#i miss my flightless birds :((

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Marvel added a new superhero to the MCU called Flightless Bird Man. His power was turning into any flightless bird.

[crow-talks-hockey]

It Seems Unforgiving When a Good Thing Ends (But You and I Will Always Be Back Then) - a post-elimination Pens fic from Sid's POV

Sid had been irritable, angry, and pissed off the past week. He felt awful. More than that, however, in the end he just felt… sad. It was stupid, but he couldn’t help staring at the standings and wishing they could have done better. For sixteen straight years, Sid had willed his team to the playoffs with the help of Evgeni and Kris. He’d won more awards than he could count, cemented his name in history, won three Stanley Cups, and so much more. Yet, they’d failed this time. He— he’d failed this time.

Inconsistency and injury after injury had made them miss the playoffs for the first time since his rookie year. Sid wanted to laugh. Those were just excuses. They could have done it. They could have made it happen if they’d just wanted it more. Sid knew it was petty, but he just wanted to scream. It was more complicated than that. It always was. He was getting older. He couldn’t keep up the way he used to. So maybe Sid was spending too much time blaming the entire team and management, and not enough time blaming himself.

He sat in his stall in the locker room, leg bouncing and his head in his hands. The room was near-quiet, with nothing but the sound of the guys taking off their gear and the faint whispers of a few of them filling the room. It wasn’t tense, not anymore. It was just… vaguely sad. The weight of their failure rested heavy in the air, but no one bothered to acknowledge it. They were done. The season was done. There was nothing else to do, and they were going back to their hotel now. Well, everyone was except Sid. 

Sid? He stayed. He stayed in the away room for longer than he wanted to comprehend. He was hungry, tired, and still half-in his gear, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand and do much of anything. The lights were dull, and Sid was alone. Or at least, he’d assumed he was.

He was zoned out, staring blankly at his phone as it hung limp in his hand. The screen went from bright to dim and Sid absently tapped the screen to keep it on. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a hand was clicking off his phone and removing it easily from his hands. Sid started, his breath hitching as his head snapped to attention. Unintentionally, he shrunk back into his stall, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. However, when he looked up it was just Evgeni. Instantly, the tightness in his chest faded and he relaxed. “Geno,  God, you—” exhaled Sid, running a shaky hand through his hair.

Geno immediately apologized gently, ���Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare.”

Sid smiled at the Russian’s kind and familiar warmth. “You’re alright.”

“But are you?” Geno responded plainly. 

Sid’s face fell, reality crashing back like a wave. Anxiety stabbed at his chest again and Sid winced at its sting. Was he okay? What a laughable question. Of course he wasn’t, he couldn’t even lie to himself about that. He was upset, and rightfully so. They all were. Sid shook his head with a laugh, “No. No, I’m not.”

Geno nodded. “It will be okay. We just try again, you know? We move forward.”

Sid sighed frustratedly, cringing at how much it seemed like he was pouting like a toddler. People that hated him would love this. “I don’t want to have to try again. I just wish…” Sid struggled to formulate the words, “I just wish we’d been better. About everything. I’m sure you get that.”

“Of course,” Geno agreed, placing a warm hand on Sid’s flushed cheek.

Sid practically melted at the touch, too tired to care about anything else. Frankly, he just wanted to rant. At least he knew Geno would be okay with that. He knew Geno would give him comfort and Sid was happy to accept that. 

Sid pursed his lips, looking up at Geno and studying him deeply. He searched the Russian’s features for an answer before he even asked the question. “G, why— why’d you stay? Why did you stay when you could have been paid more, when you could have been thriving elsewhere? I want to know. It just—” Sid looked to the ceiling, fighting back emotion— “it doesn’t make sense. I made my choice years ago, but you? You saw where we were going with all our first round exits and you stayed.”

Geno let Sid ramble on, knowing the captain wasn’t finished.

“And now we’re out. You worked so hard for nothing.” Sid paused before continuing, his voice gaining a sharp edge, “You could be somewhere like Boston. You could be on the team that wins it this year. You could have gone and I wouldn’t have blamed you… You could have left me. So why? Why’d you stay?”

Geno’s response was so kind, so instant, and jarring as a thunderclap. “Because of you, Sid. I stayed because of you.”

Sid stopped, almost about to go on, his mouth slightly agape. He felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes and blinked them away. This was too much. It was all too much. The loss on Tuesday, their playoff streak coming to an end, Sid and Geno both realizing that they were only getting older. A new generation was here and they couldn’t keep up. Yet, all through this, Geno had been there. Sid wanted to curse himself. How could he ask that question? It might as well have been a slap to Geno’s face and their friendship. 

Sid leaned instinctively forward into Geno’s chest and buried his head there, wrapping his arms tightly around the big Russian. Geno rubbed soothing circles into Sid’s back and pet his head softly, cooing reassurances into Sid’s raven’s-wing black hair.  Sid let the tears fall, feeling just like a kid again; with no one to protect him in a league that didn’t care if he made it out alive or not. He didn’t exactly cry, per say— Sid wouldn’t call it that, though maybe that was to save him his shame— but when he finally pulled away Geno’s button-up shirt was wet where Sid’s face had been. He rubbed fiercely at his eyes, swallowing thickly so that he could speak. “I’m sorry,” Sid apologized, voice wavering and he looked away. “This is stupid.”

“Yeah, it is,” murmured Geno, and Sid was shocked to hear that his friend’s voice was just as taut as his own.

When he looked back at him, Geno’s beautifully brown eyes were shining with tears. Sid began to giggle. How absurd. This whole situation was absurd; cruel and evilly plotted, but absurd. Geno’s own infectious laugh joined his and they dissolved into what one could only call unfamiliar madness. Sid threw his head back, cheeks still bright red and shining with drying tears. After a few long moments their laughter faded and Sid sighed, resting his head against Geno again. “I don’t even know why I’m still here,” admitted Sid. “I guess I thought that… maybe if I never left here, it wouldn’t be over.”

Geno peered at him affectionately, softly breaking the news once more, “It already is.”

Sid wanted to laugh, but the sting in his chest kept him from it. Evgeni was right. It was over, there was nothing he could do. They should be going home. Sid forced himself to stand, his legs asleep and cramped. He grabbed Geno’s arm to stable himself for a moment. Evgeni breathed out a laugh at Sid’s state. 

“What?” questioned Sid.

“You’re tired,” mused Geno, and Sid couldn’t tell if he was being teasing or genuine.

Sid ignored the remmark. “I need to get redressed. Have the others all gone?”

Geno snorted, “Yeah. While ago. Kris still waiting. He figured you want walk back.”

Sid nodded and pulled his undershirt over his head, all too aware of Geno’s gaze on him. He felt a mostly unwelcome blush warm his cheeks and ignored it. Quickly, he slipped on a plain white tee with his signature “87” where his heart would be. He finished redressing as he chatted idly with Geno and grabbed one of his hats, putting it on after brushing back his too-long curls with his hand. He heaved Geno to his feet and looped his arm around the Russian’s, leaning on him slightly.

They made their way out of the Columbus locker room and exited out the back. Kris was waiting, on his phone and leaning against the black railing at the bottom of the concrete stairs. Sid smiled warmly, the pain of understanding they weren’t going to be in the playoffs finally slipping away in the light of being around the two people he loved most in the world. He could handle this loss, just so long as he had these two. Come to think of it, Sid would take Kris and Geno staying over some dumb— but impressive— playoff streak any day. Sid shook his head to himself. Him questioning Geno staying in Pittsburgh was beginning to sound more and more insane. As it should be.

Kris gave Sid a warm smile and, before he even said anything, he wrapped Sid into an embrace. Sid eagerly accepted it, thankful for friends such as these. Geno patted his back once as Kris spoke into Sid’s neck, “We’ll be alright. You know that?”

Sid pulled away and readjusted his hat with a nod. “Yeah,” he stated as a hopeful feeling managed to worm its way into his voice. “Yeah, we will.”

Kris looked pleased with Sid’s response and he continued, “I assume you want to walk back? Clear your head?”

“You know me too well,”replied Sid with a small laugh. “You two don’t have to, though. I’ll be fine on my own. I know you’re probably exhausted.”

“And starving,” added Geno, he then revised, “but, that doesn’t matter. We go with you. Help clear our heads, too. Maybe… maybe if we go together, we all feel better. It will be good.”

Sid tilted his head at the Russian affectionately. Kris’ calloused but gentle hand was on his wrist, his thumb brushing over Sid’s wrist bone. Geno looked at him with only understanding. Sid steadied his breath, trying to not be overwhelmed with some mix of gratitude and sadness once more. 

He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve them. But he had them. And that was enough.

Sid smiled as they began their walk back to the hotel and he pulled Evgeni and Kris closer to him. Their steps faltered as they both lost a bit of balance at Sid’s abrupt motion, but they laughed and pushed Sid back. “Clingy,” muttered Kris lightheartedly.  

Sid shook his head and put his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “I’m not clingy.” Geno rose a brow skeptically and Sid stopped walking, putting his foot down. Sid peered up at him, shrugging as he incessantly reiterated, “I’m not.”

Geno nodded sarcastically. Kris gave Sid’s bicep a reassuring rub. “It’s okay, just admit it: you love us and hate being away from us.”

Sid crossed his arms and pouted at Kris. “Of course I love you two and don’t like being apart from you. We’ve spent our entire careers together. But that does not make me clingy.”

Kris leaned in close to his face, teeth sparkling in a grin. Sid resisted the urge to shove him away and he stood his ground stubbornly. He felt Geno’s hands bunching his shoulders, prodding him to just give in. “Just admit it,” Geno added. “We not tell anyone.”

Sid huffed out a breath, “Fine. But you owe me.”

Kris cooed sassily, “Owe you what?”

Sid started moving again, ignoring how embarrassingly red his cheeks were getting. “Let’s just go back to the hotel,” Sid said hastily.

“Geno,” Kris began slyly, following close behind Sid, “he’s avoiding us.”

“You two are insufferable,” muttered Sid, but he slowed and began walking in tandem with them. He could handle insufferable. 

They chatted casually as they walked back to the hotel, falling into the easy life they had lived with each other for over fifteen years now. Sid laid part of his weight against Kris and took Evgeni’s hand in his own. The sun was setting, the sky streaked with pinkish orange wisps of clouds. Sid could hear crickets in the grasses over the noise of cars and of the city. It was a warmer night, the air still crisp but hinting summer. 

Summer. Sid frowned. He couldn’t even remember the last time “summer” had been this long. He was used to the busy travel and training that came with the playoffs. Now… now what? What had he done that first year? It was too long ago to remember. He could travel, like usual. Maybe he’d make a trip to Denver. Don’t be stupid, Nate has things to do, Sid scolded himself. You can’t just put your problems on him or anyone else just to feel better. Sid stared at his feet, the comfort he’d felt by chirping back and forth with Kris and Geno quickly fading back into sad emptiness.

“Hey,” Kris said, worry in his voice as they stopped outside the hotel. “What’s up?”

Sid shrugged, eyes still fixed to the concrete as emotion threatened to choke his throat again. However, he didn’t fight it when Kris gently lifted his chin with his hand and forced Sid to look at him. Kris’ eyes were a beautiful brown color, not quite as dark as Geno’s— more chestnut hued. They shone with warmth and concern in a way that only made Sid want to break down more. He was falling apart at the seams, and Sid felt guilty for pushing it on Kris and Geno too.

Sid cleared his throat, hitching in a breath as he tried to control the waver in his voice, “It’s nothing. I’m just upset. Frustrated…” Sid trailed off and then added, “tired.”

Geno tilted his head Sid’s way, a small smile of knowing in his features.

“Then let’s get inside,” suggested Kris, “Do you want us with you tonight? I’m sure some of the other guys would be just fine taking our rooms for themselves.”

Sid brightened a little at that. They often did things like this for each other when one of them was down, and it’d just become a habit for them and for the surrounding team. One of them would have a shit night, and the other two would offer to give him comfort via card games, stories, TV shows, cuddles, and more. The other guys had gotten used to it, happy to receive a room for themselves. So Sid nodded instantly. “Yeah, that’d be good,” he sighed gratefully, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Kris replied and gave the cap of Sid’s— albeit disgusting and old— hat a small kiss. Sid swatted at him, blushing slightly. Kris was romantic like that, even though they were just friends. Sid assumed it was his French blood that made him that way; like Flower had been, though Kris had even more sass than he. Sid remembered the two having glorified competitions over it; the two French-Canadians battling it out in flirty and gaudy ways, trying to upstage the other’s level of cheekiness.

They made their way tiredly into the hotel, and Sid clung to Geno, arms around the Russian’s waist. Some of the guys that were in the lobby sent them a curious look before immediately turning away, back to whatever they were distracting themselves with. Jake stood from where he was sitting at one of the chairs in the entrance and crossed to them, traces of defeat still in his ocean-blue eyes. Geno held up his and Kris’ room keys and Jake raised a single brow, but said nothing about Sid’s koala-like grip on Geno. 

He took the keys slowly, examining them in effort not to pay too much attention to the way Kris, Geno, and Sid were acting. “Who?” he asked softly, a blonde curl falling on his forehead as he looked down.

“Rusty and Archie,” replied Sid, his voice muffled by his face being practically planted directly in Geno’s shoulder blades.

Jake nodded with a small smile. They were the new dads, so the choice made sense. He put the keys into his pocket and peered around Geno at Sid. He smirked, thinking up a chirp that would get a reaction from Sid and tear his mind off the notion of no playoffs. “Clingy ass bitch.”

Sid instantly pulled away and stared at him, mount agape. Bastard, he thought as he felt his cheeks immediately redden with a deep flush. Guentz knew what he was doing. Sid yanked down his cap over his face a bit, trying to distract both himself and the others from his reaction to Jake's targeted comment. He bit his lip as he quickly turned his gaze away from Jake, embarrassed. “You dick,” he said halfheartedly.

“You’re welcome, captain,” cooed Jake. He put emphasis on the nickname, making his voice delicate and sweet as honey.

Sid flipped Jake off as he rolled his eyes, and the blonde only scrunched up his face in a loving sneer back. Sid started up the stairway with a shake of his head, grinning brightly at the sound of Guentz’s unmistakable laugh. Geno gave him a bump and a cheeky smile. “Blushing,” he remarked.

“Oh, shut up,” muttered Sid, turning away from his and Kris’ looks of admiration.

Those two were more aware than anyone of the fact that Sid was incredibly easy to rattle. That a simple chirp could undo him in moments, and that one compliment made him want to hang on the words and never let go. People often assumed that was bad or petty, but in reality Sid was just sensitive. Very sensitive. 

 The other  guys took advantage of it like Kris and Geno did too, of course. They were constantly toeing the line between jokes and actually hurting Sid’s feelings and having to make up for it in whatever way Sid chose. Sid loved it though. Being chirped after he did something stupid— or being complimented on his leadership— made him feel alive. It strengthened his relationships rather than hurting them. The guys knew that a quick quip was an easy way to make him smile, blush, or feel better when they could tell he wasn’t doing good. Though, Sid had a feeling words or actions alone could not fix the situation they were in now. This one was different, jarringly new in a way that Sid might just have to let it take its course before he truly felt okay again.

They had come up to Sid’s door before he knew it. Sid pulled out the room key, trying to keep a steady grip on it and he waved it over the lock. There was a beep as the light on the door turned green. Sid turned the handle sharply, the metal making a unanimous-to-all-hotels click. The cool breeze of air that came from his room was nice, refreshing, and Sid breathed it in deeply. He threw off his hat and Geno’s jacket, running a hand through his too-long and curly hair. 

Kris and Geno followed him in, took a seat, and then Sid started stretching out his arms and legs as per routine. His neck and shoulders made a satisfying pop after a moment of pressure on them and Sid started loosening his legs in a series of intricate moves that he’d perfected as his career had gone on and as he’d gotten older. He could feel Kris and Geno’s stares as he moved, but he ignored them. After a couple minutes— which was notably a bit longer than he’d usually stretch—, Sid seemed content with the way his thighs and calves now felt and he took a seat on the edge of one of the beds.

 The fabric was silky and cool on his fingers and the mattress swayed under his weight. He stared at the alarm clock on the bedside table, the silence causing disappointment to again worm its way into Sid’s expression. Any pride he’d felt over keeping Kris and Evgeni’s attention so fixated on him and him alone had fleeted. The “chirp affect” had worn off. Sid was pulled back to their frustrating reality again.

“Ohhhhh,” Geno started to pout, “is our Sid upset again?”

Kris gave him a saddened look and agreed— adding in extra pity to his voice as if to treat Sid like a wounded puppy, which in a way he was—, “I think he is, G.” Kris turned to Sid, his features illuminated with warm lamplight that made Sid feel safe and at home, and he finally asked the question Sid had been silently begging him to ask, “Cuddles?”

Sid nodded earnestly. Cuddles sounded nice. He’d give anything for that comfort.

“Words, Sid,” prodded Kris.

“Please, yes,” whined Sid, albeit slightly overdramatically in a way Kris would appreciate as funny and casual rather than actually petty. Though, Sid had to admit he was probably doing a little bit of both at the moment. He did want to whine, he just kept himself from actually doing it. He could have self-control… sometimes. 

Kris stood from where he’d been lounging in one of the armchairs and sat next to Sid on the bed, closest to the bedside table. He rested his hand on Sid’s thigh and began slowly tickling it as he laid his head on Sid’s shoulder. Geno followed suit, sitting on the other side of Sid before he threw his big arms around Sid and pulled him close. They sat there for several minutes, embraced with each other in the quiet, and trying not to fall into the well of sadness Sid knew they all were feeling. 

Fuck, this sucked. He didn’t remember it being this bad his first year, so potent and inescapable… but maybe that was just because he’d been young and hadn’t known what it was to win it. That feeling was like a drug, and Sid craved it even more now that they didn’t even have the chance to achieve it. But maybe he was just kidding himself; they hadn’t had a chance in the first place, not this year. None of the years earlier, either. Yet, the missed opportunity still stung, no matter how much Sid begged it to be reasoned with.

He wiped at his cheek, and was surprised to find it came away wet. How had he not noticed he’d been crying? Sid rubbed fiercely at his face, brushing the tears away angrily. God, he was a mess. He was a mess and he couldn’t be fixed. He couldn’t— He wasn’t— Sid fought for breath as anxiety seized him and the world was just him and his pain. To him, Kris and Geno were nothing more than white noise against the ringing in his ears. They were blurs of color through his tears as they finally got released after weeks of being pent up by foolish hope.

He hadn’t been good enough.

 This was his fault. All his fault. Just his fault… 

He’d wasted Geno and Kris’ seasons; hell, he was wasting their time right here and now. He shouldn’t need to be coddled and held, but here he was. For fuck’s sake he couldn’t even hold himself together in front of the two people he loved most. He was weak. Sid scoffed through his own ugly emotions. He was still that same “crybaby” kid he used to be. Sid registered the lie and took it as a fact out of something he might dare to call spite of himself. All these years, and Sid was no different. He wanted to laugh. Maybe somethings really don’t fucking change, eh? 

Sid put his head in his hands, feeling cold and meaningless. His stomach was still growling, but he couldn’t seem to care. There wasn’t a need for extra calories anymore, not with the season done. It was a stupid excuse to not eat, Sid knew, but if not caring wasn’t the reason, then lack of any energy at all was. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, breaking down in front of Geno and Kris. It might have been just a few minutes, it could have been hours. Why bother counting? Sid no longer had the strength to laugh at his own thoughts as they screamed, Maybe when you look up, you’ll see they left. I wouldn’t blame them. You’re nothing but an embarrassing joke when you get like this. They shouldn’t have to put up with it. You could just be normal and take the loss and move on, but you’re sitting here like a child. Grow up. 

Kris’ voice snapped Sid from his dark spiral, keeping it from devolving any further. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” Kris soothed, cursing once under his breath before continuing, “Shit. Come on, Sid. Come back to us. Just breathe. Just breathe.”

Sid drew in quick, sharp breaths, following what Kris commanded without thinking of it. Part of it was instinct, the other habit. You’ve been here before, we all have, Sid reminded himself as his mind finally slowed enough for him to collect a coherent thought. They’d never leave you.

“Yes, Sid.” 

G, Sid wanted to cry out at the familiar voice on his other side. 

“You okay. We are here. We know…” Geno’s voice faltered, surprisingly fragile, “We know how you feel.”

Recognizing Geno and Kris’ own hurts seemed to finally draw Sid out of his panic.

“Yes! That’s it,” Kris encouraged as he noticed Sid’s breathing slowly starting to steady at Kris’ instruction. There was only love in his words, nothing said out of fake pity.

 “Just keep taking deep breaths… there you go,” continued the Quebecian. “Good, Sid,” he praised with intense adoration as he gently laid down on the mattress and took Sid and Geno with him. 

Sid adjusted himself on the blankets, taking a comforting hold around Kris as Geno massaged his back. After several more minutes of hushed reassurances and moments of Sid almost passing out asleep, Sid finally felt the last tremor of panic leave and he was able to breathe again without sharp pains in his chest. He flexed his hands on the black cloth of Kris’ T-shirt, laying his face against his back absently. 

Sid pressed his forehead harder against Kris’ back as if to stifle the thoughts as they came. Sorrow was subsiding into guilt, anxiety into unneeded apologies. “I’m sorry,” murmured Sid out of the blue.

Kris turned on his side to face Sid, his brows furrowed with half concern and half tenderness. He took Sid’s face in his hand, brushing over stray and drying tears that still lingered. “Don’t be,” he whispered. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sid wasn’t buying it, “This is a stupid thing to be so upset over. I— you didn’t have to stay here with me. You shouldn’t have to help me.”

Geno spoke up before Kris could, “But we want to.”

Sid rolled over to look at Geno, who was propped up on his elbow and tilting his head curiously at him. His hair was messy, his eyes glinting with what might have been tears. Sid took Geno’s free hand, entwining their fingers together. One of Kris’ arms was over his side, a steady and reassuring weight. Sid closed his eyes, sleep becoming more and more of a need the longer he stayed on the comfortable-for-a-hotel bed. 

“Then thank you, both of you,” revised Sid.

“Of course,” Geno consoled. 

Before Kris could continue his speech to their relationship and Sid’s worth, the loud growl of Sid’s stomach stopped him. Kris’ face broke into a grin. “Have you seriously not eaten since before the game?” 

Sid shrugged sheepishly. “I was a bit busy brooding in the locker room. Food wasn’t really on my mind,” he admitted, trying to sound nonchalant about the fact that he also hadn’t felt like he deserved to eat.

Geno looked around, the three of them collectively feeling too comfortable to move. Sid wasn’t even sure his legs would work if he tried to stand and go get food from downstairs. They were fixed there, not wanting to pull away from each other’s warmth. “Room service?” the Russian suggested and it was received with earnest nods from Sid and Kris.

So Kris twisted himself to reach his phone on the bedside table and ordered them what they wanted. The food here was decent, at least. The Penguins organization always picked a good spot for them to stay at, and with the way Sid was about food in the regular season, he appreciated it. They always wound up at hotels that had exactly what they needed, and with staff that were welcome to accommodate Sid’s strict schedule and heavy superstitions.

After about fifteen minutes of stories and talk to ease their troubled minds, the food arrived at their door. Geno quickly fetched it, and Kris stood and moved to the table in the room. Sid laid against the pillows, still not wanting to get up, but feeling empty without Geno and Kris next to him at the same time. Kris motioned for Sid to join them, and prodded, “Come on, Sid. We’ll eat and go back, don’t you worry. We aren’t done.”

Sid rolled his eyes at how much Kris sounded like he was babying him, but he had to admit the promise helped get him to stand and eat. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand across his face and pushing back stray curls. The scent of his food was mouthwatering and an IV water sat untouched next to it. Sid smiled. Those things worked wonders; he was glad the Penguins had brought some along. 

Sid ate slowly, some of his meal still left by the time the growl in his stomach and the shaky feeling in his limbs had faded. What he’d had was good enough for now. He was too tired to keep eating anyway. 

Sid folded up the box of food that was leftover and went and put it in the fridge for if he wanted it later, and because if he didn’t finish it he knew Geno probably would. On his way back, he picked up his liquid IV, drank the dregs of it, and swiftly deposited the plastic cup in the trash. He was well aware of Kris and Geno watching his every move, careful and deliberate. Sid turned from them, unable to keep from grinning like an idiot as he popped his back before finally getting ready to have some well needed rest. “You know I’m not going anywhere,” he called from the bathroom as he snatched up his toothbrush.

“Well, can you blame us? There was that first time—” Kris began.

Sid cut him off, correcting Kris before he even had the chance to keep twisting a story from ages ago, “We were barely friends back then, Tanger. Don’t start on me again.”

“Oh, whatever,” Kris said in a way that was obvious that he was trying to brush off the subject. He could hear Geno laughing along from the other side of the wall and Sid could perfectly envision his mannerisms despite him not being visible. This was a tale as old as time for them; witty banter and comforting talks. They’d balanced out the two within the first year or two of their friendship, and everything had been near-perfect since. Their bond had quickly become unbreakable.

Sid finished getting ready, idly listening to Geno and Kris’ conversation. He hummed under his breath to inaudible music, the familiar beat playing on loop in his head. I like it like that she workin’ that thang— Sid stopped abruptly as he came back into the main part of the room where the beds were. Kris and Geno had been whispering between each other, and were now watching him with a kind of disposition that Sid couldn’t quite place. 

“What?” he asked plainly.

Geno shrugged, barely able to come up with the answer he wanted, “Nothing. Just, you…”

Sid raised a brow, prompting Geno further.

“You’re you,” said Geno, and his voice had a mysterious air of want to it so strong that Sid forced his mind to shelve for another day.

Sid nodded a little, breathing out a laugh, “Yeah.”

He ignored the hidden possibilities behind Geno’s words and took a long drink from his water bottle, the ice making it cold and fresh. Kris had gotten out cards and was dealing Geno a stack, and when he finished he looked back at Sid. “You playing?”

Sid eyed the clock on the bedside table— 11:26 it read— and contemplated for a few moments. He figured they were playing something simple, but his mind was too fatigued to function right now, so he shook his head. He knew he wouldn’t fall asleep until Kris and Geno were beside him, but he could at least read or do something that would ease his thoughts. Maybe he’d write a little, it’d been a while since he had done that. That’d be good.

Sid yawned, pulling his phone out of his pocket and throwing it haphazardly next to a pillow. He slipped off his shirt, feeling his cheeks pink slightly as Kris whistled his way, and put it, unfolded, back into his open suitcase. He kept on his tight, black shorts and climbed into bed, settling quickly and comfortably into the mass of pillows and thin blankets. He sat up against the headboard, legs out of the wrinkled mass of fabric with feet crossed at the ankles.

Sid reached for his book and flipped to his bookmarked page, brows furrowed in concentration, a pen in his hand and close to his mouth as he bit it subconsciously. The page was talking about something sporty, phycological, but Sid began to realize that— despite reading the same sentence over and over again— he was too busy listening to the quiet chatter of his favorite teammates. They were throwing small jabs at each other as they played, rejoicing or scoffing depending on if something good or bad happened. Their laughing and the sounds of their voices was as much of a brain worm as the song Sid still had stuck in his head.

Sid clicked his pen, trying and failing to write an annotation on the book. Instead, he ended up doodling lazily on the corner of the page, biting his lip lightly as he sketched. Sid blinked out of his astray focus. He looked up, gaze darting to Kris and Geno and back to the page at hand. “You could be having  a perfect night and one mistake…” quoted Sid under his breath, hoping that if he spoke the sentence aloud it’d finally click in his head.

Sid drew the open book to his face, the soft paper pressed to his features as he closed his eyes. Whatever, Sid concluded, I give up. So, he snapped the book shut and set it back on the table next to him. He clicked his pen shut and grabbed his phone from next to him, opening it up to The Athletic. He moved back the heavy comforter and wiggled under the sheets, sinking further into tiredness with the warmth the bed provided. He scrolled through articles, trying his best to avoid the headlines about him and the Penguins. Yet, he still found himself reading about it.

Sid laughed to himself about the absurdity of each word. They only confirmed Sid’s own thoughts, though maybe they rang truer than he wanted. He wasn’t sure exactly why of all places he’d go, he would read articles about their failure, but maybe it was because some foolish part of him was wishing for a scrap of understanding. He knew better. The media wasn’t like that, not magazines and certainly not a site like Twitter. That was exactly why he didn’t have social media. So why was this different? It wasn’t. 

Sid clicked off his phone in frustration. He laid on his back and pressed his hands against his temples, applying steady pressure in an attempt to help the ache in his head. Sid put his phone on the table, on top of his book, and stretched out to turn off the light by his head. Now, the only light remaining was at the table where Kris and Geno were playing. Sid turned on his side so that they were at least in his line of sight. He didn’t usually like facing any kind of light as he slept, but he much preferred this rather than not seeing Kris and Geno at all.

Sleep quickly took its hold of Sid, but it was a light enough kind that he knew the exact moment when Kris and Geno were done and when they finally joined him. “You done?” he’d asked, still halfway asleep.

Kris had tapped his bicep gently as he settled in. “Yes,” he replied, “now get some sleep.”

And Sid had. Almost instantly after Kris and Geno had laid beside him, Sid was out like a light. Luckily enough, he slept heavily. He was unplagued by the nightmares that he worried he might have about his failures throughout the season; or rather, by dreams about the milestones he’d hit while continuing to lose. 

When he next woke, it was light and Sid was alone. He sat up slowly, muscles still sore and arm asleep. The clock read 8:56 AM. A jolt of panic shot through Sid’s chest. Where were Kris and Geno? Had they left already? No… they wouldn’t do that, Sid thought. He got up to check anyway, heart rate rising.

He rounded the corner into the small hotel room kitchen and breathed out a sigh. Kris and Geno were there at the counter, making food and talking in hushed voices. They turned at the sound of Sid's footsteps and Geno gave him a warm grin, Kris nodded towards him as he chewed a piece of toast. Sid hung his head for a moment, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t even bothered to throw on a shirt. Whatever. His cheeks flushed with self-consciousness anyway. Geno watched him, his brows furrowing slightly. “You okay?” he questioned. 

“Oh,” Sid started, blinking sleepily, “yeah. It’s just you guys let me sleep quite a while. I didn’t mean to do that, I mean. Did you shut off my alarm or something?”

Kris smiled smugly. “You were too distracted by me to even notice.”

Sid rolled his eyes, scratching his head and attempting to brush back his mussed curls. He cracked his neck, stretching it this way and that to work out the tenseness in his shoulders. “How’d you even get my password?” he asked blearily through a yawn.

“Don’t question it,” replied Kris blankly, waving Sid off.

Sid laughed and stepped fully into the kitchen, starting to search for something in the fridge to eat. “That’s reassuring,” he huffed and took out an orange, throwing it in the air and swiftly catching it again a few times.

He set the fruit on the counter and snapped his fingers in thought. Kris slid him a plate with toast on it and gave him a smile. Sid didn’t fail to notice the way his gaze lingered on Sid’s body, glued to him in adoring fascination. He was well aware of how he was talked about and looked at, doted on. He was called a stallion often, and as he got older more and more people started praising his ability to stay the way he did. He didn’t crumble, wear away; he got sharper. It was something Sid just… did. 

Sid didn’t want to look into how Kris and Geno’s stares managed to feel differently than the ones of teammates just wanting to joke around about his “God-given” quads or his blessed Canadian smile. He didn’t want to dive into how they seemed so much more genuine and soft than that of some starry-eyed player at the All-Star weekend. And that was because Kris and Geno actually, truly cared and loved him in such an intense way just like how Sid was with them. Because, through everything, they’d never seen him as lower or higher than them. They just saw Sid as what he was: human. It terrified him.

Sid grabbed his protein powder off the counter where he’d set it, his mind going astray as he set about making his drink. He wasn’t sure if it was new sadness or anger at remembering what had happened that he was feeling, but it tugged his mouth into a frown anyway. He stirred in the powder aggressively, and took a bite of lukewarm toast. He’d thought sleep would help. Apparently not.

Geno passed by him, giving his back a reassuring rub as he went to the table. Sid twisted the lid to the protein powder shut and slid it to the back on the counter and brought his food to the table, sitting practically leg-to-leg with Evgeni even though there was plenty of room to spread out. Sid took a drink of his protein  shake and headbutted Geno gently, the morning having not quite ebbed his tiredness away. Kris sat down in front of him, a single earbud in— probably listening to a French audio book, which he often did in his spare time. The Quebecian leaned over the table to push Sid around half-heartedly just to make him laugh, which Sid did. Kris brightened at the sound, his eyes wrinkled with appreciation and his hair perfect as always; stark in comparison to Sid’s still messy and untamed bedhead.

Sid set down his orange, which he was about to peel, and stood. “I’m gonna throw on a shirt, one sec’,” he announced, remembering to do so because of the slight chill in the room.

Sid quickly walked to his suitcase, tucked slightly under his bed, and snatched up a random grey tee. He made his way half-blindly to the kitchen, moving while pulling on the shirt. He ran a hand through his hair after getting it on and sat back in his seat. Kris watched him with a curious look, laughing under his breath at every little routine thing Sid did. Geno was too busy staring out the window as he ate to notice it much.

They ate in comfortable silence, content with not talking as Sid was sure that the topic of their loss would wind up being mentioned if they did. Kris was nodding occasionally along to his book, Geno couldn’t stop watching cars in the street below pass by, and Sid was so intently focused on his food he thought his hunger might just disappear by proxy. Fed up with the quiet after several minutes, Sid finally asked a question he knew the answer to, “What time do we leave?”

“Plane takes off at three, guys are out of hotel by eleven,” Geno replied, his gaze being slowly averted from the window.

Sid nodded, trying to come up with something, anything to talk about. “Where do you think you guys will go? Just home?”

Kris shrugged. “Don’t know. I might travel with Catherine and the kids; Alex has been wanting to go back to France, so we’ll probably make a trip around Europe. We’ll see how it plays out.”

“Same for me, travel. Get out of city,” mused Geno. “You taking trip to Scotland?”

Sid paused. He hadn’t thought about that. The Penguins had gifted him a trip there after he’d scored his five-hundredth goal. “I… I don’t know. I’d like to go up West, maybe later this summer I’ll see if Nate’s willing to stay around Denver. He says there’s some nice spots there. Other than that, I haven’t thought much past Nova Scotia and training again.”

“You should go,” Kris noted as he stole a slice of Sid’s orange and had eaten it before he could say anything. “I think you’d like it there. It’s very green, cool. Rainy. The kinda stormy weather you love during warm summers. You could journal, too. I know you like that.”

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know when I’ll have time, is all,” Sid said, feeling like he was choking under the thought of doing anything but sulking around and training till he broke.

Kris rose an unamused brow and folded his arms after tapping his Airpod once to pause his book. He took a drink of water and countered, “It will be good for you, Sid. You can’t just prepare for next season, you’ll get hurt. You need to rest and relax. Don’t think that because we lost you should be punished for it. It’s not your fault.”

Sid looked away at the kitchen, pouting stubbornly. Kris saw right through him. He always had. He was right, too, but that’s what hurt most. As much as Sid wanted to work out and diet, he knew he couldn’t. Even his body couldn’t handle that, especially not with him getting older. There was no option but to take a breather and travel somewhere far from hockey’s chaos. Maybe Denver wasn’t the best idea after all. And Scotland did sound nice…

“Fine,” concluded Sid. “I’ll go. But I’m going to annoy you all with pictures and taunt you with essays about the food there. You’ll wish you could be there.”

“Oh no, what will we do?” Kris sighed dramatically. “Pictures? Of you, of pretty nature? That might just be too much torture to handle,” he emphasized with a false swoon.

Sid threw his head back in laughter, hitting the table with his hand lightly. He wiped away tears of joy from his eyes. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even wear a kilt,” he joked.

Geno snorted, “You would.”

“I’m not against it,” pointed out Kris.

“You two,” Sid said as he stood with his plate and threw it in the trash. He checked the time again. “We should pack up,” he announced.

“We don’t have to be three hours early, Sid. Just hang out for a bit,” Kris countered.

Sid shook his head, they could at least be ready. “I’ll hang out when I’m packed.”

“Yes, exactly. When you’re packed,” Geno noted, relaxing back in his chair to show he wasn’t moving anywhere. 

Sid rolled his eyes, but he was used to this. Every year he tried to get them to indulge his wild habits and strict routine, but they remained just as stubborn as he. In the end, Sid supposed he didn’t mind. They’d come around eventually. That’s what he told himself, at least.

Sid exited the room without another word and began to pack his things. He folded everything neatly, fit each shirt and sock in to perfection. He’d always been organized like this. It caught guys off guard. Most of them just threw things in or barely packed at all. Sid, however, was always prepared no matter what. He had extra food, water, necessities, and more on hand. Given, it may have caused him more back pain than necessary on hiking trips with Nate and the others, but Sid didn’t care. After all, who didn’t need five bottles of water and a meal for a fifteen minute stroll up the mountain?

Sid quickly zipped the opening shut, smiling faintly at some far off thought. At least the summer offered time for him to spend with the guys that weren’t on his team. It was why he loved training camp. Friends from across the league got to simply enjoy the sport and work out together rather than against one another. 

Who knows, maybe he’d watch Worlds in-person this year. Come to think of it, it was in Finland and Latvia this year… he could schedule his Scotland trip then. Sid stood from his crouch, it pulling his legs comfortably taut, and nodded to himself. He spoke into the kitchen, “I think I figured out when I’ll go to Scotland.”

“Yeah?” Geno called.

“When?” Kris added.

Sid grinned brightly at the thought. A bunch of the Pens were going this year, he could go and support them— especially P.O. It’d be a cool opportunity as he’d never seen Worlds live off-ice before. He would just have to be careful and make sure he wasn’t too recognizable. “I think I want to attend Worlds this year. I could go after,” Sid replied.

Kris strode into the room. “Been a bit. Sounds fun, though. I think it’d be good for you.”

“Me too,” agreed Sid with a small shrug as he took a seat on the bed.

Kris pulled out his phone, scrolling through it casually. Geno came in from the kitchen and sat on the bed opposite to Sid, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. They fell into quiet again, unburdened and calming quiet. At some point, Geno started watching something— Friends, Sid noted— and eventually they had all ended up lounging along the beds, laughing and chatting even over the words of the show.

Time passed quickly, and before Sid knew it, his alarm was going off. It was eleven, they should go. They had gathered everything within a few minutes, most of it being due to Geno being, well, himself and forgetting several things along the way. Sid hesitated on the door handle, turning to them before finally closing the hotel room shut.

“Okay, do we actually have everything now?” Sid asked with a skeptical look Geno’s way.

The tall Russian shrugged. “Eh. I forget, it not that important anyway,” he announced, making Sid snort out a laugh. That man was absurd. It was adorable.

“Alright,” Sid said through a wide grin and he closed the door. “Let’s go.”

The day went by fast after that. Everything went smoothly as usual, and, as if within the blink of an eye, Sid was boarding the plane home. He picked his spot, sitting next to Geno and across the way from Kris, who had already started playing cards with Dumo and P.O. Sid laid his head back against the seat, staring out the window as the plane’s engines roared over the sound of classical music in his ears. Geno slid a sleep mask over his eyes, propping up his feet on the vacant seat next to Sid and pushing his own back a bit. 

Sid loved the plane rides back home. The ability to just stare out a window at the sky so high up was something unparalleled for him. There wasn’t really an experience that could match the feeling. There was something special about being able to observe everything below from such a different angle, to be within the clouds and see the horizon. He’d always enjoyed it.

Sid only half-listened to his music. He was more focused on the other’s conversations, laughing along as they joked and jabbed at each other. They followed the setting sun, the sky going from bright blue to pinkish orange as they neared Pittsburgh and the time changed. Sid laid his head against the edge of the window, feeling a sweet tiredness seep into his bones, stark in comparison to the exhausted pain he’d felt yesterday.

Geno had since woken up and moved to go play a round with the guys, so Sid sat the reminder of the flight alone, writing ideas down and doodling idly in his notebook. He brainstormed his trip, sketched the clouds outside, drifted off in thought to his music. The season of stress, athletics, and relentless rehab to keep his body working was finally over. Sid was moving on and looking forward. 

The Pittsburgh cityline was coming up, its lights gleaming and the golden bridge glowing. It was beautiful. This city was his home as much as Nova Scotia was. He knew every corner, every under the radar diner that didn’t care who he was, just that they had his company. The plane was getting lower, the airport outside the city bright with signs for the pilots.

Sid closed his notebook and put it back in his bag. Geno looked up from his cards at him with a smile, as if to welcome him back to reality. Kris nudged him, prodding him to take his turn so that they might finish their round before they had to stop. Sid laughed to himself at them, his heart warm with affection. The plane finished its descent and the cabin jolted. 

Sid sighed. They were home.

Kris was right. They would be okay.

[somanypolls]

i did my best to include lots of birds. sorry if i missed your favorite or miscategorized it! i am no bird expert

[diaryofanormalkid]

Ahhh dang I never got to participate. Can ppl do more tøp polls pls?!

[shirecorn]

Forgive me if this is nitpick-y, but why'd you get rid of Scoot's disability?

It's not nipicky to wonder! Disability rep is very important. However, you could ask "did you" instead of "why did you" to make the question more open and less accusatory. There's no need, since I did indeed include her disability, though the signs are pretty subtle so I see why it could be missed.

Let's take a look at our girl!

The original style of MLP gives everyone teeny tiny wings and the suspension of disbelief. You just gotta trust those things can fly.

However, my style is way more about speculative biology and anatomy. My pegasus have huge wings that could believably allow flight.

My scootaloo has tiny wings which will not allow flight. The anatomy is there, but something is wrong with the full wingspan. Here's a comparison of a flight-capable scootaloo vs my actual scootaloo.

Notice anything else? Those dark gray markings aren't normal feathers, they are pinfeathers! (it's hard to tell from the sketch smudges so don't worry). Pinfeathers are developing baby feathers in a protective hard sheath that allows the growing, living feathers to be full of blood, soft and delicate. All birds have pinfeathers amongst their plumage as they lose and regrow feathers. You see them a lot on baby birds just growing their first feathers.

Once feathers are done growing, the sheath can be preened off to reveal healthy, fullsize feathers underneath. When baby birds go through this, we call them fledglings. They will spend some time shedding all their pinfeather sheaths and then their flight-capable plumage will come in. Scootaloo is much too old to be a fledgling, most pegasus are flying by now.

Adult birds can have prominent pinfeathers too after going through a molt and then having to regrow lots of feathers at once.

So what's going on with scootaloo? Her wings are there, the pinfeathers keep coming in, but every time the sheaths fall off, the adult feather is undersize and limp. My family owned a flightless cockatiel who just couldn't grow functional wing feathers no matter how hard he tried.

Nobody knows why scootaloo's feathers are deformed, but it is what it is. She can't fly and without mobility aids, will never be able to. She keeps waiting for her feathers to come in right, but eventually she will realize it won't happen, and be able to work around it and find other sources of joy

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 6 || Masterlist || Chapter 8

Chapter Summary: Upon meeting the Baroness you are enamoured by her devotion.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Smut), typical historical misogyny and sexism, mentions and discussion on miscarriages. Implied domestic abuse and infidelity.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This is an important but rather sad chapter. I beseech you all to read the warnings. The details of this chapter are important to the plot of the missing Baron Thaddeus Pennicott.

Inspiring Song: "Flightless Bird American Mouth" by Vitamin String Quartet

8:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Sherlock tucked your arm into his side as you three entered the Groveland house foyer. The floor was made of fine marble tile and with ever step a light echo raced down the halls.

The inspector called upon a nearby dusting maid to fetch the head of the house. Who returned was a thin and tall man in a butler’s uniform with a sliver pocket watch hanging from his chest. His hair was the colour of autumn leaves and his face littered in freckles.

He bowed, “I am mister Edward Redmayne, head butler of the Groveland estate, how may I assist you?”

The inspector shook his hand and stated quickly, “We spoke on the telephone yesterday? A telegraph was sent.”

The butler smiled with a relieving gasp, “Detective Holmes?”

Lestrade sheepishly looked over his shoulder to you and your husband. He nodded. His expression wore a emotion of embarrassment mixed with annoyance. Perhaps he was jealous of your husband’s successful published case stories. You wished you could have told the constable not to fret as Sherlock was nothing short of a arrogant mule...yet again- the mark on his face...he probably already knew that.

8:42am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Upon meeting the lady of the house, you stood frigid by your husband. You felt somewhat self conscious by her grey eyes that lingered over your dress. Perhaps you should’ve worn your Sunday best before meeting a woman of such a high status.

The baroness was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was bold and rounded beneath her maternity gown. She had been sitting calmly on a resting chaise, knitting a small bonnet for her future child. Her hands were covered in fine burgundy velvet gloves to match her modest dress.

Her face was framed by a light brown curls, that appeared almost white in some places, twisted into a bum at the base of her neck. Her pale face was blotchy with pink flecks and slight acne.

“Lady Pennicott, I am Inspector Braydon Lestrade of Scotland Yard,” the British officer proclaimed as he bowed dramatically forward. You withheld a girlish giggle by how low the man had bent his head and presented himself foolishly, and from the corner of your eye you manage to catch the whisp of Sherlock’s smirk.

The inspector waved his arm behind him and moved aside, “-and with me is Detective Sherlock Holmes and his wife, Mrs Holmes.”

You produced the baroness a respectable curtsy, your eyes glued down to the beautifully patterned carpet. You wondered how the servants could keep it so clean and freshly unstained by dirty guests. It must have been new.

The baroness shuffled her knitting needles and ball of woollen yarn into a Whicker basket and disposed of it beside her.

A slow stretching smile graced her thin lips as she spoke to you, “Oh, are you the little dear who solved that factory match girl incident?”

You weren’t sure how to answer her question. You weren’t entirely sure what the baroness was referencing until Sherlock stepped closer with your arm still cradled in his.

“No dear Baroness,” Sherlock pat your hand gently, “That would have been my sister Enola Holmes, she has her own detective office at present moment. My wife is here on my invitation. I wished to gift her a sight of the grand park and estate while I was here upon duty.”

The Baroness cocked her head, from her ears hung pearls that swung and hung like rain drops.

“Come forth dear,” she lifted her hand and beckoned you, “I would like to have better view of you.”

You wondered if she could smell the sweat beginning to drop down the back of your neck. You bit your tongue and tried to refrain from trembling. You were nervous. Her eyes were cold but her smile warm, two conflating details that you couldn’t understand. The last thing you needed now on top of a terrible start to your marriage was to be scrutinized by a haughty pregnant baroness.

She flickered your fingers for you to bend down to her. As you leant down, you swore you could smell copper, a metalic scent. A vein on your scalp pulsed. She scanned your face of its details. You dared to wonder what she was searching for. And then it clicked...the smell...

‘Dear god, you prayed, please don’t let her smell my blood, please let this not be my blood...’

You should have sprits on some perfume before leaving baker street.

She glanced behind you and questioned angelically, “How does it feel having such a clever husband?”

Your lips opened and closed. You resembled a fish. You were stumped to answer quickly.

‘Miserable, infuriating, torturous, pleasurable mixed with a cup of agony...’

She lifted her brows until you hurriedly blurted, “He is...formidable and righteous...” you stood up tall and took a step back, adding with a monetarism of truth, “I am very lucky to have become his bride.”

‘Lucky, while incredibly resentful.’

You reached back, Sherlock adopted your arm back into his hold once more.

Lady Pennicott rubbed her belly, her eyes started to twinkle, “And soon you will have a plethora of children that will look like him I gather.”

Your eyes fluttered. Sherlock’s hand tightened around your glove and his throat bobbed. You felt hot in the face.

Yes that’s right, that’s what normal husband and wife did isn’t it? They have children. That was your role, to be the mother of Sherlock’s offspring...

You couldn’t answer.

And there. That dear girl is when you questioned for the first time. ‘Is this what I want?’ and ‘Do I want Sherlock’s children.’ Because having a knowing of his barbarism conflated a fear in your belly...would Sherlock hurt his own children if he could easily hurt you, his wife?

When you hesitated for too long to answer her again, Sherlock said with a strained tone that was masked in a hopeful joy, “One may only hope, Baroness.”

“Lady Pennicott,” Graydon interrupted, “We have come to ask you on the whereabouts of Lord Pennicott and the evening he was last sighted.”

Her eyes narrowed at the inspector and with an annoyed twinge she muttered and wiped her hands on a nearby blanket, “I already informed the police of what I was informed of by our butler Edward.”

She glanced up next her right. Mister Redmayne observed her, looking down. The pair smiled to each other. She reached out to him. She grabbed his hand and they squeezed.

The inspector laughed nervously, “Indeed but Detective Sherlock Holmes was not presently involved in the case until yesterday.”

Her eyes flickered quickly to your husband and her face flared with confusion quickly to be matched with a impressed smile, “Of course, please sit all of you as I am near a indisposition with my child,” she gestured to the mirroring chaise and a chair beside the fireplace, “Edward, please tell Martha to bring tea and biscuits for our kind service men and Mrs Holmes.”

The butler bowed to you all and left the sitting room.

Lestrade took his place on the lone chair while Sherlock sat you beside him on the chaise. You took your time to lower yourself. Sitting on your bruises was uncomfortable while another cramp hit you. Your fingers dug into his palm.

From Lestrades breast pocket he pulled out a notebook and small pencil.

“Lady Pennicott,” Sherlock softly hummed, “Please, could you tell me what your husband is like as a person?”

The woman who you believed was in her late thirties smiled and stated softly, “My Thaddeus is a noble man, good taste in wine and very devoted to his work. He likes to go hunting and we share a passion for gardening,” she glanced up at the ceiling and paused, “He prefers to plant vegetables to donate to the church and orphans, whereas I have always loved to grow my flowers.”

The way she described him, her devotion was deep and honourable. She touched her round belly.

Sherlock looked over to the fire place behind the baroness. On the mantle was a magnificent portrait twice your height, painted on the canvas was who you recognised as Lord and Lady Pennicott. He was sitting up straight on a fine red cushioned chair with his dirty blonde hair and softened mutton chops while she stood at his right and her ringed hand on his shoulder. The similarities were there but Lady Pennicotts hair had lightened in reality perhaps from all the years that separated her likeness and her reality.

“I was informed Lord Pennicott is a father of five?” Sherlock asked.

The Baroness smiled proudly and pat her tummy softly, “Six soon.”

You couldn’t help notice something was missing from the painting, Sherlock also had a similar thought.

Where were the children in the portrait? Where was a family portrait in the house?

“Forgive me,” a breath of air escaped from him, “are the children away at school?”

“Oh,” her uncanny smile remained while her brows angled down, her throat tightened as she spoke, “I fear they are in the loving embrace of angels now. All of them were taken from us by God,” her eyes glanced to you, “They came out sleeping.”

Your heart sunk to the pit of your belly with sorrow and pity.

Five babies lost, five babies gone…five pregnancies… four and a half years of pregnancy and for what? Five angels.

A woman had one holy role in life, to bare her husband children, and when a woman was defective or produced a sickly child, it was a symbol of failure in society. But you never saw it that way...you imagined it must’ve been agony to lose so many babies. One or two was a common occurrence but five? Five was a curse to experience and relive over and over.

“Well,” you interrupted Sherlock rudely, cutting him off from his next abrasive question by squeezing his hand a little too hard.

You could see the mourning in the baroness’ face. You saw the classic look of all women made uncomfortable by something a man has said. What the hell would the detective know about a woman’s emotions after how coldly he has treated all women and yourself.

You shuffled on the opposite chaise and smile softly, “I will pray this one will come swiftly and feel the warmth of their mother.”

The baroness’ face lifted and warmed. She smiled happily and nodded, “Thankyou, oh I’m just so excited! This one really is a big one, I can feel it. I hope it’s a boy.”

Sherlock was staring at you intensely as the maid Martha finally delivered a pot of tea and poured the steaming liquid. His brows were knitted and his eyes held suspicion as he kept you in his sight. You politely nodded your head once at him before reaching for a hot cup and lifting it to your lips.

Sherlock sighed and turned back to his questioning, “You would say you liked your marriage?”

The baroness appeared offended by your husband as her face wrinkled and a sneer spread her thin lips, “Of course, any woman who doesn’t like her marriage should not be married in the first place. She is a burden to her husband if she cannot perform her duties as a wife.”

Lady Pennicott leant forward and collected her own cup of tea, she delicately pinched a biscuit and dunked it into the contents.

…you felt Sherlock drag his thumb across your fingers. You felt chilly, could he read your thoughts? Did he know truly how much you already hated him and his ideas of intimacy in your marriage? He clear his throat when both your glancing eyes caught each other.

“Can you tell me what happened,” Sherlock pressed, “The night of your husbands disappearance?”

“Well...after dinner,” the baroness sighed in thought and nibbled on her moist biscuit, “Thaddeus wanted to speak with me in his office about a spending I had made a week ago. You see, I had bought a cradle for the nursery. The one we had originally was broken and beyond repair, we disposed of it a month prior. Thaddeus was not pleased with the price and claimed it was an unnecessary purchase,” she paused and set her cup aside before she touched her belly again; rubbing in soft slow circles, she began to blushed, “He was sorely hurt by my choice. He then became very cross with me and left his office in a huff.”

She looked to the yarn, to the tea pot and then finally to the painting on the mantle, “I deemed that he would find forgiveness in his heart by the morning and brush it off. I returned back to the nursery to tidy up before I went to my rooms and went to bed to sleep in my quarters of the east wing. Thaddeus keeps himself to the west wing most nights.”

The detective nodded, “What time do you believe it was when you went to your bed, Baroness?”

She hummed softly while pursuing her lips, “A quarter to nine in the evening.”

“And how did you realise your husband was missing?” Sherlock stole a scone off the tea tray and lifted it to his lips. He paused amidst chewing it slowly.

The noble woman sighed and recollected, pragmatically, “In the morning Mr Redmayne informed me on how Thaddeus took off into the night astride Arion, our prize stallion Clydesdale. Thaddeus had not returned by the next morning and that is when concern drew near. I sent members of my staff to the factories to investigate his whereabouts and none had come upon him. I knew something had to be wrong so I alerted the authorities by the second morning.”

Your husband took a deep breath and discarded the half bitten scone, he wiped his hand unceremoniously on his jacket and throatily asked, “Do you recall if Lord Pennicott has any potential persons he might be deemed as an enemy towards?”

“Only his company competitors, Detective,” She said saccharinely with her smile, “He was a very loveable man.”

“Do you have a list of the names of staff who were working that evening here in Groveland House?”

The butler stepped forward and cleared his throat, “That would be in Lord Pennicotts office,” he pulled out a pair of keys, “I can you show you gentlemen in and where he keeps his accounts and other paraphernalia to his business if you’d like?”

Both Sherlock and Lestrade smiled and stood up.

“Baroness,” Sherlock gently requested, “Would it be overly bothersome if my beloved wife remained and kept you company while the inspector and I look in your husband’s office.”

Your heart jumped to your throat. What was Sherlock doing leaving you behind with the Baroness by yourself!?....what if you spoke out of turn or said something too presumptuous for your status!?...

“Most certainly not,” she beamed “I will gladly accept such delightful company,” She held out a hand, palm down to her right. The butler speedily stepped to her side and leant her his hand. She winced as she scooted forward on the cushioned lounge before struggling to rise to her feet.

Sherlock leant down and kissed the back of your wrist again, so scantily in front of the baroness. You tried tor refrain from loudly gasped and bringing anymore dangerous attention to yourself. Your husband left your side and followed the butler with Lestrade out of the sitting room.

So the party turned to two married women. The baroness was pleased.

She stepped closer to you and reached for your arm. You were surprised by her familiarity but you would not deny the assistance of a woman so desperately swollen and ready to birth any day.

“My dear, would you care to have a stroll with me in my garden?” She smirked and jerked her chin, “Knowing how dear Thaddie kept his space organised I suspect the gentlemen might be a while.”

You nodded and quickly made the warning assurance, “Are you in a condition to move great feets Lady Pennicott?”

“Fret not,” She giggled girlishly and waved her hand casually, “The physician told me fresh air is delightful for the health of the babe,” she tapped the top of her belly, “I have a month or so before they come.”

Your eyes widened, she looked huge enough to give birth now, surely she wasn’t a month away!! Maybe she was going to be blessed with a pair of twins. You had such a limited knowledge of pregnancy in women. Your grandmother hadn’t given birthed a child in the last forty years before your birth!!!

She pointed the way out of the main mansion to enter the garden paths. The sun was perfect today amongst the clouds. It was neither cold nor hot nor humid and dank...it was pleasant and you could smell the fresh nature of bushels and flowers.

“How long have you been known as, The Mrs Holmes?” She inquired cheerfully with her shining silver eyes.

“...Not very long,” you replied warmly before risking a white lie, “We recently finished our honeymoon.”

She grinned and waddled passed a wooden bench, she took a quick stop to rest and pat the seat for you to join her instead of standing dumbly.

“Shall I share some words of advise?,” She hummed, “From a woman that has been married for twelve years?”

“I would be ever so grateful,” you said rushed and desperate. You wouldve listened to anything she had to say. A woman of her standing must’ve held adequate wisdom.

She warmly cupped both your hands and squeezed them. And yet there was an ice creepy into her gaze. She appeared to dissociate, her voice losing its youthful lilt. Her lip wobbled slightly.

“Men are visual creatures. While you are so young and beautiful, you must become pregnant as soon as possible,” Lady Pennicott ran her palm across your waist, her eyes like razors cut across the yard to a bush of red rose buds, “It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature,” those grey stones in her face rolled back and weighed you down, “as I said- visual creatures. The sooner you make a babe, the easier his devotion comes,” A joyous grin returned to her thin lips, she playfully tapped the tip of your nose and stated, “Trust me upon this.”

You clenched your hand behind you and strained a smile, “I thankyou for such wise words Baroness. I will endeavour to do what I must to conceive.”

At this moment in time Sherlock had proved himself a monstrous villain. Would it be possible for you to fall pregnant?

You looked out at the divine lush greenery and exhaled softly.

“Do you garden Mrs Holmes?” the baroness queried.

You chuckled softly and removed your gloves, you flashed her a sight of your palm, “I am afraid my hands have never been introduced. My grandmother preferred I focus on mastering piano and embroidery.”

The grey orbs fluttered back at you with a surprised him, “Embroidery is a lovely skill,” she pat your hand and pointed across the field, “Please help me up Mrs Holmes, let us take a look at my lilacs.”

You stood straight up and leant out your arm, she was surprisingly light for a woman her size. She leant against you and took small timid steps to her flower patches.

She stood and admired the flower patches, pointing to different types and explaining the breeds of flowers she hoped to grow in the future.

You finally bent over enough and cupped the petals of purple to hold up to your nose and took in a wiff “They smell lovely,” from the corner of your eye was a line of crimson, “I see your roses will soon be in bloom.”

She pinched a bud that was peaking to bloom soon.

“Oh yes, the soil is rich and healthy,” she giggled, “I can’t wait for Thaddeus to return, he liked the roses. He would stand here for a while and think. I know he will love the red colour. It is his favourite shade you see...” She sighed dreamily with her eyes scanning the bushes of scarlet rose buds, “I miss him terribly. I hope he’s alright. I want him to come home soon before the baby arrives.”

A fly smacked into your eye and you sputtered, battering it away. When you gracelessly composed yourself, you stood back up to your feet beside the Lady of Groveland.

You could see how her eyes puddles with droplets of mournful tears. You felt bad for any woman that did not know where her husband was. Especially if there was a rumour about him fleeing the marriage and abandoning her in her serious pregnant condition.

Taking the chance, you boldly took both your hands into yours and now squeezed them. Another buzzing from a fly sat on your shoulder.

The day was growing warmer and a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. The fly tickled your neck and suckled along your salted skin.

You tried your best to ignore the annoying creature.

“I am sure he will Lady Pennicott,” you soothed with a soft welcoming grin, “And he will be most happy when he returns.”

She sighed solemnly and glanced back at the rose bushes. You felt obligated for her happiness in that moment. Glancing back to the house you felt a opportunity come to you.

“May I visit your nursery Lady Pennicott, so I may have references for my own in the future?”

Her eyes flickered up, her face shine bright and her hand tightened over your wrists excitedly as though she was still as youthful as a school girl.

“Why of course Mrs Holmes,” she spun on her heel and wobbled a slight, she lifted her hand and called to the maid Martha still packing the china set inside, “Please inform the detective that I am taking his wife up to the nursery.”

“Yes Baroness,” she said with a humble curtsey and scurried off while Lady Pennicott took you totally inside the house and up a grand stair case from the foyer.

9:03am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Up, up, up you both climbed the stairs. You noticed how the stairs didn’t bother her ladyship once, she was fit and stridden widely whereas you were breathing a little hard by the top step.

She pulled you down a hallway to a white painted door.

She excitedly opened the door wide and practically skipped inside to show you around her future child’s room.

The walls were covered in light blue and yellow paint. There were small peonies covering the trim of the room. There was no carpet but who needed one when you had a newborn.

“Welcome to the resting nest of my baby,” Lady Pennicott proudly exclaimed, spreading her arms out at the room around you.

There was a tall shelf filled with stuffed animals and teddy bears. There was a rocking horse, a doll house, spinning tops, tin cars and rubber balls all waiting, collecting dust, awaiting the arrival of a playmate. There was a permabulator by the window sill. There was a rocking chair in one corner and against the wall closest to the door- you smiled and swaggered over curiously, “Is this the cradle you bought?”

It was made of fine cream painted wood. You chewed your bottom lip in the thought. It was a lovely crib, why was Lord Pennicott so upset by such a delightful purchase? He didn’t have money issues. You put it down as that you didn’t understand the way men thought and men will never know what women think.

“Yes,” Lady Pennicott chirped, “it is from William Whitely department store in Baywater next to the Howard & Co dress department.”

The Baroness sat down into her rocking chair and slowly moved it back and forth, watching you admire the nursery she spent hours and years consistently curating.

You clenched the edge and looked over the railing down at the empty bedding. There was a teddy lamb in the corner, you pinched it’s fluffy white tail and sighed. For a brief moment you let your eyes close and your imagination wander far.

One day you’d have this...with Sherlock. An empty cradle to be filled. You caught the vision of a tiny hand squeeze around your finger and the sound of soft gurgles with the warm pressure of a hand on your waist...was that Sherlock’s hand? Was that your child?

One day you’d have a baby to care for, to provide these things that meant love...yet, was any child of Sherlock’s capable of love? He certainly wasn’t as far as you were concerned.

You bit down a shudder and opened your eyes, feeling hot tears glide down a cheek. You pushed back and sighed, “I am most confident on one thing Lady Pennicott.”

“And what is that Mrs Holmes?” she said softly, she could see the unspoken pain in your face. You swallowed hard and your face fell into a smile, you flashed her a wink.

You laughed softly, “Your child will be spoilt rotten by the love you give.”

She chuckled with you and nodded.

“Have you thought of a name?” you inquired, waltzing over to the chested drawers of baby knick knacks on display.

“Thaddeus Colin if it’s a boy,” she hummed, “or Theresa Grace if it is a girl.”

“Theresa?”

She giggled gently, “That is my name dear.”

Mrs Theresa Pennicott. It suited her. Her old soul eyes reflected her devout name.

A shine of glass pierced a ray of sun into your eyes, you pinched the glass object carefully. You touched a long black tube pulling out of it. You couldnt understand it’s purpose, your eyes narrowed at the rubber end that was shaped like a thumb or a cows udder. There was a second tube attached to the first with a rubber squeeze ball at the end.

“What is this?” you humoured.

“Oh that? It’s a fantastic invention,” The baroness said, “It’s a pump for breast milk with a tube that syphons the milk into this baby feeding bottle. When babies start to teeth they can scar your breasts. This is an effective and modern method I look forward to trying.”

Your eyes widened, scarring!? Babies teeth could scar a breast!?

You placed the bottle bump back and helped Lady Pennicott when she beckoned to stand back up from the rocking chair.

“Have you ever felt the sensations?” She suddenly, “In which they kick within?”

Your face must’ve looked idiotic as you asked plainly, “Kick?”

She giggled and nodded, “Give me your hand, perhaps you may feel them moving.”

She plucked your palm and pulled your glove off your fingers. She pressed your entire hand intimately to her belly. You felt a sense of taboo shame, she was making you touch such a beloved spot.

“Do you feel it?” she then asked.

Felt what? Confusion flooded your mind. Your hand moved around her belly slowly.

“I am afraid I don’t know what I’m meant to be feeling?”

She moved your hand and again you felt absolutely nothing.

“They are very brutal on my body,” Lady Pennicott sarcastically assured, “trust me there is a kick.”

She made a point to push your hand harder, but all you felt was the hard material of her corsetry beneath her main dressing materials.

“Baby’s kick you inside?” you marvelled with stunned horror. This was the first time you’d ever heard of such a notion of a baby beating it’s mother inside.

“Not out of malicious intent Mrs Holmes,” she reassured, “mostly it is the baby using its limbs to move their cramped bodies inside or excitement at the sound of voices, I truly believe they can hear us while still inside. Fear not, to you it will feel like a faint touch like this-”

Lady Pennicott softly tapped your wrist, “Like that.”

And there again was new knowledge you heard from a woman on matters of pregnancy. You moved your fingers around, seeking the supposed feeling of a kick...

Still nothing. You frowned, was there something wrong with you that the baby was choosing not to reveal itself.

“How interesting...”

A soft knock on wood alerted you both to glance at the door.

“Mrs Holmes,” the butler from earlier politely spoke, “the detective is requesting your return, I believe he intends to depart.”

Your face fell. You couldn’t believe it but you’d found this experience immensely enjoyable. You had surprisingly made a friend of the Baroness.

The fair lady hugged your side and sweetly exhaled, “Then I shall escort you back to your husband, Eddie fetch me my cheque book.”

He nodded and walked ahead of you both. You solemnly shut the nursery door, trying to remember every precious detail as possible. It was a innocent place to escape from the crude world.

You returned to the bottom of the foyer and smiled at your husband that stood by Lestrade at the front doors.

By the bottom step you faced the noble woman and curtsied.

“Thankyou Lady Pennicott for your kind hospitality and agreeable cooperation to the case,” you heard Sherlock’s voice float over your shoulder.

“Of course detective, please,” the Butler returned with her cheque book, “find my beloved Thaddeus.”

She scribbled speedily with a modernised ink pen, a sharp tear of paper flashed to his direction, “Here. Thirty pounds. I am sure you are busy with other clients considering your reputation, but I beseech you to seek out my husband quickly.”

Sherlock bowed his head as he deposited the cheque into his pocket, “We shall try our hardest. Good afternoon Lady Pennicott.”

Your mouth might’ve collected flies. Thirty pounds. THIRTY pounds. That was a hefty wage for a year to many men.

Sherlock was granted his coat and walking cane along with Lestrade.

He opened the front door and left slowly, glancing over your shoulder back at the heavily pregnant Baroness.

9:21am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Sherlock and you walked up the gravel path in silence for sometime. You weren’t in much of a mood to speak to him despite well knowing conversation would need to spark eventually.

The three of you slowed down beside the inspectors horse cart.

Thankfully it was Sherlock who destroyed the silence with a stretched sigh. Lestrade grimly smiled at that sigh and rocked on his heels.

“Lestrade, show a useful skill,” Sherlock slapped a coin purse into his chest, “Find my wife and I a decent ride homeward. You still need to return back to the office and finish writing those reports on the Spring heeled Jack sightings....” he snickered.

The mutton chop male grumbled and left you pair alone to walk down the path into the main parklands to hail a cabriolet or another hackney carriage.

Sherlock pulled out his pipe and lit it quickly, he inhaled fast and asked curiously, “Did you learn anything else from our suspect?”

You squinted and felt a gasp pop from your lips, your hand snapped out and dug your nails into his arm with a scolding hiss, “Suspect? Look at the state she is in Sherlock. She clearly loves her husband. How could such a indisposed woman do anything to her husband?”

He smirked, “Perhaps a jealous one?”

Your brows pulled together. Jealousy wasn’t something you would’ve describe Lady Pennicott as especially with such a privileged life. Such an emotion wouldve been beneath her...but.. ‘It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature.’

Sherlock pinched out a piece of card from his pocket, a business calling card, he flashed it through his fingers and let you carefully pluck it from his hand.

“it is no wonder Thaddeus Pennicotts name was so familiar,” Sherlocks huffed a puff of air, “He visits a like minded establishment.”

On the front of the card was a single image, a dove holding a olive leaf, and when you turned the card around there was a woman modelled in immodest clothing with text and an address in perfect hand writing.

“The Mayfair Row Dove club.”

You almost dropped the card in the mud at your feet.

He tucked the card back into his breast pocket and hooked his arm around yours, walking you closer to Lestrade waving his hands back at you both.

“I’m curious who his go to bird is there,” He chuckled.

You shook your head and scoffed in disbelief, “but she’s pregnant.”

“Men have needs,” Sherlock sighed, “I thought you’d have learnt that from last evening?”

Your nails dug harder into his arm and grit your teeth. Not everyone was as depraved as Sherlock, surely not. You couldn’t imagine Mycroft or your grandfather practicing such atrocities on women, especially women that weren’t their wives.

You noted snootily, “She said her husband liked to stand out by the roses to think. Perhaps he regretted his choice.”

Sherlock laughed cruelly and hard enough to almost drop his pipe from his lips. He plucked it out of his mouth and kissed you hard and squarely in front of Lestrade and any passing people that shook their heads in disgust at such public affection.

The taste of his tobacco filled your cheeks and floated down your throat into your chest. You could feel how his breath became your breath. Your head grew dizzy from it. His release left you trembling and collapsing against him briefly. His arm grabbed around your waist and held you totally against his chest.

“You see too much good in the worst people,” he whispered wetly into your ear.

“Not true,” you panted, you blinked your eyes hard and tried speaking again. You weakly pushed away from him back onto your own two feet. From the corner of your eyes you could see the inspector standing beside another hackney carriage.

“Not true,” you repeated and swallowed hard, “...I don’t see any good in you Sherlock.”

He grinned devilishly and walked you both to the carriage, He ignored Lestrade entirely except for retrieving his own purse.

“None at all?” Sherlock asked as he helped you step up inside of the carriage. It jostled as he plotted himself next to you instead of opposite.

You thought hard on his question for a time. You shouldn’t have ever been as petty as him. So you kept your silence before you could decide on a eloquent response. You did try to find the good in him. The trouble was you barely knew Sherlock and the side that you’d encounter was nothing short of a blagged, insufferable man that happened to be very experienced in the arts of the bedroom. So you tried to think about qualities you hadn’t seen in him but had at least heard of him.

“You help solve cases and even sometimes restitution, these deeds could be counted as decent and beneficial...perhaps good...”

He smirked until you finished hastily, “However your mistreatment and lustful addiction is nothing short of that than a person that suffers in his sin.”

A long annoyed sigh drew from his lips, however the corners jerked up.

He tug out his pipe and tapped it’s contents out the moving window, “Might I ask Mrs Holmes...” he inquired as he tucked in his pipe, and wiped his lips thoughtfully, “Do you think yourself better than me?”

The silence shared between the horses trotting along the cobblestones allowed you a chance to glare long and hard at Sherlock.

It was a jab, a jibe, a joke, a trick, a trap...

He wanted you to say yes... You could see it in his eyes the way they flicked to your lips and almost drooled with anticipation. He wanted to start a fight.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at you, you turned your head away and scoffed, “You may have quick wit and a expansive knowledge Sherlock, but I at least carry myself with the fairest morals.”

And that? The reply was granted a omen of Sherlock’s sickly chuckles and his heavy warm hand to sit over your thigh, running his them over the fabric of your skirts.

“We will see how fair a baker street whore morals really are when we arrive home then shall we?”

You leant against the wall of the carriage and chose to ignore him. You closed your eyes and held Sherlock’s hand to prevent it wandering anywhere else. His thumb rubbed along the back of your gloves hands.

You couldn’t understand Sherlock. And feared you never would.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[ofmdrecaps]

11/09-10/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; More Starfury Republic of Pirates Pictures!; Samba Schutte; Vico Ortiz; Kristian Nairn; Samson Kayo; Guz Khan; Damien Gerard; Dominic Burgess; Articles; LettersToSeaForSeason3; Love Notes;

= David Jenkins =

Chaos dad has broken his silence of several days with a very important question (about his pups).

Source: David's Bsky

He also shared this awesome work by @tabbystardust, which is still one of my faves.

Source: David Jenkins Instagram / Tabby Stardust

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys was interviewed on Flightless Bird with Rhys' old buddy David Ferrier! You can check out the Spotify Episode here!

Source: Rhys' Bsky

Another excerpt from Rhys' 25 year show on his instagram!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rhys Darby (@rhysiedarby)

Source: Rhys' Instagram

= Darby Daily Doodle =

Source: Rhys Darby's Free Substack

Source: Rhys Darby's Free Substack

He was also on Craigio On the Radio!

Source: Craigio On The Radio

== More Starfury Pictures! ==

Starfury Conventions posted some more picture from the convention!

Source: Starfury Twitter

= Samba Schutte =

Samba's posting more selfies of his latest work.

Some of the shows that Samba's been doing voice work for have been getting some acknowledgement over at The Velma Awards! First up was Monster High which received the "Best Guest Star Extravaganza".

Jurassic World: Chaos Theory won "Best Queer Relationship That's Just a Plain Ol' Relationship" in the Velma Awards!

And BAFTA Nominations are up! Call of Duty: Black Ops 6 has been nominated for three BAFTAs! Congrats Samba and Damien!

Best Game

Multiplayer

Audio Achievement

Animation

Source: Samba's Instagram

= Kristian Nairn =

Apple Music has been recommending Kristian's new track!

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram Stories

= Vico Ortiz =

I'm running a bit late so the Tales of the Trancestors just happened in this weekend! Check out some BTS for it!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by CHLOE BALDWIN (@chloeglowyflowy)

Source: ChloeGlowyFlowy Instagram

= Samson Kayo =

Samson is out in Abu Dhabi for the F1 Filming.

Source: Samson's Instagram Stories

= Guz Khan =

Guz finished filming the last season of Man Like Mobeen recently, and he spent a few minutes reflecting on watching the last episode <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Guz Khan (@guzkhanofficial)

Source: Guz's Instagram

= Damien Gerard =

One of Damien's recent works "Blame!", a short film by Suzanne Roche is an official selection for the 2024 Hollywood Best Indie Film Awards!

Source: Damien's Instagram Stories

= Dominic Burgess =

Have a lot of extra cash and want to dine with Dominic and help out a Charity at the same time? Well good news! You can! You can bid on a chance to dine with Dominic at this Charity Auction!

Source: Dominic's Bsky

== Articles ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew have been keeping us posted with lots of articles about OFMD. It's nice to see the show being featured in so much media even a year later after S2 ended!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Bsky

== LettersToSeaForSeason3 ==

More helpful information about the LettersToSeaForSeason3 to netflix! Mailing window cheatsheet:

US: 12/31/24 - 01/07/25

Europe: 12/26/24 - 01/02/25

Other International Locations: 12/22/24 - 12/29/24

Source: Aproperpirate's Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Never Left Podcast =

Source: NeverLeft Podcast Spotify

= OFMD Colouring Pages/Wrapping Paper! =

Our fabulous crewmate @patchworkpiratebear is back! They've made wrapping paper for the holidays! Check out these adorable patterns! If you want some high res versions to download you can do on on the Repo.

Source: PatchworkPirateBears Bsky

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. I have been having a bit of week so I'll be brief so I can make sure to get this out tonight. We are coming to the end of the year, and I hope very much that you are being kind to yourself. Please oh please give yourself a hug tonight, drink some water, or some tea, and have one of your favorite treats. The new week is starting soon and you'll need your strength. Be good to yourselves <3 Sending hugs your way.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dominee Calderon (@selfloverainbow)

Source: Self Love Rainbow

[ateez-himari]

[ARCHIVE] FLIGHTLESS BIRD

...

A whole lot was happening back then Don't know why things are so hectic I'ma bring back my memories, I can't even remember

Hushed conversations echoed through the apartment building as the seven trainees opened the door to their shared space, only to still in shock at the sight of movement on their couch, although the figure was much too small to pose a threat. Tension instantly dissolved when the living room lights revealed that the strange shadow was none other than the young girl they had become closely acquainted with over the past months, sleepy eyes struggling to remain open. In what seemed near panic one of the older members ran over to take her in his arms, brushing away hair strands still dripping with melting snowflakes while inspecting every visible inch of skin.

'What are you doing here, Hima ?!' He nearly yelled, causing his sister to flinch slightly. 'I'm sorry I just...does Hanzo know ?'

'Nii-Chan is still locked up in his room, but I left him a note saying that I was coming to visit you!' She said proudly, holding out a bus ticket. 'Aunt-...mom and dad said we'd go together but they had to work late again...so I came alone.'

The shattering of a normally hardened heart was almost audible as he realized what was implied in this short explanation; with the only remaining biological tie she had being completely lost in grief, there was no one at home to care for the clearly distressed child and much like every other day, loneliness haunted her. It should have been tears marking her flushed cheeks, yet the usual beaming smile so adored by their town's elderly remained unmoving, as though nothing was wrong, as though the weight of independence was not placed upon her frail shoulders.

'G-Go greet everyone, I'm gonna get you some milk.' He finally spoke up after clearing his throat, hurrying into the kitchen.

Running into the young men's arms, the little girl who remained blissfully unaware of the emotional breakdown her brother was nearing with every thought regarding the situation at home began introducing them to the small tiger plush sent by their oldest sibling. While closing the fridge, the rapper in training could not help but to admire the radiant smile adorning bruised lips, taking a moment to laugh at the little fangs he had always found rather odd. Perhaps this was what happiness truly felt like, not simply certain moments in life but the appearance of someone so bright they acted as the sun chasing away grey clouds without effort.

...

When the younger rapper entered the living area with the intention to relieve stress by watching whatever movie channels would play at this hour, he found the lovely intruder sound asleep on her brother's chest as one of his hands soothingly ran along her back, the other thoughtfully hovering over a gauze covered ear. Watching this loving interaction made him realize that this broken little girl was one of the few things keeping his friend going in such hard times, yet this was also saddening news as he knew the weight of life made him rely on her unknowingly.

Their bond brought warmth into everyone's hearts as despite the harshness of trainee life the members had watched their friend take the little time they had off to pick her up at school, to teach her basketball, to take her to the zoo, spending almost every second taking care of his unfortunately neglected sister. The older members however were aware of darker truths behind this relationship as they bore witness to the impact his poor mental state was having on this already fragile girl, one drunken night revealing that it was her who saved his life while in the midst of grieving. They knew the man made desperate attempts at becoming the presence she was missing, yet the child kept so closely to herself that it was clear most days were spent with very little interaction, leaving her to navigate an unsure world alone.

'What the hell am I doing, Hoseok ?' The man asked absently, pulling the blanket over his sister as she stirred slightly. 'I've been with her since she was a baby, but when she needs me the most, when her entire world just fell apart, I can't even show up.'

The responsibility had fallen on his shoulders out of nowhere during a time where he could not even care for himself, and not once could he blame the girl's biological brother as grief was slowly eating the young man alive no matter how hard he tried to fight. Times where the high schooler stepped outside for more than academics seemed almost distant to their sister, who often slept in front of his door as an attempt to feel even the slightest hint of his warmth that once served as comfort during stormy nights despite the lack of response that her endless affectionate actions faced.

'I don't think she sees it that way.' His friend carefully sat next to the couch, observing the sleeping figure for a moment. 'Hima is such a loving soul, I doubt hatred is even part of her vocabulary. The world is just too harsh for someone like her...that's all.'

'We'll make it.' Yoongi whispered. 'I have to make it all worth it, I can't have abandoned her and Hanzo for nothing.'

Hands that had never once trembled until this very moment gently grazed over the fresh scars that seemed much too foreign on once flawless skin, finding some humor in the fact that they closely resembled tiger markings. He wondered whether this was the universe claiming that her soft demeanor was hiding the fighting spirit of this animal, or whether this was simply some sick joke after having forever broken a heart too pure for this universe.

'I promise, I'll make you proud.'

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 17)

au masterlist

y/ndevils00

liked by jesperbratt, tofff73, and 383,624 others

y/ndevils00 WE ARE SO BACK, BABIES!!

your mighty lil hell raisers won 5-2 tonight against the flightless birds, and SURPRISE!! I WAS THERE!!

what a happy “welcome back to Pitt” to my lovely former-bumblebee-color-wearing bestie, Johnny Rockets!

i’m so proud of all of our goal scorers tonight, one of which is not pictured because he wouldn’t let me order a drink at dinner last night (*cough* Bratter *cough*)!

it was also AMAZING to see my sweet Edward Cullen again, you can see in the fourth photo how much he missed me! doesn’t he look positively overjoyed?!

oh, and: p.s. that one player, number 87 on the penguins? yeah he got a penalty. HA! don’t trip my boys, Sidney. i know where you sleep.

tagged curtislazar95, naterbastian, john.marino97, ryangraves27, dawson1417, holtz_10, tofff73

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user19 IS THIS WHAT THE CROSBY HATTY THING LAST RECAP WAS ABOUT?! SHE WAS HINTING THAT SHE WAS COMING TO THIS GAME?!

naterbastian that’s a blurry pic

y/ndevils00 hop off my dick, nathan

naterbastian no

y/ndevils00 NO?!

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 how do i solve this?

dawson1417 maybe you could take less blurry pictures? i’m not sure about this one tbh

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 USELESS!

dawson1417 oh :(

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 WAIT NO! I’M SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN IT! YOU’RE MY BESTEST FRIEND AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! EVEN MORE THAN JOHN

john.marino97 HELLO?! I’M RIGHT HERE?!

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 oh hi John!

user35 DID Y/N JUST THREATEN SIDNEY CROSBY?!

user99 I FEAR THIS IS WHEN SHE GETS FIRED

holtz_10 why is Crosby pictured?

ryangraves27 what i look is terrified because i didn’t even know you were in town

y/ndevils00 it was a surprise!! were you surprised?!

ryangraves27 did he know you were coming?

y/ndevils00 nope! showed up at his house like “BOO!”

user01 who the hell are they talking about?

jackhughes i’m glad the team won and i’m glad you’ve had fun, can you come home now?

y/ndevils00 aww you miss me 🥹

jackhughes yeah, sure, but also, LSH has chewed through my phone charger, has been scratching at the couch, and bit Nico’s hand

y/ndevils00 i put her in charge of keeping the house in order while i’m gone. sounds like she’s doing great!

jackhughes i’m a human and she’s a cat??

y/ndevils00 she’s also smarter than you, my love

jackhughes did you just call me dumb?

y/ndevils00 oh my sweet, sweet himbo, i love you to pluto and back

jackhughes um, yeah, i love you too, dove

holtz_10 hello??? why is Crosby pictured??

y/ndevils00 shhh i ignore stupid questions

jesperbratt i didn’t want you to get drunk, please don’t hold it against me

y/ndevils00 aww okay 🥺 i’m sorry for leaving you out of the post, thank you for looking out for me!

jackhughes how do you do it?!

jesperbratt @/jackhughes i’m cute 🤷🏼‍♂️

jackhughes oh fuck off Bratter, obviously i’m cute too, i’m her boyfriend

curtislazar95 WE WON

y/ndevils00 YOU WON!! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU FOR NOT MAKING US LOSERS ANYMORE

curtislazar95 thank you?? i think??

y/ndevils00 YOU’RE WELCOME!!

y/ndevils00 notice how we win when @/tmeier96 isn’t playing… it’s cause he called me a bitch and the universe has my back

tmeier96 if i could insult you, you would be so sad right now

y/ndevils00 hmm but you CAN’T insult me! because i’m perfect!

tmeier96 actually it’s because after tuesday nights comments, Jack threatened to slap-shot a puck to my face if i insult you again

y/ndevils00 awww @/jackhughes that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever threatened for me 🥹🫶

jackhughes do people often threaten others for you?

y/ndevils00 of course?? i’m lovable and everyone i know wants me to be protected and loved!

tmeier96 well… i highly doubt EVERYONE you know…

y/ndevils00 watch it, Meier!

user56 idk, thats two posts in a row with Sidney Crosby… i’m starting to get suspicious

user13 i wanna know who the mysterious “he” is that they keep discussing!

user07 same! like, is it the same “he” every time?! and if so, if she showed up at his house, does that mean he lives in Pitt?

user22 all i’m saying is it’s suspicious and she better not be cheating on Jack

user91 @/user22 oh please! not only is she obviously head over heels for Jack, but if she were to cheat, i highly doubt everyone on the team, including Jack, would know and openly discuss him on a public platform

liked by @/y/ndevils00

[elysianrey]

Two halves of a heart hardly beating alone

But now that I've found you, I'm not letting go

a playlist curated by Anthony Lockwood that reminds him of Lucy.

•perfectly broken: banners • before you: benson boone • love brought weight: old sea brigade • hello!: role model • don’t give up on me: rivvrs • loving you: seafret • ode to a conversation stuck in your throat: del water gap • hey girl: stephen sanchez • little bit more: suriel hess • missing you: stephen sanchez, ashe •i guess i’m in love: clinton kane • resin: dustin tebbutt • see, i’m sorry: seafret • ghost town: benson boone • looking at me like that: vance joy • rose: honest men • home: newcoast • to be so lonely: harry styles • iloveyou: between friends • picture perfect: jole • let me hold you: nick wilson • unrequited love (& other cliches): breakup shoes • flightless bird, american mouth: iron & wine • banks: needtobreathe

listen to the rest here

note: obviously, I could not let my lucy playlist go unaccompanied without its other half, and I am forever grateful to, @genniearts, who made this aboslutely gorgeous locklyle piece to depict the vibes. I will continue to update the list as I find new music! I hope all of you authors, artists, and shippers enjoy. x

[quackity1999]

[ Another letter is sent in. Covered in only duck stickers now with the writing now being written in green crayon. ]

Manburg? L'manburg? What's that? Is that some home you and bee maybe built? If so, could you maybe tell us more about it? Shroud seems the most interested in that. Wanting to know if that's what that flag uncle mommy has in one of his chests is from. Though could you tell us what ' correspondence ', ' protective ', and ' respectful partnership ' means? Because neither of our parents taught us those words yet.

And what's a avain? Is it some kind of bird? Because if that's all we need to learn about to be your friend than we will happily do so!! Because you seem really cool from that one time uncle mommy talked about you. Shroud saying his dad thought of you as nice. But if you do miss a letter it's okay. Me and Shroud will still be sending plenty more and drawings still even if you don't respond! For we don't really get that many people to talk too a lot. And whenever we do they are always mean to us .. :( Always saying to our parents asking why they have us.

Yes we do have duck stickers though! We could send you our whole packet of them if you'd like! Even if Shroud really likes the baby ducky stickers.

- Micheal-Beloved & Shroud Innit (@michealsproutsnotes)

dear michael & shroud,

both manburg and l'manburg were countries, not homes. so, yes, the flag might be from l'manburg's era of reign especially if it's tommy's.

an avian is what i am! or, at least i'm an avian hybrid— they're birds, or any animal that falls under that category including flightless ones, such as ducks. so i'm an avian, more specifically a duck hybrid. it's why i have my "lightning bolt" wings as you called them.

correspondence, on the other hand, means to communicate, which is what we're doing here. our correspondence is the fact we're writing letters back and forth. pretty simple. protective is moreso a feeling that you may have toward people you care about— if they're in danger, you want to keep them safe by all means. that's a form of being protective. and i meant respectful partnership as a less informal term for friendship. :] hope that clears some of it up.

would you say that your parents are pretty protective? y'know. keeping you outta harms way.

( shroud, keep the baby duck stickers. i'll just take the ones from your envelope— they're sparkly. )

yours,

quackity from las nevadas.

[thatlovinfeelin]

Flightless Bird | eighteen | Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Synopsis: Josephine Wilson Miller is alone for the first time in her life. She got married after her first year of college and became a housewife, but that life is gone now. So she runs to San Diego, to her childhood best friend Jake, where she meets the man who could very well be her salvation.

series warnings: unplanned pregnancy, just pregnancy in general, talks of infertility. past mental and emotional abuse. anxiety. talks of women's reproductive systems (idk)

“Mommy! Hurry up!” Wren said, dragging Jose behind her, “Auntie Nat twell her!” 

Natasha only laughed and walked next to Jose. They were on their way from the parking lot to the tarmac for the airshow. Jake was set to be flying and Wren was begging to go see it. Although, Jose tried to normally stay away from Airshows in general just in case someone certain was there. 

“So, I have some news,” Nat whispered to Jose. 

“Oh?”

Natasha just smiled and twisted her wedding ring, something Jose noticed the female pilot did when she was a little anxious. Her and Jake got married two years prior in a small ceremony on the beach. Not to big and fussy, as both of them wanted simple friends and family. A certain Blue Angels pilot was not able to attend, so Coyote was Jake’s best man while Jose was the maid of honor, with little baby Wren as a little flower girl. It was beautiful and simple and perfect. 

“You can’t tell anyone yet,” Phoenix stated, “But I’m pregnant.”

Jose stopped in her tracks, much to Wren’s dismay who let out a little wail and tried with all of her might to pull her mom forward. 

“Oh my god, Nat!”

“Are you mad? I know you-”

“Mad? Oh my god no, I’m so happy for you!” Jose exclaimed, hugging the other woman, “Does Jake know yet?”

Natasha shook her head, “No I haven’t found the time to tell him yet.”

“How far along?”

“Six weeks? I think? I have a doctors appointment next week to confirm,” She explained, “But I’m so scared to tell Jake. We’ve talked about kids, but not yet.”

“Well, I’m assuming you weren’t using anything?” Jose asked carefully. 

“We weren’t trying,” Nat swore, “But we weren’t not trying.”

Jose couldn’t help but laugh. That sounded like the most Jake and Natasha thing. 

“I want Gampa Mav and Nenny,” Wren whined, snapping the two women out of their hug. 

“Okay, let’s go munchkin.”

Wren was dressed in little combat boots, one of the flight jackets that Jose bought for her before she was born, and a pink tutu. She looked like a little combat princess as she strutted in front of Jose and Nat. 

For a nearly four year old, she had a lot of personality. Maybe too much for her own good. But Jose loved her daughter with all of her heart. There wasn’t a thing in this world that she wouldn’t do for her.  

“Thank you for coming today,” Nat nudged Jose with her shoulder, “I know it means a lot to Jake to have you guys here for this.”

Jake was set to be a part of a super important Legacy flight, one of the only f-18 pilots chosen. He couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks prior. Jose wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen him so excited for something related to work before. 

“We couldn’t miss it,” Jose shrugged, “Wren wouldn’t let me.”

“Mama we see Unca Yake?” Wren asked. 

Jose couldn’t help but smile at the way that Wren said Uncle Jake. They were still working on her speech, but the little munchkin was getting better and better every day. 

“Yeah sweetheart, we’ll see him soon, I promise,” Jose replied, “But let’s find Gampa Mav and Nenny first, okay?” 

She nodded enthusiastically and wiggled a little in Jose’s arms. Little Florence loved Maverick and Penny, now lovingly known and Gampa Mav and Nenny. They stepped right into the role of grandparents to Wren without a second thought. They were there to support Wren and Jose with no questions asked, even after Jose forced Braldey to leave. 

They never once asked what happened between the two of them. Instead they just loved Jose and her little daughter with all of their hearts. 

“Gampa Mav!” Wren wiggled out of Jose’s arms and took off running towards the older pilot, “Nenny! Auntie ‘Melia!”

“Shit,” Jose cursed, chasing after her little girl. 

Wren jumped into Mav’s arms, hugging the older man as tightly as she could. Mav laughed and hugged her back, not seeming to notice the fact that the little girl ran off without her mother. Penny was a little more attentive and scowled at the little girl as best as she could. 

“Wren, what have I told you?” Jose was out of breath as soon as she reached them, “You need to stay with me!” 

“But I saw Gampa Mav and Nenny.” The little girl blinked up at her mother, not seeming to understand. 

“You can’t run off-”

“Mav! There you are!” 

Jose froze. She didn’t dare turn to look at the source of the voice. A noise escaped her, sounding like a small wounded animal. She didn’t even check to see if they were going to be here today. Normally she checked every air show, but Jake was so excited that she was going to come and bring Wren.

“Bradley,” Mav said, handing Wren over to Phoenix who finally caught up, “Didn’t expect to see you until later.”

“I had a second and saw you guys over here.”

Wren looked at Bradley with wide eyes. He was in his blue and gold flight suit, looking like a hero in his own way. Wren was mesmerized by any pilots. She loved planes, and the people that flew them. 

“You fwy pwanes?” 

Bradley was stunned for a second. He finally realized who was standing next to Mav and Penny. She looked so different, and yet exactly the same. Her hair was longer, and she was thinner than he’d ever seen her. So much so it made him wonder if she was eating enough. But he didn’t have the right to worry about Josephine Wilson anymore, not when she kicked him out of her life. 

“I uh-” He cleared his throat and directed his attention to the little girl in Phoenix’s arms. 

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that this was the little baby he once loved with all of his heart. She was so much bigger, with wide eyes that mirrored her mother’s. She looked just like Jose. There’s no way that wasn’t her daughter. It made him want to cry. He loved her like a daughter and he missed out on so much of her life. 

“Yeah, I do,” Bradley smiled at the little girl, forcing down the emotions. He leaned down so he was eye level with her, “See that blue and yellow plane over there?” he pointed down the way a little to where all of the Blue Angels were lined up, “That one is mine.”

“Woah,” She replied, “Auntie Nat can we go see?”

Nat carefully looked over at Jose, who still hadn’t allowed herself to look over at Bradley. Jose nodded quickly, watching as Nat along with Mav, Penny, and Amelia made their way towards the row of planes. 

Jose swallowed the thick lump in her throat. She felt like she could cry. She always did her best to avoid Bradley at any event that the Blue Angels could be at. Jake always understood. He hated it, but he understood. She wanted to be mad at him for not warning her that he would be here today. She felt tricked and like her heart was going to explode.

“Jose.”

She closed her eyes and licked her dry lips before opening her eyes and turning to face him, “Hi Bradley.”

“It’s good to see you,” He said slowly, carefully even. 

“Yeah, um, you too,” She replied, “You look good.”

“I am. Pensacola has been good for me,” He replied, voice sounding like gravel. 

She nodded. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say. What do you even say in a situation like this? How is she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to face Bradley, when all she wanted to do was be held by him again? She wanted to feel his lips on hers again. She wanted him more than she could dare to put into words. 

“You look…nice,” Bradley had to force the words out. He wanted nothing more than to hold her. 

“Try keeping up with a three year old, see how you look,” She responded quickly. 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I genuinely meant you look nice.”

She looked down at her little sundress and sighed. She hated this feeling between them. This rift, the distance…whatever it was. She wanted to feel close to him again. But she didn’t know how she could ever feel close like she used to. 

“She’s gotten so big,” Bradley was looking over his shoulder now, looking towards Wren, “She was so tiny when I left.”

“Bradley about what I-”

“Bradshaw! Time to get ready.”

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath. His shoulders squared before his eyes opened again and he was back to being Rooster. He forced a smile and held out his hand for Jose to shake. How do you even shake hands with the man you’re still madly in love with?

“Nice to see you again, Josephine. Look for me in the skies.”

She wanted to say more. Wanted to beg for his forgiveness. Wanted to beg for him…just for him to give her a second chance. But he was gone before she had the chance. He disappeared into the crowd of people like a leaf disappears in the wind. 

Jose was still holding her breath when Natasha came back to stand next to her, “Mav has Wren. Are you okay?”

Jose’s eyes started to water, “I didn’t realize how much I missed him. And then he’s right here and I can’t say any of the things that I want.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Natasha assured her, “Now c’mon, Jake is up next. Don’t want to miss him.”

Later that night, Jose was sitting in her bed alone. Wren was staying with Jake and Natasha tonight, so the house was silent. Jose didn’t quite know what to do with herself. So she poured a big glass of wine and settled in. What she didn’t expect was her phone pinging at eleven, with a text from a number she never expected to see again. 

She found herself scurrying out of the bed and fumbling her way to the front door. Her breath was ragged as she threw the door open to reveal Bradley standing there. He looked too good to be true. 

“Hey,” She said stupidly. 

Bradley was on her in an instant, hands cradling her face, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I-” She took a second, “I want you. I always have.”

Then he was kissing her like she was the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

[twobirdsflytogether]

I am rambling.

Me; Q!Jaiden is my favorite.

Also me; lets put her through an emotional blender.

She's gonna wake up alone, either in a place she doesnt know or still on that damned island.

She's gonna learn no one was like actually worried about where she is, only questioning once or twice. Expect for the eggs, Em consistently worried, Pomme saying she misses her.

Speaking of eggs. Having a new daughter. Whos already down to one life. Who she has no way to protect, again. The emotional turmoil that even having a new kid will cause her, because she is still hurting from Bobby's death.

Partnered with someone who hates the creature she cares for, the creature that she knows is manipulating her but treats her kindly.

The creature, Cucurucho, whos been sorta publicly replaced with the Rabbits, that shows up even less than before.

Back to the no way to protect. If anyone helps her, she'll go back to feeling like a burden, to that feeling of needing to repay to not be a burden.

The 'broken' flightless bird.

In actuality; its a 50/50 shot of "dramatic roleplay return" and "highly uneventful, just simply comes back". But I like dramatic angst and letting my thoughts run wild.

[tangerisms]

hiii I'm charlie (*・ω・)ﾉ

im a queer latino artist from south florida who has unfortunately been afflicted with hockey special interest

my tags : my art | my edits | my gifs | yapping

main teams : penguins | panthers | wild

( more tierlist info under the cut)

soulbonded :

panthers : my home team , my soulmate , my horrible terrible wives. I love them an unreasonable amount and want to stack them all in a pile and cuddle them

penguins : my day one team , my beloved cringefail flightless birds . I learned about hockey one day and got sucked into the whirlpool that is the pittsburgh penguins . send help .

some blorbos :

wild : my favorite weird gays . originally my west coast playoff team bc they had Flower , I unfortunately fell in love with their antics and general unhinged silliness . they may be a misery team but they're MY misery team .

avalanche : originally endeared because of sid/nate antics , unfortunately fell in love with erik johnson and gabe landeskog . and cale makar . and alexandar georgiev . please take care of dewey for me

red wings : u guys got alex lyon from the cats so I obviously had to follow him . also the russian five make me insane . I heart u sergei fedorov.

hurricanes : originally in the "you irritate me" tier , they have since been bumped up because of pyotr kochetkov , andrei svechnikov , and seth jarvis . and ... guh ... jake guentzel . sob.

kraken : many former pens but also a handful of unrelated sillies . I love u brian dumolin and kailer yamamoto . I love you turbo . I love you goalie tandem . etc etc . I hate you vince dunn .

canucks : very silly vibes , glad 2 have seen them go so far in the playoffs . I have velcroed myself to quinn hughes , thatcher demko , and conor garland

following for my friends :

sharks : I have two besties who are sharks fans and I feel really bad for you guys . u deserve better n I hope you get get well soon

stars : also besties with stars fan , u guys have some sillies like robo and seguin . I miss you joe pavelski :( vibes are fun and silly though

devils : this ones a little vaguer , I dont really follow but I'll listen along to what friends have to yap about them . interesting vibes

indifferent :

I really don't have much to say about these teams except I heart you juuse saaros , I miss you carey price , and I hope the ducks go back to teal and purple colors

you irritate me but you have silly guys :

bruins : this is self explanatory , however goalies . and sometimes marchand . and obviously patrice bergeron . I will admit there are fun vibes you just annoy me sometimes sorry

rangers : I hate you trouba I dislike you rempe and I have personal beef with the fans who were acting like dicks in amerant . mika and shesty you will forever have my heart though . and henrik . duh

throwing you off a cliff :

vegas : horrible vibes all around , I will forever hold a grudge for taking Flower and the finals last year . I donnot like you at all . this excludes robin lehner . love you panda

lightning : no good vibes from me . also rivalry . tampa as a whole gives me unsettling vibes I hate visting there

KYS :

bl*ckh*wks : literally die I hate this team and franchise so much . I don't care about anything or anyone in here , this is a strongly anti hawks blog . fuck this team and franchise

oilers: I used to like these guys , even had some respect for them. however fuck hiring bowman , fuck evander kane , fuck corey perry, and fuck everyone in their dipshit team

rest in piss:

coyotes : im so sorry babygirl you deserved better . I'll miss you so much kachina jerseys .

[marcie-self]

Flightless Bird

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Wife!reader

Summary: Rooster gets injured during a mission and must be grounded.

Warnings: near death accident, some angst, MOSTLY FLUFF

———————————————————————

You just finished your shift at The Hard Deck and your phone rings as you’re unlocking your husband's light blue Ford Bronco. Rushing to set your bag down and dig for your cell phone, you almost miss the call catching it on the very last ring. The voice on the other end of the line confirms who they're speaking to before introducing themselves.

When you hear the word hospital, your heart drops into your stomach. You knew Rooster was going on a mission today, he assured you that it was low intensity and he was more than confident everything would be fine. Tears filled your eyes as his condition was calmly explained to you.

He was in surgery to repair a major artery in his leg. Turns out a missile got his jet luckily he ejected just in time, but a piece of shrapnel got him on the way out. You struggle to keep yourself together and get through the phone call.

“Mrs.Bradshaw, I wish I could tell you it was something small. It's quite bad, but he has a very high chance of surviving.” The woman's voice was soft and reassuring.

You sniffle and let out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just, that’s what he told me this morning when he left. Um, anyway, I’ll be there soon. Thank you for calling!”

You set your phone down and with a shaking hand start to put the key in the ignition. When you drop the keys you silently curse to yourself and sit back for a moment. Taking in several deep breaths, you manage to collect yourself and get the car started.

You didn’t grow up with religious parents so you didn’t spend much time praying except now. The entire drive was spent holding back tears and begging whatever higher power was listening to do just this one favor for you. Driving to the hospital was the easy part but making yourself get out of the car and walk into the building felt impossible.

When you walk in you immediately spot Maverick. He stands up to meet you and the panic finally starts to set in. Tears stream down your face and your breathing quickens suddenly unable to form words.

The older pilot pulls you into a hug attempting to calm you. “He’s going to be fine, you know he’s too stubborn to give up now.”

You manage to catch your breath enough to speak. “I appreciate the sentiment Mav, but I don’t need the empty promises.” You were thinking worse words than that but couldn’t bring yourself to say them at the moment.

“You’re right. Let’s go to the waiting room.” He showed you the way to the room full of seats and got her settled in.

Mav did what he could to take care of you and keep you calm. At one point you were completely zoned out staring at the old and worn out carpet under your feet. Your leg was subconsciously bouncing with anxiousness, you didn't snap out of your trance until you heard your fairly new last name get called out. The nurse with a clipboard in her hands motioned you to come out into the hallway. You wasted no time and Mav followed close behind.

“Your husband is in recovery. The surgery went just fine, but he’s going to need to do physical therapy for his leg. I’m afraid he won’t be able to fly anymore.” The nurse led you back into recovery to be with him until they could get him a room.

The sight of your unconscious husband bandaged up broke your heart but he’s alive. Your prayers were heard. At this point Mav had gone home and you stayed by his side watching over him like a hawk, any movement or groan he made had your full attention. It seemed like forever until they got him into a room.

He was finally starting to wake up when they locked the hospital bed into place. His words were jumbled and started to frantically look around. “My, my wife. Call-“ Rooster groaned and let his head fall back into the pillow.

“I’m here Roost, right here.” You stood at the foot of his bed out of the way of the nurses but in his view.

Once he saw you he let himself relax and fall asleep again. The nurse assigned to take care of him pulls you aside and goes over his medications and what needs to happen to speed up the healing process. Finally you feel like you can breathe again.

That night, you fell asleep in an awkward position in the chair next to his bed and no matter how you moved in your sleep your hand stayed on his. The sound of the bed creaking and fabric rustling woke you, Mav was right he is too stubborn. Bradley was trying to get out of bed, luckily he didn’t want to wake you so he hadn’t made much progress yet.

“Honey, what are you doing?” You jump up out of the chair and meet him on the other side of the bed to keep him from falling.

Rooster sighed and looked up at you like a puppy. “I just wanted to get out of bed.”

You sit on the bed next to him and hold his hand. “I don’t even think you’re supposed to be sitting up like this right now.” You softly chuckle at his eagerness.

He turns to you and kisses your forehead. I’m so sorry baby.”

“Sorry for what? You did what you were supposed to.” You watched him try to decide what emotion he should be feeling.

“You’re stuck taking care of me now.” He twinged when he attempted to move the injured leg.

“I married you, remember? I read the terms and conditions in full detail.” A soft smile sends a wave of comfort over him. “I’m just so happy I get to be here with you right now and not planning a funeral.”

You both silently laugh at the comment. “So please, for me, do what you need to do to get better. I’d love to get you home as soon as possible too.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He smirked and kissed the back of your hand.

Eventually, Rooster got sent home and did everything he was supposed to do. You and Mav already had a talk with him about how his condition prohibits him from flying again. He didn’t take it well at first. After giving him a day or two to calm down he came to you with a serious look on his face.

He looked like a scared little kid, your first response was to hold your arms open for him. He quickly accepted and held you close. “I think I’m going to take Mav up on that offer, if I can’t fly them I at least want to work on them.”

You smile softly down at him and play with his hair. “I told you that was a good idea. Think about all that will open up for you in this position. We could finally start a family.”

He lifts his head up excitedly. “You mean it?” When the conversation came up before your marriage you were on the fence about having kids just because you knew what Rooster went through.

“I don’t want you to give up what you love, but it’s hard enough as is for me to keep myself together worrying about what’s going to happen to you when you leave every day. I can’t even imagine having a kid.” You both stare at each other as the words echo in your heads.

“Yes baby, I mean it.” By the time you finish your sentence Rooster has pulled you into a deep passionate kiss.

[haowenyang]

woaaaah hi yan........ Kills you with my mind

okay sorry ily man YOU'RE SO COOL. genuinely you're super talented and awesome and kind and sweet n brave and helpful and funny nmanf shit. get platonic beamed you bug. /posaff i miss you like every day and our conversations make my day a little brighter iC'm going to Shake you around. Hi hi hi hi thansk for sending me random tts it makes me giggle and i go Woah my friend!!!!

- totally mystery guy..,. not at all a bird who is flightless

HEHE HIII MICHAEL >:D