#and maybe i'm projecting a little on to nate

[bigassbowlingballhead]

i've been reading this book, meddling kids. and it's basically a scooby doo type story? gang of kids and a dog, solving mysteries. expect the gang reunites 13 years later to revisit a case. things have changed in that time, as they do. one of the original boys died. so when they come back it's the two girls and the one guy.

i don't love how the girl treat the guy. they handle him with kids gloves, don't listen to anything he has to say (when he's RIGHT THE WHOLE TIME) they lock him out of conversation, discredit his ideas. it's frustrating.

[scotchiegirl]

What's in a name:

The team leveraging Hardison's first name to get him to take them seriously.

It started with the Grave Danger Job. With Parker's panicked "I need you. Do you hear me, Alec? I need you!" It isn't something that's conscious or anything, but all of them lean into it occasionally.

"Alec, just drop it," Nate stares at Hardison, watching the young man realize maybe he'd been pushing Nate too hard on a topic that was a sore subject. Alec nods grimly and backs down.

"Hardison, how long have you been up?" Sophie asks gently, watching the genius wipe the grit from his eyes, his latest forging project laid out around him. When he mumbles something about not remembering, needing to finish, Sophie catches his chin in a manicured hand and holds his attention. "Alec, go to bed." He goes.

"Come on, man, get off the screen for a little while, let's go get some sun," Eliot pokes him after a long job on top of a new World of Warcraft update. Hardison can't even remember what he said back, something glib he's sure, but he remembers the hesitation in Eliot's voice. "Alec, please. You're gonna fuck up your eyesight before you're thirty, staring at blue light a foot away from your face. Please?" Hardison goes with him. They go to an outdoor gun range. Hardison rags Eliot about them both not liking guns, but listens as his best friend talks him through focusing on targets of different distances. He'll never have Eliot's skill, but it's a quick way to help his eyesight and he turns out to be half decent with practice.

"Alec, I'm serious!" Parker pleads with him, a picture of some conspiracy theory held up in her hands. "I need to know if this is real or not, please. Because it doesn't seem real and then it does seem real and Eliot won't give me a straight answer and Nate won't give me any answer at all, and I need to know if-" if I'm going crazy, she doesn't say, but he hears it now. He lays a hand over hers and explains that it's not real, explains the joke patiently until she understands and can laugh at it and "yes, and" Eliot when that particular theory comes up again.

"Hey y'all, it's Alec," he says, a gun to his head and a phone in his hand, one chance to get it right, to make them understand that this is serious. He can practically hear them all sitting up in the tones of their voices, in the grimness of the rapid fire questions, and he breathes a sigh of relief. They'll come get him. They know it's serious.

[cryptidghostgirl]

so sorry for this (very) specific request hope it's not ocish

anyways alastor x wife reader who's a virologist / kinda a mad scientist??(girl just wants to start a apocalypse without anyone to bother her)

Like they got married for mutual benefits (whatever benefits he would gain and her having access to money for her wildest dreams) when they were humans (whether he actually loves her or not is up to you lmao)

They both die (I assume that she would die around when he died from her own negligence caused by her 'freedom' to do her work more often without actually worrying about him finding out) and she avoids him like the plague (not that hard to realize this so called radio demon is your 'husband' when you find his secret stash of 'local cuisine' in the fridge)

Then he goes missing and she finally kinda goes out of makeshift hiding, just chilling doing her evil deeds before finding about the Hazbin Hotel from some gossip

Deciding that, while redemption is most likely not gonna happen mostly for the fact she does not care, she joins Charlie's little program. For her own little project (just wants to have a angel test subject, gotta see if they can be a good carrier for her little virus)

The reader doesn't know that Alastor's back (you think she's gonna use vox tech? Or listen to the radio? Girl uses a non vox tech phone and maybe a computer and does her work) so she goes and knocks on the door to the hotel

Thinking that this shit is gonna be easy, after all her husband is gone so she won't be bothered by him. She can focus on her beautiful creations and maybe destory hell and heaven with a apocalypse for some laughs. While also getting access to heaven through Charlie somehow (maybe even Lucifer, girl doesn't know nor care)

Anyways you can just IMAGINE her surprise that right after Charlie greets her (Vaggie ofc suspicious af cause she knows damn well no sinner wants to be redeemed for the most part) then here comes the strawberry pimp coming to say hello

Would he recognize his lovely wife? Maybe

Ofc reader had a plan, and by plan I mean she just says they were married and now acts like their divorced (death do us part and we fuckin dead)

(Just for example, do what you want <3)

Anyways I'm sorry again (can you tell that I've been watching a lot of mlp infection aus :') )

A/N bestie,, i love an overly detailed request. no apologies. i hope i did it justice <3 <3 I have literally been obsessing over the whole 'we're dead. we've been parted.' reader idea. It's so fun. Also I am very sorry it took me so long to get to this. Also, I am not a woman nor am I in STEM (I'm an enby in history) so apologies if science stuff in this is bad. I'm basing the character off of Entrapta (my love) from Nate Stevenson's She-Ra remake.

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Gore. Murder. Bodies. Animal cruelty (not detailed at all just like test subjects and burning ants as a kid). Viruses/plague talk. Just capital d Death all around in this one folks. Suicide and starvation briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,584

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n hadn't been sad when Alastor died. It didn't really even register on her radar that he was gone until the police showed up at her door. Their marriage was more of an agreement than anything else, a division of labor. Y/n was a talented virologist who came from a rather wealthy family. He got access to her money, using it to start his own radio studio, and Y/n? Well Y/n got a clean up crew.

She had always been fascinated by death. It was a morbid curiosity that had followed her since childhood. The typical 'burning ants with a magnifying glass to mass murderer' pipeline only, murder was not exactly her objective. Since learning of the Black Death in school, she had been fascinated by biological warfare and weaponry. The stories of soldiers throwing infected bodies over the walls of city's to break down their defenses? It was magnificent, masterful, absolutely awe inspiring. Living through the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, watching how it tore through her city of New Orleans, only furthered her determination.

As soon as she had had the knowledge base to do so, she began working on bio-weapons on her own. She wanted to create a disease, to devastate the world. She wanted to watch the things around her crumble into ruin and know it was by her hand.

She'd found out about Alastor's hobby by accident. They were friends, of a sort, in that Y/n would show up randomly where ever he was and quiz him about radio waves. He worked at a radio station and she knew that. She had followed him, tracked him down. There was no reasoning behind it save he was the first person she'd really found out about that was involved in the business in New Orleans. She would pick his mind about getting the word out about things, marketing, advertising. She was prepping for the main event, for the day she finally created her magnum opus.

One day, when she had shown up unannounced at his door and broken in when he didn't respond to her knocking, Y/n had discovered him dismembering one of his victims. Alastor had stared at her, wide eyed in shock, fear and adrenaline mixing into an intoxicating combination in his veins. Y/n had just smiled.

She had been wondering about human experimentation for a while now. Animals were easy to cover up, easy to bury in the back yard but people? It had always been too risky, up until now anyways.

So it went like this: Y/n funded Alastor's dreams and he hid the side effects of hers. When he died, Y/n didn't really feel anything too strongly about it at all. Yes, it made life harder in that if she wanted to keep using human guinea pigs she'd have to figure out a way to dispose of them on her own but it also made it easier. Alastor had always been so obsessed with image, dragging her to office parties and forcing her to sit down to meals with him. Now that he was gone, she could work on her projects in peace once again. The body thing was something she would figure out along the way. She was smart and she wasn't going to let something like that stop her, not when she was this close to cracking it.

As it turns out, Alastor had been more of a help than Y/n believed. So used to his nattering and persistence, she had stopped eating. It wasn't long before she joined her husband in death. The papers of course had a field day with it. Heiress and Virologist Y/n L/n Withers Away Due to Heartbreak. Y/n L/n Starved Herself to Death and Joins her Murderer of a Husband. Virologist Commits Suicide After Revelation of Dead Husband's Criminal Deeds.

When Y/n had woken up in Hell, her whole world had been turned upside down. If there was life after death, what was the point of killing everyone on earth? She was back at square one.

Rumors were already buzzing through the streets of Hell about some new overlord, some Radio Demon, who had a strikingly similar MO to her husband. Not wanting any distractions this time around, Y/n secluded herself in the outskirts of the pride ring to reformulate her plans.

For decades she worked, trying to create a poison to wipe out the dual planes of the underworld. Work was easier here. No one questioned why she bought the things she bought, no one got upset when people went missing. Hell, no one even blinked twice if they saw her burying a body. It was a veritable paradise for Y/n.

Eventually, news reached her of the Radio Demon's disappearance. Y/n had never been the biggest fan of technology that wasn't involved in her work. In the world of the living, she had barley read the papers. All the machines in her laboratory were ones she had built herself through trial and error. But still, somehow, the news reached her and she felt elated. The last thing weighing her down, the last road block had officially been lifted.

Within seven years, she had perfected the disease. Having run tests on lower rings of Hell, she prided herself on her ability to make it so infections, so deadly. The survival was on par with that of unvaccinated human's infected by rabies. But her plan wasn't complete, no. Taking out everyone in Hell wasn't good enough, she had to figure out how to get it into Heaven as well.

That was when the perfect opportunity fell in her lap. Y/n nearly cried when she caught sight of the interview through the window of a shop selling Vox branded TVs. Charlie Morningstar, Lucifer's little brat, was creating a hotel for sinners, where they could be rehabilitated and sent to Heaven. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Y/n didn't question it, her own excitement blinding her. She barley even took the time to come up with a plan that consisted of more than get into the hotel and get her hands on an angel. She figured that was something that could be dealt with later on.

After a few days of research and snooping, she finally made her move. Having packed her bags and woven her way through the streets of Pentagram City, she found herself before the brightly lit marquee of the Hazbin Hotel. Placing her bag on the ground beside her, the test tubes and various paraphernalia inside clinked gently against one another. Raising her hand, she knocked on the door.

It was Charlie herself who answered, with wide eyes and an earnest smile. A smaller moth demon beside her crossed her arms, eyeing Y/n with doubt. It barley registered with the excitable demon, she was used to the strange looks. The new form Hell had granted her with when she died was odd, after all. She was still the same height, still held a roughly human shape, but her hair had become its own beast. It moved like secondary limbs, falling nearly to the floor from the pigtails she had tied it up into. It shot up into the air around her in joy at the sight of yet another open door in her path, this one literal rather than figurative.

"Hello!" Charlie exclaimed, "Are you here to check in?"

"Yes, check in." Y/n nodded, using her hair to pick her bag back up.

She took a step forward, trying to enter the hotel, but found her path blocked by the smaller grey demon. Her arms were uncrossed now, one of them pointing a spear right at Y/n's neck. Y/n didn't flinch, she simply looked down at it in curiosity, reaching a finger up to touch the end.

"Ow." she said flatly as the spear's tip pressed into the pad of her finger.

Raising it to her eyes, she rubbed the droplet of blood that had pooled on her pointer finger with her thumb before turning back to the spear.

"Is this..." Y/n leaned forward, grabbing the spear's shaft.

"Hey!" Vaggie yelled threateningly as Y/n crouched down, examining the weapon carefully.

"Oh my stars, this is an angelic blade, isn't it?" she exclaimed, her eyes still fixed on the spear.

"Uh..."

Vaggie was more confused now than anything and she took the slightest step away from the excited demon. Y/n followed her and soon, they were in the entry way to the hotel. Charlie watched the scene play out with mild amusement, finding her girlfriends bewildered state rather charming. She let the door fall shut.

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n asked again, "But how did you get it? Did you make it? What do you do with it? Is it more effective than normal weapons? Why a spear? I-"

"What's this, we have a new guest?" a crackling voice cut Y/n off.

"Uh, yes!" Charlie stepped in, turning to face the newcomer.

Y/n, still preoccupied with the spear, was now engaged in trying to get Vaggie to let her hold it.

"I think..." Charlie doubtfully added, her brow furrowing at the site.

"Well well well, a little devil." Alastor hummed, turning to watch the show as well, "Honestly, reminds me of someone I knew back when I was alive and kicking. Ah well, what's her name?"

"I don't... actually know that yet." Charlie admitted, fiddling with her hands a bit as she spoke, "But she seems really enthusiastic about being here!"

"It seems she more interested in that spear of Vaggie's than the idea of redemption." Alastor noted in response.

"Are either of you going to help me or are you just gonna sit and watch?" Vaggie exclaimed, trying her best to pry the spear out of Y/n's grip.

Alastor sighed and with a twirl of his microphone, a shadow arose, pulling Y/n off Vaggie. There was a split second where the smile on the girl's face fell. It quickly returned as she caught sight of what exactly had interrupted her escapades. Placing her bag on the floor with her hair, she wormed around in the shadow's arms, turning to face it. Tentatively, she poked it.

"Would you stop that?" Alastor asked, his voice thick with irritation.

Y/n poked the shadow again.

"What is this? How are you doing this?"

When no response came from the demon in question, she at last turned to face him.

"Oh."

She stilled in her movements and Alastor allowed the shadow to disappear.

"No reason to be scared." Charlie quickly stepped in, "I know Alastor here has a bit of a... reputation, but he is actually helping us at the hotel. He's really a great once you get to know him."

Alastor's smile widened as he bowed his head slightly in recognition of the praise.

"If you're going to be staying her-"

"You can't seriously be thinking of letting her stay here, Charlie." Vaggie cut in, "She's been here what, five minutes? And all thats come of it is chaos."

"Vaggie, come on, don't be like that." Charlie turned to her girlfriend, "Everyone deserves a second chance, that's the whole reason we built this place."

"But does she even want to be redeemed? I mean, what if she's... I don't know, trying to take us down from the inside out? What if she's a journalist or some shit trying to write us bad reviews?"

"You flatter me." Y/n smiled and Vaggie scoffed.

"See?"

"Isn't that all the more reason to let her in? Vaggie, if she is undercover as a journalist or something, we just have to prove to her how amazing what we're doing here is."

"I don't know... I've never seen her before, what if she's another one Vox sent?"

Y/n shook her head, sticking her tongue out slightly in disgust at this notion and Alastor chuckled. There really was something so familiar about this demon and her antics. Even if she was a tad irritating, it was a comfortable familiarity.

"Then we will figure it out, same way we did with Sir. Pentious. Okay?"

"Fine." Vaggie relented at last with a sigh.

Smiling brightly, Charlie turned back to Y/n.

"So, hi. I'm Charlie, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! What's your name?"

Y/n's eyes flicked back and forth between Alastor and Charlie for a moment before settling on Charlie.

"Y/n L/n."

Alastor let out a little laugh of disbelief, a sound he had meant to keep in. He couldn't help it. Of course this little mess of a demon was his favorite crazy wife. Alastor had looked for Y/n on occasion, always keeping an eye on news involving anything scientific but, he had never found a trace. Not that he'd admit it but, in their time together, he had grown rather fond of the girl. Not love, never love, but a sort of familial feel. Everyone turned to face him.

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Charlie asked, walking over to him and placing a hand on his arm which he quickly brushed off.

"Yeah, do you know her or something?" Vaggie added, "Is she dangerous?"

"No..." he paused, his brow slightly furrowed, "She's my wife."

The room fell silent.

"You... you didn't recognize your own wife?" Vaggie asked in disbeleif.

"Ex-wife." Y/n corrected with a little sigh.

This was all becoming so tedious. She hadn't come here to sit and talk with people. While the spear and the shadow had been fun, they had both run their courses and she just wanted to get to work.

"I..." Alastor turned back to Y/n, "Ex-wife?"

Y/n shrugged.

"So you didn't recognize your wife and you didn't know you were divorced?" Vaggie asked, rubbing her temples, "Jesus fuck, man."

"I..." Alastor cleared his throat, "We were married when we were alive. I didn't even know she was dead yet."

"Yeah." Y/n shrugged, "Turns out all your nattering was what was keeping me alive. I forgot to eat, starved to death."

Alastor's eyes softened slightly for a moment at the notion. She had needed his care so badly that she had died with out it. It felt good, in a strange way. Satisfying. They darkened again as he recalled her earlier statement.

"Ex-wife?" he asked again, taking a step towards Y/n.

She looked up at him, her expression blank.

"Yeah?"

"When did we get a divorce!" Alastor exclaimed once he realized she would say nothing else on the matter without his prompting.

"Oh! We didn't." Y/n nodded, smiling slightly, "Now, can I go to my room?"

"No, Y/n. Why are you calling yourself my ex-wife? We are still married."

Y/n looked around at Charlie and Vaggie, seeing if they were going to back up her claim. Sighing, she turned back to Alastor.

"Do I really have to lay it out for you?" she paused and Alastor just stared at her, eyebrows raised, "Jesus. Uh, Al, we died."

"Yes...?"

"Till death do us part? That was the agreement."

"I... Well..." he was at a complete and total loss for how to respond.

She wasn't wrong, he just didn't like her answer very much.

"So... the agreement is done... yeah?"

"I mean," Alastor shook his head slightly, "I guess?"

"Great! Can someone please show me to my room now."

---

Next Part -> Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

[yesimwriting]

I love ur felix fics sm!! ur one of my fave writers on here<<333 and no I don’t think itd b crazy to write for Nate!! I’d love to see how u would write him!! (Maybe grumpy x sunshine hehe)

hi!! this is such a nice ask :)) i'm so happy you like my felix fics

omg i love ur train of thought for a nate fic!! i've been thinking about that kind of dynamic for them, but in a really niche way

anyways let's have some thoughts on nate jacobs and sunshine/kind of sheltered reader!!

----

thinking about the moment in which you find out nate jacobs is your assigned partner for a project that's worth 35% of your final grade. if this was happening to you a year ago, maybe even two or three months ago, you might have been nervous for an entirely different reason.

but you're not that version of yourself anymore. you go out to parties now; you wear shirts to school that your mom buys for you the same way she used to buy you impulse barbies, with a wink as the cashier scans them, making you promise that you won't show dad what you got at the store; you're friends with maddy and cassie...you're on your way to best friends with maddy and cassie.

so you can't dismiss the gossip and the stares nate gets in the halls as a standard part of high school, not the way you used to. you can't just see him across the hall at his locker and mentally acknowledge that you get why girls talk about him the way they do. you can't just get paired up with him for an extremely long assignment and think oh, at least he's cute.

every story maddy's ever mentioned during sleepovers, everything she's teared up about after one too many drinks hits you at full force when your teacher reads your name and then his off of her list.

would she see this as a betrayal? it's not like you picked him and asking for a new partner is out of the question, a fact your teacher made clear at the beginning of the year. but maddy's loyal...fiercely loyal, and she expects that kind of commitment to be symbiotic.

you don't move, can't move until jules leans towards you, so close her hair spills onto your desk. "no fucking way." she whispers it in a way that'd make you laugh if this was about someone else.

you're silent, eyes finally pulling away from a brightly colored poster explaining the roles of each branch of the US government. you turn your head enough to look at where nate sits, the back of the room with a few other football players.

he's already looking at you. and when nate realizes you're finally staring back, he has the audacity to let the corner of his mouth pull into a smug sort of smile you're sure another version of you would have considered swoon worthy.

you're all instructed to use the last few minutes of class time to talk to your new partners, to make some kind of preliminary plan. nate's standing up and you're still recovering from the whiplash.

helplessly, you look over at jules who's clearly trying to get to the other side of the room before nate can get to you. she mouths a "sorry" that feels genuine, and points at the girl she's supposed to work with in a way that feels like over kill. you roll your eyes, picking up your pen and pressing the pad of thumb against its side to have something to do.

nate's in front of you before you know it. he's so tall it's a little intimidating when he's right there, especially with you still sitting. "you're everywhere now." a reference to the fact that you were both at the same party last weekend. you can still hear maddy's slurred i can't believe he's fucking here, before she dragged you out to the house's patio.

he's probably seen you more places. you're around maddy pretty regularly these days and from what you've heard, you wouldn't put stalking above him. he's probably a stalker in the way guys from the news are stalkers, calm and untouchable until they feel like the girl they're watching is moving on. then they snap and some news anchor reports that there were warning signs for months beforehand.

you're partially aware of your potential exaggerations, but you can't bring yourself to care. you've never really interacted with nate, but you want to hate him as more than the monster you hear about when maddy feels like ranting. you want to viscerally hate him. it's such an instinctual tug that you can't pretend it's all about morality. you're craving innate repulsion the way an elementary school girl wants the other half of a magnetic necklace with the word "best" etched into cheap metal. it's kind of pathetic, but then again...

"not last year, or last semester--"

he's baiting you and you're completely aware and you still can't help yourself. "what? it's illegal to make new friends now?"

your tone surprises you more than the fact that you interrupted him. you've never been overly shy, but you've also never been much of a fighter on your own behalf. maybe this is like the parties and barbie-style-bought-shirts, just another facet of the improved you.

nate seems surprised too, only he wears it like there's something funny about it. "no, you've always been friendly."

he says it like there's a joke in there that'd make the football players a few rows back laugh. it digs at you more than it should. he gets under your skin in a way that bugs. maybe that means genuine hatred is on its way.

you look up at him, eyes as unimpressed as you can manage. "so," the word is definite, intentional. "the project..." you're glad for the excuse to turn your attention back to your notebook, "i don't know if you want to work out a time to--"

"i'm leaving in like five minutes." you're about to point out that class doesn't end for another when he explains, "football game." ugh. another thing you can decide to be annoyed about. your homework schedule is now going to revolve around high school football. "can i get your number?" the idea of existing in nate jacobs's phone feels so wrong you can't immediately reply. he picks up on your hesitation, because he tacks on the one phrase that could get you to do anything, "35% of our grade."

you nod once, expression as blank as you can manage as you write out your phone number on the corner of a page. You tear off the bottom corner and hand it to him. "don't save my number."

it's so rude, your jaw almost drops, "what?"

"you're going to see maddy before the project's over, right?"

the implication immediately makes your stomach knot. you're not--you can't not tell maddy. she won't like it, but she can't hold a random partnering against you. and--and it's worse if you don't tell her, because then it's like you're sneaking around with nate. and it's--it's all for school.

"i'm not going to lie to her for you." it's so ridiculous, you can't even hold eye contact. his silence adds a second loop to the knot in your stomach. "why would i lie?" your own genuineness sickens you, you're backtracking immediately. "and--and it's just a dumb school thing, so she probably won't care that much."

"and you're sure she's going to believe that?"

"yes," the word is firm because it has to be. "because that's what it is."

"she gets paranoid."

no, no--he's doing this to get into your head and cause problems. "if she's paranoid it's because you're crazy."

"fine." he shoves the scrap of paper into his pocket. "save my number, don't save my number. tell maddy, don't tell maddy."

you sigh. "why do you care?" they're broken up...even if maddy takes it the wrong way, the fall out will be a you problem.

"she's going to think i fucked you to hurt her." you hate this--the situation, the conversation, the fact that you can't completely dismiss his train of thought. "who's known maddy longer?"

you're about to try again, to defend your friendship with maddy and call him crazy again when the static of the intercom speakers interrupts you. all football players are being called out of class to leave for an away game. nate gives you one last look before turning towards the door.

when jules slips back into her seat and asks if you're okay with everything, you nod and attempt a joke about catching fuck boy germs, but it doesn't come out the way you want it to. she still laughs, so you do too, but that's not as natural as it should be, either.

----

lmk if you like this concept/want more of it!! i had fun writing this :))

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Something There (Chapter 1)

Ahh I'm excited to start this story! I hope you enjoy!

8.0k words Roy Kent x Reader Warnings: Language, brief references to breasts, enemies-to-lovers totally not taken right out of Pride and Prejudice, mentions of alcohol, me not knowing a thing about the Women's Super League and not letting it ruin my fun, Roy not being super excited about women's sports (but it's only because he's grumpy), Reader has a nickname

Series Masterlist

“What the fuck is a whippet?”

Rebecca stared at Roy as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a dog very similar to a greyhound, but smaller,” she explained simply. “And it’s the official mascot of W.F.C. Richmond.”

Roy, Beard, and Nate sat across from Rebecca, who was flanked by a very excited Keeley. Nate’s expression was wide-eyed and intrigued, while Beard looked pleased and almost proud as he listened to Rebecca’s news. Roy, on the other hand, sat there with his brow furrowed and arms crossed.

Not that the manager’s body and facial language deterred Rebecca; on the contrary, she was far too used to his sulky disposition. However, considering this was a project near and dear to both her and Keeley’s hearts, she had very little patience for his lack of enthusiasm today.

“Where’ll they be playing then?” Roy asked, doing his best to show the support that he knew Rebecca was craving from him. He respected her far too much- both as a boss and a, dare he say, friend- to let her think he didn’t care, not after she and Keeley had done a whole song and dance to present the news to the gaffers: a women’s team. A women’s team for Richmond.

Keeley and Rebecca exchanged looks. Keeley’s expression was one that involved raised eyebrows, as if to say You tell him. Rebecca’s, with her mouth in a straight line, communicated something more along the lines of Shit, do I really have to tell him?

With a deep breath, Rebecca turned back to Roy. “Here, of course,” she answered, her voice steady and nonchalant, seeming to presume her response was obvious to everyone in the room.

Roy furrowed his brow, the corners of his mouth dipping downwards. “But we play here,” he said dumbly. His mind raced. Holy shit, is Rebecca selling us? Is it because we didn’t come in fucking first last year? It was my first fucking season managing, no one could have expected-

“We’ll be sharing the facilities,” Rebecca answered, interrupting the thoughts racing through Roy’s head faster than he used to run on the pitch. Her voice reminded Roy of the voices of Phoebe’s teachers: patient, calm, explanatory. It made Roy feel small.

Coach Beard leaned forward. “I can help Higgins set up a schedule of who gets to use things at certain times, so we don’t have to worry about being on top of each other,” he offered helpfully. Roy knew his assistant coach was trying to distract Rebecca from Roy’s less-than-excited response to this news.

Nate quickly got on board. “Have you hired a manager then?” he asked with a smile.

Rebecca’s shoulders relaxed. At least two of the Richmond coaches were reacting the way she’d hoped. “I have. Another American, actually,” she chuckled, winking at Beard. “Feels like we need at least two of you running around Nelson Road.”

Roy decided to do his best to follow the other men’s examples. “What’s his name? Maybe Beard knows him,” he joked.

“You can read all about her here,” Keeley quipped, handing Roy a folder branded with that familiar red and blue rearranged around an outline of what Roy initially thought was a greyhound. Internally, he quickly corrected himself; it was a whippet. “This is a little report on W.F.C. Richmond just to give you boys some more info,” Keeley continued, passing identical folders to Nate and Beard. “A bit about the manager, her assistant coach, some of the players, things like that. Just so you all don’t look like proper fools in front of her when she pops in tomorrow. Reading it would be a grand idea.” Keeley gave Roy a scolding glare; they both knew that Roy was not one to read reports, even as manager, a fact that drove everyone insane.

With a huff, Roy nodded. “I’ll read it, I’ll read it.”

Everyone knew that was a fucking lie.

~

I looked around my new apartment- flat, Keeley Jones kept calling it in that accent I had to stop myself from grinning at- and smiled. It was definitely bigger than my old place, and I wouldn’t have to share it with any roommates. Sure, it was in a whole new country where I didn’t know anyone, but that was fine. This was fine.

Alright, so I’d sort of miss being on the same continent as my friends and family. But this was such an incredible opportunity that I simply couldn’t pass up. Rebecca Welton was wealthy, and the salary she’d offered me was more akin to what the coaches of men’s teams made back in the U.S., not what we made in the women’s league. The chance to build a program from the ground up was a thrilling challenge I was dying to sink my teeth into. England’s passionate soccer culture- football, I reminded myself- was something I’d found lacking back home, even amongst my own family and friends. And, more than anything else, I jumped at the opportunity to leave and not look back. I was ready for something new, and different, and far away from the places I’d called home for the past few years.

The vibration from my phone tore my attention away from the redecorating I’d spent the afternoon doing, enjoying my last day of normalcy. I grinned when I saw the name on my phone.

“Coach Lucas,” I greeted. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” the familiar voice on the other end answered. “You settled in alright?”

Lucas Austen was the one piece of home I’d brought with me. We’d been pals since my days playing college soccer, when he was our brilliant assistant coach. While he was the first to admit he wasn’t much of an athlete, the man was a great coach, who’d found himself promoted to head coach of our college team a few years ago and even had the men begging him to switch to their side but declined in favor of leading my alma mater to multiple national titles. When Rebecca Welton had asked me about potential coaching staff during one of our million Zoom sessions, Lucas was the first name out of my mouth. She didn’t hesitate to sign him after hearing my gushing reference. And, incredible friend that he was, he didn’t hesitate to say yes.

I could picture his smiling face as I plopped onto the couch. “All good. Yourself?”

“Peachy keen,” he assured me. “Want to do something tonight? Not too tired to go out?”

“Let’s see.” I leaned back and hugged the fluffy pillow I was positive Keeley Jones had selected herself. “Sit inside all night and fret over starting a new job in a new country or go out and actually enjoy that new country? Tough choice.”

His laugh eased some of the anxiety in my chest. “Pick you up at six.” He paused. “Six London time,” he added jokingly.

We hung up, and I gave a little stretch, thinking about how insane we were for doing this- something we’d heard a lot in the last few weeks. If nothing else, Lucas and I were going to have a grand old adventure.

~

Roy sighed and gripped his beer tighter. He’d really let Jamie talk him into going out with him. Even worse, he’d let Jamie talk him into going to a club. Roy hated clubs; but to be fair, Roy hated most things, including Jamie. But the young player had promised his coach they’d have a good time and, more importantly, that there would be alcohol, all paid for by Jamie.

And sometimes, free alcohol was all Roy needed to hear.

So, there he was, leaning against the bar, pretending it was because he looked cool and intimidating and not because his fucking knee was bothering him. Again. He wondered how much longer he’d have to stand here before he could leave without Jamie turning into a whining twat.

“Excuse me.” A woman squeezed by Roy and gave a little wave to get the bartender’s attention. She let out a frustrated little huff when she was ignored. “Dammit.”

Annoyed at how close she was to him, Roy cocked his head. “Oi!” The bartender quickly turned in their direction. “She’d like some fucking service!”

In a flash, the bartender was getting the woman’s order and set to work making it. While she waited, she glanced up at Roy.

“Thanks for that,” she called over the music. “I’ll have to learn how to use my voice like that. Might come in handy at work.” There was a joking lilt to her voice.

If Roy had been paying attention, he would have been caught off guard by her distinct way of speaking, and if he’d been in a good mood he’d have even asked where she was from. Instead, he gave a little grunt and a nod, turning his gaze back to the dance floor, where Jamie had disappeared with some gorgeous girl.

Drink now in hand, the woman nodded to Roy. “Thanks again.”

Roy ignored her as she walked away. He glanced at his watch. 9:30. About his bedtime, and Jamie’s too if the prick knew what was good for him. He was in training, after all.

As if he knew his coach was looking for him, Jamie appeared, adjusting the stupid pink headband he’d worn because it matched his fucking shoelaces.

“Oi, don’t you think the bar can hold itself up, Coach?” Jamie asked good-naturedly, nudging Roy. Roy only grunted in response, so Jamie continued. “Get yourself out there. Dance. Live a little.”

Stuffing his free hand into his pocket, Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, me, dancing. Sounds fucking right,” he huffed. “Just let me sit here and drink my beer, yeah?” He spotted Jamie’s dance partner, who was clearly waiting for the young footballer to return to her. “Go on, poor girl’s waiting.”

A smile crossed Jamie’s face. “Cute, eh?” He nudged Roy again. “Go on, let’s find you someone. What about that girl I saw you talking to right now? She was fit. Ask her to dance.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “No fucking thank you. I don’t need some young thing in a tight outfit trying to grind on me just so she can go tell her friends that she danced with Roy fucking-”

“Who said I wanted to dance with you?”

Unnoticed by Roy, the woman had returned to the bar, her face and voice both sour now.

Jamie put on his best smile, clearly trying to diffuse the thick awkwardness that even he could feel. “Hi there!”

The woman paused, quirking an eyebrow at Jamie. “Hey yourself.” Her eyes flickered to Roy for a moment before returning to Jamie. “Your buddy always this friendly?”

Jamie nodded towards Roy. “He’s just awkward around pretty women,” he tried. “He really does want to dance with you.”

“No, I fucking don’t,” Roy blurted out before thinking, thankful, for once, for the stupidly dark lighting in this club for hiding his slight blush.

The woman’s eyes lingered on Roy’s face for a moment, something turning behind her eyes, before wheeling back to Jamie. “As charming as your friend is, I’ve got someone waiting for me. Maybe teach him some manners, hmm?”

In the back of his head, Roy noted that she was pretty. Really fucking pretty. Her eyes sparkled with a teasing gleam, even with her annoyed tone, and her red lips formed a perfect smirk that a younger Roy would have tried to kiss after buying her a drink.

 But he was too embarrassed and annoyed to think about that right now.

Roy sighed, damning himself for how fucking rude he could be sometimes. “Listen, I just don’t want to fucking dance-”

She shook her head and waved him off. “Hey, it’s not like I was dying to dance with someone trying to dress like Johnny Cash,” she quipped, gesturing towards Roy’s totally black ensemble. “I was just grabbing some water. Not every girl walking around a club is dying for some guy to hit on her.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Even if he’s-” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.” She nodded to Jamie. “Have a good night.” She glanced back at Roy. With a small hum of amusement, she grabbed a water bottle off the bar and was off.

Roy watched as she approached a guy, probably about his own age, and whispered something in his ear as she handed him the water bottle. The guy, his eyes widening for the briefest moment, looked over at Roy and Jamie, then back to the woman. They both broke into fits of laughter as they went off, probably to find somewhere far away from Roy and Jamie. Mostly Roy.

Jamie clapped his hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Looks like she’s got a fella. Tough break, Coach,” he said with a sympathetic click of his tongue.

Roy glared at Jamie. “Fucking asshole,” he mumbled, taking a swig of his beer.

~

“Alright, here we go, it’s just the most important day of your life so far,” I murmured to myself as I stared at my reflection.

Lucas and I were due at Nelson Road, our new home, within the hour. We’d finally meet Rebecca Welton face-to-face after hours of Zoom meetings, get a tour of the ‘Dog Track’, see our new offices that we’d be sharing with the men’s side, and get to meet the men’s team, the Greyhounds.

Considering that this was the first impression I’d make on everyone, I opted to dress up a bit. Some nice black slacks, a dark blouse my mom had bought for me as her own misguided way to wish me luck before playoffs one year, and a pair of heels. As I put on some bright red lipstick and pondered whether I looked badass or clownish, I heard a knock at my door.

Lucas raised an eyebrow at me as soon as I opened the door. “Shit. I should’ve known you’d be dressing up.” He wore a pair of Dickies and a button-down shirt; not sloppy, but definitely a step down from my style choice.

“You’re fine,” I assured him with a huff. “I’m probably overdressed if we’re being honest.” I took off the blazer I’d been debating all morning. “There, a little more casual?”

He shrugged, an amused grin on his face. “I mean, you look great. You’re the head coach, not me, you should look professional on our first day. They’ll all see you in sweatshirts and shorts soon enough.” He gave a small nod. “Nice color by the way.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “It’s not too much?”

“Nah, it’s just enough.” He gave a little nod towards the door. “Shall we?”

Not wanting to deal with walking directions on our first day, we opted to take a car to Nelson Road. The ride was much quicker than I expected, and I felt my stomach knot up as I grabbed my messenger bag while Lucas paid the driver.

I’d seen photos of the stadium, having made countless Google searches as the big move got closer. But now, being there in person, everything suddenly felt so real. This was it; my new home, where I’d get to help make history- hopefully a history we’d all be proud of.

A man in glasses waved to us from the entrance as soon as our car took off. “Good morning!” he called excitedly.

The moment I realized who it was, I couldn’t help but smile. “Leslie Higgins,” I laughed. As we approached, I resisted the urge to hug him. We’d seen Higgins in almost as many meetings as Rebecca Welton, and I loved him. He was kind, silly, and went above and beyond to make sure Lucas and I would be comfortable during the transition we were about to face. I knew already that he’d provide a father’s touch as we settled in.

Lucas high-fived Higgins as we approached. “Leslie, what’s shaking?”

Higgins chuckled as he shook my hand. “We are so excited that you’re here,” he gushed. “Honestly, we’ve been twittering like little birdies all morning. Tweet, tweet!” He nodded towards the entrance. “Let’s head on up to Rebecca’s office first, hmm? She’s so thrilled to finally meet you.”

We made our way inside, with Higgins cheerfully asking us about our flight, our new living arrangements, how we were adjusting to the time change so far. It felt like chatting with an old friend, and I was so engaged that I barely even noticed we’d arrived at Rebecca’s office. The door was wide open, so Higgins gestured for us to go on in.

Dear Lord, she’s freaking tall,I thought to myself as I finally stood in Rebecca Welton’s presence. She was exactly who I’d met on all those Zoom calls: gorgeous, poised, dignified, confident, and, more than anything, warm. Before I could extend my hand to her, she’d already wrapped me in a hug.

“Welcome to Richmond!” she gushed before letting go. She cleared her throat and straightened her skirt, furrowing her brow. “That wasn’t weird, was it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Just a smidge. But it already feels like we’ve known each other forever, so it’s fine.”

It was true. We’d spent so many hours talking on video calls, and on the phone, and even more emailing and eventually texting back and forth, plus I’d done some light online stalking, so that Rebecca felt like a dear friend at this point. Each time we spoke, I felt more and more excited to come to work for her and help her build something special.

“My turn!”

I was smothered by a blonde vision in pink and squeezed like a teddy bear. “Hi, Keeley,” I sputtered out, returning her embrace.

Keeley Jones had been the first person I’d spoken to about any of this. She’d called me, seemingly out of the blue, and gotten straight to the chase, telling me all about how impressed Richmond was with my career as both player and coach and oh would I be interested in leaving the United States, moving to England, and helping build their brand-new women’s team? Her bubbly charisma and enthusiasm had stopped me from laughing into the phone and hanging up, chalking it up to some joke. Instead, I let her reel me in until I was walking into work and handing in my resignation, saying tearful farewells to the incredible athletes I had come to love like sisters, those goodbyes even harder than the ones I said to my family and friends. But the tiny blonde with the fast way of talking had charmed and emboldened me to do this terrifying, thrilling thing.

Lucas quickly shook hands with the two women, escaping the displays of affection that they’d shown me. I glanced at the chairs behind the women, assuming we’d sit and chat for a bit before anything else.

But Rebecca had other ideas.

“Does anyone need a water before heading downstairs?” she offered, gesturing towards her fully stocked bar. “Or tea? I know it’s not your country’s favorite, but…” She trailed off, waiting for an answer.

“I’ll take water,” Lucas said, filling the silence.

“Uh, I’m good,” I murmured, shaking my head. The only thing I could focus on was getting started.

Rebecca quickly handed Lucas a bottle of water and gestured to the door. “This way.”

She led us out of her office and downstairs, excitedly chattering about the men’s team, about the amazing coach who helped build the club into what it had become (a fellow American, she was excited to tell us), how much she adored the current coaching staff, and how she knew they’d be very helpful to Lucas and myself.

“Now, I know it’ll be a bit of a squeeze, having two clubs in the same facilities,” she went on as our little group continued its stroll. “But I know we’ll all just do our best, hmm?”

Lucas spoke up, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Oh yeah. If it’s anything us Americans are known for, it’s sharing and selflessness.”

Everyone gave a light chuckle as we entered the locker room.

Two men stood in the middle of the room, decked out in A.F.C. Richmond gear. Rebecca quickly introduced Lucas and I to them.

“And this is Coach Beard,” she said, pointing to the one wearing a baseball cap. “And Coach Nate Shelley,” she continued, gesturing to the other man. “Coach Beard is from America as well,” she added with a tiny smile.

It took a moment for everyone to shake hands and offer awkward hellos and nice to meet yous.

Rebecca looked around, frowning. “Where’s-”

“Fuck, fuck, sorry, I was-”

A bearded man in dark clothing jogged in, looking absolutely ragged. His gaze darted around the room at everyone as we all stared back. When his eyes landed on me, they widened.

“Oh fuck.”

~

It was her. It was fucking her.

Roy felt like crawling into a hole and dying. He felt like turning around and running out of the room and not stopping until he reached Scotland, or he collapsed, whichever happened first. He felt like his knees were about to give out, and not because he’d just sprinted through the building, which he knew was a stupid idea. More than anything, he felt like a fucking idiot.

Standing in front of him with one eyebrow arched in amusement was the girl he’d talked to at the club. The one he’d been admittedly rude to. She looked so put together in her outfit and heels and red lipstick, while Roy was in his Richmond shirt and slightly sweating from dashing in from the pitch after he’d finally seen Keeley’s text to come to the changing room. He felt like an even bigger arse than he did the night before.

Rebecca cleared her throat, cool look on her face. “And this is our manager for the men’s side, Roy Kent.” She gestured to the woman and man- who Roy now recognized as the one she’d been giggling with at the club- and told Roy their names.

The woman stepped forward with a small smirk on her lips. “Roy Kent. Nice to officially meet you.” She extended her hand towards him.

Furrowing his brow, Roy reached out and shook her hand. “Right. So, you’re the-”

“First-ever manager of W.F.C. Richmond, yes,” she finished for him. She gave his hand a small squeeze before letting go. “I’m glad to report that I survived the pain of being rejected,” she half-whispered.

Rebecca’s eyes darted between the two as the man- Lucas, apparently- held back laughter. “I’m sorry, have you two already met?” Confusion filled Rebecca’s question.

“Hmm?” The new coach turned to Rebecca. “Kind of. We bumped into each other last night while out on the town. I received a very warm welcome.” She raised a mocking eyebrow at Roy before looking back at Rebecca, all friendly smiles. “Should we continue?”

The group- Rebecca, Higgins, Keeley, and the Americans- exited the changing rooms through the offices, with Rebecca explaining how they’d be sharing: the Greyhounds in the larger office, the Whippets in the smaller one, since there were only the two of them. As their voices faded and left the offices, Beard gazed at Roy’s pale face carefully.

“Alright there, Coach?”

Roy grunted. “Was a bit of an ass when we bumped into each other at a club last night,” he admitted. “Didn’t fucking know it was her.”

Beard’s brows furrowed. “So, you didn’t read Keeley’s report.” Not a question; a statement. He gestured for Roy to follow him into their office, now holding three desks, and handed him the W.F.C. Richmond folder Keeley had given them, Nate trailing in after them.

Roy flipped through a couple of pages before finding the manager profile Keeley had probably worked hard on writing. Sure enough, there she was: the woman from the club smiling up at him, her name in big letters at the top of the page. The profile contained information on her college career, her time as a professional player, her success as a manager in the American women’s league, even her Olympic and World Cup appearances. Definitely not just some “young thing” trying to get five minutes of fame by flirting with him. Roy felt like a right prick skimming her remarkable career.

“She’s really impressive,” Nate chirped, as if it needed to be said. “We could probably learn a lot from her, hmm?”

Tossing the folder back on Beard’s desk, Roy gave another grunt, refusing to admit his embarrassment. “We’re fine,” he responded in a short tone. “Let’s get back out there, alright? I left Isaac and Jamie in charge, so they’re probably having a fucking break-dancing contest at this point.”

~

Lucas and I sat at my dining room table eating the dinner he’d brought over. It had been a busy day; touring Nelson Road, meeting the staff, making sure contracts were signed and players were ready to start training at the end of the week. The next day, we’d be going in for a press conference to introduce ourselves to the public. To prepare, I was drinking the largest glass of wine I could pour.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Lucas raised his eyebrows at me.

I put down my glass. “Talk about what?”

Lucas rested his face on his hands, gazing at me like a gossiping teenager. “Roy Kent.”

“What about Roy Kent?” I took another gulp of wine. “It’s not like we’re going to be coaching together. Does it really matter if I like him?”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Lucas hummed, earning a glare from me. “Hey, I’d be pissed too if he was rude to me.” He took a bite. “Can’t believe he didn’t know who you were.”

I shrugged and went back to my food. “Clearly the man didn’t read his report. I mean, he had to get one about us, right? We got one about them.”

I’d spent about half my flight to England reading and rereading the packet Keeley had sent us about A.F.C. Richmond. It was great: a short history of the team, a bit about each member of the coaching staff, brief player profiles. A perfect way to get to know our new neighbors before moving into Nelson Road. Not that I hadn’t done a little research on my own as soon as Rebecca sent me an official offer to lead the Whippets; indeed, I’d done a particularly deep dive into Roy Kent’s Wikipedia page and watched more than a few clips of him on YouTube, fascinated by his career and transition into coaching. Heck, I’d even pondered if maybe we could become friends eventually.

But he’d put a nail in that coffin at the club.

Whatever. Like it even mattered, I told myself. All I had to do was exist in the same space as the man, no more, no less. And I could handle that.

Right?

I’d get to find out the next morning. Again dressed professionally and deciding to continue rocking that red lipstick, I carried a small box of things into Nelson Road. Since the press conference wasn’t until late in the morning, I had decided that I could take advantage of what would probably be my last bit of free time to set up some things in my office, while my assistant coach opted to relax and take his time getting ready.

As I entered the locker room, several players were already in there, in various states of undress. All of them nodded or waved in friendly greetings, having been introduced to Lucas and me yesterday. They had been extraordinarily enthusiastic, especially considering they now had to share their stadium. I waved back, noting the big smile on one Jamie Tartt’s face- the one who’d been with Roy Kent at the club, the dreamy star player I’d read all about. I grinned at the men, relieved that at least they were friendly.

On the other hand, when I entered the coaches’ office, all talking ceased immediately.

From his seat, with his feet atop his desk, Roy Kent glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth in a perfectly straight line beneath his beard. He’d been saying something to the other two but had halted as soon as I entered. I raised my eyebrow at him in response, feeling like those muscles in my face would be getting a good workout in the coming weeks.

“Morning,” I hummed, mostly to Beard and Nate. Nate waved cheerfully while Beard gave a friendly salute. Only Roy continued to ignore me.

Before I could step through into my new office, Nate’s voice called out, “Got your press conference today, right?”

I turned over my shoulder and looked at him, a little surprised by his friendly tone and the genuine interest on his face. “Yeah, not til later this morning though. Figured I’d set up some things in the office, make myself at home.”

Beard leaned back in his seat. “If you need help with anything, just ask. We’ll be in the weight room this morning.”

“Thanks,” I said with a nod. Okay, so not all the Greyhound coaches sucked. That was good to know.

I strolled into my new office, wrinkling my nose when I realized my desk had a direct view of Roy Kent’s desk, where he continued to avoid looking at me. Ignoring my observation, I set down my box and started pulling things out, arranging them the way I’d had them in my old office: soccer ball-shaped pencil holder a friend had bought me back in high school, framed photo of my family, my first ever AYSO trophy.

My heart skipped a beat when I pulled out a frame. It held my prized possession: the Sports Illustrated cover featuring Brandi Chastain, on her knees, black sports bra exposed, celebrating her penalty kick that won the 1999 World Cup, signed by the woman herself. It had hung in my bedroom, my college dorm, and eventually my office. It had served for many years as motivation, as something I aspired to. Now, it was my daily reminder of why I loved coaching- to help others achieve their big dreams.

I looked back in the box. Crap. I’d tossed in a couple nails but had forgotten to grab a hammer.

“Hey, Coach Beard?” Clutching the framed magazine, I poked my head into the Greyhounds’ office. The only one in there was Roy, who was thumbing through a notebook and mumbling to himself.

His eyes flickered up at me. He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement and went back to his notebook.

I sighed, not surprised by his lackluster greeting. “Do you guys have a hammer? I’m trying to put something up.”

Still not even glancing at me, Roy walked around to one of the other desks, yanking open a drawer, and pulling out a hammer, slamming it on top of the desk. “There,” he muttered.

“Thanks.” I stepped over and grabbed the hammer. Deciding to play his game of not looking at each other, I let my eyes flitter over to the wall behind his desk. I choked a little trying to hide my laughter. “What the fuck is that?”

Roy’s eyes followed mine to the… anatomical drawing behind his desk, a black strip of tape over it. “My niece drew it,” he answered matter-of-factly. “She’s eight.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Your eight-year-old niece drew the best tits I’ve ever seen in my life?”

A snort flew out of Roy’s nose, the friendliest noise I’d heard from him. “And just how many tits have you seen?”

Unable to help myself, I smirked. “I was a professional soccer player,” I reminded him. “I’ve been in plenty of locker rooms with other women.”

“Is that why you’re hanging that thing in your office?” He gestured to the magazine in my hands.

I raised an eyebrow at him and scoffed. “That’s Brandi Chastain,” I answered plainly. “She’s an Olympic gold medalist.”

“Right.” His steely gaze finally met mine, sending a jolt to my system that I did my best to ignore. “American, I assume?”

“Obviously,” I answered, feeling that defensiveness I had as a kid, arguing against the boys on the playground about whether I could play sports with them at recess. “Only the best women’s soccer team in the world.”

He snorted again. “Can’t be that great if you can’t call it the right fucking name.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure if my tone was friendly or defensive. “Oh, I’m sorry, where’s your Olympic gold medal? Because mine’s in my living room, but I could bring it in if you’d ever like to see one in person.”

Something in his face changed, effectively ending the almost-nice interaction we were having. “Leave the hammer when you’re done,” he mumbled, turning and trudging out of the room, not looking me in the eye.

“Alrighty then,” I mumbled to myself, twirling the hammer in my hand. With a shrug, I turned back to my office, wondering if Roy Kent was capable of having a civil conversation.

~

Roy lumbered into the weight room, where Beard and Nate were supervising various workouts. His body felt heavy, and his chest felt tight. The Dog Track suddenly felt too crowded, too filled with her and her ego. That was it: her cockiness. Roy found it off-putting. That’s what had him feeling so twisted. The feeling in his stomach had absolutely nothing to do with that red lipstick she wore or the fact that she smelled far better than any other coach he’d ever met. Like fucking vanilla.

Both coaches nodded to Roy as he approached.

He grunted in place of a greeting. “Sorry, someone needed a fucking hammer. And then couldn’t shut up about her fucking Olympic gold medal.” Roy ignored the fact that, if he had one, he’d never stop talking about it. Hell, he still managed to bring up his time playing for England in casual conversation whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Beard continued to observe the workouts, only half interested in Roy’s complaining. “What’d she need a hammer for?”

“To put up some poster or some shit.” He folded his arms, scowling. “Didn’t know we were allowed to nail things into the fucking walls. Thought we were supposed to use that putty shit. Not leave holes in the walls.”

Now he had Beard’s attention. “Roy, you’ve punched holes into the walls.” To punctuate his point, Beard nodded towards the patch of recently fixed wall that still needed to be painted over.

Trying to keep things light, Nate piped up. “What was the poster?”

Fucking really? “Dunno,” Roy grumbled. “Some lady footballer.”

Beard raised an eyebrow. “Mia Hamm? Megan Rapinoe?”

“Fuck if I know,” Roy muttered, secretly racking his brain for the name she’d mentioned. “Didn’t really care enough to fucking listen.”

Pulling his cap over his eyes, despite being inside, Beard let out a little hum. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Oi! Turn up the volume, bruv!” Isaac called from his treadmill. “Wanna hear this.”

The guys paused their workouts to turn their gazes to the television, where the W.F.C. Richmond press conference played on the screen.

Roy narrowed his eyes as he observed the way she was dressed, in her blazer and red lipstick. She looked professional. More professional than he ever looked at press conferences. He found himself wondering if that’s how she dressed for matches, and whether that meant he should dress better on the pitch too. And fuck, she looked confident in front of all those cameras. He had yet to figure out how to look that comfortable.

A reporter’s voice filled the room. “You just made a big move, leaving the NWSL to come start a brand-new team. Why’d you do it?”

She looked thoughtful. Almost pretty with the way her eyes lit up before she spoke. “Well, let’s be really honest. The United States has the greatest women’s soccer team in the world-” The reporters hollered playfully at her. “Hey, sorry, it’s true!” She chuckled. “So, we’ve got the best team in the world, World Cup and Olympic champions how many times over, incredible athletes. But no one cares. Over here, though, soccer is a freaking religion. It’s everything. I’m excited to be in a place where people love the sport as much as the players on the field do. Who love it as much as I do.”

There was a murmuring of approval among the guys in the weight room.

Except for one person. Roy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Fucking soccer,” he muttered. “It’s football, fucking Yank.” He glanced at Beard, who shot him pointed look, reminding Roy of his own nationality. “Sorry,” he mumbled, properly shamed.

“What do you think you’ll bring to the new club? Why are you worth importing from the States?”

Roy snorted. Great, an opportunity for her to brag about herself.

Sure enough, a cocky expression crossed her face. “Is it cheeky or just plain arrogant if I say my gold medal and World Cup title?” There was good-natured tittering both from the journalists on television and among the Richmond players in the weight room. “No, actually I think in this case my coaching record really speaks for itself more than my time playing. I’ve been fortunate to lead my team back home to some great successes, and I’m looking forward to doing the same with Richmond.” She looked reflective for a moment. “And I’m young. I started as one of the youngest coaches in the U.S., in both men and women’s soccer. So, I can only keep growing as a coach. I’m only going to get better, get smarter. And this guy here?” She gestured to Lucas, who sat beside her, pride shining in his eyes as he watched her. “Incredible coach. Coach Lucas Austen has been the best kept secret in college soccer for years. I’ve played for this man myself, so I speak from experience when I say he’ll bring out the best in each and every player, as well as everyone lucky enough to watch his magic, most especially myself.”

Nate gave out a low whistle. “She’s fabulous to listen to. So at ease.”

Not willing to acknowledge Nate’s praise, Roy turned to Beard. “Are she and he… are they…?” He nodded towards the television, where the two Americans exchanged smiles as Lucas now sang the young manager’s praises, telling some charming story from his time coaching her.

Beard scoffed. “I doubt it, she’s not exactly his type.”

It took Roy a moment. “Oh. And is he… her type?” Roy couldn’t figure out why he was asking. He didn’t really care. Right?

“She’s dated men, if that’s what you’re asking,” Beard said, looking at Roy with skepticism. “There are straight and bisexual women in sports, you know.”

“I know.” Roy hated the way Beard was looking at him.

But apparently, Beard wasn’t done educating Roy. “And men and women can be just friends. Look at Ted and Rebecca. You and Keeley. Leo and Kate.”

“Leonardo DiCaprio is absolutely in love with Kate Winslet,” Colin shouted across the room, where he was leaning against a wall with Sam, eyes still glued to the television.

Roy scowled. “Back to your fucking workouts before I have Will shove all your boots up your arses!”

Poor Will, who happened to be strolling by the open door on his way to the boot room, picked up his pace, unsure if he preferred doing as Roy demanded or telling the manager “No”. Both sounded horrifying.

With the workouts resumed, Roy turned back to the screen, scowl deepening when his eyes lingered a moment too long on her smiling red lips.

“Are you bringing that nickname of yours over to this side of the pond?”

Her smile widened. “Only to make your jobs easier. ‘Coach Bucky gets lucky’ is a great headline.” She winked, a sight that caused Roy’s breath to stop for a moment. “Although I’d hate to think what else you all could find to rhyme with Buck.”

“What kind of fucking nickname is that?” Roy mumbled to himself, eyebrows furrowed.

As if reading Roy Kent’s mind, a reporter called out, “Where’d the name come from anyway?”

Wistfulness crossed her face as she paused for a moment. “My grandfather,” she answered quietly. She spoke slowly, hesitating for the first time. “When I started playing, he kept calling me ‘Plucky Bucky’, because of my positive attitude. Said he liked the way I never gave up when things got hard.” She let out a soft breath. “Silly. But my teammates and coaches picked up on it so….” She shrugged. “Coach Buck remains. It’s a nice reminder of the man who made me fall in love with the sport.”

Something tugged in Roy’s stomach at the word “grandfather”. Maybe it wasn’t such a stupid nickname after all.

“I think we’ve got time for one more question.” Keeley’s bright voice brought Roy’s attention back to the television.

A reporter piped up. “What’s your goal this year? Brand new team, are you just looking to get comfortable, get your bearings?”

The manager grinned, that cocky look in her eye again. “We’re not here for comfortable. We’re here for greatness.” She cleared her throat, smirking at Lucas before facing the cameras again. “We’re looking to be the first Richmond team to win the whole damn thing.”

~

Keeley, Lucas, and I exchanged high-fives as we walked out of the press room. Doing press conferences wasn’t unusual to me at all, but doing one in a new country was a bit overwhelming. But Keeley had prepared me well, and the journalists weren’t as intimidating as I’d expected. Of course, we’d see how they were once the season was underway and the Whippets were actually playing.

“You were great, babes!” Keeley assured me as we made our way to the coaching offices. “Seriously, if you do that in every press conference, you’ll make my job so easy.” She attempted an American accent as she continued, “We’re not here for comfortable, we’re here for greatness.” She shook her head. “Perfect soundbite!”

Lucas nodded. “Especially that part about being the first Richmond team to win the whole thing? Excellent. Not sure if the guys’ll like it, but I loved it.”

I cleared my throat as we passed the weight room. “We’ll see,” was all I could manage. I hadn’t thought of whether those words would offend the men’s side.

“Oi! Coach!” Jamie Tartt poked his head out of the weight room. “Great job in your press conference!”

“Thanks,” I replied, unable to stop myself from returning his bright smile, which assured me that I’d at least avoided insulting him. “Glad you guys caught some of it.”

Another man joined him, his hair tied in a bun at the base of his neck. Dani, if I remembered correctly. “May we call you Coach Buck too?” His eyes shone with excitement.

His boyish earnestness made me laugh. “Um, yeah, if you guys want to.”

“Sick!” Jamie interjected, sticking his tongue out. “Roy never lets us give him nicknames. Although I like to call him-”

“Oi!” I ignored the way Roy Kent’s gruff voice made my heart skip a beat. “What the fuck are you two doing?” He marched over, his scowl only growing when he saw me. He turned to his players. “Is our fucking training interrupting you two ogling over the shiny new toy?”

My own brow furrowed as I stepped closer to him, our quickly reddening faces inches away from each other. “Shiny new toy?” I sputtered, feeling his breath against my face and not caring that he could feel mine or if he could hear my heart slamming against my chest. “Wait a fucking-”

“Stop distracting my players,” he continued, his eyes dark. At this proximity, I could see the laugh lines on his face, evidence that he actually knew how to smile. “Worry about your own fucking team.”

Before I could say another word, Keeley hooked her arm through mine and gave a tug. “Alright, coaches, lovely chat but we should get going,” she hummed, clearly trying to diffuse whatever the fuck was happening between me and Roy Kent. “Greyhounds, we will see you later, yeah?”

With a deep grunt, Roy turned back to the weight room. “Whistle!” he bellowed. “Everyone on the pitch! Jamie’s leading you in fucking burpees!”

The sound of groaning filled the halls as Keeley yanked me away, Lucas on my heels looking amused. Keeley didn’t stop pulling until we were back in my office; the walk had done nothing to calm me down as Keeley leaned against my desk. Lucas sat in his chair, watching me with raised eyebrows. My pounding heart felt as if I’d just sprinted from one goal to another.

“Well, that was fun,” Lucas finally said in a light tone after watching me pace silently back and forth for a minute.

“Yeah, what was that?” Keeley squeaked. “I know Roy can be a bit rough. But that was…. interesting.”

Lucas smirked now. “I think someone’s still mad Roy Kent didn’t recognize her at the club. And didn’t want to dance with her.”

That broke my silence. “As if,” I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest indignantly. “I wouldn’t dance with Roy Kent if he was the last man on earth, with his fucking black clothes and fucking growling and-”

“Wait, wait, what’s this about a club?” Curiosity covered Keeley’s face.

Before I could answer, Lucas spoke up. “Alright, so we went out the night before we started here, just to relax a bit. And this one went to grab a drink and ran into none other than Roy Kent himself.” He chuckled. “And Kent had no idea who she was, he thought she was just some girl who wanted to dance.”

I cleared my throat. “To be fair, it took me a moment to realize who he was too. Stupid dark lighting and all.”

Lucas continued. “Then she overheard him tell Jamie Tartt, that, oh what was it?” He looked at me expectantly.

He’d finally gotten me to crack a smile. “I don’t need some young thing in a tight outfit trying to grind on me just so she can go tell her friends,” I growled, doing my best impression of the man I now officially couldn’t stand.

Even Keeley snickered. “Shit, that’s pretty good!”

“And he just kept digging himself into this hole,” Lucas went on. “Until finally, she compares him to Johnny Cash, says she’s not interested, almost tells him she knows who he is but decides not to give him the satisfaction, and struts off.” He wrapped an arm around me. “Then of course she surprises the hell out of him the next morning. Leaves him with his jaw on the floor while she’s cool and collected. It was stunning, truly.” He gave me a squeeze. “Plucky Bucky indeed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, fun story, but no, I’m not bitter about not being recognized. I didn’t even get recognized back home when I was on a World Cup winning team, it’s hard to expect people here to give a shit who I am.”

“They will,” Keeley piped up. “You start winning, they’ll care. You’re gorgeous and charming and a world champion. And an American to boot, that’s always amusing. All you need now is a winning record on this side of the pond. Rebecca and I think you’re going to put W.F.C. Richmond on the map, and hopefully raise interest in women’s soccer in general while you’re at it.”

“No pressure,” Lucas added with a chuckle.

I sighed. This move was hard enough; leaving behind my home, my country, my family, my team. Leaving behind things I’d spent years building. And now, I was in a brand-new country, building something from scratch with wonderful strangers and the one person who knew me better than anyone else. Add to all of it the burden of being a woman in sports and the desire to have people take it seriously, and I was already feeling the pressure.

And Roy fucking Kent wasn’t helping with any of it.

[writingwithciara]

Warning Labels ~Nate Macauley~

summary: getting all types of warnings from her friends about nate macauley, y/n knows she shouldn't be falling for him. but she does anyway, knowing it will most likely end badly.

word count: 2.5k

pairings: nate macauley x reader

warnings: swearing, mention of drugs

a/n: just recently watched One Of Us Is Lying & immediately fell in love with nate. not sure why but i'm glad it happened. this takes place in a world where bronwyn doesn't exist (although i love her)

masterlist

"Who'd you get as your science partner?" Addy set her lunch tray down and looked at her friend.

"I got Nate." y/n sighed. "Has he ever handed in a project in his life?"

"Not since the 7th grade." Jake shook his head and laughed. "You're pretty much screwed if you want a good grade. He hardly comes to school, but when he does, he's usually only here to sell drugs."

"I'll just do the project myself and put his name on it."

"That's not fair. He shouldn't get credit for not doing anything."

"Jake, I've been doing the same thing for you for the last 5 years. Don't tell me it isn't right."

"Okay, fine. Let him believe that he can slack off all the time and still manage to get decent grades while not deserving them." Jake picked up his lunch tray and Addy followed. Cooper looked at y/n and shrugged before following the others out of the cafeteria.

During her free period, y/n decided to go find Nate. Luckily he was in the very first place she looked.

"Nate, we need to talk."

"If this is about our science project, you don't have to worry. Let's come up with a topic and I'll do my fair share of the work."

"Are you serious? You haven't done work on a project since the 7th grade."

"Okay, that's not true. In 7th grade, Jake & I were partners on a project & I actually did a lot of the work but he turned it in on the day I was really sick, so he got all the credit. Ever since then, teachers will put me with the rich kids who usually don't do their own work & they just expect that I won't do any of the work. And then the same situation repeats itself over and over."

"That's not right. You should tell somebody."

"Who is the administration going to believe, huh? The rich kid obviously. To them, I'm nothing but a drug dealer."

"Maybe we can change that. I'm not a rich kid & I won't take credit for any work you do, as long as you actually do something on the project."

"Okay. Meet me at the library in town after school. I have a few topics that I want to discuss." Nate climbed on his bike and took off before y/n could respond. She shook her head and headed back inside for her last class of the day.

After school was over, y/n walked towards the library. She was expecting to be waiting for Nate for a few hours but when the library came into view, she saw Nate sitting on the front steps. When he saw her, he jumped up excitedly.

"I really wasn't expecting you to show up on time."

"Well, I got here a little earlier than planned. I know, it's shocking."

"Very, given your reputation to not show up to things."

"I'm a senior in high school. I think my reputation needs a change." Nate chuckled and looked at y/n. "Let's get started."

Nate & y/n spent 3 hours trying to come up with a good science project that wouldn't take too long but would produce some impressive results. They narrowed their list down to a few and decided that they'd pick one and start it tomorrow.

After the library, Nate gave y/n a ride home on his bike.

"Thanks for the ride." she smiled and climbed off, handing the helmet back to him.

"It was no problem. It's on my way home anyway." Nate put the helmet on the back of his bike and looked back at her. "Thanks for not giving up on working with me for this project."

"We gotta change your reputation, right?" she offered him another smile and turned around. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Same time, same place?"

"If you're referring to school, then yes. But if you're talking about the library, I'll probably be a little late. Got practice for an hour."

"Oh, right. Forgot you were a cheerleader." he chuckled and started his bike. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." Nate was gone before y/n could respond.

"See you tomorrow, Nate Macauley."

The next day at school, Nate showed up to all of his classes and only sold kids drugs during breaks and lunch. When the day was over, y/n went to the gym for practice. Addy looked up from doing her stretches.

"Hey, y/n. Over here."

Y/n approached her friend and started her stretches. "Hey, where is everybody else? There's only 5 girls here."

"I'm not sure. There was only 2 when I got here." Addy grabbed onto her foot and leaned over. "So, I noticed Nate showed up at school today and actually attended classes."

"Yeah. Science class was interesting. I mean, watching the teacher yell at him for missing so many assignments was hilarious. It was even better when he was handed all the workbooks and papers."

"I'm sure he wasn't pleased with it."

"It was funny, but I do kind of feel bad for him." y/n stretched her arms out.

"Oh well. Serves him right for missing so much school." Addy checked over her shoulder when the door slammed open. A few more cheerleaders walked in and took their usual spots. "Where's the coach and all the other girls?"

"Haven't heard from coach all day. Have you even seen her?"

"No, we haven't. Maybe she's not coming." y/n looked around. "Should we just leave?"

"I'm definitely leaving." Addy stood up and stretched one more time. "You wanna go see a movie, y/n?"

"I would love to but I gotta meet Nate at the library to work on our science project." y/n stood up and went to the locker room. Addy followed and opened her locker.

"You're not gonna start ditching us for Nate, are you? Because that's just not right."

"I'm only going to be spending time with him until our project is finished. That's it."

"Good, because we can't have you falling in love with him. It would not be good for you or your reputation."

"I appreciate you looking out for me, Addy, but I don't think you guys are ever going to have to worry about me falling in love with him. It's just never going to happen." y/n gave her friend a small wave and headed off to the library. When she walked in, Nate smiled at her.

"Hey. I wasn't expecting you for another 40 minutes."

"Coach didn't show up so we all decided to leave."

Nate chuckled. "One afternoon with me and you're already ditching? I wish I could say I'm shocked but I'm really just proud of that."

"Relax, Macauley. It wasn't a class. It was just practice. I don't get graded for it."

"I know. But you still ditched. I like that." Nate smirked. "Have you given any thought to the project I suggested?"

"Yeah. I think it can definitely be done if we work nonstop on it. I'm sure it'll be impressive too, given your skills."

"My skills?"

"Yeah. I've seen you fixing cars and bikes and other stuff."

"You've been watching me?" he raised an eyebrow at his partner.

"No. Of course not. Your place is on my way home and sometimes I can see you outside working on some kind of vehicle. Plus, you fixed up my brother's car last year. It was great."

"Oh. Well, thanks. I work hard when it comes to something I love." he looked at the textbook in front of him. "Shall we get started?"

"In a minute. I actually have something for you." y/n reached into her bag and pulled out a tupperware container. "Yesterday, you said the brownies I had were delicious, so I made some more for you last night."

"Seriously? That's so kind of you." Nate took a brownie from the container and took a bite. "Wow. What do you put in these?"

"Like I'd ever reveal my secret ingredient." y/n smirked and pulled out her notebook. "Okay. What materials are we going to need?"

For the next 2 weeks, y/n and Nate spent 3 hours together every day after school working on their project. As Nate put the final touches on it, y/n took a moment to watch his muscles contract against his shirt. The voices of her friends floated around in her head as she watched,

"You can't fall in love with him."

"It's not good for your reputation."

"He's already corrupting you."

"He's not good enough for you."

"All he does is skip school and sell drugs."

"He's a bad influence on you."

Nate finished his work and stood back to admire it. "What do you think?"

"Huh?"

"I asked what you thought of the project."

"Oh. It looks amazing, Nate. You did good."

"You mean we did good." he looked at y/n and smiled. Like her, he had voices bouncing around in his head. Most of them were of his dad and a few were his friends, but they were all telling him that he shouldn't get too close to y/n. She was only going to turn her back on him as soon as they handed in their project, so he needed to distance himself from her. "Hey, I gotta go. But I'll see you at school on Monday."

Before y/n could turn around and say goodbye, Nate was gone. When y/n got home, she called Cooper, knowing he wouldn't judge her for how she was feeling.

"Coop, I don't know what I'm going to do. All of our friends are going to hate me for how I'm starting to feel."

"Y/n, it's going to be okay. Nobody can help who they fall in love with." he took a second before continuing. "Besides, who are they to judge, really? Addy cheated on Jake with TJ and is only hurting herself by not telling him. You're just catching feelings for an actually decent guy. That's way better than what they're going through."

"Thanks, Cooper. You really know how to make me feel better."

"It's what I'm best at." Cooper chuckled on the other end of the line. "I gotta go but feel free to call me if Addy & Jake give you shit for hanging out with Nate."

"Alright. Bye, Coop." y/n hung up and looked at her ceiling. She started remembering how close everyone was back in elementary school, even Nate and Jake. The memories were mostly happy, aside from the few that were too heartbreaking to remember. Y/n wanted nothing more than the good moments back. She wanted to be able to tell her friends how she was feeling, without receiving judgement from them.

Maybe in another world.

When Monday morning came around, y/n looked for Nate but couldn't find him. Assuming that he just slept in, she headed to Science class and handed in their project. Luckily their teacher was going to let them present it in class tomorrow instead of today.

At lunch, Nate was still a no-show & it was beginning to worry y/n. Cooper noticed her discomfort and pulled her aside.

"You alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your mind has been preoccupied since I saw you this morning & you've been looking around the cafeteria like a crazy lady. Luckily nobody else noticed." he touched her shoulder. "Is this about Nate?"

"God, I hate that you can read me so well." y/n slumped her shoulders. "I really thought he was changing, you know? I thought he'd be here to present our science project with me, but I haven't seen him all day. Do you think he took some drugs?"

"Why would that thought even cross your mind? You know better than anyone that he's been trying to stay sober. If you're so worried about him, why don't you go see him? I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for his absence on such an important day."

"I can't just ditch school. That's not like me at all."

"You care about him, right?"

"Well, yeah but-"

"Then go to him. I can cover for you here."

"Thanks, Coop." she kissed his cheek and ran out of the school. Luckily Nate's house was not far so she didn't have to rush. When she got to his house, Nate was in the garage. "Nate, we need to talk."

"What do you want, y/n?"

"I want to know why you haven't returned my calls or texts all weekend and why you didn't show up at school today."

"The project is over so I figured that you should go back to hanging out with your friends and I'll go back to being alone all the time. It's no big deal for me."

"It is a big deal. It's a huge deal. I know you, Nate. And I know that you enjoyed these last 2 weeks because it gave you someone other than your buyers to talk to. You don't like being alone, just admit it."

"Why can't you let it go? I don't want to hang out with anyone. That's why I do what I do."

"What is your problem? You were fine on Friday...and we used to be friends. What gives?"

"You really want to know why we aren't friends?"

"Yes, I really do. So why don't you tell me?"

"When we got to high school, you got hot & that's just not fair!" he approached y/n with a finger pointed at her face.

"How is that not fair? You got hot too!" y/n looked at him. "But you don't see me pulling away from this friendship, do you? What's not fair is that you're pushing people who care about you away when you know that it's only going to hurt you in the end."

"You think I'm hot?" Nate's scowl suddenly turned into a smirk.

"No. I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did." his smirk kept growing. "You just said it like 10 seconds ago."

"That's not the reason I came over here." y/n looked behind him. "Why don't you want to be friends with me?"

"Because you're hot and popular. You've got a good reputation and being friends with me will only bring you down. I care about you enough to not let that happen."

"I don't give a damn about my reputation anymore, if you can't already tell by me being here in the middle of a school day." y/n took a step closer. "And if you really cared about me, you wouldn't let reputations get in the way of that."

"Look, what if we become friends again and end up falling in love or something? That could ruin the very fragile relationship we barely have. I don't want that."

"I'm willing to risk it, Nate." y/n looked up at him. "Please tell me that you're willing to do the same."

"Fine. For you, and only for you, I'm willing to risk our friendship for love."

"Love, huh? Do you really feel it?"

"Yeah, I really do. How about you?"

"Despite all the warnings from my friends, I absolutely feel it too."

"Good because," he pulled her close and looked into her eyes. "I really want to kiss you."

"How about we start with a date first, huh?"

"Okay. Deal!"

taglist: @worldlxvlys

[deva-arts]

Would your OCs find horror movies scary?

Depends.

Sera would find them a bit stressful to watch, so she'd be more tense than afraid. Maybe also frustrated at the incompetent protagonists under times of stress. She nearly shot the projector when a particularly effective jumpscare came up. Fuck this movie I'm going to do something better with my time

Nate would be the "I know it's a movie and these are actors, so this isn't scary by default" guy, so he'll maybe enjoy a casual watch. It's funnier to see how everyone reacts to these kinds of films. Stopping his wife from shooting supercharged plasma at their equipment was not what he expected from tonight.

Sonia? She finds all of that scary. Why would anyone want to watch this? Gross zombies, demons eating people? scary faces??? Ugh! Why couldn't we just watch one of my movies instead? hug me Vincent this is terrifying I'm so afraid don't let go ooh is that your bicep oooooh

Vincent doesn't find it scary. To see that people also react negatively under duress... It's interesting, watching how other people deal. He can see the worst things happen to strangers and witness visceral emotion without living it. They're oddly comforting. Why is Sonia grabbing him

Amon doesn't like scary movies. They're scary. Why would you want to watch any of this? He likes action! thrillers! Comedy!!! There's a billion things to watch but you want to see some ghost possessing a little girl in a haunted mansion killing people? Holy hell. He'll maybe settle for a classic slasher, nothing more. Get a room, Sonia.

Eric is okay with scary stuff. It doesn't matter how bad it gets, he can find a way to joke around about it until the horror factor is gone from the equation. He also likes stretching his face to mimic the faces he sees. "Hey look Sonia look at me look see BWAAAAH" *SHRIIIIEEEK*

Strohl doesn't like horror- he finds it to be a pointless genre that doesn't leave you with anything of substance after. He prefers any other genre to this, really... Katya clinging to him to avoid the 2D projection of a man in a silly clown mask does somewhat amend things, however.

[izzyspussy]

"Hey, Coach Shelley!" Nate pauses in the hallway automatically. He still craves for that title to fit him, but he pushes the feeling down. It's too late not to answer to it now, though.

"Uh, you know- You know I'm not a coach anymore, Jamie," he says when Jamie catches up to him and jogs around the hamper full of today's dirty uniforms. Jamie leans his elbows on the rim, both hands dangling over into the sweaty grass-stained recesses as one drops a bundled up pair of socks into it. Ah, Nate thinks. That must be it then.

But Jamie shrugs with awkwardness that is absolutely surreal to see on him and says, "Ah, I figure I owe you a little extra respect." Nate doesn't know how to respond, unsure if the tight feeling in his chest is because he's touched or if it's just more guilt, or perhaps a bundle of unwarranted pride and power hunger. Maybe it's all three. Whatever it is, he chokes it down. But it takes any possibility of words down with it. Jamie clears his throat and stands up straight.

"Uh, Coach," he says again, and Nate flinches. "Can I talk to you about something? In the boot room?" He actually waits for an answer, which Nate silently scolds himself for being surprised at. Jamie is a good man, now. A team player. And all that. He nods, and Jamie grins at him before spinning around to lead the way, keeping one hand on the rim of the hamper as if he thinks Nate will abandon him (again) if he lets go.

The boot room stinks, like feet and sweat and mud and smoke, as always. It's stuffy with the stench, just a little bit too warm and slightly humid from how close it is to the washers. Nate has always kind of hated it in here, except right when he'd finished everything and it was clean and neat and perfect enough the smell momentarily became an endearing quirk. Jamie doesn't turn on the lights.

"Listen, um..." Jamie has his head tipped gently down so he can peer at Nate in a facsimile of 'up'. But then he nods to himself and straightens to his full broad-shouldered height. He doesn't seem resolute. Just confident. Comfortable.

"You remember the team dint want me back, yeah? 'Cause I hurt 'em. And, uh, apologizin' dint really matter, and they took a little revenge, yeah, but not much- I think they deserved more, but Dr. Sharon says that's a me problem-" He seems to realize he's getting off track, whatever his track is, and cuts himself off with a wry smile.

"Anyway, the point is," he holds Nate's gaze in a way that would be intense, maybe even intimidating, if he wasn't still smiling, if his eyebrows weren't set so softly, "I dint need to be punished, yeah? Or be someone else or nothing like that. I just needed to do better. You get me?"

Jamie pauses there, still staring into Nate's eyes like he can look his point right into Nate's brain. But Nate still doesn't know what to say. His tummy squirms and his heart races and he feels a little bit hollow, maybe in a good way, like his head could float right off. But he needs to stay down to earth. He needs to be satisfied with what he's got. So he doesn't say anything.

"Okay," Jamie says, and if he sounds sad surely Nate must be imagining that. Projecting, or whatever. "I mean, obviously I don't know you that well, so maybe that's not... But think about it, yeah?" He nods again, claps Nate casually on the shoulder, and leaves the boot room without a glance back.

Nate stares into the middle distance in the floor just beyond the rim of the hamper, shell shocked. Slowly he manages to blink back into the confined reality of the smelly boot room. He looks up across the way to see Will sitting on top of one of the washers, kicking his feet in the open porthole door. He gives Nate a very serious, unnervingly Beard-like nod.

Nate goes through the motions, muscle memory, washing and folding and polishing. It all goes much faster with both him and Will doing it, and they're finished with everything before dark.

Nate walks home. He hasn't let himself drive the car Mannion bought him since he quit at West Ham, but he hasn't been able to bring himself to sell it either. It's waiting for him at Jade's because his dad didn't want to have it sitting around.

He gets home, he eats the dinner his mom put aside for him, he takes a quick shower, and he lays down in bed.

He thinks about it.

Maybe tomorrow he'll drive.

[puppypeter]

The fact that Roy's relationship with his parents is kind of left ambiguous and is therefore unexplored territory in Ted Lasso canon is actually so delicious to me because the potential? It is EXCELLENT!!! Roy Kent I am going to give you the most complicated relationship with your mother ever conceived. Why? Because he is my little doll who I project all my issues onto (eldest daughter syndrome, burnt out gifted kid, anger issues, struggles to convey emotional vulnerability etc.)

But what are your thoughts on Roy's relationship with his parents? If it's not clear, I have many MANY thoughts, but I'd love to hear from you!! ✨💕✨

My thoughts are that I need them to explore this shit in season 4!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We know about Ted / Jamie / Sam / Nate / Rebecca.. even Beard we at least know something.

I completely relate to the doll i project my issue on ahah but I am the youngest nerd loser burnt out gifted kid etc

I can't really speak on toxic masculinity as that has certainly played a big role and the environment he grew up around in football as well as the pressure and what success at such an early age can do to you (20s roy kent is often written as a party animal and there's a lot to explore there too). But as far as parents, I think he's very much a case of childhood emotional neglect. It can be for so many reasons, not necessarily someone being abusive on purpose. Maybe they were having to work multiple jobs and providing physical things (a roof over your head and food on the table) was seen as love in his parents eyes rather than words of encouragement and physical touch or they were 'well meaning parents who hadn't got that kind of love themselves and therefore didn't know any better'. He was pissy at Ted at first but he took on quite quickly... all I'm saying is he is a good boy! He might talk shit and be grumpy etc and season 1 wasn't his best self going through a lot mental health wise but he cares about the boys, he loves his niece and kids in general... i would definitely love to see more of him and them exploring where all his roy-ness comes from

[ronsenthal]

OMG OMG OMG i coincidentally saw that you just updated and i saw nate with a beard?? i can't believe i haven't seen this before!! (not me getting unhinged at the slightest new pic or video i see of nate.. i'm in the trenches jess) (maybe that's an old project but i meant new to me hehe)

-THE nate anon

Ok so I need to start out with a big apology for the stupid amount of time that it took me to reply to you :(

As I just said to a dear friend, we are digging the trenches for the mannkind! I've been away and so little of his new project came to the surface, I've been starving on the nate content dear friend!!!

[melien]

Some story stuff

My gf is coming to visit me these days so posts will probably resume a bit later than I thought! But ooohh those will be the good ones.

A bit of a story ramble under the cut, brace yourselves whoever is strong enough for this because I'm so tired right now but I needed to get this out of my system.

I was thinking long and hard about the timeline of the GC story and I feel like it won't be set in the same timeline as Electromagnets after all, because the scene with Harper and Eden made me think a bit about ages (oh, sims ages) and I feel that, realistically, their parents would have them later in life, like no earlier than their late 30s. Maybe I'm just projecting myself and realising how much I don't vibe with the idea of having kids at all, like god forbid I would have them now or even in the next 10 years. And like, Tobias and Lennon are basically an extension of myself and I project me and my gf on them extensively too lol. I've always had this really special connection with them and their generation and I don't want them to just be known in my books as the parents of the youngsters, as much as I love them as well, but rather have them shine on their own as they deserve. I think writing the GC story is actually a big step for me because for a long time I was shying away from it for the fear of doing them wrong, but I'm happy it's finally happening.

And it's not only that, it's also me realising that I want to develop Nate and I want to give him a very specific type of spouse and a side story. This is probably spoilery but I don't mind talking about it because the story won't get there for a long while and it helps put everything that's going on into context, but - in fact, Nate thinks he's bisexual but I feel like eventually he would realise he doesn't like women in general as much as he thought, and has always had stronger feelings for men. He was always supposed to date Felicity for a while when they reconnect as adults (at this point Fel is like 3 years younger than him so a bit too young and he doesn't see her this way) and get her pregnant and have Lydia and Irene with her, then they'd separate. It would happen in their mid 20s. But if it happens in the current version of the story, then Lydia and Irene will have to be around the same age as Eden and Harper as all the cousins are around the same age and it's weird for me to have someone be much younger... and at that age Tobias and Lennon are still in the band, enjoying life and not really thinking about kids... And Nate can't exactly hook up with Fel in his 30s because it doesn't fit into the plans I have with him and his actual spouse anymore. So I think this current GC story will just be the version where things go a little bit differently and Nate still has a brief relationship with Felicity eventually but doesn't get her pregnant and also realises he's not into her or any girls, which is painful for her because she's liked him for her entire life but she accepts.

Don't mind me I'm super super sleepy right now but I hope it makes sense a tiny bit at least. Also some things are subject to change once I approach it with a clear head once again.

So I guess Electromagnets is the kids-centric timeline where things go differently with the previous gen and they somehow have the kids earlier, while the GC story is a bit separate from that so the characters can have more freedom to do whatever the hell they want without the pressure of being supposed to have their kids at a rather early point of their life.

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 3-4

Updates will come every Tuesday afternoon/evening.

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Jessamine Lochlin was a slim, elegant woman that seemed as given to nonsense as an Elizabethan spinster. It was a terribly deceptive look, because as soon as someone at the door told her Parker was there she came charging through the main atrium and squeaked in delight to see the thief. "Iggy!"

"Jess!"

They greeted each other like delighted teenagers, much to the bemusement of Nate and Sophie. Parker introduced her as curator to the Sokolov collection, on loan from the Tetryakov Gallery and on its way to the MET, where Lochlin was actually based.

Sophie stepped forward when Parker turned to her and Nate, a nearly imperceptible Russian accent coloring her voice, her tone warm, her posture shifting to project an aura of calm, implacable serenity. "Ekaterina Yegorov, critic, collector. Independent curator, and absolutely delighted to see Sokolov's works finally seeing the international adoration they deserve."

"Right?" Sophie had readily struck true, and Lochlin puffed up in delight, Minnesota suddenly speaking loudly in her brogue. She was obviously willing and able to gush over a favorite topic, so Nate stepped in. "Nathan Ford. Former insurance, currently independent security."

"Oh, do you work with Iggy?" Lochlin's handshake was warm and solid, and she seemed not at all put off.

"Casual acquaintances," Nate assured her. Parker made friends outside their work so rarely that the rest of the team readily went out on a ledge just to make sure she kept the few she did make; the mastermind was no exception. "But when we heard there was a Sokolov collection on display, we might have imposed on her," he added conspiratorially.

Lochlin laughed. "Iggy's the reason it's here," she admitted to them in the same tone. "Without her contributions to our security systems, I'm not sure either the MET or the Tetryakov Gallery would have agreed to it." She escorted them through the gracious spaces and murmuring crowds along the rooms and galleries, chatting away with both Parker and Sophie. Nate, used as he was to ceding the spotlight, saw no problem with it. It gave him an excellent chance to take the measure of Jessamine Lochlin, not just as curator but as a potential asset.

And, maybe, as Parker's friend. Surely he could be excused being a little bit protective of his people?

Which was very much what Sophie was doing, except she was coming to actually like Lochlin. The young woman was exactly who she said she was, exactly what she presented herself to be. Young, certainly, but sure of her knowledge, devoted to it. If her interests had run to different goals, she would have had the ruthless devotion to become a fine politician. As it was, all her focus was on her charge and what it took to keep it safe, while also making it available to the viewing public.

Sophie also didn't miss the way Lochlin's spine went to a rigid steel bar as they passed by the broad doorway leading to the Dutch gallery. To the curator those empty frames weren't a slap to the face, but a punch to the gut she'd not been able to counter. Yet.

A room on the topmost floor had been set aside for the nine pieces the Tetryakov Gallery had been willing to part with. They were, for the most part, large pieces, portraits of young women and boys. One painting of Sokolov's wife had place of pride and a hushed crowd of admirers, perhaps to the chagrin of the many young nobles and royals depicted elsewhere. But then, the artist's love shone through his craft on that piece as it did none of the others.

Sophie left Lochlin and Nate bemoaning the misery that was insuring and securing traveling collections. Or, for that matter, prying a loan from any other gallery and museum, the better to spread its beauty. She and Parker roamed, with some measure of discretion, to one of the largest and less watched pieces.

"I thought Sokolov mostly did portraits," Sophie murmured.

"It is a portrait," Parker protested quietly. "Isn't it?"

"Yes, but -" Sophie looked up at the piece. It had been recently restored, at least partially, its colors vibrant. "Look around, Parker. Sokolov was a technical painter. Very skilled, but his real strength was his mind. He knew he was good at one thing and did wonders with it. Most of his portraits don't engage the whole subject like this. There's a reason Tetryakov never loans out his group portraits, they're too rare to risk. I'm astonished they were willing to part with even this."

"They had a good reason," Parker replied, looking only a little smug. There was, indeed, nothing the Tetryakov would not do to have two of their treasures restored to them so they could remove the replicas they'd been discreetly replaced with to save face. And Parker really did like Jess.

Before them, a woman sat in severe opulence for the artist. She was older, her hair an elegant silver bun pinned with delicate silver combs. She was stern, her features sharp and deeply Slavic, her eyes fiery in a way most painters would have never been able to convey. She wore a gown fitting for the nobility of Solokov's time, dark and rich green velvet with russet and gold accents. The embroidery on it had been painted with such exquisite attention to the detail of it that it seemed entirely possible, if Sophie were to reach out and touch it, she would be able to feel every singular stitch. Ironically for someone of such obvious wealth and importance, chickens danced on the hem of the woman's skirt, and peasant boots peeked under it. One hand, gloved in exquisite black lace, rested on her lap; the other held a gnarled cane, wood made dark and smooth with use.

She was also not alone. Behind her, standing, one hand on her shoulder, was a younger man, much too young to be a husband and far too old to be a son. He had the same sharp features, though in him they sharpened to make him look vulturine, nearly predatory. His black hair was tied back severely, rather than the artful curls most people preferred to showcase when they were being painted; his moustache and beard were nothing but angles. His cravat was so white it seemed to shine, in sharp contrast with the ferocious black of the rest of his clothing. Astonishingly, for a portrait, the thinnest smirk curled up one side of his mouth. His eyes were so green they seemed not real, the visceral tint of them matched only by the elegant brooch he wore, half-hidden under the lapels of his jacket.

"Charming," Nate murmured just over her shoulder. "Do you think he ran out of every other color but green?"

She scoffed. "It's so unlike his other work, don't you think?"

"I'm not much for Russian portraitists," he admitted. "Where did Parker go?"

"I think she and Jessamine are planning their next heist." When he glowered mildly at her she persisted. "No, really, apparently that's how it works, they plan a heist and then beat it. I'm not sure even I could break into this place any longer."

"Sophie, you could break into anywhere you liked, as long as someone told you you shouldn't."

"Aw, flatterer." She bumped affectionately into him. "Is this her, then?"

Nate stepped back and focused solely on the painting. Aside the obvious technique of it, and the elegance of a master of his craft, it was a portrait like any other. "It's as close as we're gonna get until Hardison gets a full composite," he admitted, picking up his phone and taking a quick snapshot while Sophie covered him.

"Well, if you're done breaking the law, this is still a fine collection of Sokolov art and I want a look," she declared primly and meandered off.

"Alright." He sent the picture off to Hardison and stared at the painting, his mind whirling. Who are you?, he asked the woman in the picture. Was she behind the attacks? A target of them? Her presence at fourteen sites put her well past the point of being an innocent bystander, but that still left the how, the why, the who. So many questions, so many variables. Even beyond the measure of any case they'd ever taken, this one promised to be a headache and a half, and for no discernible win. Even getting Fedorov in his pocket might not be payout enough.

So he stared at the picture, and let his thoughts run away in fractals, as they always did, asking questions he didn't even have words for just yet.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A familiar voice said by his side. "Pyotr Sokolov was a master."

"Mister Fedorov. You're late."

The Russian smiled. He wore a cashmere turtleneck and a contrasting jacket, casual slacks and what looked suspiciously like very fancy steel-toed boots. "I have been meaning to make time for the Sokolov collection, but I am a busy man, mister Ford." They both stared at her. "She doesn't quite look right," Fedorov mused.

"I wouldn't know, we didn't get a full composite," Nate admitted.

To his surprise, the Russian's grin widened. "Ah. How many screens have you lost?"

"One." Nate considered Fedorov's words. "So far. You?"

"Two full rigs, three more screens." Vanya admitted readily. "But then, I am also a very stubborn man." His humor faded. "I do not make the… accusation I made yesterday lightly, mister Ford."

"I don't believe in that sort of thing."

"I was raised in what is still a very empty, very wild forest in my homeland. I believe in much most people dismiss as fantasy."

"You grew up in Vladivostok."

Fedorov looked amused. "No, I moved to Vladivostok and made sure to make it look as if I'd lived there all my life. The problem with converted electronic documents is that you must convert from something, and paper is a very… pliable medium."

"Still don't think you should be confessing crimes to me."

"Mm, perhaps not," the Russian admitted, turning his attention back to the portrait. "But it still looks wrong."

Nate, having taken the opportunity to truly focus on the painting, had to agree. Much like Vanya, he couldn't put his finger on it, though. Was it the proportions? The colors? Maybe the restoration process wasn't finished? Was it - ?

"He got the nose wrong."

Both men turned. On Nate's other side was a stately, elegant woman, severe and stern. She wore an exquisite black dress stitched with black embroidered and accented with tiny pearls. The buttons of her jacket were silver, in the shape of tiny bones. Her hair was the palest silver, exquisitely done up in a fanciful bun secured with a black comb.

She had spoken in Russian, and continued doing so. "He was painting from memory, as most portraitists do. So, you know. He only got the nose wrong."

Nate stared at the woman.

The woman stared at a portrait for which she could have readily been the model if not because, unlike the painting, she had no sharp, longish nose. Her nose was quite normal. She even wore a touch of make-up, which the woman in the painting had completely eschewed. Her eyes were wintry, an icier blue than even Fedorov's. "I rather like the touch of the chickens," she declared.

"Isn't it just wonderful?" Sophie chose that moment to return, Ekaterina Yegorov's soft Russian burr firmly back in place. "It looks like you could reach out and feel how soft the stitching is." She let the words linger for a moment. "Painted like a man who never had to wear one of those dresses in summer."

Every eye turned to her, but it was the older woman who spoke first. "Spoken like a woman who has," she said in accented English. "Who are you, lovely child? What do you do here?"

"Ekaterina Yegorov, art critic, collector and independent curator."

"Goodness, that sounds exhausting," the older woman declared tartly. "Three jobs and all of them involve you trying to get a man to listen to the expertise you have and he does not. How strong a spine you must have."

Unbidden and unexpected, Sophie felt a frisson of pride go up Ekaterina's spine at the praise.

"She looks upset," Parker, behind Nate's other shoulder, declared stoutly.

"That's just the portrait," Nate corrected her. "They always strive for a neutral expression."

"But she doesn't look neutral, she looks upset," Parker persisted.

"Why would she be upset?" Sophie asked, trying to be rational.

"Because she's stuck with an asshole," Fedorov stepped neatly into the conversation.

All four of them turned to look at him. He shrugged blithely and gestured at the painting. "Look at him. The smirk, the posture. Everything about the man screams 'asshole'. If I had to sit and keep my peace waiting for that to stab me in the back, I'd be upset too."

The older woman burst out laughing. It was brief, and it barely made a sound among the hushed conversations, but it was real all the same. She promptly covered her mouth. "Oh, the cheek of you," she chided Vanya in Russian.

"I was born with a mouth," he replied cheerfully. "It seems a shame not to use it."

Nate opened his mouth. A moment earlier he'd had not enough questions about the case; suddenly he had too many, and was having trouble choosing one. The woman's presence seem too provident, too perfect. He wanted to ask who she was; he wanted to know what she knew about the painting; he wanted to know why she was there.

He turned.

Just past the doorway the man in the painting, down to the stitched black embroidery on his long coat and the hawkish nose, was just strolling out of sight.

The mastermind blinked.

Heavy shutters suddenly slammed shut over the two windows and the doorway with a terribly final sound, trapping a little under two dozen people in the room with nine of Pyotr Sokolov's portraits. Gas began to pour into the room, and a faint scent began to fill the air.

People screamed, as they're wont to do when the unexpected slams into their lives.

Someone began to cough.

"What is that?" Fedorov demanded.

"The fire suppression system?" Sophie sounded very dubious.

"You don't sound certain."

"I'm not."

"She's not," Nate confirmed.

"It's not," Parker declared, looking around frantically for escape routes she neither needed nor had.

"What is it, then, if not the fire system?" the Russian demanded.

"It is the fire suppression system," Nate explained hastily. Several people were banging on the shutter that had come down over the open doorway. "But argonite is odorless. This smells like, like…"

Several more people were coughing.

"Flowers," Parker all but snarled.

"Perfume," Sophie was keeping close. The gas kept piling up.

"Fernflower," the older woman choked out and began to cough sharply.

"Why hasn't the alarm gone off?" Vanya demanded, rushing over to hold up the older woman when the wracking cough folded her in half.

"Because there's no fire," Nate replied.

"Which is a problem," Sophie added, on the woman's other side.

"Yup. Parker, pick me a lock."

"I can try, but I might set off an alarm -"

Sophie, shoving Ekaterina aside for a moment, leaned close enough to whisper, "Sweetie, that'd be a really good thing right now."

"Oh. Right. Because we're not actually stealing anything." Parker lunged at one of the shuttered windows.

"Why not the door?" Fedorov protested mildly.

"Because there's two more shutters behind that one, this one only has one more," Parker replied didactically, ripping open a discreet panel that had looked, until that moment, like nothing so much as a few light switches. She looked up expectantly, and growled when nothing but the hiss of gas and scattered coughing filled the pause. She began to jab her lockpicks, having gotten them out of god-only-knew-where, into the circuit panel she'd revealed.

Sophie was moving through the crowd, getting people to climb up on the benches, away from the quickly pooling clouds of gas. The Russian bodily picked up the older woman and set her on one of the benches. She let out a startled little wheeze but didn't complain. "You said this is an argonite system, Ford. They are not dangerous to humans."

"Normally, yes," Nate agreed, dialing on his phone. "Very safe. When there's a fire to put out. I'm betting the system's not currently detecting the oxygen content of the room, either, so it's going to keep going until there's either no argon in the tank -"

"- or no oxygen in the room," Sophie finished for him.

"We're in one of your accidents, Fedorov." Someone finally picked up his call. "Hardison."

"Nate, got your picture, what's up?"

"We're trapped in a room in the Gardner Museum with a broken argonite supression system," the mastermind told the hacker calmly.

"What?!" Back at the loft, at that tone, Eliot's head came up like a hound scenting blood.

"Never mind that," Nate gestured impatiently. "Can you lock down the rest of the building?"

"Uh…"

"Fast. I think the man who did this is still in here."

Hardison sprinted for his console, throwing his phone on the work desk. Eliot picked it up and put it on speakerphone. "Nate."

"Eliot, call emergency services. A few people here are having trouble breathing already."

"Are you good?"

The mastermind didn't even hesitate. "Oh, yes, we're fine. I'll be even better if you catch that man in here with us." As if on cue, an alarm began to shrill, high and piercing, and Parked looked confusedly victorious. Whatever she'd done didn't stop the gas, though. One of the shutters on the nearest window rolled back up with a snap, revealing a steel grate and the Venetian-style window beyond it. "Parker, did you and Lochlin get around to updating the windows yet?"

"No," she replied. Immediately guessing what he meant, she threw herself to one side.

"Fedorov."

The Russian didn't hesitate. His gun was in his hand in a single, smooth motion, and he fired at each pane of glass amidst screams. The reinforced glass cracked under the first impact, and most of the panes shattered under the second. He finished what was left with a third shot until the gun clicked on empty. Gas poured out and blessedly fresh air poured in. Parker slid back to the control panel and got back to work.

A second, bellowing alarm kicked off somewhere beyond the shuttered door. "Place is locked down," Hardison told Nate. "I hope it was fast enough."

"So do I. Do you have eyes on the place?"

Hardison was staring as every screen on the wall came to life, several providing multiple feeds. "Live feeds everyw-"

"No! No, not live! Record everything, not live, Hardison, not -" Nate heard something explode tinily on the other end of the line. "Hardison?!"

Two heads peeked up from behind cover at the screen that had just lost most of its upper right corner, the rest of it flickering madly. "We're fine," the hacker replied numbly. "Um."

Nate sighed.

The second shutter rolled up. Parker hefted herself up on the windowsill and kicked at the frame until there was a section clear of glass that she could grip to try and force the window open. She fought the damn thing up an inch, then another.

"In the name of expedience," Fedorov stalked up to her, shrugging off his jacket, "may I assist?"

Parker made room for him. He folded over his jacket to give them both a larger area of leverage. They pushed at the heavy frame as hard as they could.

There was a word echoing in Nate's mind, and he couldn't dislodge it. He couldn't see his question past it. He couldn't hear anything under the whispering weight of it.

Fernflower.

Sophie was talking to him, her voice distant and blurred. The alarms were a tangle of strangling vines around his mind. The phone demanded his attention. People were screaming. People were coughing. People were dying, and he…

He…

"Child."

Profound silence followed the one word. The world went perfectly still. Nate realized he'd forgotten at some point to breathe, and his chest hurt, but he couldn't make himself work the muscles for that one, tiny exercise in staying alive.

The old woman was before him. She looked ashen, her skin threaded with a sickly, poisonous green. But still she reached out a hand and so very gently brushed his chest. "Child," her voice was kind, "be calm."

The window relented at last with an almighty crash and a third, older alarm joined the other two.

Nate felt a rush of soothing cold wash over him. The alarms got shoved aside as the inconsequential noise they were. The coughing people would get help; Eliot probably had half the emergency services in the Boston Metro area coming, and it being the Isabella Gardner in distress would likely summon the other half. All they had to do was survive the runaway suppression system for the next few minutes.

"Nate?" Sophie clung to him as if she were afraid he would fall down. Mainly because for a moment there the mastermind had looked like he was about to fall down.

"Ford!" Fedorov called out.

"Nate, there's no fire escape!" Parker shouted over the mingled roar of the alarms.

"What?" He and Sophie rushed to the window, only to discover it was true: the familiar steel structure was missing altogether.

Nate turned. "Then we go up. Parker, you first. Then me. Fedorov, you hand us the people. Sophie will keep them calm for you."

Before Vanya could say anything Parker had slithered out and her feet were disappearing over the not-too-distant rim of the roof. "I do believe you are confessing crimes to me, Ford," he pointed out mildly, watching the thief vanish with impossible grace.

"Allegedly," Nate replied without missing a beat, following Parker up, who was fuming somewhat.

"Getting out from up here's going to be even harder, you know," she pointed out distractedly.

"Not stealing anything, Parker," he reminded her, kneeling by the edge and calling out. "We're set!"

Vanya and Sophie escorted the older Russian woman to the window. She was gasping desperately for breath. "Grandmother," he told her respectfully, "I'm afraid I have to get very handsy with you."

"Oh, that's alright," she patted his arm lightly, and managed a strangled little smile. "I have not been manhandled by a handsome young man in a very long time. It will be thrilling."

The enforcer had to grin back at that, before he bodily picked her up and hauled her out of the window, lifting her where Nate and Parker could take her outstretched hands.

"How's that, breathing better?" the mastermind asked her as they helped her step onto the roof.

"Yes, thank you."

"Yup. Don't go anywhere," he told her casually as he reached out for the next person. He had so many questions for the woman he didn't even know where to begin.

"Child, it is a rooftop," she laughed around another bout of coughing. "Where would I go?"

One by one they brought everyone out of the room. Before they'd got a handful of people out the police already had the museum surrounded. By the time half the visitors were out, someone had discovered the access to and from the roof had been welded shut. By the time everyone was out and the fault in the broken suppression system was finally fought into compliance, fire engines had been maneuvered closer and ladders were being extended.

And the old Russian woman was nowhere to be found.

Eliot brought the car around and waited just past the crush of the gawking mob, trying not to hover like an overprotective dragon. His people simply sauntered away until one of them was intercepted.

"Ford," Fedorov said quietly.

"Fedorov."

"Do I have more than your attention now?"

Nate was seething inwardly at losing the woman, apparently into thin air, and having the unknown man in black slip through their grip, likely by mere seconds. He kept it hidden with his usual ease. "That was some nice shooting."

The Russian enforcer smiled thinly. "I wear body armor. I expect everyone else to do the same. When they do not I am pleasantly surprised. When they do it still does not matter."

Nate nodded; that did explain how the man had punched through most of the window panes. "Is it going to be worth it, stealing the police reports for this?"

Vanya paused. "I will send you the ones that matter," he offered.

Nate nodded. "Fedorov," he called out when the Russian walked away. "Do you know what the woman said about the gas, in there? What it smelled like?"

"She said it smelled like fernflower."

"I don't know that flower, do you?"

Fedorov looked faintly amused. "You are wearing it, Ford."

Nate looked down, startled; he was not in the habit of wearing a pocket square, let alone flowers. He pressed a hand over the bright crimson spray of tiny blooms tucked in his jacket pocket and watched the Russian walk away, trading casual greetings with the cops.

"Nate?" Sophie came up to him, having belatedly realized they'd left him behind.

"Sophie, do you still have that friend at the London Botanical Gardens?" Nate plucked the flowering stem out of his pocket and rolled it between his fingertips.

"Percy? Yes, he's a sweetheart. Keeps asking me to be a peer on his mycology paper."

"Do you think he could look something up for you if you overnight it?"

FOUR

"Fernflower's not real."

Nate considered these words, delivered with careful solemnity by Sophie, while staring blankly at the box of Indian take-out in front of him. Eventually, he gestured lightly. "I held those flowers, Sophie."

"I know."

"You held those flowers, when we packed them up for shipping."

"I know, Nate."

"They were real."

"They absolutely were."

Nate exhaled sharply. It wasn't often the team saw such a gesture of frustration from their mastermind, but at every turn something kept popping up that insisted on derailing the carefully logical pathways of his mind. "So what you're saying is -"

"What I'm saying is that Percy can't identify them. Nate, the London Botanical Garden can't identify this flower! The entirety of his staff is up in arms. They've sent inquiries to Cairo and Beijing. Beijing, Nate! He hasn't talked to Xi Jian since the orchid debacle!"

Nate had a strong feeling that he didn't want to know what the orchid debacle was.

"It's a plant," Hardison protested.

"No, it's not just a plant," Parker argued. "It's a magic flower, obviously."

Nate didn't have the energy to try and deal with that.

"Yes, ok, but" Hardison wasn't about to hit that particular trap, "it's a plant. It can't be hard to figure it out, yeah? We map people's DNA these days at the corner store, it's easy."

"Anything but," Eliot countered placidly, setting an empty container aside. "Plants are the most flexible organism on this planet when it comes to DNA. We can only pass it down, parent to kid - plants can do it sideways."

"Sideways," Hardison stared at him.

"Yup.They steal it. See something a neighboring plant can do and snag it for their own."

"Plants steal?" Parker looked deeply intrigued.

"Yup." He grinned a little when the team stared at him. "Dated a botanist once. Kinky woman. My point is, it's very easy to create a hybrid, and from there create a mutant, a whole new species. The hard part's always been making it do what you want it to do, like the potato, instead of having it do whatever."

"Well, my point is, Percy's never seen it before, he's never even seen anything remotely like it." Sophie groaned, putting her curry down a little more forcefully than she meant. "Ugh, he's never going to leave me alone now, he'll think I did it on purpose. Send him a brand new plant that he can put his name on."

"Yeah, where a botanist's concerned you might as well have sent him a marriage proposal," Eliot teased her, got a napkin thrown at his chest. He grinned wickedly at her, but quickly grew serious. "Mechanical fault again," he declared, clicking his remote to activate one of the screens on the wall. "On paper the insurance company's claiming the valves overheated and locked into an open position. I snuck in, took a look at it." It hadn't been hard to join the slews of people going in to do clean-up, once Hardison had counterfeited the clearances for him. What he'd found had left the hitter grinding his teeth in both confusion and offense; while not a Boston native, Eliot understood the value, both artistic and emotional, of a place like the Gardner Museum. It had been bad enough to have his team caught in the crossfire of whatever mess the Russians had in their hands; that the perpetrator hadn't cared about the art on the line was getting to be just as upsetting, to say the least.

"Those things were melted." He'd taken pictures of the entire fire suppression system. "That whole system had nickel-copper heat exchanges. I've seen nuclear plants more likely to have a meltdown. And…"

"And?" Sophie prompted him when he hesitated.

Eliot stared down at the table, seeing nothing. He was, he felt, as reasonable as a man in his position, having lived the sort of life he'd lived, could be. He knew he was profoundly fortunate to have found a family, dysfunctional as it might be, that had his back, no questions asked. He knew he would go to the wall for any of them without hesitation.

But in the basement of the Isabella Gardner Museum the hitter had found a place where he didn't know if he dared ask them to follow. "I found this down there," he admitted at last, his voice carefully neutral. He clicked the remote until he came to a specific photo.

Everyone stopped eating.

"Is that a handprint?" Sophie asked, stunned.

"Yeah."

"On the outflow valve?" Hardison demanded.

"Yeah."

They stared at the very clear print on the metal. It looked as if someone had gripped it and squeezed, and like warm wax, it had been reshaped.

"There's no wriggle," Sophie murmured.

"Or blur," Nate added, just as thoughtful.

It was Eliot who explained for the other two. "When you grab something hot, your first instinct is to jerk your hand away, right? Hot metal, metal that's gone so hot it's soft, won't let you do that. It clings, it tries to hold onto you."

"So when they did that," Hardison tipped his head at the screen, "they should have messed up the print."

"Right."

"But they didn't."

"Did they just… leave their hand there?" Even Parker looked vaguely aghast.

"Sure looks like it." Eliot flicked the photo away; the vague sense of disorienting confusion he'd felt when he'd first seen the print was returning.

"Wait!" Nate suddenly focused sharply. "Wait, go back. Go back to the tanks."

Eliot obeyed. "Why, what's wrong? I'm not familiar with argonite systems, they're too new to be common, but nothing looked out of place."

"Nothing's out of place," Nate replied thoughtfully as he stood up, restless. "I'm not looking at the tanks, I'm looking at the valves." He'd been looking for reasonable discrepancies, and for a moment he'd been almost delighted to find one, until the numbers had made sense. "Argonite systems are simple. Blend argon with something, nitrogen in this case, smother the fire without smothering the people. Now, argon, nitrogen, both, something else, if you replace all the oxygen in a room with it, you kill both the people and the fire, right?"

"Right," Eliot agreed.

"So why tamper with both the valves when just the one would do? There's no reason to fiddle with the nitrogen, but someone did." He pointed at the screen. "They shut it off. Completely." He stared at the picture. "That's not the original tank, either."

Eliot stared thoughtfully at the picture. "That's a new tank," he suddenly declared. "One of the guys on site was fiddling with his toolbox when I went by. Bet you anything the insurance people told him to replace it on the sly."

"So where's the old tank? Did you take pictures of the tanks in storage?"

"He didn't, I did." Hardison was already putting them up on the screen.

"It seemed safer that way. Place was hot as hell, someone was going to start asking questions if they caught me going around to too many places."

Nate nodded. The pictures were stills from a security camera, showing shelves, boxes, cylinders -

"Nate," Sophie murmured.

"I see it." On a lower shelf was a small silver cylinder, much tinier than all its siblings. It had none of the typical cautionary symbols or identifiers; instead it was covered in writing that not one of them could recognize. Nate picked up his remote and enlarged the picture, focused on that spot.

A small number on the bottom of the screen began to inch up, and the screen let out a quiet little beep, no louder than a microwave. Hardison lunged forward, snatched the remote out of Nate's hand and turned off the screen altogether, leaving the mastermind blinking. "No! Nuh-uh. You're not blowing up another one of my screens!"

"I wasn't gonna -!"

"I am a man of science, Nate. You know that, everyone knows that, right? And that," Hardison pointed at the black screen, "is how it's begun every time. We focus on something, someone, and the tech actually cannot keep up. Two screens, Nate!"

"Fedorov blew up three," Sophie murmured.

"What?!"

"And two rigs."

"WHAT?!"

"It can't be just because of a picture -"

"I don't care what it is," Hardison declared impatiently. "I care what it's doing, and that would be overclocking my systems until they literally explode. My systems, Nate. Hacking into the Pentagon didn't overclock them. Hacking into the Interpol databases didn't overclock them."

"You hacked Interpol?" Eliot looked pleasantly surprised at this news.

"Incidental!" the hacker exclaimed. "I don't believe…!" He took a deep breath and spoke in a less irritated tone. "Nate, I don't believe in hinky stuff. You know that. I believe in what's real, what's here. I know something's doing this to my gear. I don't know what it is, yet. I just know it's there. Until I figure out what it is, and how to bypass it, this is what I can do."

Nate stared at the hacker, who looked levelly back at him.

"Why can't it just be magic?" Parker asked sedately.

"Magic's just science that no one's explained yet, Parker," Hardison replied gently. "That's the problem. You can't fight a rocket with a rock. I need to know what it is, I need to understand what it is, before I can work around it."

The team watched her take in those words and then nod thoughtfully.

Nate rubbed at his face. "Magic." The word was loaded with all the scorn a rational man could load upon it.

"Nate, do you have a problem with the concept or with the fact none of us is a, a…. a 'magic' specialist?" Sophie asked with utmost calm.

"Both," he admitted, then glanced at Hardison. "Though a paradigm shift helps a little with the first."

Hardison shrugged. "Hey, man. Big old monolith was just a computer."

"I've been involved in too much weird stuff," Eliot said carefully, "not to accept that there's things going on on this rock that I can't explain. Doesn't mean there isn't an explanation, just that I don't know it yet."

Sophie gestured elegantly. "I do magic on a daily basis," she said mildly. "I've been accused of that a few times, every time I'm done with a mark. That aside, wouldn't it be nice, wouldn't it be fun, to know there's a little bit of something wild and dangerous and unique in the world, like magic?"

"It would help," Nate burst out with tight control, "if we didn't keep calling it that."

"But it's Baba Yaga!" Parker protested. "That's magic, isn't it?"

"It's - Parker, why are you so hung up on this Baba Yaga thing?"

She blinked at him. "Who wouldn't be? A grandma that gives you gifts and prizes for being clever and tricky and mischievous? Who eats bad guys? That sounds like an awesome grandma."

Nate didn't sputter, but it was a close thing. Sophie and Eliot grinned.

"Parker, she eats people," Hardison protested.

Parker was polishing up her food. "There's people who deserve to get eaten," she shot back pragmatically.

Nate put his hands out. "Are we taking the job?"

The room went silent.

"They came after us, Nate." Eliot's voice was frighteningly even. "I do not like it when people come after us, even if it's by accident."

"They came after my museum," Parker muttered.

"I am dying to know how they keep blowing up my screens," Hardison admitted.

Nate looked at Sophie, who nodded minutely. He drew in a deep breath.

Magic's just science that no one's explained yet.

"Ok. We can't leap ahead, so we're going back. Eliot, Parker, we need that cylinder. Hardison, see if hard copy explodes, too. Print out the info, we'll just have to slog through it the old-fashioned way. Sophie." He ground his teeth minutely before sighing in defeat. "Do you know any 'magic' specialists?"

"No," she admitted readily. "But I know of one. He's even for hire." When Nate scoffed, her tone sharpened. "Nate, if you want the help, you're going to have to respect that the man's probably a professional in his field, just like we are. I don't know if he's the real thing, but he might be all we've got."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled. "Call him up."

"I can't, I don't know the man, I just know of him, and I don't feel comfortable chatting about Baba Yaga with a stranger over the phone."

"What, do you want to go talk to him in person?"

"Yes!" She gestured pointedly at the black screen.

Nate drew in a vast breath, held it, hissed it out. "Fine. Where is he?"

"Chicago."

"Alright. Let's go hire us a wizard."

[ask-nathan-explosion]

Hey guys! This blog is just for the sillies and to project my own headcanons and narratives. While being silly. Goofy, even. Not affiliated but I don't think I need to say that.

Any asks will be responded to as Nathan, and I please ask no minors as I might post some nsft stuff!

I'm also always itching to write, so if you wanna ask for drabbles/maybe a scenario you'd like to see Nathan (and/or the band) in, don't be shy!~ (these will probably be in the POV of nate, and I'll be posting some of my own).

My version of Nathan is Autistic, has BPD (borderline), PTSD and has been to/going through therapy. That might make this blog a little ooc if any of it's brought up, but that's just how I see him in my silly little head and will try to stay as in character as I can. He is healing and we love that here. 🖤

Feel free to follow my main blog, @pickle-nickels 🖤

✨️We also love Narles and Nickles here✨️

[polyhexian]

Nate, my boy, since you know everything and what you don't you make up, do you have any info on Warren Johnson as a writer?

Well he's got a short list of projects but they're definitely nothing to shake a stick at. Wonder Woman is a huge net score. Beta ray bill is too. Working with both marvel and DC is solid credentials.

Dead earth seems to have notably good reviews, which i remembered from extremely fleeting familiarity. I've heard the name before positively.

I found this review particularly noteworthy:

However Chad isn't the only one concerned about it being in character

One of the main complaints people seem to have is that DWJ had a story he wanted to tell and he pushed the characters he was given into the molds to tell it.

Also very highly rated.

Chad didn't like this one, but apparently the characterization issues were absent this time. Scrolling through other reviews, I didn't see any other complaints about characterizations-- I saw lots of comments about how great the characterization is, actually. Perhaps that is because beta ray bill has a lot less history than wonder woman and perhaps people are more open to seeing more diversity and exploration of who this character is. If you don't go here, beta ray bill is not a HUGE character, but he's been around since the early 80s and has plenty of media to draw from. He has plenty of ardent fans, so plenty of people who already have an idea of who this character is when they went into this story.

All of his work has reviewed really well, nothing dips below a 4 on Goodreads.

Reading reviews and summaries of each book, it seems like DWJ really likes action, blood, hyperviolence, and, specifically, mad max. I see people being up mad max in so many reviews I can't not mention it. he does a lot of stories with fighting, with big action setpieces, wrestling, heavy metal, grit and gore. Pretty much all his stories are gritty.

I strongly suspect he is going to write a very "gritty war story" version of transformers, which is... Something we have seen before. It may not be bad, but idw definitely already did that. So did wfc siege. Grimdark kind of hyperviolence and war and action is pretty par for the course with tf. I don't see a lot of people talking about his stories being particularly deep or emotionally engrossing. I see people say some are very FUN or very engaging or even that they have interesting commentary. But... Mm.

Having not read his stuff and only having just studied these reviews, I'm expecting some really pretty war violence. Seeing as he's clearly not as familiar with the property as your average tf fan, he's still a little shaky on his tf stylization, I'm predicting he's going to focus on a lot of mainline G1 characters, the pop boys people recognize. Megatron, Optimus, soundwave, prowl, Jetfire, starcscream, the seekers probably, ultra Magnus, grimlock, hot rod maybe, arcee definitely. I think it's a lot less likely we will see more obscure characters like we did with idw2.

Tho if I had to drop money I would bet windblade is there. Hasbro has been pushing her hard. I really suspect they will have asked him specifically to make sure she's there.

[thewholecrew]

@headstrongblake said: if i wanted to kill you, i would have done it already. / nick & nate

nate cursed under his breath, biting onto a wrench as he had a smaller one in his hand trying to fix the... damn what was this thing even called again? a grunt left him as he finally managed to yank the bolt free, watching as it fell to the pavement and began rolling. "oh fuck!" he dropped the tools as he reached for it and hearing footsteps he called out, "don't let that get past ya!" he scrambled for it only for a foot to step on it and secure it in place. "hey, thanks," he said as he looked up only to see nicklas glaring at him with his usual unamused glare.

he'd been back for only a little while and hadn't really been at the nightclub much since he returned so nate was surprised to see him. "uh... hey nick," he said as he waited for the man to get off the bolt. what are you doing to that thing? he asked while taking in the state of nates bike. he frowned as he raised to his feet since nick was also refusing to get off the screw. "i'm trying to fix it so i can ride it," he answered, wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm as he waltzed back over to it, picking up the instruction manual he was using. it was old and came with the bike and well, helpful for figuring out what everything was and named and what it did... kinda. if nate was being honest he was kind of just winging it.

looks like you're ruining it, nick so politely muttered as he was drawn closer and finally off the screw so nate could pick it up. he watched as nick seemed to observe it mildly but maybe with a little bit of intrigue? that was until he scoffed, this isn't even the right manual, this is for the VMAX 1700 and clearly this is a 1200 so it doesn't even match.. he scolded, tossing the book to the side which had nate scramble to grab it, "what? really? you know your bikes huh? i had no idea, how can you tell?" he asked which had nick roll his eyes, explaining how this model had v-boost, whatever the hell that was but to nate it sounded pretty cool.

"that's a good thing right?" he asked as he watched nick seem to study the bike like it was a new project, yeah, if it works, he scoffed which had nate scratch the back of his neck. "uh, yeah, see and we're back to me trying to fix it." he rolled the bolt between his fingers, glancing up in surprise as nick offered to help fix it. "what? are you serious? you're not just saying that to secretly sabotage the bike so it explodes and i die?" the way nick seemed to ponder that for a moment had nate's cautious smile turn to a wince. if i wanted to kill you, i would have done it already, he told him as well as pointing out of he wanted the bike to blow all he had to do was not help.

nate's eyes lit up as a grin spread across his face, "alright, sweet, thanks man that'd be awesome. uh, what do you need? i mean you don't have to start helping now if you've got other people to see or...ya'know..." he trailed off at the glare and shrugged, "alright cool, lemme know what's first, boss."

[transxfiles]

gonna go on a little mini tangent about nimona movie adaptation. it's gonna include lots of spoilers for the graphic novel so if you haven't read it yet (and you should!!) you can just scroll past spoiler free <3 anyways,

first off i am SO fucking pumped up about the nimona movie this is doing things to my middle school heart you have no idea <3 <3 <3 they're definitely branding it in the area of that kind of edgy but family friendly movie vibe that's been popular with certain projects lately (low key some parts of the trailer were giving me mitchells versus the machines while others were giving me the same energy as the bad guys, which is an interesting mix imo they're both good animated movies from the recent past but at the same time they're both tonally different in many ways not to mention very different tonally from the original nimona comic imo) and basically where i'm going with this is i hope they keep the original tone of the comic. the graphic novel does a really great job of shifting between lighthearted comedy and the complex emotions of the characters really well, especially with the twist at the end where we find out that nimona has been lying about her past the entire time (OGH that ending is SO GOOD it gives me chills just remembering the panel where we find out the story about the dragonslayer going after the shapeshifter and the rumors that the shapeshifter TOOK THE DRAGONSLAYERS PLACE??? AUGH those panels are burned into my mind forever). basically i am a little worried because of the marketing that they might soften the darkness associated with nimona's past/backstory or even change it entirely, but of course that's all speculation bc they could literally just be doing what the comic did which was market itself as really upbeat and silly modern fairytale twist and then turn around and make everything really fucking dark as the novel approaches the end of the second act and the beginning of the first act.

also when it comes to the character designs i am OBSESSED with blackheart and goldenloin the designs are SO!!!! not to mention the setting itself, they're definitely leaning into the futuristic aspect but i hope they keep a lot of the down to earth fantasy elements from the comic as well, i feel like nate did a really great job creating a world that is such a unique blend of ren fair fantasy tropes (for lack of a better term) and magical high tech inventions and it's something that i really hope doesn't get lost in the translation to the screen. obviously i can imagine that the show-y-ness of a cyberpunk-esque world is very visually appealing and also probably pretty fun to animate but i'm hoping they're teasing a lot of those dystopian sci fi visuals for the trailer because they get ppls attention and then they bring in a similar mix of the ren fair fantasy elements from the comic.

i hope they maintain nimona's whole gender vibe as the same sort of fluid energy that i got from her in the book, idk if it was just me but nimona reads as not only gnc but as a very nonbinary/genderfluid character and i always thought it was really cool how ready she was to shapeshift to different gender presentations in the comic.

this is more just on the curious musings side but i also wonder if they'll do the little bit where she dyes her hair purple?? its such a weird little moment in the comic i could see them deciding not to put it on screen but i think it'd be a cute nod to the book. or maybe they do a little bit of dialogue where she mentions to blackheart that she's thinking about changing her hair color and mentions purple, it'd just be cute i think <3

uhhh yeah i guess my biggest wonder about the movie rn is just how dark they're willing to take it, tonally? because the book gets DARK and ofc it's also aimed kinda at middle grade, just like the movie is, but what's allowed in middle grade books is very different from what's marketable in a middle grade family friend film. i really do hope they do the whole dark underbelly of the kingdom reveal, though, and the second act arc where nimona's true violent and chaotic nature starts to spiral out of ballister's control, and of course the unethical experimentation and the legend of the shapeshifter and nimona's entire story to ballister being a lie.....

AUGH i am going to get so emotional about this movie but yeah <3

basically. NIMONA MOVIE AT LAST!!!!!!!!!!