Bit more of the set-up for the story coming in at this point.

======================================

The day eventually came when I was to meet my daughter and welcome her into my home. I truly didn't know what to feel about things. It had been only a week since I recieved the news. I'd cleared my schedule for the next week in the hopes of getting to know her.
At least I had a cool car. A black Tesla Roadster I'd been given a deal on after doing some security work for them. Custom green leather interior and a crow with spread wings and ghost flames on the hood. It pays to know the right people.
It was in this car, heading towards Dublin, that I pulled up the picture they had emailed me of her. Short, black hair, huge hazel-green eyes. Heavy eyeliner. An elfin looking young teenager. Looked a lot like the kind of girls I used to hang around with in high school. She had her mother's nose and cheekbones, which made her look a little slavic.
I reached the airport, parked, and made my way to the terminal with a touchscreen tablet tucked under my arm. Certain I was in the right place, I stood across from the doors as the flight began to unload, holding the tablet up with "BREE FLANAGAN, CANADA" displayed in large bold letters.
As the flood of human bodies slowed to a trickle, she shyly and slowly emerged from the group, her hair mussed, eyes downcast, a pout on her face with a small ring peirced through her lower lip on the left. She wore a pair of low-rise black jeans and a white tshirt with "Lovely Creature" emblazoned across the front in script. I recognized it as a Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds shirt. I waved to her. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. She crossed over to me.
"Hullo, Bree. I...I guess I'm your father. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances..." I started, awkward as can be.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and started sobbing immediately. My brain froze. I've never known what to do when women cry. I simply wrapped my arms around her and tried not to cry myself!
After a moment I heard her slight maritime accented voice say in between sobs "You look just like your picture...with more hair."
I couldn't help it. I snorted and started laughing. She stared up at me for a moment and started laughing along with me, wiping the tears and smeared eyeliner from her face. I hugged her tightly and asked if she was hungry after her flight. She was. I took her suitcase from the baggage claim after she pointed it out to me, and she hugged my arm to her as if afraid I'd bolt. She pulled up a picture on her phone of her mother and I shortly after afghanistan. My hair had been just starting to grow in a little more. The scar from the battle the night before I'd met Tara was still ragged in that photo.
We sat down with a couple of coffees. She had a bowl of soup and I had a toastie. I told her a bit about her mother and I, and I did my best to keep her talking, not that it was difficult. Things just spilled out. It seemed she was a nervous talker. Bree had a sarcastic sense of humor and a quick wit. I learned she hadn't had many friends, we had similar music taste because she'd shared her mother's taste in music, she didn't like kids her age, and she was something of a tomboy, a big fan of cars and motorcycles. She'd done a lot of the work around the house. Tara had never married and hardly dated.
Suddenly Bree stopped talking and just stared at my eyes, like she was trying to read me. I felt entranced, but uncomfortable. She blinked and the spell was broken.
"So, uh, you ready to head out? I think you'll enjoy the cottage. You must be exhausted." I said, taking a final sip of coffee.
"Yeah." she responded simply.
She gushed of course over how cool my car was, and after we'd piled everything into the trunk she climbed into the back. She fell asleep minutes after we pulled onto the main road. About 40 minutes later we pulled into the drive to my home, and as we hit a small bump she woke up with a start, looking around quickly to get her bearings. I showed her to what would be her room, with a promise that we'd go out the next day to get some things to make it over however she liked. She looked around at the plastered stone and scarred wood paneled walls, and said "I like it. Thank you." I smiled at her and hugged her gently. She smiled up at me and said "I think I'm glad that you're...you."
I swear it was almost impossible to hold in tears at that point. She was a sweet kid. She was MY kid. I loved her as soon as she'd said those first words to me. I left her to put her things away and wished her goodnight.

tags?

>>25398
Mf, incest, goth, teen

You have my attention.

I woke shortly after dawn, mostly because a shaft of sunlight came through the window and slapped me in the face. I had fallen asleep in my armchair near the fireplace. I must have been more wrecked last night than I'd thought. My shoulders ached. I was still nervous about my new daughter. Would she adjust alright? Would we get on well enough?

Standing from the chair, I rolled my shoulders, hearing them crunch softly. I walked down the hall to check on Bree. Fast asleep with the blanket wrapped around her, curled up like a wee kitten. I smiled to myself and made for the bathroom. Today would be a long day. A lot to do. A shower was in order.

I had overhauled the bathroom shortly after moving in, with a large, glassed in overhead shower, a river-rock floor, very modern LED strip lighting, a luxury toilet, and a sink I hard carved myself out of a large, flat rock, covered in carved spirals like the standing stones of ancient times. It was, honestly, my second favorite place in the house. The shower was hot and steamy, just how I like things. Stepping under the falling water, I felt the stress in my shoulders and upper back melt away, gave my semi-tumescent member a quick tug, and after a good 15 minutes I stepped out of the shower stall...to find Bree standing in the doorway. I froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her face went tomato red and she threw a hand over her eyes and yelped a "Sorry!" before I quickly wrapped a towel around myself.
"I...er...It's fine. D-Don't worry about it." I stammered.
Bree slowly lowered her hand from her eyes and explained "I...I knocked. I gotta pee." I could see her shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"Alright girl the bathroom's free. I'll go get dressed and get breakfast ready." I told her, sidling out of the bathroom. She rushed in and the door closed as soon as my heel was past the threshold.

Throwing on a simple black tshirt and a pair of black canvas pants, I set myself to making breakfast. Eggs on toast, a pile of bacon, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and some spiced hash browns. When she emerged from the hall clad in a slashed tshirt(Grey with a spider-web patterned mesh shirt underneath) and knee-length swishy skirt(black), her eyes positively lit up. She practically leapt into her chair at the table and dove into the plate of food with the kind of reckless abandon only a hungry teenager can. We chatted a bit as we ate and discussed the plans for the day. I would take her shopping for a new bed and bedding, maybe some furniture and paint. I also wanted to look into schooling in the area so that we could sign her up for the fall. I was, thus far, amazed at how well she was dealing with the death of her mother. When she'd finished her food she stood and hugged me, saying "I miss mom, but you'll be a good dad."
You wouldn't believe how much I needed to hear that. I told her so. She teared up a little bit and then rubbed her eyes and said "Crying sucks. Fuck crying. Gotta look forward, not back."
I hugged her tightly "Never be ashamed to grieve, love." I said, looking her in the eyes, "Though I haven't been there for you until now, I loved her. I love you too, Bree, and I grieve with you. However, we best crack on, there's a good deal to do today." She smiled kissed me on the cheek and we headed out to the car to drive into town.

On the drive into town, we spoke a little about her and the things she likes, and how she liked the house and what I could do to help ease her transition into living here. She was, in fact, very much like I was when I was a teen. She was bright, resilient, and very much interested in Irish culture, gothic music, and as much literature as she could get her hands on.
By the time we got into town we were laughing and joking about various authors, internet memes, and horror films. We stopped at a furniture store and she spent an hour flopping onto various beds, examining bedframes, eventually settling, after I told her money wouldn't be an issue, on a 4 post steel frame with a canopy attached. She was ecstatic and for a moment, if I didn't know better, I would have thought she hadn't lost her mother a few weeks prior in a car crash. We settled on a delivery time and went out to get paint for her room. She chose a basic stain for the wood panels, and black paint for the walls. She had only arrived with a single duffel bag with her laptop and some personal posessions therein, and a suitcase with her clothing, so I offered to take her out to a late lunch and do some clothing shopping at a few of the shops I knew of. It was in one, an "alternative" boutique called "Altar Bridge", where she found most of what we purchased. She'd ooh and ahh over various things, and when she came out of the dressing room wearing a medieval dress in crushed black velvet and green brocade I couldn't help but gawk at what my genes had produced. She was a vision of beauty. The dress displayed her shoulders through black lace cutouts, the built-in bodice emphasized her breasts with laces up the side and front of the dress, and wide sleeves gave her a mystical look, with the hem of the skirt stopping just above her ankles, making her appear almost to float. She must have seen me gawking because my eyes rose to meet hers and she had gone a little red. There was a question in her eyes I couldn't yet read when I heard myself say "I have such a lovely daughter. Just beautiful." I had pride in my heart at this time, not lust.
She smiled at me and flitted back into the dressing room. I found myself reflecting on how everything was going. I expected a great deal more awkwardness with Bree than what there actually was. It felt as if she had always been here. I was comforted by that.
Once she came out, a pile of clothing in her arms, we sorted out what she wanted and didn't want. The clerk was a gothic beauty in her own right, and as she rung us up I gabbed a bit with her, explaining, at her request and a nod from Bree that Bree was my daughter from Canada and her mother had recently passed, leaving her in my care. We left the store with Bree carrying two bags of clothes(the dress, a top with lace arms, two pairs of pants, a bodice, a belt, and some makeup), and me having the clerk's number in my phone, which Bree laughed about. We returned home, had a meal, and the new bed and frame arrived around 6. I set about putting them together while Bree put her new clothes away. An hour later I left her room with the frame fully assembled, tightened, and the mattress and box spring on the bed, and the canopy, a gauzy dark red affair, strung up around the bed. The next day we would restain the wood paneling and paint the walls, and Bree would eventually decorate it with the fairly typical goth teen fare over the coming week, plastic halloween decorations, a few paintings we would find, and some lights. We found a nice school for her, not a far drive, and the next year was her settling in and getting used to her new environment.
She had a few more episodes stemming from her missing her mother, and I held her for all of them, letting her cry it out and comforting her as best as I could. We grew very close over the next year, but I would never see her as anything other than my daughter. She made some friends at school and it would later be one of those friends who initiated a series of events that would forever change how I saw my daughter, and how she saw me.

Sorry for the delay A new update will be coming down the pipes soon. I was gonna do it today, but I have a migraine from hell.

>>25434
I feel your pain. My story has been delayed because of one. Pretty hard to write when your forehead and eyes want nothing more than to cause you more pain than a human should feel at one time.

Best wishes and I hope yours doesn't last too long.

>>25424
Decent story so far. Your formatting could use some work though, breaking up the walls of text would make this much easier to read. Aside from that, nice job.

Fucking hell. my POS laptop died on me, so I have this one which I got from a friend who'd gotten a new one. This one just has some overheating problems. No biggie. Problem is the issue with my old laptop was a power distribution issue that somehow fucked the BIOS into acrater. that means I cant currently access the hard drive full of all the memes and music and gaming shit I've had for years. I'll post the next update as soon as I've rewritten it.

Bree's first year of schooling was a little bit rougher than I had hoped. She'd made friends fast enough, but struggled adapting to a new system. Besides helping her adjust and settle, I taught her Irish, took her out shooting a bit, and helped with her maths homework. Our home quickly became a great place for her friends to hang out, due to its' remoteness and the fact that I was never bothered much by her friends. They were good enough kids, and quite a few of the older girls were quite nice to look at and a bit flirty with me.

In the early summer, her 14th birthday arrived and I set about planning a small party for her and her friends. It was at the party that a minor incident occurred.
You see, Bree's friend Maven, the daughter of record mogul Kelly Doyle in Dublin was...something else. Though 15, she could have passed for a woman in her early 20s, with large, round breasts, long, svelte legs, and a husky quality to her voice that heavily implied sexuality in every word. She had an elfin face, long purple dreadlocks, and she seemed to wear as little as possible around me. She had come to the party wearing a cut-off tshirt that stopped not far below her breasts, leaving her stomach exposed, and a nearly skintight pair of dyed-black jeans.
She had greeted me with a very sexy smile and wrapped herself around my arm in such a way that I could tell that she wasn't wearing a bra. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek, sighing "Hi, Mr Darcy" into my ear in a way that made my cock spring to attention. She was always the cocktease type, but this made my mouth go dry.
I let the kids get to doing whatever they wanted to do and decided to distract myself with a bit of a workout. It was early afternoon and unusually warm for summer, so as I made my way out to the small shed I used for a workout room, I could feel myself already starting to sweat. I clicked on the fans in the room, took off my shirt and laid back on the bench, starting to do presses. After about a half hour of alternating between chest presses and squats, I heard the girls in the backyard, sitting underneath an awning I had set up. I heard them laughing with each other and just generally being teen girls, and returned to my exercises.
As I was finishing up, I heard someone say in a low tone "I ain't codding! Thems the rules, do it!" And then a knock at the door. Toweling off, I answered the door to find, much to my surprise, a topless Maven on the other side.
I froze, of course. 15 or not, those tits were fucking fantastic. When she licked her finger and thumb and tweaked her nipple, my jaw dropped. Before my mind had a chance to think anything other than "Stonking great tits" and "what the fuck?" she ran a hand down my chest, winked at me and turned her back, slipping her shirt back on as she walked back to my daughter and the rest of the girls. My brain was desperately trying to figure out what the fuck was going on when I heard one of the girls turn to Bree and quietly say "Oh my god, your old man is so fit!" and Bree answer "Aw feck off"
I shut the door and just sat the fuck down for a minute while I tried to process.

By the time I had gotten my shit together, another 10 minutes had passed, and I put my shirt back on and made my way inside, past the girls, to relax. I heard them giggle to each other when I went by and felt myself go scarlet. The little shits were playing truth or dare! That must have been why Maven had done what she'd done, though I certainly got the impression she'd gotten a kick out of it.
I decided to sit down and focus on something that would really keep me distracted: cleaning my favorite revolver, a Chiappa Rhino 40DS. By the time it was done, the girls had come back in and it was time to order Pizza.
I slapped the barrel back in place and gave it a spin, pointing it ahead, and found Maven standing in front of me, looking a touch nervous.
"'Ello Maven, What's the craic?" I asked, pointedly keeping my gaze on her face.
"Are ya workin next weekend?" She asked.
"Not that I know of," I answered, "You gonna keep your shirt on?"
"Oh it was a silly bloody dare! We was just acting the maggot!" She protested. "Look, me Da is running a metal festival near Kilkenny, but Da just called telling me the Head of Security got some kind of summer flu. Since you've such a good reputation, and Da trusts you, would you be willing to head up security for him?"
I had no plans for pretty much the next week "I suppose I can, where is it?"
"Castle Clara" She told me.
The rest of the day went by pretty easily. Bree was as beautiful as could be. I was proud of my girl. Simple, but heavy eyeliner, a simple, conservative dress, and her hair had grown out into a sort of razored, asymmetric reverse bob. She was the most beautiful girl in the room, if not the most overtly sexual(that one went obviously to Maven). The pizza came and went, the girls chatted amongst themselves, watched horror movies, and then eventually parents came to collect them. I worked out the details with Mr. Doyle when he came to collect Maven, and decided to show up the day before to try and go over the plans.

Later that night, while I sat browsing the internet, Bree asked me "Daddy, do you like Maven?"
I looked up from the computer screen "Sweetie, she's a bit young for me."
"Yeah," she started, "But I saw the way you looked at her. That was a rude trick they pulled on you today. Truth or dare is so silly."
"Bree, I was rather shocked. I didn't really expect to get slagged around like that. Also that dosser is trouble. Her da lets her get away with murder." I explained.
"Alright. I'm sorry for askin'. Just..." She started.
"Yeah?" I looked at her.
"...Nevermind." She said. Eh. Whatever it is it can't be that important right?

Having met the security team and gone over planning, we had found very little to fix. The other fellow had been quite competent. I had added an extra security checkpoint at the beginning of the grounds proper for the festival, termed Checkpoint Delta, so that cars couldn't get into the area where festivalgoers were pitching tents without being cleared by lightly armed guards, and bands and vendors had a few more personnel to deal with. Nothing terribly serious.

So, the day came when I strapped on a thigh holster, slipped my Chiappa Rhino into it, and double checked the battery on my taser baton, and hopped into the car with Bree in tow to head to the festival grounds. Seeing Bree off with a gaggle of her friends, I headed to Checkpoint Delta as it was the most centrally located, and began the check-in process with the teams. All the time with the beautiful ruins of Castle Clara in the background. Mr. Kelly Doyle had chosen a wonderful spot for the festival grounds.

6 hours into the festival and a brief check-in call from Bree later, I had dealt with very few issues, besides a few teenagers caught trying to bring booze and drugs into the festival grounds and one idiot who was drunk before he'd even arrived. We'd had to detain his dumb ass for the police. As a band I wanted to see was partway through their set, I decided to take a break and walk the grounds for a little bit, keeping my earpiece in. Nothing much of note happened, just a few drunk youths getting into fights and the smell of reefer smoke from somewhere that I never bothered to investigate. I flirted a bit with a cute tomboyish vendor with a short blonde pixie cut and a leather vest, listened to a bit of the set from that band I'd been excited for, and was making my way back to Delta when I heard it.

Screaming and shouting from the direction of Delta, and a large van barelling towards the makeshift gate with no indication of stopping or even slowing down. I sprinted towards the gate, just in time to see the makeshift guard kiosk explode as the van smashed through it, sending the guard and chunks of wood and plastic flying in all directions. Fuck. I unholstered the Rhino, clicked the safety off, and took aim at the windshield, to where I thought I saw the driver. One shot, then two, and I dove out of the way as the van reached me, clipping my leg on the way.

The door opened, and I was kneeling when the driver emerged, a middle eastern man with crazy eyes and blood all over his shoulder, one arm hanging limply. The other, however, held a hatchet. A big fucking hatchet. Those crazy eyes were fixed on my face. Another guard ran over, shouting "PUT THAT FUCKING HATCHET DOWN NOW OR I'LL SHOOT", and hit the man across the shoulders with a baton. The man screamed and swung his hatchet into the poor bastard's chest, withdrawing it in a spray of blood.
By this time I'd been able to bring my gun back up. One shot in the leg, the man went down, and another shot caught him in the chest. Center of mass. I dragged myself to my feet, shouting "GET THE FUCK BACK! CLEAR THE AREA!" to the crowd that had started to gather. I heard the dying man on the ground struggling for breath, and heard him say the words nobody wants to hear on their home soil: "Allahu Ackbar". The arm that had been hanging limply held a remote detonator. I hollered again for everyone to get back and started to back away myself when the van exploded and my world went black.

I woke in a hospital bed, searing pain roaring through my head and body. The pain was so bad that initially it took my breath away. I gasped and sat up slightly before the room spun and I had to lay back. "HE'S AWAKE" I heard someone in the doorway yelling. My skin felt tight, my face felt thick and unpleasant. "Alive. I'm alive." I thought. Bree came bursting into the room, a blubbering mess.
"Daddy I didn't know if you would ever wake up! I saw the explosion and I thought that was it! You were in surgery forever and then didn't wake up-" she was saying all in a rush.
"Sweetie I'm glad to be alive right now but my head is fucking killing me. Please for the love of God just give me a second here." I cut her off "I'm having trouble moving. Tail end of the drugs, I think. How bad?" I asked.
"They had to pull a chunk of shrapnel out of your head," she started. "And, uh," looking at the chart, "Three steel bearings out of your back, leg, and torso, some muscle tissue sewn back together in your arm and chest, facial lacerations, lacerations to your leg, left side of your torso, and your right tibia had to be reconstructed...that's the bone in your calf, right?" She asked, looking very concerned.
"Yeah. I've had worse." I said with a half grin.
"You were in surgery for 3 and a half hours." She said flatly.
"Christ," I responded, "How do I look?"
"They say you'll have some scars..." She said. "Oh my poor daddy. They're calling you a hero!" She fiddled around on her phone for a bit, pulling up an online headline. FESTIVAL BOMBING! KILDARE MAN SAVES LIVES!
"Jaysus...How many were hurt?"
"Besides you, the gate guard he hit, and the other officer he hit with that hatchet of his, only one person was seriously injured. You got the worst of it. Oh, my poor brave daddy!" She cried a little more. The doctor came in and explained that they would be needing to keep me for a few days to make sure there weren't any complications, then they'd send me home with some painkillers.
He seemed rather shocked when I asked "Can I take the metal shite you pulled out of me home? I think I'll make something out of it."
An hour later and an orderly brought in a plastic jar, containing a surprising amount of twisted shrapnel, steel bits, and 3 slightly deformed ball bearings.

A couple days later and I was hobbling out of the front doors to a waiting cab, when I was ambushed by reporters shouting questions. I told them to fuck off and let me go home. Bree helped me into the cab and started yelling at the reporters "He's just gettin' out of the hospital you vultures! Get your fucking story somewhere else! Leave daddy be!" and flipped them off when she got into the cab. I laughed and coughed and wrapped my arm around her shoulders as she cuddled into me protectively.

She gave the address and we were home soon after. She helped me out of the cab, up the steps, through the door, the parlour, and into my bedroom. I sat on the bed and she helped me out of most of my clothes(pants, shirt, the shoe on my good foot). She frowned at the bandages and stitches all over me, and the cast on my right leg and helped me into bed. She crawled onto the bed beside me, her above the covers, me below them. I looked at her quizzically.
"I don't need looking after, sweetie. I'm just gonna sleep." I half-scolded her.
"And I'm gonna keep an eye on you like the doctors told me to for a couple days. I'm not gonna lose you too." She said, kissing my forehead.
"Aw come on sweetie. Takes more than a muzzie car bomb to kill me." I smiled at her.
"I'm stayin' anyways and that's that. Love you, dad." She said, resting a hand on my stomach.
I gave up and relaxed. I fell asleep soon afterwards.

When I woke up it was with a soft and warm feeling beside me, wrapped around my arm. Bree had crawled beneath the covers and fallen asleep beside me. What made this awkward was the fact that from where my arm was I could tell that her tshirt had ridden up and she was not wearing trousers, though I could feel her soft panties against the back of my hand, particularly my knuckle on my middle finger, which was nestled against her cleft. I tried to move my arm but found it securely held in place by her knees and arms. It was also dark in the room, besides a lamp glowing softly from the nightstand. I had slept all day.
Bree was laying on her side with one arm was draped over my chest, the other wrapped tightly around my own arm. Her tshirt had, thankfully, caught and bundled just below her breasts, and her head was nestled against my shoulder. Her even breathing told me she was very much asleep.
Looking over her face I took in the details. Her hair was mussed in a way that told me she'd been asleep for at least an hour. The remnants of eyeliner around her eyes told me she probably hadn't reapplied it since we had gotten to the hospital. Her thin, bow-shaped mouth was ever so slightly open, with her breath gently hissing out from within. And she was beautiful. Just as beautiful as her mother had been, if not moreso.
It hit me simultaneously that my daughter was no longer a little girl, but a young woman, and also that I had woken up because my painkillers were wearing off.
I looked over to the bedside table on my other side and saw that a glass of water had been placed there and that the pills I'd been given were also there. Careful not to wake Bree, I reached over and managed to grab the pillbottle, open it, and place one of the foul-tasting pills into my mouth, replace the bottle, and take a drink of water.
I was starting to fall back asleep when I felt her shift slightly. This slight shift pushed my knuckle further against her vaginal cleft, and this was impossible to ignore, especially when she made a quiet, throaty moan in her sleep. To my shock, I felt myself becoming erect. I had never viewed Bree in any sexual manner up until this point, and honestly, I still didn't, but the body reacts to stimuli, and I was very much aware of a growing warmth against my knuckle and that if I tried to pull my hand away at this point I'd only be putting a very unmistakably sexual pressure against her clitoris.
Not really knowing what to do, I willed my erection to wilt, and eventually it did. Not long afterward, Bree rolled over onto her back, freeing my hand from between her legs. I carefully moved my hand over to rest on my stomach, and, wrestling slightly with a few strange thoughts, fell back asleep.

I woke to early dawn light, smelling and hearing cooking sounds. I was alone in the bed. Sitting up slowly and carefully, I took another painkiller and began making my way out to the kitchen after gingerly sliding my arms into a bathrobe and hooking a crutch underneath my shoulder.
Bree was standing at the stove, the radio softly playing one of my old Siouxsie and the Banshees CDs. She was wearing her panties and a long tshirt, bouncing and dancing around to the music and cooking up some hash browns and sausages.
"Well, someone seems to be feeling rather grand today!" I said. She jumped in surprise.
"Whoa shit dad you scared me!" She said, a hand over her heart. "Ya, I woke up feeling...I dunno, just good."
"Mmm, someone oughta." I said, sitting carefully in my armchair.
A few minutes later she came bounding over to the couch with a plate of hash and sausages for her and another which she handed to me.
While I ate I noticed her looking at me out of the corner of my eye.
"Why are ya gawking at me?" I asked.
"She pursed her lips for a moment, seemingly thinking, before replying "I've decided that you're cute when you sleep." She smiled at me.
"Hah!" I replied, "Not half as cute as you, a leanbh!"(pronounced 'uh LAN-uv', meaning "My Child.") "I woke up at one point with you wrapped around me arm like a kitten!" I tactfully left out the part about my hand being against her crotch.
"You shivered at one point and made some weird noises so I thought I'd go under the blankets to warm you, but when I got under you were so warm!" She said "I felt so comfortable with you!"
"And then making me breakfast! A healing hero couldn't ask for a better daughter!" I said, gesturing with my fork.
"And a daughter couldn't ask for a braver or kinder daddy either!" she replied. "Over the last year...since mom died, I mean...you've done so much for me. You welcomed me with open arms, bought me stuff, you let my friends and I take over the place all the time. I feel so at home here."
"What else is a father to do for his daughter?" I asked, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. "I loved your mother and, much as I never expected a child, I loved you too from the first word you said to me."
"See?" She said. "Such a kind daddy I have! And so haaaandsome too!" she winked at me, getting up to put the dishes in the kitchen.
A knock at the door surprised both of us.

Good stuff! like how it has some action elements too ;)

A pity this fell to the second page. It's one of the better reads.

I'm in wholehearted agreement with these; this is one of the best stories I've read for a while and can't wait for the next installments. Good going IrishDevil and keep it up!

hey folks, things around here have been rather busy. Between job searching and trying to get my shit together it's been a bit rough. I'll likely be getting the next update out within a few days though.

Good news. Thanks for the heads up.

My apologies for the time it has taken to update.
================================
Bree leapt up, slipping on a pair of shorts and motioning for me to remain seated as she went to answer the door.
Another knock sounded just as she reached the door, and as she opened it, I could hear Maven's voice saying "Ohmygod is he okay? We heard he was back home!"
She walked in without waiting to be invited(usual for Bree's gaggle of friends but somehow irritating to me at this time), and made her way over to the couch where I was sitting. I could hear her father, still by the door, saying something to Bree, and her answering "It's ok come on in."
"Oh, Christ. They made a right hames of you!" She said "They even took your bleedin hair!"
"As it turns out," I replied, "It was badly singed by the explosion at any rate. It'll grow back."
"Awww you poor dear" She said, leaning in. I could now clearly see what she was wearing...black fishnet shirt with a thin silky silver camisole that barely reached the halfway point of her stomach and seemed molded to her tits, and a pair of impossibly tight leather pants.
"Please," She began. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, aye?"
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bree roll her eyes at this.
Kelly, good man that he is, stepped in between us at that point, saying "Ronan, you crazy git. You saved so many lives! Hell, not only that but you made me look good! Would you be opposed to making a bit extra for that job to make up for current inconveniences?"
"Begoddenaye!" I exclaimed. "I'm right set as is, but if there ever be a time I turn down more money the damn world might be ending!"
"Good lad! And by the by, the needjit that had the fool notion to attack you was connected to a mosque in fucking Derry of all places. The Imam even used his own damn credit card to secure the van! The cunt's computer apparently pointed to terrorist cells all over the damn isles!"
"...Holy shite..." was all I could reply.
"Aye. Food for thought, innit? Well, I can see we've interrupted your brunch so we'll get outta your hair. You rest up aye?" He said,subtly leading Maven away by the elbow.
"I appreciate the visit. And the money of course!" I called after him. "Take care!"
As the door closed behind them, Bree rushed back to her seat. I could tell something was bothering her.
"Why the dour look?" I asked.
"It's Maven. She had no right to barge in like that, acting like that." Came the reply.
"I'm used to it by now." I reassured her.
She frowned briefly and returned to picking at the last bits of her meal. As she collected the dishes she kissed my cheek and told me "I love you daddy."
"I love you too, a leanbh." I replied.
"I know you do, da. Now let's get you to the shower! You smell like hospital!" She replied.
"Oh I'm aware." I said, slowly pulling myself to my feet with the assistan?ce of my crutch. "I'll be back out in a bit."
"I'm coming with." She stated firmly.
What???

Please Sir, may I have some more?

Can't wait for the next installment. Loving it!

Great story. Where is the rest?

This is serious /elit/, with the emphasis on the LIT. Because I find myself not even caring if they never get down to sex. I feel like I’m sitting in a quiet pub, having a pint with this guy as he tells his stories of war, lost love, and new love. And I want to buy this guy another pint.

Then I want to fold my tent and slink away in shame that I ever thought I could be a writer in the shadow of this guy. Godspeed, you magnificent bastard!

>>25589
much appreciated my dude. Believe it or not I used to want to be a science fiction writer or write films. Unfortunately my personality and politics make both places very hostile at this time.

=========================================

"Look, someone has to help you keep the cast on your leg dry." She said.
"Sweetie a bag and some duct tape could do that. I had much worse in the army." I protested. I have always hated having someone else take care of me.
"Shush, you. I need to check those stitches as well, and there's a lot of them, and I need to clean those properly." and on she went, about all the instructions the doctor had given her.
"Fine! Fine!" I exclaimed, "I give up! I'll accept your damn help, girl."
I hobbled off to the bathroom, and she followed, saying "I think a bath will work better so we can just keep your leg out of the water, and that way I can get at the stitches on your back and your head and your chest all without too much difficulty." on and on, listing things off, she seemed glad to be the one taking care of me. Much as I disliked the idea of having to be taken care of by a 14 year old, I decided it would probably be best to just indulge her. She had a way of arguing that would convince me without me realizing I was convinced.
Reaching the bathroom, I leaned over to turn on the taps on the tub, and she reached out past me.
"I'll get it daddy, just relax."
As you like. So of course, I removed the bathrobe, and hesitated briefly before removing my boxers. I somehow felt weird about being fully naked in front of my little girl, even if she'd already seen my genitals before.
"Um, all done." I heard from behind me.
She helped me into the tub, carefully keeping my right leg outside of the tub. Awkward, to say the least of it. With a careful hand she checked my stitches, making sure none had torn, and with a cloth she carefully washed my arms, head, back, and the leg that way outside of the water, pointedly keeping her eyes and hands away from my front and crotch. She handed me the cloth to do the rest, and after a few minutes it was done.
And then it happened. Standing to get a towel, Bree slipped backward on a small patch of water. Her hands immediately scrabbled for a way to keep her from completely falling, and landed with her left on the tub and her right in the water. On my crotch.
She reflexively gripped it and said "Oh. Wow. Uh, Sorry." and snatched her hand back like it bit her.
I won't lie. I'm not exactly hung like a stallion, but it is rather long and thick. Even soft it is quite impressive. In her small hands it must have felt massive.
I didn't know how to react. My mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times, and my eyes were locked on hers. She blushed, looked away, and stood up, handing me the towel wordlessly. I drained the tub, and she helped me out, blushing furiously.
Wrapping the towel around myself I simply said "Bree, it's not a problem. Relax, a leanbh!"
Her blush lessened slightly, but she kept her eyes averted and handed me my crutch with a "Sorry, daddy."
I simply replied "It's fine, sweetie." and placed a hand on her head and touseled her hair, and limped my way out of the bathroom to the bedroom so I could get dressed. Truth is, I was beginning to feel conflicted about my daughter, and was very unsure of what to do.

>>25598
Please do continue.

I wonder how "accidental" that grab really was?

>>25598

>Believe it or not I used to want to be a science fiction writer or write films. Unfortunately my personality and politics make both places very hostile at this time.

Follow your dreams, IrishDevil. (Says the guy who's never submitted anything with his name on it for publication himself.) Seriously, Some of the greatest writers in history were incredibly opinionated and caustic personalities. Based on just what we've seen here, I'd read your scifi, politics be damned.

I hope this isn't dead.

>>25664
it isn't. I've just been quite busy this summer. I'd like to post an update sometime in the next couple of weeks, but don't hold me to it.

Hey you perverts. I apologize for the long hiatus. Just so you know, I haven't abandoned this yet. I've simply been working a lot and haven't had much inspiration to write.

new stuff coming sometime soon. I'm very sorry it's taken so long. Work's been kicking my ass.

>>25881

That's why it's called work. You will post it when you can post it and not a moment before.

>>25881
Plz

After that day, things were fairly quiet for the next month. Bree would occasionally give me an odd look, but beyond that and the occasional flirty visit from one of her friends, usually Maven, the cottage was nice and quiet. Having estimated that I could get almost enough steel from the shrapnel the hospital had pulled out of me for a mid-sized knife, thanks mostly to the rather large chunk that had been pulled from my head(several inches long, thank Christ for my thick skull!), and had been spending several weeks making sketches, which were hanging on the wall by the old cooking hearth in the goodroom.
I had been standing on a Saturday checking the scar on my head in the mirror when I had heard Bree behind me saying "I like this one. This one's cool!"
Turning, I saw the sketch she had been pointing to, which was inspired by a medieval ballock dagger, long and slender with a lobed swell near the guard, which if done properly would blend nicely into a guard reminiscent of testicles, hence the name of the style of knife. "What's it called?" she asked me.
"Oh, that'd be a Ballock dagger." I answered.
She laughed at the name, and I explained further "It's very old. They used them before even the Romans came to Britain. I was thinking of how nice that one would look if I made it out of damascus steel with a bog oak handle."
"Pretty..." she said, putting it back and picking up another one. "How about this one? This is cool too!"
She held up a sketch I had spent a lot of time on, on a day I'd had a lot of pain and headaches due to rain. A chunkier looking survival knife, sort of halfway between a chisel and a fighting knife, meant more for woodwork than anything else.
"I wouldn't know what to call that one, maybe a woodsman's knife with a chisel tip?" I said in response.
"What about both of em? Like, combining the two styles?"
I quickly sketched a rough profile, a tapering blade with an angular, chisel-like tip and a flat pommel, showing it to her "Something like this?"
Her eyes lit up "Ooooooh it looks like something from the future! You should make it!" She said, snatching the paper from me.
I laughed out loud, she gave me a hug, and told me "Do it when you're healed enough!"
"If I did it now I think the hammer'd break me arm!" I agreed with her.
We spent a few hours drawing and redrawing all kinds of sketches. She was a far better artist that I was, and drew up some beautiful and intricate designs for swords and axes and all kinds of fantasy characters. I made a note that I'd have to teach her to play Dungeons and Dragons sometime.

>>25915
OP delivers! Can't wait for the next chapter, hope work has died down for you

Muzzleflash in the middle of the night in the desert. The smell of smoke and sweat and singed flesh. Some things you just get used to. Others you don't.
I woke with a start in the middle of the night, my left hand searching for my right shoulder to stop the bleeding of a bullet wound that wasn't there anymore and hadn't been for 15 years except in the form of a pinkish scar. Unfortunately I had other, much more recent wounds to worry about. I had torn a stitch that had nearly finished healing.
"Aw, Christ." I grunted, the shredded and bloody face of some Afghani teenager fading from my vision. Flashbacks. I hadn't had many of those lately. I clamped a couple fingers to my side where the stitch had torn. Yep. Definitely bleeding. Nothing unmanageable though.
"What's the matter?" Said Bree from the doorway, "I'd gotten up to get a drink and heard you thrashin about in your sleep and...uh, you're bleeding again. What can I do?"
Pointing to a prepared package of surgical thread and a needle I told her "Tore a stitch. Grab those. I can handle it."
"Oh my god no we need to call the doctor!" She said, reaching for my cellphone on the nightstand.
"Nah. Small stitch. Not worth bothering them over."
She handed me the thread and needle, and I showed her briefly how to prepare it, run a quick alcohol swab over the wound, etc. I had her pinch the skin together a bit("Ew, gross, dad!") and with the wall mirror's assistance it only took a couple of minutes for me to stitch the small, not even an inch long wound together rather neatly. I cursed under my breath the entire time of course, much to Bree's amusement.
"How'd you tear the stitch?" She asked. I briefly explained that I'd done it in my sleep and had woken up with a flashback.
"You never talk about those." She said. "Tell me about it."
"I'll spare you the details." I answered.
"No you won't." She countered, gently poking my side near the wound.
"OW! Alright, but I warned you." I started. So I told her the story.
It had been near to the end of my time in Afghanistan. We were staking out a known insurgent hideout, a small building with an underground tunnel we'd found. They had me hiding in a building across the street, where a couple of friendlies were trying to help us out. When things started, they were to start from both locations, one team coming up from the tunnels we had found, and one coming into the building from street level.
It started fast and only got faster as things went, and it didn't take long before they found out where I was. I think I'd gotten 5 shots off before a lucky shot had hit my position and it was no longer tenable to stay still. I radioed in and was given the go ahead to get down to street level, so I did.
I had made it to the building's second floor when an RPG went off. Something somewhere collapsed and there was too much dust to see properly. I had left my rifle on the roof and came in with my sidearm, and even the sighting laser on it was only getting through about a metre of dust. I turned a corner and in the light of a window I could see the silhouette of a few figures, one holding an RPG. I fired twice, someone fired back, hit me in the shoulder, and I fired at the silhouette of the guy holding the RPG. He must have dropped the damn thing after priming it or something, because the moment he went down the room exploded, and by the time the dust had settled and I got up there were two...and a half bodies. One of them was a kid that couldn't have been older than 14, with half of his face gone and the rest cut to ribbons. All I could really do at that point was staunch the bleeding of my shoulder and get the fuck out.
In the end, we had cleared out the insurgents and only taken two casualties ourselves, but that kid's face will always haunt me. Films just don't do justice to what burned flesh looks like, and seeing it on someone that young just fucks with you.

When I had finished the story, Bree sat for a moment, then simply gently hugged me, gave an "I love you daddy", and left with a kiss on the cheek. It wasn't long before I fell back asleep, peacefully this time.

This is my favorite piece on this board right now, and it’s worth the slow evolution to see the characters and their relationship develop. I’m encouraged that IrishDevil is continuing at a steady pace, however slow, knowing that we’ll get consistent quality and the long anticipated resolution.

Work, anime, and actually sorting out life and family shit has been keeping me away.
I'm thinking up some stuff for the next little bit of the story. Going to be adding in bits of more sexy stuff later on. I just don't want any of it to seem forced. Quality first, fappability second.

>>25986
Good call, I.D., wait on the muse, it will lead you aright.

Hey folks I'm back. Hopefully I remembered my tripcode properly. If not, this is the one I'll be using from here on in.
My computer died a while back and it took me a while after getting a new one to feel up to writing again.
==========================================================================================================================

Barely conscious thoughts swirled round in my head. I became dimly aware of a pleasant sensation somewhere. Familiar but my mind was struggling back to consciousness and I couldn't quite figure it out.
My penis. The feeling was in my penis. What? The fuck was going on?
My eyes snapped open and looked down to see a mass of purple. Maven. When did she get here? Wait. WHAT?
"...the fuck?" I continued out loud. With a long slurp and a pop Maven pulled back, letting my quite erect cock fall out of her mouth.
"Bree sent me in with a glass of water for ya and you was already stiff, so I thought It'd be fun." She said with a wicked grin. She began to lower her head again, and finally my cognitive processes switched on. Her friends were over again, I'd gone for another rest. Maven had been flirting and I had found it exhausting and a little annoying. She was far too cheeky lately. Waitaminute. 15. Maven's 15. And giving me one of the best gobs I've ever experienced. 15. NOPE! TIME TO STOP!
With a great deal of mental effort, I placed my hand against her forehead and pushed her off, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheets over my lap.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, GIRLIE?" I yelled at her. She looked genuinely shocked. Her eyes even misted up a touch.
Looking over her shoulder I could see Bree in the doorway.
"What's all the commotion?" I heard her say. Then she registered my state, the little bit of drool on Maven's lower lip, and the position Maven was in kneeling on the foot of the bed, and the other shoe finally dropped with a "MAVEN? WHAT THE FUCK? YOU SLUT!"
"But I..." was all Maven got out in protest before Bree seized her by the arm and dragged her out of the room.
Now I had stepped in it. This was going to become a mess fast. After a second or two of hearing hushed arguing and the occasional rise in pitch and volume I pulled on a pair of gym shorts and pulled myself up on the crutch. I wasn't sure what to do but I had to say something as the adult in the situation.
Exiting into the goodroom I followed the rising sounds of argument into the living room just in time to hear Bree calling Maven a slut again, and Maven's response of "Oh please, I know what guys like!" and I heard as much as saw Bree's response, which was a surprisingly heavy slap to the right side of Maven's face. Uh oh. In a rush of activity, the other girls tried to keep them apart. Bree grabbed at Maven's hair, Maven had grabbed Bree by the shirt, and things were about to turn very ugly indeed when I shouted at the top of my lungs.
"QUIT IT, THE FUCKING BOTH OF YOU!" Hands dropped, Maven looked haughty and bitchy but chagrined, Bree looked ashamed and her eyes were full of tears.
"Maven, that was incredibly inappropriate. You will not do that again. EVER." The self-righteous smirk on her face fell right off. Good. The little minx needed to be taken down a notch or two. I felt incredibly uncomfortable nonetheless.
"What's the craic?" asked one of Bree's other friends, a scrawny little red haired thing by the name of Claire. "I seen em fight before, but never like this!"
"I Gobbed his flute" Maven muttered, to everyone's shock. They looked at me, then her, then back to me.
"I was asleep." I offered by way of explanation, to some giggles. Ugh. Teenagers. "Maven, I think it's best I call your father." Or was it? Would he get pissed at me? Christ knows he's never angry at her. I didn't want anything to happen.
"Wait, no. Don't!" cried Maven. "Look, I'm...I'm sorry. It was wrong of me. Don't call Da. He'll make it more of a problem than it needs to be." Well, that answered that.
"You fucking deserve it!" Said Bree with anger shaking her voice. Maven looked genuinely shamed for once. Eyes downcast, tears starting to roll down her face. She sank to her knees on the floor.
"I'm sorry. I fucked up." said Maven. Bree looked at me, and motioned for me to go back to the goodroom, which I did, leaving the girls to sort things out on their own.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey and used it to wash down some pain medication. Christ, what a fucking mess!

A little over an hour later Bree stuck her head into the room, where I was sitting in front of the PC distracting myself with refining a scan of the knife idea we had settled on a few days prior.
"We...worked it out. She's in shit, but she salvaged our friendship. I'm sorry you had to deal with that, Dad." She said with a sigh, leaning over my back to hug me.
"I'm just glad you handled it maturely, a leanbh." I replied, patting the back of her hand. "You're a good girl. Tara did a wonderful job raising you. I'm glad you're here."
She leaned in closer, standing on her toes, and kissed me on the top of the head.
"You're doing just as good." She said, kissing the mostly-healed wound on the side of my head.
I could only hope she was right. I wasn't really sure anymore.

Is there still any interest in this story or should I abandon it?

>>26065
No dude this is good stuff.

>>26065
I agree, this is good story my dude

Over the next few months I noticed odd glances from Bree every now and again. She seemed unusually tense at times and slightly more closed off than I was used to. I interpreted this as a teenager thing and gave it little thought, though it concerned me a bit.

Finally, in November, the doctors had determined through several x-rays and physical exams that my casts were ready to come off. I've always been a quick healer, but without all the help and care that Bree had been giving me I'm sure I would have been in casts and on crutches for much longer. Physical therapy started not long afterward, and I also decided to go out and get back to shooting and hunting to store up some nice fresh game for the worse part of winter. I didn't really need to, mind you, but I liked to. It was better to have venison and boar and wild fowl for the occasional meal than always eating store-bought-pumped-full-of-preservatives meat. Especially when I wanted to build up the muscle mass I'd lost over the last few months.

It was on one of these hunting trips that I had stepped in behind Bree to correct her posture with the old .308 she'd grown fond of using. She tensed up in an unusual way and her jaw and neck tensed when I had leaned in by her ear to correct her left arm and give her better stability. She recovered quickly and took everything I had said. By the end of the trip I'd bagged a large deer and she'd bagged a grouse and two sizable rabbits. I had briefly asked her about the tensing on the way back, and she'd simply muttered an apology.

Returning home, we had butchered up the meat and shrink-wrapped it for the deep freeze before she finally spoke while we cleaned our hands off.
"Dad, you know the girls all kind of fancy you right?" She asked.
I nearly choked on the bottle of water I'd started drinking.
"What? They do!" she laughed as I recovered by punching myself in the chest.
"Goodness knows I know Maven does after that incident in September, but the rest? Really?" I responded with incredulity.
"Well, yeah. You know I was looking at some pictures online the other day from that Goth Club you said used to go to. Mary's mum used to go to the same one. I saw you in a bunch of them. You haven't changed much. Claire saw it and was all 'Oh my god who's that guy with the deathhawk? He's hot! Wait isn't that your da'?' And I had to agree. You should get a deathhawk again, especially with those scars on the side of your head now." She said.
"I can't pull that off anymore!" I protested. "It'd look way too unprofessional!" I ran my fingers through my now very scruffy hair. I hadn't had it cut since the accident.
"Naw, bullshit." she said. "I can make it look nice. If you keep it down during work it'll look nice and clean-cut."
I thought for a moment. It would be nice. "Okay." I agreed.
She giggled, ran to grab the electric clippers from her room, and sat me down in a chair in the kitchen.
She had changed into a tight-fitting tanktop and loose slacks, and threw a towel around my shoulders to prevent hair getting everywhere. I heard the buzzing of the electric clippers start up, and she started buzzing off bits of my hair at a time, starting from the back. Coming around to shape the front and trim around the ears, I had a rather unavoidable view of her chest, full, round and youthful breasts standing proudly in front and straining slightly against her tanktop with a bit of jiggle at the top as she moved her arms around. I could smell the pleasant scent of handsoap, and dimly the scent of body sweat and vague scent of her fruit-scented deodorant. I admitted to myself that my daughter was quite attractive herself. If she were a little older...no, not appropriate. But still...
Soon enough I had a nice clean looking mohawk. Bree put a little bit of mousse in her hands and ran her fingers through it, styling it just slightly, leaning off to the left side of my head and holding a hand mirror up to let me see. It did look quite professional and very masculine. It was a good look for me and the small scars on the side of my head lended a rugged and rebellious look that quite suited me. I had grown so used to militaristic hairstyles as a holdover from my time serving that I had forgotten how much I liked the old looks I used to pull off. I was quite happy with this.
"Goddamn," I started, "You were right, a leanbh, it looks great! Don't let me doubt you again!"
She blushed a little and said "Oh, anytime. I've got the hottest dad in the county anyways!" She said with a wink.
After a moment of silence while I rubbed by now shaven head and she quickly swept hair off of the kitchen floor, she did something I didn't expect. Leaning in, Bree planted a soft, but lingering kiss on my cheek, then turned around with a "Love you daddy!" and walked off to her room.

>>26084
Nice.

By late December I had returned to a good regime of exercise, 2 hours a day, 3 times a week. While I had quickly built up my atrophied muscles, the December snow had hit bitter and angry. I felt all my old scars and the new ones stinging in the cold. My bones ached in the mornings.
But the mornings were also where I enjoyed life more than previously. Bree had become quite the good cook over the last several months and her breakfasts were nothing short of gourmet. Today she'd prepared fresh veal hash spiced with rosemary. onion salt, and cayenne pepper, pan fried with shredded potatoes, eggs, and spinach. With a bit of toasted rye bread it was an absolute treat, and would give great fuel for my workout later.
"Incredible!" I said, as I'd finished.
"I'm gettin' good at this." Bree agreed, nodding.
Looking over at the Christmas Tree we'd set up the week previous, I asked her "What would you really love to have for a christmas gift this year?"
She thought for a moment, and blushed a bit, then shook her head and replied simply "A new brain."
I cackled with laughter, poked her in the shoulder and pressed the point "No really, A Leanbh. You've done such a great deal while I've been on the mend I want to do something nice for ya. If you could have whatever you wanted, what would you want?"
Her eyes flicked over nervously, finally settling on staring directly into my own. "I want to go out to a nice meal with you."
"Is that all?" I smiled at her. "We'll see what I can come up with in a few days." I wanted to have a plan in place by Christmas eve.

I made some calls, got in touch with some promoters I knew, and learned that a New Years Eve party open to all ages was planned at a Goth club in Dublin, so I made plans for that, and made a reservation at an upper-end restaurant nearby I thought Bree would like. Christmas came, and Bree loved her gifts...a sewing machine, a new laptop, a bluetooth speaker shaped like a coffin, a couple of new dresses, a new sling for her rifle, and a leather punch set.
"And on top of all that," I'd begun once she'd finished settling down, "Remember that all ages new years celebration I mentioned in Dublin?" She nodded, "We're going. And we're having supper at one of the best restaurants in Ireland on the way."
She leapt up and hugged me tightly "Daddy you're the greatest!"

Is there still any interest in this story? I have a few ideas on where to take it but my big focus over the last little while has been finding stable employment and getting my life together.

Good to see you again. Been waiting months for the next chapter.

>>26347
Yes, I really want to see where this is going.

I apologize that it is taking me so long to get on with this story. I have been dealing with a lot of depression and some personal issues as of late, and been really focused on trying to find work. Work is very hard to find because of some mental and physical health issues that I deal with, and I'm looking at going back to school. I appreciate the patience of those interested in this story. I may also attempt to write something else with a different theme and focus while I work out where I want to take this story.

I second the above

Bumping this back to the front.