, so they can spend more time together.

In years to come, they are exactly the kind of happy, retired couple you might see at the breakfast buffet at a seaside hotel, each insisting the other has the last poached egg.

Is he her new secret weapon, I wonder, and will we be seeing more of him?

‘I don’t know about that,’ says Mrs May, raising an eyebrow. ‘He was a little nervous beforehand, but he enjoyed the television experience.’

After recording the show, they went back to downing Street to have a typical supper together.

‘Philip had brought a quiche from Waitrose, I made a dressing for a salad and then we had some fruit,’ she says.

They prefer spending time at her constituency home in a Berkshire village rather than the rather grander environs of Chequers — although they do like to go walking in the ‘lovely countryside’ there.

Their Berkshire residence is a ‘ home that we built together’, where Philip takes out the bins and Theresa cooks.

Her most recent triumph was a recipe by Thomasina Miers (winner of TV’s MasterChef in 2005): spicy, marinated lamb cutlets which were patently ‘delicious!’.

But she has known culinary disasters, too. ‘I once tried to replicate from memory something we had eaten when we were on holiday, which was a pudding baked and served in little glass jars. So I cooked it in the jars, but when I took them out and opened them, they exploded.’

Near neighbours are George and Amal Clooney, although the couples’ paths have yet to cross.

‘No, I have not seen him,’ she says. ‘In fact, I think I am the only person in the village who hasn’t met him.’

PERHAPS she should put him on the guest list for one of her spicy lamb suppers? ‘I don’t think I was intending to invite him, so no,’ she says.

Well, that is Very Theresa, if I may say so, very much a plank of Mayism.

Can you imagine david Cameron or Tony Blair being so indifferent to an A-list Hollywood celebrity in their midst?

dave would be pressing the star for contacts and introductions, maybe a product-placement in his next film for one of his wife’s designer frocks. Tony would be wondering if the actor’s 22-room villa by Lake Como in Italy might be available gratis in August.

But Mrs May? She doesn’t care. She just wants to get on with doing her best for everyone in Britain — and finding time to experiment with outre pudding recipes.

Underneath her re- purposed jackets and smart slacks, behind her armour-plated prudence and persistence she is a truly remarkable woman, the genuine article in a world of careerist phoneys.

Amen to that, as she might say herself.

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